Praise for
ROSANNE BITTNER
and her novels

WALK BY FAITH

“This standout novel is truly in a class of its own.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Bittner shines with this new inspirational historical!”

—Literary Journal

WHERE HEAVEN BEGINS

“Bittner brings to life the dangerous and beautiful Alaskan wilderness of the gold rush days. Clint is a hero who’ll pull at your heartstrings.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Rosanne has written a truly inspiring high adventure that will invigorate your senses and reaffirm your faith in God’s wisdom.”

—Affaire de Coeur

FOLLOW YOUR HEART

“Bittner’s characters spring to life…extraordinary for the depth of emotion with which they are portrayed.”

—Publishers Weekly

“True-to-life characters who stay with you long after you’ve turned the last page!”

—Los Angeles Daily News

Walk by Faith
Rosanne Bittner

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dedicated to my mother-in-law,

Florence Irene Umphrey Bittner, better known

to the whole family as “Grandma Bittner,”

who lived to the ripe old age of 101. Until she

had to go into a nursing home in her late nineties,

Florence attended Midway Baptist Church in

Watervliet, Michigan, faithfully every Sunday

morning, as well as often attending Sunday evening

services, Wednesday evening services and most other

church functions, in spite of bouts with breast

cancer, colon cancer, two broken hips and arthritis

that finally put her in a wheelchair. Even when using

walkers and a wheelchair, she still attended church.

Though a host encamp against me,

My heart shall not fear;

Though war arise against me,

Even then, in this will I be confident.

For in the day of trouble

He will hide me in His shelter;

In the secret place of His tent will He hide me;

He will set me high upon a rock.

—Psalms 27:3, 5

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Epilogue

Chapter One

March 16, 1862, St. Louis, Missouri

Clarissa was not sure where she’d found the strength to get dressed and open Seaforth’s Dry Goods this morning. She felt numb with worry, not for her husband’s safety, but for where he might be…and what he might be doing. She set items on the counter to fill the last of a customer’s order.

“There you are, Mrs. Shelby. I think that’s everything. That’s two dollars.”

“Oh, my!” The older woman put a wrinkled hand to her chin. “Put it on my bill, Clare dear, will you? My husband will be by to pay it. And can you wrap it for me?”

“Certainly.” Clarissa wrote the woman’s name on the tab and added “Owed.” Like her father had always done, she extended credit to most hometown customers. Until his sudden death three years ago, Henry Seaforth ran this store most of his life. Then Clarissa married Chad Graham, who took over the store and had run it ever since so that she could stay home with their precious little girl, Sophie.

She pulled a length of brown paper from its roll and tore it off to wrap Mrs. Shelby’s items, resentment toward Chad growing as she silently packed the order. It was because Chad was her baby’s father that Clarissa had struggled to ignore rumors of her husband’s infidelity over the past two years. Now, this morning, the reality of those rumors was burrowing deeply into her mind and heart. Apparently she could no longer avoid the awful truth, though she still did not want to believe it.

Chad was gone. So were all his clothes. Where was the man to whom she’d given all her love, her faith, her trust, her virginity, her heart? Where was the man who was now the legal owner of Seaforth’s? That’s how much she’d trusted him. This business that was her father’s life now belonged to the man her father warned her before he died not to marry. Now that man was missing.

She’d even given up a nursing career for Chad. Getting into Washington University here in St. Louis had not been an easy task for a woman. She’d had to settle for nursing rather than becoming a doctor, but at least she’d made it that far. Then she gave up her nursing job at St. Louis City Hospital when she learned she was expecting Sophie.

The terrible unrest and sometimes-violent street fighting that occurred almost daily now over the war between North and South was enough to worry about. How could Chad disappear at such a dangerous time, with Federal troops swarming the streets and guarding the St. Louis Arsenal, and with Missouri Confederate militia still hiding in the southern part of the state and attacking northern sympathizers at every opportunity? St. Louis was filling up with families who’d fled battlegrounds or who’d been routed out by rebel raiders. And the hospital was becoming crowded with wounded men, from both North and South. She wished sometimes that she could help them out with her nursing experience, but Chad wanted her to stay home with Sophie.

A lot that helps now, she thought. She tied string around Mrs. Shelby’s wrapped items, yanking on them with secret anger. With Chad gone and this store their only means of income, she had to handle things alone until she found out what had happened to her husband.

She handed her customer the package. “Thank you, Mrs. Shelby.”

“And where is that precious little girl of yours?” the woman asked. “Chad is usually the one who waits on me, you know.” She put a hand to her chest. “My, what a handsome man you married! It’s a good thing you are so exceptionally beautiful, young lady, or half the women in this town would be trying to steal that man from you,” she teased. The aging woman chuckled. “If I’d been younger, I certainly would have tried for him myself before he up and married you.”

Her heart aching inside, Clarissa managed a smile. “Thank you. Chad is on a business trip,” she lied.

“Well, you shouldn’t have to watch this store. That young man should have found someone else to do it. You’re a mother now. Little Sophie needs you more than this store does. And with those Home Guardsmen prancing around out there, threatening any person who dares to talk of secession, who knows what will happen next in this city. It’s no longer safe for woman or child.”

“We’re fine, Mrs. Shelby. Sophie is with the Harveys. Carolyn Harvey agreed to watch her so I could work today. Sophie likes to play with their little girl, Lena. And I’m not about to let this senseless war force me to close down and lose business, especially now that it belongs to me and my husband.”

“Oh, of course, dear, but it just doesn’t seem right for a mother to work. I hope Chad will be home soon.”

Clarissa turned away. “So do I.”

“What’s that, Clare?”

“Oh.” Clarissa turned. “I just meant Chad wasn’t sure how long he’d be. He took a train to Chicago to see about getting more stock for cheaper prices.”

“Well, wouldn’t you know? I was in here just two days ago, and that man never said a word about taking a trip.”

He never said a word to me either, Clarissa thought.

Mrs. Shelby smiled. “I’ll see you in church tomorrow?”

Clarissa nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Shelby left, and Clarissa breathed a sigh of relief, glad she wouldn’t have to come up with any more explanations. The ominous sight of Chad’s empty wardrobe hit her again like a knife in her heart. For months he’d not shown as great an interest in her as when they’d first married. She’d blamed it on the time she needed for Sophie after she was born, and the weight she’d gained. Still, she’d soon lost all that weight. When she looked in the mirror she saw the same slender woman Chad Graham had married. There was no premature gray in her deep red hair. Nothing about her had changed, and she’d given Chad such a beautiful, charming, red-haired little girl of whom he could be so proud.

But something was wrong…something she’d refused to face in spite of the warning a few months ago from old Rachael Grimes, a founding member of the Light of Christ Church, where Clarissa had attended since she’d been a young girl. She’d even met Chad there, when he was new in town and began attending in order to meet people.

Rachael Grimes was also one of the town’s biggest gossips. Your husband has been unfaithful, dear. You must be doing something wrong that has driven him from you. Don’t you let that man get away and don’t let him wrong you. You talk to him and find out what you need to do to keep him in your own bed.

The words still stung. She’d loved Chad with her whole being, falling head over heels when he began teaching the young-adult Sunday school class. Chad was strikingly handsome, with his sandy hair and green eyes, solid build and sparkling smile. He was smart, had a good job at the bank, dressed impeccably and was a social hit with everyone. Half the young women in church had vied for his attention, but it was Clarissa who’d won it.

Chad had been so attentive and sympathetic when her father suddenly died of a heart attack. It was a dark time for her. Her mother died years earlier, and Henry Seaforth had been Clarissa’s whole world. Chad stepped in and comforted her, reading scripture to her, consoling her—attention that led to something much more. He’d sworn his love for her, asked her to marry him. She’d barely had time to recover from her father’s death before she was walking down the aisle of the Light of Christ Church as Chad Graham’s bride, in spite of her father’s distrust of the man.

Her wedding night with Chad, and many nights thereafter, had been blushingly passionate, and her whole world became Chad Graham. Within just ten months she’d added little Sophie to that world. Chad had taken over running the store, and because of his friendly, social nature and his knowledge of accounting, he ran it well.

