Within the hour, his breathing patterns became more irregular before ceasing completely. Cora was still reciting“…though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me,”when his soul finally departed his body.
Cora sat alone in the room for some time thereafter before alerting anyone of his passing. She allowed grief to wash over her until it transformed into the peace that his soul was with God, and that he was no longer in pain.
Her only lingering worry when she finally departed his house, leaving his body in the care of the undertaker, was whether she had made her beloved pastor a promise that she couldn’t possibly fulfill.
Chapter One
Lakewood, Colorado, 1870
“You willnotbe traveling alone to Wheats Ridge.” Her father’s strong fist hit the large oak dining room table, emphasizing the finality of his decision. He shoved another bite of scrambled eggs in his mouth, small bits of it landing in his thick, dark handlebar mustache, which he quickly wiped off with his napkin. Cora knew he was hurrying to finish the breakfast she had prepared so that he could rush off to the station. Even though Lakewood was a sleepy town devoid of much, if any, regular criminal activity, he always seemed to be so busy. Furthermore, Sheriff Thomas Williams was a man of punctuality and lived by the proverb“Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”There was no doubt he thought this discussion was a waste of his precious time that could be spent protecting and serving the citizens of Lakewood, as he so often worded it. But Cora was tenacious, and she was unwilling to let this issue rest. Not when it had meant so much to Pastor Burns.
She and her father lived alone together in a two-bedroom, wooden cabin in the center of town. The tiny kitchen was in a smaller room on the other side of the living area, with swinging wooden doors separated the two rooms. The house had two doors—one that led to the main living area, and a smaller, back door at the end of the kitchen, which was the door most regularly used except by guests.
The large, oak table where her father now sat was the main feature of the kitchen, which he and her mother purchased from a local carpenter before she was born. Sheriff Williams once told Cora, during one of the few times that he spoke about her mother, that she had picked it out because it would be perfect for family meals. She had anticipated a large family, never suspecting that she would die giving birth to her firstborn.
“Pa, I made a promise,” she insisted, reminding him once again about their conversation at his deathbed. It had been two weeks since Pastor Burns’ passing. After his burial, which was hugely attended by nearly everyone in Lakewood and some residents of the neighboring town Magnolia Grove, she had begun querying people in town who might be privy to the whereabouts of Roy Burns.
As expected, her inquiries were met with pursed lips and disdainful expressions. They either did not know or did not want to tell her, not wanting to be an accessory to a good girl like Cora Williams getting mixed up in the affairs of the wayward Roy Burns. It was eventually Philip Hawthorne, a young man who went to school with Roy and now worked at the newspaper shop, who told her during their chance meeting at the general store that Roy was working as a ranch hand in Wheats Ridge, a town about ten miles north of Lakewood.
“Wheats Ridge?” Cora had asked as shock registered on her face. While she had heard he was living within a ten-mile radius, she hadn’t considered Wheats Ridge. It wasn’t a town people typically settled down in. It was more of a place where people traveled to do activities that would be unlawful in somewhere like Lakewood.
On second thought, Cora had considered, perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised at all.
“That’s right,” Philip had told her when she asked if he was serious. “There’s a pretty big ranch out there owned by Mr. Whitfield. A lot of the product at this general store comes from there, so I guess we have hands like Roy to thank for this.” Philip had held up a wrapped slab of meat and placed it back in his paper bag. Then he had bowed his head politely and wished her luck in finding him.
“You made a promise to a man who was minutes away from death and not in his right mind,” her father said, jolting her back to the present as she remembered the conversation with Philip. He set his fork down and pushed his plate aside. “If he had been in his right mind, he wouldn’t have asked a single, vulnerable young woman to go gallivanting around the state searching for his son. Pastor Burns wanted no part of that boy after he left.”
“Well, you weren’t there at his deathbed, Pa,” Cora attempted to instill deference in her voice when speaking to her father. “He loved his son deeply, and he even regretted the mistakes that he felt he made as a father.”
Sheriff Williams snorted back a laugh at that remark. “Oh, that poor man, the last thing he should have been worried about on his deathbed was how well he served Roy as his father. I guess he must have forgotten the time that boy snuck out of church during the Easter service and lit fireworks in the town square, hell-bent on causing a disturbance. That was about two years before he left, so he must have been about sixteen. I brought him down to the station myself and kept him there until his father came to pick him up. That poor man looked exhausted, leading the entire community in an Easter celebration only to have to make a stop at the police station for his miscreant son afterward. Trust me, Cora, that boy was no good, and we don’t have any reason to believe he’s changed. If he had, he might have come back home by now.”
