Mountain Rose Read Online Free Page A

long black hair and warm brown eyes. The family was always tripping over some young trapper come to court her.
    But he hadn't tripped over anyone, he remembered humorously. He had been off somewhere pouting.
    None of the callers had impressed Anne until one day William O'Keefe stopped by the cabin to water his horse. He was a big, stocky man with dark red hair and laughing green eyes. He was heading northwest, he'd said, going to make his fortune looking for gold.
    Chase had seen the immediate attraction between his sister and the stranger and he had been hit with a frightful thought. Was this the man she would choose? The man who would take her away from him?
    His fear became reality. Two weeks later, against their parents' wishes, and despite his own angry attack on William O'Keefe, Anne married the big, friendly Irishman. As the newly-weds had ridden off, Anne, her face glowing with happiness, had called back that she would write as soon as they were settled somewhere.
    The first couple of years she had written, always from a different town. But even though O'Keefe couldn't seem to settle down in one spot, Anne's happiness came through in her letters.
    But finally messages from her had stopped, and the family hadn't known all these years whether she was dead or alive. They had questioned every stranger who came through from Idaho, but no one had ever heard of William O'Keefe. They fought the idea that she and her husband had fallen prey to Indians, but couldn't think of any other reason that would keep Anne from writing to them.
    Chase sighed softly. In the interim, his mother Molly had died one winter from pneumonia, and two years ago Pa had been caught in a blizzard, lost his way home, and frozen to death before he was found. How sad this news would make Anne. For the first time, there was a return address on her letter. He would be able to write her, even go visit her.
    Sampson lunged up a small knoll, and his own cabin and outbuildings stood before Chase. He paid no attention to the sturdy, but weather-beaten with the years buildings. They had been there since he could remember and he took them for granted, as he did the green hills and valleys he trapped and hunted. Besides, right now nothing could distract his mind from the letter in his shirt pocket.
    He rode past the long, rambling cabin and on to the barn, where he dismounted. He opened a large, heavy door and led the stallion inside. He unsaddled him, then climbed to the loft and pitched down fragrant hay for the animal to eat.
    Back down on the barn floor again, he picked up his supplies and hurried to the cabin. It was damp inside, so he took ten minutes to build a fire, and another five minutes to start a pot of coffee to brewing. The sun dropped behind the treeline, throwing the cabin into darkness. He struck a sulpher stick on the underneath of the table, swearing under his breath that he had forgotten to buy kerosene for the lamps.
    Pulling a chair up to where he took his meals, he shoved aside a dirty plate and cup and sat down. He took the envelope from his pocket and opened it. He pulled the candle closer, then spread his sister's letter on the cleared spot.
     
    Minersville, Idaho March 16
     
    Dear brother Chase, How long it's been since I've written to
     
    you. I am so ashamed for worrying you
     
    and Mama and Papa Donlin. But the years pass by, William and I always on the move. I guess I became too embarrassed to let you know of our gyspy-like life.
     
    But I want you to know right off, Chase, that I'm not complaining. I have always been happy with William. Happy until two years ago, when he was shot and killed by two men trying to take his digs away from him. I didn't think I could bear it the day we laid him in the ground. But for my little girl's sake, I knew I had to carry on.
    It is because of her, Chase, that I write you this letter. I am dying of lung fever and cannot rest for worrying about leaving her alone in this rough mining town. I beg