The Tragedy of Wild River Valley by Martha Finley
The Tragedy of Wild River Valley by Martha Finley
Along a quiet road a man was walking at a steady, swinging pace. He was above the medium height, strongly built, and his erect carriage bespoke him one accustomed to military drill, while the knapsack swung over his shoulder and the blue overcoat on his arm seemed to indicate that he was one of the returning veterans of the lately disbanded Union army.
His face, young and strongly Celtic in feature, was not unhandsome, though marred by a sinister expression. It was that of a bold, bad man on the alert to better his own fortunes without regard to the rights of others; and as he pressed onward he sent many a covetous glance toward the comfortable farmhouses, orchards, and rich harvest fields on either hand.
At length, turning aside from the main road and making his way through a bit of woods, he paused in front of a rude cabin standing in a potato patch, enclosed by a rough, zigzag rail-fence. An old man in patched, worn, and by no means clean garments sat on the door-step smoking a dirty pipe.
His wife stood just behind him with her knitting, a coarse woollen stocking, in her hands. She threw it from her as the traveller opened the gate, and with a wild cry, "It's me son! me bye Phalim come home till his mither at last!" rushed out and threw herself upon his breast, weeping for very joy.
He returned her embrace with ardor almost equal to her own, filial affection so softening his countenance that the evil look was banished for the moment.
The old man rose with trembling eagerness and grasped his son's hand. "An' it's yersilf, lad!" he cried. "Thank the blessed Vargin an' all the howly saints that ye've come back till yer mither an' me alive an' well afther all the fightin' ye've been in!"
There were rapid questions and answers, knapsack and overcoat were bestowed within the cabin, a chair or two were brought out into the shade before the door, and with a pipe apiece and a bottle of whiskey the three made themselves comfortable, while Phelim gave an account of his wanderings and exploits, inventing, embellishing, or suppressing occurrences as suited his fancy.
"An' have yees made yer fortin, Phalim, me lad?" queried his mother, regarding him with a look of maternal pride and fondness.
"Not jist yit, ould lady," he answered, with an unpleasant laugh; "but," pulling out a handful of gold and silver coins and a roll of bank-notes, "here's the beginnin' o't."
She reached out an eager hand, while her old eyes reflected the covetous gleam in his. "Ye'll share wid yer ould fayther and mither, Phalim, me darlint?"
"Wan o' these days maybe," he said, returning the money to his pocket. "I'm goin' intil a line av business that'll pay; an' I'll have yees soon livin' in betther style," he said, with a contemptuous glance at their mean and squalid surroundings.
"Them's not all sodger's wages, me lad," remarked the old man, with a knowing look.
"Did yees iver hear o' bounty-jumpin'?" returned his son, with a coarse laugh. "It's been a dangerous business, but, faith, a payin' wan, too; an' a smart chap cud foind chances now an' agin to hilp hisself amang the rebs an' the wounded."
"An' Phalim wasn't the bye to neglict his chances; was ye, lad?" chuckled the old father.
"Niver a bit o't, dad; an' it's mesilf, Phalim O'Rourke, as manes to be a moighty rich man wan o' these days. Me gurrul, Belinda, shall roide intil her coach an' wear her foine goold ornaments an' her silks an' satins wid the best."
But observing significant glances passing between the old people, while his mother took her pipe from her mouth and shook her head ruefully, "What's wrong?" he demanded, the color paling on his sunburnt cheek; "don't tell me annything's happened till her, the purtiest and swatest gurrul in Ameriky!"
At that his mother burst out into an angry denunciation of the girl; she was unworthy of his love; she was faithless; she had been married for a year to an old farmer living some miles away. The man was well off, and his money, house, and land had bought the silly, faithless creature.
Phelim's face grew white with disappointment and rage as he listened to the tale; he clinched his fists and swore with horrible oaths that he would be revenged upon them both. He would shoot the old man dead in his tracks and blow out the brains of the faithless girl.
"Aisy, aisy, Phalim, me darlint! don't yees be afther runnin' yer neck intil a halter for the loikes av thim, the warthless varmints," returned his mother, alarmed at his vehemence.
"Sorra a bit o' that same," he growled; "there's niver a bit o' hangin' in this State."
"Eh! no; are yees sure o' that same?" she exclaimed, in surprise. "An' what fur wadn't they be for takin' the loives o' thim as takes other folk's?"
