Priscilla (The Widows of Wildcat Ridge Series Book 1) Read online

  Priscilla

  The Widows of Wildcat Ridge Book #1

  Charlene Raddon

  Priscilla

  Copyright © 2018 by Charlene Raddon

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

  Charlene Raddon/Silver Sage Publishing

  https://charleneraddon.com

  Cover © Charlene Raddon, silversagebookcovers.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout © 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Typesetting by © Cordially Chris Author Services

  Priscilla/ Charlene Raddon. -- 1st ed.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to the enormous number of widows and fatherless children left behind by mine disasters everywhere.

  I also wish to acknowledge and thank the outstanding authors who worked with me on this series. Generous, cooperative, competent and efficient are only a few adjectives I could use to describe them, and that doesn't even touch on their phenomenal skill as writers.

  Tragedy should be utilized as a source of strength.' ...

  A Tibetan saying

  What readers say about Priscilla —

  "Wildcat Ridge Utah. Families torn apart by a Gold Mine disaster must come to grips with their loss, and the losses for their community. Priscilla Heartsel and a severely injured young man named Braxton Gamble do much to help turn this town around and lead the broken families back into the light again. Fantastic start to a great new series. I am sure you will enjoy Priscilla's story as much as I did!"

  — Sandy Soldner Sarola

  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 Tweleve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Visit Charlene on Social Media

  Author’s Note

  Upcoming Releases

  Chapter One

  March 28, 1884, Wildcat Ridge, Utah

  Priscilla Heartsel scrubbed her bloody fingers on her filthy dress. She knelt in a hole, one of several she had dug with her hands, seeking, searching….

  Papa. Robert. Where are you?

  She sat back on her heels and glanced around. Two dozen women and children remained on the hill of rubble — the remnants of a working gold mine. The Gold King. What a travesty.

  "Priscilla?"

  Her friend, Thalia, climbed the hill toward her, holding her skirts up out of the dirt and debris.

  "You need to go home and sleep, Priscilla," Thalia said when she reached her. "You need to eat."

  "No. I have to find Robert and Papa." She clawed at the earth again, uncovering a shoe. Brown, not black like Robert's. Not Papa's either. She thought of the smile her husband had given her only this morning as she'd tied his shoes before he left for his law office. If only he'd stayed there.

  Why did you have to come to the mine? Why didn't you stay here? With me? Wasn't losing Papa bad enough? Why did I have to lose you, too?

  Thalia grabbed her wrists to stop her from gouging up more earth. "They're gone. They're all gone. All our men, some of the women and even children. Gone."

  Priscilla managed one word. "Jeffrey?"

  Thalia nodded, a tear escaping down her cheek.

  Priscilla pulled her friend into her arms. Thalia and Jeffrey were to be married next month. Priscilla fought the urge to cry. For Thalia, for herself, for all the widows and children left behind by this ghastly tragedy. The need brought pain to her chest, her throat. Her entire body quivered, ready to explode from withholding her grief.

  Grown women do not cry, Priscilla. We keep our emotions to ourselves. No one wants to hear about your pain. They have their own.

  Thalia drew away, tears raining down her cheeks now, but kept hold of Priscilla's grubby hands. Looking down at them, Priscilla noticed her wedding ring was gone.

  May 26, 1884, Wildcat Ridge, Utah

  "How dare Mortimer give us an ultimatum?!"

  Anger and fear roughened her breathing as Priscilla spoke. She waved a hand at the Gold King Mine seen through the windows on the far side of the valley. For once in her life, she didn't care if she bared her emotions to the other forty-seven women in attendance. Her hands curled into fists. "Isn't it enough his rotten mine stole our loved ones?"

  "It should be," Mayor Hester Fugit replied from the podium. "But he doesn't see it—"

  "One hundred and forty-three men!" Priscilla shouted. "Plus nineteen women and thirteen children, all dead because of him."

  Hester's face blanched. Her husband and son had been among the dead, along with Priscilla's father and husband. Along with the fathers, brothers, and sons of the other women present.

  Guilt stabbed at Priscilla for adding to the mayor's agony. Her gaze darted to the women staring back at her, their faces mirroring her misery. With a hand clapped over her mouth, Priscilla dropped back down onto the piano bench, shocked by her own behavior.

  Thalia Plunkett rose and hurried up the aisle to sit beside Priscilla. The two friends clasped hands and waited for the mayor to continue her announcement.

  "You're right, Priscilla," Hester said. "Nevertheless, Mortimer Crane owns this town, whether we like it or not. If he chooses to tear down our buildings or move them to his new mine at Clear Creek, there is little we can do to stop him."

  Etta Fawks, the town marshal, raised a hand. "What exactly is this ultimatum, Hester?" Her husband had been the marshal until his death at the mine. The residents had elected Etta to take his place because of her skill with guns and knowledge of the law learned from Charlie Fawks.

