Chapter One

Dedham, Massachusetts

Friday, November 26, 1875

Over the deafening sounds of the industrial sewing machines that sat thrumming beyond the office, Violet Beaumont strained to hear Mrs. Turnley’s words.

“Are you well and truly sure you want to do this, Violet? I could talk to Mr. Murphy. With the way you can sew with both hands, you’re the fastest on the floor. I am sure I could talk him into giving you a raise.”

Violet’s wide blue eyes, nearly the same shade as the flower she was named after, shined with pride as she heard her overseer at Murphy’s Fine Fabrics, Mrs. Turnley, give her praise. She smiled, her full lips turning up in the exact way her father’s used to when he would smile, and brushed a loose strand of her light brown hair behind her ear.

“I am sure, Mrs. Turnley,” Violet replied in a similar shout, feeling a pang of regret as she took her notice and final pay from her overseer’s hand. “The doctor was very insistent on my mother moving to a more arid climate.”

Violet Beaumont and her mother, Grace, had lived their entire lives in Dedham, Massachusetts, a small town just outside of Boston. It was where Grace had fallen in love with her husband, Courtland. Where they had married and settled into a small but cozy home. Where they had Violet twenty-three years ago, and sadly, where they had buried Violet’s father when he was killed in a riding accident four years ago.

There were more happy memories than bad ones, but with Grace’s tuberculosis getting worse, it was time to leave the damp, cold East Coast town and move to a place where the poor woman could hopefully recover from her years-long ailment.

Mrs. Turnley frowned in disappointment as her brown gaze dropped to the floor, and she nodded.

“I had heard that her condition had been growing worse,” Mrs. Turnley confessed. “I do hope that the move proves to better her health. Have a good life, Violet. You’re a good girl. You deserve it.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Turnley,” Violet replied, pushing away the sadness and worry that was now constantly threatening to consume her.

She tucked her notice and final pay into the pocket of her light and dark brown plaid dress and left the small office tucked into the back of the large sewing factory. Murphy’s was one of only two large companies that employed most of Dedham’s residents, so as Violet walked through the middle of the factory, she waved goodbye to all of the familiar faces of the women she knew both from work and outside of it. Many gave her woeful smiles as she passed, waving back. Others blew her kisses. She’d miss them all.

Even though the factory boasted a large furnace that ran constantly during the winter months, there was still a chill in the air, causing her to draw her arms tightly to her sides as she hurried toward the opposite end of the vast building. It would be worse outside. While she loved the snow, she wasn’t too fond of just how cold Massachusetts’ winter got.

Violet slipped into the small break room they all stored their things in and put on her dark brown coat, matching wool bonnet, scarf, and mittens. Cold, damp wind slammed into Violet’s lungs as she stepped outside, making her cough, and she hurriedly began the two-block walk home in the ankle-deep snow as her teeth began to chatter.

Arizona was much further west and boasted crackling hot summers, but thanks to the books she’d found in the small town’s library, she’d discovered that their winters could be as cold as Boston’s, only with much less humidity. As Violet walked home, she tried to imagine what the difference would be like, but as a gust of wind picked up snow from a nearby bank and thrust it into her face, she could not fathom a difference. Cold was cold, no matter where it was; even if Dr. Remington insisted it would be better for her mother.

After ten minutes of fighting the freezing wind, Violet finally made it to the door of her small, single-story grey brick house and hurried inside. Another gust of wind blew the door wide open, and she hurriedly got behind it and pressed her weight into it, hoping it would close before the chill reached her mother’s room. She was struggling to close the wind-flung door when a second pair of hands joined hers, and the door finally clicked shut.

“Thank you, Mrs. Cox,” Violet sighed, leaning against the closed door.

“It’s a stunner out there,” Mrs. Edith Cox replied, rubbing her hands over the long sleeves of her plain dark blue dress.

“It is indeed,” Violet replied, sniffling as her numb, red nose started to run. It always happened when she got out of the damp cold and into the dry heat that radiated from their constantly burning fireplace. The dry air, Dr. Remington insisted, would ease Grace’s symptoms. Thus far, that had proven true, but it had other ill effects. As a result, Violet’s once-buttery soft skin was now always cracked and dry, her lips always chapped, and her long brown locks frizzed even when she tried to tame them into a low bun. Of course, the worst setback was the increase in the firewood bill, which came out of the single, paltry paycheck she received each week from Murphy’s. Or rather, had received.

