Bitter Sweet

BITTER SWEET

JR Thomas

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner, without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Copyright © 2016 by JR Thomas

DEDICATION

I dedicate this, my third novel, to my loving wife, Vanessa. She allows me time to dream and write the stories I love to share.

In addition, I dedicate this book to my Dad and Mother who provided a wonderful environment for me to grow up in. Dad passed away in December of 2015, his sharp mind destroyed, and his life taken by the dreadful disease of Dementia. Mom will be eighty-seven this year. Bill, my brother passed away in July of 2009. I miss his gentle spirit, quick smile, and firm handshake. Karen, my sister got all the musical talent from my folks and still teaches piano at school and her studio. She is a fine example of what a Christian woman should be.

To my family, I would like to say just how much it means that you gave me the time and the chance to publish another novel. Just letting you know, I’ll need more time in the future, got more stories to tell!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

This novel would not have been possible, without my friends encouraging me to get them to Texas! My first two novels in this series only took them to Knoxville, Tennessee and they were anxious to see this adventurous wagon train and characters to their new homesteads in Union, Texas.

Most often their comments were, when you gonna finish your book. My answer, I’m working on it. I have enjoyed providing reading entertainment to my friends, and others who have purchased my writings.

Thank you for supporting my endeavors.

CHAPTER 1

Weight Lifted

Early August 1865

Jake left the horses tied to the ornate metal fence surrounding the large cemetery, reached down and picked some of the multi-colored wild flowers growing up tight against the black fence. He lifted the handle to the gate and walked toward where so many good folks from his wagon train lay. The grass already covered the raised dirt on their graves. Weeks had passed while he fulfilled his promise to seek justice for the ones who lay here before him, the surviving wagon train members that had continued the journey to their new land in Texas, and to himself for the loss of the woman he had planned on marrying.

He read the head markers aloud and when he got to Sarah’s he laid part of the sweet smelling flowers next to her carved white marker, and the remainder beside her mothers.

He touched their markers with his fingertips and the pent up tears of their deaths and burial, and today’s goodbyes to his new friends spilled uncontrollably to the ground where they lay.

His commitment for her, her mom, Doc, and yes, to himself also, satisfied. A load he had placed willingly upon himself.

Justice served, he felt free of the self-imposed burden of retribution and the heavy anchor of hate he had carried. He would ride from this spot remembering the good times he and Sarah had together, and try to forget the horror of her too early death and his all-consuming hatred for those who took her life.

Jake stood beside Dakota a brief moment thinking what lay ahead of him, and all the challenges he knew would come as the wagon train moved toward their destination of Union, Texas. One thing he knew, it was time to ride. Miles lay between him and the westward moving wagon train.

The big six foot-four inch Texan swung into the saddle, leaned forward. His mouth close to Dakota’s ear, and if by the magic of his whispered words, the huge black stallion lurched forward pulling tight the reins to the horses behind, and Jake, reaching for his big black hat. He pointed Dakota’s nose west. They were riding to catch a wagon train.

His days ride ended abruptly, when a summer thunderstorm broke overhead and the blinding rain made him find shelter under an old rough log barn close by the muddy road he traveled. It had been a long time since he’d seen this much heavy rainfall. The road turned to mud slush and water stood in all the holes and ruts, a good time to stop for the day. He figured he’d traveled twenty miles or more since leaving the cemetery in Knoxville. The last mile or so ridden in heavy drenching rain.

He got the horses tied up and saddles removed, then stripped from his hot muggy slicker. The old barn before him looked unused and close to falling in on itself. He saw no one around so figured the owner wouldn’t mind if he made camp here out of the pelting raindrops. The barn overhang seemed to shed most of the water off, better than being in the open he reckoned.

The raised ground under it would also give him a dry area to sleep and cook some food. He didn’t feel hungry, but figured it would be good to cook something and save leftovers for tomorrow's travel. It didn’t take long before he got some of the gathered dry wood that lay under the barn’s roof burning. He made a pan of flour flatbread, skillet of salted ham, and a pot of rainwater perking for his strong coffee.

The rain cooled the temperature a few degrees as night approached. He kept the fire going to dry out his wet clothes, horse blankets, and saddles. The jagged lightning bolts crisscrossed the night sky turning the night to bright white where they flashed. Explosive booms of thunder spooked the horses and made the hair rise on his neck. Some of the strikes were close and he saw one bolt hit a tall pine no more than two hundred yards from where he hunkered down.

His belly full, his guns wiped down and oiled, and the horses taken care of, his eyes got heavy. He spread his bedroll out, and then lie listening to the rain on the wooden shingled roof above him. The drum of the rain lessened as sleep snuck up on him, and the storm marched eastward and he slept soundly.

Dakota ended his sleep with a loud snort that brought him immediately to his feet. A large dog stood no more than fifty feet from the horses with bared teeth in a snarl. The white foam around its mouth made Jake grab his pistol, lying on the saddle he had used to prop his head on. The dog started directly towards the reared Dakota. Jake knew he had to shoot quickly or the dog might reach the horse.

His first shot missed, kicking up dirt between the dog's front legs. The dog turned abruptly from the horse and ran instead towards Jake. He fanned the gun's hammer twice and the third bullet fired, hit the dog no more than five feet from him. It slid and stopped at Jake’s boot tips. The dog still thrashing, Jake fired one more time directly into the rabid dog's head. A shame, some hunter lost a fine looking deer dog.