“Well, Pa, he may have been no good, but he was still loved by his father who wanted him to come home. So I am going to Wheats Ridge to retrieve him,” Cora spoke with such fierce determination that even her father was taken aback, crossing his arms over his chest and staring her down for a few beats before replying.
“Wheats Ridge is just not a safe place for you to go, Cora,” he said, trying to appeal to her good sense. “It’s a place of lawlessness and debauchery. You won’t find anything there but saloons, brothels, and backroom gambling. Heck, I guess it’s not surprising that Roy Burns made that place his new home.”
“I am not a child, Pa. I am a grown woman, and I should be allowed to decide for myself whether it is worth the risk. Besides, God will look out for me—I know He will. I have faith,” Cora inhaled a deep breath before finishing her speech. “And Iamgoing to fulfill this promise to Pastor Burns—with or without your blessing.”
Sheriff Williams silently stood up from the table, placed his hat on his head, and made his way to the door. Her father rarely raised his voice, but his silence was often more intimidating than if he were to shout. Before leaving, he looked over his shoulder and laid down his final word. “You are my daughter, living under my roof, and you will do as you are told. That means staying away from Wheats Ridge. I’m not discussing this with you any further.” And with that he left, leaving Cora sitting alone at the kitchen table with the dirty breakfast dishes.
She sat with her face in her hands for several minutes, considering her options and praying for God’s guidance. She knew that without her father’s permission, leaving for Wheats Ridge would mean breaking the fifth commandment. At the same time, she considered, Pastor Burns had been more of a father to her than the sheriff. If she had to choose which father, biological or spiritual, to honor, there was no question that it would be the latter.
Having made up her mind, she retreated to her bedroom at the back corner of the house, where a thin wall separated her room and her father’s. She pulled out her satchel from beneath her small, wire-frame bed. Her room wasn’t much bigger than a large closet, the bed and pastel pink wallpaper being the main features marking it as a bedroom. Packing in a cramped space would prove to be a challenging task. She decided to be prepared for any scenario: should she be unable to find a wagon ride from a passerby, then she would have to make the arduous ten-mile journey on foot. This might mean she would be gone all night, and then there would be no hiding her actions from her father, but she couldn’t worry about that now.
She packed a few changes of clothes—a simple cotton dress, a spare blouse, and a modest skirt. She then included her small toiletry pouch containing a toothbrush, a bar of soap, and a small mirror.
She scavenged in the kitchen for provisions and added to her satchel a wrapped loaf of bread, a piece of cheese, and a canteen filled with water. Before closing the bag, she reached for her beloved pocket-sized Bible. It had once belonged to her mother, andEleanor Williamswas written on the inside cover in her flowery penmanship.
Cora stared at this imprint, one of the few tangible artifacts she possessed of the mother she never knew. She often wondered what it would be like if the doctors had been able to stop the hemorrhaging after she delivered Cora and she would have survived to raise her. Perhaps Pa would have been more relaxed and less preoccupied with his work; perhaps Cora herself would not have been such an insecure child, shying away from the other children.
But there was no use dwelling in what could have been—the Word said that all things worked together for the good of those who loved God, so she would simply have to trust that the events of her life and its trajectory were all part of His greater plan. Cora tucked the Bible into her satchel, a reminder that her mother, along with God, would be protecting and guiding her on this journey to Wheats Ridge.
Cora was careful about how she navigated toward the outskirts of Lakewood. She needed to get to the main road that ran through a series of neighboring towns along Southwest Colorado. That’s the road that would take her directly to Wheats Ridge, and if she were fortunate, she would find someone willing to stop for a hitchhiker, as travelers often did on that road.
However, she had to be careful not to rouse suspicion on her way to the road. Everyone in town knew that she was the daughter of the sheriff, and she would not be surprised if someone saw her with her stuffed satchel and alerted her father that she was traveling. She kept her head bent low, steering clear of the heavy foot traffic areas where passersby mingled outside the tearooms and the general store.
A tall, wooden windmill marked the center of town, and she could see its sails in the distance as she trekked through the same meadows where, not too long ago, she had picked a variety of flowers hoping to brighten Pastor Burns’ day. Little did she know that day would be his last.
The main road was quiet and absent of travelers once she arrived, so she began her journey on foot. She hoped that she would not have to walk the entire way, but she was willing. Thankfully, she had only walked about a mile when she heard the familiar clattering of hooves.