  Hester drew in a deep breath, her gaze meeting Priscilla's before turning to her audience. "Mortimer has given us three months to pay the rent and mortgage payments we owe him before he tears down the town. And he will not renew rental leases for any woman running a business in her dead husband's absence unless she has a new husband managing the business."

  "He can't do that," Cordelia Wentz cried out then glanced around. "Can he?"

  Etta stood. "I believe so."

  At the back of the church, Ailsa McNair fainted. Martha Spense, Doctor Spense's wife and nurse, rushed over to help. Moments later, the telltale scent of ammonia permeated the room.

  "Oh," Priscilla murmured. "Poor Mrs. McNair. What will she do? She has ten children."

  Thalia squeezed Priscilla's hand. "We'll find a way to help her. We'll all help."

  Several women held hankies to their noses or dabbed at their red eyes. Most widows would no doubt be bawling at a time like this. But Wildcat Ridge widows were strong and fought through their pain as Priscilla did, or tried to.

  I'm tired of being strong and hiding my emotions. It isn't fair, having to keep it all bottled up inside.

  She'd lost her husband and her father. She wanted to bawl, to rant, to rave.

  Voices
arose, filling the church with discord. With more and more of the town's residents moving away, the sixty-eight women who lost their husbands in the mine collapse had dwindled down to forty-seven. Priscilla ran her gaze along the walls of the Blessed Church of the Angels where her father had preached the gospel for four years; where she had taught Sunday school and played the piano. Memories plagued her. Good memories. She had to remember not to let the pain of the past two months obliterate them.

  The women meeting today in their mourning garb resembled a flock of crows. Priscilla had put away her black garments. Every time she saw a woman in black it brought back the horror of March 28th.

  Tears had left Thalia's cheeks red and splotchy. Had her fiancé lived, they would have been wed today.

  Hester Fugit had been elected town mayor after her husband, the previous mayor, died in the disaster. She waved her arms for silence. "Quiet, everyone, I called this meeting so we could figure out how to save Wildcat Ridge."

  Outside, sleet peppered the windows, adding to the noise level. With winter waning, storms didn't last as long, and snow melted quicker. Already, the ice had vanished from Moose Creek. The streets had turned to mud, but thick snow drifts remained wherever the sun failed to reach.

  With order restored, Hester said, "We can't avoid the obvious, ladies. We must remarry."

  Protests rose from all over the church.

  "I know. I know." Hester waved for them to quiet down. "It's too soon for me as well. I loved my husband as I know many of you did yours. But we must face reality. If we don't remarry, how will we survive?"

  Priscilla stood up. "There's no reason those of us who have businesses left by husbands or fathers can't reopen them. What we need are ways to bring in people to spend money in our shops to pay the rent."

  "True," Hester agreed, "but how?"

  Justine Ditzler rose from her seat, a black veil half-concealing her pretty face. "We could send out ads offering businesses already set up, stocked, and ready to run, to men willing to marry us."

  "Aren't we rushing matters a bit?" Cordelia Wentz asked. "Our men are barely cold in the ground yet."

  Several voices spoke up in argument.

  "The point is, ladies," Priscilla said loud enough for those in the back to hear. "We have no choice." She couldn't believe she'd said such words. She had no desire to marry again. In fact, it was the last thing she wanted.

  "Priscilla's right." Hester's voice held a sharp edge, no doubt caused by bitter bile in her throat. She had a rotten job, having to force women to face reality, and face it herself. "Our futures look grim, ladies. Many of us want to keep living in the homes we've already established. But owing rent or mortgage payments to Mortimer Crane gives him power over us."

  "The gobrat," groused Thalia. "I can't believe he raised our rent a dollar a month at a time like this. He wants us out, I tell you."

  "Of course, he does," Cordelia said. "Owning Wildcat Ridge and the Gold King Mine is no longer doing him any good. His main concern now is his new mine at Clear Creek, the Gold King 2, and he wants these buildings moved there. As much as I hate to admit it, Hester's right. We have no choice but to remarry whether we stay here or not."

  Priscilla's stomach clenched, leaving her nauseated. She clung to her bag and Bible to keep from screaming in rage and helplessness.

  No! I don't want to risk losing another husband. I don't want to give up my home.

  Oh, but I would so love to have a baby, a little person to call my own.

  And love. I want someone to love.

  The image of her mother's stern, beloved face flashed into her mind. Instinctively, she stiffened her spine. "We can't allow him to destroy our town. This is a lovely valley, especially with the trees growing back. The dog-tooth violets this spring turned the meadows a glorious gold shimmering in the sunlight like gold coins tossed onto the snow. I want to be able to enjoy the same marvel next spring."

  Stop babbling. Think how to get out of this dilemma.

  Grief had always caused her to talk too much.

  "I want the same thing," someone in the back shouted. "My boy, Elmer, saw a deer on Black Bear Hill the other day. The animals are returning."

  "Glory be!" another voice called out.

  The excitement raised the noise level in the room, to Priscilla's regret. Hundreds of acres of forest had been harvested.

