Herd the Music Read online

  Herd the Music

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Appreciation

  Dedication

  Lynn Donovan's Newsletter and Free Gift

  Preface

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  About the Author

  Thank you

  Please leave a review.

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  The book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. All rights are reserved with the exceptions of quotes used in reviews. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.

  The Bride Herder Series

  ©2019 Lynn Donovan

  Cover Design by Virginia McKevitt ??

  Editing by Cyndi Rule

  Appreciation

  Thank you to everybody in my life who has contributed in one way or another to the writing of this book. My husband, my children, my children-in-law, and my grandchildren. You all are my unconditional fans. My BETA readers, writers' group, and grammar guru who make me look gooder than I am. [Bad grammar intended.] My fellow author friends who chat with me daily to exchange ideas, encourage, maintain sanity, and keep me from being a total recluse/hermit.

  Mostly, I thank God for the talent he has given me. I hope to hear you say, "Well done, my good and faithful servant," when I cross the Jordan and run into your arms—Many, many years from now. God bless you all!

  Dedication

  To LeeAnn, my real-life sister who was born deaf and blind from Rubella Measles.

  Lynn Donovan's Newsletter and Free Gift

  I'd like you to be the first to know about a new book release by me or other authors that I can recommend. E-mail me at [email protected] and tell me you'd like to subscribe to my Newsletter. I promise, I'll NEVER spam you or give your information out for any reason!

  As a reward, I will send you a free book called "Stories for the Porch." A collection of short stories written by me just for you and will be published NO WHERE else.

  

  Preface

  Overcoming obstacles that life hands us, Myrakle Estes's lost her hearing due to scarlet fever at the age of three, but gained a talent no one understands. She learned after her papa's death that he made arrangements for her to marry with a significant dowry. She and her companion dog, Dumpling, reluctantly go to a matchmaker in Bent, Colorado in order to fulfill her papa's dying wishes.

  Joseph Penella makes violins as a hobby. His occupation is helping his Pa and brothers run a successful horse ranch. The time has come for him to take a wife, and Miss Viola, the town matchmaker, has been asked to find a suitable wife for him and his brother's.

  Will Miss Viola's unexpected passing affect Joseph's chances? Can Joseph convince the new matchmaker that Myrakle is the right bride for him? Will Myrakle accept his love for her and her extraordinary talent for music?

  CHAPTER ONE

  Late Spring, 1896 - Somewhere between Kansas and the Colorado Territory.

  "But Miss Estes, if you agree to be matched for marriage within six months, this dowry will be all yours, otherwise it will be... donated to the church— you'll be rich! Or-or you'll be penniless. Considering your... condition, this is a wonderful opportunity for a deaf girl, such as—"

  "I don't want the money!" Myrakle Estes screamed at the banker. "I just want my papa back!"

  Myrakle jerked awake. The rhythmic bump, bump, bump of the train had lulled her to sleep. That and the fact that she hadn't been able to rest since her papa passed two weeks ago. Dumpling's nose nudged under her gloved hand and his front paw pressed on her knee. Her aged cocker spaniel companion had woken her, exactly the way he had been trained. She shoved aggressive red-spiraled hair from her face and looked up from him to find nine faces staring at her.

  Esperanza Martinez smiled uncomfortably as if she were embarrassed by Myrakle's sudden outburst.

  Helena paused from reading long enough to see that Myrakle was alright. She sneezed behind a hanky, shot an uncomfortable look toward Dumpling, and returned her eyes to her book.

  The sisters, Alice and Abigail Bowen, diverted their eyes as if they had not been disturbed at all. It was a kind gesture.

  Myrakle touched a gloved knuckle to the corner of her mouth to wipe away cooled drool. The bewildering fog of sleep slowly fading. "I'm sorry. I was dreaming."

  "Obviously." Cina Fairbanks's lips barely moved, but Myrakle knew what she'd said.

  Only it had not been just a dream. Papa really was dead. The banker really delivered Papa's will— the dowry was real. Every cent Papa owned was hers when she married. But only IF she married within six months from the day he died. Otherwise she was penniless. The letter from the matchmaker was real. So was this train, taking her away from Lawrence, Kansas, the only home she'd ever known.

  Jasmine Rose Hammond touched Myrakle's shoulder with genuine concern, then rubbed her hand over Dumpling's ears. "Good boy."

  Myrakle and these nine other girls were going to Bent, Colorado. They were all brides-to-match, but Myrakle felt isolated as always because of her one stark difference. Completely and totally deaf since the age of three from scarlet fever, she eventually stood out in a crowd. Not 'hard of hearing' like the old folks who sat on the front pews at church so they could hear the pastor. She had one-hundred percent hearing loss, but could read lips expertly.

  She was the only bride-to-match who had a dog with her, also. But then again, she was the only one who needed a dog. Referred to as a companion dog, he was her ears.

  When Myrakle had boarded the train in her home town of Lawrence, Kansas, she spotted nine girls clustered together. Somehow, she knew they were brides-to-match, just like her. She made her way to the four benches and sat with them.

