Echoes of a war torn hea.., p.1
Echoes of a War-Torn Heart: A Historical Western Romance Novel, page 1
Echoes of a War-Torn Heart
A WESTERN ROMANCE NOVEL
ELAINE SHIELDS
Copyright © 2023 by Elaine Shields
All Rights Reserved.
This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the publisher.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Echoes of a War-Torn Heart
Introduction
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
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
A Lone Wolf's Serenade
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
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Echoes of a War-Torn Heart
Introduction
Ivy, a gentle and kind young woman suffering from a debilitating stutter, has always struggled to connect with others. However, her world is forever changed when her beloved brother returns from the war. With him he brings the enigmatic Eli who is seeking refuge from a war-torn past with no living kin to turn to. While Ivy's heart flutters in the presence of Eli, she buries her emotions beneath the weight of her family's ranch, where she's poured her soul into hard work.
Can Ivy overcome her shyness and find her voice to navigate the uncharted waters of love in a town plagued by secrets?
Eli Turner, shunned by his own family for his beliefs, stands alone in a world that has taken so much from him. The ravages of the American Civil War claimed not only the lives of many friends but also his sense of belonging. A lifeline appears when a friend extends a helping hand, offering him a chance at a new beginning. Drawn to Ivy’s spirit and courage, Eli's heart will soon find solace in her presence. Yet, this newfound connection raises troubling questions.
Can he risk opening his heart to Ivy, fearing it might jeopardize the fragile sanctuary he's just begun to rebuild?
Amidst the rising tensions of a town filled with prejudice and bitterness, Ivy and Eli find themselves navigating a treacherous path, their love tested at every turn. Can they overcome the challenges that threaten to tear them apart? Will their bond endure in a world where nothing is certain?
Chapter 1
1865, Six Crow Hollow, Texas
Ivy was next up in the queue. She breathed in deeply, squaring her shoulders.
Easy peasy, she told herself. You know what you’re going to say. You mapped it all out in your head. Just say it. That’s all.
At least it was the grocer’s daughter, Helen, at the counter, not the grocer himself. There was something about his angry, direct stare that made it much harder to get her words out.
That, and his thinly veiled comments about the war, about the ‘darn traitors’ who fought for the Union, and about how American civilization would crumble into pieces if everyone was forced to release their slaves.
“It ain’t right!” he’d bellowed once, when Ivy was foolish enough to argue with him. “Should they release all their cows and sheep and cattle, too, huh? Just let them roam free in the hills because they got no right to keep them? The world’s gone mad!”
Ivy wished with all her heart that she was the sort of person who would speak up fearlessly about that sort of thing, who was eloquent enough to say what she thought and make it count.
But she wasn’t, and it wouldn’t be heard, anyway. Ivy had long since realized that nobody listened to her in this town, even if she managed to swallow past her stutter and make herself heard.
It was useless to point out that people were not cattle, not even close. Mr. Boules just didn’t believe it. People were people, and he did not view certain humans as real people. There’d be no changing his mind on that, not now, not ever. He was an angry man; everyone knew that, and he had the sheriff’s ear.
Ivy, on the other hand, was a single woman living alone on that big old ranch, with only her little brother for company. Not that there was a great deal of crime in their small town, but there were always…always dangers. Ivy didn’t like being there alone. She felt…well, she felt vulnerable.
Days went past sometimes, when the only people she saw were her own brother and her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Hutch, and she was more or less housebound these days. Better to just shut up around people like Mr. Boules and hope that his dicky heart just stopped working one day.
She got to the front of the queue and smiled nervously at Helen. Helen smiled back, but with all the other smiles Ivy saw, it was taut and false. It made her think of the painted-on smiles on china dolls, the kind she’d had as a child. She’d had a rag doll, too, but its stitched red mouth could never be seen as anything real. The china dolls were more realistic, but their curled, painted lips, sometimes showing a flash of lips, just seemed wrong.
It had been a relief when she could finally give up the china doll, and get away from its staring eyes and painted mouth, glowering down at her from the shelf, as if it were her fault that it was up there gathering dust.
Not that she would have dared to play with it. It was an expensive toy and easily broken.
“Hey, Ivy,” Helen said brightly. “How’s Josiah? Still making trouble?”