Everyone liked Chad, but her father had thought Chad’s background was too obscure. So did her good friend Carolyn Harvey. But Carolyn and her husband, Michael, were wonderful Christian people who were willing to give Chad the benefit of the doubt, since Clarissa was so much in love and Chad had become so active in the church. Chad claimed to be an orphan from Chicago, who’d struggled and worked to make something of himself and whose faith in Christ had helped him through the bad times. He’d seemed so sincere and dedicated.

Now her father’s and Carolyn’s warnings haunted Clarissa, as did old Mrs. Grimes’s hurtful words. If the woman was right, why did she think that whatever Chad might have done was Clarissa’s fault? The thought of somehow being responsible hurt deeply and made her feel painfully inadequate as a woman. She’d married Chad blindly, her heart so full of love and passion that nothing else mattered. In her mind she’d been the best wife and mother she could be. Why on earth would Chad ever want to leave her?

The bell above the front door jingled as someone came inside then, and Clarissa turned to see Margaret Baker, one of the founders of the Light of Christ Church. The woman’s dark eyes drilled into Clarissa as though she’d done something terrible.

“Hello, Margaret.” Clarissa greeted the woman with a smile. She and Margaret’s daughter, Susan, had attended school together and were often involved in the same activities at school and church. “What can I help you with today?”

Margaret came closer, looking so angry that it changed her whole countenance into a stern, stiff, almost witchy air. She raised her chin as she spoke.

“You can bring back my Susan!”

Clarissa frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you can straighten up and be a proper wife so that you don’t drive your husband into another woman’s arms and drive my daughter to sin in the eyes of God!”

A horrible picture began to take form in Clarissa’s thoughts. She felt as though her blood was draining from her brain down and out through her feet. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she answered.

“Don’t you? Where is Chad, Clare? Do you know where he’s gone?”

“He’s…on a business trip.”

Margaret sniffed back tears and handed her a folded piece of paper. “Wake up!” she seethed. “This is from Susan.”

With now-shaking hands Clarissa took the paper and opened it.

Dear Mother,

Please forgive me, but I am totally in love with Chad Graham. Chad loves me, too, and now I am carrying his child.

We have left St. Louis to share our lives together. As soon as Chad can get a divorce, we will be married. I have loved Chad since before he married Clare. Chad will sell the store, and with that money we will start a wonderful new life together.

I know this is right, Mother. I feel it in my heart. Chad has never been happy with Clare, but I make him happy. After we are married and the baby is born, I will let you know where we are. I hope you will come and visit.

All my love, Susan

Stunned, Clarissa felt faint. She handed back the letter. “Why on earth are you angry with me?” she asked Margaret. “Your daughter and my husband have committed adultery! Susan is pregnant by a married man who is currently still married to a woman who used to call Susan her friend!”

“Surely you knew my Susan loved Chad when you turned around and married him yourself!”

“No, I didn’t know!”

“I don’t believe you! And it serves you right to learn that Chad only married you because he needed this store! You threw yourself at him and used this store as a way to catch him, and now he will profit from it!”

A lump began to form in Clarissa’s throat and she turned away. The reality of the kind of man Chad really was hit her like a club slammed into her stomach.

Divorce! Susan said Chad was going to get a divorce! Had he already sold the store out from under her? How could she face anyone in town or at church if she was a divorced woman? What would people think of her?

Such shame! Such utter betrayal! Such deep, deep hurt she’d never known.

“Get out,” she told Margaret.

“Gladly! And I hope you’re proud of yourself, hurting my poor Susan by marrying the love of her life!”

The woman stormed out. Clarissa realized Margaret was defending Susan as a mother would, not wanting to face the sin of what her daughter had done. Still, Clarissa could hardly believe the woman could stand there and spout her daughter’s innocence in the ugly affair. And ugly it was. The realization of what Chad had done even made him seem ugly now! Behind that handsome face and those fetching green eyes lay pure evil, an evil that had cost her her trust, her pride, her means of living and maybe even her faith. Right now she felt God had abandoned her.

She managed to walk to the front door, close and lock it. She turned the Closed sign toward the street and pulled down the shade. She could not face one more customer today. How could she face anyone ever again?

Chapter Two

April 7, 1862, Tennessee

“If there’s a hell on earth, Lieutenant, this is it.”

First Lieutenant Dawson Clements nodded in agreement. He sat huddled behind a mobile cannon with Sergeant Jared Bridger listening to the hideous screams and groans of the thousands of wounded who lay sprawled among thousands more dead soldiers.

“They say Shiloh is a biblical name meaning ‘place of peace,’” Dawson told the sergeant. He shivered, pulling his rubber poncho up over his head against the cold rain. “Pretty ironic, isn’t it?”

Both men were painfully hungry, and neither had slept all night, mostly because of the haunting cries of the unattended wounded and the stench of blood that ran past them in rivulets along with the rainwater. Behind them, thousands more Union soldiers made temporary camp at Pittsburgh Landing, waiting for the arrival of relief troops.

“Grant says Buell will be here soon with a good seventy-five-hundred relief troops,” Dawson told his sergeant. “Come sunup we’ll push those Rebels clear back past that little church and get this over with.” He watched Sergeant Bridger pull his ragged wool blanket over his head and felt bad that rubber ponchos were given only to the higher officers. The fact that he and the sergeant sat here talking alone was not particularly proper army protocol, but nothing about the past twenty-four hours had been normal or proper. They were simply taking advantage of this chance to rest and gear up for what looked to be another bloody onslaught a couple of hours from now, when the sun would rise on the horror in the fields around Shiloh, and General Grant would lead a new march to take back what the Confederates had claimed earlier today.

“I’ve never seen anything like this, sir. In all our battles out west against the Apache, the Comanche, the Cheyenne—none of it can compare to this slaughter. I’ve seen men walking around still alive with their guts hanging out, bodies on the ground with no heads, an arm with no body nearby. It will be a long time before I can go to sleep without the cries of those boys ringing in my ears. I’d rather be back out west.”

Dawson rubbed his eyes. “Well, we’ve got to go where they send us, Sergeant Bridger. That’s what happens when you’re dumb enough to join the army in the first place.”

Bridger chuckled. “I do wonder sometimes why I got myself into this mess.”

Dawson shifted to relieve a sore hip caused from a horse falling on him earlier in the day. “I know why I did. It was because I had nothing else to do with my life—no home, no family, no goals—”

And because I’d left a man behind me to die. For one quick moment a flash of memory from the day he’d run away actually made him wince.

“I was thirteen when I joined,” he continued. “I was big for my age so they believed me when I said I was sixteen. I fought in the Mexican War at fourteen years old, saved a major’s life and that major’s family had money. He sent me to Philadelphia to get a decent education and then made sure I was gradually promoted to where I am now. He was killed by Indians, and I still think about him. He did a lot for me, probably the only person in my life who ever cared if I succeeded at anything.”

Bridger frowned. “Sir, why are you telling me all this?”

Dawson shrugged. “Maybe because I know I might be dead in a couple of hours. Such thoughts make a man do and say things he never would normally.”

The sergeant grinned. “Maybe so.” He reached inside his Union blue jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Which prompts me to give this to you.”

Curious, Dawson took the paper. “What’s this?”

“It’s my will.”

“Your will?”

The sergeant nodded. “For what it’s worth.”

“Why are you giving this to me?”

Bridger moved closer to the dwindling fire, the hot coals having a hard time keeping up with the rain. “Because earlier today you bayoneted a Graycoat who was about to shoot my head off. We were so busy fighting I never had a chance to thank you, sir, but I am grateful. I want you to know that. I have some money in a bank in St. Louis, and I’ve got no family left, so in case I’m the one who ends up with his face in the mud later today, I want somebody worthy to have my money. It’s not a whole lot, but enough for a man to get a pretty good start in life. I hope you can put it to good use.”

Dawson put the note into his own pocket without reading it.

“Don’t you want to know how much I’ve got?”

“No, because it won’t matter,” Dawson said. “You’re going to be just fine, Sergeant Bridger. You’ll end up back out west with me once this war ends.” He leaned against a wheel of the cannon cart. “Tell me, how did a man on sergeant’s pay manage to save up any money at all?”