  Instincts simply drew them together. This mysterious Miss Viola who had summoned them knew what she was doing. The fact that their train tickets put them all in the same passenger car was evidence of Miss Viola's expert planning. Relationships were bound to meld on some level. Myrakle had no interest in being matched with a husband and even less expectations that she'd form any lifelong friendships. Her papa had forced her to do this. Guilt roiled in her gut. She'd always trusted her papa until now.

  Maybe this new life, new town would prove to be a good change. She certainly needed to be willing to give it a chance. What other choice did she have, really?

  Jasmine had cozied up to Myrakle the minute she boarded. She now took Myrakle's hand. "Come. Let's go get you some tea."

  A few of the brides' faces expressed concern, others looked as though they didn't appreciate being disturbed by Myrakle's outburst. Bertha Langston, who preferred to be called Bert, of all things, looked placid, but Myrakle sensed it had nothing to do with her or Dumpling.

  Jasmine and Myrakle scooted out of the bench seat and walked, with Dumpling trailing behind them, single file through three passenger cars. Jasmine tripped at all three entrances between platforms. Myrakle considered taking her elbow at the next platform, b
ut moved closer to her instead, prepared to catch her arm before she completely fell down.

  Myrakle observed but ignored the reactions of the other passengers when Dumpling appeared behind her skirt on their way to the dining car. Some smiled, others looked repulsed. She couldn't care less. Dumpling's presence was her business and not theirs. Jasmine turned her head to speak over her shoulder as they walked along, but Myrakle couldn't see her lips well enough to know what she was going on about. What little she knew of Jasmine, it was probably just chitter-chatter about nothing important.

  They sat at a narrow table for two, facing each other. Rain pelted the large windows that framed every booth. Myrakle stared at the dirty water drops streaking sideways by the forward motion of the train and shoved her unruly ringlets back from her eyes. An obscured landscape of alternating yellow wheat and green corn fields rushed by. Her own tears covered her cheeks like the glass beside her. She sniffed and turned to the kind friend she had met just a few hours ago. Jasmine spoke to a waiter wearing a uniform similar to a fancy restaurant— crisp white shirt, snug black waist coat, black pants and polished shoes. He nodded and moved away. What had she ordered? It didn't matter.

  Jasmine laid her hand over Myrakle's. "It'll be alright. You'll see."

  Myrakle tried to smile. She wanted to talk about everything she was feeling. Her world had turned upside down in a matter of a few months. This young lady, hardly more than Myrakle's age, was kind. She talked a lot and had befriended Myrakle immediately after boarding the train. She hadn't shied away when Myrakle risked speaking. Her monotone voice generally made people look away, as if she were suddenly hideous. Being different was easy to hide, until she spoke. Then people knew. Few accepted her after they knew.

  The waiter laid down a cloth and set a sturdy tea set on it. Jasmine thanked him and poured them both a cup. The first cup rolled slightly and spilled tea into the saucer. Jasmine fumbled it back upright. "Oops."

  Myrakle accepted the next cup and saucer, then added a cube of sugar and a splash of milk. She slipped a tea biscuit to Dumpling and rubbed his head. He lowered his bottom to the floor and then his head across his front paws.

  "Tell me." Jasmine curled her small hand under her chin. Her elbow slipped from the edge of the table, and she jerked to regain her composure. "What makes you cry so?"

  Myrakle sipped her tea and gently placed the cup in the saucer. "My papa died of consumption" —Jasmine grimaced. Myrakle knew that meant she was speaking too loud and reduced the effort with which she projected her voice— "just a few weeks ago. I learned I was coming here the day he was buried." Myrakle lifted her eyes to the ornate ceiling, thoughtfully. "What time is it?"

  "Five o'clock." Jasmine sipped her tea and delicately nibbled a biscuit.

  "Five-o'clock...? I've been on this train three hours. The grass has barely begun to grow over my papa's grave." She drew in a ragged breath. "I'm just... I miss him so much... already."

  Jasmine covered Myrakle's hand with hers. "I understand." Jasmine went on to tell Myrakle her own story and why she was going to Bent to marry. She grew up in a mining town, Noelle, Colorado, the daughter of Reverend Chase Hammond... Her mother, Felicity, actively spoke out for women's suffrage... Jasmine was so many times told to not speak, be quiet, children are meant to be seen and not heard, that now that she was on her own, she talked freely— Boy did she talk freely.

  Myrakle caught parts of her story when she kept her eyes on Jasmine's pretty pink lips. But her attention went back to the rain on the window and the water-blurred expansive farm land. The day her papa died, everything seemed to happen at once— The banker's news. Pastor Chambers's tender attempts to help her understand the Good Lord had other plans for her papa. She hadn't meant to scream at him when she said, "Stop! Leave me alone!"

  She was miserable and all she wanted was to be by herself, just her and Dumpling. She didn't want to think about this dowry Papa had left for her. He had attached such life-changing conditions to it. Those conditions forced her to care about the money. He knew her so well. That was why he'd set these conditions in his will. He knew without him, she wouldn't care about the money, just as he had not cared about it. She'd live her life as best she could, but alone.

