A Chance for Love

A piercing scream echoed in the darkness, sending chills up her spine. She searched the star-studded sky, only to see a shadow darken the full moon. The owl's silhouette glided in silence, its soft feather down fluttering in the gentle breeze. It screeched once more, turning a few yards above her head as if in a dance, and then flew straight at her face. Its great wings made a whooshing sound as it slowed, suspended in front of her for a moment. Her heart raced as its eyes seemed to pierce her soul, holding a pearl of ancient wisdom–mysterious and out of reach.

The barn owl's white face reflected in the moonlight, and with a rush of wings, it soared straight at her eyes. Abigail ducked at the last second, turning to follow the owl's movements. But all that was left was its shrill call as it vanished into the night…

Abigail Williams started, sitting bolt upright in her seat. The train wheels clattered and clanked, but the dream held onto her still. Papa had been gone for nearly five years.

"You alright, Miss?"

Abigail's head shot up, heat filling her cheeks. The young mother's voice was soothing, concerned. She had traveled most of the way sitting across from her. She had struck up conversation now and again to pass the time. Her little girl was adorable, chattering excitedly for much of the journey.

Abigail sat up, rubbing her temples against a headache that was starting to form behind her eyes. "Yes, I am fine, thank you."

"You've not slept well the entire trip," the woman said, studying her. Abigail shifted nervously. "What do you dream of?"

Abigail let out a soft chuckle, smoothing down her long gingham skirts. She glanced out the window at the thickly forested land. "It's nothing," she replied. "Just a silly dream about an owl."

The woman's eyes filled with fear. "An owl?"

"Yes. Is that bad?" Abigail asked. She had had the dream several times over the last few weeks. Always it was the same–an owl circling the moon, flying for her eyes and then disappearing into the night, its screeching call sending shivers through her. Abigail had never placed much stock on dreams, being a God-fearing Christian. Even so, hadn't God spoken through dreams in the Bible? What could it all mean?

The woman straightened, wearing a concerned scowl. "The natives believe that owls are a bad omen—an omen of death. Some say that owls are the embodiment of the spirits of their ancestors."

Abigail cleared her throat. The woman was not joking. Gooseflesh crawled up Abigail's arms, spreading up her neck until it seemed every hair stood on end. She tried to shake off the foreboding feeling, but the woman's eyes held a wild fear that Abigail could not expel. She straightened. "Well, I don't believe in such things."

The woman eyed her carefully, straightening as well. "Best be on your guard, Miss. That's all I'm sayin'." She turned her attention to her daughter, brushing her curls away from her face.

Abigail turned back to the window. She did not want to admit it, but perhaps the owl was an omen. Her life had been in such turmoil the last few years. First, Papa and her three older brothers were killed in Lincoln's war to free the slaves, leaving her and Mama alone to tend their farm. Now, Mama was gone, too, having succumbed to a terrible fever. Without family or protection, Abigail had been forced to take drastic measures. She had stumbled on an advertisement for mail-order brides, something she would never have given a second glance before. But women were scarce out West, and the men had taken to putting in a 'mail-order' for a bride. This gave them a chance to marry without traveling all the way back East to find a wife. Abigail had been leery about the arrangement at first. Indeed, who agreed to a man sight unseen? However, the benefits had outweighed the risk in the end. The West boasted riches and security, far from the ever-increasing crowdedness of New York.

And so, it was with much grief that she finally decided to sell her family's ten-acre farm and try her luck out West. A close friend had helped her weed through the advertisements until she had found one that showed some promise from a man named Seth Price. He sounded mature and well-grounded. While he was nearly fifteen years her senior, he had sounded kind and compassionate and shared her faith in God.

Abigail let out a sigh, nervous at the prospect of meeting her would-be husband. Soon the train would be pulling into the station at San Francisco. Seth had written that it would be another 450 miles to his homestead in Oregon, nestled in the mountains.

"Here we are." The woman sitting across from her started gathering her things and gently nudged her daughter awake. Her eyes softened as she bid Abigail farewell. "I didn't mean to scare you earlier. I am sure everything will be fine." She gave her an encouraging smile as the train slowed, pulling into the station. Steam surrounded them, obscuring her view from the windows as it came to a stop. The whistle sounded with a loud blaring note, and people immediately started filing off the train.

The station was a bustle of activity, with station porters walking to a fro carrying luggage. She watched as several people reunited, smiling as a young couple kissed near the ticket counter. Her heart fluttered with a burst of nervous energy. What would Seth be like? Would he like her?

