Sky Tinted Water

Untitled

SKY TINTED WATER

Book 1 – Sky Series

By

Keta Diablo

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About Sky Tinted Water

* Clean Historical Romance

* Nominated for a RONE Award

* Mystery/Suspense

Rory Hudson arrives in Minnesota with her sister and brother-in-law to homestead. Love is the last thing on her mind, but after one look at Dawson Finch, emotions she's never felt before stir her heart and soul.

When Dawson enlists in the army to help bring peace to a nation divided, Rory’s world plummets into a tailspin. Someone is intent on harming her in Dawson’s absence and someone has sworn to protect her. Despite the time and distance separating them, Rory and Dawson’s love can never be torn asunder.

Sky Tinted Water and Sky Dance are fictitious novels 'loosely' themed around events of the Civil War and the Dakota Sioux uprising in Minnesota. Sky Dreams is also set in Minnesota but features the daughter of Dawson and Rory Finch.

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PREFACE

The name Minnesota is based on the Dakota Sioux Indian word for sky tinted water, which refers to the Minnesota River and the state's many lakes.

Before European settlement of North America, Minnesota was populated by the Dakota people. As Europeans settled the east coast, Native American movement caused migration of Native Americans into the Minnesota area.

Treaties between European settlers and the Dakota and Ojibwa gradually forced the natives off their lands and on to smaller reservations. As conditions deteriorated for the Dakota, tensions rose, leading to the Dakota War of 1862. The result of the six–week war was the execution of 38 Dakota Sioux (the largest mass execution in United States history) and the exile of most of the rest of the Dakota to the Crow Creek Reservation in Dakota Territory. As many as 800 white settlers died during the uprising.

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Chapter One

Midwest Plains

United States

Dissonant shouts jolted Rory Hudson awake. "Indians! Indians!"

She scrambled from her bedroll in the back of the wagon and peered out the open flap. The eldest of her nephews, Clark and James, stood beside their parents' wagon pointing to the sky. Rory's gaze followed their outstretched arms to a stream of smoke rising above the treetops. Her sister, Isabelle, and husband, Jon Caldwell, ran in the direction the wagon train covered yesterday.

The wagon master, Ezekiel Harmon, had warned his little flock against Indian attacks before they left Boston. He'd insisted they study his simple drawings and practice circling the wagons to form a line of defense. Rory dressed in haste, rushed from the wagon and glanced at the sky as she ran. Dense gray puffs wound toward the clouds and the smell of burnt wood tainted the air. Ezekiel's worst nightmare had come true—hostiles had struck.

A smoldering canvas and charred arrows brought Rory to a stiff–legged halt. The wooden frame of the McCall wagon stood stark and bleak against the verdant landscape. And the enemy had slipped away like thieves in the night after striking their death blow. When Amelia McCall went into labor yesterday, her husband had halted their wagon near a groove of pines, promising to rejoin the train once the babe arrived. They didn't have to worry about falling too far behind now.

Her hands buffeting the heat, Isabelle screamed and rushed toward the flaming Conestoga.

Ezekiel lunged for her wrist. "You can't go in there, Mrs. Caldwell. Nothing left but bones now."

With an anguished groan, her sister fell to her knees. "They didn't get out?"

Ezekiel shook his head.

"It can't be true!" Isabelle turned a tear–stained face to her husband. "Another baby dead, and I just brought that child into the world last night."

Aware of her sister's misery over the death of her own boy, Rory whispered his name. "Jon Henry." Whenever a child passed now, Isabelle relived the death of the infant who died in her arms. She wondered how long her sister would continue to practice midwifery after this nightmare.

Jon clutched his wife's elbow and tugged her to her feet. "Come along, girl. No telling when the hostiles will return."

Struggling to stand, her voice cracked. "Let them come. I don't care." Her face ravaged by angst she lifted her chin. "Where is God's mercy now, Jon?"

Leading her back to their wagon, his hushed voice reached Rory's ears. "It's not for us to question His reasoning."

Rory took in the devastation. Hissing shafts of arrows protruded from the blackened ruins, the acrid smoke turning her stomach. Blankets, trunks and clothing riddled the landscape, and beyond, empty vats of flour and dry goods littered the ground. Amid the horror, a magnificent ribbon of sunlight broke through the clouds. How could such terror visit on this glorious day?

Ezekiel broke through her thoughts with a nudge. "Although you're a grown–up young lady, I'm about to pull rank. Your brother–in–law is right; no telling if the Indians will return. That means I have to move the wagon train out right away." Shoulders sagging, she nodded and followed him back to safety.

After shooing her twin toddlers, Sophia and Eliza, to the wagon packed with their household furnishings, Isabelle took to her wagon for the remainder of the day. Rory had faith her sister would emerge before long, her invisible armor still penetrable but stronger in intent and purpose. Isabelle might retreat for a time but she'd never surrender.

The following morning, Ezekiel pulled his horse to a halt near their wagons and plucked a map from his vest pocket. "We're here, Jon," He pointed to an area on the map. "The border of southern Minnesota. We'll say goodbye now, be on our way to Dakota Territory and hope we make Wyoming before the snow falls."

