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  Praise for Lone Star Trail

  No one brings the Old West to life quite like Darlene Franklin. From its unforgettable opening scene to the sigh-inducing epilogue, Lone Star Trail is a skillful blend of a charming love story and a realistic portrayal of the hardships and heartbreak that marked the lives of the first German settlers in Texas.

  —AMANDA CABOT, author of Tomorrow’s Garden

  With Lone Star Trail, Darlene Franklin deals with a time of turmoil in Texas history. The melding of various cultures didn’t come easy, and she depicts this in an authentic way. She also has a real handle on the setting. I could feel the heat, taste the dust. Her three-dimensional characters leapt off the pages straight into my heart. I highly recommend this wonderful read.

  —LENA NELSON DOOLEY, award-winning author of the McKenna’s Daughter series and Love Finds You in Golden, New Mexico

  Lone Star Trail tells the moving story of one man’s journey from prejudice to love. Darlene Franklin sweeps the reader into the complicated relationships between two families as they learn who they are and how they can survive together. My only complaint is that the next book isn’t already on my nightstand.

  —REGINA JENNINGS, author of Sixty Acres and a Bride

  Wande Fleischer searches for contentment as a German immigrant in a foreign land—Texas. Jud Morgan resents the passel of people who’ve crowded his territory. But he notices the lovely German woman helping out in his mother’s kitchen. Both have suffered great losses; both must come to terms with the path on which God has led them.

  Romance woven into an historically accurate view of the times gives this book thumbs up! This Texan thoroughly enjoyed Lone Star Trail.

  —EILEEN KEY, Cedar Creek Seasons

  Lone Star Trail is a delightful mix of German culture and Wild West spirit. Each page drew a new emotion, from tears to laughter, and ultimately a renewed excitement about my own faith. I devoured this book, like Franklin’s characters devoured their homemade peach strudel.

  —ELIZABETH LUDWIG, author and creator of The Borrowed Book

  Darlene Franklin has created a delightful story that takes two cultures and blends them into a fine mixture that will warm your heart and satisfy your craving for a well-told story. I look forward to the rest of the series.

  —MARTHA ROGERS, author of the Winds Across the Prairie and Seasons of the Heart series

  Loved it! Lone Star Trail is a fascinating look into the lives and struggles of German immigrants in Texas; a story packed full of adventure, prejudice, survival, and betrayal, yet sweetened with forgiveness, enduring love, and romance. Don’t miss this first book in what promises to be an excellent series!

  —MARYLU TYNDALL, author of the Surrender to Destiny series

  TEXAS

  TRAILS

  LONE STAR TRAIL

  DARLENE FRANKLIN

  A

  MORGAN FAMILY

  SERIES

  MOODY PUBLISHERS

  CHICAGO

  © 2011 by

  DARLENE FRANKLIN

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Edited by Andy Scheer

  Interior design: Ragont Design

  Cover design: Gearbox

  Cover image: Image Source Photography and iStock Photography

  Author photo: Motophoto

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Franklin, Darlene.

  Lone star trail / Darlene Franklin.

  p. cm. — (Texas trails: A Morgan Family Series)

  Summary: “The six-book series about four generations of the Morgan family living, fighting, and thriving amidst a turbulent Texas history spanning from 1845 to 1896 begins with Lone Star Trail. Judson (Jud) Morgan’s father died for Texas’s freedom during the war for independence. So when the Society for the Protection of German Immigrants in Texas (the Verein) attempts to colonize a New Germany in his country, he takes a stand against them. After Wande Fleischer’s fiance marries someone else, the young fraulein determines to make new life for herself in Texas. With the help of Jud’s sister Marion, Wande learns English and becomes a trusted friend to the entire Morgan family. As much as Jud dislikes the German invasion, he can’t help admiring Wande. She is sweet and cheerful as she serves the Lord and all those around her. Can the rancher put aside his prejudice to forge a new future? Through Jud and Wande, we learn the powerful lessons of forgiveness and reconciliation among a diverse community of believers.” —Provided by publisher.

  ISBN 978-0-8024-0583-8 (pbk.)

  1. Texas—Fiction. 2. Domestic fiction. I. Title.

  PS3606.R395L66 2011

  813’.6—dc22

  2011020230

  We hope you enjoy this book from River North Fiction by Moody Publishers. Our goal is to provide high-quality, thought-provoking books and products that connect truth to your real needs and challenges. For more information on other books and products written and produced from a biblical perspective, go to www.moodypublishers.com or write to:

  River North Fiction

  Division of Moody Publishers

  820 N. LaSalle Boulevard

  Chicago, IL 60610

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Printed in the United States of America

  This book is dedicated to …

  My coauthors Susan Page Davis and Vickie McDonough. You have long been my friends and writing mentors. How privileged I am to write Texas Trails with two such talented authors!

  My agent, Chip MacGregor. A big thank-you for coming up with the idea for the series and inviting me to help bring it to life. Your faith made it happen.