Thanks boy, Jake voiced aloud to Dakota. Sure would've been bad to have to fight that dog lying down. Jake decided he would burn the dog before leaving.

Jake took the time to boil some water for coffee. He decided against cooking anything else, but figured he would eat leftovers from the night before.

Satisfied, he cleaned and put away the coffee pot and cup, then pulled the dog over the stoked flames. While the dog burned, Jake saddled the horses and moved them away from the stench of the burning dog flesh.

He piled another armload of wood on top of the remains of the dog. The fire blazed again and the dog’s carcass burnt to ashes. More than likely other animals in the area were rabid, but he had done his part to stop it. He'd have to keep his eyes peeled. It wouldn't do to receive a bite from a rabid animal. Jake had seen the result of one of the steers on their ranch becoming rabid; it had not been a pretty picture for a young boy to see.

This early morning episode would hurt the day’s total mileage, but there had been no way to avoid it. The fire finally dwindled to nothing but hot coals. He kicked loose dirt on what was left of his fire and swung into his saddle.

Henry Watson, the wagon master, had given him a hand drawn map with the stops he planned to make along the trail to Texas. Jake rode towards the next small town called Crossville. He couldn't remember all Henry had said about the places and towns lying ahead of him, but he had this map as a guide. The stops were too numerous for him to remember. He figured to deal with the trail a day at a time. Jake knew Henry would push his wagons hard, so he kept his horses at a fast lope burning miles each day.

Crossville came and went. He didn't stop in the small town, but went through it. The town looked much like all the other startup towns he had seen since leaving Richmond, Virginia, except Knoxville. The town folks greeted him as he rode by. Nice folks, but he still had at least ten more miles to make his twenty-five goal for the day.

He ate his prior night’s food as he rode; stopping only to water the horses, switch horses, or relieve himself.

Afternoon turned to evening and finally darkness set in as he found a spot to stay the night. The small stream ran close to the road and the bank gently sloped down to the inviting water.

Jake unsaddled the horses led them to the waters edge and let them drink their fill. He removed his shirt and rinsed the days dust and sweat from himself and his clothes. The cool water felt good on his aching shoulder and neck muscles. Further, down the stream he noticed two does and their two fawns step into the stream. They showed no fear as they lowered their heads to drink. Thirst satisfied, the mother deer kept watch as the fawns frolicked in the shallow water. He watched their antics enjoying their jerky motions and the total quiet and peace offered to him by the secluded stream. The only sounds heard were their splashing and the gentle noise of the stream passing over the smooth stones of the gurgling creek bed. While the final light of the day passed, he gathered some dead wood and started his campfire. Tonight he would have some beans, more flatbread, ham, and some more of his robust coffee. He didn’t know just how bad he needed this time of solitude, until this moment. Tomorrow he would start another day and try to do thirty miles. For now, he lay on his bedroll enjoying his view of stars that painted points of twinkling light into the black canopy far removed overhead. He enjoyed the cooler night and the mosquitoes weren’t so bad tonight. A stiff breeze blew that kept them at bay. His eyes closed and sleep came.

CHAPTER 2

Memphis, TN

Sam Boyd rode to where Henry Watson sat alongside Otis Borgman on his wagon seat. Henry placed Otis's wagon as lead wagon today and had joined him, no doubt to get out of the saddle for a few hours.

Henry, I found a stopping place about five miles up ahead. You can barely see Memphis from there, but it's the only place we can stop before getting to the town.

Sounds good. Got water close by?

Yep, also plenty of grass for the animals and close enough to go into town if any of the wagon folks need supplies. I'd kinda like to go myself for a drink, if you’re so minded to let me.

Wouldn't mind a beer either, we've been pushing these animals hard since leaving Knoxville. Might be good to lay over here for a few days and let them recoup.

I've got a few wagons that need some work on their axles, just might give me enough time to fix’em while we're stopped, Otis spoke up.

I'm going to drop back to Lucy's wagon and see how she's doing. When we get close to our stopping point, I'll ride back up here, Sam said.

Okay Sam. By the way, Tully‘s well enough to ride, he told me so today. So he'll be able to take over lead scout when we head out after our rest.

Sam found Lucy's wagon and cinched his horse to the back of the wagon. He hopped up beside Lucy in the driver's seat, leaned over, and planted a kiss on her lips.

Well! Aren't you forward, Mr. Boyd!

Yep, how's my girl? You ready to stop for the day?

Yes, this seat is getting mighty hard and my mules are showing their stubbornness again. They're the most aggravating animals I've ever been around, almost as hard-headed as most men.

You got to let them know who's boss. The mules, I mean.

I don't let them get away with anything, but they sure continue to rile me up.

Well you don't have but about another eleven hundred miles with these critters. Maybe by the time you get to Union, Texas they will be broke in. Sam laughed and snapped the rear of the mule she called Major with the long wide leather reins.

Get up you flea bitten critter, pull. Well I’ve got to ride back to the front we’re close to where we will stop tonight. Sam climbed down and jumped on his horse, Buster, and then bent over and untied the rein from