A patient inside a nearby hospital tent let out a gut-wrenching scream that quieted both of them and sent shivers to Dawson’s very bone marrow. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Another man has lost a limb, most likely.”

More screams came from the tent, and in the distance the continued groans and sobbing of other wounded men pierced the dark night. Dawson’s face burned from black powder that seemed to eat into his skin, and his eyes stung from it washing into them because of the rain, which the wind drove into his face in spite of the brimmed hat and the poncho he wore.

“Well, sir, to take your mind off that poor fellow in there, I’ll tell you how I came to have that money. It came from my grandma.”

“I thought you said you had no family.”

Bridger chuckled. “I didn’t know I did. My ma was good to me, but she was…well, let’s just say she never knew who my pa even was. Funny how we’ve fought together out west and now here, but we never knew all this about each other. Anyway, I grew up helping out in a saloon where Ma worked, and when she died I joined the army—kind of like the reason you joined, I guess. Anyways, low and behold I got this letter about six months back from a woman who claims to have been my grandmother. I don’t know how she found me, but she did. Come to find out, she lived in the same town where I grew up, St. Louis, Missouri. She wrote that her and my ma never got along, so I was never told about who she was or where she lived. The letter said she was soon to die of cancer and she wanted me to have some money she’d saved from working two jobs in her old age. Said it helped her passing to know somebody carrying her blood would go on in this life and maybe be a better person than she or my ma ever were.”

Dawson nodded in understanding, thinking how young Bridger was for being a sergeant; but then this war seemed to spur promotions that would never normally be given. Men were badly needed, and those with the slightest bit of army knowledge and any kind of schooling rapidly became in charge of the others. He was himself just twenty-nine, but before this war ended he could end up a general. He’d seen other colonels and generals who were barely any older.

“Anyway,” Bridger went on, “I couldn’t think of one other person than you who ought to have the money in case I die. It’s in the Federal Bank of St. Louis. So, if something does happen to me, it’s yours. Just make sure there’s a grave site someplace in St. Louis with my name on it, even if my body isn’t there. Just something that shows I once existed. My name and birth date are on that piece of paper.”

Dawson reached out and touched his arm. “I’ll do that, Sergeant, but like I said, you’re going to be just fine.”

Bridger sighed. “I sure hope so, sir. I just—do you believe in God, sir?”

The question caught Dawson off guard, and it brought back painful memories. He could still see Preacher Carter’s face plain as day, his scowl, his piercing dark eyes and sharp nose, his face red from giving Dawson another beating with his wide, black belt, screaming that he needed to “beat the devil” out of him again.

“Sure I do,” he answered Bridger, only because he knew that was what the man wanted to hear. “Why?”

“Well, I mean, do you really think a man goes to heaven when he dies, where everything is beautiful and peaceful and all that?”

Dawson decided this was not the time to tell a man there was also a hell, where some men, including himself, were bound to go no matter what. The worst part was that Preacher Carter would probably be there, too.

“Of course there’s a heaven,” he answered, forcing himself to sound positive, “but you’ll be an old man before you get there.”

“Lieutenant Clements!” A young private ran up to salute Dawson, interrupting the conversation. “I was told by a Major Coldwell to tell you to prepare the men and artillery for attack. We’re going to sweep this whole area clean of Rebels forthwith! General Grant is mustering all troops as well as the new arrivals, sir.”

“They’re here then?”

The private grinned broadly. “Yes, sir! All seventy-five hundred of them! They’re coming off the steamboat right now at the landing!”

Dawson saluted in return. “Thank you, Private. Tell the major we’ll have our cannon and rifles ready.”

“Yes, sir!” The private hurried away, excited now that it looked like enough help had come to turn this battle around. Dawson heard a man crying bitterly inside the hospital tent, and he supposed it was the same man who minutes ago had screamed in agony. For all he knew, after the next few hours of fighting he’d be missing a limb himself, or worse.

He stood and nodded to Sergeant Bridger. “Thank you for thinking of me, Sergeant. Go and prepare your men.”

The young man stood up with a tired groan, and the two men saluted one another. “Yes, sir.”

Their gazes held a moment. “God be with you, Sergeant,” Dawson told him, sure he detected a trace of tears in Bridger’s eyes.

“And with you, sir. Once this is over we’ll—”

A shot rang out before Bridger finished the sentence. His body lurched forward and fell, just missing landing in the campfire. In his back was a bloody, gaping hole.

Startled, Dawson watched a wounded and badly bleeding young Confederate soldier crawl toward him, a smoking pistol in his hand. It took Dawson a moment to realize what had just occurred.

While the wounded soldier fumbled with his pistol, Dawson quickly grabbed his musket, bayonet attached, from where it rested against a nearby log. Swiftly he jammed the tip of the bayonet against the Confederate man’s forehead. “Don’t bother reloading, mister!” he warned.

The young Rebel looked up at Dawson and grinned. “At least I got one more of you yellow-bellied Yanks before I meet my Maker.”

“And meet your Maker you will!” an enraged Dawson answered. He pulled the trigger of his loaded musket, wiping away not just the man’s grin, but nearly his entire face. Never in his life had he considered committing such a heinous act, but in this moment of pain and disbelief, he didn’t care.

Grief washed over him with the cold rain when he managed to turn his gaze to the young man who’d just willed him what little money he had in the whole world, and all because he’d saved his life earlier today. This time he’d failed him. He’d promised that boy that he’d be all right, but then such promises were only for God to make.

He knelt and gently he turned Bridger’s body over, hoping beyond hope that he might still be alive.

“Sergeant,” he spoke, a sob engulfing him at the same time. He felt at the man’s neck for a pulse, but there was none. He struggled to keep from breaking into all-out tears over the man’s shockingly sudden death, as several men gathered to see what had happened.

“Sir, are you all right?” someone asked.

Dawson nodded. “Go away—all of you,” he told them gruffly. “Get ready for the advance.”

“Yes, sir. What about Sergeant Bridger? We can’t bury him right now, sir. Grant is ordering—”

“I know what we have to do!” Dawson barked. “I’ll be along!”

“Yes, sir.”

Dawson sensed the men leaving. Dawn was barely breaking, and men who’d lain wounded all night still cried and groaned throughout the surrounding woods and orchards. How strange that he should feel so sad over the death of a young man he’d known only as a fellow soldier for the past year and a half. Preacher Carter had been right. Maybe he was evil and deserved this constant punishment.

He removed his rubber cape and laid it over the sergeant to keep his body dry and respectfully covered until he could return and bury the man. Feeling numb and strangely removed from reality, he headed for duty. There was a little church situated somewhere south of them, and their goal was to reach it before the sun set again.

The cold rain began soaking his blue greatcoat and running down his neck under his shirt. He thought it only fitting and proper that he should suffer from its chilling wetness. The discomfort would help shroud his inner pain for the next few hours.

When I was in trouble, I called to the Lord,

And He answered me.

Save me, Lord, from liars and deceivers.

—Psalms 120:1-2

Chapter Three

April 20, 1863

Breathing deeply to calm her nerves, Clarissa glanced around the land agent’s office, studying the marble floors, the mahogany furniture and glass bookcases, the high windows with fancy drapery. As she appreciated the beauty of St. Louis’s grand courthouse and its magnificently painted central rotunda in the main hall, she had to wonder how long it would be before she saw such civilized grandeur again after leaving this city where she’d grown up.

It was almost impossible to calm the butterflies in her stomach at the thought of what she was doing. If not for Carolyn and Michael Harvey she would never have had this chance to finally leave St. Louis and start a new life.

After her embarrassing divorce, a kind and understanding Carolyn continued watching Sophie so that Clarissa could go back to her nursing job at City Hospital to support herself and Sophie. Chad had indeed sold the store and all the inventory without her knowledge. Thank goodness the house they’d shared had been her father’s and willed to her. When she married Chad the house was never put into his name.

Apparently Chad had only cared about the store because it was paid for free and clear but the house wasn’t. Clarissa was left with that debt, but she’d worked hard to keep up the payments on the two-bedroom frame home she’d now miss dearly. She’d sold the house and most of the furniture in order to have the necessary money to leave St. Louis.

