New Beginnings (New Beginnings Series)

New Beginnings Series

Book One

New Beginnings
 

Doreen Winona Logeot

Published by Doreen Winona Logeot

Copyright 2013

Cover by Earthly Charms

ISBN
978-0-9810731-3-2

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at [email protected]

Most characters and situations in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination. Some true to life characters have been added to this novel, and while every effort has been made to creating an accurate timeline, the events involving these characters may not have happened as written.

Acknowledgments

A heartfelt thank you is extended to my Beta Readers, Lynne Janz, Loretta Turner, Lynn Lavallee, Gwen Gibson and Marion Jasper for their wonderful help to create a better novel.

A very special thank you goes to Brenda Reid Sinclair. She has pointed me in the right direction so many times and I would not be where I am now without her help.

Thank you also to my copy editor, Ted Williams, whom I wish I had ‘met’ years ago. Being a self-professed ‘grammar nerd,’ Ted has helped me tremendously and I hope will continue to do so.

I am thrilled to be working with Su at Earthly Charms to create the beautiful covers of the novels in the
New Beginnings Series.
I look forward to working with her again.

It has been a pleasure working with Marie Force through E-Book Formatting Fairies. This has helped me immensely to prepare my novel for e-publishing and I will not hesitate to use this service again.

Dedicated

to my brother, Brian David Hunt

(1951 -2012)

for being my biggest fan and for giving me endless encouragement.

Chapter One

The woman startled when she heard the sound of a horse galloping into the farmyard. She ducked her head, hoping to remain hidden as she watched from the chicken house.

A big black gelding stopped at the hitching post in front of her home, skidding to a stop and planting his feet firmly as his rider pitched back and forth in the saddle, struggling to stay in his seat. The horse, wide-eyed and snorting through flared nostrils, showed his fear as he tramped the ground, sending clouds of dust around him.

Peeking through an open sliver in the door she noticed the man had regained his seating although he appeared weak. He slumped forward and put his hand on his right thigh. She had to squint to see the dark stain quickly growing on his torn trousers. The blood started to drip to the ground.

The man’s voice wavered as he spoke to the fidgeting horse, “Hold still so I can get off.”

She longed to stay hidden, but there was no one else to help him.

As she walked cautiously toward the pair and kept close watch, he grabbed his knee, bunching the pant material in his hand to pull the leg over the saddle. Obviously with great pain he started to slide toward the ground, groaning with every move. She noticed his knuckles whitened with the strain of gripping the saddle horn, as the horse continued to quiver. Grasping hold of the reins to steady his mount, she was surprised to find they had been trampled on and broken in what appeared to be an uncontrolled ride. As she gripped his arm to offer support her eyes met his, but fearful, she looked away. Neither said a word as she helped him toward the house, her arm wrapped tightly around his waist. The two steps to the large open porch proved exceptionally difficult and they stopped a moment on each stair. She couldn’t carry him but had to support his weight as he hopped up each one. Finally inside she pushed the door closed with her foot, leaving the horse free to wander.

She continued to help him over to a small cot across the room. She pulled back two handmade quilts that covered it.

Before he sat she spoke, “May I look at your leg?”

He didn’t know how much he could trust this woman and hesitated for a moment then consented without words. With her help to steady him, he removed the two holsters that held a gun for each hip, then his belt. He pushed down his pants before he sat on the bed. A loud groan that he couldn’t hold back, escaped him. She awkwardly bent to remove his boots and he realized at that instant she was with child. To try to offer help, he lifted his good leg higher, but couldn’t give assistance with the wounded one as the pain was too great. He wore knee-length underwear which was torn and blood-soaked where he had been injured. She started to pick at the material but her patient said, “Cut it off, it is beyond repair anyway.” She took her sewing scissors and cut away the legging.

As she examined the wound she found the flesh had been torn away. Blood flowed freely, spotted the floor and formed a small puddle at her feet as he sat on the edge of the bed. She didn’t stop to consider what needed to be done and went to the kitchen area and pulled a metal pie plate from a shelf. She quickly returned to the bed and without a word helped him to lie back and placed the shallow plate under the wound, to catch the steady flow of blood.

The woman continued to move quickly, but calmly, like someone who did this often. She went to the iron cook stove, held a towel so her hand would not touch the hot metal and placed the already warmed kettle back over the heat. She set a porcelain basin on the table, poured a small stream of a dark liquid on the bottom and the smell of pine filled the room. Before the kettle boiled, but steamed lightly, she again held the towel and poured the hot water into the basin, mixing the liquid as it flowed. She returned the kettle to the stove so it would continue to heat. From a shelf she took a small clean towel, one that was used to dry dishes, and with quick jerks ripped it into three pieces, placing one in the basin. A small sewing box sat at the back of the table, and from it she retrieved a spool of dark thread and pulled several shiny, sharp needles from the pincushion they sat in. She broke off four, foot-long pieces of the thread and quickly pushed each through the eye of a needle. The kettle boiled freely. She filled a clean coffee cup with the water and placed each needle and thread into the hot liquid and left the tail of each to hang over the edge of the cup. She pulled the table a little closer to the bed and placed all of the supplies near the edge. There she could easily reach them from the chair she moved next to him. Lastly she lit a coal oil lantern, placed it on the other chair pulled out from the table, so it would cast no shadows where she was to work. Feeling fully prepared, she washed her hands in the basin of hot water and sat down to her task.

