1
Summit County, Colorado
November 1879
A thunderous pounding against the front door startled Violet Berkley awake. She bolted upright in bed, the comforter falling away and exposing her to the chill of the unheated upstairs bedroom on the cold November night.
Beside her, Hyacinth stirred. “What’s wrong, Vi?”
“Father’s in trouble again.” Violet knew that even without any other information. His trouble had always been the reason for late-night callers.
The thudding on the door resounded again, this time accompanied by a voice. “Open up, Marvin, and pay me!”
The words echoed through the thin walls and windows of the house they’d rented from the bank when their family had moved to Breckenridge a year and a half ago.
Yes, a year and a half was about as long as they ever lasted in one place.
Violet hugged her arms around her body as if that could ward off the frustration—and helplessness. But of course, it didn’t.
“I even gave you a few extra days,” came the voice outside. “No more delays.”
Footsteps squeaked in the hallway outside the bedroom, then began to descend the stairway. Hesitant, reluctant steps belonging to Father.
It was obvious he didn’t want to answer the door, but what choice did he have if he didn’t want to wake up the whole neighborhood? If that happened, everyone would know about their ruinous situation and the fact that Mr. Marvin Berkley was a gambler—and an abysmal one at that.
Maybe people would find out soon enough anyway, because this time Mother wasn’t alive to come to Father’s rescue. Even if she’d survived the influenza, her inheritance would have been of little help. The years had whittled it down to almost nothing. After Mother’s death, Violet had used the last of it to pay the doctor’s bills and the burial fees in Williamsburg. She’d only had enough left for the train tickets for her and Hyacinth to return to Colorado.
Violet slid her hand under the comforter and clasped Hyacinth’s fingers, which were steady but cold. Hyacinth was only three years younger than Violet’s twenty-two years and didn’t need coddling, but Violet had promised on Mother’s deathbed that she would look out for her sister.
Although as sisters they shared the same sable-black hair, pine-green eyes, thick dark lashes, and comely figures, that was where the similarities in appearance ended. Violet had more delicate, defined features compared to Hyacinth’s natural, open beauty. Violet had pale skin that made her look like she rarely spent time in the sun, while Hyacinth’s skin was a soft tan with freckles on her nose and forehead. Violet was shorter and smaller boned, and Hyacinth was slender and willowy.
Father finished descending the stairs, and his footsteps echoed in the front hallway. A moment later, the door squealed open on its hinges. From the sounds of the voices entering the house, there were at least two visitors.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Father asked as the door clicked closed.
“Pay up, Marvin.” The same fellow spoke again.
“You’ve been good to me, Claude.” Father’s tone was placating. “You’ve shown me grace. No one else is quite as nice as you.”
Violet shivered at the familiar compliments her father was so good at giving—compliments that meant nothing except for what he could gain through them.
Hyacinth squeezed Violet’s hand as though to reassure her that they would face this new trial together and she would take care of Violet in the same way that Violet was taking care of her. But how could they promise each other anything now that Mother’s inheritance was gone and they had no way to provide for themselves anymore?
“I have been good to you.” Claude didn’t sound flattered by Father. “But I can only be good for so long.”
“Of course, of course. But surely you can understand that I’ve run into issues.”
“That’s just an excuse, Marvin.”
“My daughters used up the remainder of my wife’s money, and now I have to look elsewhere for assistance.”
A burst of indignation shot through Violet. Was Father blaming his financial woes upon her and Hyacinth? How dare he? They’d arrived home less than a week ago and had no part in the poor choices that had landed him in debt over the recent weeks and months.
“Your daughters?”
“Yes, I have two.”
“Are they pretty?”