A porter helped her step off the train and then went in search of her luggage and came back a few minutes later with a larger carpet bag. It seemed strange that all her earthly possessions could fit into two ragged carpetbags. She thanked him, giving him a few small coins as a tip. She then looked around the station, searching for the face of her betrothed. She dug in the smaller bag, searching for Seth's letters. She was elbow-deep in her bag when a voice sounded next to her.

"Miss Williams?"

Abigail looked up slowly, her heart racing. The man before her was built like a grizzly, his dark olive skin catching her off-guard. "Yes, I'm Abigail Williams. You must be Seth?" He looked much younger than she had imagined. His handsome face was clean-shaven, his high cheekbones denoting his native heritage. Seth had said nothing of his ancestry, but she supposed it was her own fault for assuming he was white. "I was just looking for the letter you sent, to make sure I had the right date. I was afraid I'd need to spend the night in a hotel." She laughed nervously.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Williams. I'm afraid there has been a misunderstanding, however. I'm not Seth. Names' Samuel Price. I'm Seth's younger brother."

Abigail furrowed her brow. "Samuel? Well, where is Seth?"

Samuel looked around the station platform, his mouth set in a rugged, thin line. "Not here. Come along, Miss Williams." He bent to pick up both carpet bags and then placed a hand under her elbow. He led her around the corner of the station, where several carriages were parked. "We'll have to spend the night here and figure out what to do next."

Abigail jerked her elbow from his grasp, halting on the boardwalk. "Wait, I need to know what is going on. Why isn't Seth here to collect me? He told me we were to be married here in San Francisco."

Samuel turned, sighing heavily. He raked a hand through his short-cropped raven black hair. He studied her for a moment, his eyes filled with sadness. "That's just it, ma'am. Seth is dead."

Abigail's heart nearly stopped. She shook her head, her vision blurring. "No. This can't be–" She looked back up at Samuel, his green eyes filled with sorrow.

"I'm afraid it is, Miss Williams." He took her by the arm and helped her climb into the carriage. "We'll need to get you a place to stay for the night, or even a few days. You'll have to figure out what you want to do, but I assume you'll want to head back home?"

Abigail looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and anger. How could he be so nonchalant about this? His brother was dead, and she was stranded here. "I have no home to go back to, Mr. Price," she said icily. "I sold my family's farm and used every cent just to get out here. I have no family, no connections. This was supposed to be a new start for me–" her voice broke. What was she going to do now?

An older man appeared at the window, tipping his hat to her. "Seems to me like there's only one option–you marry her, Sam. Only right thing to do, I reckon." She looked at him in surprise.

Samuel rolled his eyes, looking annoyed at the interruption. "Excuse my friend, Miss Williams. This is my farmhand, Mr. Lambert." He sighed heavily. "And marriage is out of the question.

Lambert climbed into the carriage and sat down beside Samuel. He clapped him on the shoulder, smiling faintly. "You gotta settle down sometime, boy. Might as well be now. You ain't gonna find a girl as pretty as Miss Williams in these parts, in my opinion."

Abigail felt the heat rushing into her cheeks. This was all happening so fast. She didn't want to beg, but she really had no choice. Either Sam agreed to marry her, or she would be forced to wander the streets of San Francisco.

She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, praying for guidance. Samuel's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Miss Williams? I know it ain't ideal, and I know it isn't what you expected, but–But would you consider–?" He couldn't seem to finish. Abigail looked over at him, hardening her heart toward him.

"Marrying you?" She finished for him, letting out a derisive laugh. "Well, it seems we have no choice, as Mr. Lambert so expertly put it." She shrugged, nodding toward the road. "Best get started."

Samuel clamped his mouth shut, annoyance seeping into his gaze. He pounded a fist on the carriage roof and yelled at the driver. "Let's go!" Abigail settled into the seat, silently praying for strength. This was indeed not what she had expected.

***

The trip north to Oregon had been grueling, even more so than the long train ride. After a rushed wedding in San Francisco, Abigail, Samuel and Mr. Lambert had started the trek back to the homestead. The ceremony had certainly been disappointing, with a few words mumbled over them before the sheriff. She had spent her wedding night in a stagecoach. It would seem that Samuel wanted a marriage in name only, as he had shown little interest in her since picking her up from the train station.

Travel by stagecoach was the fastest way where trains were not available, but they were crowded and bumped along worse than the train, especially on the rugged terrain of the Cascade Range.