Michael Harvey planned to settle in Montana under the new Homestead Act. The cotton wholesaler for whom Michael worked had gone out of business because of the war, and being deeply religious, Michael refused to join the fighting for either side. St. Louis was in chaos, and danger lurked everywhere. For the sake of their little girl, Michael intended to head west with his family, and Clarissa and Sophie would go with them. Clarissa’s latest embarrassing ordeal made her more determined, because she’d been fired from her nursing job just for being divorced! Ordered to take care of only the female patients, she was let go when she dared to help a poor, wounded soldier that no one else seemed to have time for. The firing was partly because that soldier was a Confederate, and Confederate soldiers always got helped last; but it seemed obvious to her that helping the man was also the hospital’s excuse to get rid of a woman about whom other nurses, and even some patients’ wives, had complained should not be around any of the “lonely, vulnerable male patients.”

Her embarrassment had turned to anger at such foolishness. One thing the hospital needed now more than ever was doctors and nurses, with so many hundreds of wounded soldiers coming in almost daily. It seemed incredible that her divorced status should cause so much havoc in her life.

Even Carolyn and Michael had suffered. Michael, a deacon at the Light of Christ Church, where Clarissa had attended so faithfully until Chad left her, had grown disgusted over the insinuations from other men in the church, even the deacons and the minister, that he should not be known to associate so closely with a divorced woman, or he could be asked to leave the church. Michael refused to let such ugliness destroy his and Carolyn’s happiness. And because he wanted a place where Clarissa could also feel free to worship, he left the church and started his own ministry at his house. Now he hoped to take that ministry to Montana and start his own church there for the hundreds, perhaps thousands of people who would settle there under the Homestead Act. Thousands more had gone before because of a fabulous silver strike at what some said was now the thriving town of Virginia City, Montana.

It was time to move on and start over. Surely a place like Montana needed nurses, and the more she thought about leaving behind all the bad memories here in St. Louis, the more excited Clarissa became over her decision.

“Mommy, I want to go home,” Sophie complained, turning from a big window where she’d been watching the street traffic outside.

“We’ll leave soon, honey,” Clarissa answered. She picked the girl up and set her on her lap, pushing some of the child’s red curls behind one ear. “You’ve been very good.”

Thank goodness she’d received enough money for the house after paying off the bank to be able to pay for her own supplies and even her own wagon. Michael would buy all the oxen, and Clarissa could hardly bear the wait. The sooner she got out of St. Louis, the better.

“Here you are!” The land agent, Eric Fastow, interrupted her thoughts when he finally returned to his desk. “Your official Homestead Certificate. I made sure your section would be located adjacent to Mr. and Mrs. Harvey so you could all be together. Everything is signed. Mr. and Mrs. Harvey each signed up for one-hundred-sixty acres, so between all three of you, you’ll have four-hundred-eighty acres to build a fine ranch! And it’s all located just five miles south of Virginia City! You’ll be close enough to go there for supplies whenever necessary, as long as mountain snows don’t hold you up.”

Clarissa took the paper, studying it a moment. There was her name as owner: Clarissa Lynn Seaforth Graham. “Oh, my!” she exclaimed, showing it to Sophie. “See, Sophie? We’ll have land that’s all our own! We’re going on a long trip to live there.”

“Can Lena go?”

“Oh, yes. Lena and Carolyn and Michael are all going!”

Sophie clapped her hands and smiled. This child was another reason to leave St. Louis. Away from here Sophie never had to suffer from gossip and teasing. Clarissa folded the deed and placed it into an envelope Fastow handed her. “Thank you so much, Mr. Fastow.”

“My pleasure!” The thin, bespectacled man put out his hand, and Clarissa set Sophie on her feet and got up from her chair, shaking the man’s hand. “I wish you good luck, Mrs. Graham. I’d be worried about you if you were doing this alone, but as long as you are traveling with the Harveys, you should make it just fine.”

Clarissa squeezed his hand and then let go, appreciating the few people who treated her like a respectable person in spite of her being divorced. She put the deed into her handbag. “Thank you again, Mr. Fastow,” she said before taking Sophie’s hand and leading her back out into the lobby.

Immediately Sophie again pointed to the spectacular rotunda and stared upward. “Look, Mommy, it’s high!” The child spoke loudly, obviously enjoying the way her voice echoed in the large hall. “Can we go up there?”

“No, we certainly cannot. I’m not climbing all those steps just so you can get up there and fall and hurt yourself. Besides, I have to get you home. We have to meet Carolyn and Michael there to get some shopping done. We have so many preparations to make for our long trip. It takes a lot of planning.”

They walked across the marble floor toward the courthouse entrance, literally having to stop and dodge people who swarmed inside the busy lobby. The Homestead Act had created quite a commotion this year and last. People were excited about free land, theirs to keep as long as they farmed or ranched it and made it worth something. The government was aiming to settle and build the West, Indians or not, and there were plenty of people ready to help, especially since the war was escalating.

Already many had lost their farms and large plantations. Men were dying by the thousands, and homeless people filled St. Louis, many of whom were the ones most willing to head west to start over.

Clarissa kept hold of Sophie’s hand so she wouldn’t lose her among the throngs. She thought about the note from Chad that accompanied the divorce papers, saying he hoped she would sign them quickly and not prolong the matter. Such a cold, unfeeling letter. He’d not even asked about Sophie, but he made sure to tell her that the store had already been sold and the new owner would be showing up soon to get the keys from her.

She was almost glad Chad had been so coldhearted. That made it easier for her to stop caring about him. She knelt down to help Sophie put on her little woolen coat. Early April had brought a damp cold that seemed to go to the bone, and Clarissa was anxious for the warmer weather that should come very soon now. She buttoned up Sophie’s coat and tied a wool scarf around her head, then stood up and retied her own wool cape, pulling up the hood.

She took Sophie’s hand, and they slowly walked down the courthouse steps, Sophie insisting on jumping down one step at a time. The girl’s sweet nature made it easy for Clarissa to be patient with her. Always all smiles, Sophie found excitement in the smallest of things. She seldom asked about her missing father anymore, which made Clarissa both sad and relieved.

Once they reached the bottom of the steps, Sophie suddenly tore away from Clarissa, squealing something about a kitten.

“Sophie!” Before Clarissa could react in any way, she watched a man wearing a dark blue duster and black, wide-brimmed hat scoop up Sophie with one arm just in time to keep her from being hit by a team of horses pulling a wagon. However, he didn’t get out of the way in time to keep a wagon wheel from catching one leg and knocking him down. He cried out as he rolled out of the way, still clinging to Sophie and keeping her wrapped safely in his arms.

The wagon driver shouted “Whoa!” and looked back with terrified eyes as the stranger holding Sophie got to his knees. “You all right, mister? Is the little girl okay?”

“She’s fine.” The stranger waved the man off. “Go on. I’ll be all right.”

The wagon driver shook his head and drove off.

“Sophie!” Clarissa ran to the site, kneeling down to take Sophie from the stranger’s arms. “Look what you’ve done because you let go of Mommy’s hand! This poor man is hurt now!”

Sophie began crying, and the man who’d saved her got to a sitting position. “Don’t do that!” he told Clarissa rather gruffly. “Don’t blame the child. An accident is an accident.”

“I’m so sorry!” Clarissa told him. “And it is Sophie’s fault!”

A man passing by stopped to help the stranger up, and the man limped to a street lamp where he grabbed hold for support.

“You are hurt!” Clarissa said, setting Sophie on her feet and ordering the still-crying girl to stay put.

“It’s just a war wound that’s not quite healed,” he said.

“Let me get a cab and take you to the hospital.”

“Never mind. My horse isn’t far. Besides, I just got out of the hospital a few days ago.”

Clarissa could see the pain in his eyes. “Please.”

He shook his head. “No. No more hospitals.”

“Then tell me where your horse is. I’ll go get it for you and call a cab to take you to the house where I stay. Sophie can ride with you and I’ll follow on your horse. It isn’t far. I’m a nurse. My name is Clarissa Graham. I can take a look at your leg and rebandage it, or whatever else it needs.”

