The Ruination of Essie Sparks (Wild Western Rogues Series Book 2) Read online

  The Ruination of Essie Sparks

  Wild Western Rogues Series

  Book Two

  by

  Barbara Ankrum

  Bestselling Author

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417-841-5

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright © 2016 by Barbara Ankrum. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Cover by www.thekilliongroupinc.com

  eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  Dedication

  This book could not have happened without the support and love of several people. First and always, my husband, David, for his unwavering belief in me.

  To Challee and Matt Garland, for everything and then some.

  And to Julie Ganis for her expert editing skills and long friendship.

  Thank you all so much!

  Prologue

  The Industrial School for Indian Children

  Gallatin River Valley, Montana Territory

  June, 1888

  The door to The Wages of Sin creaked opened with a rusty-hinged sound that woke thirteen-year-old Little Wolf from his fevered dream. Disoriented, he cracked open a swollen eye and an arrow of sunlight blinded him. Greedily, he inhaled the fresh air that rushed in past the suffocating morning heat.

  Had he spent three days or four inside Wages? He'd lost count of the moons that had cooled the oven-like wooden shed at night. All he knew was one more day baking under the sun, and his dead father—who at first had only visited him in his dreams, but now sat in the corner of the box, waiting, watching—might do as he'd promised and take him to walk beside him in the world of his ancestors.

  All the things his father had once taught him were fading from his memory. The true language of the People had been ground out of him and the comforting echo of his mother's voice was nearly disappeared. But he wasn't ready yet to leave this world or to greet Maheo, the Great Spirit, or the angry God that Reverend Dooley always threatened him with.

  Ah, how he missed his parents. How he longed to feel his mother's arms around him again, even though he was too old to want or need such things. Two years in this place had forced him to be as the willow and not the oak, as his grandfather had taught him.

  So, if they pushed that watery, pig-slop, vého'e soup through the door again, he would drink it down. If they beat him, he would not let them kill him. And if they let him go, he would let his anger heal him, and then he would do the thing he'd decided to do.

  "Dead or alive?" a man's voice asked from outside the shed.

  His skin crawled at the hopefulness in the guard's question. It would be less trouble for the one they called Sergeant Laddner if he was dead. Then they could put him under the ground with the other Cheyenne children buried behind the school. The ones they'd helped to kill or those who'd died of vé'ho'e's sickness, or the ones whose hearts had broken.

  But he wouldn't be less trouble. He would be more. Much more.

  The Tsitsistas had a word for the one called Laddner—who wasn't really a soldier anymore at all, but a hired guard here—but that word, like so many others, had been scrubbed from his memory. Coward, the whites might call him, if they were not so afraid of him. Perhaps the wolverine was his spirit animal, because nothing else could account for the viciousness of a man who took such pleasure in hurting the children of the People.

  "Alive," another guard said, dragging him out of the box to curl on the hard dirt at the door. He tipped something over Little Wolf's head. A bucketful of cool water slapped him hard, like an open hand.

  He gasped, but turned his face up to catch the water with his tongue, his thirst a wild thing. He brought his hand to his mouth and licked his muddy fingers.

  Five feet away sat a tin cup full of water. Out of reach. Beside it was the book he'd taken, the one written by that man about that vé'ho'e boy named Huckleberry. Beyond that, small islands of children huddled together, watching to see if the guards had killed him. They didn't dare come any closer.

  Little Wolf's focus was on that cup full of water. It shamed him to crawl on all fours toward the thing like a weak bobcat toward its mother's teat, but he could not stand. His shaking arms fought him.

  The other guard picked up the book. "Is this what you want, boy-o? This stupid book you stole?"

  He shook his head, gritting his teeth. Books cannot not be stupid. Only men like you who cannot read them.

  Laddner picked up the cup of water, held it just out of his reach. "I'm gonna give you this water when you tell me you've learned your lesson, Daniel. Have you?"

  Little Wolf's mouth was too dry to speak. A frog-like croak came out instead. My. Name. Is. Not. Daniel.

  The other guard laughed at him. Laddner just shook his head. "What was that? I didn't quite hear you."

  If the hatred he felt for this man could pierce his white, soldier skin, cut through his ribs and stab his heart like an arrow, then the soldier-pretender would be dead now. One day, Little Wolf would count coup on him, like his father before him had done to his enemies, before peeling off Laddner's scalp and leaving him to soak this Cheyenne earth with his blood.

  "All right," Laddner went on, "the reason you've been in there so long is because you were warned once before about the books. And you disobeyed the rules. You tell me you understand that, Daniel, and I'll give you this water."

  Little Wolf heard the distant shout of a woman, shoving through the crowds of children, calling for them to stop. He didn't need to look up to know which woman it was.

  "Leave him be!" Her voice came suddenly from nearby and he felt her drop down beside him. Mrs. Sparks put her hands tenderly on his shoulders. "Daniel?"