  And to Deb Keiser, Andy Scheer, and all the folks at Moody Publishers who fell in love with Texas Trails and breathed the breath of life into Lone Star Trail.

  PROLOGUE

  RUNNING M RANCH NEAR VICTORIA, TEXAS, EARLY DECEMBER 1844

  In December, shadows fell earlier with each day. On the darkest night of the month, Jud Morgan found himself searching after a stray colt. The new moon was hidden, leaving only starlight to guide him. He hoped his ranch hands, Bert and Tom, had been able to get the rest of the herd back into the paddock before evening fell. He didn’t like the look of the night. A hoot that didn’t quite sound like an owl’s reminded him that the dark of the moon invited the Comanche to come for the ranch’s prime Morgan horses.

  He was leading the pesky colt back to the paddock when the crack of a broken stick made him start. Lantern light threw figures at the opposite end of the field into shadow. He stopped under the cover of a tree. He heard voices, a man and a woman’s, before he could make out their shapes.

  “Jud,” Tom Cotton’s voice boomed.

  “Billie!” Jud’s sister Marion called for their baby sister.

  Their voices rang across the empty space. Jud rode out of the thicket. “It’s me.” His horse trotted to where the others waited on horseback. “What’s happened to Billie?”

  “Isn’t she with you?” Marion’s voice revealed her panic. “She came home from school with news she couldn’t wait to tell you. She got permission from Ma to go out to the pasture to meet you, and I guess she followed you up into the canyon.”

  Jud shook his head. “She never reached me. And I’m later getting home than I expected. That colt ran halfway up the mountain before I caught him.” He frowned when he thought of Billie.

  The owl call. “Comanche.”

  Marion sucked in her breath. Tom reached for the rifle at the front of his saddle and glanced around him. In the center of the pasture, even in the dim starlight, they’d make easy targets.

  “Did Bi
llie catch up with you and Bert?” Jud asked Tom.

  “Yes, when we was just starting to bring the horses in. Over that way.” Tom nodded toward where Jud had left them earlier that day. “We told her you had headed for the stream. Maybe thirty minutes after you left.”

  The stream. It was too dark to track the Comanche, and foolish with only the two men. But Jud knew where Billie always forded the stream. “Keep an eye out for Velvet as well.” Billie had claimed the dark brown, nearly black, mare as her own on her last birthday.

  Jud guided Marion and Tom through the trees toward the sound of burbling water. Since Billie knew the direction Jud had headed, she would have crossed the stream here. On the far side, he jumped off JM’s back to check the mud along the bank. A multitude of hoofprints, enough for seven, maybe nine, horses. Only one horse had shoes—Velvet. He skirted the edge of the impressions and found where the shod horse had shied and sidestepped. Not more than a yard away, he spotted Velvet’s saddle, the girth cut clean through.

  Marion let out a low cry, and Tom put out a hand to steady her.

  Of the horse—and Billie—Jud saw no further sign.

  Jud wanted to throw back his head and howl. Instead, he picked up the saddle and climbed back on his horse. How could he tell Ma that the Comanche had grabbed Billie? His gut twisted at the possibilities. I’m doing the best I can, God. Why did You let them take my little sister?

  CARLSHAFEN, TEXAS, EARLY DECEMBER 1845

  Land, blessed land. Wande Fleischer raced down the plank to the wharf, wishing she could fling herself headfirst on the ground and kiss the sand like a child. She felt like a year had passed since the ship left Antwerp, Belgium, instead of less than two months. Her eyes scanned the shore, hoping Konrad would be there to greet her. But her fiancé had not known when the ship would arrive. She carried a letter ready to mail to inform him.

  Her brothers, Drud and Georg, raced past her, thrusting their arms in the air and shouting. Papa stopped by Wande’s side. “We have arrived, Liebchen.”

  Wande closed her eyes and embraced the sky, welcoming the fresh air after so many months aboard ship. Laughing children—her little sister Alvie among them—ran through the sand. She opened her eyes and spotted a seagull picking at crumbs a few feet in front of her. “Mama, Wir sind in Texas.” At last.

  Mama stopped midway down the plank. Ulla had her arm around Mama’s shoulders and helped her take the next step. Papa hurried to Mama’s side and guided her to solid ground.

  “So this is Texas?” Mama looked around the beach, as warm as summer in the ocean town her grandparents called home. She took another step and stumbled. “I think it will take me as long to regain my land legs as it took to get my sea legs.” She managed a smile, but she looked a little pale. “Do we start for Neu-Braunfels now or do we spend the night here?”

  “I will find out.” Papa guided Mama to the pile of crates with their belongings, then headed for Herr Lang, the unofficial leader of their shipboard company. Forty families had traveled to America to join the Society for the Protection of German Immigrants in Texas—the Verein. The two men talked, Papa making angry gestures, Herr Lang shaking his head.

  “We will not like the answer.” Mama spoke in a voice only Wande and Ulla could hear. “But I can count on you to help everyone stay happy. You are good daughters.” She patted their hands.

