Prologue

Black Hills, South Dakota

1875

Hope sent a silent prayer to God as she prepared to lose her family for the second time. Her heart ached, and her chest was tight. She struggled to draw proper breaths, a gray haze creeping in around the edges of her vision. There had been only a few occasions in her life when she had swooned, and she thought she might be about to add to the count.

A cold, firm hand fell upon her shoulder. A stern, though not unkind face tilted to look down upon her. Sister Rebecca’s forehead was creased with wrinkles, sparse graying eyebrows drawn together.

“Be strong,” she whispered. “Those young men need you to be strong for them.”

“Sister,” Hope whispered back. Her lips were numb, and she could say no more.

Sister Rebecca tightened her grip, a squeeze meant to be reassuring, and then let go. She faced straight ahead with her hands clasped together, focusing her attention on the court proceedings. The intention was clear: Hope should follow her lead and do the same.

Hope swallowed hard and turned forward again.

The town’s small courthouse held as many people as was possible. Every chair was occupied. Where the chairs had run out, crates had been brought in to provide a few more seats. Men and women stood in the available spaces between. The heat and smell of so many bodies all around her didn’t help Hope’s faintness, and she was sitting up near the front, where the effects were diminished.

Before her was the judge at his bench, and in front of him were two boys, Tom and Archer Shaw. They used to live at the orphanage with Hope. Sister Rebecca had run the orphanage with the help of some other nuns for the past decade. Hope had been there for only four years, arriving when she was fourteen.

That was when she had met Tom and Archer, who were a year or two older. They had quickly become close and remained friends even after the boys had left the orphanage to live on their own. The Sisters didn’t much like that Hope spent time in the company of young men, especially unsupervised. Though Sister Rebecca was of a different opinion. She understood, or at least Hope thought she understood more. That was why she had come to accompany Hope to the courthouse on this awful day.

The judge, Judge Harlowe, fixed the boys with a stare twice as stern as Sister Rebecca’s and without any kindness to temper it. When he spoke, his gruff voice filled the whole room.

“We have now heard numerous testimonies from the good people around town. The general store workers, blacksmith, and many others have told us their stories. You two have been caught lying and thieving on countless occasions. You make life difficult for your fellow men. Now, we will hear you out. Do you have anything to say in your defense? Speak now, in an orderly fashion.”

Tom opened his mouth. He was the younger of the brothers. It was not easy to tell them apart as they were so close in age. Hope had had plenty of practice in that area. Tom had freckles and a gap between his front teeth, which Archer lacked.

Someone spoke from the crowd, interrupting Tom. “Why do we need to hear from them? Have the jury make their decision now!”

The jury, a collection of men of all ages, sat on a row of chairs directly against the wall, facing back towards the audience. Hope had been looking at them the entire time that testimonies were being made as to her friends’ wrongdoings, trying to judge from their expressions what they were thinking. Mostly, they seemed bored and annoyed that they had to be there at all.

Judge Harlowe picked up his gavel and tapped it on the sound block on top of his bench, making a sharp rapping. “There will be order in this building,” he said stiffly, and glared into the audience. “All sides will be heard before a final decision is made.”

An uneasy grumbling and stirring went through the room.

Almost everyone wants this to be finished, Hope realized. They didn’t care about fairness. They had only come to see the final decision on the matter.

Tom’s chest rose and fell as he took in a deep breath. He licked his lips. “Uh, well, first, let me say, thank you, Judge, for givin’ us a chance to speak. I thought we’d never get no chance, not with all them windbags goin’ on and on…”

Archer jabbed an elbow in Tom’s side. “What my brother is tryin’ to say, sir, is we got our own story to tell.”

“Then tell it,” Judge Harlowe said, sounding tired and impatient.

Archer cleared his throat and spread his hands. “You see, Tom and I, we lost our folks durin’ a raid on our wagon train when we were headin’ west. That was when we was little fellas. We wound up on our own until we were brought to the orphanage here. You can understand how that’d give someone a bad start to life. Tom and I, we didn’t fit in at the orphanage. We wanted to try to make it on our own again. We’ve done all kinds of work around town. But times are hard, ain’t they? Sometimes, a person has to do unpleasant things to survive. Anyone who’s fallen into hard times will tell you that.”

