Whispers of Moonlight

417 Pages·2006·1.17 MB·English

by  Lori Wick

WHISPERS OF MOONLIGHT
LORI WICK

WHISPERS OF MOONLIGHT
Copyright C 1996 by I.ori Wick Published by Harvest House Publishers Eugene,
Oregon 97402 www. harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publicalion Data
Wick, Lori.
Whispers of moonlight / Lori Wick, p. cm. — iRocky Mountain memories)
ISBN-I3: 978-0-7369-1819-0
ISBN-10: 0-7369-1819-1
1. Frontier and pioneer life—Rocky Mountains Region—Fiction. 2. Man-woman
relationships—Rocky Mountains Region—Fiction. I. Title. II. Series: Wick,
I,ori. Rocky Mountain memories series. PS3573.I237W488 1996
813V54— dc20 96-20622
C1P
To Betty Fletcher, LaRae Weikert, Julie Castle, and all the Harvest House family.
You have turned my dreams into reality. You have given wings to the stories in
my mind and even been the wind beneath them. This dedication comes with my
love and deepest thanks.
Acknowledgments
So many people go into the writing of every book, and this book is no exception.
There are many who touch my world and make me the person and the writer I
am. I would like to mention just a few.
Thank you, Carol Middleton, for the friendship you show me. The miles
between us don't make any difference. I can feel your love for me no matter
where I am. I thank God for you.
Thank you Todd and Becki Barsness. Thank you for the song, but more so for
the love you have shown to Bob and me. I praise God for your example in word
and deed. You are precious to us.
And to Eoline Hayes, my paternal grandmother. It was wonderful to know you
were so proud of me. Hard as it was to see you go, I'm so thankful we had you
for 88 years. The reunion in heaven with your sons must have been the sweetest
of all.
I also wish to thank my father, who died during the writing of this book. We
were closer than ever when God called you home, but I don't think I ever
thanked you for the special care you gave to Mom, or told you what it did to my
heart to see you smile and caress my cheek. Nothing could have prepared me for
the way I would miss you, but I'm so thankful that you're in on that heavenly
reunion as well. If the Lord gives you reports on how we're doing, Dad, I hope
He can say of me that I've been faithful.
And finally to Bob, at times my toughest critic but also my strongest support. I
have no Scripture to back it up, but there must be a special crown for husbands
whose wives are authors.
Thanks for being there and never wavering in your love for me or the Lord.
About the Author
Lori Wick is one of the most versatile Christian fiction writers in the market
today. Her works include pioneer fiction, two series set in England, and
contemporary novels. Lori's books (more
than 5 million copies in print) continue to delight readers and top the Christian
bestselling fiction list. Lori and her husband, Bob, live in Wisconsin and are
parents of "the three coolest
kids in the world."
Prologue
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
1859
"I'm going, Hannah, and that's my final word."
"But why, Andrew? I don't understand."
Brother and sister, one angry and the other confused, eyed each other across the
formal parlor, a dark room to begin with and made even more dim by the blue
glass lantern.
"I can't explain it," he said in a low voice, "but the time is right. I feel it. As soon
as I'm established, I'll send for my girl."
Hannah's hand fluttered around the lace at her throat and then went to the gray
curls at her temple, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The talk, Andrew. What if
there really is a war?"
The older sibling watched her brother's face flush with rage. "You'll not talk like
that, do you hear me? There will be no war. Are we animals, Hannah? Brother
fighting against brother? Preposterous! I'll hear no more about it."
But his sister wasn't cowed. Her chin rose even though her eyes filled with tears.
"If you're wrong, Andrew, you'll be cut off from Rebecca. That little girl whose
mother hasn't been dead six months and who worships the ground you walk on
will be hundreds of miles away with no way to reach you. She may never see
you again."
All the fight went out of him. Andrew sank heavily into a chair, his hand to his
brow. He was not an old man, just over 40, but suddenly he felt ancient. Indeed,
nothing else his sister could say would have touched him more. He adored his
eight-year-old daughter, but if he didn't go west now, he might never get the
chance. He believed he could make a wonderful life for both of them, if only he
had the opportunity. He had waited years for his now-dead wife's health to
improve and felt sure that if he didn't go now, he never would.
"My mind's made up, Hannah." His voice was quiet yet resolute. "I'm asking you
to keep Reba and see to her schooling. When the time is right, I'll send for her. I
promise to write her every week, but I've got to do this."
Hannah took a deep breath, knowing she was going to have to accept the
inevitable. She guessed she should be happy that he wasn't taking Rebecca with
him, but Hannah dreaded the girl's tears and misery when her father left. Her
own husband, Franklin Ellenbolt, was a tolerant husband and uncle, but so
preoccupied with business that he would never have time for a lonely niece, no
matter how precious.
"All right, Andrew, I'll do this," she agreed, "but you need to plan on sending for
her no more than six months after you arrive."
The man nodded. "Yes, I think you're right. It will feel like forever as it is. If all
goes according to plan, the timing shouldn't be a problem. Keep your eyes and
ears open for someone to accompany her. Unless you think—"
Hannah shook her head. "Franklin would never agree, Andrew, and I'm getting
too old to be running across the country."
Andrew stood. He would not press her further. "I'll tell Reba in the morning that
I'm leaving at the end of the week. That way she'll have a few days to come to
grips with the idea."
Hannah's throat felt tight. The end of the week. Four days from now. How would
they survive it? How would the little girl sleeping in the next room respond?
Rebecca Wagner was the sweetest little girl Hannah had ever known. But then
sweet little girls were not always well taken care of. Hannah knew that firsthand.
The 50-year-old aunt had a sudden premonition. Her heart told her at that
moment that all would not be well in the days to come. Andrew refused even to
discuss the war, but Hannah was not so optimistic. Somehow she knew in her
heart that Andrew would not send for Rebecca in six months. Along with this
thought rose a fierce protectiveness: Rebecca's Aunt Hannah was going to take
care of her. Having no children of her own, she determined then and there that
her niece would never want for anything as long as Hannah was alive. She knew
she could never share this with her brother, but in moments Hannah had
convinced herself that even if Andrew did send for her, Rebecca would never
want to leave.
A door sounded in the other room, and Hannah knew that Franklin was finally
home from the office. It was after 9:00, and he would be hungry. Andrew was
headed toward the stairs and presumably bed. Hannah determined to tell
Franklin of her plans, even if it ruined his dinner.