  "You are not helpin' his cause, Essie," Laddner said.

  "His time in there is up. You have no right."

  "No right? When I was a boy, my daddy used to take a leather strap or a... strong piece of wood to me when I did wrong. Taught me well. This?" He pointed to Wages."This is easy time. What the boy needs is a firm hand. A hand of discipline. All of these children need discipline. And I've been tasked with giving them some by Reverend Dooley and by the Almighty himself."

  "The Almighty, is it? Careful, sergeant," she said, sending him a dark look. "Your piousness is showing."

  Laddner's face flattened with distaste. "Glass houses, Mrs. Sparks."

  His partner guffawed until she pinned him with a withering look. The man stopped laughing and cleared his throat.


  Brushing her red curls from her eyes, she glared up at him. "Oh, please spare me your concern, sergeant. And don't think I won't take up your treatment of Daniel with Reverend Dooley."

  Little Wolf collapsed against her and she held him with his back against her chest as he watched the man warily. The sergeant was yellow-haired with eyes the color of the cold, deep water. But when he smiled down at Mrs. Sparks, his eyes were full of lies.

  "I imagine you will mention it, rebel that you are. But standing in righteousness is firm footing. We are lifting these children up from the heathens that birthed them, Mrs. Sparks. And that does not come without a price. The reverend would agree. Just look. He's up in his window, watchin' even now."

  Indeed, the headmaster was at his office window. He stepped back into the shadows as they looked. Maybe, Little Wolf thought, I'll have the good reverend's scalp, too.

  "The reverend has no patience for thieves. Nor for those who protect the wrongdoers. It doesn't bode well for this boy's future or yours, by association, if you catch my meaning."

  But Mrs. Sparks didn't seem concerned with his meaning. She pressed the backs of her pale fingers to his hot cheek. Her touch felt cool.

  "You've nearly killed him in this heat. Give me that water. Now."

  The sergeant handed the cup to her with a level smile. "You should think twice before issuin' orders. Choosing sides against the reverend can be dangerous. He's got his eye on you. So you'd best mind your P's and Q's and start acting like a proper schoolmarm, or you're like to find yourself outside these gates with nowhere to go."

  "Proper?" She tipped the cup against Little Wolf's lips and he guzzled down the water in gulps. Her palm flattened against his hot forehead. "And who taught you about proper, Sergeant Laddner? The wolves that raised you?"

  A snicker of laughter from one of the clusters of children drew his slow, hard gaze. The other guard feigned an empty-handed thrust at them and they scattered like scared cats.

  He'd seen the way Laddner looked at Mrs. Sparks, the way he sniffed after her when she wasn't watching. But all the men acted like fools around her, with her wild-colored hair and those blue-green eyes that seemed to look right inside a person.

  "We can be friends or enemies, Essie," Laddner said. "And I'm not an enemy you'd care to have."

  "Or there's a third choice," she said, pulling Little Wolf to his feet and bracing her shoulder under his arm, "which is that you are nothing to me. And call me Mrs. Sparks or call me nothing at all."

  As they shuffled off toward the dormitory, Little Wolf smiled darkly. He loved her for speaking the very words he wanted to say.

  "Have it your way, then," Laddner shouted after them, a smile in his words. "But I wouldn't be throwing rocks if I was you. Mrs. Sparks."

  She would throw rocks, Little Wolf guessed. She mostly always did, when it came to the children. But something about that man's words echoed in his head like an omen.

  He would live. He had survived the Wages of Sin and he'd never go back. He would be a good, pretend white boy for as long as it took to get his strength back.

  Because now he had a plan.

  Chapter 1

  August, 1888

  Standing rigidly before the half circle of five school board members who'd gathered for an emergency meeting called by the Reverend Dooley, Essie Sparks ignored the painful kink in her shoulders. The knot had evolved from a night of tossing and turning at the prospect of this meeting. Not that she had any doubt as to its outcome.

  She clutched the thick-chained gold locket at her throat, rubbing it between her fingers out of long habit, taking solace from it. Silly. There was no solace inside this locket, only painful memories. But somehow she felt less alone, standing before these five, with the locket close to her heart.

  They had chosen the church sanctuary for their inquisition. Knowing what was coming, she'd dressed contrarily in a sunny gold calico, though she supposed the irony of such a small defiance would be lost on them. Her fingers played with the locket in the sweltering room as she waited for the Reverend Dooley to finish reading his prepared statement. She hardly listened. Blood was rushing in her ears, making it impossible to concentrate. And what did it matter? She was well acquainted with the list of complaints against her.

  Instead, she let her gaze drift over the faces of her accusers who, except for Reverend Dooley, avoided making eye contact with her. Rufus Chanley folded and refolded his hands. His wife, Elda, stared out the window behind Essie's head, looking sour. The Deek brothers, both pious ranchers in their fifties, alternately checked their watches and twisted their beards. All good, upstanding members of the church that sponsored this school, as well as school board members. And not one of them would meet her eye.