  "We all feel the same." Hester absorbed the burst of enthusiasm from the others and used it to her advantage. "Wildcat Ridge could once more be the thriving town we dreamed it could be when our husbands brought us to this mountain. Think of it, ladies. We could have our cozy homes and security too."

  Women throughout the room applauded.

  "We need men to run the businesses left by our husbands," Hester said, drawing Priscilla back to the conversation. "Or do it ourselves. It's as difficult for me as it is for the rest of you to put our mourning aside. But we have to go on living."

  "I'd be glad to continue my Bible study classes," Priscilla said. "George and Elsie Tweedie have kept their mercantile open. Hester is our mayor. Etta Fawks has taken over as marshal. Aren't any of the rest of you willing to work a little harder and run the businesses your husbands started? We have to learn to fend for ourselves and stop looking to men for help."

  "She's right," Olive Muckelrath blurted. "I have my Archie's butcher shop open. I can do the job as well as he did, and Buster supplies me with beef and pork when she can spare some."

  "We still have my husband too," said Martha Spense. "A town with a good doctor should be an added attraction to men looking to relocate."

  "An attraction for married men with families perhaps," Cordelia said. "Bachelors don't worry about such things."

  Hester waved a hand. "Let's concentrate on the question of how to get men to come here. Does anyone have any suggestions?"

  Blessing Odell, dressed as usual in boy's clothes, much to the consternation of the older women, stood and raised a petite hand. Despite being a total tomboy, she remained dainty and feminine. "I have a suggestion."

  "Wonderful. Let's hear it." Hester motioned for Blessing to go to the front and take the floor.

  The slender girl hitched a suspender up onto her shoulder and faced the crowd. One or the other of her suspenders continually slipped off, her shoulders being too slight to hold them in place. As the only child on a horse ranch growing up without a mother, Blessing knew more about horse breeds than hair styles or bonnets.

  Priscilla knew the girl hated her real name, Blessing, and wanted to be called Buster. Priscilla felt that nicknames belittled a person and avoided using them.

  "Well," Buster drawled, "Since Papa died in the mine disaster, I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with all his horses. The Army who contracted for them won’t buy from a woman and a hundred and ten is more than I plan to keep on the Rafter O Ranch. I thought we could hold an auction. That’d bring in some men and I’d split the profit with the women in town, fifty-fifty, to keep it going. Papa left me enough money for my needs and I don’t want a husband."

  Hester clapped her hands. "Why, what a marvelous idea, Bles… uh, Buster. And very generous of you. When should we do it?"

  Buster shrugged, and her suspender slipped again. "Any time's fine with me. Do we need to wait until all the snow's melted, so folks can get here easier?"

  "That's something we must consider, Buster. But we also need time to make arrangements, get out advertisements…." Hester paused. "I'd guess, by the time we are able to hold the auction, the snow will not be an issue."

  "We should have it as soon as possible," Marshal Fawks jumped in. As usual, she wore her brown hair in a braid coiled on the back of her head. Buster Odell wasn't the only woman in Wildcat Ridge to dress as a man. Etta Fawks wore men's trousers and a shirt, a gun-belt at her waist and men's boots on her feet. Cordelia Wentz wore split-skirts, with a gun-belt and boots.

  "Today is May 26th," Hester murmured, lost in thought. "How about June 27th?"

  Heads
nodded, and voices rose as excitement grew.

  Martha Spense let out a whistle and waved a hand, snagging everyone's attention. "I think we should invite interested buyers to arrive a week before the auction to check out the horses. It would give the ladies a chance to work their wiles on them and maybe convince them to stay." She grinned as if pleased with her ingenuity.

  Over half the women, including Priscilla, applauded. She liked Martha Spense. Martha and her doctor husband were always eager to help people.

  "I could offer them room and board," Buster added. "Though my housekeeper's likely to quit if I put all this extra work on her."

  Agnes Hinkle stood. "I can help cook."

  Other offers rang out.

  Hester clapped, bouncing up and down on her heels until the pins holding her bun on the back of her head began to loosen. The room hummed with conversation. Priscilla wondered how long the women's pleasure would last when the town filled with loud, belching, spitting, cigar-smoking, cussing men causing trouble. Her late husband, Robert, had insisted such activities were simply what men did and she must get used to it. Priscilla refused.

  Women who refused to stand on their own two feet and run their husbandless businesses annoyed her. Her father, Reverend Bainum, had always taught her to be strong and competent. Her mother, who'd died last year, had trained her daughter to hostess a party, hold an intelligent conversation, and think for herself. Priscilla had no idea how she'd survive on her own, but she'd find a way rather than take another husband.

  "All right, ladies," Hester boomed. "We have one good idea. Let's all go home and think of other ways to bring men to Wildcat Ridge and get this town running again. Meeting's over. Be here again Saturday morning at ten o'clock."

  Priscilla smiled, half expecting Hester to bang a gavel on the preacher's pulpit, even though she didn't have one. Benches and chairs scraped the wooden floor as women stood and moved toward the door. To Priscilla's surprise, Marshal Fawks raised her hands.