“How was she today?” Violet asked Edith as she dropped her coat and winter garments onto the hooks beside the door.

The forty-two-year-old Mrs. Cox gave a wan smile, her dark blue eyes glistening with worry.

“Her fever is back, and her cough was a bit rough,” Mrs. Cox replied, lowering her voice to a whisper. “And she ate less today. You’re also almost out of that syrup Dr. Remington prescribed.”

Violet frowned as she looked to the closed door of her mother’s room. That Grace’s health had been fading faster these days was the reason she’d taken Dr. Remington’s advice to move as soon as possible and not wait until spring, when the trip would be easier.

“I’ll try to get her to take something when she wakes up,” Violet whispered to Mrs. Cox as she turned her gaze back to her mother’s longtime friend. “Thank you again for watching over her while I was at work.”

“She would have done the same for me if the shoe was on the other foot, the dear,” Mrs. Cox replied, reaching for her coat. She let out a sad sigh and shook her head. “I know you’re moving across our great country so that she can get better, but gosh, I am going to miss you two.”

Violet mustered a smile as she pulled the small woman into a hug.

“We’re going to miss you, too,” Violet said with a tight squeeze.

“Oh, before I forget,” Mrs. Cox said, reaching into her coat pocket after they let go. “The other ladies at the church and I had a little meeting Wednesday evening, and we decided to take a collection for you. Here.”

Mrs. Cox held a small, red envelope out toward Violet. Though she was touched by the gesture, Violet shook her head and stepped away.

“Give that to the children’s home,” she insisted. “They need it more than we do. Besides, we’re prepared as can be.”

Mrs. Cox looked at her in surprise and Violet nodded in insistence. It was only a half lie. Their train tickets had been purchased, and Violet, with the help of Reverend Wells, had found a church in Evergreen Hollow and written to them about their predicament. The reverend there had replied, stating that the church could give them beds and meals for two weeks. What Violet would do after that she did not know, but at least they had a start.

“Are you certain, Violet?” Mrs. Cox asked.

“I am,” Violet insisted. “Your prayers and well-wishes are all we need from you.”

Mrs. Cox’s eyes grew watery as she reached up and patted Violet’s lightly freckled cheek.

“You are such a strong girl,” Mrs. Cox praised. “God bless you and your mother both.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cox,” Violet murmured, touched, as always, by the woman’s kindness. “May He bless you as well.”

After the two said their goodbyes, Violet’s stomach began to churn and tighten as she realized she’d turned down the much-needed extra money. She worried her chapped bottom lip as she popped her head into her mother’s room to check on her. Grace was thankfully asleep, no doubt needing the extra rest, but Violet did not miss the labored sounds that wheezed from her mother’s parted lips with every breath.

“Hold on, Mama,” she whispered, moving into the room to lay another blanket atop her.

God, please protect her. Let me get her to Arizona. Let me find help there.

Violet silently said the prayer as she reached down and gently swept a few strands of her mother’s brown and gray hair away from her forehead, and then dabbed a bit of menthol into a kerchief. The concentrate was strong, so she did not have to hold it directly to her mother’s nose to help her. Instead, she just waved the kerchief over her mother’s face and waited until the labored breathing sounds began to ease.

It was a quick fix, measly compared to what Grace truly needed—to get out of the wet, cold Massachusetts air and have proper care. Knowing her mother’s relief would not last long, Violet quietly and quickly scurried from the room and went to the kitchen. At one time, they both had full, real meals every day. Fish, meat, eggs, potatoes, hearty roasted vegetables; sweet pies and other treats.

Now, though, Grace couldn’t go long enough without coughing to enjoy such meals, so they stuck to bone broth soups with finely minced vegetables. Occasionally, Violet would splurge and purchase not just bones but a discounted bit of meat or fish from the market and chop it up fine to add to the broth. Since she’d started saving for their move to Arizona, though, it had been weeks that they’d gone without.

