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High Plains Bride
Valerie Hansen
Emmeline Carter was prepared for danger on the new frontier. But she didn't foresee the tornado that tore their wagon train apart.Now her father is dead, her mother and sister are injured and their twin wards are missing. There's nowhere to turn but the fledgling Kansas settlement of High Plains. Town founder Will Logan steps in to search for the twins and house the Carters…for now. He's not cut out for family life long-term. But Emmeline's got her own ideas, and when this high plains bride chooses her groom, nothing will get in her way!



“We will not accept charity.”
“I need a good cook, and it would give you a roof over your head. Please? You’ll be doing me a great favor.” Will waited until Emmeline finally nodded.
“All right. Hopefully, it will just be for a few days. I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Logan.”
“You can begin by calling me Will,” he suggested.
“If I am to be in your employ, I should not be so familiar.”
Will could tell she had slipped into a subservient position and he didn’t like that. In a way Emmeline was behaving wisely. If she remained in High Plains, keeping her good name would be crucial to finding a husband and making a new life for herself.
That thought hit Will like a punch in the stomach. Most young women chose to marry and raise families.
It was the idea of Emmeline Carter as a bride that stuck in his craw.

VALERIE HANSEN
was thirty when she awoke to the presence of the Lord in her life and turned to Jesus. In the years that followed she worked with young children, both in church and secular environments. She also raised a family of her own and played foster mother to a wide assortment of furred and feathered critters.
Married to her high school sweetheart since age seventeen, she now lives in an old farmhouse she and her husband renovated with their own hands. She loves to hike the wooded hills behind the house and reflect on the marvelous turn her life has taken. Not only is she privileged to reside among the loving, accepting folks in the breathtakingly beautiful Ozark Mountains of Arkansas, she also gets to share her personal faith by telling the stories of her heart for all of Steeple Hill’s Love Inspired lines.
Life doesn’t get much better than that!

High Plains Bride
Valerie Hansen

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Many are the plans in a man’s heart,
but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.
—Proverbs 19:21
Special thanks to the two other authors who
participated with me in the series
After the Storm: The Founding Years,
Renee Ryan and Victoria Bylin
Getting to know both these talented writers
as we’ve worked and plotted together
has been a real blessing.
Special thanks and acknowledgment to
Valerie Hansen for her contribution to the
After the Storm: The Founding Years miniseries.

Contents
Prologue
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
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion

Prologue
Kansas Territory
1858
The two solitary riders felt the brunt of the wintry wind at their backs as they urged their weary mounts toward the closest high point in the flint hills. Both men were wrapped in buffalo robes they’d obtained from the Plains Indians they’d encountered near the abandoned Kansa Mission School at Council Grove.
Will Logan, in the lead, was glad they’d brought enough baubles with them to successfully trade for the thick, hairy robes. Though the hides weren’t the sweetest-smelling things he’d ever encountered, without their protection he and his friend would literally be freezing.
He pulled his broad-brimmed, felt hat lower and bent forward in the saddle, bracing against the force of the prairie gale and wishing mightily that he’d had the foresight to grow a beard and let his thick, dark blond hair reach his shoulders instead of keeping it so neatly trimmed.
His fingers were half-numb inside his leather gloves as he tugged on the rope fastened to their pack mule’s harness, urging the stubborn animal to keep pace. Although it plodded along in begrudging compliance, the rangy mule laid its ears back, snorted and blew clouds of condensation from its nostrils, clearly not agreeing that the small party was behaving sensibly by leaving the known route and pressing on into uncharted territory.
“Just a few hundred yards more,” Will shouted to his human companion.
Zeb Garrison kicked his bay gelding and pulled up beside Will’s sorrel. “So you say. I should have known better than to follow you out here in December. We’re both likely to freeze to death. And the horses, too.”
Will laughed in spite of the icy needles of frost pricking his cheeks and nose. “You got soft working in Boston,” he taunted. “This change will be good for both of us. You’ll see. And by getting an early start, we’re far enough ahead of other settlers to lay claim to the choicest plots of land in this neck of the woods.”
“Assuming we live long enough to enjoy them,” Zeb countered. “If the weather doesn’t kill us, those Indians we keep seeing in the distance might. I still say they’re tracking us. Probably want their buffalo hides back.”
“Nonsense. We bought them fair and square.”
With one final lunge, the horses gained the high ground. Will’s pale blue eyes widened, and he shaded them with his hand on his brow, sighing deeply. Below lay total vindication, as lush a valley as he’d ever hoped for and the wide, meandering river that completed their list of necessities. Too bad his doubting father was not here to see what he’d found.
Rising in his stirrups, Will turned to his lifelong friend, pointed and grinned. “There. See? I told you we’d find the perfect place for your mill and my ranch. I can picture it already. The town will go down there, thanks to the generosity of the New England Emigrant Aid Company, and I can use my stake from them to bring in longhorns to graze these hills. Eating switchgrass and big and little bluestem the likes of what grows here in summer will fatten up those critters real fast. They’ll be ready for market in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
Zeb’s nod was barely perceptible beneath the bulky buffalo robe, but he did agree. “Maybe you’re right. It does look promising. I think I even see a small waterfall upstream that I can use for power. Still…”
Will wasn’t about to take no for an answer. He’d prayed continually for the good Lord’s guidance and knew without question that this was his personal promised land.
He passed the mule’s lead rope to Zeb, then gave his horse its head and let the animal choose the best route of descent from the wide mesa to the river valley below. Will was so exuberant he paid no heed as the animal’s shod hooves loosened bits of shale and ice that skittered down ahead of them like a miniature avalanche. This was his Eden. He knew it with all his heart and soul.
He had already dismounted on a flat rise of land near the frigid but swiftly flowing river when his friend reined in and joined him.
“Here!” Will shouted excitedly. He spread his arms wide as he spoke, ignoring the buffalo robe slipping off the shoulders of his coat and falling onto the shallow accumulation of snow. “The main street will go across here, abreast of the river, and your mill can be upstream so you can either freight the lumber to town or float it if the water’s high enough. It’s perfect.” His grin widened. “Come on. Admit it. I was right.”
Zeb dismounted, ground-hitched his horse and tied off the mule’s lead rope to a sturdy cottonwood tree. “All right. I’ll go along this time. Just remember, this whole trip was my idea to begin with.”
Laughing, Will shook his head. “Sure, boss me around the way you did when we were boys. You may have money of your own but I had the brains and foresight to convince others to finance me.” He ducked as Zeb feinted a punch to his shoulder. “Grab the hammer and some stakes. We’re home. We’ll call it High Plains.”
He sobered as they paced off the land and then drove the final stake to mark their claim. Removing his hat despite the icy wind that ruffled his hair, he dropped to his knees atop the thick buffalo hide and bowed his head. Zeb did the same.
“Lord, we thank You for bringing us to this place and we dedicate this portion of High Plains, Kansas Territory, to You,” Will prayed aloud. “Keep us mindful of Your plan and continue to guide our paths.”
Zeb echoed his “Amen” and the two young pioneers rose. “Merry Christmas,” he told Will, frowning. “I sure hope you’re right about this being the right place.”
“It is,” his smiling friend assured him. “And a very Merry Christmas to you, too.”