Clarissa could tell by the way the man closed his eyes and sighed that he was embarrassed at his condition. He stood a good six feet tall and had a rugged look that told her he preferred to fend for himself. Under his Union blue greatcoat she saw scarlet trim on a short jacket, which she knew meant he was part of an artillery unit and probably an officer, although because he wore a plain black hat rather than the common small kepi with an insignia on it, she couldn’t be sure what his station might be.

“Please let me help you,” she urged again. “It’s the least I can do after what’s happened.”

He met her gaze, and a quick surge of something unexplainable swept through Clarissa, something she hadn’t felt since the first time she looked into Chad Graham’s unnerving green eyes. This man’s were a striking blue, almost too dark, as though some kind of cloud hung somewhere behind them. She’d not realized until just now how handsome he was, in spite of several days growth of beard.

“I’ll let you help me if you promise to tell that little girl what happened was not her fault,” he told her. “I can’t tolerate a child being blamed for an accident.”

Clarissa thought what a strange request that was. “All right.” She knelt down to Sophie and wiped tears from her pudgy cheeks. “It’s all right, darling. You just scared Mommy, that’s all. Sometimes when we’re scared we yell and say the wrong things.” She kissed her cheek. “Just tell this man you’re sorry you ran into the street without looking.”

Sniffing, Sophie craned her neck to look up at the tall stranger. “I’m sowwy, Mistoo,” she told him, still having trouble with her r’s.

He managed a smile. “It’s okay, honey. What’s your name?”

“Sophie. What’s yours?”

The man looked from her to Clarissa. “Dawson Clements—Lieutenant Dawson Clements—of the Second Illinois Light Artillery Battery, now retired from the army. I, uh, I really don’t want to put you out—”

“Nonsense. It’s the least I can do.”

“Well, ma’am, I’m afraid I’ll take you up on the offer. The leg is hurting pretty good.”

“Wait right here then.” Clarissa looked at Sophie. “And you stay right here by Mr. Clements.” She stepped off the curb and waved down a one-horse cab coming toward them from farther up the street, hoping Carolyn and Michael wouldn’t mind her bringing home a stranger.

Chapter Four

Carolyn and Michael appeared almost comical as they scurried around the house following Clarissa’s orders after she arrived with a limping Dawson Clements. Because the fair-haired, brown-eyed Carolyn was actually taller and more robust than Michael, a short, slender, quiet man with black hair and deep brown eyes, they seemed mismatched physically, but Clarissa could think of no other couple more devoted to each other than these friends who’d been so good to her, especially since her divorce. If only her own marriage could have been so happy and perfect.

Little Lena, one year older than Sophie, had her father’s dark hair and eyes, quite the contrast to Sophie’s orange-red hair and pale blue eyes. The current excitement in the house kept the girls glued nearby, staring at the tall stranger who’d come unexpectedly into their midst.

Carolyn gave Michael orders for towels and whiskey and hot water while Dawson sat down in a kitchen chair. He winced with pain as he obeyed Clarissa’s order and let her help put his wounded right leg up on an opposite chair. She pushed up his pant leg to see the entire calf of his leg was wrapped in bandages showing stains from both old and fresh blood.

“Oh, my!” She looked at Dawson with a frown. “How long has it been since this was changed?”

He shrugged. “Five, six days, something like that.”

“Didn’t they tell you how important it was to keep the wound clean? If it gets infected, you could lose your leg.”

He sighed. “I am well aware of that. I’ve seen piles of legs and arms lying outside of hospital tents at a friendly battleground called Shiloh.”

They all gasped. “We’ve heard about Shiloh,” Carolyn said with an air of sad respect.

“Nevertheless, why haven’t you kept treating this wound?” Clarissa asked.

“Look, Mrs.—Graham, did you say?”

“Yes.”

“You’re the one who insisted I come here. Don’t be scolding me for not changing this thing. I don’t have a friend or relative to my name, so there’s no one to care whether I lose a leg or not. I was told at the hospital that they’d done all they could do and that it should be all right, so what more could I do? I’ve been traveling through the camps outside of town talking to families who’ve lost their homes because of this senseless war and I haven’t had time to tend to the leg. I haven’t even had a bath or a shave for days. Just clean it up if you must and I’ll be on my way.”

His abruptness made Clarissa bristle. “I don’t know of one person, man or woman, who wouldn’t do everything they possibly could to keep from losing a limb, so don’t try to tell me you don’t care. Whatever you’re angry about, you needn’t take it out on me.” She began cutting off the bandages with scissors Michael handed her.

“Here’s some hot water,” Carolyn said, bringing over a pan of water. “Michael, did you get those towels?”

“Right now, dear.” Michael hurried into a back room and emerged seconds later with several towels and washrags.

“I’ll get some clean bandages,” Carolyn told Clarissa.

Clarissa glanced at Sophie and Lena. “You girls had better go and play.”

Sophie’s eyes were teared. “Did I make it bleed?” she asked.

Clarissa glanced at Dawson, remembering his deal—she was not to blame Sophie for any of this. He gave her a warning look, and Clarissa turned to Sophie. “No, Sophie. His leg was already wounded from the war. This is not your fault. Now run and play.”

“Can I give him a hug?”

Clarissa had to smile, then. “After I fix his leg, okay?”

“Okay.” Sophie grabbed Lena’s hand and the two girls ran up the narrow, enclosed stairway to Lena’s room upstairs, closing the stairwell door behind them.

For the next few moments no one spoke as Clarissa peeled off the bandages. She could see Dawson’s calf muscle tighten and knew the leg was hurting him, but he made no sound. “Set a bucket under his leg, Michael, will you? I have to wash this off and water and blood will drip.”

“Sure thing,” Michael answered, hurrying to the kitchen.

Clarissa looked up at Dawson. “Bullet wound?” she asked.

“Shrapnel.”

Michael returned with a bucket, and Clarissa began washing the blood off Dawson’s leg. “You said you’re retired from the army?”

“My time was up just a few days after I was wounded, during Grant’s campaign to free up the Mississippi to Union control. After sixteen years of fighting Indians and then seeing the horrific things I’ve seen in this war, I decided not to re-up. I’m doubting that decision, since the army is all I’ve ever known since I was thirteen years old.”

“Thirteen!” Michael had drawn up a chair beside Clarissa to see if there was anything he could do to help. Carolyn sat down across the table from them. “You’ve been in the army since you were thirteen years old?”

Dawson grinned, then suddenly winced and grunted when Clarissa got close to the still-festered wound. “They thought I was sixteen.”

Michael chuckled. “Well, considering your size, I can understand that.”

“I’m going to have to douse this with whiskey, Mr. Clements,” Clarissa told him.

“So be it.”

Clarissa uncorked the small bottle Carolyn handed to her and took a deep breath before splashing some into the wound. Dawson grunted and jerked his leg, then cursed.

“I’ll not have such language in my house, Mr. Clements, although I can understand why you want to use it,” Michael told him. “This is a Christian home.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Harvey.” He grunted again with another douse of whiskey. “But maybe if I’d been allowed to drink some of that liquor before Mrs. Graham here poured it on my wound, I wouldn’t have felt it quite so much.”

“We don’t allow drinking in our home, either,” Carolyn told him.

“Well, then, by the time this nice lady is through cleaning up this wound, I’ll have to be leaving,” Dawson answered. “Right now a good, stiff drink sounds pretty good.”

Clarissa inspected the wound. “You’re lucky, Mr. Clements. It’s slightly festered, but if you keep whiskey on it and keep the bandages changed, I don’t think it will be that bad. We have caught this in time to keep it from getting worse.” She looked up at him. “I’ll wrap it for you and give you clean bandages to take with you. Please promise me that you will change them at least every other day, and that you’ll pour whiskey on the wound as often. Just buy extra when you’re sitting in a saloon drinking,” she added in a tone of chastisement.

Dawson actually chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Their gazes held, and again Clarissa was struck by the handsome man she could see behind the scrubby beard and long hair. For one quick moment she thought he might have read her thoughts, and she quickly looked away and began wrapping fresh bandages around his leg. “So, what will you do now, Mr. Clements?” she asked, anxious to get a conversation going again. “You said something about visiting the camps of the homeless.”

