Book Spotlight: Christmas
Under the Stars
This romantic suspense is set in Utah Territory in 1858 at
the height of the westward expansion and wagon trains. It recalls a time in our
country of great excitement as folks from the east set out to settle the land
beyond the Kansas Territory. Tens of thousands of people headed west to find
gold, claim land, escape their past, recreate themselves, or simply for the
adventure.
Unfortunately, few went well-prepared. Numerous books were
written purporting to give advice on how to pack light and travel safely, but
in fact, most of the authors had never themselves made the trip, and the
information in their books wasn’t only wrong or misleading, but in some cases,
downright dangerous.
My heroine Edie is traveling west with her brother to meet
up with another brother and his family who went ahead of them. Edie’s father
was an itinerant preacher who barely managed to keep his family together. My
hero Tom is heading to California to hopefully start a church. Already we can
see problems, at least as far as Edie is concerned. And although Tom is
attracted to Edie, once he’s introduced to her and hears she shares the same
name as the man traveling with her, he assumes they are husband and wife.
Although he didn’t ask for it, Tom is soon appointed as head
of their wagon train, and a series of accidents and unfortunate circumstances
threaten to sabotage their journey. But are these incidents more than that? Or
is someone determined to prevent them from reaching their destination?
Through miscommunication and unasked questions, Edie and Tom
muddle through as best they know how, which is true of many of the emigrants.
And the good news is that just like the travelers of the time, they do make it,
although a little the worse for wear.
Here’s an excerpt:
Tom
Aitken strode beside the lead wagon in the train, encouraging on the two
lumbering oxen he could hear but not see. “Git on Blue, git on. Brick.” The
beasts lowered their heads at the sound of his voice and strained into the traces.
Tom grit his teeth against another blast of cold air blowing from the Canadian
Rockies.
What had he been thinking, taking a wagon train to Echo at
this time of year? He’d focused on the offer of free passage to California.
Free, indeed. Might not have cost him any money, but the two-month journey was
surely grinding years off his life.
Digging his hands into his armpits, seeking some warmth, no
matter how small, he trudged along, head down, wishing for a heavier coat. Echo
was just a few more miles up this canyon. In good weather, a half day’s travel.
In this storm, forever.
As he debated whether to pull the wagon train off the trail
and set up camp for the night, a faint cry echoed off the rock walls behind
him. He slowed his step, allowing the oxen to pass him, waiting to hear the
sound again. Nothing. He pivoted on one foot to trace his steps back, straining
to see who was calling and whether they were friend or foe. Having spotted
Indians several times over the past week or so, he was determined to stay
alert.
Nothing but swirling, blinding snow. Lots of it.
He must have been hearing things. Probably just the wind
echoing down off the canyon walls. No doubt where Echo got its name. He turned
to face forward and felt someone – or something – press on his shoulder. His
right hand on the knife in a sheath at his waist, he whirled around, ready to
fight.
The man in the second-to-last wagon stood before him, face
white with cold – or fear – and hands raised in surrender. His rough Irish
brogue bespoke his heritage, and his coarse woolen coat and muffler his
financial status. “I can’t find the Meredith woman.”
“What do you mean, man? Speak up.”
“I saw her maybe a ‘alf hour ago, when the wind stopped
blowin’ long enough to see me ‘and in front of me face. Me missus remarked then
that the lass was looking peaked.”
Tom grit his teeth against the sharp retort rising. Must he
be like a mother hen to these travelers? No sooner had the thought crossed his
mind than he repented of his hardness of heart. Lord, forgive me. Help her. Please. For her husband’s sake.
His silent prayer done, Tom gestured to his wagon. “Take my
place as lead. Keep them straight on the trail. We’ve got just about twelve
miles to go.”
The man nodded and Tom stopped, allowing the rest of the
train to pass him. Although the rule was that only the very young, very old,
and very sick got to ride in the wagons, sometimes folks hitched a ride when
they were exhausted.
He sighed, his breath escaping like a puff of smoke from a
chimney, carried off on the northerly gale. He’d have to check every wagon that
passed to see if she’d climbed aboard.
If she hadn’t – well, he’d pray she was curled up in a pile
of quilts rather than consider the alternative.
Tom plowed through a snowdrift nearly up to his chest. Edie
Meredith wasn’t in any of the wagons. Her husband, Mark, as leader of the final
wagon in the train, had been walking at the head of his team to keep them on
the trail and hadn’t noticed when she’d gone missing. Tom stopped the train,
and word passed up and down the line until all of the wagons paused. Women-folk
and children climbed aboard their wagons to warm up, and the men divided into
several groups to go in search of Miss Meredith.
