Copyright © 2008, Barri Bryan
Published by Whiskey Creek Press LLC

Reviews For LITTLE NELL by Barri Bryan

5 Stars! “The setting is the 1880’s, Texas. Nell was raised to believe she was a Cantrell; it was a shock to find out she was actually Sally McGurie. When she was 4-years-old, John McGuire took her off an orphan train and raised her as his daughter. After the death of their three-year-old daughter, Sarah began to slip away into a dark well of madness. John would do anything to bring her back, even bring another little girl into their home in hopes Sarah would accept her. Nell grew into a beautiful young woman, devoted to her family. Her feelings for her adopted brother, Richard, were more than sibling love. They were drawn to each other. This is Nell’s story.

In the tradition of an old western romance, Little Nell brings to mind scenes of a one room school house, neighbors gathering for church on a Sunday morning, and an old farm house. I was enchanted by the plot of Little Nell. There is a sweet innocence in this tale. Barri Bryan has a talent for character development. Even the secondary characters had a strong distinct voice. Naomi and Sidney might not have been likable, but they were fun characters. Richard must have been one on the most stubborn, bossy, prideful men ever! How could he have waited so long to go after Nell.

This is the kind of book you get caught up in and have to remind yourself that it is fiction. Kudos, Ms. Bryan. Fans of romance will savor Little Nell.” -

Reviewed by Debra Gaynor for ReviewYourBook.com

“I read this book in one sitting because I could not find a pause in the story that felt appropriate to walk away from. This is a great story for a rainy or snowy day when you are cooped up in your home looking for something to entertain and keep you occupied for hours. Her writing is clear and concise, and her characters are loveable and not easily forgotten.” Reviewed by Ashley Merrill, Front Street Reviews

May 1872

The moment John Cantrell learned that an orphan train was coming to the city of Belle Plain he knew what he must do. John was a plodding man, not given to making impetuous decisions or yielding to impulsive actions. Now he was doing both. Despite the fact that he was being rash and reckless, John made his plans carefully.

On the morning before the train was due in Belle Plain, he harnessed a team to his wagon, called his two young sons into his office and told them to shut the door.

They stood just inside the entrance, eight-year-old David with a questioning look in his eyes and ten-year-old Richard leaning against the door with his stubborn chin tilting upward. John nodded toward the two chairs he’d placed in front of his desk. “Sit down please, boys. I have some good news.”

David came across the room and perched on one of the chairs. “Is Mamma all right now? Are we going to start having classes again? I miss Mamma and I miss school.”

How could John tell his sensitive younger son that barring a miracle his Mamma would never again be all right and she would never again hold classes for her sons? “Mamma’s feeling...” He searched to find words that would let him convey hope without forcing him to tell an outright lie. “Mama slept well last night.”

Richard was a handsome child, tall for his age with dark curly hair and piercing blue eyes. “That don’t mean she’s all right, and I don’t care if we don’t have school again.”

Why must this child rebel at every turn? John barked, “This is only indirectly about Mamma.” He motioned with his hand. “Get over here and sit down.”

Richard came across the room and sat in the chair next to his brother. “What have I done this time?”

Richard thought he was here to be reprimanded for some misdeed. “You’ve done nothing…” John almost said wrong. In Richard’s case, he doubted that was true. “This is not about anything you’ve done.” He sat in the chair behind his desk. Tenting his fingers, he stared over them and into the questioning faces of his two young sons. “It’s about us finding a little sister to take Nell’s place.”

David leaned forward. “Is Manna’s going to have another baby?”

Tears collected in John’s throat. “Mama can’t have another baby.”

David shook his head, “Then how…”

“I have found a way,” John answered. “But I will need your help and Richard’s, too, if my plan is to work”

Richard sneered. “Don’t listen to him, David. If he thinks he can find another Nell, he’s crazier than Mama, if that’s possible.”

Those words burst like a bomb inside the head of plodding, pleasant, peace-loving John Cantrell. Reaching across his desk, he struck his older son across the face with the palm of his hand. “Don’t ever call your Mama crazy again.”

Tears filled Richard’s eyes. Rubbing his hand across the cheek that bore John’s handprint, he glared defiantly at his father.

John stared at his hand and then at his older son as he realized that his anger was not because of Richard’s disrespectful manner, but because the boy had spoken the truth. Since the death of their three-year-old daughter, Nell, three months ago, Sarah Cantrell had slowly but surely been losing her grip on reality. If John didn’t do something, and do it soon, his precious Sarah would be claimed by the madness that pursued her and lost to him forever. “I’m hoping we can find a child to take Nell’s place on the orphan train that’s due to arrive in Belle Plain tomorrow.”