“I was thinking about heading back out west,” he answered. “I served in the west most of my army years. It’s beautiful country. Figured maybe I could make a little money by guiding some of those displaced folks who’ve decided to also head west under the Homestead Act. The West and Indians are things I’m familiar with, so I figure I could do a pretty good job of it. Once I get there, I’ll probably look for gold. Or maybe I can work for one of the mines as a guard or something.”

“We’re headed west, too!” Michael told him. “Me and the wife and Clarissa here.”

“That so? You’ve no husband, Mrs. Graham?”

Clarissa glanced at Carolyn before answering. “No,” she said, adding no explanation.

“Killed in the war?”

Clarissa wrapped his leg quietly for a few seconds. “No,” she said again. “Nothing quite that honorable, Mr. Clements. And I don’t wish to talk further about it with a stranger.”

The room hung silent for several awkward seconds. “Fine with me,” Dawson finally answered. “Mind if I ask if you work at City Hospital? I don’t remember seeing you there.”

“I did work there, but I…I quit in order to get ready for our trip west,” she lied. How could she tell him she was fired because she was a divorced woman? “We’ll be leaving in a month or less. In fact, I just today received my very own deed to one-hundred-sixty acres in Montana.” She tied off the gauze and looked up at him, putting on a brighter look. “That’s why I was coming from the courthouse when this accident happened.”

“I see.” Dawson leaned over and checked out the dressing. “Nice job. I’m sure your services would be needed more than once on a trip west. All kinds of things can happen. Men who seldom use guns end up buying them and then shooting themselves in the foot. People get sick, a lot of them die. There’s snakebites, bad food, sometimes bad water, Indian attacks, women having babies, kids getting hurt, toothaches, blistered feet, sunburn, you name it—it will happen on a trip west, mark my word. I hope you folks are truly prepared for what you’re about to do.”

“We’re ready,” Carolyn answered. “This is a dream for us. My husband has lost his job and we’re about to lose this house, too. Thank goodness we had a fine piano and some good horses to sell, as well as some genuine silverware my grandmother gave me and a real fine buggy. And all our furniture was paid for, so we’re selling that, too. And the parishioners from my husband’s church actually collected some money and gave it to us. That was so kind of them.”

Clarissa was surprised at the sudden scowl on Dawson Clements’s face at the mention of church. He looked at Michael.

“You’re a preacher?”

“Yes, I am. Started my own church a few months ago. We meet right here at the house. I intend to start another parish when we reach Montana.”

Dawson looked him over with an odd air of mistrust. He straightened then and put his leg down, pulling down his pant leg.

“Do you have something against preachers, Mr. Clements?” Clarissa asked.

“You might say so,” he answered, still looking down. He finally looked at Michael. “Just those who don’t really practice what they preach. I suspect you do, so take no offense, Mr. Harvey. I just don’t have much use for preachers or God or any of those things. Neither one ever did me any good.”

Carolyn actually gasped. “Mr. Clements! You’re coming close to blasphemy!”

He waved her off. “Sorry I mentioned it. And I don’t know any of you well enough to go into all the reasons, nor do we have the time. I will take myself off your hands now, and I do thank you for your hospitality.” Dawson picked up his hat from the kitchen table and put it back on, nodding to all of them. “Good luck on your trip. Maybe we’ll meet along the way, or you can ask around about me if you’re wanting a good guide for your journey. I’ll be at Independence in about two weeks. I won’t be able to leave for another couple of weeks after that. The ground would be too soft and the rivers too high. At any rate, look me up if you’ve a mind to.” He turned to Michael. “Unless you don’t want a heathen leading you west,” he finished with a wink and a hint of a smile.

Michael put out his hand, and Clarissa noticed he held on to Dawson Clements’s hand extra long as he replied. “Something tells me you’re no heathen at all, Mr. Clements. In the meantime, I will pray for your safe journey, and for your soul. Christ will find his way back into your life somehow.”

Dawson pulled his hand away, looking very uncomfortable at the remark. “Save your prayers for those who deserve them, Mr. Harvey.” He turned to Clarissa, looking her over in a way that told her he appreciated her figure. “Thank you for your good nursing skills, ma’am. I have business to tend to, so I’ll be going.”

Clarissa folded her arms. “You should stay and rest a while, Mr. Clements.”

“You know what they say—no rest for the wicked, or something like that.”

Clarissa grabbed a roll of bandages. “At least take this with you, and keep your promise to put clean bandages on that leg, or I won’t sleep at night for worrying about it. I gather that wherever you go you’ll have plenty of whiskey on hand.”

This time he laughed out loud, taking the bandages. It was a nice, deep laugh, and his teeth were white and straight. He had a nice mouth. “Yes, ma’am, you’re right about that.”

In spite of his smile, Clarissa still saw a deep sadness somewhere behind those blue eyes. “You promised Sophie a hug before you left, Mr. Clements.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess I did. Well, tell her to come down here.”

He limped toward the door as Clarissa called for Sophie. The little girl came down the stairs as fast as a three-year-old could make the steps. She ran up to him with her arms open, and Dawson leaned over. “Honey, I can’t kneel down to you. My leg hurts too much.”

Sophie reached up, and Dawson lifted her, giving her a hug. She kissed his cheek. “Will you come back?”

“No, little lady. Your mother fixed me all up.”

“She’s a noose!”

“I know. And I think she’s a very good nurse.” Dawson set her down.

“Bye!” she said, giving him a smile that would melt any heart.

“Goodbye, Sophie. And you remember that what happened was just an accident and wasn’t your fault.”

“Okay.” Sophie turned to Lena and the two girls giggled.

Dawson tipped his hat to Clarissa. “Thanks again, ma’am.” He eyed Michael and Carolyn. “And to both of you for opening your home to me. I’m sorry if I offended you with my remarks about preachers and all that.”

“God be with you, Mr. Clements,” Michael answered. “You will be in our prayers, whether you like it or not.”

Dawson sobered. “If you want to waste your time on me, that’s your decision.” He turned and left, and Clarissa walked to the door to watch him gingerly mount his black gelding. He hesitated a moment, probably waiting for the pain in his leg to subside, then rode off.

“What a strange man,” Clarissa commented.

“Indeed,” Michael added.

“And quite handsome, too, don’t you think?” Carolyn teased.

Michael chuckled. “Not exactly the God-fearing kind,” he said, shaking his head.

“No.” Clarissa still watched him as he disappeared around a corner. “Why do I feel like what happened today is some kind of—I don’t know—like it was meant to happen?”

“God works in strange ways, His miracles to perform,” Carolyn answered. “Maybe Michael planted a seed today that will grow in that man’s heart.”

And maybe it’s more than that, Clarissa mused. She quickly chastised herself for the silly thought and turned away from the door. “I have my deed!” she said then with a smile. “And we have a lot of shopping and packing to do, so let’s get at it!” She called the girls from the kitchen, fighting the secret thought that if they could get to Independence within ten days, perhaps they could travel with Dawson Clements after all.

The Lord will protect you from all danger;

He will keep you safe.

He will protect you as you come and go,

Now and forever.

—Psalms 121:7-8

Chapter Five

April 30, 1863

The congregation of people from all walks of life at Independence was far bigger than Clarissa expected. Ages ranged from the very old to the very young and everything in between. The combination of free land and wanting to get away from the war was all these people needed to spur them on.

The atmosphere was both exciting and intimidating. Children, chickens and dogs ran everywhere, and in the distance livestock grazed. As she and Carolyn and Michael walked among the host of wagons, oxen, horses and people, they noticed with great relief that most travelers were families. Still, a few men were camped here without families, some in groups, some by themselves. Several looked questionable in nature, and last night an ugly fistfight had taken place, spawned by an argument over the war and who was right or wrong. One man actually pulled a gun, but another had knocked it out of his hand.