On the stove, Violet discovered that the pot of savory chicken broth and minced vegetables had barely been touched, and frowned as she was once again reminded of how little her mother ate nowadays. She pushed her worry away, knowing it would do her no good. After lighting the wood in the stove to reheat the soup, Violet took the old coffee tin she kept hidden in the back of the cupboard and sat down at the table with it. She pulled her notice and last pay from her dress pocket, laid it on the table, and began to count it out along with what she’d kept in the coffee tin.

When she finished, she looked down at the paltry stack of bills and small mound of coins and sighed. After spending a small fortune on getting her and Grace a private cabin for their train ride to Evergreen Hollow, she’d been left with barely forty dollars. It wasn’t much at all, but again, she wasn’t sure how much she was going to need. With Arizona so far away, she had no idea if it would be cheaper to live there or more expensive. Was there a boarding house they could move to after their first two weeks with the church? Would a boarding house accept sick people? Was there a factory there where Violet could find work, or would she have to beg for jobs from the townspeople? Most importantly, was there a doctor there who could treat her mother?

“God help us,” Violet sighed, dropping her head into her hands, wondering for the thousandth time if she was making the right decision.

I wish Papa was here. He would know what to do. He could tell me if I was doing the right thing.

Violet’s heart quivered. She missed her father. So very much. He had been her hero. And her mother’s soulmate.

“We named you Violet because it’s your mama’s favorite flower,” her father had told her once, long ago. “It’s why I bring her a bouquet of them home every week in the spring and summer.”

Violet sniffled, her chin beginning to wobble and her eyes beginning to mist as she recalled her father’s explanation and the way he’d tucked a violet into her hair as he’d told her. Before she breathed in a shuddering sob, though, a horrific hack came from Grace’s room, followed by the sound of choking.

Forgetting entirely about her own pain, Violet shot from her chair and ran to her mother’s room, finding her sitting up and trying desperately to drag air into her lungs.

“I’m here, Mama,” Violet promised, picking up the nearly empty brown glass bottle of tonic Dr. Remington had left behind on his last visit. “I’m here.”

Grace’s blue eyes grew wide as she tried to inhale a fresh breath, and she clawed at her throat as she let out a horrendous cough. With shaking hands, Violet measured out the medicine onto the large metal spoon and tilted her mother’s head back so she could take it. Grace coughed around the medicine but covered her mouth, knowing she could not waste a single drop.

Violet rubbed soothing circles over Grace’s back as she worked to swallow, and with effort, she succeeded. For another few long, dreadful moments, Grace continued to hack horribly. Then, finally, the medicine started to work, and with a clear, exhausted breath, Grace fell back into Violet’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Grace panted, closing her eyes as she leaned into Violet’s shoulder.

“Don’t be, Mama,” Violet replied, gently rocking her mother.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” Grace rasped. She coughed, and Violet picked up the teacup at her bedside table. She tilted the cup to Grace’s mouth, enabling her to take a small sip.

“You shouldn’t be spending your life taking care of me. Go to Arizona. Leave me here. Start a new life and find a handsome young man to take care of you,” Grace said, her voice a little clearer.

Violet let out an exhausted laugh.

“Doc Remington said you might start to talk a little crazy,” Violet attempted to joke. But her mother didn’t laugh. Instead, she turned in Violet’s arms, giving her a serious look. Tuberculosis had stolen much of Grace’s body. It had grayed her hair and caused fine lines to stretch around her eyes and mouth and over her forehead, but Violet still saw the beauty in her mother. Their shared, brilliant, deep blue eyes. Their sharp noses and high cheekbones. There was so much life left in her mother, Violet knew it. Even if Grace didn’t.

“I’m being serious,” Grace said, reaching a withered hand up to Violet’s face. “I’m supposed to take care of you, not the other way around.”

Violet cupped her hand over her mother’s, drew it to her mouth, and kissed her palm.

“We take care of each other. Always have. Always will. Now quit this nonsense about being left behind, or I’ll tell Mrs. Godfrey you changed your mind about her gaudy flower hat and make you wear it on the train.”

Grace let out a mirthful laugh, coughed, then laughed again.

“Petulant child,” she teased.

“Stubborn mother,” Violet teased back, happy to see her mother smile. She eased her mother up into a sitting position, shifted out of the bed, then helped Grace lay back down atop the pillows.

