Heart of Grit (eBook)

Shelli Sivert (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2023 | 1. Auflage
316 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-2449-7 (ISBN)

Infos

Beatrice, a dependable teen, vows to save her family from eviction. Her friend Charlie, a freewheeling cardplayer, has his own troubles to escape. In a stroke of luck, the Pony Express is hiring riders. They split from their small town, learning to discern friend from foe. Their luck runs dry when they find themselves in the sights of their enemies and they must draw on their last ounce of grit to survive.

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It's 1860 on the American frontier. Talk of a civil war is brewing, and the Pony Express is born. Fifteen-year-old Beatrice Brannon, a peacekeeper and rule-follower, faces losing her family's most prized possessions: their land and their hard-won respect. She vows to save both, but earning fast money is nearly impossible for a girl in those parts. Bea's friend, Charlie Rye, has carved out a hardscrabble existence, surviving by his own rules until his father drains Charlie's reputation down to the dregs. He's desperate for a lifeline. When the Pony Express comes to town recruiting riders, Bea and Charlie consider it fate, but they'll need to break their familiar rules. Both in disguise, they venture out into a world filled with injustice and corruption. Even folks they'd trusted are playing crooked games. They'll need to keep hidden to stay ahead. But after some missteps, Bea and Charlie fall into the traps set by their enemies. It's going to take more than belief in nice principles to save their lives and everything they hold dear. It's going to take drastic action and a heart of grit.

Textauszug

Chapter 1

Beatrice Brannon

Friday, March 16, 1860, Victory Hills, a silver mining boomtown near the Comstock Lode discovery in the Utah Territory of the Western United States

A saloon’s no place for a lady of refinement. Mama had told me so. Da had agreed. And the Ellerby girls—the picture of social grace and elegance—had said it many times. No indeed, unless I wore red-hot rouge on my cheeks and a corset pinched tighter than a tourniquet, I best steer clear of those places altogether. Frightful pity, with all the hubbub of an announcement, not to mention a real discussion among mostly intelligent men regarding the well-being of our town. Truly a shame, for all that would happen there. For all I’d miss.

“Pan’s sizzlin’ now, Bea,” Mama told me, prodding me back to the present. “That butter’ll burn if you wait much longer.”

She hummed a melody from her home state of Kentucky as she drew cornbread from the brick oven. I knelt beside the hearth and cracked an egg into the iron spider. The ooze danced and bubbled. I cracked another, while in my mind, contriving a way into that saloon meeting.

A fake message! I’ll deliver it to Da and take my sweet time on the way out, secretly taking note of every word. No, it wouldn’t work. They’d never talk freely with a female present. And seeing that I had no real message, Da would see right through it. Concealment may be my only option.

My brother JP burst through the door, carrying a pail of fresh milk.

“Jeremiah Peter,” Mama said in her gentle voice, “you’ll take care not to spill a drop.”

I rushed over to catch the swaying bucket, as Mama had just mopped the floor.

“Wretched cow gave me hell,” he said.

Mama gave a tsk-tsk at his cursing, which by now, wasn’t likely to be curbed.

“Poor Flossie,” Cobber mumbled from his cozy spot by the fire. “Maybe if you was gentler with that cow.”

“Fine words from a lazy loafer,” JP protested. “You ain’t done a lick this morning.”

“I got leg aches. Mama said I could take it easy.”

“Leg aches! That’s a right cock-and-bull story.”

And so the bickering began, as it did every morning between my eleven-year-old brothers.

I stooped to flip the eggs. On the way back up, my corset shifted sideways, not cinched tight enough. At fifteen, I’d been wearing a corset well on a year now, but still hadn’t quite mastered the right tightness. The hourglass shape I’d hoped for hadn’t shown up yet, nor the height. Mama, plump and lovely herself, once told me I had a big spirit for someone who didn’t take up much space.

Da emerged from his and Mama’s bedroom, blazoned in his dark overcoat and sheriff’s badge, his booming presence bigger than the sky. We all waited for his first exultation, as if delivering the opening line of a play. He drew in a deep breath and said in his Irish brogue, “Now that’s the smell of a Brannon morning.”

“Morning, Da,” Cobber said, rising to be held.

“How’s my littlest cub, now?” Da embraced the boy, lifted him up like a marionette, swung him around, and rested him back down, giggling and dizzy.

“We have a situation.” JP spoke to Da as a deputy might speak to a sheriff. “This young man is dodging chores again. This time it’s leg aches.”

“That true, Jacob Erwin? You wouldn’t lie to get out of a little work, would you?”

“No, sir,” Cobber answered.

“Well, I’m apt to believe you, then. ’Cause, you know, Brannons don’t lie.” A sideways smile emerged. “Now, that’s not to say we don’t exaggerate now and again, and maybe we throw in a bit of sarcasm here and there, but lie? Never.”

Cobber chuckled, which annoyed JP, who’d failed to enlist Da to his side.

“Keep the yolks runny,” Da said to me. “The runnier, the better.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Good thing I’m the chef, not you.”