Richard mumbled something under his breath as David asked, “What’s an orphan train, Papa?”

John hastened to explain. “Every so often a load of orphans, waifs, foundlings and street urchins is put on a train in some Eastern city and sent west to find new homes. A company of homeless children will be arriving in Belle Plain tomorrow. Several weeks ago I made application to the Belle Plain Placement Committee to take one of these children. My letter of endorsement arrived last Tuesday.” It was important that his sons understand what he was planning and to be aware of their roles in his scheme. “I shall choose a little girl to take Nell’s place. Then your Mama will be well again.”

“But Papa,” David argued, “what if Mama doesn’t want another little girl?”

He had spoken John’s worst fear. “That’s a chance we have to take.”

Richard scoffed, “Mama will probably think the kid is Nell. She’s that…” He cut his eyes in his father’s direction. “She thinks Nell is coming home in a few days.”

Richard had voiced John’s fondest hope, and given him the perfect opportunity to say what he’d brought the children in here to tell them. “If Mama thinks the child we bring home is Nell, we must go along with that.” He stood. “It’s a long way to Belle Plain. Let’s get started. The sooner we find Little Nell, the sooner Mamma will be well again.”

David objected, saying, “The trip to Belle Plain and back takes two days. Who will care for Mama while we’re away?”

John explained, “Ted and Rachel Riley are here. Ted will care for the stock while we’re gone. Rachel will look after Mama.” Coming around his desk, he motioned with his hand. “It’s time to go.”

David slid from his chair and followed after his father.

Richard didn’t move. “I’m not going.”

John turned, almost colliding with David. “Yes, you are.”

Richard followed his brother and his father out the door, muttering as he went, “Crazy, both of ’em—just plain crazy.”

Richard’s words played across John’s mind like a malediction as he turned the wagon north and headed in the direction of Belle Plain. After a period of wrestling with polarizing emotions, he was able to convince himself that he was not mad, only desperate.

The trio spent the night bedded down in the wagon just outside the city limits of Belle Plain. The next morning after a hasty breakfast, John drove to the Belle Plain railroad station, climbed down from his seat and tethered his team to a hitching post. “This is it, boys. Let’s find Little Nell.”

The two children climbed from the back of the wagon and followed after their father.

John mentally crossed his fingers as he said a silent prayer. Please, God, let me find a little girl for Sarah.

The station’s platform was crowded with people, merchants and shopkeepers from Belle Plain and farmers and ranchers from the surrounding area. A contingent of women from the Ladies Aid Society separated themselves from the larger group. They looked very proper and pious as they nodded their heads and conversed in solemn tones among themselves.

A tall, pompous man, whom John assumed to be the mayor, stood on the edge of the platform. He was accompanied by what appeared to be city dignitaries and members of the local placement committee. A young man wearing a badge announcing he was a reporter for the Belle Plain Gazette hovered near the mayor. John breathed a sigh of relief. He had been wise to plan so carefully and to travel so far. The fear that his trip here might somehow get back to Sarah, floated away on the wings of renewed hope.

With the belching of black smoke and amid uproarious clanging, the train pulled into the station. As it came to a grinding stop, John gritted his teeth and strengthened his resolve.

Two adults, one male and one female, debarked from the train and stepped onto the platform; a pall of silence fell over the assembled group. The stooped-shouldered middle-aged male introduced himself as Mr. Timothy Mulvane. He nodded in the direction of the frankly fat young female beside him. “This is Miss Hattie Nichols. We are the agents in charge of this orphans’ train.” He looked around him at the assembled group of dignitaries. “Who among you is the chairman of the local placement committee?”

A distinguished middle aged-man stepped forward. “That would be me. My name is James C. Young.” He shook the hand of Miss Nichols and then Mr. Mulvane, and was set to launch into a welcoming speech when a deep voice from behind John called out, “Let’s get this done, J.C. I got plowing to do.”

J.C. was poised to argue when a woman in front of John said, “And I have tomatoes to put up. Get on with what we came here to do.”

J. C. acquiesced. “Unload the kids so we can begin our pickin’ and choosin’.”

Mulvane spoke loudly enough for all to hear. “We will line the children up on the platform for your inspection. Please refrain from speaking to or inspecting a child until all of them are assembled before you.” He nodded to the obese woman. “Get them out here.”

Miss Hattie Nichols turned toward the train, swung one arm in a beckoning motion and pitched her voice to an ear-splitting yell. “Get out here, kids, now!”