Clarissa had not given thought to danger from the travelers themselves. Indians and the elements were enough to worry about. Because of the confusion that abounded, and the mix of people gathered here, she kept Sophie close, afraid she’d never find her if the child ran off. “I’m so glad I’m going with you and Michael,” she told Carolyn. The three of them, and their daughters, walked among those gathered here, learning all they could about who was leaving when and who would guide them. “I don’t think I’d have the courage to do this alone.”

“Yes, you would. You’re a brave woman for even going with us,” Michael assured her, “with no husband and no guarantee of what you will do when you reach Montana.”

“I’ll help you build a ranch. That will keep me plenty busy for quite some time,” Clarissa answered with a smile. She noticed that some wagons carried pianos, grandfather clocks, fine furniture and the like, and she had to wonder if they would make it through the mountains with such huge loads. Word was, it was foolish to cart such things along.

“I didn’t think we’d find all this chaos,” Carolyn commented. “Most of these people don’t seem to know quite what they’re doing.”

“Maybe we should look up Dawson Clements,” Michael suggested. “He seems like a man who’d know what he was about when it comes to traveling west, since he’s done so before and served out there with the army.”

“He’s terribly rough around the edges,” Clarissa commented. “And I’m not so sure he’d want a preacher along.”

“That’s not his decision,” Michael answered. “I am sure the families headed west would appreciate having a preacher along, and most likely find need of one, with all the calamities that can take place. That was quite a list of possible troubles Mr. Clements rattled off to us a couple of weeks ago.”

“I have a feeling he’s a man who looks for the worst side of everything,” Clarissa answered.

“You’ve been thinking about him, haven’t you?” Carolyn said with a sly grin.

Clarissa shrugged. “Some, mostly because he seemed like such a lonely, troubled man.”

“That he did,” Michael added. “I’ve been praying for him.”

Their conversation was interrupted when they heard someone crying loudly, as though in pain. Clarissa gasped with horror when to her left she saw a man beating a young boy of perhaps ten years old with a belt at the rear of a wagon.

“I’ll teach you to obey what I tell you!” the man roared.

The boy cringed and wept, covering his head with his hands and begging the man to stop.

Clarissa picked up Sophie and turned away so the child could not see the brutality. People stood around staring, all hesitant to interfere with a family matter; and the man doing the beating looked big and strong and furious.

“I’ll stop him!” Michael declared, taking off his hat. Before he could make a move, a large man wearing a blue greatcoat and riding a black horse charged past them so fast that he raised a cloud of dust. His dangerous speed caused Clarissa to turn and look as the man dismounted before his horse even came to a stop. He landed into the father and ripped the belt out of his hand.

“Try picking on someone your own size,” the man fumed.

Women screamed, and more people gathered and cheered him on as the stranger began using the belt on the father, whacking him several times while the boy moved away to cringe beside his mother, who’d been wringing her hands and watching the beating, obviously afraid to try to stop it.

“How does that feel?” the man who’d interrupted the beating raged.

“It’s Dawson Clements!” Clarissa exclaimed, recognizing the horse and the greatcoat first, then managing to get a look at his face.

The father cowered, putting up his hands. “What I do with my son is my own business!”

Dawson tossed the belt aside. “It’s my business now!” He landed a fist into the father, and the man flew backward against his wagon. Then the father charged Dawson, managing to punch him in the face. Dawson returned the blow with several of his own, appearing to become almost out of control. Finally the mother screamed for someone to stop him.

“He’s killing my husband!” she wailed.

Michael and several other men moved in and grabbed Dawson away while the man he’d beaten slumped to the ground beside a wagon wheel. It took five men to gain control of Dawson, who finally shook them off and told them to leave him alone. The man’s wife ran to her husband, and the young boy stood there crying and looking at Dawson.

“Now he’ll beat me worse because of what you did,” he sobbed.

“No, he won’t,” Dawson vowed. “Because if he does, I’ll be back! I’ll lay welts on him that will never heal!” He brushed himself off and bent down to pick up his hat, which had been knocked off in the skirmish. He plunked it on his head and turned. It was then he recognized Michael. He looked at the man strangely, then scanned the crowd to see Clarissa standing there with Sophie in her arms.

Still breathing heavily, he limped toward them. Clarissa noticed his knuckles were bloody, and there was a cut on his left cheek. A bruise was quickly forming around it.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he told Clarissa. “And you, ma’am,” he added, looking at Carolyn.

Clarissa could still see the rage in his blue eyes, lurking there behind those dark clouds. “You did what you felt you had to do,” Carolyn told him.

Clarissa looked away, not sure what to say or what to think of him now that she’d seen the violent side of the man.

“Hi, Mistoo Clement,” Sophie spoke up. She seemed not at all intimidated by Dawson’s bloody, disheveled look. “You got a owie,” she added, pointing to his cheek.

Dawson’s whole countenance changed when he addressed the little girl. “Hello, Sophie,” he told her.

“Do you still got a owie on you leg?” she asked.

Dawson removed his hat and smoothed back his hair, which was still extremely thick and wavy even though he’d obviously had it trimmed. His face was clean shaven, and even more handsome, with a square jaw and deep-set eyes. He replaced the hat, glancing at Carolyn. “The leg is much better. It still pains me now and then, but I never got an infection, and the wound has closed. I expect I have you to thank for that, Mrs. Graham.”

Why did this man have a way of somehow moving her deeply? “I’m glad I was able to help.”

“You nearly killed that man, you know,” Michael told him.

“Maybe I should have. The boy and his mother would probably be better off.”

“‘Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.’”

Dawson rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, maybe the Lord uses some of us to wreak that vengeance,” he answered. “I happen to have a short fuse when it comes to treating a helpless child like that.”

“Quite obvious,” Michael answered with raised eyebrows.

Dawson nodded to the women, then brushed past them to get his horse. He mounted up and rode closer, pointing to a huge oak tree on a hill in the distance. “See that tree?”

Clarissa shaded her eyes. “Yes.”

“That’s where I’m camped,” he told them. “I have rounded up about eight families heading for Montana. I wasn’t going to take on any more than that, since it might be too much to handle, but you three and the little girls are welcome to join us if you’re still looking for a guide. We’re hoping to head out in five or six days, unless we get a lot of rain. Come on over tonight and camp with us if you like. That will give you a chance to get to know some of the others and make up your mind if you want to travel with us.”

“Is there a preacher among your group?” Michael asked.

Dawson scowled. “No. I suppose you think they need one?”

“Of course they do,” Michael answered, giving Dawson a smile and a wink. “I imagine they’d appreciate having one along. They are Christian people, aren’t they?”

“I suppose. I didn’t bother asking,” Dawson answered, obviously irritated by the question.

“Well, then we’ll come by and get acquainted,” Michael told him.

“Suit yourself. Just don’t expect me to be part of any praying or preaching.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking you,” Michael answered with a teasing note to the words.

Dawson nodded. “Good.” He glanced at Clarissa. “See you later then.” He turned his horse and rode away, and some of those who’d watched the fight stared after him.

“Did you see what he did?” someone commented.

“A very violent man,” said another.

Michael turned to Carolyn and Clarissa. “What do you two think? Should we join his group?”

“I think we should do whatever you feel is right, Michael,” Clarissa answered. “After all, I’m more or less the tagalong on this venture. You’re the one who should make the major decisions.” She was not about to admit that the thought of traveling with Dawson Clements filled her with a strange, pleasant excitement, mixed with apprehension. She realized that ever since the day she’d nursed his leg, she’d been hoping they might run into him again. Still, after what they’d just witnessed…

“Well, I say we give it a try,” Michael said. “I’m thinking the Lord wants us to go just because Dawson Clements is the guide. I have a feeling God means for me to do something to help that man, much as he’d resent it. There is something about him that strikes the heart.”

Yes, there is, Clarissa thought. She liked the fact that there was nothing fake or pretentious about the man. Clements didn’t try to pour on the charm like Chad would do. He had an air of honesty and no nonsense about him. Dawson seemed to be a man who meant what he said and very likely a man who did not break promises or lie to get what he wanted. He was nothing like Chad, and perhaps that was what she liked most about him.

