The Mail Order Midwife's Secret (Wanted: Wives In The West 2) by Trinity Ford Page A

day.
    Rose got them all settled and then went back to her desk. She looked up and glanced out the window and saw, not one Indian, but a group of them, riding back down the hillside toward the schoolhouse. She quickly walked to the back of the room and placed a chair under the door handle. There was no lock on the door—no way to keep out anyone she didn't want getting in. The kids were busy eating and talking, so they didn’t pay attention to what Rose was doing. She hurried back to her desk and took out a piece of paper and began quickly writing John a letter.
    Dearest John,
    My hope is that you’ll never have to read this letter, but with what I’m facing outside the window, I’m not certain of our fate.
    The most important thing is that you know how much I loved you. I don’t want you mourning for me long, if God’s plan is for me to not have much time left in this world. We will see each other again in His kingdom.
    You have too much love to give, so I want you to go on with your life and never wallow in sadness. Oh, John. I will miss you and I love you more than you know.
    Because I know you’ll want justice, I want to give you details about what’s happening. A sole Indian brave circled the schoolhouse earlier before running off over the hill to the East. He returned with a group of about 20-30 braves and they are now moving toward us. They’re part of the Comanche tribe. I hope that they’re coming in peace, but the look in the eye of the one earlier tells me it’s something completely different.
    I’m scared, John. But I won’t let the girls see it. Please take care of them if I don’t make it. Grace and Anna will need you to be strong.
    All my love,
    Rose
    “Mama?” Anna asked from her seat. “Why are you crying?” Rose hadn’t realized that tears were streaming down her cheeks. She quickly put a smile on her face, dried her eyes and dabbed her tears off the letter, folding it and putting it in the center of her desk. She glanced outside and saw the Indians coming closer, almost to the schoolhouse now.
    “Just happy tears,” she lied, trying to keep the children calm. “Okay, I want you all to be very quiet and come sit with me behind my desk. We’re going to tell stories.” The children did as they were told, each one looking concerned and skeptical.
    “Mama you’re shaking,” Grace said when she sat down in Rose’s lap for story time.
    “That’s because I’m so excited,” Rose lied again. “Now, who wants to start story time?” she asked. As the kids chose someone to go first, Rose held Grace and Anna close to her, kissing the tops of their heads and saying a prayer in her mind that they would all be okay.
    Silence fell over the room when they heard the horses whinnying outside and the sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs of the schoolhouse. She held her finger over her mouth as if to say, Shh to the kids, who stared wide-eyed at the schoolhouse door.
    Rose and the children jumped as the door crashed open and they were blinded by bright sunlight and the silhouette of a sea of angry warriors.

Chapter One
    …Two Years Later
     
    John Lockhart bolted upright in bed, breathing heavily and soaked in sweat. It had been a long time since he’d had one of those dreams—picturing the tribe murdering Rose and hearing the screams of his little girls. He’d long since forgiven himself for not being able to save them, but the subconscious reminders that hit him every so often were brutal.
    He fell backwards onto the mattress and laid there with his arms under his head, watching shadows dance along the walls as the sun began to set. Life for John now consisted of a very lonely home life, contrasted by a job where he was surrounded by people who admired him, but who couldn’t fill the void that his wife and children once had.
    He got up out of bed and walked over to his dresser, opening the top drawer where Rose’s letter waited. He touched it gently, as if the paper itself were her