Tom jumped back in. “But we ain’t done nearly so much as people say! Whenever anythin’ goes missin’, it gets blamed on us. If someone else steals and no one sees who, they think it was us! There’s, a… whatchacall it…”

“A bias,” Archer supplied.

“That’s right, a bias.” Tom nodded. “You should take that into account, Judge, sir.”

Hope held her breath as Judge Harlowe appeared to consider what the two had said. Then, he nodded toward the waiting jury. “We will hear what your fellow man has to say now that they have heard you out.”

“That’s it? We don’t get to say nothin’ else?” Tom complained. Archer gave him another ribbing with his elbow, and they both went quiet.

Judge Harlowe motioned to the first man in the line. “How do you find our defendants?”

“Guilty,” the man replied, without any hesitation at all.

No! Hope almost jumped out of her seat at the unfair declaration. Hadn’t he heard what the boys said? Didn’t he understand that times were hard for them? They only wanted to survive.

Sister Rebecca’s hand was back on her shoulder, and it remained there as the other men in the line gave their verdicts. They all said guilty. Every time the word was said, Hope tensed even more.

Tom and Archer lowered their heads, staring at the dusty wooden floor beneath their ragged boots.

“A unanimous vote,” Judge Harlowe said. He turned back to Tom and Archer. “Don’t think that I don’t understand how hard this world is. You two have had an unfair start to life. You have endured. There’s honor in that.”

Tom lifted his head a little.

“There is honor in admitting that you have committed wrongdoings. I could be convinced to take it easy on you two young men if it were not for the fact that you are here because you were caught attempting to steal a fine vase.” Judge Harlowe’s jaw tightened. “That is different from grabbing apples from a crate or walking out of a bakery with bread in your pockets. You can’t feed, clothe, or protect yourselves with porcelain. Your arguments fall flat in the face of that.”

Hope knew. She had known all along what was going to happen to the brothers today, and still she had tried to convince herself there might be a different outcome. She had to sit there and see this through while knowing she was the only one who didn’t want it.

“I don’t think that you two are old enough yet to be given up on entirely,” Judge Harlowe said. “What needs to happen now is for you to learn to work hard. You must be shown how to live a rigorous and structured life. To that end, I hereby give you a sentence of one year. Your departure will be immediate. Sheriff Graves will take you to pick up your belongings at the station before taking you by wagon to prison.”

He punctuated his decree with a rap of his gavel on the sound board. The townspeople rose from their seats, yelling out either satisfaction or disagreement with the sentencing. Sheriff Graves strode forward and grabbed Tom and Archer, pushing them ahead of him toward the door.

Hope also stood, her mind frozen with disbelief and pain. Then, seeing her beloved friends going out the door, she thawed. She ran. Pushing her way through the crowd, shoving past men and women alike, she didn’t bother apologizing even as they scolded her. She had to get to the boys before they were taken away from her forever.

She forced her way out the door, into the clean, bright sunshine of early spring. “Wait!” she cried. “Sheriff!”

Sheriff Graves stopped and turned back to her, keeping a hand on each of the boys’ shoulders. “What do you…” He broke off, taking her in. “You’re that woman staying at the orphanage.”

“She has a name,” Archer scoffed. “Her name’s Hope.”

“Hope Grayson,” Hope said softly. “Sir. Please, sir. Archer and Tom are my friends. If I won’t see them again for a year, can’t I at least say a farewell?”

The sheriff looked down at her. She was somewhat tall, sometimes rivaling the more average of men, and he still towered over her. He was well in his sixties, silver-haired and wrinkled. His face was less harsh than the judge’s.

At length, he sighed. “I’ll give you three a moment to say your goodbyes. We can’t delay for long.”

“Thank you!” she gasped. She hadn’t been expecting him to agree.

Sheriff Graves moved a few paces away and stood with his arms folded, watching, waiting. Hope was aware of other people around observing her. She didn’t care. Her only concern was her friends.

“What do you think? You think we might get away if we ran for it?” Tom put on a smile.

She rushed forward and threw her arms around him. The tears she had been keeping at bay for days finally broke free and ran down her cheeks. “I’m goin’ to miss you so much!”

Tom put an arm around her, holding her as a brother would, and Archer set his hand on top of her head. They were her brothers, in her mind. They had taken her in when she arrived at the orphanage and protected her. They made her laugh. They treated her as one of them. Now they were being taken from her. She didn’t want to let go. She wanted to go to prison with them. Oh, if only.