Now, as they rode in Sam's wagon up to the homestead, all she could think about was a hot bath and a good night's sleep. She clenched her teeth with each jostling move they made, closing her eyes against the pain shooting through her muscles.

Samuel cleared his throat as they started up a hill, climbing higher into the mountains. "We're only a few miles from the house now." He said as he glanced over at Abigail's grimacing face. "Are you comfortable?"

Abigail looked over at him in surprise that he had even spoken to her. "Not really. But I'll be alright." She had learned hard work from her Papa on the farm back in New York. She looked out over the land and took a deep breath. They had reached the top of the rise, and her view opened up, revealing an expanse of trees and rolling mountain range in every direction. The fog had settled in the valleys with the onset of evening. Soon the sun would begin to set, plunging them into darkness.

"It's so big," she breathed, awed and a little frightened by the scope of her surroundings. Not a building or farm was in sight–just the dark green forests of towering conifers and oaks. The stillness was unnerving. "How long have you lived out here?"

Samuel shrugged, holding the reins loosely in his hands. He was more relaxed, it seemed, now that they were off the stage and away from the crush of people they had experienced in San Francisco.

"My Pa came out West in 1845, right before the gold rush. He had no interest in gold. Pa sold lumber to the boomtowns in California. When he made his fortune, he bought the homestead in Oregon where I grew up."

"And your mother?" Abigail asked. She did not want him to quit talking. This was the most she had heard him say in the last three days combined. If she had to lay down her dream of a love-filled marriage and children, she at least wanted to try for a friendship, if possible.

"My mother was from the Siletz tribe. My father met her in town when her people came to trade. Way he tells it–it was love at first sight."

Abigail hung her head. He would never look at her the way she had always dreamed her future husband would. "Was Seth your only sibling?" she asked quietly, hoping that he wouldn't think she was prying.

"Yes, he was."

Abigail waited for him to go on, but he remained silent. It was like pulling teeth to try to get him to talk. "Your Ma didn't want more?"

"No, she did. She lost a few between Seth and I. That's why we're nine years apart."

His voice was filled with pain. She reached out and touched his arm, wishing there was more she could do. "I'm sorry," she said, not knowing what else to say to comfort him. Abigail had many more questions for him, but he interrupted her thoughts to announce that they had arrived. She was far from prepared for what she saw in her new home.

Abigail squinted as they pulled through the arch and onto the drive leading up to the cabin. Her mouth dropped open at the destruction wrought around her. They came to a stop in front of the house, sitting frozen for a moment. Her heart fell.

"What happened here?" she breathed, shock and grief once again taking hold of her heart.

"Claim jumpers." Samuel said. "They tried to get Seth to leave this place by filling in the well. Then they bashed up the corral and stole all the horses. They came in the middle of the night three weeks ago. There were just too many of them."

Samuel jumped down, reaching his arms up for her. He placed his hands on her waist and helped her down, holding her for a moment longer than was necessary. She cleared her throat and stepped away, feeling embarrassed. The corral was broken up, rails laying pell-mell around the yard. The barn looked like a charred skeleton, boards poking up this way and that. The front window of the cabin was broken. Thankfully the fire had not spread to the house, but if the inside looked anything like the outside, she would have one heck of a job ahead of her.

"How did Seth die?" she asked.

"They shot him in the back while he was trying to put out the fire."

Sadness and anger warred inside her as she mourned with Sam. She never even knew Seth, but still, a tear streamed down her cheek. Samuel turned to her, her eyes locked in his fervent gaze. "I never would have brought you back here if I sensed you wouldn't be up for the job. But I'm asking you to help me, Abigail. Seth loved this place, and I promised him I'd take care of it."

Abigail shook her head, overwhelmed. Her mind stilled, and she turned to God in silent prayer. It was as if God himself was asking this of her, not just Sam. Would she answer His call to love this man she barely even knew? When she looked up at him again, there were unshed tears in his eyes. She took his hands, and there in front of the cabin, she made a vow before her Maker. "Yes, I will, Sam. We'll fix this place up and restore it, just like you said when we drove up. It'll be everything Seth wanted–and more."

Samuel gave her a smile then, and it reached his eyes for the first time since they had met. "Well, then. We better get started."

***

Abigail straightened as Sam walked over to her, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Mighty pretty," he said. She had been weeding the small garden to the side of the house. It had been a month since she had arrived at the homestead. The homestead was starting to look like a proper home again, with the barn as the only mar on the surroundings.

She beamed under his praise, looking around at the lush garden. "Yes, it's coming along nicely."

