The Chisholm Trail Bride Read online

  PRAISE FOR KATHLEEN Y’BARBO

  “The Chisholm Trail Bride is an exciting read that kept me guessing on each page as it led me into unpredictable twists. Kathleen has a talent for writing the unexpected!”

  –Hannah Alexander, author of the Sacred Trust series

  “I’ve always enjoyed Kathleen’s vivid descriptions and page-turning romance. No matter the time period or setting, Kathleen works hard to bring the story alive through her characters and passion for God.”

  –Tracie Peterson, best-selling author of over 100 novels including the Heart of the Frontier and Song of Alaska series

  “[The Pirate Bride] was a fresh and interesting read. I loved the twists and turns in the plot. A lot surprised me. It kept me turning pages as fast as I could read them. I highly recommend this novel for all readers of historical fiction.”

  –Lena Nelson Dooley, author of A Heart’s Gift, winner of the 2017 Faith, Hope, and Love Reader’s Choice Award for Long Historicals

  “Kathleen Y’Barbo knows how to write adventure-filled historical romance that will keep the pages turning! The Alamo Bride was packed with action, danger, adventure and of course, a bit of romance! I loved it! It kept me on the edge of my seat, yet still managed to have plenty of warmth and humor from the characters. Fantastic read!”

  –Ashley Johnson, book blogger and reviewer at BringingUpBooks

  © 2020 by Kathleen Y’Barbo

  Print ISBN 978-1-64352-287-6

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-64352-289-0

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-64352-288-3

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  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.

  Cover Image: Magdalena Russocka / Trevillion Images

  Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., 1810 Barbour Drive, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

  Our mission is to inspire the world with the life-changing message of the Bible.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  CONTENTS

  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

  Author’s Note

  William Lytton married Mary Elizabeth Chapman (Plymouth, 1621)

  Parents of 13 children, including Benjamin

  Benjamin Lytton married Mary (Massachusetts 1675)

  Born to Benjamin and Mary

  Mary Lytton married Antonio Cordoba (Spain 1698)

  Only child was Maribel

  Maribel Cordoba married Jean Luc Valmont (1736)

  Only child was Jean Paul Valmont

  Jean Paul Valmont married Clarie Boyd (1770)

  Children included Boyd Valmont

  Boyd Valmont married Sophia Ellis (1807)

  Children included Ellis Valmont

  Ellis Valmont married Claiborne “Clay” Gentry Sr. (1836)

  Children included Claiborne “Clay” Gentry Jr.

  Claiborne “Clay” Gentry Jr. married Susanna LeBlanc (1859)

  Children included Eliza Gentry

  Eliza Gentry married Wyatt Creed (1889)

  To Andrew.

  My son.

  My heart.

  When I look up at the stars, I see you.

  I’ll meet you at the gate, sweetheart.

  In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them

  I shall be laughing when you look at the night sky.

  —Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

  PART I

  The old Chisholm Trail wound its way over the hills and through the valleys. Wildflowers grew in the greatest profusion everywhere and there were many rare varieties that I had never seen before.

  I was fond of flowers and it afforded me great pleasure and helped to while away the long, lonely hours to gather them in armfuls.

  Sometimes, I would fill my buggy and decorate my horses’ bridles and harness with the gorgeous blossoms, then I would weave a wreath for my hair and a chaplet of flowers for my shoulders.

  — Mary Taylor Bunton, A Bride on the Old Chisholm Trail in 1886

  The stars at night were big and bright. Eliza Gentry sighed. Was there any more beautiful sight? There couldn’t possibly be.

  A wisp of cloud drifted lazily over a nearly full moon while cattle lowed in the distance. Eliza lay back on the pile of quilts she’d made into the most comfortable bed in the entire encampment and stared up at those beautiful Texas stars.

  Tonight they were the canopy beneath which she would sleep, and tomorrow the blazing sun would take its place. The cowboys would rise before dawn to complain about the coffee and each other, but never would they complain about riding all those miles under the big blue sky.

  Much as they grumbled about other things, the men who drove cattle from the Gentry Ranch—halfway between San Antonio and Austin—up toward the Red River land and beyond to Kansas lived the whole year for the spring drives. Chief among them was her father, William Gentry.

  While his fellow ranchers were turning their herds over to contract drovers, Papa had resisted. She’d heard him talk with his foreman, Red, about giving in next year.

  “One last drive,” he’d said to the red-haired giant. “Just one last drive.”

  The fact that Mama had allowed her to go along with Papa and her brothers this year was a miracle in itself. She’d threatened to bundle Eliza off to New Orleans for the annual visit with the Gentry and Hebert cousins.

  “The girl needs finishing,” she’d heard her mother say. “She needs the companionship of fine young ladies and the company of young gentlemen.”

  Papa’s chair legs had scraped the kitchen floor at that statement, causing Eliza to gather closer into the shadows behind the kitchen door lest Papa come strolling past and find her.