Chapter One
High Plains, Kansas Territory
June 1860
The farther west their wagon train proceeded, the more Emmeline Carter missed her former home in central Missouri. The political climate back there had been in constant upheaval, especially since the hanging of the abolitionist John Brown in Virginia a scant six months before. Still, it was the only home she’d ever known, and life on the trail had her missing that sense of security.
Although there had been recent fighting amongst her former neighbors to the point of bloodshed, what was to say that life would be any better in Oregon? The fact that her taciturn father insisted so was not nearly enough to convince Emmeline.
So far, the journey by covered wagon had been trying but not altogether unpleasant. Word among the other women was that there would be many terrible trials to come during their months-long pilgrimage, but Emmeline was willing to wait and see rather than borrow trouble.
One of the worst naysayers had told Emmeline, just that morning, “You’ll soon see, my girl. There’ll be many a fresh grave along the trail before we reach our new homes. If cholera don’t get us, those horrid Indians will. I shudder to think what they’ll do to you and your pretty sisters, especially.”
“Then I shall pray earnestly that we don’t encounter hostiles,” Emmeline had replied, continuing to prepare the morning meal for her family while her sickly mother remained abed in the wagon, and her father, Amos, and brother, Johnny, tended to the oxen.
“Bess, Glory, fetch the twins,” she called, using that as an opportunity to cease listening to the dire predictions of the older woman whose wagon was parked next to theirs. “The biscuits are almost done.”
Emmeline knew that such rumors of catastrophe had to have some basis in fact. It had been frightening to leave home and hearth and start a journey into unfamiliar territory, especially since their already ample family of six now encompassed orphans Missy and Mikey, as well. Yet she was encouraged by the way everyone had helped gather firewood and dried buffalo chips for the fires and had taken turns caring for Mama when she was ill. Even little Glory had taken a turn. So had the eight-year-old twins.
If Mama had had her way she would have adopted their neighbors’ children outright after their parents both sickened and died so suddenly. It was only by divine providence that Papa had allowed her to bring them along in the hopes of eventually finding them a permanent home. Thankfully, they were small for their age and didn’t eat much. Keeping stocked with proper provisions to tide them over between supply stops was always a worry.
The responsibility of doing so had, of course, fallen to Emmeline, which was why she had walked from their camp to town after breakfast and was now getting ready to enter the prairie mercantile. This little town seemed peaceful enough, she mused. Perhaps the territories would be safer, less politically volatile, than her home state had been. As long as her father was around, however, a certain amount of trouble would keep dogging their path no matter where they went.
Emmeline felt like a mother hen as she shooed her brother and sisters and the orphan twins up the wooden steps and into the small store in her father’s wake. Since her mother, Joanna, had stayed in her bed in the covered wagon and sworn she could not manage to rise, Emmeline had had to once again assume charge of the children.
Fifteen-year-old Bess, four years her junior, was helpful in this kind of situation, of course, but Johnny, the next youngest, was worse than useless. She’d thought he was as bad as he could get at twelve. When he’d recently turned thirteen, however, she’d realized that his rowdy years were just beginning.
Since she’d had the foresight to braid her hair and fasten it at her nape, she pushed her slat bonnet back and let it hang by its ribbons to help cool her head and neck. The morning was already sultry to the point of being burdensome in more ways than one. It intensified the strong odors of leather and spices and salted meats inside the store till they nearly made her ill. Rivulets of perspiration pasted tiny wisps of loose hair to her temples.
And it’s only June, she thought, trying to keep her spirits up by sheer force of will.
“Bess, dear, you watch after the twins,” Emmeline ordered kindly. “Johnny, keep your hands to yourself. You know the rules. No penny candy.”
She hoisted five-year-old Glory, the youngest, on her hip and removed the child’s bonnet too. Together they wended their way past kegs of molasses, sacks of flour and other sundry supplies that were piled on the rough plank floor and stacked high on shelves that lined the walls all the way to the low ceiling. Various kitchen utensils and farm tools were suspended from the rough-hewn rafters, making the store seem even more overcrowded.
A man who was clad as a cowboy, dusty from his labors, turned to glance at her as she approached the counter to place the family’s order. Her father had already joined a group of men who were loudly discussing the conditions of the trail ahead of them and Emmeline knew that the mundane tasks had, as usual, been left to her.
The cowboy at the counter had already removed his broad-brimmed hat to show slicked-back, dark blond hair that curled slightly. His blue eyes seemed to twinkle as he nodded politely and wished her a “Good morning, ma’am,” without being formally introduced first.
Emmeline knew social mores were more relaxed on the trail, but her strict upbringing nevertheless caused her to hesitate before she replied with a terse “Good morning.” Seconds later, when he continued to speak, she realized that the man was assuming she was the mother of all these children! What an appalling notion.
“You have a lovely family,” he said, ruffling Johnny’s hair to distract him just as the boy was surreptitiously slipping his hand into a candy jar.
Emmeline, gritting her teeth, said merely, “Thank you,” and gave her brother a scathing look. Then she turned her attention to the pinch-faced, portly woman behind the counter. “How do you do. We haven’t been on the trail long, so we don’t require much, but I was told it was best to keep my larders stocked.”
“That, it is,” the proprietress said as if addressing a nitwit. She accepted the list Emmeline was holding, then leaned closer to speak more quietly. “You’re mighty young to have so many children. How did you manage it?” She briefly eyed Emmeline’s father. “Marry a man with a passel of ’em already?”
“No. That’s my father, Amos Carter, and these are my brother and sisters,” Emmeline explained, taking care to raise her voice enough to disabuse the cowboy of her supposed motherhood. “Except for the twins over there. We’re taking them to Oregon with us in the hopes of finding them good homes.”
“I might be interested myself if they was old enough or strong enough to be of use round the store,” the woman said. “How old are they?”
“Eight, but they’ve had a hard life so they’re small for their age.”
“I’ll say. Plum useless, if you ask me.”
Hoping that Missy and Mikey had not overheard the woman’s cutting remarks, Emmeline noted that Bess was teaching them to play checkers at a small table next to the unlit, barrel-shaped, wood stove. Happily, their attention to the checkerboard and the overall din of conversation within the small store had apparently rendered them oblivious to the woman’s unkindness.
The cowboy, however, was far from unaware. “Excuse me for saying so, Mrs. Johnson,” he drawled, barely smiling at the older woman, “but don’t you think it would be wiser to keep such untoward opinions to yourself?”
The proprietress huffed, “Well, I never,” and turned to go about her business, leaving Emmeline and the friendly stranger standing at the counter together.
“Thank you,” she said, meaning it sincerely. “The twins have had a difficult year since they lost their parents. They’re just now beginning to act like normal children again.”
“My pleasure, miss.” He bowed slightly. “The name’s Will Logan. I own a little spread south and west of here. The Circle-L. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”
“I’m sorry, no. I’m merely a traveler passing through. But I’m sure your ranch is lovely.”
He chuckled. “Well…I wouldn’t say that, exactly. Not yet, anyway. Give it time. I’ve only been in these parts for a little while, myself.” Gesturing at the store building, he added, “My friend and I founded High Plains just a year and a half ago. It’s his mill that’s been providing most of the lumber for the town, of late.”
“Even that magnificent church house we passed just east of here?”
“You can thank our town ladies and the New England Emigrant Aid Company for that,” Will admitted. “The door and windows were shipped from Boston and so was some of the finer wood for the interior. But the structure itself took shape right here in High Plains.”
“Then you should be very proud, Mr. Logan.”
Will grinned and shook his head. “I try hard not to be too highfalutin. Don’t want the good Lord to get mad ‘cause I took the credit for His work.”
“I’m sure that building the big church will satisfy Him,” Emmeline said, noting that her companion did not appear to agree. His smile faded and he seemed to be studying her.
Finally, he said, “I doubt that the Father, the creator of ‘many mansions’ is too impressed by any building man makes.” He replaced his hat and touched the brim politely. “Well, if you all will excuse me, I have to stop at the mill and then head back to my spread. I wish you and yours Godspeed, miss.”
Watching the broad-shouldered, appealing rancher turn and start toward the door, Emmeline was taken by how optimistic he had seemed in spite of the obvious hardships inherent in his line of work, not to mention starting from scratch and building an entire town in the space of just a few years. What an admirable man. His attitude served to make him quite attractive indeed.
She supposed she would need that kind of extraordinary fortitude—and more—to face the rest of her journey. She just hoped she was up to it. Taking charge of her siblings and the twins wasn’t new to her. It was being in unfamiliar territory that gave her pause. Still, as long as they were together, as a family, she supposed they’d manage to cope.
The idea of family caused her to glance over at her father and shiver in spite of the humidity and high temperature inside the stuffy mercantile. Papa might not be the meanest man in the world, but he had to be close to the top of the list.
Emmeline had spent most of her life trying to placate him and protect both her mother and her siblings from his unpredictable fits of temper. That was why she’d never marry or otherwise leave home. Papa had wasted his breath ordering her to stay until little Glory was raised. She wouldn’t have abandoned her sisters, her ill mother or even troublesome Johnny. Not under any circumstances.

