Long Trail Home
Praise for Long Trail Home
Hold on to your heart—Vickie McDonough is about to steal it away with an irresistible love story so unique and fresh, it will leave you breathless. It may be a “long trail home,” but the pages have never flown so fast! This is prairie romance at its very best—I loved it!
— JULIE LESSMAN, award-winning author of the Daughters of Boston and Winds of Change series
McDonough fans rejoice! Vickie’s given you another winner, this time bringing post–Civil War Texas to life in a memorable story of loss and love, of regret and redemption. You won’t want to miss this poignant tale of two wounded souls searching for the true meaning of home.
— AMANDA CABOT, author of Tomorrow’s Garden
Sweetness, sass, and suspense … readers will laugh at the banter between characters who fast become their friends, cry at the heartache they endure, root for them against incredible odds, and sigh at the tender romance. What more could you ask for in a book?
— MARYLU TYNDALL, bestselling author of the Surrender to Destiny series
Vickie McDonough has created a riveting tale of loss, survival, and new beginnings set in the early days of Texas. Her charming characters will touch your heart, and the intriguing subplots will keep you guessing. The heroine’s long-guarded secret and hero’s tragic homecoming are heartbreaking. You’ll root for this couple until the very end—and turn the last page with a smile.
— MARGARET BROWNLEY, author of the bestselling Rocky Creek Romance series
Long Trail Home is a wonderful novel filled with interesting characters. The action plays out across a panorama of authentic historical Texas. I had a hard time putting it down. The whole Texas Trails series is a must-read in my book.
— LENA NELSON DOOLEY, author of Maggie’s Journey, book one in the McKenna’s Daughters series
Set in the heart of Texas, Long Trail Home continues the saga of the Morgan family. More than a simple tale of love and faith, Vickie McDonough weaves a story of change and growth that comes from facing adversity with courage. The final tapestry is one you will remember long after the end of the book.
— MARTHA ROGERS, author of the Winds Across the Prairie and Seasons of the Heart series
I love the characters, especially Annie and Riley. Ms. McDonough knows how to put you into the characters’ minds and make it feel like you are right there with them through their pains, their joys. Long Trail Home is a wonderful read.
— MARGARET DALEY, award-winning author of From This Day Forward
A tale of truth cloaked in a necessary lie, where misfortune and two wounded souls collide and their paths merge. Long Trail Home captures your heart and attention the moment abandoned Annie discovers a way to stay alive.
— DIANA LESIRE BRANDMEYER, author of A Bride’s Dilemma In Friendship, Tennessee
Author Vickie McDonough has again delivered a story that demonstrates the power of love and determination.
— DIANN MILLS, author of Attracted to Fire
TEXAS
TRAILS
LONG TRAIL HOME
VICKIE McDONOUGH
A
MORGAN FAMILY
SERIES
MOODY PUBLISHERS
CHICAGO
© 2011 by
VICKIE MCDONOUGH
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Edited by Pam Pugh
Interior design: Ragont Design
Cover design: Gearbox
Cover images: 123rd.com, photos.com, Veer and iStockphoto.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
McDonough, Vickie.
The long trail home / Vickie McDonough.
p. cm. — (Texas trails: a Morgan family series)
ISBN 978-0-8024-0585-2 (alk. paper)
1. Texas—History—1846-1950—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3613.C3896L66 2011
813’.6—dc23
2011029008
We hope you enjoy this book from River North Fiction by Moody Publishers. Our goal is to provide high-quality, thought-provoking books and products that connect truth to your real needs and challenges. For more information on other books and products written and produced from a biblical perspective, go to www.moodypublishers.com or write to:
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This book is dedicated to Chip MacGregor, my agent. The original idea for this series was his, and I thank him for inviting me to take part in it and for promoting and selling the series to Moody Publishers.
Thank you to all the helpful ladies at the Waco Tourist Information Center. Your maps and brochures were a wealth of help.
Thank you to the friendly staff at Baylor’s Texas Collection and University Archives. I wish I could have stayed a full week and researched all the wonderful historical documents preserved there.
And a special thank-you to Holly Browning, Curator, at the Historic Waco Foundation, for answering my many questions and taking time out of her busy schedule to give us a private tour of the fascinating East Terrace House.
PROLOGUE
WACO, TEXAS, 1858
That one right there—he’s your mark.”
Annie Sheffield slipped past her daddy and peeked around the corner of the building. A handsome youth with wheat-colored hair stood in the dirt road in front of the mercantile, a shiny pocket watch dangling from his fingers on a silver chain. Annie squinted when a shaft of light reflected off the watch, and she blinked several times, refocusing on her prey. A much younger boy with the same color hair reached for the watch, but the other boy lifted the treasure higher to safety.
The older boy’s look was stern but gentle. “No, Timothy. Remember this watch was Grandpa’s. It’s very old, and we must be careful with it.”
The younger boy’s face scrunched up but he nodded. Then the comely youth bent down and allowed Timothy to hold the shiny watch for a moment before he closed it and put it back in a small bag, a proud smile on his handsome face.