"Godspeed, Ezekiel. We wish you the best in the coming weeks."

Ezekiel tipped his wide–brimmed hat, turned his mount around and directed the wagon train west. Rory sighed with relief. Always ready for a grand adventure, she'd never choose the life of a wanderlust fool as long as she lived.

Jon followed his own map to their new property, a sketch Jab, their lifelong friend, drew and sent months ago. "The natives call Minnesota the land of sky tinted water."

Rory took in the lush scenery. "I see why. We're surrounded by water on all sides."

"Not an ocean, but lakes, rivers and streams." Isabelle released a contented sigh. "Lovely, isn't it?"

"Massive oaks, clusters of birch and an abundance of evergreens. The water is clear enough to see the branches reflected in the depths."

Isabelle sighed again.

"That wasn't a sigh of awe, but of worry," Jon said.

"Frightening," she countered. "Reading my mind is one thing, my sounds another."

Jon smiled. "What troubles you?"

Looking at a house we purchased sight unseen. I've no doubt the land is fertile, but . . .."

"Have faith, Isabelle. I believe Louisa had your best interests at heart when she settled on the one coming into view."

Behind their Conestoga, Rory strained her neck from the seat of the second wagon and shouted, "I see a chimney and a front porch."

Jon stopped the wagon in front of the white washed abode. He sprang to the ground and assisted his wife down. "Welcome to Guilford Township, the perfect place to raise crops and children."

Isabelle brought a hand to her chest. "Oh, a rustic two–story, and the exterior blends so well with the primitive elements of the land. So far, my faith in Jab and Louisa has been validated."

Having climbed from the second wagon, Rory caught up with the others. "Do you think they remembered how many children you have when they selected the house?"

"Louisa’s memory is as sharp as the elephant."

Isabelle chuckled. "I'm certain she recalls how many children we have."

Six-year-old Sarah tugged her mother's dress. "Why do people say elephants have good memories?"

Rory tapped her niece's nose. "Because they can travel the entire length of Africa when they're young and return to the place they were born as adults."

"Oh, I thought it was because of their enormous ears."

Sarah’s older sister, Rachel, assumed the superior air of an elderly sibling. "Don’t be stupid, Sarah, what do big ears have to do with memory?"

"All right, now." Jon spoke up, putting a stop to their banter. "Isabelle, can we enter now, take a look at the inside?"

Isabelle stretched an arm forward. "Lead the way."

Rory and the children chased them up the porch and into the house.

Jon sketched a dramatic bow and extended an arm toward the kitchen. "Your domain, darlin'."

Tears pooled in Isabelle's eyes. "Bless his heart. Jab assembled mother's trestle table and chairs." She ran a hand over the dark mahogany. "It arrived by train without a scratch."

Rory lingered near the cook stove and the small, oak table beside it. "Open beams on the ceiling, Isabelle. Perfect for hanging your herbs."

Jon ambled to an adjoining room. "This way, ladies and gentlemen."

Standing beneath the arched doorway, Isabelle smiled. "Our four–poster and pine beds for the twins. How grand to sleep in a real bed again."

"This is a spacious room." Rory eyed it with a touch of envy. "I hope the bedchambers upstairs are similar in size."

"Let's go take a peek, Rory." Jon shuffled them toward the stairwell. "Jab said we'll find three large rooms up here; one for Clark, James and Aaron, one for Anne, Rachel and Sarah. The twins will sleep in our room. And . . . Jon turned to Rory. "A room for you."

Rory's chin touched her chest. “Me! Oh, no, it wouldn't seem right, a room of my own."

Isabelle wagged a finger. "We've already discussed it and the children agree."

"Time you had your own private space after all these years, lass," James chimed in. "The rooms are massive. I don’t have a problem sharing with Clark and Aaron, Rory.

“I'm touched by your unselfish generosity, and I love you all."

"We love you too, lass." Isabelle wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "Let's take a second look at the main level and then I'll make a pitcher of mint tea we can enjoy on the porch."

Jon ushered them toward the stairs again. "Then we'll start unloading the wagons and moving in."

"Agreed," they said in unison.

Hours later, with the contents of one wagon strewn about the front porch, Rory wiped the sweat from her forehead and plopped into a well–used rocking chair. "One wagon down, one to go."

"Take a break, lass." Jon winked. "You're drooping like a daffodil too long in the sun."

"A wilted daffodil, huh? The only flowers blooming around here are wild, like the land."

"Go on, lass. Take a walk around the property but mind your surroundings. We can get along without you for a few hours."

"You sure?"

"Positive." Jon strolled toward her and cupped her face in his hands. "Remember how I taught you to snap off a branch now and then?"

"A low–hanging branch to find my way back."

"Right, and don't go far. Not too many miles back we had trouble with hostiles." Jon dropped his hands and urged her to her feet. "Carry a sturdy walking stick; poke the bushes now and then. If bears are around, they'll hear you coming."

"I'll be fine. If I'm not back by sundown," Rory snorted, "send out a search party."

A worried frown creased her sister's brow.

"Jesting, Isabelle. I won't go far."

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