The Garrison mill sat west of High Plains proper, a little past Zeb’s impressive, whitewashed, two-story house. Will found his old friend working on the cutting floor instead of sitting behind the desk in his small office.
“Morning,” Will called, having to shout to be heard over the sound of sawing.
Zeb grinned, waved a greeting and loped toward him. “What brings you to town?”
“Just needed a few things over at Johnson’s. And I want to order some two-by-six planks from you. I’m finally going to put a floor in the bunkhouse. There’s no hurry, though. I’ve got all summer to finish the job.”
“Good, because we’re running near capacity.”
“Even now? I thought the rush was over.”
Zeb wiped his brow with a handkerchief as he gestured downriver. “Nope. Guess some of those new settlers are tired of living in tents and wagons. They’re planning to build real houses and maybe a business or two. Good for them, I say—good for all of us.”
“Yeah, definitely. It’ll be nice to see the town continue to grow. I’m amazed it’s come this far in such a short time.”
“Hey,” Zeb drawled with a lazy grin, “you told me this was the perfect place to build. I’m just glad to see that so many others agree with you.”
“So am I. Start my order out with forty boards, as long as twelve feet if you’ve got ‘em. Once I’ve used those I’ll see what else I need.”
“Done. Where you headed now?”
“Home. I’ve got plenty to do. Those heifers are dropping more calves every day. See you Sunday?”
“Of course. Can’t miss church or Cassandra would have my hide.” He chuckled. “I think my sister wants an escort more than anything else so she can show off those new dresses and hats of hers. What better place than in church?”
“And it also might do your soul some good,” Will gibed.
“You just mind your own soul and I’ll look after mine,” Zeb shot back. He eyed the sky. “Take care riding home. The weather looks a bit changeable.”
“Will do. And you try to keep the sawdust out of your boots.”
“That’ll be the day.”
Will was still laughing at their parting exchange when he mounted up, gave his horse its head and let it start home without much guidance.
It was just as well that the sorrel was used to the trail, he mused, because he was preoccupied by thoughts of the pretty young woman he’d just met in Johnson’s mercantile. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty years of age, yet she’d had the sober bearing of a much older person, as if she were carrying the weight of the world on those slim shoulders.
“And little wonder,” he muttered, recalling the way she’d had to keep the children in line and handle the shopping while her father wasted time talking with other men. Will frowned as he thought of the derogatory references he’d overheard her father make about her as he’d passed the raucous group of men on his way out of the store. The old man was obviously cruel and vindictive. If he also drank to excess, as Will’s own father had, that poor young woman was trapped in an unspeakable home situation. And so were her siblings.
Racking his brain, Will tried to recall the girl’s name and failed to come up with anything except that her father was Amos Carter, her brother was Johnny and the orphans had similar names that each started with an M. She must not have mentioned her own name, he concluded, because he surely would have remembered. Everything else about her, from the deep blue eyes that matched the color of her dress to her dark, silky hair was crystal clear.
And speaking of dark things, he added, growing concerned as he glanced at the sky, it was starting to look as if Zeb’s weather prediction was right. The previously empty sky was beginning to cloud up and show signs of an impending storm. Will could see for miles once he topped the hills to the southwest and it was obvious that the weather was about to change for the worse.
Pausing, he looked back at the beautiful, placid river valley and the fledgling town he’d helped found. The church spire to the east and Zeb’s mill to the west framed a Main Street lined with half a dozen stores. Across Main, backed up against the river and parked beneath a grove of cottonwoods, sat the ragtag group of temporary tents, shacks and wagons that Zeb had mentioned.
Those shelters would offer little protection against the upcoming storm. Will could only hope that the settlers would find refuge somewhere safe. The frequently occurring severe storms on the open plains could be dangerous—even deadly. And it looked as if they were in for another deluge within the next few hours.
Spurring his horse, he headed for his ranch at a brisk canter. There wasn’t a lot he could do for the longhorns he had grazing on the open prairie on both sides of the river, but it was sensible to send a few hands, including himself, to try to prevent a stampede among the critters closest to his house and barn. He just hoped a herd of nervous buffalo didn’t decide to run over his corn plot or trample his corrals the way one had during a bad lightning storm last summer. This storm was coming in fast, and would probably hit hard, pushing the livestock into a frenzy.
He pressed onward, hoping and praying that his instincts were wrong, yet positive that they were not.
The wind had increased and the sky had darkened menacingly by the time he reined in between the main ranch house and the barn. Several of his hands were already mounted and had bridled an extra horse, apparently awaiting his return, while the rangy ranch dogs barked excitedly and circled the riders.
“Clint, you and Bob take the south ridge,” Will shouted. “I’ll ride more west, then circle back to you.” He gestured as he dismounted. “This looks like a bad one.”
“Yeah, boss,” the lanky cowhand replied. “It ain’t gonna be pretty, that’s a fact. You want a fresh mount?”
“Yes.” Will threw a stirrup over his saddle horn and began to loosen his cinch. “Where’s Hank?”
“Already forded the river to try to round up the stragglers over there.”
“Good man.”
Clint nodded and passed the reins of the extra horse to Will, then spurred his mount and headed south with his partner as instructed.
Left alone, Will switched his saddle to the fresh horse, turned his tired sorrel into a corral and mounted up. He’d thought about taking the time to close the storm shutters on the house but had decided he shouldn’t delay getting to the herd. A building could be replaced fairly easily and besides, Hank was no longer inside where he could be hurt if it collapsed. Should this weather spawn a tornado, as Will feared it might, the old ranch cook would be much safer riding the range with him and the others, anyway.
Spurring the new horse, he raced toward open country. “Thank the good Lord I don’t have a wife and family to look after, too,” he muttered prayerfully.
His mind immediately jumped to the settlers in town, and the ones in the wagon train—to the pretty young woman in charge of so many children. Surely her father, or whoever was leading their party, would be wise enough to tarry in High Plains until the weather improved.

Emmeline was walking beside the family’s slowly moving, ox-pulled wagon while her mother lay inside on a narrow tick filled with straw and covered by a quilt.
Ruts in the trail made the wagon’s wooden wheels and axles bind and squeal as they bounced in and out of the depressions and jarred everyone and everything. Pots rattled. Chickens hanging in handmade crates along the outside of the wagon panted, squawked and jockeyed for space and footing on the slatted floors of their wooden boxes. The team plodded along, slow but sure, barely working to move the heavy wagon on the fairly level terrain.
Glory had quickly tired of walking. Emmeline had carried her on one hip for a while, then put her inside with their mother, in spite of the ailing woman’s protests that she simply could not cope with even one of her offspring.
Hoping that her father couldn’t hear her softly speaking, Emmeline gripped the top of the rear tailboard to steady herself and whispered hoarsely, “Hush.” She raised her head and gestured toward the man walking beside the oxen and prodding them with a staff when they faltered. “You know you’ll make Papa mad again if you raise a fuss.”
She hated having to be so cautious all the time, but the alternative was a beating for anyone within the wiry, older man’s reach, and she felt bound to try to protect the others. She’d had to do that more and more frequently, of late.
The sky was so dark at the horizon it seemed almost black, with a ribbon of pale sky showing beneath, as if a table sat atop a thin strip of the heavens visible only nearest the ground. Emmeline had seen weather like this back in Missouri, although not often. If she had been at home she would have gathered her siblings and shooed them into the root cellar for safety. Here on the plains she had no such option, much to her chagrin.
She hiked her skirts slightly to facilitate faster movement. A dozen swift steps brought her even with Amos and she easily kept pace. “Papa?”
“What do you want, girl?”
“Look at that sky. I’m worried.”
“I seen it. Don’t you go tellin’ me how to think, you hear? I been in storms worse’n this before and I’m still kickin’.”
“Yes, but—”
“Hush. Just because you’re nearly growed that don’t make you smarter’n me. I’ve been takin’ care of this family for longer than you’ve been on this earth and we’re all still here.” He glowered at her. “Well? You gonna waste the whole day naggin’ me or are you gonna go look after your mama?”
“Mama’s fine,” Emmeline insisted bravely, although she did put more distance between herself and the reach of her father’s heavy wooden staff. “She and Glory are taking a nap.”
Amos cursed under his breath. “Useless woman. I should’ve got me a younger wife long ago.”
It wasn’t the first time Emmeline had heard him say such mean-spirited things. She couldn’t imagine what her poor mama felt like when Papa talked like that. Little wonder Mama stayed in a sickbed so much. If and when she did arise, she had to face her husband and take more of his verbal—and physical—abuse.
Shading her eyes beneath the brim of her bonnet and squinting into the distance, Emmeline tensed. She hadn’t thought those clouds could possibly look any worse but they did. Rain was falling in the far distance, evidenced by slanted sheets of gray that streamed from the solid cloud layer toward the prairie in visible waves, indicating a downpour ahead.
She spun to scan the surrounding terrain. Darkness at midday was everywhere. Encroaching. Threatening. And the wind from the southwest was increasing, heralding the kind of destructive, unpredictable storm that she’d dreaded.
Emmeline shivered and pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. If all they got from this weather was soaked to the skin and muddy, she’d count it a boon. In similar storms that she’d experienced back home, such signs of impending peril were not taken lightly.
She squinted. The kinds of menacing clouds she was looking at right now were capable of dealing a blow that could mean serious injury, loss of property—and perhaps even death.

