A Promised Heart (Book Four of the Dream Catcher Series) Read online

  A Promised Heart

  Rita Hestand

  A Promised Heart

  (Book Four of the Dream Catcher Series)

  Rita Hestand

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright© 2016 by Rita Hestand

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN # 978-1311834867

  Cover Design by: Sheri McGathy

  License Note

  This book, A Promised Heart is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be copied or reproduced in any manner without express written permission of the author. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy or copies. If you did not purchase this book or it was not purchased for your use, please go to Smashwords.com to purchase your personal copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  A Promised Heart is a work of fiction. Though some of the cities and towns actually exist they are used in a fictitious manner for purposes of this work. All characters are works of fiction and any names or characteristics similar to any person past, present or future are coincidental.

  ~Dedication~

  The American Indian ruled our country long before the white man came. They had great respect for nature, and their beliefs. When white men came, they fought to preserve the land and their people. It was a long struggle, and in the end they were not the victors. However, today, they are still a proud people who value their culture and keep it alive. We must all respect that.

  This book is dedicated to the noble American Indian tribes that once roamed the land so freely. There were numerous tribes and they fought gallantly to preserve their way of life.

  Today, as long ago, many different tribes live in Oklahoma. The state was once considered, Indian Territory.

  To the noble Indians I salute you and admire your strength and courage. You are a big part of the heritage of this country. May you all find peace. God bless

  Rita Hestand

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Rita's Other Books

  Early Spring 1873

  South Edge of the Panhandle of Texas

  Chapter One

  "Mina died Ma." Her son came running out of the cabin, disrupting her train of thought.

  "What?" She mentally shook herself from the reverie.

  "My bird, Mama, the one I nursed back from the sickness. It's dead." Her son looked into her eyes and held back the tears that threatened to fall.

  Her eight-year-old son lifted the small cage he had made to put the bird in and she saw the dead bird lying there.

  She looked into her son's tear stained eyes. He'd tried to be brave, but he loved that bird so. "I'm sorry son. Nevertheless, you must understand, he was very young and birds don't survive well in captivity. In a cage, they are trapped and cannot fly. It is their nature to fly."

  "Then I shouldn't have kept him, Ma?" he asked.

  "Well, every decision we make has consequences. Only dogs and cats live well with people, and I suppose horses, only they don't live in the house."

  "Can we bury him?" Matthew asked as he put the bird in her hand.

  "Of course we can. Go get your sister and we'll have a funeral for it."

  Matthew's face lightened considerably with that and he ran in the house.

  She stared at the bird sadly. Her son had few things to call his own, this bird was his pet, and he loved it. Therefore, in her mind it deserved a proper funeral.

  She found a place near her parents and she dug a hole for it.

  The children came running out of the house.

  "Lord, Matthew nursed this bird back to health. He fed it, took care of it, and loved it. We all did. Now, the bird is dead and we want to send it on to heaven where it belongs. Thank you Lord." She said the words, and then looked down at her children who were both crying. "Amen."

  "Amen." the both said.

  She gathered them to her, hugging them. "I think your bird went to heaven, son, to be with other birds that are happy and flying free. Don't grieve, the love you felt for him, is still there, in your heart." She smiled and kissed their heads. "No one can take that away."

  "Do birds go to heaven, Mama?" Matthew asked drying his eyes like the little man he was.

  "I believe they do. They are God's creatures. And heaven must be full of birds and animals of all kinds. I cannot image God leaving them behind."

  Matthew nodded. "Didn't I take care of him good, Mama?" Matthew asked sadly.

  "Of course you did. However, there is a time for everything Matthew, including death. We must learn to accept what we cannot change and move on."

  "Yes Mama…but I sure will miss him."

  "Yes, you will. We all will. But now he is free to fly in the heavens, and that's a happy place, Matthew."

  Her son nodded.

  She glanced at the four graves and shivered. Easy to tell a child not to grieve, not so easy to tell herself. It was the smaller two of the graves that made her shiver. If only she could accept losing her children as easy as the bird. She knew they were in heaven too. Nevertheless, losing a child was like losing part of herself.

  She moved toward her husband's grave, she could not bury him beside her parents because he simply didn't belong there. As she looked at him, off in a place alone, sadness came over her. She hadn't loved him, not after that first year. This sadness swept through her, but it wasn't for her husband. She had tried hard to love him, and at first, it was exciting to be married, but that excitement died when Harold took to the bottle the first time.

  "How come Pa's not buried beside grandma and grandpa?" Matthew asked out of the blue, as he covered his bird with dirt now.

  Eve gathered her children about her. "He's buried where he belongs. He barely knew my parents. And they…well, they never accepted him."

