At the back of the house, near the kitchen, there was a huge garden where most of their food grew. Behind it sat two large barns, one filled with stables for over sixty horses, and one for all the hay and equipment. Next to that were some smaller huts, which housed most of the stable hands and farm workers. It was simply magnificent, and Madelaine’s heart was simultaneously filled with warmth and sadness.
Her father had worked tirelessly to build his successful business as a horse breeder, and he’d been well known in the entire region for only supplying the very best horses. Right now, Madelaine had no idea if she would be able to keep their reputation up.
The overwhelming doubt and sadness of it all hit her with full force, and as much as she tried to suppress the spiraling emotions, not to give into the raw grief and crippling fear, this time it washed over her like a roaring avalanche.
She stopped in her tracks, tried to swallow the big, painful lump in her throat, but to no avail. The images came flooding in, and before she knew it, she was pulled back to the moment that had changed everything forever.
She remembered the day so vividly. Her mother and father had walked out the door just a few months before. They’d been dressed in their best attire, laughing and joking, their spirits high, so full of excitement to take their carriage to the nearest train station north of the Great Salt Lakes in Brigham City, a small outpost newly connected to the brand-new Union Pacific Railroad. They were to board the latest sensational attraction, a train connecting Utah directly to California.
That day, Madelaine had stood on the wrap-around porch of her father’s beautiful ranch with a crying Belle on her arm and a whining Simon by her side, reassuring both of her parents that she would take care of her siblings and their home. Their goodbyes had been cheerful and full of happiness and laughter. She had joked with them that this would be educational for her, because she wanted to become a wife and a mother one day. She had told them to enjoy themselves on their important business trip, since they would be back within less than two weeks.
Only… that hadn’t happened.
Those two weeks passed, and they hadn’t returned.
It took another week before the news finally arrived in their little town.
Unfortunately, Madelaine remembered that day just as vividly. She had been outside when she suddenly noticed thecloud of dust being whirled up by a frantic rider, who raced toward her until he stopped almost exactly in front of her.
He’d handed her a piece of paper. Some sort of telegram.
“There has been a tragic accident… the train has crashed… no survivors…” he’d said.
A heart-wrenching sob escaped Madelaine’s throat as she relived the memory.
Madelaine allowed herself a minute to mourn. She let the tears fall, trying not to cry too loudly. She didn’t want anybody to see her like this. She had to be strong for Belle, for Simon…
That minute turned into ten.
When she finally felt that she didn’t have any tears left to cry, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Please God, forgive me for my weakness. Forgive me for being inadequate and not having the knowledge to do better. Please forgive me for being such a disappointment to my parents…” she whispered helplessly into the gray sky.
It was all too much, but there was no point in whining. She couldn’t give up. She couldn’t just give up on Belle and Simon and everybody else. And she wouldn’t. She still had options. She would find her father’s childhood friend, Timothy,and maybe he could help her get rid of Phineas and his freeloading goons.
Trying to focus on her new resolve, she trudged onward toward the barn.
Madelaine had loved the smell of hay and horses since she’d been a little girl. The friendly nickering and stomping feet filled her heart with purpose, but she did have one very special best friend who waited patiently for her treats in the second stall on the right—Tinsel.
The beautiful white mare had been her father’s gift for her sixteenth birthday, and Madelaine loved her more than anything in the world—besides Belle and Simon, of course.
“Hello, my beautiful girl. Did you miss me?” Madelaine asked softly.
Tinsel pushed her velvety nose into Madelaine’s cold fingers, blowing warm breath into her hand with a soft snort. Their bond was beyond special. “I’ve got some apples for you, but you must share them with the others, okay?” Tinsel nodded, as if she could understand every word. Madelaine took one of the apples from her skirt pocket and handed it to her. “I think you should have two apples tonight. After all, we have a big day ahead, don’t we?” Madelaine lowered her voice to almost a whisper. She hadn’t seen or heard anyone nearby, but she wanted to make sure that nobody would hear her. These moments were private, just between her and her beloved horse.
“I have asked God to protect us on our journey—including you, you know? We need all the help we can get.” Tinsel stretched her head over Madelaine’s shoulder, as if she wanted to hug her. Madelaine inhaled the warm scent of the mare and poured all her love into their little hug as she scratched her underneath her soft mane. “We’ll have God on our side, but I need you to be strong, too. You know that you’ll be coming with us, don’t you? I need you more than ever, now.”
Tinsel rested her head on top of Madelaine’s shoulder, snorting softly. “I would never leave you behind,” she said, leaning back and handing Tinsel the second apple. The mare sniffed the delicious morsel and took it without hesitation. “Good girl. Enjoy it! You deserve it. You will need all your strength when we leave the ranch tomorrow.”
Chapter Two
Sheriff’s quarters, Stevensville
That same evening
The entire surface of the simple wooden desk in the sheriff’s office was covered with high stacks of papers, notes, and newspaper clippings. Some of the headlines read “Family of four dies in fire,” “The horse gang strikes again—killing four people,” and “Massacre at family farm—no survivors!” … To create the desired shocking effect, most of them were printed in big bold black letters across the front pages of popular publications. Some weren’t even local. The event had taken place a few years ago, around Christmas, but despite the time that had passed since then, it apparently hadn’t lost its relevance.
Luke got up from his chair and pushed his fingers through his unruly dark hair. A stray curl fell right back over his hazel eyes. He was tired. It had been a long day. His back ached from being bent over his desk, reading the same headlines over and over again in the dim light of a single candle.
When was the last time he’d eaten anything? He couldn’t remember. Sometime in the morning, probably. One glance at the loudly ticking clock on the mantel of the small fireplace told him that had been around ten hours ago. He threw another log on the fire and held his hands out to warm them up a little, to get the blood flowing again. He felt too stiff.