Chapter Two
Now that Will was riding the high ground and could see for literally miles, his concern for High Plains increased. If he’d been a gambling man, which he was not, he’d have given even odds that his friends and their families would soon be in mortal danger.
Wind from the west and south was increasing, driving bits of stinging dirt and broken vegetation against his clothing and exposed hands and face. He crammed his hat on tighter, turned his back to the onslaught and fought to quiet his horse while he unrolled the slicker that had been tied behind the cantle of his saddle. The animal was clearly agitated, and well it should be under these circumstances, Will reasoned.
“Easy boy. Easy. We’ll be fine.”
As soon as he’d donned the slicker, he leaned low in the saddle and patted the horse’s lathered neck to try to reassure it, wishing he believed his own placating words.
Looking south, he saw that Clint and Bob had rounded up a large portion of his herd and were driving them in a tight circle to keep them controlled. Off to his right by about twenty degrees, an immense dust cloud was rising to meet the gray, somber heavens. The wind carried the sounds of shrill bleating and the rumbling drum of hundreds of cloven hooves.
So that’s what has my horse so riled up. Will put voice to his conclusion and patted the nervous animal again. “Buffalo. No wonder you’re so jumpy, boy. I am, too, now that I can tell what you smelled.”
Reining hard, he kicked the horse into a gallop and raced to join his men. This was just the beginning of what promised to be one of the wildest days he’d experienced since settling in the flint hills. He just hoped he and his men survived whatever test the weather had in store.

Amos had finally halted the Carters’ covered wagon, much to Emmeline’s relief. By that point, she had to shout at him to be heard over the howling wind. If she had not been wearing her bonnet she knew her cheeks would have already been blasted raw by the wind-driven prairie dirt and bits of broken vegetation that stung in spite of her clothing.
“What about the other wagons?” she screeched. “They stopped a half hour ago. Are we going to turn back and join them?”
“No need,” her father insisted. “We’ll just wait here a bit till the dust settles.”
She couldn’t believe his stubbornness. Not now. Not when they were in the middle of nowhere and basically alone. If it had been up to her she’d have at least tried to find a rock outcropping or gulley in which to shelter. Anything had to be better than just standing out in the open and taking so much punishment.
Hurrying to the rear of the wagon, she called to her sister Bess, who had taken up a position on the leeward side and was holding Missy’s and Mikey’s hands. “Take the twins off the trail and try to find some safe place to hunker down. I’ll bring Mama and Glory,” Emmeline shouted.
“What about Johnny?” Bess replied.
“Papa needs him to help calm the team.” Besides, she added to herself, instantly penitent, Johnny’s like Papa, too mean to get hurt.
She knew such thoughts had to be a sin, but she couldn’t help herself. If there was ever a mirror image of her father, it was her thirteen-year-old brother. Thank the Lord Bess and Glory were girls!
Emmeline watched as Bess tugged the fair-haired twins off the wide, rutted trail and into the thick stands of big and little bluestem. Surely there would be some hidey-hole out there. There had to be. Even the shallow depression of a buffalo wallow would be better than remaining in the wagon, which was already being rocked sideways by the strong winds.
She leaned her head and shoulders in over the tailboard and shouted, “Come with me, Mama. You and Glory will be safer outside.”
Joanna vehemently resisted as she clung to the five-year-old. “No. We’re staying right here. Your papa will take care of us.”
“Against this?”
Emmeline knew she was screeching at her poor mother, but she felt such tactics were necessary, given the dire circumstances. With the wind catching the fabric of her dress and petticoats and whipping them like an unfettered sail, she could barely stay on her feet. Soon, it would be impossible for any of them to successfully flee. If it wasn’t already too late.
“Yes,” Joanna said. “I’m not moving from this wagon and neither is my baby. If you want to run off and desert us, then go. I’m not holding you here.”
“Yes, you are,” Emmeline told her. “I won’t leave you.”
“And I won’t leave your father.”
“After the way he’s always treated you? How can you say that?”
“He’s my husband. I took holy vows and I intend to honor them,” Joanna said flatly. “Come in here with us, all of you.”
Glancing at the tall prairie grasses that were now slashing around like buggy whips and bending nearly flat to the ground Emmeline prayed that Bess and the twins had found suitable shelter. It was too late to go after them now. She’d have no chance of finding them in this turmoil.
She swiveled slowly, guarding her face by pressing the sides of her slat bonnet closer to her cheeks. Rain was beginning to fall in drops the size of apricot pits. That meant the whirling dust would no longer be so vexing, but that was little comfort, since hail was now starting to pelt her, too. It stung her skin like an assault of vicious hornets, striking her head, hands, arms and shoulders until she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out in pain.
That was enough to spur immediate action. Emmeline grabbed the tailgate of the wagon and leaped, hoisting herself over it and tumbling head-first into the straw-filled ticking beside her mother and youngest sister.
They reached out and embraced each other tightly, though their respite from nature’s onslaught was brief. Larger chunks of hail soon began to puncture the canvas roof, each impact making the rends in the fabric bigger, wider.
Wind then grabbed the loosening sheets, lifted and tore them, increasing the damage until there was little covering the wagon’s occupants except a few shreds of canvas, the bare bows and the bedding they clung to for what little protection it offered.
“Hang on!” Emmeline screamed, grabbing Glory more tightly and holding her close to shield the child with her own body.
Joanna was screeching, “Amos!” over and over again, to no avail.
Even if he had been close at hand, Emmeline knew he could not have heard anyone’s cries over the increasing roar of the storm.
It built until it was so deafening it made her ears ache and pop as if she were descending a mountain trail at a gallop. Suction from the spinning torrent pulled at her, foretelling what was about to happen.
“Twister!” Emmeline screamed at the top of her lungs.
She threw herself and Glory over their mother and clung to them both for dear life. Her calico skirt was tearing. Her bonnet was snatched from her head in spite of its tightly tied ribbons and her hair fanned out in a wild tangle, stinging her skin as it slapped her cheeks and neck.
Suddenly, she sensed herself being lifted until she felt weightless. She spun. Tumbled. Cracked the top of her head on one of the bows that arched over the wagon.
The rest of the world passed before her eyes in a fierce blur of colors accompanied by a painful, incessant battering and a dizzying disorientation beyond any she had ever experienced.
Still grasping Glory and trying to protect her small, fragile body with her own, Emmeline was carried away from their mother, from the battered wagon and its heavy-bodied ox team.
Praying wordlessly, thoughtlessly, she imagined that she’d glimpsed the team and wagon in the distance before she’d squeezed her eyes shut to try and stop her vertigo.
That sight had been so fleeting, so tenuous, she wasn’t positive it wasn’t imaginary. All she knew for certain was that they had been overtaken by an enormous twister and were totally at its mercy.
Please, God, let the others be all right.
That was the last lucid thought Emmeline had before blackness overcame her.

Will managed to reach his men and the milling cattle herd before the buffalo crested the nearest rise.
“You think you can handle ‘em?” he shouted to Clint.
“Yeah.” The other man pointed. “Can you turn that mess before it gets to us?”
“I’ll try.”
Hoping to divert the hundreds of stampeding wild buffalo, Will shouted and repeatedly fired his pistol in the air while spurring his reluctant horse to charge straight at them.
The lead bulls faltered little. On they ran, their sharp hooves churning the prairie and raising clouds of acrid dust that was caught by the fierce wind and driven against man and beast to sting like a myriad of tiny needles.
Fear pricked Will, too. He’d heard that bison were as easily redirected as cattle. He sure hoped that was true because unless they turned soon, there wouldn’t be enough left of him to find, let alone bury in the churchyard.
“Yah, yah,” he shouted, continuing to point his pistol in the air and fire. If he’d had his rifle loaded and ready he’d have tried to drop the leaders. Since he didn’t have that option at the moment he’d just have to persevere. And pray fervently that his method was successful.
About the time Will was getting ready to wheel his horse and try to make a dash to safety, the bulls running in front of the herd began to lead the others in a wide arc, avoiding the longhorn herd—and its owner—by a goodly margin.
Satisfied, Will reined in and raised in his stirrups to survey the distant plains while heavy rain continued to fall. He couldn’t see much to the west through the sheeting water, but it had to be plenty bad over that way. It didn’t look much better in the direction of his ranch house, either.
Well, that couldn’t be helped. The steers were the most important thing he owned. They were his livelihood. Everything else could fairly easily be replaced if it was damaged. He just hoped they hadn’t had too many newborn spring calves trampled beneath the hooves of the frightened, milling cattle or knocked unconscious by the hail, and that the men chasing down stragglers hadn’t been harmed.
Shading his eyes and peering into the distance, he tried to make out any signs of the wagon train that he’d encountered in High Plains. They’d still been encamped when he’d left town. Hopefully, they weren’t caught in the maelstrom he could see from the hilltop. If they were, God help them.

