In the Vale of Dreams - The Oregon Promise, Book 5, Chapter 1

 

 

 

Chapter 1

***

The noonday sun beat down with a ferocity as Tamsyn Acheson sat in her encampment on the shore of the Snake River and tried not to feel her loneliness.

They’d reached the banks of this last boundary between them and the Oregon Territory and were in line to cross. Several other wagon trains were also encamped along the riverbank here. High winds and ferocious rain had delayed the trains ahead of them, but today the weather had cleared. Two or three days at most, Caesar had said, and they would be on their way.

One more river crossing—well, four, since this particular Three Island Crossing, involved fording sections of the Snake from one island to another and then to the land on the other side. After that, she would be in the Oregon Territory, and they could stop whenever they wanted.

She looked at the fast-flowing water, shooting through the channel just a hefty stone’s throw from her fire, and shivered. The fordings were definitely not her favorites. And the recent storms made her even more tense.

Caesar demanded she drive the wagon for the fordings, not Edi. A command she agreed with. But it didn’t mean she liked it. Striker had been there on his horse by her for the first couple of crossings. But this time . . .

No. She ground her teeth. His distance was all her own fault, and there would be no repairing the damage she’d done—not even with Deliverance encouraging her at every blade of grass to speak to him. She knew better than to torture herself with hope.

She tried not to worry about where Edi had stomped off to a bit ago. Tried to ignore the sense of foreboding that had hounded her since she’d woken this day. It stemmed from their three days of inactivity after months of grueling travel—surely that was all. A mere chafing at the lack of headway, this disquiet.

And yet yesterday she’d heard rumors of folk from the other wagon trains falling sick.

She rubbed at the tension between her brows and wished she could stop dwelling on that news. It had been a passing comment from one of the women from a neighboring train as they’d collected water from the river. The woman had heard that members of the party ahead of theirs had begun to fall ill.

It was Tamsyn’s worst fear. A sweeping illness that she wouldn’t know how to tend.

She hadn’t meant to become the camp healer. In fact, it was the absolute last thing she’d wanted. She already had Sam’s death on her conscience. And Evelyn Hawthorne’s baby—and maybe Evelyn herself—would have died if it hadn’t been for Deliverance’s help. She didn’t need any more anxiety. But when people asked for help, what kind of person would she be to say no?

Still, the news yesterday had struck terror to her very core. And now Edi had stalked off.

He was probably playing ball with the Morran and Hawthorne boys.

She hoped.

She’d been in the middle of making lunch and hadn’t been able to leave the half-cooked fish over the fire for fear it would burn if she took too long to find him or would gather flies if she took it off.

She’d decided to let her brother go, knowing that if he wandered too far, others in the camp would also watch out for him. Sometimes giving an irritated Edi his space was the best solution.

But that didn’t stop her worrying.

They simply needed to make it to Oregon and get settled. That was all. The drudgery of the trail was wearing everyone down. Weariness was what had Edi—and her—feeling their emotions so starkly.

Certainly, for her, it was weariness—bone deep and strength-sapping. And it was compounded by the guilt that convicted her each time she thought of Striker Moss.

Against her will, her focus settled across the encampment on the man who sat with his friends. She immediately forced her gaze back to the fish roasting over her own fire and gave the spit handle a sharp crank.

Along with the guilt, loneliness, and sorrow filled her each time she thought of him. She despaired of these weary emotions tangled into frazzled knots. And yet . . .

She shifted irritably.

The round of wood beneath her was hard but not too cold, and it was smooth and steady—in all honesty, the best seat she’d had for months now. The flames before her crackled warmly, taking the chill off the evening air. The sky arched above her, clear, deep blue, and resonant with the melody of twilight birdsong.

It was a good day. However, she felt such isolation and exhaustion.

Both were her fault.

The one for keeping everyone at arm’s length. And the other for, well, keeping everyone at arm’s length. Caring for Edi all on her own ought not be so taxing. She’d done it all her life.

She massaged the fingers of one hand into the tight muscles of the opposite shoulder.

Perhaps she would apply for Edi’s claim right over there across the river. She and Edi could settle in and maybe . . .