The man accompanying
Tom heaved along behind him, his breath sounding labored in the cold air.
Harnesses jingled as the huge oxen shook themselves and got comfortable as they
waited, and questions chased him as he traveled the length of the train.
“Found her yet?”
“What was she wearing?”
“Prob’ly find her froze to death.”
Tom shook off this last comment and pressed on. No, he
would find her before that happened. He’d noticed the pretty young woman the
instant he joined the wagon train, her red hair lighting up into a thousand
pinpoints of gold in the afternoon sun. Freckles dotted across the bridge of
her nose as she stared at him, a smile creeping across her face.
But that was as far as their relationship was likely to go.
The broad-shouldered hulk standing next to her, laying claim to her with his
protective attitude and gruff voice was enough to keep any sensible man in his
place. No siree, her husband was not to be trifled with. Mark and Edie
Meredith. That’s how they were introduced to him. That plus Meredith’s, “She’s
spoken for” when she’d smiled and bobbed her head at him, was enough to keep
any sane man a sensible distance away. No matter how he might wish the
situation could be otherwise.
For now, he would look for her because that was his job.
And he was good at his job. Rather, his two jobs. Drover by
day and preacher by night. Such a strange combination of occupations, he was
certain. Still, the good Lord knew what He was doing, and drovering was just
until he got to California. Then he would start his own church at the first
town that needed him.
Tom peered into the storm, the faint outline of a shadow
forming ahead of him, to the side of the trail. As he neared, he could have
sworn he heard singing. A soft, lilting melody, like a lullaby.
A few more steps, and he paused over the form on the
ground. Already snow gathered on her cheeks, filling in the concave hollows of
her eyes, testifying to how cold her skin was that the particles didn’t melt.
He knelt beside her, fearing the worst. In a neat pile
beside her, a pair of gloves and a shawl. Her coat unbuttoned, she looked dead.
But there, a slight flare of her nostrils confirmed there
was life in her yet. He turned back to the man following him. “Over here. Over
here.”
The man came running, and together they lifted the
unconscious woman and carried her to the nearest wagon. She needed warming up,
and soon.
He called to the man he’d put in the lead. “Pull the train
over toward the palisades. There should be some caves around here that we can
overnight in.”
The men hastened to do his bidding, and the wagon beneath
him lurched, throwing him off balance. He landed in a tangle against Miss
Meredith and stared into her green eyes, wide open in surprise.
No doubt about it.
She was beautiful. Tendrils of damp hair at her temples decorated her pale
skin. But he couldn’t sit here admiring her. She was nearly frozen to death.
Her blue lips and white complexion scared him.
He was alone in a wagon with a desirable woman who needed
his help.
He had no choice.
He unbuttoned his jacket and pulled her to his chest. The
sudden chill took his breath away, but he persisted in his ministrations. As
the heat flowed from him, he was gratified to note color returning to her lips.
Her hands pressed against his chest, and he increased his
grip on her. She needed warmth now. He’d heard of folks dying in the snow who’d
stripped down to their underclothing.
He glanced at the woman now resting quietly in his arms,
wishing he was holding her so close, so intimately, for a different reason.
But she belonged to another.
About Christmas Under
the Stars:
November 1858, Utah Territory
Edie Meredith strives to keep her temper and her tongue
under control as she heads west with her brother to California. Raised in an
itinerant preacher family, she promises she will never marry a man of the cloth.
Tom Aiken, drover of the wagon train, longs to answer his
true calling: to preach, and while he realizes not every woman would choose a
preacher for a husband, he hopes to soon find his help-meet.
Suspicious ‘accidents’ plague their journey. Is someone
trying to keep them from reaching their destination? Or will misunderstanding
and circumstances keep them apart?
About Donna:
Donna lives in Denver with husband Patrick, her first-line
editor and biggest fan. She writes historical suspense under her own name, and
contemporary suspense under her alter ego of Leeann Betts. She is a hybrid
publisher who has published a number of books under her pen name and under her
own name. Her recent releases include The
Mystery of Christmas Inn, Colorado and Christmas
Under the Stars. Donna is also a ghostwriter and editor of fiction and
non-fiction, and judges in a number of writing contests. Donna recently taught the
popular Don't Let Your Subplots Sink Your
Story, an online course for American Christian Fiction Writers, and will
teach another course in May 2018 on The
Middle Muddle. Donna loves history and research, and travels
extensively for both. Donna
is proud to be represented by Terrie Wolf of AKA Literary Management.