Relative calm soon followed the twister. Emmeline awoke to feel rain bathing her hair, her face and what was left of her favorite calico frock. She sat up slowly and wiped her muddy hands on her skirt before pushing her long hair back. It was not only loose and hopelessly tangled, it was matted with bits of straw, mud and goodness-knows-what-else that had come from the prairie.
The cool rain helped bring her to her senses and she raised her face to the heavens to wash her cheeks and help clear the irritating motes from her eyes.
Blinking, she drew a deep, shaky breath. Her ribs hurt a tad when she did so, but she didn’t think they were broken. At least not badly. And although her head was pounding and she had to continually try to clear her vision, the rest of her seemed to be in pretty fair shape, except for a few small cuts and scrapes. But what about the others?
Her heart leaped, her senses fully returning. “Glory!”
Quickly scanning her surroundings, Emmeline tried to spot her baby sister. Her hopes were dashed when she failed. She staggered to her feet, bracing against the milder wind that remained, and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Glory, answer me. Where are you?”
Soft weeping was the only reply.
Following that sound she soon found the little girl seated on the ground, grasping her bent knees and rocking back and forth.
Emmeline knelt and took the child in her arms. “Praise the Lord! Are you all right, Glory, honey?”
“I want Mama.”
Mama. Emmeline’s heart sped like the horrid wind that had decimated their party as her thoughts finally caught up to harsh reality. Where was Mama?
She was glad the rain falling on her face masked her tears because when she turned and spotted the remains of all their worldly possessions she couldn’t help weeping openly. Their heavy wagon lay on its top, wheels in the air like the feet of a long-dead prairie dog, and there was no sign of Papa and Johnny.
Where Mama had ended up was another question. If she was still in the inverted wagon, there was no possible way Emmeline could free her. Not without help.
And, thanks to Papa’s stubbornness, there was no way to tell how long it would be before anyone else knew what had befallen them. No way at all.
“Dear Jesus, help us. Help us all,” she prayed in a whisper as she lifted her little sister and started to carry her toward the wreckage.
Glory clung to her neck and sobbed. Emmeline was so concerned about their mother’s fate she was nearly back to the wagon before it occurred to her that Bess and the twins were unaccounted for, too!
Saying another quick prayer for her sister and the eight-year-olds, Emmeline approached the upset wagon cautiously. She was afraid of letting Glory see death for the first time in her short life.
As a small child, Emmeline had watched her maternal grandmother’s passing and had never gotten that image out of her mind, even though it had been a peaceful scene. Seeing their dear mother injured, or worse, would be terribly hard for a five-year-old to bear.
Emmeline called, “Mama,” and was rewarded by an answering call. It was muffled, due to the positioning of the upturned wagon, but strong nevertheless. Her tears became those of relief and joy.
“Mama? Are you stuck under there?”
“Yes. Go get your papa to help you get me out.”
“Okay. I’ll leave Glory here to talk to you.”
Joanna’s voice broke. “My baby’s all right? You both are? I thought…I was afraid…”
“We’re fine, Mama. Wet and muddy but otherwise fine.” She placed the little girl next to the wagon and told her to stay there, realizing that that command probably wouldn’t have been necessary. The child was already fully engrossed in chattering to their mother and wiggling her tiny fingers through narrow cracks in the wagon bed while she related their harrowing adventure. The scene was so touching it brought fresh tears to Emmeline’s eyes.
Cautiously circling the broken wreckage and trying to avoid the small patches of piled-up hail that the rain had not yet melted, Emmeline came upon one of their faithful oxen lying dead in its traces. Apparently, when the wagon had flipped over, the abrupt motion had snapped that poor animal’s neck and it had fallen where it stood.
The other side of the double yoke had broken, freeing the surviving ox, Big Jack. He stood apart from the carnage, trembling and staring at the death scene but apparently unhurt.
Johnny stood beside the lumbering animal, hugging its muscular neck and weeping like the child he still was.
Knowing there was nothing to be done for the dead animal, Emmeline went to her brother and gently touched his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
He nodded rapidly, hiding his face from his sister by pressing it to Big Jack’s slick, brown hide.
“Where’s Papa?” She held her breath and waited for his answer, never dreaming he’d turn and point back at the wagon tongue.
With that, the boy began to wail in earnest.
Emmeline spun around, her heart pounding, her breath catching in her throat. He couldn’t mean…Her eyes widened with shock. Clearly, he did.
She’d been so upset over the death of the faithful ox, she’d failed to look beneath and partially next to it. There lay the proof of disaster. Amos had stubbornly held out until the last and his folly had cost him dearly. The immense carcass of the animal had crashed down on his head and chest and snuffed out his life.
Even as she checked for signs of a heartbeat, she knew without a doubt that it was too late to do anything for him.
Fresh tears sprang to her eyes. Her father may have been a tyrant but he was still part of her family, part of her life, of Mama’s life. And now he was gone. Forever.
As she returned to her mother and youngest sister, Emmeline swiped at her damp cheeks. She was upset with herself for losing control and even more upset with her father for risking all their lives by pressing onward when he knew there was imminent danger.
And, she had to admit, she was also disappointed that her prayers for their safety had not been honored. Why not? Why had God taken Papa from them? Why hadn’t Bess and the twins returned to them? And why was Mama trapped?
Realizing that she still had much to be thankful for, Emmeline sobered and sighed. They’d lost one ox, one man and many of their belongings. But she and Mama and Glory and Johnny were still alive and kicking. And Bess and the twins would probably wander back to what was left of their wagon any moment now. Given the severity of the tornado and its accompanying storm, they had probably fared better than many others who had been caught up in the same terrible calamity.
Emmeline cupped her hands around her mouth as she stepped to the edge of the trail where the muddy ruts ended and the grasslands began. “Bess?” she hollered. “Bess? Missy? Mikey? You can come back now!”
To her chagrin, no one answered and no one’s head popped up from the beaten-down, thickly matted grasses in the distance.
If she had been sure in which direction to search, Emmeline would have begun to look for them at once. As it was, however, she was so turned around, so disoriented, that she had no earthly idea where to start.
Therefore, her first task had to be to try to free her mother. After that, if Bess wasn’t back, she and Johnny could take turns staying by the wagon or working their way through the soggy vegetation in careful circles until they located the missing children.
Bess and the twins would be fine, Emmeline kept assuring herself.
She just wished she truly believed it was so.