“It’ll be alright, you’ll see,” Archer said. His hand dropped away, and he hooked his thumbs into his belt. “A year ain’t so long. You won’t even have the time to miss us before we’re back.”

“I already miss you.” Hope dabbed at her face, pushing the tears away. “I know you’ve made mistakes. That doesn’t change anythin’ between us. You are my dear friends and always will be. So, please, take care of each other. Come back safely.”

“We will,” Archer promised, and Tom did the same. Then, the sheriff was walking over again, preparing to herd them away. Hope couldn’t bear to watch them go. She made herself do it anyway, calling out to them long after they were out of hearing range, farewells, promises, anything she could think of until her voice failed her.

At last, Hope turned away.

She nearly ran into Sister Rebecca, who had been waiting behind her.

“I know it’s hard,” Sister Rebecca said. “You will see them again. And they will tell you themselves they’re better for having done their time. They’re men now. They have to learn.”

Hope nodded because there wasn’t anything else for her to do. Sister Rebecca couldn’t be argued with. Everyone knew that.

“Come now.” The nun looked pointedly at the sky. “We can still get back in time to help with dinner. I want to see you eating a full meal tonight, understand? You can’t let Tom and Archer come back to find you’ve wasted away.”

Again, Hope nodded. She followed Sister Rebecca back to the wagon they had borrowed to get to town. As she walked, she thought back on everything she had seen and heard. On reflection, as often happened, she noticed an aspect of the day that had escaped her.

She thought of Tom and Archer Shaw as boys. Everyone else had consistently referred to them as men. Her sweet, mischievous best friends had grown up, and the world expected them to act like it.

What did that mean for her? She was Tom’s age. Eighteen. She was an adult, too, now, though she didn’t feel like one at all. She was going to have to grow up and leave the orphanage herself very soon, and then what would happen to her? She didn’t know anyone.

She was all alone.

Chapter One

1876

“Home at long last.”

Jackson looked around at the cowboy riding up beside him. “We’ve been on the property some time already,” he pointed out. He owned a great deal of the narrow valley grasslands that wove between the mountains. He needed the land to graze his cattle.

“You know what I mean, Boss.” The cowboy waved his hand at the homestead in the distance, visible now that they had passed the last ridge. “Didn’t feel like the drive was over until I saw the ranch.”

Jackson nodded his agreement. He and his men, a mix of ranch hands and hired cowboys, had been wrangling cattle on a near two-month trip to deliver them to the railhead to be sold.

“Jackson, I’ve done three drives with you now, and I still don’t understand why you take us to that railhead so plumb far away.” The cowboy was still talking, though Jackson would have preferred to be left alone. “There’s closer places.”

“It ain’t about the location. It’s about the buyers. I got connections there, men who want to buy quality cattle and are willin’ to pay the tin for them.”

“Does that mean bonuses for us?”

Jackson laughed slightly. “Only if you give me some space and peace.”

The cowboy got the message and fell back, leaving Jackson alone again. He sighed, his shoulders relaxing.

A cattle drive of any length was never easy. As often as he had taken that route, there were always difficulties and unpleasant surprises. His soul eased to be in this place that he knew like the back of his hand, within sight of the ranch where he had lived his whole life.

The ranch sprawled out in a somewhat wider area of the valley, having many barns and outbuildings for every purpose: sheds, work spaces, bunkhouses, and even a guesthouse. Gardens overflowed with tender new life in the early days of spring, vines and stalks that would soon be laden with fresh vegetables. Clothes flapped gently on a line strung between two trees at the start of a small, wooded area.

The woods provided ample firewood and building material, and they also served as a convenient arrow. One only had to follow along its length to get to the rolling meadows above the lake. That was where Jackson kept his breeding horses, where the matters of foaling and raising the young animals could be carried out in peace.

Jackson’s horse raised its head and let out a long whinny. He picked up his pace, angling straight for the stable. Jackson allowed a little slack on the reins, giving the animal permission. He patted the thick, powerful neck. “You’re ready to be back home, too, huh, Cedar?”

The brown-and-white stallion snorted as if in confirmation. He dropped his head back down and stretched his nose forward. Jackson settled lower in the saddle and leaned over Cedar’s neck, urging him into a gallop. Whoops and whistles from behind Jackson told him that his men were doing the same, all of them rushing the last bit of distance with renewed energy.

