“Stay in here,” Aunt Tia whispered, her voice dropping an octave from its usual feminine tone. “I can’t let my staff see you. The fourth floor has been closed for years due to repairs.”
Josie nodded, her grip tight around the lamp, her other hand wrapped around her forearm. Aunt Tia rose onto her toes and pressed a soft kiss to Josie’s cheek. “I love you, my darling niece.”
Josie blinked back a tear, quickly swiping at her cheek with her hand to wipe away the salty residue. “I love you too, Aunt Tia.”
She stepped inside the room and glanced back at her aunt before closing the door with a soft click. The small orange flame from the lamp flickered across the walls of the drafty room, enough for Josie to make out the shadowed outlines of furniture. She surveyed the space, realizing it was less than a fourth the size of her former bedroom. Still, anywhere felt better than that prison, a place lavishly decorated as if fit for a queen. A captive queen, at that.
In the corner stood a small twin bed beside a modest desk. On the far wall, a window was boarded up with only a narrow crack allowing a sliver of dawn light to seep through—just enough for her to catch a glimpse of the dark outside world.
Josie sighed, setting the lamp on the desk before lying down on the cool bed, letting her tears come. She gripped the thin sheets in her hands. Her tears soaked through the fabric and into her skin. Josie wanted her baby more than anything, and the mere thought of abandoning it nearly shattered her heart. How could she deny her child a mother—when the only part of herself left behind would be the mark of a murderess who had swung from the gallows?
Perhaps marrying this stranger could be a new beginning, the answer to everything. Montana was thousands of miles away and secluded. She could hide out with a new identity. Whoever this man was, his children didn’t deserve to be motherless, just like her child didn’t deserve to be fatherless. Josie cupped her flat abdomen. She wasn’t too far along, no more than a month if her calculations were correct. She sighed. Her baby was in danger, and she’d never forgive herself if her stubbornness ruined its chance of a better life.
Josie moved to the small desk, opened the drawer, and found pen and paper. She shifted the oil lamp closer and stared at the blank paper. What could she say to a man she didn’t know? What was his middle name? What color eyes did he have?
She needed to push back the awkwardness. If he didn’t write back, maybe it was the Lord’s will. But Josie had to try—for her baby’s sake.Think about those poor children. Think about your baby.She dipped the pen in ink and began writing.
Dear Sir,she began. Josie thought it would be appreciated to address him in a proper manner rather than Mr. Blythe or whatever his name was.My name is Josephine . . .Josie paused, letting the ink drop on the empty space. She shivered, nearly writing her last name. She was a widow now, but she couldn’t return to that name. If she was going to leave and marry a stranger, she needed a new identity. She would choose her maiden name, Callahan.
Josie exhaled and rubbed the crease between her eyes. She would give anything to go back to her sixteen-year-old self, so innocent and naive of the troubles lying ahead, especially in a marriage to a war hero. Josie shook away the thought. She crumbled the paper and began again.
Dear Sir,
My name is Josephine Callahan . . .
Chapter One
Willow Grove, Montana; May 1872
TravisBlytheawokewitha small, warm body pressed against him. Turning over, he noticed four-year-old Lillian nestled beside him, her eyes closed in peaceful slumber. His lips curled slightly, but not enough to be a happy smile. Lillian had often crawled into bed with him and Sophie when she was alive. Travis closed his eyes and exhaled softly, rubbing his face. He missed those days. It was no longer the same with one body missing from the bed.
Sophie weighed on Travis’s mind night and day, never leaving him, as if she were a ghost, haunting him, with reminders lingering everywhere he turned—the smell of coffee she’d brew each morning, the taste of huckleberries fresh from the vinewhich was her favorite treat, and the way the wind whispered, sweeping his hair across his ear and tickling him like she used to. And how could he forget those emerald-green eyes? They were like the trees viewed from the height of a mountain peak—so deep they could drown a person, beautiful enough to lure one in, yet impossible to escape.
Travis had never wanted to be free of her; if she wanted to haunt him, he’d let her. Forever, her ghost would remain in this cabin, built by his own two hands for the girl who had become his whole world. From the moment he was a young boy, falling in love with the new girl who came to the valley to farm alongside her father, she had been his everything.
At seventeen, Sophie finally said yes to courting him, three years her senior, and from that moment on, Travis’s world revolved around her. Within six months, they were married, and, after two years, their first daughter, Ivy, was born, followed by Jonas and Lillian. Each of their children inherited their mother’s copper-brown hair—all except the last addition, who had Travis’s coal-black hair.
Gideon.Travis’s breath caught, instantly removing the covers from his body, careful not to disturb Lillian’s rest. Tiptoeing across the rickety floorboards that desperately needed replacing after a decade of wear, Travis hurried to the corner of the room to check on the sleeping seven-month-old. The child still slept, sucking his thumb in his crib. Staring down at the perfect little angel, Travis couldn’t smile. Every time he looked at Gideon, the smile faded before it could reach his lips.
Travis reeled away, his stomach churning with the familiar nausea. He prayed that one day he could see the child without the burden of this anguish, but how could he ever forget? One day, his son would learn the truth about his existence, and when he did, he would surely lay the blame at Travis’s feet. Keeping emotional distance, Travis often told himself, would make iteasier. The less he knew Gideon, the less it would hurt when the truth finally came to light.
Travis opened his tiny closet that still smelled like the honeysuckle perfume he’d bought Sophie four years ago during a trip to Bozeman. He quickly retrieved his work clothes and shut the door, covering his nose. His pants were ripped in many places, but time did not allow for them to be mended. That was Sophie’s job. She could have them mended within an hour. But it didn’t matter anymore anyway; they were for work only, not Sunday best.
After changing behind the dressing screen, Travis snuck out the room and closed the door behind him. However, his quiet attempts hardly mattered once he heard rummaging in the kitchen. Aunt Polly always rose early to help with the children and household, but she had a homestead of her own to run and a bed of herbs to care for. As the town’s healer, she had long lists of patients whose cures required long hours of brewing and drying herbs. But now, she hardly had the time. Travis never asked his father’s sister-in-law to devote so much time to his family, but he didn’t know how he’d manage without her. Maybe that was why he never asked her to stop.
The strong smell of bacon consumed the air, making Travis’s stomach grumble. He peered around the corner, seeing his aunt flip long strips of bacon on a cast iron skillet atop their iron stove. Like always, her silver hair was pulled back into a long braid that extended down her back. She looked up, giving Travis a warm smile.
“Good morning, Travis.”
“Good morning,” Travis said, giving his aunt a kiss on the cheek.
“There’s coffee on the table for ya.”
Travis retrieved a tin cup hanging above the stove and paused, the familiar scent hitting his nostrils.Don’t do this to me now,Sophie.To distract himself, he held his breath, filling the cup to the brim. He blew gently over the top, the steam swirling as he sat down at the table, trying to focus on anything but the memories that had flooded back.
Aunt Polly handed Travis a plate with two fried eggs and three sticks of bacon that glistened with grease. Travis licked his lips.
“Thank you,” Travis said.