Chapter Three
Will swung by his house, then backtracked to the High Plains settlement as soon as he felt certain his men could manage without him. His home was unscathed, but he was concerned about his friends. And, he was worried about the fate of the wagon train.
He huffed in self-disgust. Who was he kidding? It wasn’t the whole train he cared especially about, it was the young woman he’d met mere hours ago. He wanted to believe that her strength and spirit would ensure her safety, but he knew that wasn’t the case. It didn’t matter how capable or brave a person was, no one had the advantage when caught in a storm the likes of the one that had just passed over the area.
Groves of trees had been mowed down in a narrow swath leading directly to town. As he rode nearer he was flabbergasted by the damage to the buildings, too, not to mention the destruction of the less substantial tents and shacks along the river that had not yet been replaced by more sturdy construction. Many of those were not merely damaged, they were gone! Will paused to murmur a brief prayer for the new settlers. He hoped they had all found a safe place to weather the storm.
Judging by the brave souls who were out and about, picking through the rubble and surveying the destruction, most had taken shelter in time.
He paused to ask the closest survivors, “How is everybody?” and was relieved to hear that there had been no deaths reported, as yet.
The town hall, of which they had all been so proud, had been leveled as well, leaving nothing but the limestone rock foundation. Part of the roof was also off Pete Benjamin’s blacksmith shop and it appeared that some of the substantial stores along Main had been hard hit.
Will cantered upriver, in the direction of Zeb’s mill, slowing to allow his horse to choose its footing carefully in view of the debris. An amazing amount of refuse littered wide Main Street and it got worse along the narrower Mill Road that led west, toward the falls. There, although many of the trees still stood, they were missing their tops and their remaining branches held all sorts of rubbish, as if a giant, malevolent hand had discarded it there.
He passed a small group of wagons, also tattered and wrecked, before he encountered his old friend, hoofing it into town. “Zeb? You okay?” Will shouted, quickly dismounting to join him.
To his relief, Zeb answered in the affirmative. He had a slightly bloody handkerchief pressed to one temple and his clothes were filthy, but he seemed otherwise unscathed.
“I’ve been better,” Zeb said, dusting off his trousers with his free hand. “The mill’s a mess. I don’t think there’s even one shingle left, not to mention the heavier lumber. How about you?”
“My house made it and the rest of the Circle-L is fine, too, along with all the hands, thank the Lord. We headed off a stampede and kept the buffalo at bay. It was close though.”
“Sounds like you did better than we did,” Zeb said, grimacing and gesturing at the destruction all around him. “Look at this. It’s unbelievable.”
“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” Will told him, “as long as all the folks are okay. How about your sister?”
“Cassandra’s fine, thanks.”
“Good. Has anybody checked Pete’s? The livery stable didn’t look too good when I rode past. I didn’t see any sign of him or his farrier, Edward.”
“I’m going to organize a search party to cover everyone’s place and make sure they’re alive and kicking. What are you going to do now, go back to your spread or stay here and help us?”
Hesitating, Will was reluctant to admit what was nagging at his conscience. “I’ll help, of course. But first, I thought I might ride out and see how that wagon camp is faring.”
“Some of them pulled out before the storm. I warned them, but…”
Will muttered under his breath. “I can’t believe it. What was their wagon boss thinking? Didn’t he see the signs in the changing weather?”
“I wouldn’t worry. They probably didn’t get far,” Zeb said. “But you know settlers. They’re all alike. Once they get it into their heads that they have to press on, there’s no reasoning with them.” He paused and sighed. “Can’t tell about the ones who left. The ones that tarried certainly didn’t escape damage.”
“Did you happen to notice a wagon with a real pretty older daughter? She had blue eyes and a dress to match, and dark hair.” He blushed when his friend waggled his eyebrows and stared at him.
Zeb chuckled. “If I didn’t know you the way I do, Will Logan, I might think you were interested in her in a personal way. I thought you were looking for a widow woman with older children who just needed a home and hearth, not a swain.”
“I didn’t say I was going to court the girl,” Will said flatly. “But her father is a nasty old man, a lot like mine was, and she was having to take care of a wagonload of children, including some that weren’t her kin. It’s perfectly natural that I’d be concerned for my fellow man.”
“Yes,” Zeb said, “it is. Except in this instance, your fellow man is a woman.”
“As if I didn’t know that.” Fisting his reins, Will put his left foot in the stirrup, grabbed the horn and vaulted easily into the saddle. “How long ago did the first wagons in the train pull out?”
“About two hours, I think. I remember that the sky was already darkening when they passed by.”
“All right. I’ll head down the trail and see how they’re doing, then come back and help you here.”
“Be careful,” Zeb warned. “Just because the worst seems to be over doesn’t mean it can’t fire up and hit us again.”
Will knew he was right. And that thought gave him chills all the way from his nape to the toes of his boots.
Not only had the wagons been in danger before, they could be again. Soon. Perhaps even before he managed to reach them.

Hoping against hope that someone from the rest of their train would ride ahead to check on their welfare, Emmeline kept scanning the trail and surrounding hills. When she spotted several riders silhouetted against the gray sky, she was at first encouraged. Then, she realized that the stationary men, watching from the backs of their horses, were Indians!
Her hand flew to her throat. She didn’t know what tribe they were from, nor did she care. The few Indian women she had noticed, in or near small towns along the trail, had seemed wary, almost afraid. She fully understood their reactions. The Indians were outnumbered and vulnerable in that particular situation. And now that she and what remained of her family were stranded in the middle of nowhere, that was exactly how she felt, too.
As she and Johnny prepared to put their shoulders to the side of the wagon to try to move it, Joanna kept insisting that they wait. “Don’t try to push that over by yourselves. You’re not strong enough. Do as I told you. Get your papa. He’ll know what to do.”
Emmeline didn’t want to inform her that Amos was dead, yet what choice did she have when her mother kept insisting? “Papa’s…Papa’s not able,” she said, hugging Glory and speaking through one of the cracks in the upended wagon.
Joanna gasped audibly. “Dear Lord. Why not? Is he hurt?”
“Yes,” Emmeline said.
“Then you should be tending to him. Go. Do it now. I’m fine. Really. I’m not injured a bit and I can wait as long as need be.”
Emmeline’s voice broke as she forced herself to explain. Reality was almost too terrible to voice. “Papa’s gone to heaven, Mama.”
“No! No, that can’t be. He’s just hurt. You’ll see. Go look again. You must be mistaken.”
“When the wagon turned over, an ox fell on him. Big Jack is okay but Sam is dead. And Papa’s underneath him.”
“Get him off. Save your father.”
“It’s too late.” Emmeline was fighting tears and so was her brother. “By—by the time I reached him to check, he was already getting cold.”
Joanna began to wail incoherently. Glory sobbed softly. And Johnny gritted his teeth while Emmeline struggled to stay strong for the sake of the others.
“Mama, listen. We’ll try to push the wagon over enough for you to crawl out,” she shouted above her mother’s loud, heartbreaking sobs.
Setting Glory out of the way, she motioned to Johnny and got into place beside him. “On the count of three. One, two, three.”
They pushed with all their might but to no avail, which Emmeline quickly realized was a blessing. Even if they could have managed to raise the side of the wagon a little, there was no way to keep it stable and guarantee that it wouldn’t drop and crush their poor mother during her escape attempt, the way the ox had done to Papa.
Exhausted, Emmeline shook her head, stood back and addressed her brother. “Stop. Mama was right. We aren’t strong enough to do this alone.”
“No!” the boy insisted. “I can do it.”
She knew the helplessness he was feeling and sympathized. That didn’t, however, change facts. Touching his thin arm, Emmeline stopped him physically. “We’ll get her out. I promise. Only we have to think, not just try harder. There are some things that are beyond us. Let’s pray for help to come.”
He jerked his arm away and glared at her with reddened, puffy eyes. “That doesn’t work.” His glance darted toward the place where their father still lay. “I prayed for Papa and look what happened.” Emmeline flinched as she heard her brother voice her own doubts. Her prayers hadn’t been heeded either. Why?
“Was…was it quick?” Emmeline asked, needing to know yet not wanting to hear that her father had suffered.
Sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve, the young teen choked back a sob before answering. “I don’t know. When I woke up, Big Jack was standing over me and there was Papa, already so still. I tried to wake him, to pull him free, but…” Johnny stifled another shaky moan. Tears streaked his cheeks.
Touched, Emmeline enfolded him in her arms and held him while he wept on her shoulder. It had been years since the boy had permitted her to show him any affection and their shared hug reminded her of the closer sibling relationship they had once enjoyed. In truth, she’d missed the sweet child her brother had been before he’d grown up enough to begin to emulate their father.
When Johnny finally pushed her away, Emmeline was chagrined. She truly loved the members of her family, all of them, even though they were sometimes less than lovable.
Swiping at his damp cheeks, Johnny pointed east, up the trail. “Look!”
At first, Emmeline feared that the distant Indians had decided to approach. Then, she realized that the horseman was riding with saddle and bridle as well as wearing a slicker that flapped out behind him like great, black wings. No Indian would ride or dress like that, at least not any she had seen thus far in her travels.
She held up her arms, waved boldly and shouted to the rider. “Over here. Hurry! We need help.”
He slid off his mount and started to run toward her before the horse had come to a complete stop.
She knew that man. Glory be! It was the cowboy from the mercantile. And no one had ever looked better to her, not even erstwhile beaus from her old hometown.
Unable to recall his name, she nevertheless greeted him with unbounded enthusiasm. Clasping her hands, she shouted, “Hallelujah!”
“What’s happened? Are you all right?”
“Some of us are,” Emmeline answered, sobering and glancing over her shoulder toward the place where the remains of the ox still lay. “The important thing right now is rescuing my mother. She’s trapped under the wagon. Johnny and I tried to lift it but it was too heavy.”
Will was fetching his rope from where it was tied at the fork of his saddle. “Where’s your father? We’ll need all the muscle we can get.”
Emmeline lowered her voice. “Papa will not be helping. He’s gone to meet his Maker.”
The cowboy merely nodded and went to work instead of asking for further explanation.
Relieved, Emmeline sighed. There was really nothing else to say. And now that a friend had arrived to help, she finally had a moment to step back and take stock of the situation. It wasn’t a pretty picture. When the last breath had left her father’s body, their whole life had changed. They had no home, no money to speak of, very few possessions and no predictable future. She didn’t know how things could get any worse.
And then she remembered that Bess and the twins were still missing.