Ducking back into the alley, Annie leaned against the wall in the early evening shadows. She glanced at her daddy. “Do I have to?”
“You wanna eat, don’tcha? We need that watch.”
“But that boy looks so proud of it.”
Her father narrowed his gray eyes. “I’d be proud if’n it was mine.”
Annie sighed. If her father possessed the watch, he’d just go hock it or gamble it away.
“Go on with ya.” He flicked his thin index finger in the air, pointing toward the street. He tugged down on the ugly orange, green, and brown plaid vest that he always wore. “Scat!”
Annie peered around the building again, taking a moment to judge how fast she’d have to run and where she could hide once she’d taken the watch. She’d come to hate being a pickpocket. Ever since she heard that street preacher several months back in Galveston hollering to a small crowd of spectators that stealing was breaking one of God’s special laws, it had nagged her worse than a swarm of mosquitoes. But she was hungry, and they had no money.
She studied the boy’s long legs. Could she outrun him? And what about his little friend?
Her daddy was an expert pickpocket. He could snitch a wallet and disappear into a crowd like a crow in a flock, but when it came to running away from a target, well, that’s where she came in.
The tall cowboy was probably only a few years older than her thirteen years. He motioned to the yo
unger boy, and they hopped up on the boardwalk and strolled toward her, completely unaware they were being spied on. He held one hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, as if wanting to keep him close. Now that they both faced her, she could see their resemblance. They had to be brothers. The big boy glanced at his watch bag, tucked it in his vest pocket, and gave it a loving pat.
Annie jumped back. “He’s coming,” she whispered over her shoulder.
Her father scowled. “I want that watch. Go!”
He gave her a shove. She stumbled forward and turned.
The youth’s blue eyes widened. “Hey, look—”
They collided—hard. Annie was knocked backwards, arms pumping, and her cap flew off. The youth grabbed her shoulders, and in a quick, smooth move that had taken Annie her whole life to master, she slipped his watch from his pocket and into hers. She ducked her head and stepped back. “Sorry, mister.”
Her apology was more for stealing his treasure than crashing into him. She spun around and ran, hating the baggy trousers her father made her wear so she’d look like a boy. Hating the life she was forced to live. Hating that the handsome youth would hate her. She ran past a bank and a dress shop, then ducked down another alley. Behind the building she turned right instead of going left and back toward her daddy. Right now she didn’t want to see him.
“Hey! Come back here, you thief!”
Annie’s heart lurched, and she switched from trot to gallop. She could no longer see the watch’s owner, but she knew it was him hollering. Bumping into that young man had flustered her. She hadn’t expected him to be so solid for a youth not even full grown yet. Men grew taller and tougher here in Texas than in the other cities of the South where she’d mostly grown up—a different city every few weeks. A thief wasn’t welcome in town for long.
Loud footsteps pounded behind her. She ducked under a wagon that sat behind the smithy, rolled, and dove into the open doorway. She crawled into the shadows of the building and curled up behind a barrel that had oats scattered on the ground around it. She took several gasps of air and listened for footsteps. The watch pressed hard against her hipbone, causing her guilt to mount. A horse in a nearby stall snorted and pawed the ground. Annie’s heartbeat thundered in her ears as she listened for her pursuer’s footsteps. Would he thrash her if he found her?
She peeked around the barrel. The tall boy stood in the doorway, looking around. She shrank back into the shadows like a rat—like the vermin she was.
After a moment, he spun around and quick steps took him away. Annie leaned against the wall, hating herself all over. Why couldn’t she have been born into a nice family who lived in a big house? She’d even be happy with a small house, if she could have regular meals, wash up every week or so, and wear a dress like other girls.
But no, she had to be born the daughter of a master pickpocket.
The blacksmith—redheaded, with huge shoulders and chest—plodded over to a shelf directly across from her, pulled something off it, then returned to the front of the building. He pounded his hammer, making a rhythmic ching.
What would he do if he found her hiding in his building? Would he pummel her like he did that horseshoe? He’d have to catch her first, and surely a man that muscled couldn’t run very fast. And if she was anything at all, she was fast.
Annie yawned and glanced at the door. Was it safe to leave yet?
Nah. She’d better wait until dark. Her stomach gurgled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since early this morning, when her pa stole a loaf of bread right off someone’s table. The family had been out in the barn, doing chores, and he’d walked right in as if he owned the place. He’d laughed when he told her that the only person who saw him was a baby in her cradle—and she wasn’t tattling.
The sweet scent of fresh straw and leather blended with the odor of horses and manure. Annie leaned back against the wall, wincing when it creaked, then closed her eyes. She was so tired of her life. Of moving from place to place. If only her daddy could get a real job and they could live in a real house.…
Riley chased the boy, running until his side ached, but the little thief had disappeared. He bent and rested his hands on his knees, breathing hard as he watched the street for any sign of the pickpocket. Few people were on the streets of Waco this late. Most businesses had closed before suppertime, except the saloons. The lively tune of a piano did nothing to soothe his anger. How could he have not noticed that thief had slid his grandpa’s watch right out of his pocket?