"I didn't mean the garden," he replied in his usual dead-pan way. She laughed, putting her hands over her cheeks against the deep blush. Samuel had surprised her, opening up as they had spent more time together restoring the homestead. Her first impressions had been sorely wrong about him. He was quiet, but he was also kind and had a good sense of humor. And more importantly, his faith in God had remained strong, even after everything that had happened to his brother.

He entered through the garden gate, taking her hand. A lightning bolt seemed to pass through her. He looked nervous, licking his lips as he drew her into his arms. "I've wanted to say this for a long time–"

"Sam!" Mr. Lambert interrupted. They both looked in the direction of the road where Mr. Lambert was running toward them. His clothes were disheveled and dirty, a long stream of blood trickling down the right side of his face. They hurried to meet him, and Abigail took off her apron and made Mr. Lambert hold it over the cut.

"What on earth happened?" she asked, her voice shrill with worry.

"The claim jumpers," he said out of breath. "I saw them comin' up the road. Some of them have fanned out and are headed this way. I saw them flashing through the timber."

Fear made her heart leap into her throat, threatening to cut off her air. She glanced over at Sam, who raked his hand through his hair once more. "Are you sure it's them?" she asked, looking to Mr. Lambert.

Sam sprang into action before he had a chance to answer. "Get in the house," he said to her, his tone stern. He had never raised his voice at her, but she sensed it was not because he was angry with her. Was he afraid for her, too?

"What are you going to do?" she asked, frightened for him. He took her by the arm and started toward the house, looking over his shoulder toward the road.

"It's too late to try and go for help. We'll have to hunker down like we did before." She had to sprint to keep up with his long strides. Mr. Lambert followed them, and when they were safely inside, the men started taking down the firearms and getting them ready.

"Stay in the corner. When the shooting starts, you can crawl under the bed. Just remember to stay low," Sam instructed, his words clipped and strained.

Abigail did as she was told, sinking onto the bed. It felt as if an anvil was hanging over her head, ready to come crashing down and end her. She had just started to get used to her new life, and now it might come crashing to a halt before they really had a chance to get started. When the guns were loaded, Sam and Mr. Lambert knelt on either side of the front door. Suddenly, the screech of an owl sounded in the stillness. Abigail jumped, drawing a worried glance from Sam. He motioned for her to come to him, and she went willingly into his arms.

"I'm scared, Sam. What if something happens to you?" Her voice shook.

"Everything's gonna be alright, Abby. I promise." Even with his strong arm around her, she had a hard time believing he could promise such a thing.

"How can you?" she turned to him, gazing into his moonlit face. The barn owl screeched again, causing her to flinch. She looked up through the broken glass of the little window, a solitary star appearing in the dark expanse.

"Abby? What is it?" He followed her gaze out the window. "Don't tell me you're afraid of a little barn owl?" He drew her close, and she closed her eyes. She should have told him long ago.

"It's nothing. I never told you this, but I had a dream about an owl when I got into San Francisco. A lady on the train told me it was an omen of death. I didn't think much of it then, but now I can't help but think about it." Had the dream been heralding Seth's demise, or was it foretelling a death to come? She looked up into Sam's face, her heart beating wildly. "What if it is an omen. She said that the native tribes believe it's the omen of death. Is that true?"

"Yes it is, but I don't believe in such things."

Abigail lifted her face and turned into him, relishing his warm embrace. "Sam?" she whispered, her heart throbbing in her chest. She had wanted to tell him for a while of her feelings, but it seemed imperative that she tell him now. She may not have another chance, depending on what happened that night.

"Yes?" he asked softly, his voice low and husky.

"I think I love you," she whispered.

Sam was quiet for a split second, and for a moment, she thought he would reject her. However, he cupped both sides of her face and drew her close without a word. Before she knew what was happening, he bent his head and covered her mouth with his. It felt as if a firework had been set off in the pit of her stomach. She gripped at his shirt front as he pressed her against his chest. He deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Well, it's about time," Mr. Lambert said, breaking in on their moment. Sam ended the kiss, leaning his forehead against hers. She touched his face, tears filling her eyes. If this was their first and last kiss, she wanted to remember every feature of his handsome face.

"Sam–"

She had so much to say, but suddenly the air echoed with the sound of a gunshot. She ducked instinctively, and he pushed her up on her knees, propelling her toward the corner of the room. "Stay down!" he whispered.

Once in the corner, she froze, listening. Muffled voices filtered in from the path at the side of the house. Whispers also filtered in from the corral. They were completely surrounded.