She angled on her stump to peer at the land past the water. Twisted her lips. Here, the plain was flat for several miles, but on the other side of the river, the ground quickly mounded into large steeps with nothing but sagebrush for greenery.

With how dry it was, it would likely take a lot of hard work to grow even a small garden over there.

Perhaps she’d travel a little farther.

Hopefully, the terrain wherever she settled would be greener and more fertile.
Had all the books and pamphlets she’d read about the verdant land in the Oregon valleys been nothing but deception to get people to risk the trip? Once here, they would likely not want to repeat the trip in reverse, after all. 

Across the encampment, laughter rose from the cookfire the scouts shared.

A glance revealed Jeremiah Jackson standing by the fire with his baby daughter. Cody Hawkeye leaned over to present the baby with a miniature bow and arrow set, and Jeremiah laughingly took exception to the gift.

Even Striker smiled.

Once more, Tamsyn tore her gaze back to her own space and the orange flickering flames. Her heart panged, and her doldrums rushed in with full force. She turned the fish again, then laced her fingers tight.

She’d said such harsh words to him all those months ago. She’d been so angry. Been? She shifted. Yes. Maybe been. Though some of the frustration still lingered. Looking back now, she realized she had mostly been filled with terror—and memories of Sam.

Her terror had spilled into barbed anger directed at Striker. He’d brought the colonel who’d been hunting for Deliverance right into her and Edi’s encampment, risking her brother’s life.

Yet, more than terrified and angry with Striker, she’d been furious with herself for leaving Edi in the company of the colonel, a man she knew to be dangerous, no matter that the colonel had looked like he could barely remain on his feet.

Even now, nausea churned in her stomach as she remembered the helpless feeling that had washed over her. She’d come all this way for Edi, only for Edi. To give him a better life—one not lived under the scrutiny of folk who thought of him as inferior because of his simple mind. And there he’d been, innocent and terrified, with the colonel’s gun pointed at his head.

She shut her eyes.

All. Her. Fault.

And Striker’s.

He’d been the one to bring that dangerous man to her fire, after all.

However, nothing but regret filled her as she recalled the sharp words she’d railed. The demands she’d made . . .

***

“Tamsyn? You all right?” Striker’s words had been soft, filled with sincere regret as he approached her after the incident.

She had backed away from him, unable to pull her gaze from the colonel, who lay slumped against the side of her wagon with three arrows protruding from his chest. A true healer would have gone to the man to see if she could help, but she hadn’t been able to move her feet.

Echoes of the victory shouts from the Sioux warrior who had shot him and saved them all still reverberated through the air.

The cold, stomach-churning feel of the colonel’s gun to her temple and the press of his forearm across her throat lingered. She’d gone to her brother’s rescue, of course, she had! How could she have done anything else? And yet, she’d nearly paid out her love for her brother with her life.

Striker shifted to block her view of the dead body. “Please, Tam, sit. I need to look at your neck.”

Her hand trembled as she lifted it to the sting she only noticed after his words. Her neck was damp. Sticky. Was it sweat?

She held her hand out and found blood glistening on her fingertips.

She blinked slowly, too stunned to do anything but follow Striker’s lead.

He pressed a hand to her back and directed her to her tailgate, then wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her to sit on it. Warmth radiated from him when he stepped onto a crate so he might be close enough to examine her neck, but she couldn’t stop shivering. His hip pressed against the outside of her knee as he tilted her head to get a better look at the cut.

How had she gotten cut? From the colonel’s fingernails, maybe?

This trembling threatened to vibrate her right off her seat. She shifted. Willed herself to feel and know and see that she was unharmed. Edi was fine. Striker was fine. All was fine.

Striker’s fingers were gentle as they swept strands of her hair to one side. She felt the tug when a few strands stuck in the blood, but he worked carefully to remove them without causing her more pain. His breath wafted, warm and full of life, against her cheek and neck.

He moved away for a moment, and she simply remained where he left her, too shaken to do aught else.

He returned with a rag and a bowl of water. He dipped the rag in the water and used it to dab away the blood. His tender ministrations cooled her hot skin and soothed her ragged breathing.

