Woman of Courage Read online

  © 2014 by Wanda E. Brunstetter

  Print ISBN 978-1-61626-083-5

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63058-025-4

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63058-026-1

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  For more information about Wanda E. Brunstetter, please access the author’s website at the following Internet address: www.wandabrunstetter.com

  Cover design: Faceout Studio, www.faceoutstudio.com

  Cover photography: Steve Gardner, Pixelworks Studios

  Published by Shiloh Run Press, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc.,

  P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, OH 44683, www.shilohrunpress.com

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  DEDICATION

  To my friend Jean Otto, a woman of courage.

  Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might.

  EPHESIANS 6:10

  PROLOGUE

  Dansville, New York 1837

  Ashiver of excitement ran through Amanda Pearson as she gazed at her mother’s wedding dress lying across the end of her bed. Once more this dress would be worn to honor a new beginning. Tomorrow, Amanda would become Mrs. Nathan Lane, and she could hardly wait.

  Nathan was all she had ever wanted in a husband. He was attractive, with thick blond hair and pale blue eyes. Nathan owned his own carriage-making business and was doing quite well financially. But it wasn’t Nathan’s good looks or lucrative occupation that attracted her to him. What Amanda found most appealing about her future husband was his confident attitude and good standing in their Quaker church. Everyone said they made the perfect couple. Even Amanda’s father, a widower and preacher, approved of Nathan and seemed quite eager to see Amanda happily married.

  A knock sounded on Amanda’s bedroom door, halting her musings. “Come in,” she called.

  The door opened, and Papa stepped into the room. “Nathan is downstairs, Daughter. He wishes to speak with thee.”

  Amanda glanced at the clock on her bureau, noting that it was half past eight. “Nathan is here now? I didn’t expect to see him until tomorrow evening, when we become man and wife.”

  Deep wrinkles formed across Papa’s forehead as he scrubbed his hand down the side of his face. “Nathan said it’s urgent.” Papa shifted uneasily, his pale blue eyes blinking rapidly. “I asked if something had happened in his family, but he wouldn’t say. All I could get out of him was that he wanted to talk to thee and it couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

  A tremor of fear shot through Amanda.

  “I shall retire to my room for now so that thou mayest speak to Nathan privately,” Papa said.

  Amanda paused in front of her mirror, pinched her cheeks to give them a bit of color, and followed her father out of the room.

  Downstairs, she found Nathan in the parlor, pacing from the window to the settee.

  “Good evening, Nathan,” Amanda said, stepping up to him. “I understand thou wishest to speak with me.”

  Nathan stopped pacing and averted his gaze, looking over her shoulder toward the door.

  “What is it? Has something happened at home—to one of thy parents, perhaps?”

  “Mother and Father are fine.” Nathan began pacing again. He stopped beside Amanda and reached for her hand. His fingers were moist. “I—I should have told thee sooner, but I cannot marry thee tomorrow.”

  Amanda’s spine stiffened as she tried to digest what he had said. “Wh–why not?” she asked in a whispered voice.

  He took a deep breath, then cleared his throat. “I am in love with someone else.”

  Amanda quickly withdrew her hand as shock coursed through her veins. She grabbed the back of the settee for support. “Who has stolen thy love from me, Nathan?”

  “Penelope Goodwin. We have been seeing each other secretly for many weeks.” Nathan placed both hands against his temples, making little circles with his fingertips. “I thought it was just a passing fancy, but as time went on, it became much more.”

  Penelope Goodwin. The words echoed in Amanda’s head. Oh Penelope, how couldst thou have done this to me? I thought we were friends.

  “I’m sorry,” Nathan said, “It was wrong to let our relationship go on this long, and I know it’s a lot to ask, but I hope thou wilt understand. It wouldn’t be right for us to marry when I am in love with someone else.”

  “No—no, of course not.” Amanda blinked back tears and swallowed the bitter taste of bile in her mouth.

  He took a step toward her, but she turned away. “There is nothing more for us to say,” she murmured.

  Amanda cringed when she heard his heavy footsteps retreat. The door clicked shut behind him. She breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing heart. Her dream of becoming Mrs. Nathan Lane lay destroyed. The months during which Amanda had thought their relationship blossomed into something that meant so much had just been ripped away as if they had never happened. Had she been blinded by the truth? Was she a fool for trusting Nathan so deeply? Whatever the answers to those questions, Amanda was certain about one thing: she was destined to be an old maid. As clearly as the full moon beamed through the parlor window, she knew she would never fall in love again.