The hands who had been left on the ranch to maintain it in their absence stepped out from the barns and bunkhouses to greet them with cheers and slaps on the back when they returned.

A hand walked over as Jackson dismounted. “I can take him to the stable, settle him in.”

Jackson nodded. “Thank you, Thomas.”

Others were taking their horses to the stable, while some lingered to talk amongst themselves.

“Benny, you son of a gun, how’s you been?”

“Prudence sent me a letter. She wants me to move to Illinois to be with her. Illinois! Ain’t no way.”

“I told you we’d be gone two months at least. Pay up.”

Jackson looked around and frowned. Normally, William Cooper would be there to welcome them home and update him on the state of the ranch. He couldn’t see the man at the moment. That was unusual.

Jackson grabbed one of the hands who had stayed behind, a burly black-haired man. “Abraham, where’s Billy?”

Abraham rubbed at his scruffy chin. He was notorious for his inability to grow a beard and his stubborn attempts to try anyway. “Saw him near the house last.”

Jackson nodded his thanks and turned toward the main house. He found a group of five standing in his path. When he approached, they didn’t move aside.

“You fellows ain’t makin’ for a very good door,” Jackson said. They were all faces he had become familiar with during the long drive.

They chuckled, but they stayed in place. One of them spoke.

“You think those of us who just got back could take the night off, Boss?”

“A night off? Why, Jackson’s already plannin’ the next season in his head. There’s no time for anyone to rest.”

Jackson turned as someone else walked over. “’bout time you showed up, Billy.”

Billy was one of the scruffiest men Jackson had ever seen, looking more like a hermit than a competent foreman. His long, graying hair and sunken eyes belied his sharp mind.

Billy cracked a smile that showed an empty hole, a gap in the line of large, even teeth. “Was checkin’ the laundry. The men need clean sheets for their beds.”

That was the luxury of home, being able to wash and dry the laundry properly. “Have someone else take care of that. I want to talk with you.”

“What about lettin’ the men have the night off like they asked?” Billy was the one who wasn’t budging, now. The original five had doubled, tripled. Everyone was watching.

“The ranch lasted fine without them. They can get back to work tomorrow while everyone else gets their rest, and the next day will be back to business as usual. Don’t that seem fair?”

Jackson didn’t want to admit that Billy was right, that he had already been thinking about working again. Work never stopped. However, he did have to admit that the plan was solid and fair. He turned to look at his men and clapped his hands together. “Alright, you heard what Billy said. Everyone who was on the drive gets to rest up today. Everyone else gets their turn tomorrow. Spread the word.”

The grins and looks of relief told him he had done the right thing. Billy was his foreman for a reason.

He left the group and walked with Billy toward the house. He was taller and had a longer stride than Billy. His foreman picked up the pace to stay by his side. “You done been gone so long, and you still got all this energy. I don’t know how.”

Once they were inside, he noted the state of cleanliness with approval. The floor was freshly swept, and the kitchen, which he could see through the nearby doorway, hadn’t a single pot out of place. “How do we look on groceries here? Do I need to make a trip into town?”

Billy stared at him. “Takin’ the night off goes for you, too.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Don’t matter if you do. You got the opportunity, so take it.” Billy held up a hand, stopping Jackson before he could even start to protest again. “Pantry’s full. All the chores in here are done for the day. I’ve got every task outside already covered. You’d only get in the men’s way.”

Jackson heaved a sigh. “You know I don’t like to be idle.”

“If you got to have somethin’ to do, you could read the reports I left in your office. I brought you a recent newspaper, too. You can read that.”

The mention of the newspaper stirred a memory of what they had been talking about the day before Jackson left on the cattle drive. His guard went up, his shoulders squaring. He looked hard at his foreman, dreading that that was where this conversation was headed.

Billy stared up at him with his sunken, shrewd eyes. “You can look at the advertisements other men have written and get an idea of how you want to write your own.”

“Dadblast you, Billy,” Jackson growled. “I told you I’m not lookin’ for a wife.”

“I told you before, and I’m tellin’ you again, you need to.” Billy waved his hands at the house. “The house only gets clean when I stay here while you’re gone. You put off the laundry until you don’t got clean clothes. You eat with the men most days and never sit at your table. A wife could take up the slack and make you food you actually want to eat, instead of takin’ whatever Cook makes the men.”