Movement drew his attention to a couple strolling arm-in-arm on the far side of Main Street. Maybe he should ask if they had seen the pint-sized robber, but then they only seemed to be looking at each other. Riley glanced toward the boardinghouse where his family’s wagon was parked. They’d stay there tonight, then travel to their new ranch, a few miles outside of town, along a river called the South Bosque.
Riley heaved a sigh and shoved his hands into his pockets. He studied the small town that sat all cozied up to the Brazos River. He hadn’t wanted to come here in the first place—and neither had his mother. Their old farm had been perfectly fine, but his father said there were new opportunities in Waco and inexpensive land, too. Riley scowled and blew a heavy breath out his nose. He hadn’t wanted to leave his friends, especially Adrian Massey, a pretty neighbor girl he planned on courting once he was a few years older. He hoped that she would follow through and write to him as she promised.
His mother’s tears hadn’t swayed his father, though they made Riley’s heart ache. She wanted to go back to Victoria where her family and the rest of the Morgans lived. But not Pa. He loved his siblings, but he had a need to be independent, to play a part in developing Texas—and now they were even farther away.
At least his pa had pacified his ma by taking her for a visit back with her family and then on to the ranch where the Morgans had been raised, so they could see his aunt and attend her wedding. Talking with his aunt Billie about her time as a captive with the Comanche had been the most interesting part of the trip—that, and seeing the beautiful Morgan horses his uncle Jud raised. At least he could look forward to the delivery of the dozen broodmares and the young stallion his pa bought.
Staring down the street, he watched his pa take a small box off the wagon and hand it to Timothy. Riley winced, as the realization hit that he’d run off and left his little brother. Pa slowly turned in a circle, looking all around. Riley ducked into the alley. He couldn’t head back without searching for that thief again. The boy had to be here somewhere, because the town wasn’t all that big.
He ran his fingers through his hair, dreading seeing his father’s disappointment. Riley had overheard his pa’s initial objection to giving him the watch when Uncle Jud had suggested it—said that he wasn’t responsible enough to have something so valuable to the family. Riley kicked a rock and sent it rolling. Why didn’t his pa have more faith in him? Gritting his teeth, he had to admit he’d been right—at least in this instance. He raked his fingers through his hair and gazed down the alley, realizing that somewhere along the way he’d lost his hat too.
Half an hour later, as the sun ducked behind the horizon and cast a pink glow on the clouds, Riley headed back to the boardinghouse. Maybe if he were lucky, Timothy hadn’t tattled about him losing the watch. But as much as he loved his younger brother, he knew the truth. Pa would be waiting, and he would insist on hearing the whole story. And once again, his pa would be disappointed.
A horse’s whinny startled Annie and she jerked awake. During the night, she’d huddled up in a ball to stay warm and must have pulled hay over her from the empty stall on her left. She yawned and stretched, her empty belly growling its complaint. Bright shafts of sunlight drifted through the cracks on the eastern wall, and dust motes as thick as snow floated in the air. The front door creaked open. She jumped, then ducked back behind the barrel and peered over it. Chilly air seeped through the cracks in the walls, making her wish for her blanket. She wrapped her arms tight across her chest.
Her daddy would be so mad that she’d disappeared all night.
At least this town—Waco, he had called it—was small enough she shouldn’t have trouble finding him. The blacksmith plodded through the building and opened the back door, letting in a blast of cold air. Annie waited a few minutes while he fed the five horses, then grabbed a bucket and headed out the back door. She tiptoed to the opening and peered outside. The large man walked toward the river then bent down, lowering the pail into the water. Annie spun around and raced to the front door, peeked out, then dashed down the street and into the first alley she came to. Would her daddy be upset with her for being gone so long? Would he wallop her? Keeping as close to the buildings as possible, she hurried back to the spot she’d last seen him.
Three long days later, Annie nibbled on the moldy bread crust she’d dug out of someone’s trash heap and gazed out over the small town from the tree she had climbed. Her pa had up and left her—as he’d threatened on so many occasions when she hadn’t returned to their meeting spot with enough stolen goods.
She watched people coming and going, doing their Saturday shopping. Mamas held the hands of their youngsters and stood chatting with other women or walking between shops. Men compared horses, checking their hooves and sometimes their teeth. And the girls all wore dresses—some prettier than others—but dresses all the same. Her eyes stung. One man swung his daughter up in his arms, and even from so far away, Annie could see her smile. She rubbed her burning eyes. Her daddy wasn’t much of a family, but he was better than none at all—most of the time, anyway.
She swung on a nearby branch and dropped to the ground. With so many folks around, she should blend in. Hurrying past the livery and several other buildings, she stopped only to dip her hand in the horse trough for a quick drink, then continued to the far end of Waco. The house she aimed for sat a short ways out of town. She’d been there the past two days, drawn by the delicious aroma of baking bread and the children’s happy squeals.