1
Boulder, Colorado Territory 1870
The tall cowboy and his buckskin mount drew eyes from up and down the street
as he rode into town and stopped in front of the bar. He looped the horse's reins
over the rail and worked to push Texas from his mind. No easy task. All the
towns in every state he'd crossed since May sported the same sad little
cemeteries, starkly reminding him of his mother's freshly dug grave. For years,
while his mother was alive, he felt imprisoned in Texas, but now that she was
dead, his only thought was to get as far away as quickly as he could.
Not able to remember even half the places he'd been, he now found himself in a
small town in the Colorado Territory—Boulder. It was no different from
anything else he'd seen. Outside of the church and graveyard, he could see two
hotels, a post office, a barber shop, hardware and general stores, and a varied
selection of wooden and brick houses. Nothing very special to his mind, but it
was already late summer, and he knew if he didn't get settled into work soon,
he'd be hungry and cold come winter.
The barroom doors swung open without a sound as he passed into the smoky
interior, which he found rather crowded for midday. Small tables with
mismatched chairs dotted the room, and without glancing at anyone he moved to
a seat at an empty table, one that placed his back to the wall. A moment later, a
rotund man in an apron approached.
"What'll it be?" a kind voice inquired.
Hat still in place, the cowboy tipped his head back just enough to order his drink.
He would have preferred a tall glass of water, and had he been thinking, would
have gone to one of the hotels where such a request would have been common.
"You want the bottle?" he was asked when the drink appeared a minute later.
"No," he said shortly, but without heat.
He reached for the glass, keeping his eyes on his own table and drink, but he had
already attracted the attention of several patrons, one of whom was bold enough
to approach. His name was Lucky Harwell. Just 17 and feeling quite proud of
himself this day, he stood and began to saunter over to the stranger's table.
Lucky worked at the Double Star Ranch. His boss, Andrew Wagner, had known
he was headed to town and asked him to keep an eye out for new hands. Lucky,
as wet behind the ears as they came, was feeling so pleased with his task that he
would have approached a known outlaw. The solitary man at the table looked a
bit menacing, but Lucky wanted to return to the ranch and say he'd tried.
"Mind if I join ya?"
The head tipped way back this time because Lucky was taller than average,
which gave the young man even more confidence.
"Depends on your business," the cowboy replied.
"Work. I wondered if you've ever worked a cattle ranch."
The chair opposite the sealed man instantly slid out and bumped against Lucky's
legs. Lucky had to hide a look of awe. He'd never seen such a smooth move; in
fact, he hadn't seen that one, but he swiftly recovered and sat down.
"Who are you?" the other man asked before he could say a word.
"Lucky Harwell. I work at the Double Star Ranch, and my boss is looking for
hands." He stopped, waiting for the man to show some interest, but received
only a stare. The owner of the Double Star had not said much about the position,
but Lucky hated to admit this. For some reason he wanted to bring this man back
to Mr. Wagner.
"The hands sleep in the bunkhouse." He leaned forward as he spoke. "It's pretty
clean, and you have your own bunk. Umm, we have days off, and the cattle
drives aren't as long as some I've heard about." He couldn't say that he'd ridden
on any, because the Double Star was his first job. He recognized that he was
starting to babble and made himself stop. His expression became slightly
mutinous, and his chin rose slightly. He was surprised when the other man put
his hand out. Lucky shook it without thinking.
"I'm Travis Buchanan," the deep voice told him. "I'd hate to ride all the way to
this ranch if your boss isn't really looking for men."