  “There may not be a next year. She’s got time for finishing,” he’d said gently.

  “My mother would disagree. At twelve I already knew my place as a young lady. I had been taught how to carry myself in society and was already planning my trousseau. Meanwhile, our daughter is doing nothing of the sort.”

  “I do not recall asking your mother for her opinion of how our daughter should be raised.”

  Mama’s voice rose. “Do you know I caught her on the roof of the springhouse again? When I asked her what on earth she was doing, she told me she’d only just determined that it might be possible to land in the saddle of her horse from that angle if she were to wait until the wind blew just right. Can you feature it?”

  Papa’s chuckle drifted toward her. “Sounds like the work of her brothers, Susanna. Boys tease, especially their sisters. Likely Trey put her up to it. Zeke, he’s a rule follower and aims to be just like me someday, so I don’t see his hand in this. Yes, Trey it likely was. He’d have tho
ught it funny.”

  “I don’t find it funny at all,” her mother said. “And no, this time the culprit was that Creed boy. I can find no fault with that Ranger, W. C. Creed, other than perhaps his background, but the younger Creed is trouble. You mark my words.”

  Eliza’s lips twisted into a smile as she recalled the conversation and the dare that precipitated it. Mama spoke the truth when she told Papa that Wyatt Creed was involved, but what she did not know was that Eliza had never planned to try landing in that saddle.

  As with every other conversation she had with Wyatt, if he thought Eliza would do it, he’d have to do it too. And better. Or faster.

  Or whatever else it took to best her.

  Sometimes he did, and sometimes he didn’t. This time they would never know whether Wyatt might have landed that jump into the saddle thanks to Mama’s interruption of what would have been a perfectly good idea.

  And of course that traitor Wyatt saw Mama heading for them and cut out for home before she spied him. That left Eliza on the roof with no good explanation other than the truth.

  The reverend said the truth would set her free. This time the truth almost sent her into exile.

  Only Papa and his insistence on taking her along with the purpose of talking sense into her kept her off the steamer that was currently heading east. For that she was eternally grateful.

  Mama’s sister, Eugenie, had just given birth to a baby girl she’d named Justine. All Mama had done from the time the letter arrived until she’d left on the stage was to sew up dainty baby girl clothes for her new niece, all the while rattling on about how in no time it would be Eliza’s turn to marry and have babies of her own.

  As much as she loved Mama, she did not value her opinion on this subject. From what she could tell, growing up and marrying meant giving up riding alongside Papa on the trail and sleeping under the stars.

  A life without that was no life at all. And babies? They fussed and made messes and were a general source of disruption. She had Wyatt for that.

  Eliza shifted positions and kicked off her quilt. It was a warm night for late March and the breeze was nice, so Papa had pulled back the canvas that covered the wagon to allow Eliza and her brothers to slumber there while he took up his turn keeping watch.

  Ezekiel Gentry, who at nearly sixteen was the eldest of the Gentry children, had curled up in the corner and taken to snoring as soon as Papa rode away. Not that she blamed him.

  This year he had joined the menfolk and taken on full duties as a ranch hand. That meant he’d be chasing strays and keeping watch just like the rest of the men.

  A few days ago, he’d driven the wagon across the big suspension bridge over the Brazos at Waco, and he was still telling anyone who would listen what that was like. As always, Eliza had craned her neck to look down at the brown water rushing beneath them and marveled that it was all happening and she needn’t worry about wet clothes.

  Poor Zeke had bragged about his upcoming adventure in the weeks leading up to their departure. Now her big brother could barely keep upright on his horse most days for the exhaustion.

  Beside her on his own pile of quilts was Claiborne “Trey” Gentry III, the middle brother with the fancy-sounding name who’d nearly caught up to Zeke in height and surpassed him in strength and general bullheadedness. Namesake of both Papa and Grandpa Clay, Trey was an old soul who rarely complained and, for that matter, hardly commented unless there was something worthwhile to say. He wore his heart on his sleeve and, despite Mama’s objections, a shark’s tooth he’d found on the beach in Galveston on a leather string around his neck

  Oh, but he did love to tease, and Eliza was his favorite target. Now that Wyatt Creed’s father, WC, had joined them as far as Fort Worth, both father and son had taken up places on the drive, and Wyatt and Trey had become fast friends and partners in the crime of irritating Eliza to distraction.

  “Close those eyes, girlie.”

  Eliza tilted her head to see Papa standing near the wagon. “I’m not tired. Besides, the stars are so beautiful,” she told him. “How can I sleep when God has given me something so entertaining to study?”

  His low chuckle made her smile. “There’ll be plenty of time to study the stars someday. Tonight is not that time. Besides, I don’t want to have to send you home because you cannot keep awake.”

  Trey shifted positions beside her but did not awaken. “I’ll try,” she whispered. “I truly will.”

