Wilderness Trail of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 1) (3 page)

They say it’s a paradise, all I have to do is get us there.

Laying down his dog-eared copy of Daniel Boone’s
Adventures
, Stephen shook his head. What he just told himself belied the hard truth. Getting there would be the most difficult and dangerous undertaking any of them ever experienced. Like the real paradise, dying might be the cost. But his heart was near bursting from the need for land and an opportunity to make a better living for his family. And his soul craved the excitement and adventure a trip west had to offer.

Despite these strong arguments for leaving, his all too logical mind kept asking the same questions. He adored Jane and their four young daughters. Could he forgo their current happiness and put the lives of those he loved through the dangers of a thousand-mile journey to appease his ambition? Most of the journey would be through raw wilderness. A lot can happen on a journey like that—much of it not good. Some of it terrible.

Confused, he wandered restlessly about the room. The walls seemed confining, trapping, as he tried weighing the pros and cons. But the mental drill didn’t help. He was stuck in a quicksand where all decisions and actions seemed impossible.

His chest tightened as indecisiveness gnawed away at his confidence. He leaned one arm against the mantel and lowered his
head.

The war between doing what was safe for his family, and what he believed to be his destiny, raged on. But he would find a way to win this war. He straightened and pushed his shoulders back. Somehow, he would follow his heart. He picked the book up again and turned to his favorite part,

“…yet in time the mysterious will of Heaven is unfolded, and we behold our conduct, from whatever motives excited, operating to answer the important designs of Heaven.”

Jane plucked the book out of Stephen’s work-roughened hands and dropped it on a nearby table. As she did, she noticed his calloused palms. She certainly hadn’t married a lazy man. As usual, he had worked sun up to sun down, trying to get a rocky plot ready for planting. Resting was something he did only on the Sabbath, but even then, he did so begrudgingly.

Stephen flexed his back muscles and rolled his broad shoulders.

“Lean forward, let me rub your back. I know it must ache after a full day in the field,” she offered.

He grinned with anticipation.

She kneaded his shoulders and he leaned into her touch. Stephen moaned with enjoyment, reminding her of similar sounds of pleasure the evening before. The memory warmed her insides as she recalled trying to muffle her own sounds of marital ecstasy. How he managed to make their coupling better for her every time was inexplicable to her.

She felt his muscles beginning to relax, as her fingers pulled out the fatigue. “You seemed worried while you were reading.”

“Oh, I was just concentrating,” he replied.

“No you weren’t,” she accused. “You kept staring at the book and pondering something else. What is it?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he grasped her wrist and tugged her into his lap.

Instantly her heartbeat quickened.

Stephen eyed her for a moment. She detected a flicker in his intense eyes and a hesitation before he said, “I’m just thinking through something, that’s all. But it’s nothing to fret over.”

“What?” she pressed. He was evading her questions.

“I said it was nothing, so let it be.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm.

Jane moaned as he nibbled on one of her fingertips, astounding her that even her fingers responded so fervently to his touch.

He ran a hand gently down the side of her neck. “Ah Jane, do you know how much I love you,” he said, “and our girls.” His gaze was as tender as the caress.

“I thank the good Lord every day for your love.” For the moment, she put aside her curiosity to focus on what Stephen was doing to her now—kissing her palm again, then working his way up her arm. Waves of excitement rolled through her body. After working in the field all day, did he have the stamina to love her two nights in a row?

“Go be sure the girls are asleep. I’ll light the oil lamp in the bedroom,” he said, with a mischievous half-grin, and she no longer had to wonder.

Jane stood and he looked her over seductively. Already feeling a tingle in her breasts and an insistent ache only Stephen could heal,
she longed to feel the warmth of his hard body against hers. She reached out and laced her fingers through one of his hands. His fingers felt warm and strong and she gave them a squeeze. Reluctantly releasing his hand, she hurried upstairs to her daughters’ room, pleased to find them already dreaming. She tucked the blanket around their shoulders, locked their windows, and took the stairs down so fast she nearly tripped on her skirts.

Jane slowed her pace as she entered their bedroom, and paused long enough to lock the door behind her.

Stephen was already in the bed, pulling a linen sheet over his long muscular legs and sculpted chest. He looked at her longingly as he leaned back against the pillow.

Her clothing suddenly felt heavy and warm. She began to remove her gown and could still feel his eyes upon her. He often told her how much he enjoyed seeing her undress. So she took her time removing her layers of petticoats, stays, and the rest of her underthings and putting it all away before retrieving a soft sleeping chemise.

“No need for that. You’ll have it on but a minute,” he teased, then brought his hand up to stifle a yawn.

Jane laughed and began untangling her hair. The task bordered on a battle every night as her brush and comb fought to subdue her curls. More than once, she’d been tempted to take the scissors to her plentiful tresses. But Stephen fancied her long hair and, despite the current fashion, she wore it uncovered most of the time. She put as much of it into a long braid as she could and then washed her face in the basin on her dressing table.

After dabbing rosewater on her hands and neck, she inhaled deeply. Stephen loved the sweet soft fragrance and it always helped
her unwind from her own long day of chores. But it was the comfort of his embrace and the warmth of his touch that soothed her as nothing else could.

Looking forward to Stephen’s strong arms enveloping her once again, she turned towards their bed. Her heart plummeted. Despite his earlier eagerness, he was heavily asleep, his exhaustion winning over desire.