  The children accepted what she told them and she was thankful. She didn't want to tell them about how cruel he had been. Matthew had been old enough to witness some of his cruelties, but in respect, she did not wish her children to think ill of their father, at least not because of what she said or did. They would form their own opinions soon enough.

  Her gaze then went to the two buried children that rested close to her parents. Her unborn children. Tears welled in her eyes. She had to forget what Harold had done. She had to forgive and go on with her life, for harboring ill will would only hurt her and her children.

  She sighed heavily and said a small prayer in a whisper for her unborn. She'd been seven months pregnant with the first one, when her husband slammed her up beside the opposite wall. She lost it that night, buried it the next morning. He didn't even come out to acknowledge there was a child. He told her anything unborn, wasn't really alive yet. There was no reason to mourn.
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  The second child, she was six months pregnant and he slapped her so hard she fell against a chair and lost that one too. She buried it too. All without his help or caring.

  It wasn't cruelty that made him ignore their deaths, it was guilt. For when he was sober, he did seem moody for days afterward.

  She moved about the small cemetery now, pulling weeds, and dusting off the small headstones.

  Then she slowly turned around. Almost guiltily, she glanced up on the hill. He was there. She saw he stood high above her on the cliff, she could feel his eyes on her. The feeling she tried to deny was one that stayed with her always. He was staring. Not the eyes of danger, but one of kindred spirit. How could she connect with a man she did not know? Yet she had now for some time. His mere presence filled her, warmed her, and made her feel secure in a world that was neither warm nor secure. Standing here as she did every morning, she sensed his strength leaking out to her. She absorbed it. Closing her eyes, she let the moment fill her, just as she had for the last two years. It was comforting knowing he was there. She couldn't speak of it to anyone, but she felt it.

  Still, she scolded herself daily for thinking such a thing. He was an Indian, and she'd been taught that Indians were bad people.

  Yet, if he were bad, why did he protect her and her children so?

  "Go on inside, I'll be in directly," She told the children. They scampered. Matthew glanced up on the ridge for a moment then went inside.

  Her eyes drifted to the cliff once more. She couldn't quite get enough of looking at him it was an indulgence. She couldn't resist his splendor, for he was a well-built man of much strength. Something more than physical appreciation was taking place though, and she knew that too. The fear she first had of him when he came was long gone now.

  Her parents had been wrong. Not all Indians were bad! Certainly not him!

  He stood magnificently tall and strong.

  She'd never been close enough to see his eyes, but she could feel them. Instinctively she knew they would be warm and caring. His long hair was often adorned with beads or feathers. Strangely, her hands itched to touch its softness. She shook herself. He was an Indian. How could she so easily feel such for an Indian? However the feelings he evoked, told her he was much more than just an Indian. A bond had grown between them, a silent bond. And she supposed it would remain that way forever.

  Because he was an Indian, she knew they could never say the things in their hearts. Yet it was there, deep inside her, assuring her that all would be well. She'd never met him, didn't even know his name, but she knew he watched over her and her children. The knowledge filled her with hope, something that until two years ago, she had not had.

  Eve Dawson stared at the wooden marker for her dead husband for a long time now. Willing herself to feel something for the man. There was nothing. He had been gone two years now; he had died of a fever. He came down with it and was dead within a week. Eve never mourned his dying, for he had been a cruel husband, with little regard for her or her children. Still, Eve felt she should have mourned him. Someone should have. Didn't every soul deserved to be mourned? Only there were no tears in her heart for him.

  She pulled a sunflower that she had planted and set it on top his grave. Just motions, not feelings. She smiled; at least she had the satisfaction of doing right by him. She'd met Harold Dawson on a wagon train coming south to Texas. He had courted her with much enthusiasm. Being a girl of barely fifteen, she was impressed by a fully-grown man wanting to court her. So she'd let him, against her parents wishes.

  After her parents died in an Indian raid, she was forced to either marry or return to New England. And Eve had loved the west, or what she'd seen of it and couldn't imagine going back to the drab life in New England, where nothing ever happened.

  Therefore, she married Harold when he eagerly proposed. That had been nine years ago. In addition, Eve had grown up in a hurry when she realized he wanted children right away. She also didn't realize that Harold was a mean drunk, and took to the bottle regularly. Although he wanted children, it wasn't because he loved them, but rather that he could brag about siring them. Many times, she'd seen the hurt on Matthews face when his father refused to take him fishing or do anything with him. He didn't teach them, he didn't kiss them. He was nothing to them.

  The first time he'd hit her, she'd been pregnant with Matthew. Even though he slammed her hard to the floor, she didn't miscarry and Matthew had been born without complications. Jane Ann was born after her second miscarriage. Jane Ann was three, Matthew was eight, and they were Eve's blessing.

