Whispers of Moonlight

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.

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."

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.

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."