Page 2 of The Lady of Red River Valley (Ladies of the Wilderness #2)

So why wasn’t God answering his prayers? Why was each step a fight for survival? If this was a worthy cause, then why was He not allowing it to thrive?

“Is it Eleanor you’ve got on your mind tonight, lad?” James leaned against one of the posts in the lookout tower. “You’ve mentioned her less and less, but I still see that look in your eyes every once in a while.”

At the mention of Eleanor’s name, Arran dropped his gaze.

A breeze drifted from the river, lifting the hair from his forehead, reminding him of Eleanor’s cool touch so many long summers ago.

“’Tis days like today that I thank God she dinna marry me when I asked.

” He never thought he’d utter those words, but he couldn’t hide the truth from James.

The man had become like a father to him.

“I dinna ken what I was thinking when I asked her to share this life with me. I was young and foolish.”

“You were in love.” There was a smile in James’s voice. “There’s no harm in that.”

“Love.” Arran tried not to let the word sound as bitter as it tasted.

“That’s what you get for love.” He pointed to the burning houses in Colony Gardens.

“Each of those houses was built by couples who thought love would overcome any obstacle life had to throw at them. And did it?” He shook his head.

“If Eleanor had come, where might she be now? Trapped in this defenseless fort with me? Buried beneath the prairie sod? Or on a boat, racing downriver toward Jack River House, trying to preserve her life?” The words felt choked even as he imagined such a thing.

“Nay. I’m happy she dinna come. I couldna watch her suffer. ”

Just thinking of Lady Eleanor Brooke, so beautiful and refined, toiling under the hot prairie sun or freezing in the bitter cold winter, starving, hungry, and afraid, made his gut ache.

Yes, he had loved Eleanor and had been foolish enough to ask her to marry him.

He had thought he was on the verge of conquering life, of building a legacy in a new land, and he had envisioned her by his side each step of the way.

But when she had refused him, he’d treated her poorly.

His pride had been hurt and his heart broken.

Thankfully, it hadn’t taken him long to realize that Eleanor had been much wiser than he.

She had been scared and uncertain about colonizing a new land, and why not?

She had known nothing but a sheltered life on a country estate in Northumberland.

She had recognized her limitations, even if he hadn’t at the time.

At least, that’s why he told himself she’d refused him.

He couldn’t stomach the idea that the real reason was because she hadn’t loved him.

“’Tis better that Eleanor remained in England.

” Arran flexed his hands, the tight scars from a lifetime ago reminding him of his many failures.

The old wounds laced up both his hands, almost to his elbows.

“Nothing good would have come from marrying her and bringing her to the Northwestern Wilderness.”

“Aye,” James said, his gaze on the dark land. “I suppose you’re right.”

Arran was right. It was the only thing he was certain of anymore.

Prince of Wales

Hudson Straight

June 25, 1815

Lady Eleanor Brooke stared down at the helpless infant in her shaking hands, blinking back the tears stinging her eyes. The rolling of the ship beneath her feet was second nature to her after six weeks at sea, but the shock and disbelief of losing the baby’s mother was only minutes old.

When the door to the cabin opened, Eleanor faced the baby’s father, but he was not looking at Eleanor. His gaze slipped to the still form of his wife, lying under a blanket pulled over her face.

“I’m sorry,” Eleanor whispered. Pain and disbelief threatened to drown her in her sorrow.

Reverend West gripped the doorknob, his blue eyes blinking several times, as if his mind was trying to catch up to the reality of what lay before him. “Anne?” he whispered. “My wife?”

“She did not survive the birth.” The words felt weak, as if they were coming from someone else, even as the weight of the new life in her hands grounded Eleanor to reality.

Anne had been a dear friend and now she was gone.

Forever. “The baby came early. Something was wrong. Dr. Pritchard tried to save her, but—” She swallowed. “Anne slipped away.”

“But why?” Reverend West asked, his voice tight. “Why my Anne? Why here, in this God-forsaken place?” He ran his hands along the side of his face, panic filling his eyes.

Eleanor moved aside as he passed her in the tight cabin and went to the bed. He knelt beside it and clasped his hands before he pressed them to his forehead. “God, is this a punishment for taking Anne away from her family?”

The baby fussed, her cries growing louder by the moment. The reverend was so bereft, he did not seem to notice, nor care. It would be up to Eleanor to see to the baby’s needs.