  CHAPTER 1

  Three months later in early spring Wyoming Territory

  Amanda tried to hide it, but she was tired and out of sorts. She wasn’t used to sitting sidesaddle on a horse for hours on end, but that’s what she had been doing since they’d left Fort Laramie
early that morning. Harvey Hanson, the guide Papa had hired for their journey west, said they needed to make as many miles as possible during the daylight hours. He also warned them to be on the lookout for hostile Indians who might already be aware of their departure.

  When Amanda and her father had first arrived at the post and met up with Harvey, the burly looking man had explained that Fort Laramie wasn’t a military fort, but a trading post established by fur traders in 1834. Its true name was “Fort William on the Laramie,” but most folks referred to it as simply “Fort Laramie.” Just last year the post had become the headquarters for the American Fur Company.

  Amanda had felt a bit nervous, seeing all the Indians camped in areas outside the post, but Fort Laramie was the central location for trading with the Sioux and Cheyenne. Trading buffalo robes, the fort’s primary commodity, was fast replacing the once-prevalent beaver fur trade. The Indians exchanged the robes and furs they’d brought for tobacco, blankets, powder, lead, beads, and unfortunately alcohol.

  While those facts interested Amanda, she shuddered, remembering Harvey’s stories about some of the aggressive Indian tribes. He’d mentioned torture such as thrusting sharpened sticks into prisoners, heaping red-hot coals on their bodies, or cutting off their fingers and toes. While Amanda trusted the Lord to protect them every step of the way, she would keep a wary eye out for enemies. She could never endure such agonizing pain, and knowing what was possible made her feel as if their every move was being watched by some Indian’s keen eyes.

  Harvey was strictly business. He seemed to be better at barking out orders than engaging in idle chitchat. He spit a lot, and each time, Amanda cringed. But Papa had been told that Harvey was good at what he did, so Amanda was grateful that he was their guide. She could ignore his annoying habits in exchange for a safe, uneventful journey.

  When Harvey removed his worn-looking beaver-skin cap earlier that morning, she’d noticed a scar on the back of his head. No hair grew in the small area, and Amanda wondered what had happened. Maybe he’d been attacked by a hostile Indian and managed to escape with his life. Or perhaps he had tangled with some wild animal. It was probably best not to know.

  She glanced over at Papa, slouched in his saddle, seeming half-asleep. As if sensing she was watching him, he sat up straighter, stretched his back, yawned, and slumped once more. This trip seemed to be taking its toll on him. Soon after they’d left the fort, Papa said he felt light-headed and short of breath. Concerned for his welfare, Amanda had suggested they go back to the fort to rest a few more days, but Papa assured her that he would be fine and was determined they continue. Amanda wasn’t surprised. Although blessed with many endearing qualities, her father could be a bit stubborn.

  Of course, the same could be said about me, she reasoned. But Papa’s really a dear man. She reflected on how he had insisted on coming with her on this trip. After Amanda’s engagement was broken, she’d announced that she wanted to go west and join the Rev. and Mrs. Spalding in their mission to bring the Good News to the Nez Percé Indians. “I will not send my daughter into the wilderness to face unknown dangers alone,” he said.

  While Papa received no pay for his service as a Quaker minister back home, he’d worked as a cabinet maker for a good many years and had saved up some money. Since they didn’t know if or when they would return to New York, he’d sold their home, his business, and all their belongings except for the few things they would need for this trip. Using some of the money, Papa had secured passage for him and Amanda on a steamboat, which took them to Cincinnati. From there, they’d boarded another steamboat to St. Louis, and then a third boat to Liberty, Missouri. Continuing on their journey, they rode in wagons with some fur traders, following the Platte River to Fort Laramie, where they met the man who would guide them to the mission. Harvey had said the rest of the journey would be best made on horseback without taking any wagons over the mountains.

  Papa’s remaining money would be used for supplies along the way and anything they might need once they got to Lapwai Creek in Oregon Territory, where the Spaldings had set up their mission. Amanda figured their expenses would be minimal once their journey ended and they got settled in. Unlike Henry and Eliza Spalding, who’d gone west under the direction of their mission board, Amanda and her father would receive no monetary support from their church and were pretty much on their own.

  Amanda shifted in her saddle, trying to find a comfortable position, glancing at her father again. “Art thou alright?” she asked when he met her gaze. “Should we ask our guide to stop awhile so you can rest?”

  “I’m a little tired, but I’ll be fine,” he said, offering her a weak smile as he pushed his dark, broad-brimmed hat farther back on his graying head. “Please do not worry. There is no need for thee to ask our guide to stop.”