“Y-yes,” Ivy responded, feeling some of her tension seep away. “You know Josiah.”
“I sure do. Still no sweetheart, yet?”
There was an odd sort of look in Helen’s eyes, something a little malicious. She would know the answer, of course. Everybody knew everything in this town. If Ivy were to step out with a man, even once, even if she thought nobody saw them, everyone would know before the close of the following day. Gossip was like gold in these small towns, and Ivy was always careful not to provide any.
Well, except for the usual, unavoidable things, of course.
Helen was still looking at her expectantly, eyebrows raised. Waiting for an answer.
Ivy’s cheeks burned. This sort of questioning always made her uncomfortable. The answer, of course, was no, always no, and she had to act like she didn’t care. Women around her were getting married to their sweethearts and fiancés who returned from the war, and the women who were still single cooed about it and pretended not to be jealous.
Helen, for instance, had been courting a young man who went away to war, fighting for the Confederates. They hadn’t been engaged, but there was an understanding. Well, he’d never returned. The man hadn’t died, he only found a better home and simply decided not to return to Six Crow.
Presumably, he’d also found a better sweetheart.
Naturally, Ivy and her family had nothing to do with Helen’s disappointment, but there was no denying that they supported the Union side of the war, the side which had caused the trouble, to Helen’s way of thinking, and therefore, led to her losing the man she might have married. It wasn’t as if there was anyone else for Helen to marry.
Ivy cleared her throat, hoping she’d kept her expression smooth, betraying nothing of what she was thinking. Helen was still waiting for her answer and seemed a little impatient now.
The truth was, she would like to be married, but it simply wasn’t possible.
If Ivy let on that she was looking for a husband, she’d be set up and talked about nonstop, and she couldn’t bear that.
Firstly, the sort of men they’d see fit for a Union-siding traitorous girl was the sort of man who would ‘fix’ her, making her see ‘what was right and wrong’, as the saying went. Ivy shuddered at that thought. No, thank you. Besides, she knew all the single men in town, and didn’t care for a single one of them. She’d rather be single forever.
And, of course, there’d be the endless, pouting pity because who’d want to marry a girl who could barely speak? Luke used to tell her that it didn’t matter. He said it over and over before he left, as if by repeating it, he could undo all the smirks and harsh comments from the locals. He’d held his sister’s hands tightly and made her promise that she wouldn’t listen to their nonsense.
She’d promised that she wouldn’t, of course, but those were just words. Words were cheap.
& nbsp; Well, they would be cheap, if Ivy could ever get them out of her mouth.
Ivy cleared her throat, trying to look at ease and unflustered. She forced a smile and shook her head.
Helen smiled back, not seeming surprised in the slightest. “So, what’ll it be?”
Deep breath. Review the list in her head. Go.
“I n-need six cans of beans, a big jar of pick-pickles, a roll of plain calico if you’ve got any, and a bag of c-corn.”
“You got it. Just wait a minute.”
That was an unexpected kindness from Helen, who was one of the kinder locals, but it didn’t help Ivy’s knotted tongue or the way her breathing was speeding up.
Ivy let out a breath, leaning against the counter. It was irritating—she rarely, if ever, stuttered at home. But once she left the security of Turner Ranch, it was as if her tongue stopped working. She babbled and blushed, taking far too long to get out the simplest of sentences.
People were sympathetic, mostly. Or at least, they had been, before the Turners fell out of favor in town and started getting sideways glances and disapproving glares. Now, Ivy found that people rolled their eyes when they thought she wasn’t looking, and their eyes glazed over when she talked, as if willing her to just spit it out, just say what she thought she needed to say, and let them get on with her life.
Some of them winced and hissed as she made her slow, unsteady way through the sentences, almost seeming to share in her humiliation. Those sorts of people usually avoided her, as if they couldn’t quite bring themselves to be around her.
It was embarrassing, that was what it was.
Ivy took Helen’s absence as a chance to get her breath back, to remind herself that she had every reason to be here. This was a general store, and her coin was as good as anyone else’s. Everyone came here, and it didn’t matter if she stuttered a little when listing what she wanted.
It doesn’t matter, she told herself in her head. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. Who cares what they think of you? It doesn’t matter if people think badly of you. You know you’re right. You know they’re wrong. If you keep telling yourself that, you’ll believe it, sooner or later.