“You were shot?” she asked without any hint of alarm, not looking up.

“How bad is it?”

“The muscle is torn badly, but I think the bullet missed the bone and went clear through. In time it should heal well.” With gentle, experienced hands she tended to the injury, carefully tying off any vein that bled heavily. Periodically she took the wet cloth from the hot liquid in the basin, squeezed the excess from it and soaked away any blood pooled in the wound. At times she had to take a pair of tweezers and remove fragments of material from his clothing which got into the injury. She continued to work quickly, without any alarm. She did this in complete silence as her patient carefully watched each move she made.

When she felt the blood had been adequately slowed she folded the two pieces of towel and placed them over her work. She reached to a shelf over the bed, retrieved an old sheet and tore off two wide strips and wrapped his leg. Finally she pulled the quilts up and adjusted the pillow for her visitor’s comfort. He watched her closely, but she very carefully looked away.

As she proceeded to wash her supplies and put the items away she asked, “Should your horse be hidden?”

He hesitated as he had not considered the risk, then nodded as he answered, “That would probably be best.”

Without saying any more she carried the basin, which held the bright red water and stepped out the door.

Being alone he looked around the room and found it overfull with furnishings. An iron cook stove, some small cupboards and shelves took up the entire wall opposite the bed. There looked to be very little food on the shelves. A neatly stacked pile of firewood and kindling sat near the stove. She had pushed the small table and two chairs back into place under the window of the north wall. There was only enough room beside the bed for one of the chairs to be pulled out, and on the back of it hung the two sets of holsters and his guns. He removed the ‘Colt 45’ from one, checked the magazine and placed it under his pillow. His gaze continued around the room. Above the bed, a shelf held a few items of clothing and at the foot was a well-worn rocking chair. It seemed to be placed in front of the door to the next room as if to block it. A large fireplace on the south wall looked to be unused for some time, as its floor had been cleaned of all ash. A window was above a small washstand that had held the basin she had used, and its matching pitcher.

Satisfied he was as safe there as anywhere else he could be, he settled back on the bed. He checked the placement of his 45, relaxed and in seconds fell asleep.

He woke with a start and didn’t remember where he was. Immediately he reached for his gun. A pain that felt like a stab from a red-hot poker ran through his leg and reminded him of what had happened. He settled back on the bed and tried to avoid any further disturbance to the wound.

Unusual smells filled the room and although they were not completely unpleasant he wasn’t sure what the menu might contain.

The woman remained facing the stove, and looked as if she was stirring something, the sound of a metal spoon rubbing the bottom of a pot. Even though she heard him move, she made no motion that showed any type of concern for her visitor. “No one came looking for you,” she said; her voice presented no emotion.

“Good,” he answered, rather puzzled at her composure. He knew most women in this circumstance, alone in their home with a gunshot stranger, would be very worried, or maybe hold a gun on him. He wondered if possibly she knew who he was, but concluded she didn’t. Most people in this area would not have welcomed him into their home and would have left him to bleed to death. He was not well liked by many of the settlers, as he was the owner of a lending agency and a saloon in Brandon, the newly developed town. He was well known for his dishonest ways to get ahead financially, and didn’t care who he stepped on or ground into the dirt.

She turned from the stove and held a cup that steamed slightly. Her profile reminded him of her condition and he noticed her clothing was very unusual, seemingly pieced together so it would fit over the unborn baby. Nonetheless, she was a pretty woman with long auburn hair, which was slightly greying at the temples. She wore it tied back and he found it hard to tell her age, but he decided she was neither young nor old. She appeared to be a person who took care of herself, she was clean and her home was clean. But she was very different to the saloon girls or some of the town women who seemed to like to display themselves only at their best.

“Where is your husband?” he asked.

“Out back.” Her answer was short, precise and offered no explanation.

He looked toward the window he thought would be considered the back of the house, and noticed night had fallen. He wondered why her husband would not have come inside yet as the day’s work must be finished; little could be done outdoors after dark.

She carried the mug over to him and set it on the chair beside the bed. “This is willow bark tea. It will help with the pain and swelling. I couldn’t give it to you until the bleeding had slowed.” Without warning she pulled back the quilts and again very gently tended to the wound as she removed the blood-soaked dressings. With a warm, damp cloth she patted away any dried blood. Satisfied with what she saw, she sprinkled a powder on it and started to redress the injury.