A collection of children streamed single-file from the train and came to stand before the gathered group of spectators. They were a well scrubbed lot and well behaved. Each one carried a cardboard suitcase; the boys wore caps and the girls had bonnets on their heads. It was neither their dress nor their demeanor that disturbed John; it was the children’s faces. Never before had he witnessed such an array of hopeless expressions. As he scanned the group, his heart sank. Most of these children were older than his sons. He told David and Richard to stay where they were and elbowed his way through the crowd until he stood beside Timothy Mulvane. “Don’t you have any younger children?”

Mulvane scowled. “This is the end of the line. We’ve made stops in five states. The young ones always go first.” As he turned to walk away, John grabbed his arm.

“Please, I must find a young child.”

Mulvane shook himself free and studied John for a few minutes before asking, “Are you looking for a boy or a girl?”

John drew a quick breath. “I’m looking for a little girl, preferably one about three years old.”

This time Mulvane took John’s arm and pulled him aside. “We have a four-year-old girl on the train, but she’s incorrigible.”

John was desperate enough to ask, “Incorrigible how?”

“She throws temper tantrums and swears; she fights with the other children and talks back to adults. She’s been reprimanded, isolated, whipped and made to go without meals; nothing works. We’re taking her back to the orphanage that sent her.”

John asked, “May I see her?”

Mulvane shrugged. “Sure, why not, this way.”

John followed the older man onto the train and into the first car.

Halfway down the aisle Mulvane stopped and pointed to a small child huddled in a seat near a window. “There she is.” He called out, “Sally, Sally McGuire.”

The child looked up and pushed her bonnet from her head. John’s heart skipped a beat. “She has red hair.” Nell’s hair had been red, not the same fiery shade as this child’s, but red.

“That she does,” Mulvane agreed, “and she has a temper to match.”

John asked, “What color are her eyes?”

Mulvane grimaced. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

It mattered to John. “May I speak to her?”

Mulvane raised a shaggy eyebrow. “Go ahead, but I’m warning you, she’s a terror.” Stepping back, he made room for John to move past him.

John came to stand directly in front of the tiny girl. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of aquamarine. Nell’s eyes had been cornflower blue. Near enough, John decided as he whispered, “Hello, Nell.”

When the child failed to respond, Mulvane called out, “Speak up, girl. Say hello to the gentleman.”

The child replied, “My name’s not Nell.”

John knelt before her and spoke in his most persuasive voice. “Would you like to go home with me and be my little girl?”

The child’s response was as shocking as it was unexpected. “Shit no!”

John wavered for a moment, but only for a moment. Standing, he faced Mulvane. “I’ll take her.”

Mulvane warned, “She ain’t merchandise you can return later.”

John replied, “I know.” Turning to the child, he said, “Get your suitcase, Nell, you’re coming with me.”

The tiny tot met his penetrating gaze. “My name’s not Nell.” Fear flickered in the blue-green of her eyes. “And you can go to hell.”

John tucked the struggling child under his arm as he told Mulvane, “Get her suitcase.” Forty-seven-year-old John Cantrell carried four-year-old Sally McGuire kicking and screaming from the train and onto the platform.

Mulvane picked up her suitcase and followed. “She’s yours now; you can’t give her back.”

Sally was still struggling and swearing when John loaded her into his wagon and set her suitcase beside her. “Ride on either side of her,” he instructed his sons. “And hold onto her if you have to. We don’t want her to escape.”

He watched as David crawled into the wagon, moved the suitcase and sat on one side of Sally. “You don’t have to be afraid, Nell. No one here will hurt you.”

Sally aimed a kick in his direction. “How many times do I gotta say it? My name ain’t Nell.”

Richard followed David into the wagon and sat on the other side of the child. “Shut up and be still before I backhand you.”

Sally protested, this time in a more subdued tone, “I ain’t afraid of you.” She stared up into Richard’s stern face. “What’s your name?”

Richard’s childish voice carried a note of arrogant authority. “You can call me Richard and I will call you Nell ’cause from now on that’s your name.”

Sally stopped struggling, pulled her legs up under her chin and wrapped her arms around her knees. “You ain’t my boss.”

Richard cut his eyes in her direction. “Somebody needs to take you in hand, Little Nell.” A rare smile creased his boyish face. “I reckon that’s gonna have to be me.”

Under her breath Sally muttered, “Like hell.” But she settled back in the wagon and stopped protesting.

Feeling more assured than he had in a long time, John climbed onto his wagon seat and gave the horses’ reins a shake. That assurance was short-lived. Old fears soon moved in to challenge his fleeting peace-of-mind. What if Sara refused to accept Sally McGuire as her Little Nell? What if the sight of a child who so resembled her deceased daughter pushed her over the brink and into madness?

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