B. J. Scott
California, 1884: A clipper ship belonging to Connelly-Wilson Shipping is attacked by a mysterious black vessel which displays amazing speed and deadly weaponry. The clipper ship is sunk with all hands, save one survivor. Only days later, another Connelly-Wilson ship is sunk by the same black vessel; this time there are no survivors. Weeks later, a Connelly railroad trestle is dynamited, with loss of life narrowly avoided. Then another, sending a freight train to the bottom of a deep ravine. And shockingly, a young woman, heiress to the reins of the Connelly-Wilson empire, disappears into the Sierra-Nevada Mountains in the dead of winter. After seventeen years in hiding, an old evil has arisen again, one who nevertheless has still not learned one fatal lesson: never cross a Connelly woman.
Book Three of the Angel Trilogy - a legend passes on, and a new one is born, as the granddaughter of the Angel of the Gold Rush takes the stage.
B. J. Scott includes Irish and Scottish immigrant blood in his heritage, as well as a bit of Cherokee. He holds Bachelor's degrees from Washington State University and Brooks Institute. A former professional photographer and college instructor, he lives on the Central Coast of California with his wife and sons. He is currently researching topics for his next historical novel.
The engineer approached. "You boarding?" he said gruffly, his breath blowing clouds of steam into the air.
Alex didn't immediately answer, staring at his own snow-covered clothes in a daze. "My daughter," he murmured finally. "She's lost in the mountains. I don't know where she is."
The engineer moved a step closer. "Mister, this train's pullin' out in ten minutes. You better be on it if you want to see Sacramento anytime soon. It's going to be a rough go as is." He turned to go, then turned back to face him. "I don't mean to seem cold-hearted. But wolves'll be lucky to survive this. Much less any humans." He turned around once more, mounted the cab of the locomotive, and blew a long blast on the whistle.
Alex stood head down for a few seconds, then slowly sank to his knees, sobbing. After a moment he felt a big hand on his shoulder once again.
"You cannot help her if you are dead," Hsien Lu said softly. "If Bridget has escaped Mei Li Kang, she may have found help and yet be alive. But we must return when weather permits. You will not find her. Nothing can cross these mountains now. Old friend, you know this is true."
Alex didn't respond for long seconds, face half-buried in the snow, hands clutching his head. Then, ever so slowly, he nodded, still sobbing. Finally, he rose unsteadily to his feet, snow caked on his pants. Wordlessly, he and Hsien Lu boarded the train. Within seconds, it began to move.
The Rogers 4-4-0 made its way slowly west in the darkness, ever lower down the mountain. It proved to be a struggle all the way. Three times the tracks were blocked by snow drifts. The locomotive had to stop, back up, and make a rolling charge to smash its way through. At one spot, even that wasn't enough, and every able-bodied man aboard had to get out, grab a shovel, and work steadily under the big locomotive's headlamp for over an hour to clear the barrier.
Finally, the foothills were reached just as the first hint of daylight appeared in the sky. The snow began to slacken, though it continued all the way to the outskirts of Sacramento. There, weary to the bone with grief, Alex got off, along with Hsien Lu. Inside the station, he stood for a long time near the telegraph window, trying to find the words he needed to send the news to Megan. And finally, he could not. He could not tell her in a telegram that he would not be returning with his daughter, that he had failed, that somewhere east of Grizzly Flat, Bridget had disappeared, as completely as if the snow-bound Sierras themselves had swallowed her up.