  Amanda smiled in return, but it was hard not to worry when she saw such a look of fatigue on his pale face. Papa had never been a strong man, but for the last several months he’d taken more naps than usual and slept longer at night. She’d also noticed times when he had trouble catching his breath. At Amanda’s insistence, Papa had seen the doctor for a checkup before embarking on this trip. He’d returned home later that day, saying everything was fine and that Dr. Stevenson had given him permission to travel. To Amanda’s knowledge, Papa had never lied to her about anything, so she had no reason not to believe him. She figured he’d just been doing too much lately and that the tonic the doctor had given Papa would put the spring back in his step. Truthfully, Amanda was glad he’d decided to go west with her, because she would have missed him terribly if she’d come alone—not to mention having to deal with their uncouth, unfriendly guide. Still, Papa’s pallor and growing weakness concerned her.

  As they rode, she focused on taking in the scenery. If she thought of other things, it helped her not to worry about Papa or the possibility of a hostile Indian encounter. Tucking in a piece of loose hair under her dark Quaker bonnet, she shuddered as a chill went through her body. Her slender arms ached, and her fingers could hardly bend from holding the reins so tightly. She’d ridden horses before, but not for this many hours at a time. Hopefully, as each day passed, she would become better adjusted to long hours in the saddle.

  Looking around, it wasn’t hard to realize that they were far from home. Gone were the fertile farmlands and lush rolling hillsides, thick with trees. Here, it was practically treeless and flat, with grasslands and sagebrush. Steep bluffs rose out of the flats where the Great Plains merged with the Rockies. Amanda had never been this far west, and she could only imagine what Oregon Territory might look like.

  She turned in her saddle and looked ahead at the two pack mules carrying all of their supplies. Harvey had said their names were Jake and Jasper. With the exception of her Bible and toilet articles, which she carried in the reticule tied to her saddle, everything Amanda owned and all their provisions were in the care of those mules.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Harvey finally announced that it was time to stop for the night. They made camp in a small clearing by a wide stream. After stretching her tired, aching limbs, Amanda went down to the stream to wash up, while her father tended to his needs, and Harvey built a fire and put up a canvas shelter for them. Amanda didn’t look forward to sleeping on the ground, but at least they had several blankets to rest upon. And it would give her a break from the monotonous motion of the horse, not to mention the uncomfortable saddle.

  Harvey, a rugged-looking brown-haired man in his early forties, said he preferred to sleep on a buffalo hide in front of the fire. He’d told Papa that he liked gazing up at the stars, but Amanda had a hunch the real reason Harvey chose to sleep outside was to guard their camp. If a wild animal or enemy Indians should come upon them, he’d be ready and waiting with his loaded rifle. Harvey also said he slept with one eye open so he could watch for bears. While Amanda would never consider using a gun herself, she felt a measure of comfort in knowing they had the protection of their guide.

&
nbsp; Pulling her thoughts aside, Amanda dried her wet hands on her apron and began fixing their supper over the campfire. When they’d hired Harvey at Fort Laramie, he’d made it clear that he wasn’t much of a cook, so Amanda had readily agreed to fulfill that duty in order to see that they were properly fed. Tonight, she planned to make some corn bread and serve it with a hearty venison stew.

  Her stomach growled noisily as she cut the dried meat and vegetables and placed them in the pot of water Harvey had set over the hot coals. When that was done, she glanced across the clearing to check on her father. He was seated on a large rock, Bible in his lap and head bowed as though he was praying. Amanda figured as tired as Papa was, he had probably nodded off.

  He’s not getting any younger, Amanda reminded herself. Papa would be fifty-one next month. They’d have to celebrate his birthday on the trail. She smiled, reflecting on how last year she had invited several friends over for supper to celebrate Papa’s fiftieth birthday. Nathan had been among those who had come.

  Amanda gripped the sides of her dress. There I go, thinking about Nathan again. She grimaced. I am making this trip to forget about him, and I need to keep my thoughts on other, more important things.

  Taking a seat on a log, Amanda thought about a middle-aged Indian woman she’d seen at the fort. She wished she’d had the chance to talk with her a bit and perhaps even give the woman a Bible. But Amanda was told that the Indians there were part of a Cheyenne tribe and spoke no English. If she could have communicated with the woman, Amanda would have explained that there were some white people, like her, who wanted to help the Indians. Then, too, if they could have talked to each other, perhaps the woman might have given Amanda some insights about the Indians and their customs. Going to the mission without being able to communicate with those she was planning to teach presented challenges; however, Amanda felt sure that by the time she and Papa reached Oregon Territory, the Spaldings would have begun educating the Nez Percé, and that at least some of them would understand a little English. At the very least, she would be able to help Mrs. Spalding with cooking and cleaning, which she’d been doing since she was a child. Although she’d written a letter to the Spaldings, letting them know she and Papa were coming to help out, they’d left New York before an answer had come. Even so, she felt sure the reverend and his wife would welcome their help.