Will had formally introduced himself to Johnny while he threaded his rope through two of the wagon wheels on the off side. Then, he and the boy used his horse in tandem with the surviving ox to pull.
The rope held. The wagon creaked and groaned as it tilted onto its side. It wobbled for a moment, then settled there in the soft mud, as stable as could be expected, considering the rutted ground.
He watched the tearful reunion of mother and daughters, noting that Johnny stood back with the ox and made no effort to join them.
“Help me free my rope, will you?” Will asked the boy. At first he thought Johnny had not heard. Then, the wiry youngster clambered atop the wagon to assist him.
“Appreciate it,” Will said, coiling the stiff, braided rawhide as he spoke.
Still, the boy did not reply. He seemed to be fixated on the dead ox, so Will started to approach it.
Johnny broke into a run and dashed past. “Don’t touch him. Don’t you dare touch him.”
In moments, Will took in the entire picture and understood everything. He gently patted the man-child’s thin shoulder. “Somebody will have to do it, son. You don’t want your ma and sisters to see him this way, do you?”
There was no answer, yet Will could feel the youngster’s shoulders slumping and see the slight shake of his head.
“Then go fetch me a cover. Not your mama’s nice things. Bring something old that she won’t mind losing. When we’re ready, I’ll use my horse to pull the critter aside and you can cover your pa yourself if that’s what you want to do.”
Staring at Amos’s remains while he waited for the boy to return, Will thought of his own father and the last time he’d seen him alive. He’d been drunk, as usual. And as mean as a snake. Also his normal state. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to paint this man as the same kind of villain, but he’d heard him speaking about his wife and children in the mercantile and his words had been anything but kind.
Johnny hurried back and displayed a soggy blanket for Will’s approval. “That’s—that’s all I can find that didn’t blow away. Mama wants to come see, but Emmeline is stopping her. We’d better hurry.”
Emmeline? So, that was the eldest girl’s name. Pretty. And fitting, he guessed, although if he’d been naming her he might have chosen something a tad less pretentious.
Shaking himself to clear his head and concentrate on the necessary task at hand, he looped his rope over the ox’s horns, mounted his horse and used it to tow the animal a few yards. Part of the man’s body was pressed into the mud as if it were barely there and the boy was tenderly covering it.
What was this poor family going to do now? Will wondered. What, indeed? He supposed they could try to find another team and keep heading west, but not without at least one drover, not to mention someone who could also hunt to add wild game to their victuals. The laying hens that might have survived the tornado were long gone into the tall grass, and nobody could manage with only one ox. Plus, most of their larder, such as flour and beans and bacon, had been lost or ruined when their wagon had tipped over. The box was cracked and every bow that had held up the canvas cover—which was missing—had been smashed to smithereens. If they had money it might be easiest to give up their own wagon and pay for space in another family’s…but Will doubted they had enough funds for that, even if anyone could be found with room to spare.
He was about to inform the women that it was safe to look at the place where the man lay, when Emmeline approached him. He dismounted to speak with her and removed his hat while her mother fell to her knees beside the older man’s body, rocking and keening disconsolately.
Emmeline offered her small hand and Will took and held it for a brief moment.
“I would like to thank you for everything you’ve done, Mr.—” she began, finally adding, “—forgive me. I don’t seem to recall your name.”
“It’s Will Logan.”
“Then thank you, Mr. Logan.” Withdrawing, she folded her arms across her chest to pull her shawl closer. She was still dripping wet and clearly shivering. He took off his slicker and handed it to her.
She accepted the gift graciously. “Thank you. My mother will need this. I have no earthly idea where most of our belongings ended up. They’re not in the wagon anymore.”
Although she was handling herself well at the moment, Will could tell she was suffering and he didn’t know what to say or do to help her further. When she continued speaking, however, he realized that the family’s predicament was far from over.
“My, my sister Bess and the twins are missing,” Emmeline said haltingly. “It’s all my fault. I sent them off the trail to look for shelter and now I don’t know where they are.”
Will was thunderstruck. He supposed he should have missed the others right away, but in all the confusion following the upset wagon he’d not thought of anything else. “Where did you see them last?” he asked.
Unshed tears filled the young woman’s eyes, deepening their blue color. “I’m not certain. I think it was back twenty or thirty feet where Papa first stopped the wagon. When they ran off it was opposite the direction the terrible wind was coming from.”
“Then they went northeast,” Will said, mounting up. “I’ll start looking in that direction. You stay here with your mother. I came past part of your train about two miles back. They said they’d head this way to check on you just as soon as they’d rounded up some livestock that stampeded in the storm.”
“We have to find Bess and those poor little tykes,” Emmeline said, her voice breaking. “Please, please find them, sir.”
“I’ll do my best,” Will told her. He reined his excited horse in a tight circle to keep it from racing off before he was ready. “Looking for their trail after the grass has been so flattened will be difficult, but I’ll give it a try. If I’m not back by the time more help arrives, tell them where I’ve gone and have them start a more careful search.”
He paused, then decided to say all that was on his mind. “And don’t get caught out in the prairie alone, Miss Emmeline. The local Indians are friendly enough, under the right circumstances, but they can’t be trusted.”
Her eyes widened. “I saw some.” She pointed. “They were over there. On that ridge.”
“Watching for a chance to help themselves to whatever you leave behind, I reckon,” Will said. “They don’t usually steal brazenly, but they aren’t averse to picking up the spoils.”
“What about my sister? Bess is only fifteen.”
Nodding, Will knew he had to be truthful for the young woman’s own protection, yet he was loath to frighten her unnecessarily. “If she keeps her wits about her, she won’t be harmed,” he said, only half believing it.
In his heart, he wished mightily that the missing girl was a lot younger, like the orphan twins with her, so that if she was captured she’d be treated as a member of the Indians’ families, rather than as a slave.
He gritted his teeth. Or as a potential bride.

Chapter Four
For Emmeline, the waiting and standing helplessly idle were hard to bear. She began to salvage household items that were close at hand and pile them next to the wagon box as she watched Will riding in ever-widening arcs away from the main trail. The country was so vast, so untamed, it seemed as if his task was insurmountable.
She was relieved to note that the distant Indians had apparently gone away. That was something to count as a blessing, at least. If only Mama wasn’t so downtrodden. Emmeline was grown, yes, but she still would have welcomed someone else being able to share some of the responsibility for her family’s welfare, even if that provided her only a few minutes’ respite.
Looking back along the rutted trail that had brought them to this place, she kept expecting to glimpse the aid Will had assured her was on its way. So far, there had been no sign of other settlers or their wagons. If they had experienced the storm at even half the strength that she and her kin had, there was no telling when they would be moving forward again.
Will finished another sweep through the tall grasses, then returned to where Emmeline waited with the stack of soggy bedding and other salvaged items.
“Did you see any sign of them?” she asked, knowing what his answer would be from his grave countenance.
He bent in his saddle to speak quietly with her. “No. How is your mother faring?”
“Not well, I’m afraid. Glory is so sweet the way she’s trying to cheer her, though Johnny is his usual moody self. But Mama has been weeping ever since she heard what happened to Papa. She just keeps sitting there and calling his name, over and over again.”
“That’s understandable. She’s had a bad shock. Do you want to stay here with her?”
“Or do what?” Emmeline asked.
“I thought, if there were two of us looking, we might have a better chance of spotting your sister.”
“You told me to avoid going out alone.”
“Yes, I did.”
Although the sky was still cloudy and his hat brim shaded his ruggedly handsome face, Emmeline was positive she could see his cheeks grow rosy. That led her to ask, “Are you suggesting that we both ride your horse?”
“I apologize,” Will replied. “I realize that a good Christian lady like you—”
“You’re right. Normally I wouldn’t consider riding double with you. But my sister and two helpless little children are missing. I’m not the kind of person to stand on etiquette if my actions might save them from whatever dangers lie out there.”
“All right. Go tell the others what we’re going to do and let’s head out again. It’ll be dark in another few hours. Time’s a-wasting.”
She knew he was right. More than right. He had to be downplaying the imminent danger to Bess and to everyone else. The sooner they located the lost members of her party and rejoined the larger group from the wagon train, the safer everyone would be.
It immediately struck Emmeline that their place in the westward-bound convoy would probably remain empty when the rest of the pioneers reassembled and pressed on. She could not hope to ready their damaged wagon and find a new team in time to go along, nor could she make other plans—not until they’d found Bess, Missy and Mikey.
If they found them.