  Hypocrites.

  "...and so it is the determination of this school board that your teaching contract is hereby terminated. You will have two days to pack your things and vacate the premises." Dooley removed his wire-rimmed glasses and folded them carefully on the table.

  That small action—the putting down of his glasses—seemed like some final punctuation mark on the downward spiral of her life. But all the same, she asked, "There is no redress? You will not hear my side? I am simply to be dismissed?"

  "We already know your side, Mrs. Sparks. We have seen it in action often enough. We do not traffic with subversives. We will, of course, provide you with a train ticket back home—"

  "Home?" She felt her cheeks flame with heat as she searched the faces of the others. "The reverend knows well that I have no home to go back to."

  "Where you settle yourself after the termination of your contract is of no concern to us, madam," Dooley told her flatly, shuffling papers before him, aligning the edges in irritation.

  "A contract that was to last for an entire year," she pointed out. "It's been just over six months since I arrived."

  Dooley drummed his sausage-fingers on the table with impatience. "This board can terminate any teacher's contract as it deems necessary. Your subversive tactics and your—"

  "Yes, you said that word, subversive. In what way was I subversive? By caring for these children? By teaching them to read and do arithmetic? By allowing them hope?"

  The other board members looked to Dooley to explain, preferring not to get in the middle of what was clearly his fight.

  "Hope?" Dooley scoffed. "Mrs. Sparks. Need I remind you of the purpose of this school? That our mission is to drum the savage from these poor, godless heathens given to our care? Instill decent, civilized Christian values upon their lost souls? We have been tasked with teaching them the error of their ways, not to give them false hopes. Not to encourage them to imagine they can rise above their stations, or to expect higher education where none exists for them. Not to justify open rebellion or—"

  "Of course, you're referring to Daniel. The boy you nearly killed in Wages last month."

  That got the attention of the others. Dooley narrowed a look at her. "Killed? That's an exaggeration of the worst kind. He was punished for stealing a book. And mark me, outside these walls, such a crime is punishable by much, much worse."

  "You say stealing, I say borrowed. But that's just semantics, isn't it? Where the children are concerned, the benefit of the doubt always falls your way."

  "Why would you ever think it would be otherwise, Mrs. Sparks? I am the headmaster of this school, in case that hasn't been made perfectly clear."

  "Oh, yes. Quite. And shall I assume," she continued, "that Sergeant Laddner had something to do with this decision? Since he is your right hand in all things, including the withholding of water and decent food to those children you punish in that box?"

  "That is not true. And Sergeant Laddner had nothing to—"

  "And who has threatened me, personally, on numerous occasions, if I do not fawn over his inappropriate and disgusting attentions?"

  A rumble of whispers broke out in the semicircle of board members.

  Dooley's face clouded up and he shoved to his feet. "Be c
areful what you imply here, Mrs. Sparks. You are the focus of this meeting. As for that boy, he is an incorrigible troublemaker who was merely taught a lesson after a few days in Wages."

  "He wanted to read a book. That was his only crime. How can you deny a child—"

  "Deny?" Dooley repeated incredulously. "Look around you, Mrs. Sparks. These children are fed, clothed, educated and redeemed. They are not starving on the reservation like their indolent relatives. They should be grateful for everything we've done for them, not biting the hand that feeds them! Deny? It is by our grace that they even live now."

  Essie panned the small gathering with her gaze. "It's you who have it wrong, Reverend Dooley."

  Dooley gathered up his papers. "This meeting is adjourned." The others began to rise, but she spoke over them.

  "There is no us and them. They are us. Human beings, with feelings and hopes and dreams. Not inanimate clay to be molded into what you want them to be, stripped of everything dear to them, even their names, their language, their families. They are children, just like yours, Reverend Dooley and yours, Mrs. Chanley. If you spent any time with them at all you'd see—"

  "We've said our peace," Matthias Deek said in sharp warning.

  Dooley stalked out of the room. The Deek brothers followed. Mr. Chanley tugged on his wife's arm, but the salt-and-pepper-haired woman hesitated, turning back to Essie.

  "They were born into savagery and that is all they will ever know, but for the skills we give them here, Mrs. Sparks. Surely you must see that. They are the lucky ones. But you? You do not fit here. You must move on with your life. I pray that God lights your path."

  And with that they filed out, leaving her standing alone in the rough-hewn sanctuary.

  Feeling suddenly dizzy in the sweltering chapel, Essie braced one hand on the backless pew beside her and sat down. God?

  An irrational laugh bubbled up in her. No. No God would miraculously show up to care about her now when He'd so clearly forsaken her and these children so completely. No, she was on her own now. And somehow, she would have to manage. Six months had not been anywhere near enough time to save the money she would need to survive on her own.