  Papa returned, his feet making heavy marks in the damp sand. “We will have to make arrangements for a wagon. That is up to us. Until we can leave, they have tents for us.” He gestured to a spot away from the beach, where Wande could see white fluttering in the gathering breeze. Overhead, storm clouds formed, and wind whipped the waves into froth. “Only a tent for protection, with a storm moving in.” He shook his head.

  Mama stood, her mouth in a firm line. “Come, kinder. Tonight we will have an adventure.”

  With Wande’s help, Mama got the family settled in the makeshift tent and even kept them mostly dry during the rainstorm that lashed in during the night. Her frequent trips to the encampment’s privy made it clear the intermittent stomach ailments she had suffered aboard ship had returned. At some point during the night, Ulla also became sick. Wande prayed for their strength and God’s healing.

  In the morning, Mama felt better. Papa and the boys went to ask about a wagon, and Alvie begged to join them. Wande slipped the letter to Konrad into Papa’s hand. “Bitte mail this.”

  Papa glanced at the address and smiled. “I will find a way.”

  The sun had come out, and Wande joined Mama in spreading their damp clothing in the sunshine. But Ulla felt too ill.

  After her fourth trip to the privy, Ulla stumbled into the tent and crumpled in a ball at Mama’s feet. Her arms cradled her chest, and she moaned.

  “Liebchen, what is wrong?” Mama found a pillow and placed it under Ulla’s head.

  “Es … ist … nichts.” The pallor of Ulla’s cheeks said otherwise.

  Wande took Ulla’s hot, dry hand. Ulla couldn’t get sick, not now that they had reached the promised land.

  A young woman from the neighboring tent joined them. “The bloody flux,” she said. “I do not know of a family here in tent city not affected.”

  Ulla moaned again.

  Mama stood. “I must go for a doctor.”

  The neighbor shook her head.

  But they had to ask. Wande put her hand on Mama’s arms. “I will go.” She ran among the tents. “Arzt! We need a doctor!”

  As she passed the rows of tents, she spotted a mother rocking a wailing infant. “Fraulein!”

  Wande forced herself to slow down. “Kann ich Ihnen helfen?”

  “My daughter is very sick. If you find the doctor, please ask him to see her.”

  Four more people stopped Wande before she completed her circuit of the camp. As expected, she didn’t find a doctor. Behind the last row of tents, she came across a fresh grave, mourned by a mother hugging her children. Wande rushed away, afraid of what tomorrow would bring.

  Back at their tent, Wande sought out the neighbor. “You know something of this bloody flux. Was können wir tun?”

  Weariness formed deep lines around the woman’s eyes. “All that I know is to keep her as comfortable as possible. Some survive, many more die.” She shrugged. “I lost my baby.” She turned away.

  “I am so sorry.” But the neighbor was no longer listening.

  Wande poked her head through the flap of the tent, where Ulla lay moaning. Mama questioned her with her eyes, and Wande shook her head. “How are you, Mutter?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I am only a little tired from the ocean journey, is all.”

  Wande prayed her mother spoke the truth. “I will take care of everything. You stay here with Ulla and rest.” First things first. Slipping back outside, she grabbed the water bucket and headed for the well. She could at least offer relief for the thirst and heat that ravaged her sister.

  Ulla grew worse as they waited for Papa to return. But as Ulla weakened and hallucinated, Mama suffered only a mild fever.

  Papa didn’t return until long past noon. Wande briefly explained the situation. “It would be best if the rest of the family stays somewhere else.” Papa shook his head. “I will stay with my wife and my daughter. But if you can find someplace for the kinder …”

  Georg nodded. “I will find us a place to spend the night. Come tell me if something happens.”

  Day passed into night. Ulla grew more frail while Mama began to sleep peacefully. As the sun cast its first rays over the ocean, Ulla slipped into eternity.

  Tears streamed down Wande’s face. Her sister, the one she whispered her deepest dreams to, had died. How many more victims would Texas claim from the Fleischer family?

  CHAPTER ONE

  NEAR VICTORIA, TEXAS, DECEMBER 1845

  Wande Fleischer could hardly see the road in front of her through the slashing rain. Her shoes sank in the mud with each step; the hem of her dress became filthy. If the rain continued, her hair woul
d be drenched; dirty as leaves in the fall instead of its usual bright blond. So far Texas—which was promoted by the Adelsverein back in Germany as the “land of milk and honey”—was anything but sweet. Her fingers curled into a fist that she longed to raise to the sky. But only a child would do that. Even her little sister, Alvie, the family songbird, hadn’t lifted her voice since they left the plain pine box at the port of Carlshafen only three days ago.

  They could have made it to Victoria in one day, but Papa decided to take it easy for his wife’s sake. Wande looked forward to reaching the town, one of the oldest in all of Texas, which had an established German community. She was cheered by thoughts of a dry roof, pleasant conversation in the only language she knew, and a chance to rest her feet.