Waiting aside, Will watched as Emmeline spoke quietly with the surviving members of her family. No one had yet asked about arranging burial for Amos, but he knew that subject would soon arise. There was a small cemetery on the outskirts of High Plains, next to the community church. The blacksmith’s wife, Sarah, and their newborn child had been the first interred there, much to everyone’s sorrow, but they hadn’t been the last. Still, there would be room for Amos Carter. Will would see to that. The man would have a better resting place than a shallow grave beside the trail, even if that was what many pioneers had been forced to settle for in the past and surely would again. Making the long trek to the new state of Oregon was hazardous, at best. Many dreams had ended in tragedy on that trail, just as this family’s had. But for Emmeline’s sake, Will would make sure her father had a decent Christian burial.
He urged his horse forward as Emmeline returned. “Did you decide to come with me?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s get a move on.”
Reaching up, she grasped the wrist of the hand he offered. He easily swung her up to ride behind the cantle of his saddle. It did surprise him a bit that she chose to sit astride, but given the sorry state of her formerly lovely dress, it was certainly not going to harm her clothing to do so.
“All set?” Will asked. Before she answered he felt her slim arms gently slipping around his waist.
“Yes. If you will permit me to hold on.”
“As you said, this is no time for us to worry about keeping to etiquette. I certainly won’t think poorly of you for doing so, ma’am. And I’m sure your missing sister will agree, too, once we’ve found her.”
He gave the horse a nudge with his heels and started back onto the prairie. By now, some of the beaten-down grasses had recovered and sprung back, making movement a little easier but cutting down on distance visibility.
Even while she was sitting astride the gelding, Will knew that Emmeline would barely be able to see over the tops of the big bluestem once it was back to its full height. By late summer, some of that prairie grass would reach a height of ten feet or more. It was great fodder for his cattle and the wild buffalo. It just wasn’t an ideal place for conducting a search.
Will’s innate sense of direction stood him in good stead. He knew which ground he had already covered and didn’t repeat that path, thereby saving time.
“I forgot to ask. What colors were they wearing?” he inquired, more for something to say than because he needed to know. Given the normal greens and browns of the prairie and the drifts of so many different varieties of blooming wildflowers, spotting unnatural objects lying within the cover of the vegetation would be extremely difficult, no matter what, but any clue could help.
His heart gave an unexpected jolt when his passenger tightened her hold on him and leaned forward to speak past his left shoulder.
“Bess had on a blue calico, like mine,” Emmeline said. “I don’t remember what the twins were wearing. I suppose Missy was wearing one of Bess’s old dresses, and I recall the pink ribbons in her hair. And Mikey always wore Johnny’s shirts over breeches that were way too short.” Her voice caught for a moment before she recovered and went on. “We used to tease him about being so skinny that his old pants still fit, even if they were practically knee britches by now.”
“Okay. Just keep your eyes open. I’m going to head for a bluff nearby in the hopes they found shelter there.”
“We didn’t know where to go or what to do,” Emmeline said. “I suppose I should have pulled everyone into the wagon, but I thought Mama would have sense enough to run away with Glory and me.”
“Is that how you ended up outside while your mother was trapped?”
“No.”
Will felt her slumping as she eased away, relaxed a little and gave an audible sigh.
“I was in the wagon when the wind picked me up and carried me off,” Emmeline said. “Glory, too. The last thing I remember is praying that the baby would be all right. Then, everything went dark.”
He reined in. The saddle leather creaked as he swiveled to peer at her over his shoulder. “What? Why didn’t you tell me all that before? Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”
“As sure as I can be, considering,” Emmeline said. “I know I bumped my head, and it was pounding when I woke up, but it seems all right now, and I think that was the worst of it. That, and a few little scratches. If Glory and I had been in that wagon when it flipped over, one or both of us could have been caught halfway out and killed just like Papa was.”
The very mention of that possibility gave Will the chills. His simple urge to locate the little family and check on their welfare had not prepared him for finding this lovely young woman injured—or worse. All along, he had been picturing himself arriving to help her, just as he had. Now, when he thought about the chances that she might have been killed, his heart lurched like a frightened pony.
“Well, you weren’t badly hurt, so we can give thanks for that,” he said, hoping he sounded encouraging instead of the way he was really feeling. The fact that they had found no trace of her sister or the younger children was not a good sign. Not good at all.
He paused on the next hillock to stretch in the saddle, shade his eyes against the glare of the setting sun and scan the lower-lying landscape. “I don’t see anything, do you?”
“Just scattered blankets and a few smaller things. Mama’s bedding and most of our clothing must have been carried for miles and miles.”
“I’ll help you gather up more of it later. Right now, first things first.”
He was about to turn and take Emmeline back to the Carter wagon when she tightened her hold on his rib cage with one arm, pointed with the other and screeched, “Stop!” frightening the horse enough to cause it to jump and prance sideways, almost unseating them both.
Will jerked back on the reins and managed to quiet the fractious horse and regain control before he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Over there!” she shouted. “See that blue fabric? It looks like Bess’s dress!”

In Emmeline’s opinion, reaching the prostrate form of her poor sister was taking an eternity. She kept kicking the horse in the flanks while Will held it in check with a tight rein.
“Faster!” she insisted. “Either hurry up or let me off right here.”
“If we gallop and the little ones are lying in the grass where we can’t see them, it’ll just make matters worse. Settle down. We’re almost there.”
She knew he was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to bide her time. Patience had never been one of her virtues and being embroiled in this tragedy had not helped one iota.
If anything, it had made her more anxious. That was not something she considered a fault or a sin. On the contrary, she thought she was doing well to keep from screaming at the poor man whom she knew was merely trying to help.
“Bess!” Emmeline called. “Bess, I’m here. I’m coming.”
The figure lying prostrate on a patch of rocky ground did not stir.
As Will reined in beside it, Emmeline pushed herself back, slid over the horse’s rear and dropped to the ground. She was already kneeling at her sister’s side and shaking the girl’s shoulders when Will joined her.
“Is she alive?” he asked.
“Yes, she’s breathing, thank the Lord. I don’t know why she doesn’t wake up.”
“Don’t be too rough with her,” he warned. “She might have broken bones.”
“It’s my fault, it’s all my fault,” Emmeline keened as tears slipped down her cheeks and fell to bathe her sister’s face.
“You didn’t make the bad weather and you weren’t responsible for your father’s decision to press on,” he countered.
Then it must be God’s fault for not looking after us, she thought so quickly, so instinctively that she was unable to censor it. Instead of voicing that disturbing conclusion, she said, “Bess doesn’t deserve this. She’s never hurt a fly.”
Will had been studying the area around them. He bent and hefted a portion of a large tree limb that lay a few yards away. “I think this is what may have hit your sister in the head and knocked her out. Check in her hair and see if there’s a lump.”
Following his instructions, Emmeline found one small wound at Bess’s temple and a welt on the back of her head. “Yes. There’s a goose egg and…” She cradled the girl’s head and shoulders and was about to continue searching for further injuries, when the younger girl stirred.
“Bess? Dear? It’s Emmeline. You’re safe now.”
Her sister’s eyelashes fluttered. Grinning while shedding tears of relief and thankfulness, Emmeline looked to Will. “I think—”
“Yes. She’s coming around.” He crouched next to them.
When Bess’s eyes opened and focused on Emmeline, she opened her mouth as if to speak. Her eyes widened in apparent terror. Emmeline had thought the girl was going to scream, but no sound came forth. Nor were there tears.
Continuing to cradle her and taking her hand, Emmeline patted it gently, reassuringly. “It’s all right, Bess. I’m here. You’re going to be fine.”
The fifteen-year-old seemed to relax some, but made no reply.
“I have a friend here with a horse. We’ll take you back to the wagon just as soon as we locate Missy and Mikey,” Emmeline explained. “Where are they? Did you all find a place to hunker down?”
Receiving not the slightest nod, let alone a lucid answer, she was beginning to grow terribly concerned. She glanced at Will. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with her. Could a bump on the head cause her to lose her voice?”

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