She leaned her forehead against the carved bedpost, and released her disappointment on a heavy sigh. She studied his ruggedly handsome tanned face, his black hair shining in the dim light of the oil lamp. Her love for him filled her heart and replaced her frustration.

She blew out the oil lamp and climbed into bed. Soft moonlight painted their room grey.

She would let him sleep, but only for a while, then wake him in the middle of the night.

From his barn, Stephen watched dawn’s light explode over the White Mountains illuminating nature’s splendor. The lofty peaks rose out of a color filled canvas painted with wild strokes by a bold sunrise. Tall pines, destined to become sturdy buildings or the masts of ships, stoically awaited their futures. Hardwoods added to their breadth, each year’s slow progress recorded in the rings of their hearts. The early spring grass shimmered with a heavy dew, like a field of living emeralds, each blade reflecting the new day’s sun. He heard a Purple Finch greet the morning with his boisterous song, as though the beautiful day was created just for the bird. Days like this also stir a man’s soul.

He wanted to spend the day just thinking through his difficult
decision. But this morning, he would have to ride to Durham for supplies. They were completely out of several essentials and he needed to buy grass seed before the weeds took over his newly cleared field. Reluctantly, he stopped musing about the future.

After hitching the team to the wagon and putting his musket under the bench, Stephen stuck a pistol and knife in his belt and pulled his powder horn’s strap over his neck. As he put his cloak on the seat, he couldn’t help but grin, remembering how Jane had looked in it. All day he would wear his beaver felt hat with two sides cocked and don the cloak against the evening chill.

Without realizing, he turned to face the west. He yearned to make his own mark on this young country. That desire seemed to grow stronger every day and caused a restlessness that took more and more effort to restrain. When statesmen signed the Declaration that first hot week of July 1776, he was ten years old. Their spirit and courage became a part of not just that historical document, but also the souls of young men like him. Now at 31, he understood he had reached the age when he could no longer wait to be the man he wanted to be. If he didn’t live his dream now he would lose it.

But like his tracks in the morning dew, his resolve quickly disappeared. As his three oldest girls ran toward him, he could almost see his dream evaporating right before his eyes. He could not put his concern for their safety behind him. He knelt to their level and opened his arms wide. As he wrapped his arms around them and pulled them against his chest, he realized he had to do both—find land and keep them safe on the journey to Kentucky. And he had to find a way to convince Jane that he could do both. There was no point talking to her until he had the answers for himself.

“You girls stay close to the house while I’m gone. Don’t go
beyond the fence and keep your eyes wide open,” he warned.

“Yes Father, and I’ll watch out for these young ones,” Martha said, sounding older than her seven years.

“Don’t worry Father, Mama can shoot a hunred ‘ards,” Polly said.

Stephen laughed, recalling that he had recently bragged that Jane could shoot accurately from a hundred yards. He wasn’t certain that, at age five, Polly had any idea what an ‘ard’ was, but he enjoyed hearing her boast that her mother could shoot a hundred of them.

Amy, the third sister, who just turned three, clung to her mother’s apron, frowning.

Stephen picked her up. At once, a happy smile replaced her unhappy expression. She grabbed his face with both her chubby hands and smacked a kiss on his nose. Her demonstrative gesture made him chuckle. God, how he loved his daughters.

“Your mother is indeed a crack shot. Just the same, I’d feel better if you stayed close.”

He prayed Jane and the girls would be safe until he returned home with their supplies. He hated leaving, but there was no choice in the matter. As strong as Jane was, it still made him uneasy to leave them alone. He would make this a quick trip.

He gave each of the three girls a hug and a peck on the cheek. He turned to Jane, buried his hands in the thickness of her hair, and gave her a soft lingering kiss. Then he forced himself to climb onto the wagon’s seat. Taking one last long look at his wife, he set off.

“Don’t forget my fabric, the girls and I need new dresses,” she
yelled after him, “and pick out something nice looking, not just practical.”

Jane would normally pick fabric out herself, but three young girls and a nursing baby made travel difficult. This time, she would just have to trust him.

“I won’t forget. That’s the main reason I’m going to Durham not Barrington. I’ll get a color that goes well with those green eyes of yours,” he called back.
Every color
, he realized. He wished he could buy her fine silks, or better yet, store bought gowns. She deserved more than he provided now with his meager income. But he had plans. He had dreams. Someday, he would be successful.

He turned to look back once more. Jane waved goodbye and smiled cheerfully. But he knew her heart wasn’t smiling. She told him many times that she hated every moment separated from him. She said it made a big hollow place inside her that would not go away until they were together again, as if half of her was suddenly missing.

He understood what she meant. With every turn of the cranky wheels, he left a part of himself behind, replaced with a creeping loneliness. It would clench his heart and not let go until she was in his arms, until he too was complete again.

Maybe that’s what love is, he thought. Finding the other half of you.

CHAPTER 4

A
s Stephen’s back grew smaller, the hollow spot in Jane grew bigger. She listened to the squeak of the wagon wheels until she could hear them no more. She turned towards the house, feeling alone even with her daughters. Reluctant to begin her chores, her normal boundless energy was absent today. She wished she could just sit on the porch and sew or even read. With four young girls, reading time was rare, but she loved to read and to write in her journal. It made her feel a connection to a vast world beyond herself. But the garden needed hoeing of the first spring weeds to ready it for planting and the clothes needed washing. Like most women, she always had more to do than she could get done in a day.