"It's agin the law," he answered, shortly.
"State's prison for life's near about as bad as swingin'," suggested the old man.
"But while there's life there's hope," remarked his son, significantly; "hope o' breakin' jail or being pardoned out; an' it's mesilf as wadn't be afeared to take me chance o' one or t'other."
"Ye wuz always a brave bye an' a lucky wan, Phalim," was his mother's comment as she rose and set about preparing the evening meal.
When the hour for retiring came Phelim declined to sleep in the house, averring that long use had made mother earth a more comfortable couch to him than the softest of beds, and taught him that he could breathe more freely under the open sky than beneath any roof. Spreading his army blanket under a tree some hundreds of yards distant from the cabin, he threw himself down upon it and fell asleep.
Hours passed on, while all was quiet save the murmur of a brook near at hand and the rustle of the night wind in the treetops; then a shrill whistle roused him.
He started up and listened. It came again, louder, shriller than before. He answered it, and moved swiftly in the direction of the sound, which seemed to come from the road from which he had yesterday turned aside to gain his father's dwelling. It was long past midnight, but darkness still brooded over the land, and few were abroad save those bent upon evil deeds. To that class belonged Phelim and those who had summoned him to their aid. In the shadow of the trees bordering the roadside lurked three men awaiting the coming of their leader; for such Phelim was.
"Where are yees, byes?" he asked in an undertone as he drew cautiously near.
"Here, sor," replied a suppressed voice, in as rich a brogue as his own.
The three joined him, and a whispered conference ensued, the chief speaker being one who answered to the name of Teddy McManus. He was describing a country-seat, the situation of doors and windows, arrangement and contents of its lower rooms. "We'll git in aisy," he said; "wan o' thim kitchin doors ain't got no bolt at all-nothin' but a common lock; an' a wire'll turn the kay an' let us in as aisy as the masther hissilf walks intil the front door wid his latch-kay. An' thin it's all plain sailin'; dinin'-room nixt, solid siller a plenty on the sideboard; beyont that, jist acrost the hall's the lib'ry, where he kapes his money."
"But where he won't kape it much longer," put in one of the others.
"We'll do oor indivors to relave him o't the noight, if that's yer wull, captain," continued Teddy's rough voice.
"Yis, if yees are all agraable. What's yer wull, Gotlieb? an' yours, Pat?"
"I dinks we goes; and we petter makes haste," answered the first.
Patrick echoed the sentiment, and they set off at once, walking rapidly in a direction opposite to that from which Phelim had come some hours ago.
They were armed with pistols and knives, and carried with them a dark lantern and a full set of burglars' tools.
When the family at Walnut Hill rose from that night's slumbers it was to find that butter, bread, meat, and other edibles had disappeared from spring-house and pantry; also all the silver ware from the dining-room; and that the secretary in the library had been robbed of several hundred dollars in gold and silver, bank-notes, and United States bonds.
Ready to put aside her mourning clothes, Elsie spends an idyllic summer with her family in seaside cottages on Nantucket Island, where minor disturbances include a test of Lulu's obedience and of Zoe's faith and trust in God.
This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the original. Due to its age, it may contain imperfections such as marks, notations, marginalia and flawed pages. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions that are true to the original work.
Elsie Dinsmore is a children's book series written by Martha Finley between 1867 and 1905. In the first book - After her mother's death, Elsie an 8 years-old child must come to terms with the world around her, her over-protective father and her firm belief in God. It is a moving story of a young girl's dilemma between her love for her father and her God... Elsie Dinsmore Elsie's Holidays at Roselands Elsie's Girlhood Elsie's Womanhood Elsie's Motherhood Elsie's Children Elsie's Widowhood Grandmother Elsie Elsie's New Relations Elsie at Nantucket The Two Elsies Elsie's Kith and Kin Elsie's Friends at Woodburn Christmas with Grandma Elsie Elsie and the Raymonds Elsie Yachting with the Raymonds Elsie's Vacation Elsie at Viamede Elsie at Ion Elsie at the World's Fair Elsie's Journey on Inland Waters Elsie at Home Elsie on the Hudson Elsie in the South Elsie's Young Folks in Peace and War Elsie's Winter Trip Elsie and Her Loved Ones Elsie and Her Namesakes Martha Finley (1828-1909) was a teacher and author of numerous works, the most well-known being the 28 volume Elsie Dinsmore series which was published over a span of 38 years.