“Now, you rest,” Violet gently commanded, tucking the covers back around her mother. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with your soup. And no more talk of me leaving you behind.”

Violet’s smile dropped the moment she stepped into the hall and closed the door. With her hand still on the cold brass knob to her mother’s room, she dropped her head and closed her eyes.

“God, through You, all things are possible,” she prayed. “Let my mother make it to Arizona, let me find a job, and let me find someone who can heal her. Please, Lord, help us on our journey.”

Chapter Two

Sunday, November 28, 1875

Violet thanked Mrs. Cox for sitting with her mother once again and quickly hurried through the cold, snow-filled air and down to the church at the end of their block. As always, Violet was thankful that it was so close. Even when the weather was pleasant, it eased her anxiety to know that she was not far from her mother if something were to go wrong.

She smiled as she reached the wrought iron gates in front of the church and looked up at it, taking in the contrast of its bright red double doors and steeple against the white, snow-covered landscape that surrounded it. The rest of the building’s wooden planks were whitewashed, and there was a single stained-glass window that could only be seen from the back; an artful rendition of Mary holding Baby Jesus. When the sun rose, it filtered through the jewel-like glass and splashed color over Reverend Wells as he delivered his sermon.

Like the Massachusetts winters, Violet would miss the little church and all the folks who attended it. Violet’s smile faded a little as she opened one of the red doors and stepped inside. Normally, the holy place was bustling with three blocks’ worth of residents, but today, there were barely a dozen parishioners scattered among the pews.

“Good morning, Violet!” Mrs. Margaret Wells, the reverend’s wife, greeted her cheerfully.

Violet jolted out of her confused state and smiled at the plain but lovely-looking Reverend’s wife. Like most people in Dedham, Margaret had blue eyes, brown hair, and a lithe stature. Violet had always thought it amusing that they all looked so similar, even though the families had come from all over to settle in the small town. It would just be one more thing she’d miss about her hometown.

Mrs. Wells’ hair was neatly parted and tied into a tidy bun at her neck, and as always, her modest dress was a single, simple color of light brown. Violet removed her own dark brown mittens, then took the woman’s extended hand and shook it.

“Good morning, Mrs. Wells,” Violet returned. “Where is everyone this Sunday?”

A frown flittered across Mrs. Wells’s brows and lips as she followed Violet’s gaze and took in the small crowd of parishioners.

“It’s awful, but it seems almost the entire town has come down with something,” Mrs. Wells replied. “Poor Dr. Remington is most likely running himself ragged, having to look after everyone.”

Violet’s brow creased with worry. Her mother was already sick, and if she caught something going around, it could prove fatal. Suddenly, even though she would miss the town, she was relieved they were leaving in two days.

“Well, I shall spare some of my prayers for everyone else today. I usually reserve them for my mother, but it seems many others need them, too,” Violet told her.

Mrs. Wells nodded in understanding, offering Violet a sympathetic smile.

“How is your mother?” she asked, her voice laced with concern. “Better, I hope?”

“She is managing,” Violet replied honestly. “But Dr. Remington said the move to Arizona will be a vast improvement for her condition.”

“And when do you two leave for your great journey?” Mrs. Wells asked.

“Our train leaves from Boston on Tuesday at ten,” Violet replied, feeling her stomach lurch a little as she said it aloud. It was so soon! “It will take two and a half days to get there, so please, any prayers you can spare for us to have a safe journey, it would be most appreciated.”

Mrs. Wells’ eyes glittered with hope as she smiled, nodded, and patted Violet’s hand.

“You certainly have them,” she promised.

Violet thanked her and, knowing the services would soon start, she offered a polite goodbye and went to her preferred pew—second from the altar on the left, next to the aisle. A few other parishioners came by as Violet took her seat, and as usual, she smiled and returned their pleasantries with affection.

“Good morning, dear brothers and sisters,” Reverend Wells cheerfully greeted the congregation.

“Good morning, Reverend Wells,” Violet sang along with the voices of those surrounding her.

“Let us start this beautiful morning with a warm hymn to fight off this cold weather, shall we?” he asked, and he was greeted by a rumble of polite laughter. “Please, if you will rise and turn to page thirty-three of your hymnals, we shall sing Begin, My Tongue, Some Heavenly Theme.”