“On she goes, too big for her britches,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you hear this, Ellen?”

Mama offered him a side glance, adding, “Where do you suppose she gets it?”

He wrapped his arm around Mama’s waist and leaned in for a kiss, but she denied him, inspecting his face. “Your eyes are red. How long you been up?”

“Oh, long enough. Not to worry now.” His vague reply meant he’d been up for hours and probably out at the silver mine. He often failed to disclose all the time he spent there, sometimes waking up at ungodly hours and slipping back into bed so Mama would be none the wiser. That horrible, slow-to-yield silver mine—Da’s only mistress.

At last, every plate was set and every coffee mug filled. Mama said grace and we dug into our fried eggs and cornbread.

“Might I go into town with you today, Da?” I asked, hoping the flush in my cheeks wouldn’t betray my true motive.

“And why, Honey Bea? What business have you there?”

“I . . . was hoping to meet the Ellerby girls. There’s some new fabric arriving today. Silk from China, actually.”

“China?” he raised a brow. “That’s a long ride for the wee silkworms, is it not?” He elbowed JP, attempting to lighten the boy’s mood. “All the way from China to Victory Hills, Nowhere.”

“I’m certain the price will more than compensate for the journey,” Mama added.

“And I suppose that’s a better use of your time than goin’ to school?” This he said with a pointed expression, the way he did back in the days when he knew what was best for me.

“I told you, Da, I’ve outgrown that little school.”

Mama came to my aid. “She’s long surpassed that teacher, Jeremiah. Truly, it’s torture for her. Lots of the older ones have stopped goin’.”

“Well, so long as you keep readin’ your Shakespeare and your Milton and your . . . what’s his name?”

“Dante Alighieri,” I said, in my best Italian accent.

“That’s the one. Now, as for you boys, until you reach your sister’s scholarly heights, you’ll still be goin’.”

JP gave a sigh that edged on a grunt. “It’s not gonna help me become a famous marksman.”

“Your sister could help you with that too,” Da said.

JP gave a vicious scowl. “I’m a better shot than she is!”

“Relax, JP,” I said. “The role of ‘family marksman’ is all yours. I give it to you.”

“That’s right,” Da said, “Beatrice is becomin’ an elegant lady, right before our eyes.”

Mama added, “Though it’s not a bad idea for a lady to keep up her skills in this wild country.”

Mama and Da nudged me toward ladyhood of one sort or another, though neither told me how to accomplish this. I myself hadn’t a clue. My rough-and-tumble childhood was hardly that of a lady’s, full of shooting guns, riding horses—not on a sidesaddle, mind you—and I regularly helped Da gut the trout from our fishing trips with nary a gag. But as my childhood came to a close, I looked to Dante’s Beatrice for refinement, radiance, and intelligence, as well as to my friends, the Ellerbys.

“So . . . you’re willing to take me with you?” I slipped it in again.

Da took his time replying. I waited, spinning a forkful of egg on my plate, wondering why the men held their meetings at the saloon anyhow. To keep the women out, I’d say, so they could chew their cud and smoke their cigars and swear like sailors without a peep from any woman.

“I don’t see why not.” Da gulped the last of his coffee and stood. “We’ve got to make life interesting, haven’t we? Even if all we’ve got is China silk to entertain us. Alright, Honey Bea, you’ve got until the time it takes me to hitch up the wagon to ready yourself.”

“Oh, I’m ready now.” I removed my apron and smoothed out my dress. “And I can help you hitch up.”

“It’s a chilly morn,” Mama threw in. “Wear your shawl.”

I took my shawl off its peg by the door.

“And while you’re there, ask the Ellerby girls if they need a dress order. I’m happy to oblige.”

“Please no, Mama, I can’t conduct business with my friends. It’s humiliating. Can’t you work it out with Mrs. Ellerby?”

“Nonsense! It’ll save me a trip to their house.”

I gave a sigh equal to my frustration. “If it comes up, I’ll ask.”

“If it comes up?” Da scoffed. “You’ll be lookin’ at fabrics, for goodness’ sake. Are you not made of sterner stuff than that?”

Only he could elicit such instant self-reflection. “Well, when you put it like that.”

“Wait! Can we hitch a ride?” JP pled, meeting us at the door with his schoolbooks.

“You’ll be early. What’ll you do with yourselves?” Mama reasoned.

“But it’s so much better than walking. And poor Cobber—he’s got sore legs.”

We each froze and raised our eyes until the irony wouldn’t hold. Da exploded into laughs, and the rest of us followed.

“That kind of brotherly love really warms my heart, JP.” I lowered the brim of his hat over his eyes, which he slapped back.

We hitched up Thundercloud and Parsley to the wagon and climbed aboard, the boys in the back and I seated in the front beside Da.

While Da hurried back inside to fetch something he’d forgotten, probably his pipe, I turned toward the house....

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 21.11.2023
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Kinder- / Jugendbuch
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3509-2449-7 / 9798350924497