Of course, this sort of internal chanting hadn’t done Ivy any good, not yet. Still, she lived in hope that it would work, eventually. It would be good if Pa and Luke came back to find Ivy a more confident, more eloquent young woman than when they’d left.
They would come back to find some other terrible changes, so she hoped to provide one good change.
Helen came back with the requested goods, and Ivy piled them up in her basket. She paid and slipped gratefully out of the general store before Mr. Boules could turn up after all.
Outside, the small town of Six Crow Hollow was bustling. It was market day, and that meant that everyone from the neighboring towns came flooding in to buy and sell.
Ivy hated the crowds. All those strangers bustling around her, looking at her curiously. There were a lot of young men ogling her—and older ones, too, who didn’t seem to mind flirting with women young enough to be their daughters or granddaughters. She hated that in particular. Her stutter always got much worse, and they seemed to like that.
It was as if vulnerability made her more attractive to them, and it made her sick.
Ivy knew, in a vague sort of way, that she was very pretty. She was twenty-one, with fair hair, a proper flaxen shade instead of yellow, and large blue eyes set in a heart-shaped face. She had freckles blooming across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and she was short and petite in the bargain.
Very pretty, said the faces of men she passed by. Men who didn’t know that she could barely speak without turning red and stuttering fiercely, or that her family had joined the Union side of the war instead of the Confederate side, like everybody else in town.
Shameful, people had said. They’d come to console Ivy when her pa and big brother first left to fight for the Union. They’d expected her to be mortified, sad, embarrassed, and outraged at what the men of her family had done, albeit helpless to defy The Men.
It had been funny to see the expressions on the faces of the guests when they realized that Mrs. Turner and her daughter wholeheartedly supported their menfolk.
That was then, though, and this was now.
Ivy hurried through the crowds, relief flooding through her when she spotted the familiar, battered old cart pulled by the faithful old carthorse who wouldn’t go faster than a trot these days.
She threw her supplies up into the back of the cart, alongside the vegetables she hadn’t been able to sell. They’d do for the next few weeks’ worth of food. Pausing, Ivy scanned the crowd one last time for a familiar face.
It was silly to keep looking out for her brother. It had been months since she’d heard from him. Pa wasn’t coming back from the war, and it was all too likely that…
Ivy pinched off that thought abruptly, swallowing hard. No. It wasn’t fair to think that way.
I’m not alone, she told herself desperately. I have Josiah, after all.
She spotted the sheriff standing over by the saloon, leaning against the wooden boardwalk, deep in conversation with the saloon owner.
Ivy swallowed hard, hastily climbing up into the cart. She didn’t want to attract Sheriff Copper’s attention. Nobody did—it was a recipe for disaster.
He glanced idly her way, but his gaze skipped over her, not bothering to stop. He didn’t have a high opinion of her, Ivy knew that. He didn’t have time for a traitor’s daughter who couldn’t spit out a full sentence in less than a minute.
Those had been his exact words on more than one occasion, in fact.
Ivy snapped the reins across Bruno’s back, and they were off, facing toward home at last.
***
Josiah glanced up as the horse and cart rattled up the drive. Ivy waved to him, but he dropped his gaze.
She let her hand fall, frowning. He’d had a bad day at school, then. Again.
He was drawing something on his slate, which was almost certainly meant to be full of sums or some other useful information. He set his books and slate aside, stepping off the porch to help Ivy with the supplies.
Josiah was twelve and growing fast. He was taller than most boys his age, lanky and thin, and outgrowing his clothes at an alarming rate. Since the work of managing the ranch fell to him and his sister, he was stronger than most boys his age, too.
He pulled the bag of corn out of the cart with ease, slinging it over his shoulder and reaching for the basket, too.
“Are you okay?” Ivy asked, climbing down from the cart.
“Yeah,” he responded, not looking her in the eye. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”
“You’re always s-starving,” Ivy said, ruffling his hair. It was dark, like their mother’s, and he had her brown eyes, too. Sometimes, they didn’t even look like siblings, not like her and Luke. “I was going to make stew, and you can tell me what happened at school.”
“Nothing happened at school.”
“Uh-huh. I don’t believe you.”
Josiah rolled his eyes, depositing the supplies inside the kitchen door.