Chapter Six

May 1, 1863

Clarissa switched her lead oxen and shouted, “Giddap!” She’d practiced driving the four-oxen team for the past two weeks and felt confident she could handle them. The man who’d sold the animals to Michael told him that by the time they reached their destination, they would be very attached to the poor beasts that would haul them and their belongings all the way to Montana.

Already Clarissa could tell the man was right about getting attached. She’d already named the four that pulled her wagon, Moo, Bee, Sadie and Jack. Buck and Betsy were tied to the back of her wagon for spares, so the animals could be rotated to avoid too much work for any one of them. She already knew each ox by its distinctive markings. Michael thought she was silly to name them, but for some reason that made it easier for her to handle them. She just hoped she had the strength to keep up with them and to help hitch and unhitch them every day.

She hated the fact that Michael usually had to help, especially yoking them whenever the oxen would not properly hold still. She had no doubt that by the time she reached Montana, she might be built like a man for all her hard work.

They headed toward Dawson’s camp at the big oak tree in the distance. Michael and Carolyn took two wagons—Michael’s pulled by six oxen because of an extraheavy load of farm tools and books, including a supply of Bibles and hymnals, donated by others for his new church.

Carolyn’s wagon carried lighter household necessities, and Lena and Sophie rode together in it, bouncing around atop a pile of quilts and having a joyous time. Clarissa thought how oblivious the girls were to the difficulties that surely lay ahead. She prayed things would remain that way—that nothing would happen to either child and they wouldn’t end up stranded and starving to death.

The latter seemed unlikely, as they had packed plenty of food. Distributed among all three wagons was dried beef, rice, tea, spices, dried fruit, beans, baking soda, flour, sugar, baking powder, canned pickles, bacon, potatoes, sweet potatoes, large tubs filled with plenty of lard for packing fresh meat to preserve it, salt, coffee, wheat, oats, cornmeal. She kept reviewing the list in her mind, worried they’d missed something.

They also carried a tin washtub, two washboards, lye soap, three coffee kettles, tinware, several fry pans, cooking utensils, trunks of clothes, plenty of blankets, quilts, pillows, heavy boots and warm coats. Michael had even thought to buy each of them capes made of India rubber, something new that worked well against rain.

A milk cow, which Lena and Sophie had named Trudy, was tied to one side of Carolyn’s wagon, and it balked at leaving. The rope grew taut and stretched the cow’s head and neck until the animal had no choice but to join the procession, and her calf trotted beside her. A slatted crate was secured to the side of Clarissa’s wagon with rope, and inside the crate were three chickens that she hoped would continue laying eggs. A rooster sat on top of her wagon, occasionally flapping its wings and crowing, as though king of the wagon train.

Her wagon even carried a crate that contained something that had belonged to her mother—beautiful china from Germany, carefully packed in straw. It was all she had left of the mother she’d lost so long ago, and of the life she’d known in St. Louis.

She could not take her heart or trust with her. Chad had stolen both. It still hurt deeply to think about it, but it was done now, and she doubted she could ever love or trust a man again, let alone ever find it in her heart to forgive.

They guided the three wagons through rows of others still gathered outside of Independence, and after several minutes they came closer to the big oak, where Clarissa quickly counted ten wagons circled around it. Children ran and played, and women cooked in big pots over fires.

Families. That was good. Having other women and children along would make this trip so much easier. The families from Michael’s church who’d originally wanted to come with them had decided against the trip. One of the men had been drafted into the Union Army under the new draft law. Another decided to stay behind to help care for that man’s family, and the mother in the third family found out she was expecting. They worried the trip would cause her to lose her baby.

And so it was just Michael and Carolyn, the girls and Clarissa. Clarissa breathed deeply for courage. She hated lying, but after discussing the issue of her divorce, the three adults had decided to tell others that Clarissa’s husband had been killed in the war. That would avoid problems that might arise with some of the women knowing she was divorced.

It still irked Clarissa that she should be ill-treated just because her husband had cheated on her. Chad was the coward and the adulterer, yet some people treated her as though she was somehow tainted now. It hurt deeply to be treated so. Deep inside she’d reconciled herself to her fate and had decided to be proud and strong and do a good job of raising Sophie on her own. After much prayer and long talks with Michael, she’d come to realize that God surely held nothing against her for the divorce. She’d been a good and faithful wife and mother. She would not allow Chad’s foolish decisions to wreck her own faith.

The decision to go with Dawson Clements as their guide had not been easy. The man was certainly a contrast of character and emotions, saving a child one minute, beating a man near to death the next. He obviously had a goodness somewhere deep inside, but he certainly hated showing it. And as much as the man protested talk about God and prayer and professed to have no use for preachers, Clarissa suspected he longed to know Christ, to understand his own bitterness and perhaps find a way to forgive whoever it was who’d brought him to such an attitude.

Because of Dawson’s experience with the army and Indians and the way west, and the fact that he had a commanding way about him that could mean a well-organized wagon train, they’d decided to join him.

When they drew closer to the other wagons, Dawson himself walked out to greet Michael wearing simple denim pants and a plaid shirt with knee-high boots. A gun was strapped to his side, and he still wore the wide-brimmed, black hat.

Clarissa watched him greet Michael with a handshake. Good. At least the man was accepting Michael even though he was a preacher. Dawson’s attitude toward men of God was strange indeed, and Clarissa wished she knew why.

The men talked for a moment, then Michael nodded to Dawson and called out to the women to follow him to a grassy spot ahead. Clarissa followed, and Dawson stood and waited for her wagon to get closer. He walked up then and grasped the halter of one of the lead oxen, shouting, “Whoa, there! Whoa!” Once the animals stopped, he turned to Clarissa.

“You have no help driving these oxen?” he asked.

“I’ll do just fine on my own, Mr. Clements,” she answered defensively. “Michael has taught me well.”

“It can get pretty tiring, ma’am, and sometimes these beasts get ornery and decide not to obey.”

“I’ll handle them.” It irritated her that he should question her ability.

“What if you get sick or break a bone or something? Who’s going to drive your wagon?”

Frowning, Clarissa folded her arms in front of her, a switch still in her hand. “Why do you care, Mr. Clements?”

He pushed back his hat, and Clarissa noticed a lingering bruise on his cheek. He was clean shaven again, and his dark hair brushed his shirt collar. It literally angered her to notice how good-looking he was, which made her feel even more defensive.

“Mrs. Graham, I got this wagon train together, and I intend to see that everyone arrives safely in Montana. Now for the sake of practicality, I need to know you’ll have a backup for the days you can’t drive these oxen, and believe me, there will be such days.”

“I can see you haven’t changed when it comes to always looking at the worst of things, Mr. Clements. Tell me, do you ever wake up joyful, and simply grateful for the new day? Have you ever thought about simply trusting God to see you through things?”

He closed his eyes and let out an obviously disparaging sigh. “Mrs. Graham, we haven’t even left yet and already you’re presenting a problem.”

“A problem?”

He put his hands on his hips and leaned closer. “Yes. I’ll be giving orders on this trip, and I expect them to be followed. Now, I was not trying to insult your ability to lead these oxen. I was simply pointing out a fact. The time will come when you’ll need help with these oxen, so I’ll talk to these families here. A couple of them have older teenage boys who could probably relieve you if necessary.”

“I can’t afford—”

“They wouldn’t expect to be paid. We’re all here to help each other out and make sure we all get through this trip without too many mishaps, ma’am. And if the day comes that I tell you someone else is driving your oxen, I expect you to cooperate. Is that understood?”

Ever since Chad left her, Clarissa had grown proud of her ability to fend for herself, proud enough that she resented any man’s help. She’d show men that she didn’t need a man to take care of herself.

“Understood,” she answered, holding her chin high. “But only because I faint at the thought of getting on your bad side—that’s assuming, of course, that you have a good side.”

He looked her over in a way that made her blush, then grinned. “I do have a good side, ma’am. It pops out every once in a while.” He nodded and tipped his hat, then turned away, calling to her as he walked back to the circle of wagons. “Meet us inside the circle in an hour,” he yelled, not turning back around. “Big meeting.”

Yes, sir, she answered silently. An army man. She should have known that having been an officer, he was accustomed to giving orders. With a man like Dawson Clements in charge, this was going to be a very interesting trip.