  She felt a tear slide down her cheek now. She swallowed hard, and straightened her back. It was over, and she buried the hurts of the past deep in her heart. However, every time she looked upon the two tiny graves, those hurts came alive again. She tried numerous times to block it all out, it never worked. It had been such a nightmare. She laid there on the floor for no telling how long, bleeding. If a neighbor woman hadn't come along, no telling what might have happened. Harold stayed drunk for three days after it happened.

  That was a long time ago, she thought, wiping her brow now as the heat of the day announced itself.

  She had buried her parents here on Dawson land. At the time, she had no place to bury them, except along the trail. There were too many markers along the trail. She insisted Harold take them along and bury them on his property.

  She was twenty-four now, her husband had been dead a good two years and she felt like an old woman, by most standards. She'd been married, widowed and had two living children, and no future ahead of her. However, she was alive and she would prevail, no matter what. Loneliness ate at her like a hungry wolf. Another tear slipped down her cheek unnoticed. If only she had someone to talk to, to share her worries with.

  Her crops hadn't come in this year, and there was scant to eat but fish and chickens. She did have a supply of home canned vegetables from her garden. She canned everything, so it would last longer.

  Still she would get by. Maybe next year would be better, she told herself.

  Yet, the man on the ridge above her kept vigil for her and she knew instinctively he would never harm her or her children. However, Eve never let herself delve into fantasies, he was just a man, an Indian at that, and although he would watch over her, he was not hers, although a secret part of her wished he wasn't Indian.

  That was her fantasy and she would keep it close to her heart, for other than her children it was all she had.

  It had to remain unspoken, for he stood like some renegade only proudly. According to most, he would not be considered civilized. He was a full-blooded Indian, although she didn't know which tribe. It simply didn't matter. There could be nothing between them, and yet there already was, and that bond strengthened every day.

  A few times, she had looked back at him.

  He stood so tall and noble looking in the distance.

  He wore buckskins and a vest, most of the time, but when he hunted, he wore the Indian loincloth with no shirt. His hair was long and he usually had some feather or beaded work in his hair. He was tall, and big and virile as any man she'd ever laid eyes on. Perhaps if he'd been skinny and ugly, she wouldn't have put so much thought into him. However, his virility was magnetic.

  To lie in his arms, might be heaven itself, she smiled to herself and hugged herself. What a fantasy that was, she told herself. It was a silent dream, not to be spoken of out loud. With one exception, her heart kept the fantasy alive. White women were not supposed to be attracted to Indians. Nevertheless, unlike so many she'd seen, he had handsome features. His nose was slim, and he didn't have a barrel chest, but flat and broad and muscled. His waist tapered, his legs were long and muscled. He was what every man should look like, Eve thought to herself. It was pure fantasy, and it was hers.

  The feelings between them grew, from respect and peace to something more over time. On the other hand, did she just imagine that he cared for her? Maybe it was just a wistful dream, but she carried it cl
ose to her heart always. No one else knew about it, she was safe.

  She should be afraid, but Eve could not raise a fear. Not of him. She knew instinctively he had looked down on her for some time now, months, maybe even years. He had never harmed her. In fact, Eve felt more secure knowing he was there. If he vanished, she would leave this valley and never come back, for there was nothing here but old pains and memories best forgotten. Yet, leaving her two children here seemed sacrilegious. Even though they were not born, they were hers, and leaving them would tear at her heart.

  Perhaps the man was a scout of some kind. He could be gone for days, yet he always returned.

  Had he meant her harm, she would have already been dead. Instead, he stood upon the ledge, just staring down. She felt certain his presence meant he kept other tribes from attacking her homestead. As long as he was there, there was no danger.

  Once he had been gone for two weeks and Eve had been afraid then. However, the biggest fear was that he had left and wouldn't return. She scolded herself often for fretting over him, but she did.

  Eve smiled and went inside the cabin where her two children were still eating their breakfast. The cold cornmeal mush and milk pleased her son, Matthew, her oldest. Jane Ann loved it and still had a milk ring around her mouth. She warmed her coffee. She sipped it slowly, feeling the warm liquid sliding down her throat.

  Something suddenly enraptured her and sent a sensation through her that both startled and awakened her. It was so real, her eyes widened in shock, and then she smiled. A heady feeling of euphoria filled her. She'd had many of these sensations, and she knew the source well. For a moment, she let herself relax and enjoy the feelings overcoming her. She closed her eyes and smiled.

  Perhaps her own body caused these sensations, since she hadn't been with a man in a long while. Lonely women did strange things.