  “Why am I suspicious of your sincerity?”

  Eliza giggled. “The same reason I am suspicious of yours. You wouldn’t send me home.”

  He lifted his dark brows, but even in the moonlight she could see the beginnings of a grin. “Wouldn’t I?”

  “Why am I suspicious of your sincerity?” she said with her own grin firmly in place.

  Papa was the youngest child and only son of Claiborne Gentry Sr. and his bride, Ellis Dumont. Born into a family of sisters whose hair was as red as the curls Eliza tried to hide under her bonnet, her father was dark and handsome and had to be the smartest man alive.

  All her life Papa had told stories of her grandmother, the quiet woman who’d done brave and amazing things in her life, and of Grandpa Clay who’d descended from pirates and fought bravely for the independence that Eliza took for granted.

  Eliza’s response to these stories of battles fought, lost loves found, and treasures buried but not forgotten was always to question whether Papa told the truth. So this question, often bandied about between them, was one that held humor as well as meaning.

  Tonight it appeared her father intended a bit of both. “Eliza Jane,” he said slowly, “do not try me. Your mama will have my head if I bring you back in worse shape than I took you, and you know it.”

  She did. It was likely that Mama was already looking for an excuse to say no to her accompanying Papa and the boys on the spring trail ride next year.

  “I have not yet seen a shooting star,” she protested. “Once I do, I promise I will sleep.”

  “That is a wish, not a need,” Papa said as he leaned down from his horse to tuck the quilt back over her legs. “Sleep is needed tonight, else you will be wanting the stars tomorrow.”

  Eliza closed her eyes but opened them again once the sound of Papa’s horse faded away. Overhead stars twinkled while Zeke continued to snore. She counted the points of light that made up the Big Dipper, Orion, and—

  Pssst.

  She glanced over at Trey, who was still sleeping soundly, and then returned to her study of the heavens above. If her brother wanted to tease her, she would show him. Ignoring Trey was one of her favorite pastimes.

  Maybe she ought to snatch that shark’s tooth off his neck and hide it. No, he was far too suspicious of removing that necklace ever since Zeke told him taking it off would bring him bad luck.

  She glanced up. Oh, but the heavens above. Studying them was infinitely more enjoyable.

  The Lord had made each star—that she recalled and believed from the Bible—but how many were there? Perhaps one day she would be the one to give that answer.

  If only she could light a lamp and continue her attempt to read The Heavens by Amédée Guillemin. Wyatt had secretly delivered a copy of the book to her after he discovered he’d gotten her in trouble with Mama regarding the jump from the springhouse, but the words were difficult and the ideas hard to grasp.

  So she’d been reading it slowly to make sense of it all. Mostly she just admired the beautiful illustrations, especially the illustration of Donati’s Comet from October 4, 1858.

  Pssst.

  A movement to her right caught Eliza’s attention. She turned on her side and spied a pair of sage-green eyes watching her from beneath the brim of a battered straw cowboy hat.

  Wyatt Creed. Of course. Eliza stifled a groan.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered. “Go back to wherever you’re supposed to be and leave me in peace.”

  She knew of course that he’d probably come about
the meteor shower tonight. Watching the Lyrids together had become somewhat of a tradition ever since she read about them in a book three years ago. Before that, she’d just assumed that every night on the Chisholm Trail was dusted with falling stars at bedtime.

  “You’re not still mad at me, are you?”

  “I am,” she told him. “You got me in trouble with Mama and almost caused me to have to go to New Orleans with her instead of coming out on the trail with Papa.”

  He rose and stretched out to his full height, then rested his bony elbows on the edge of the wagon. Though the two of them had been the same size for years, Wyatt had suddenly shot up almost a foot since last year’s spring trail ride. At just past fourteen, he was now two heads taller than her with legs long enough to cause her to have to run to keep up with him.

  If she were to want to keep up with him. Which she wouldn’t, of course.

  After the jumping-into-the-saddle incident, Eliza was done with Wyatt Creed. Well and truly done. Even if she did very much appreciate his peace offering of the book.

  One of these days Wyatt was going to have to figure out how to tell Eliza Gentry that he was getting too old to have a girl following him around like a lonesome pup. He still tolerated her—enjoyed her company if the truth be told—but soon he’d be grown and she’d still be a child.

  And a distraction.

  If he was ever going to become a Texas Ranger like his pa, who could track a man like nobody’s business and sleep in the saddle if he had to, then he had to avoid all forms of distraction. Pa was with them on this drive, but he’d leave at Fort Worth to meet up with Captain Junius Peak and take on his next assignment for Company B.

  He gave the obstinate female one more look, then shrugged. “I was going to invite you to watch the meteors tonight like we’ve always done, but it looks like you have other plans.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly, indicating he’d struck a nerve. Though he hadn’t always had an interest in falling stars and such, he’d learned enough from Eliza and those books she was always reading to appreciate the science behind them.