  Papa used his life's savings to force her to seek a husband. The conditions would leave her a pauper if she didn't obey his final wishes for her. Somehow, she had to accept her new circumstances.

  Papa had been a tinkerer, besides his occupation as a clock smith and piano tuner. His tinkering had inadvertently made him a fortune. By tinkering with the tools-of-his-trade to improve their design, he made marketable new tools that became sought after by others in his same line of work. His professor friends at the University of Kansas encouraged him to file patents for his redesigns. It became a residual income for him, building while they slept, so to speak. He was a humble man. The money was more of an embarrassment to Papa. It wasn't important. Not really. So why did he taunt her with it now?

  He taught her to value family and loved ones over money. Her limitations due to deafness had concerned him so much that he went to the Animal Studies department. He had an idea to help her be as independent as anyone else. He talked at length with the professors about training a companionable animal, such as a dog, to hear for her. They took a runt from a litter born in the lab and worked with him to be aware of his surroundings and signal a person when certain things happened.

  Her companion dog had been a surprise gift on her eighth birthday. Together with the professors and Papa, Myrakle learned the dog's posturing signals and what they meant. He alerted her to important sounds— a knock at the door, someone speaking her name, the cock crowing of a morning, and mostly a moving object that she didn't hear but could hurt her. The runt had learned quickly and when Papa gave him to her, she had cried with joy.

  These were the things Papa taught her to value, not some obscure amount of money buried in a bank vault.

  She had named him Dumpling because of his color and small size. Curled up in papa's hands, he looked like a golden dumpling. He had allowed her to function normally away from her papa.

  He was her only family now.

  The train jostled and Myrakle swayed in her seat. Another jarring motion pressed everyone in the dining car toward the front of the train, until it stopped, rocking into place. Why had the train stopped so abruptly? Myrakle turned back to her friend. Jasmine's eyes were round as her gaze remained fixed on some men outside of the train.

  "Look..." Jasmine scooted closer to the window, sliding it open for a clearer view. Rain pelted her face. She jumped back, covering her nose with her hand. Myrakle could not see her mouth.

  Myrakle glanced through the open window. She was at a wrong angle to see what Jasmine could see. Myrakle turned back to Jasmine.

  "...are arguing?" Jasmine giggled. "I wonder what about. Seems to be important enough to stop the whole train and step outside." She leaned closer to Myrakle. "You suppose it's some lovers' spat and a husband has come to claim his wife from a lurid affair." Jasmine's shoulder rose toward her ears. "How scandalous!"

  But her face didn't express scandal. More like glee. Myrakle smiled at her friend. Jasmine obviously read a lot of books too, like Helena. She romanticized everything.

  "OH!" Jasmine slammed the window closed. "That angry man looked right at me! You s'pose they can see into these cars?"

  Myrakle shrugged and turned to the window. The men were gone.

  She felt guilty for not paying better attention to Jasmine while she shared her life story. Jasmine didn't seem to mind that Myrakle looked away while she rattled on. Perhaps she had not yet realized that when Myrakle wasn't looking at her mouth she wasn't 'listening.'

  A steward rushed into the dining car. Dumpling rose up on his front legs, but didn't stand. Myrakle laid her hand on his head and felt a low growl emanating from him. The steward scanned the passengers, then dropped his eyes to the dog. He looked troubled... or scared.

  "Everything al
right in here?" he called out to no one in particular. No one expressed any concerns, other than to ask why the train had stopped. He said nothing more and continued straight through, exiting the other side.

  Curious.

  Myrakle turned her attention back to her thoughts about her situation— a husband. Hadn't she always figured she'd have a husband, some day? And a family? Papa would have been a wonderful grandpa. She smiled at the thought.

  Her eyes landed on her new friend. The girl was clumsy, but sweet. It was comforting to be with Jasmine, even if she wasn't absorbing every word she uttered. Myrakle got the gist of what Jasmine had to say. Surely that was enough.

  Because the girl had a lot to say.

  "So... how did it happen?" Jasmine sipped tea while she waited for Myrakle to reply.

  Myrakle blinked. What had she missed? Was Jasmine asking about the men who had stopped the train? Her Papa's illness? She had no idea and didn't want to just say anything. "How did what happen?"

  Jasmine's lips pressed into a thin line. "I mean..." She looked nervous, like she'd overstepped the bounds of propriety. "How'd you lose your hearing?"

  "Oh." Myrakle almost chuckled. Her friend must have had some experience with deafness. She had ascertained a lot about Myrakle in their short time together. It was impressive that Jasmine knew Myrakle had at one time heard. "Scarlet Fever. I had it when I was three. Momma said she had named me right, albeit spelled in her native tongue, because it was truly a miracle I lived. So many other children died."

  "That explains how you are able to speak so well."

  Myrakle sat up straighter. She spoke well? No one had ever said that to her before. Most people shunned her once she spoke. "I-I suppose. Thank you."

  Jasmine giggled. "For what?"