Abigail drew her knees to her chest. Oh, God, help us!

Samuel took a deep breath, nodded to Mr. Lambert, who was hunkered on the other side of the front door and then yelled to the intruders. "I hear you out there! Best get along before anyone gets hurt!"

"This land belongs to us, you hear?!" came the snarled answer. "Price had no right to claim it!"

"He had every right!" Samuel's voice boomed through the tiny cabin. "This is your last chance! Get off my land!"

The man laughed mockingly. "There are six of us and two of you! You ain't got a chance, Price!"

Abigail gripped his arm as Samuel stood. "Stop! Where are you going?"

He knelt before her, cupping her cheek. "To end this," he whispered. Before she knew what was happening, he bent his head toward hers. He covered her mouth with his, lingering for a few precious seconds. It felt as if a firework had been set off in the pit of her stomach. She wrapped an arm around his neck, drawing his head down to hers.

In the next instant, he was gone, sneaking silently out the back door. Abigail touched her lips, still warm from where his lips had been. She was filled with a sense of loss, knowing that that might be their first and last kiss.

"Took him long enough," Mr. Lambert whispered, crouching beside her to take Sam's place below the window. But Abigail was determined that all three of them would make it out alive. They had worked too hard and come too far just to let it fall in the hands of six no-good claim jumpers.

She turned and peeked her head over the window sill. The moon was full, washing the landscape in silver light. It was so bright that she could clearly see silhouetted forms moving in the moonlight. They were closing in, positioning themselves all around the cabin.

"One last chance, Price! Give up now and we'll let you and your tired old farm hand go in peace!"

"Not a chance!" Lambert yelled through the window.

Abigail looked around the broken shards of glass, still shattered from the last time they had come. Shouts echoed through the night, and shots rang out over the yard. Cries of pain and agony followed as one man was hit and then another. "Got one!" Mr. Lambert cried. "They're runnin' for their lives!"

But Abigail sensed that it was long over. Several more shots fired, each sending a shock of fear for Samuel through her. She reloaded Mr. Lambert's gun three times. Several bullets whizzed into the room, hitting the opposite wall. She closed her eyes, leaning as close to the wall as she could.

"Trade me!" Mr. Lambert yelled, handing her his empty firearm. She reloaded it with shaking hands as he took her gun. As she was loading the last shell, Mr. Lambert cried out, blood spurting onto her arrows from above.

"Mr. Lambert!" she cried, cradling his head as he fell back on the floor. He gasped in pain, holding his arm.

"It's alright, just my arm. You've got to take over or they'll storm the cabin!" he said through clenched teeth. "Go!"

She nodded once and headed back to the window. She finished loading the shotgun and leveled the barrel on the window sill. She took aim at a lone figure standing by the corral, holding her breath as she squeezed the trigger. A cry echoed through the night as a body thumped to the ground. But she did not pause to rejoice, for, from the corner of her eye, she saw Samuel's silent form sneaking toward the corral. She wanted to scream for him to stay back but saw someone else following a few paces behind him, poised for the kill.

Abigail leveled the gun, leading the figure who hunted her husband. Abigail was about to fire when Samuel turned and fired his pistol at the last second. The man let out an enraged scream as he fell to the ground. Samuel ducked just in time, rolling and coming up on his knees to fire three more shots in rapid succession. The last assailant fell, writhing in pain.

Abigail waited for a moment, listening. She dropped the gun when she saw Samuel coming back. She rushed to the door, flinging it open. Abigail ran to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She never intended to let go.

"Abigail, you should have stayed inside," he scolded. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her into his chest as she began to weep. She held onto him as if he were a lifeline.

"I thought I was going to lose you," she sniffed back tears, waiting for an angry reply. But none came. Instead, he bent and kissed her again, lingering and hungry this time. When he ended the kiss, they were both breathless, gazing at each other in the moonlight.

"It's over now. We're safe," he said, brushing her hair away from her face. "I'm sorry you had to endure all that. And I'm sorry I was such a fool for waiting to tell you how I've felt until now. I love you, Abby. I wanna spend my life with you."

Abigail smiled, her cheeks wet with tears of joy now. "We'll build up this place together and raise a family. I think Seth would be proud of you, if he were here."

Samuel smiled once more and hugged her close. She breathed deeply, resting her head against his chest. She sent a silent prayer of thanks up to God. It may not have happened in the way she had envisioned, but He had blessed her with a home and family and a husband who loved her.