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    Prairie Madness
    Prairie Madness
    Prairie Madness
    Ebook137 pages1 hour

    Prairie Madness

    By Carré White

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Mena Savola is about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime, homesteading to California with her new husband and family. When a renegade band of braves attack, she is injured, affecting her memory. After being rescued by a passing wagon train, Mena is introduced to Patrick Walker, who is a charming young man on his way to seek his fortune in the mountains.

    What begins as a relationship based on necessity, quickly blossoms into romance, as two strangers realize an undeniable connection. While Mena struggles to remember who she is, the possibility of pregnancy complicates matters, and, once Patrick proposes, she decides to take a chance on a new life. Will the return of her memory ruin the promise of happiness or will the past pale in comparison to the future?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLove Lust Story
    Release dateOct 14, 2017
    ISBN9781386400585
    Prairie Madness
    Author

    Carré White

      Carré White is the author of Sonoran Nights, a book that is set in the same small town in Arizona that she grew up in. After marrying, having children, and traveling, she settled in Colorado, enjoying nearly 350 days of sunshine. The Colorado Brides Series, which follow the lives of adventurous frontier women, who traveled west in the 1850's to find love is available now.

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      Book preview

      Prairie Madness - Carré White

      Chapter 1

      The Cherokee Trail. 1850

      We were a sorry lot, having traveled through five days of ceaseless rain; our belongings were entirely soaked through. There wasn’t a blanket that didn’t feel damp or a pillow free of mold. The firewood burned, but it smoked horribly, as it was wet. To compound matters, my baby sister, Emily, was in the process of teething, and her incessant wailing had begun to wear on everyone’s nerves .

      My husband, Derrick, remained cheerful, collecting water from a nearby river and preparing the fire for the midday meal. We had traveled for hours today, slogging through washed out trails, the wagon wheels mired in muck, halting progress repeatedly. It had been this way for days, slowing us down, diminishing the miles we should be traveling. Morale was low, supplies were dwindling, and exhaustion had taken its toll.

      Since having broken off from our wagon master after Bent’s Old Fort, we had gone our separate ways. Hostilities had been building for weeks, especially after a young woman had been attacked by one of the fur traders, and her perpetrator had not been brought to justice. This had been the last straw, and our group of ten wagons had chosen to separate. Pa wouldn’t have anything to do with John Sweetwater, as his leadership had been found lacking. The woman who had been ill-treated and her family had joined our caravan.

      We had left Pennsylvania for the opportunity of owning a larger parcel of land in California. My husband had his heart set on striking it rich in the gold fields that held so much promise. We had married shortly before setting out, mostly at the urging of my father, who had pressured Derrick into asking for my hand. Our honeymoon had been spent on the trail, walking and riding for miles each day. There were times when our clothing had been caked with mud to the knees, and bone-weary tiredness left us drained and cranky, wishing we had already arrived at our destination—but mountains awaited us—formidable and vast.

      The temporary camp buzzed with activity, as several fires had been lit, although they smoked profusely. I sat on a crate, holding Emily on my knee, while mother prepared corn muffins and fried bacon. Pa had hung our blankets over the wooden slats of the wagon, hoping to take advantage of the sun, because it had finally appeared. I tried not to think about how drained I felt, not having slept much the night before.

      She’s quiet for once, said ma, who worked over a cast iron pan.

      We should be grateful.

      I’ll make some cornmeal mash for her in a minute. She might be able to get that down.

      They should hunt.

      I heard them discussing it. We sure are low on meat.

      We’re low on everything.

      She straightened, pressing her hands into her lower back. I know.

      If it would stop raining, things would be better.

      Then we’ll have to deal with the dust.

      I’d rather have dust then wet.

      I’m trying to look on the bright side. They’ll be plenty of grass for the animals now. It’ll be a verifiable feast for them.

      I guess. My belly rumbled. That sure smells good. Is it done yet?

      Almost. She held out her arms. Here, I’ll take Emily.

      I got to my feet. I’m going to look for my husband.

      She pointed towards a group of men. He went that way.

      Lifting the bottom of my dress, I sunk into mud, the offending material coating the leather boots to mid-calf. Derrick stood with George Beach and Howard Wantaugh. They noted my approach, George saying, Here comes that pretty bride of yours.

      Derrick glanced over his shoulder. She looks outta sorts, fellas.

      The women are at the end of their ropes, said Howard. This rain has gotten everyone down.

      Hello, darlin’. My husband grinned at my unhappy expression. How’s lunch coming along?

      It’s almost done. I nodded at the men. Afternoon, George, Howard.