She felt a tremor work through him, and that was when she realized she had wrapped her hands around his ribs as he leaned close. She loosed him. Fisted her hands into her lap.

He eased back and peered into her eyes. “It’s only a scratch, thank God. I’m so sorry. I never should have brought him to your fire. I simply thought—”

“Did you? Think?” Every muscle once again quaked.

The words weren’t fair. She knew it the moment they left her lips. He’d hoped for her to dose the colonel’s coffee with Edi’s sleeping powders, save Deliverance, and avoid a confrontation altogether.

He blinked and stepped off the crate. Worked the damp rag between his hands. With one hip slacked, he hung his head.

She hopped down to join him. “I don’t think you did.”

Why couldn’t she stop talking?

A muscle bunched in his stubbled jaw. He dropped the rag into the bowl of water he’d set by her. Nodded. “I deserve your anger.”

“Yes. You do. Walk away, Mr. Moss. Walk away and don’t come back. Leave my brother alone. Leave me alone. We don’t need the likes of you in our lives!”

***

Now, as she sat by her fire, Tamsyn dropped her eyes closed, remorseful over her sharp words as she remembered the agony in his gaze. The way he’d tucked one side of his lower lip between his teeth and gripped the back of his neck. The way he’d nodded, turned, and trudged away.

Tamsyn’s hands clenched so tight she felt the tension all the way to her shoulders. He didn’t know she’d once put her own happiness above Edi and that she’d promised herself she would never do so again. He couldn’t know she’d almost cost her brother his life. He couldn’t know she already carried the heavy burden of having lost one life due to her foolish actions, and almost having lost Evelyn and Blythe, too. She hadn’t been able to explain any of it.

He’d done as she asked. He’d quit seeking Edi out each noon for a chat, which had been his pattern up to that point.

Edi hadn’t understood.

After two weeks, Edi had shored up his courage, and Tamsyn had watched from a distance when the wagons had stopped for a brief nooning as her brother swung off his wagon seat and hesitantly approached Striker. He had smiled and pulled Edi into a manly, back-slapping hug. They’d shared a conversation with a lot of head shaking and frowns from Striker.

From her position several wagons back, Tamsyn hadn’t been able to read her brother’s expression.

At the end of the conversation, Striker had jutted his chin back toward the wagon Edi shared with her, turned, and walked away, leaving Edi with his head hanging.

When her brother had returned, he’d been in a sour mood. Nothing Tamsyn offered had improved his outlook—not even the offer to make his favorite cherry pie when they camped later that evening.

That last jar of cherry preserves still languished in a crate packed with straw because each evening for the past month, Edi had wordlessly slumped to the fire, barely nibbled at the food she’d prepared, and then fallen into his bedroll with hardly a word.

Just before lunch, his sour mood had spilled over into action. “I don’t want to talk to you!” he’d snapped before stomping away from her.

She’d called to him. Asked him to come back. But he’d ignored her.

Something must be done. Edi’s mood had grown increasingly more foul with Striker’s absence. The man simply had a way with her brother. The fact was, she needed his help.

Besides, she’d been putting off her apology and explanation for far too long already.

She glanced across the camp to where Striker sat whittling what looked like a new hatchet handle.

She’d missed him, truly she had. Missed his humor and his gentle teasing. Missed his persistent pursuit. Missed the dream of wondering what life might be like if she let him past her barriers. But always reality had rushed in. The distance between them might have made her heart ache—certainly Edi’s—but that didn’t mean it wasn’t better for Striker.

Now that the idea was born, however, it consumed her. She could fix this. Fix it for Edi, if not for herself. One simple apology for words misspoken in a moment of stress would soothe all of this. One explanation for why she’d instinctively responded that way even though she thoroughly regretted it.

It was time for Striker to learn about Sam Saunders.

Tamsyn sighed.

All the others had dispersed, leaving Striker alone by his fire. She wouldn’t find a better moment than now to speak to him. She pressed her hands to her knees and rose.

Lord, give me the words to fix this heap of anguish I’ve brought on us all.

 

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