Since the ship had left Gravesend, England, at the beginning of May, there had been several births onboard the Prince of Wales . Eleanor didn’t bother to ask Mr. West if she should find a wet nurse as the doctor had suggested. What choice did they have?

Slipping out of the cabin, Eleanor closed the door and stood in the dark hall for a moment, cradling the defenseless life in her arms, fighting more tears. The poor child would never know her kind and beautiful mother. The injustice of it made anger mingle with grief inside Eleanor’s chest.

The tears finally came. They dripped down her cheeks and fell onto the downy head of the fussing babe. She could not begin to understand what Reverend West must be feeling, nor did she ever want to.

The baby’s cries grew more desperate. It would not do to make the child suffer because Eleanor could not pull herself together. She must find a wet nurse, and the sooner the better.

Eleanor had not spent much time with the other colonists.

They were mostly Highlanders from Kildonan, as well as a few Irishmen.

Some ninety or more men, women, and children who had answered Lord Selkirk’s call for more settlers.

They had avoided her, often dropping their gazes when she was near.

She had tried to be sociable, but as much as Eleanor longed to make friends among them, as an earl’s daughter, there was an invisible barrier she could not cross.

Instead, she and Anne West had kept to their cabin in the past six weeks, coming on deck for the weekly Sabbath services Reverend West had officiated.

They had dined with the captain on several occasions, but had been content to read, sew, or write in the cabin they had shared while they crossed the stormy Atlantic Sea.

Until now.

Now, Eleanor would be alone.

As the baby cried, Eleanor walked to the end of the hall, wiping at her tears.

She took the ladder leading to the hold, where most of the colonists shared a communal space.

The sounds here were much different than they were in Eleanor’s cabin.

Laughter, conversation, children’s voices, and more filled the small space.

The sky was dark, but the evening was still young.

Most sat around with dried biscuits and ale in hand, eating while they visited in Gaelic, a tongue Eleanor struggled to understand.

Her presence was hardly noticed.

At first, it was a child who saw her descend the ladder. The little one tugged on her mother’s skirt and the woman looked up at Eleanor in surprise.

“Ach, now, lass, what have we here?” She was a large woman with a wide, kind face. Two small children held on to her skirts while a baby was nestled in the crook of her arm. The woman moved as if the children were an extension of herself. “What brings you down to us?”

“This child.” Eleanor held the baby close, her voice small. “Her mother has died.” She could hardly acknowledge the truth.

Several others took notice of Eleanor, and a hush fell over the group. Reverend West was a well-respected man, and his wife even more so.

“What a pity it is.” The woman clicked her tongue. “Mrs. West was a kindly soul.”

Eleanor had been raised in a beautiful manor house, tucked deep into the woods in Northumberland. She had not known a day of want or care until her father’s scandal, three years ago. But since then, she’d been forced to fight for what she needed—and right now, she needed a wet nurse.

“Is there someone who could help?” Eleanor drew closer to the woman and lowered her voice, not wanting the others to hear her speak about such a delicate subject. “Is there a wet nurse available?”

The woman looked around her at the ladies who had kept their distance. None would even acknowledge Lady Eleanor. If they didn’t help, who would?

“I do not have much to offer,” Eleanor said, “but what I have, I will freely give. This child needs nourishment—”

“I’ll help,” the woman said, lifting her chin. “It would be an honor to help the good minister in his time of need.”

Eleanor briefly closed her eyes in relief. “Thank you. I’m certain we can compensate you—”

“Ach, and why should you? I’m happy to help.

” The lady laid her sleeping child on a narrow berth nearby and turned back to Eleanor.

“My name is Fiona Ferguson. My husband is Angus.” She nodded at a burly fellow in the center of one of the groups of men.

He doffed his cap, revealing a shock of blond hair.

“I’m very grateful,” Eleanor said as she nodded at Mr. Ferguson and then his wife.

Fiona extended her hands and took the small baby from Eleanor. “What a wee bairn. So small.”

“I’m afraid she came early.” Eleanor’s arms felt empty after she handed over the baby.

“And her name?”

Eleanor shook her head. “She doesn’t have one yet.”

“It matters little at this point.” Mrs. Ferguson held the baby as naturally as she’d held her own child, swaying gently in a time-worn manner. “I’ll return her to you when she’s had something to eat.”