Enter the world of Elsie Dinsmore with the 17th book of the series! These nineteenth century fictional chronicles of a beautiful young heiress in the Civil War South have captivated generations of 10-14 year old readers eager to follow Elsies life from childhood to motherhood and beyond. Youll find traditional values, tender romance, family fun, and lasting lessons for a new generation!
In this eight volume in the The Original Elsie Dinsmore Series, Elsie's children — Elsie, Edward, and Violet — grow up and become adults. The events leading up to their marriages are causes for great celebration, and soon Elsie becomes a delighted, happy grandmother.
For three years, Hailey loved Kieran. Yet the wildlife photos she risked everything to take ended up helping another woman win a major competition. Hurt and finished with waiting, Hailey left him, filing for divorce and vowing to prove herself on her own. She never expected her ex-husband's most powerful rival to offer his support. "I admire real talent. Applause belongs to the deserving," he said. Though Hailey tried to keep her distance, he pursued her with unwavering determination "This isn't just a whim. I've had my eye on you for a long time."
After two years of marriage, Kristian dropped a bombshell. "She's back. Let's get divorced. Name your price." Freya didn't argue. She just smiled and made her demands. "I want your most expensive supercar." "Okay." "The villa on the outskirts." "Sure." "And half of the billions we made together." Kristian froze. "Come again?" He thought she was ordinary-but Freya was the genius behind their fortune. And now that she'd gone, he'd do anything to win her back.
The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.
Blinded in a crash, Cary was rejected by every socialite—except Evelina, who married him without hesitation. Three years later, he regained his sight and ended their marriage. "We’ve already lost so many years. I won’t let her waste another one on me." Evelina signed the divorce papers without a word. Everyone mocked her fall—until they discovered that the miracle doctor, jewelry mogul, stock genius, top hacker, and the President's true daughter… were all her. When Cary came crawling back, a ruthless tycoon had him kicked out. "She's my wife now. Get lost."
"Let's get married," Mia declares, her voice trembling despite her defiant gaze into Stefan's guarded brown eyes. She needs this, even if he seems untouchable. Stefan raises a skeptical brow. "And why would I do that?" His voice was low, like a warning, and it made her shiver even though she tried not to show it. "We both have one thing in common," Mia continues, her gaze unwavering. "Shitty fathers. They want to take what's ours and give it to who they think deserves it." A pointed pause hangs in the air. "The only difference between us is that you're an illegitimate child, and I'm not." Stefan studies her, the heiress in her designer armor, the fire in her eyes that matches the burn of his own rage. "That's your solution? A wedding band as a weapon?" He said ignoring the part where she just referred to him as an illegitimate child. "The only weapon they won't see coming." She steps closer, close enough for him to catch the scent of her perfume, gunpowder and jasmine. "Our fathers stole our birthrights. The sole reason they betrayed us. We join forces, create our own empire that'll bring down theirs." A beat of silence. Then, Stefan's mouth curves into something sharp. "One condition," he murmurs, closing the distance. "No divorces. No surrenders. If we're doing this, it's for life" "Deal" Mia said without missing a beat. Her father wants to destroy her life. She wouldn't give him the pleasure, she would destroy her life as she seems fit. ................ Two shattered heirs. One deadly vow. A marriage built on revenge. Mia Meyers was born to rule her father's empire (so she thought), until he named his bastard son heir instead. Stefan Sterling knows the sting of betrayal too. His father discarded him like trash. Now the rivals' disgraced children have a poisonous proposal: Marry for vengeance. Crush their fathers' legacies. Never speak of divorce. Whoever cracks first loses everything. Can these two rivals, united by their vengeful hearts, pull off a marriage of convenience to reclaim what they believe is rightfully theirs? Or will their fathers' animosity, and their own complicated pasts tear their fragile alliance apart?
Trigger/Content Warning: This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised. It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language. This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire. ***** "Take off your dress, Meadow." "Why?" "Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost." ••••*••••*••••* Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance. One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring. Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel. He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch. Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed. She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge. But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming. Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything. Alaric doesn't share what's his. Not his company. Not his wife. And definitely not his vengeance.
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