      They tipped their hats. You’re looking lovely, Mrs. Savola.

      I grimaced. Now I know you’re fibbing, and badly.

      All the ladies look fine—wet, laughed Howard.

      I need my husband for a moment. I hope you can spare him. Not waiting for their approval, I grasped his hand, pulling him.

      Sorry, men. Duty calls. A smile split his handsome face, while he fell into step beside me. What did you have in mind, dear? A quick cuddle in the bushes or a—

      Shush! You’re incorrigible.

      You should know.

      Oh, I do, but you’re even worse now. Being on the trail has made you…um…

      Desperate?

      No, wild. That’s the word I was looking for. Uncontrollable and wild.

      His arm went around my shoulder. The only reason I’m like this is because we’ve not been able to have time alone. I’m about to lose my mind, Mena.

      A blush crept onto my cheeks. Stop that. We had a wedding night.

      Hardly.

      We’ve had other nights as well. Once we’re settled in California, we’ll have a place of our own and plenty of privacy.

      That’s two months from now, if not longer. His aggrieved expression was endearing.

      We’d gone behind a wagon, and I was suddenly in his arms, being held close. I’m commiserating with you, I murmured. This hasn’t been ideal.

      When we’re old and gray, we can tell our grandkids how we suffered on the Cherokee Trail.

      That’s exactly what we’re doing.

      He gazed into my eyes. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I’m happiest at your side.

      But you didn’t really want to marry me. Pa forced you.

      His lips were on my forehead. I needed a little push was all.

      I had married my best friend, whom I had known since grade school. You wanted to come out on your own. You didn’t want to take me.

      That’s not true. Must we go over this again?

      Mena! called my mother. Lunch is ready.

      I glanced at Derrick. I’m starving.

      He touched my face. I am grateful you’re with me. You’re tired and cranky, but, once you’ve rested, you’ll feel better. He took my hand, leading me to our campsite, which would be disassembled shortly. Everything looks and smells good as always, Mrs. Lampton.

      Thank you, Derrick. Take the plates. I’m going to feed Emily.

      We sat on crates, eating companionably, while father strolled towards us. I’ve a few scraps of jerky from Trent. There’s enough for everyone.

      Thank you, sir, said Derrick.

      I ate my portion, chewing on the tough quality of the meat. Not bad. I helped mother at the fire, collecting the dirty dishes. I’ll go wash these.

      Thank you, dear.

      Our routine was the same every day. We stopped for lunch, and then we circled the wagons at night for camp. We were often near creeks and rivers, using the water for drinking and bathing.

      While everyone lingered around the fire, I wandered down to the gently flowing stream, finding the perfect spot to wash the dishes. First I rinsed my face and hands, taking advantage of the moment to refresh myself. There wasn’t anyone else in the vicinity, but I could hear voices and the playful shouts of children. Using a rag, I scrubbed the dishes, one at a time, leaving them upon the rocky creek bank.

      A shrill scream rang out, which was unusual. This was followed by several shouts and the pop of gunfire. My heart jumped into my throat, as the hair stood up on the nape of my neck. The possibility of an Indian attack had weighed on us for miles, although we had been vigilant. We’d seen several burnt wagons along the way, but not once had we encountered hostiles. I left the plates, panicking, not knowing whether I should return to camp or remain where I was. I was near the water’s edge, hidden from view by thick bushes and trees.

      Scrambling up the embankment, my worst fears were confirmed, hearing the strange, guttural shouts from the savages, as they thundered on horseback amongst the settlers. Never having seen an Indian before, I was astonished by their skill; spears were thrown, hitting their mark, as a man was pierced through the chest. They wore breechcloths with leather leggings and buckskin war shirts. The braids on either side of their heads flew out into the air behind them. I fell to my knees, hidden behind a bush, watching the unfolding horror, as one by one, the occupants of the camp were slaughtered. A woman had been taken, her cries high-pitched and bone chilling, as she was tossed over a horse.

      My mother lay prone before the fire, unmoving, while Emily was by her side, the baby covered in blood. The shock of what I had seen left me struggling to breathe, my heart pounding inside my ribcage. I pressed a hand to my mouth to keep from screaming, as tears flooded my eyes. Father held a rifle, aiming and shooting, knocking an Indian from a horse. He turned to shoot again, but a rider approached with a hatchet, embedding the weapon in his neck. His bloodied form crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

      Derrick and several men had positioned themselves behind a wagon, firing at will. The braves shouted in a language I didn’t understand, stampeding towards the men, although

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