Having as many workers as Jackson did necessitated having a full-time designated cook just to feed them all.

“Cook does a darn good job.”

“He does, and we’re all grateful. But that was only one of my points.”

Jackson’s face twisted into a scowl. He didn’t like thinking about all of this—how his personal life didn’t run nearly as smoothly as his ranch. A wife would help with that. But he didn’t want a wife. “I don’t have the time to go courtin’ anyone,” he said, and hoped that would be enough to put an end to the conversation.

“That would be what the advertisement is for.” Billy chuckled. “Sendin’ some letters would be easier than courtship. Just think about it some more. Tomorrow, you and I can talk about the reports and all that.”

Jackson knew he was beaten. Billy had been the ranch’s foreman since before Jackson took over, and he was too logical, too immovable. To change Billy’s mind was to move a mountain. “Fine. Maybe I’ll think about the advertisement if you promise not to harass me about it until at least tomorrow.” He paused while Billy agreed. “You think we could play cards later, or am I not allowed to even do that?”

“I’ll be around at sundown. Have the whiskey ready. You’ll need some of that nose paint to make you feel better after I beat you.” Billy headed out, stomping down the porch steps. The wood groaned its protest at being forced to bear his weight.

Suddenly, Jackson was alone like he hadn’t been alone in weeks. He could hear his men outside, the lowing of cattle and clattering of work being done, and none of it had to do with him. He stepped back from the entrance and went through the house, passing the kitchen and parlor on the way to his office, where Billy had said he left the reports.

Every day that Jackson was gone, Billy wrote a small summary of the day’s events to update him on all that had happened in his absence. Rarely was there much of interest in the reports. Jackson liked that. He liked the seamless routines and schedules that made up life on his ranch.

The sun, shining in through the office window, fell upon his desk where the report waited. There was a newspaper too, as Billy had said there would be.

Jackson rubbed his face, a headache beginning to throb at his temples. If he put out an advertisement for a wife, he could continue his life uninterrupted, at least until someone replied. At that point, he’d have to deal with it and correspond, and potentially make the arrangements for her to come. She would be a stranger. What if she doesn’t fit into my life?

Groaning, he left the office. He crossed the hall to a closed door. He reached out, hesitated a moment, then pushed it open.

His mother sat on her favorite rocking chair by the window, an embroidery project on her lap. She paused in her stitching and looked up at him with a smile.

Jackson blinked, and she was gone. The rocking chair was empty, the unfinished embroidery collecting dust on its seat. Everything in that room had been collecting dust for four years now. No one was allowed to go inside except him. He couldn’t bring himself to clean anything, to pack away any of the unused belongings. To do that would be to erase the last traces of her.

He moved over to the bed that was still made as meticulously as it had been on that last day. He sat down on the edge of the mattress. Dust stirred up into the air, a haze that made his eyes sting. He told himself that was why his eyes were tearing.

“Ma,” he said. “Ma, I wish you were here to tell me what to do.”

His voice fell into the silence of his late mother’s bedroom. The only response was the subtle creaks and pops of the house settling. If only heaven would open its doors for a moment or two to let Ma back through, to visit with him and give him her wisdom as she always had before. Without her, he didn’t know what to do.

Laughter reached his straining ears. He looked out of the window and saw a couple of his ranch hands walking past the house. They were headed for the clothesline.

Jackson shifted his eyes to the chair by the window, the abandoned sewing project.

Before she died, she had told him something, her final words he had ever heard. “All I want for you is to find love and happiness.”

Jackson slowly closed his eyes. Love? Not likely. Happiness? Maybe, but improbable. What he thought he could settle for was contentment.

He rose and returned to his office. He sat down and picked up the newspaper to mull over the advertisements.

If he did find himself a wife and she could tend to the household, he could devote even more time to his dream of further expanding his father’s ranch. When he went on trips, he wouldn’t have to leave his foreman behind anymore. His wife would be there to hold down the fort… if she was the type who could be trusted to do so. He wouldn’t settle for less than someone capable.

“I’ll do it,” he said aloud, and wasn’t sure who he was talking to. Himself or Ma’s ghost? “I’ll choose careful, so I won’t regret it.”

He pulled out a desk drawer and grabbed some paper to start writing.