Prologue

Bloomington, Illinois, 1853

“Nice job,” Sheriff Marshall Turner said to his deputy. “That daredevil act of yours was something else. No one would ever believe it.”

Marshall took off his hat to run his fingers through his dark hair before settling it back on his head. He stroked his short, well-kept beard and his blue eyes sparkled.

“Thank you.” Oscar Williams bowed over the saddle horn and patted his horse on the neck. “I couldn’t have done it if Storm wasn’t so great.”

“He is a good horse. But no one would believe it if I told them how you leaped off your horse and onto Clayton Thorne’s, then threw Clayton into the dirt. I don’t know who was more surprised— me, him, or his horse.”

Oscar grinned widely. “I had to do something. He was getting away. All I could see was the four-thousand-dollar bounty riding away into the sunset. Not while I can still draw breath.” He looked back at the horse and saddle he was leading. “We got the bounty money and I got a horse and saddle for the trouble.”

Marshall smiled. “I’m going to buy Sarah that new dress she wanted.”

“I know she’ll be pleased. Since I have no woman to please, I’m going to get that Colt 1851 Navy Revolver. It’s a .36 caliber. I saw it at the general store for twenty-five bucks.”

“You’ll have to let me check it out.”

The two men lapsed into a comfortable silence. The rhythmic clopping of the hooves was very relaxing. Marshall looked around at the rolling hills with the prairie grasses, mostly Indiangrass and bluestem, reaching heights of six to eight feet. A grove of oak trees grew along a stream that trickled over rocks feeding into the Mackinaw River system.

Marshall adjusted his black cowboy hat against the late afternoon sun that bathed the land in a golden glow. He felt at peace as they rode back home.

Bloomington’s crime rates had significantly decreased since he had become sheriff and hired Oscar as his deputy, as well as a couple of other trusted men. The pay wasn’t great, which was why he and Oscar chased down local outlaws who had a bounty on their heads. Sometimes they brought in fifty dollars to share, but once in a while, like today, they caught someone who had been terrorizing the land for a long time and had a huge bounty attached— wanted dead or alive. Marshall and Oscar preferred to deliver them alive.

Oscar nodded toward the leather pouch he’d attached to his belt that contained his share of the bounty. “Not bad for a single day’s work. Makes you think twice about turning in the badge and hunting criminals for bounty full time.”

Marshall shook his head. “And leave the good folks of Bloomington to fend for themselves? We couldn’t do that. They depend on us too much. Besides, being a full-time bounty hunter wouldn’t be fun—too much travel. I love knowing where I’m going to sleep each night. I wouldn’t want to leave Sarah and the baby for that long.”

“You think you’ll keep being sheriff for the rest of your life?”

Shrugging, Marshall said, “I can’t see myself doing anything else. Since I saw that man robbing Pa’s general store.”

“I remember that. He was madder than an old wet hen. It’s a good thing the sheriff’s deputies caught him and arrested him on the street. Otherwise, your dad would have caught him and beat the tarnation out of him.”

Marshall laughed. “That’s no lie. He was furious. But the deputies were heroes to me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do with my life.” Marshall petted his horse on the neck and sighed. “Ma and Pa were upset when I heard they needed lawmen out west and left Indianapolis to come out here.”

Oscar grinned. “I was glad you hollered at me to join you. I was just kicking dirt with no direction. But now that you’ve tamed this town, I just thought maybe you might want to settle down and be a farmer or something boring and predictable like that.”

“What fun would that be? Besides I worked hard to get to be a sheriff.” Marshall smirked at Oscar. “Why, do you want to be a farmer?”

“I’ve thought about it. Maybe find myself a woman and settle down.”

“Widow Johnson sure does fancy you. She brings you lunch all the time and bakes those special tarts she knows you love.”

Oscar groaned. “She’s a sweet enough lady if I liked ’em ten years older than me.”

“Age isn’t everything. She knows how to cook, clean, and take care of her man.”

“She also has that big ole’ wart centered in the middle of her forehead and isn’t the prettiest lady out there. I know looks aren’t everything, and if I found a nice woman who wasn’t a belle, but had a great personality I could agree with and love, I’d be a happy man. As for Widow Johnson— I’ve told her, gently, a few times, that I wasn’t in the market for a wife and she might cast her line elsewhere.”

“What did she say?”

“‘Pish posh. Every single man over the age of eighteen needs a wife to take care of him’.”

Marshall laughed. That sounded just like Widow Johnson, who was known to be outspoken.

The new rail station came into view and Marshall’s heart quickened. He was anxious to take care of his horse and get home to his family. He loved Sarah with all of his heart and adored little Adelaide.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they made it into town and Marshall grinned as he thought of his wife. His stomach rumbled and his mouth practically watered at the chicken dinner she’d promised him before he’d left.

“What’s going on over at your place?” Oscar said.

Marshall jerked his head in the direction of his house and saw a bunch of people gathered around it. He kicked his tired horse into a run with Oscar on his heels. They quickly reached the large group of people. Marshall’s chest tightened when he heard the words bandits and attacked.

He jumped off his horse while it was still moving. The world blurred around him. His heart was racing a million miles an hour and he struggled to catch his breath.

“Sheriff, stop!” Eli Harris, his neighbor yelled as he rushed toward Marshall. He had his arms outstretched as though he was trying to block Marshall from running into his house. “Don’t go in there,” Eli said, his eyes bloodshot and his voice shaky.

“What happened? Where’s Sarah? Where’s Adelaide?” Marshall’s voice was hard from the fear that coursed through his body.

Eli hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting toward the house. “They’re in the house. The doctor’s already there. You don’t want to see…”

Marshall shoved past him, ignoring Eli’s protests. Ruth, his sister-in-law, sat on the porch, her knees up to her chin, arms wrapped around her legs. Her sobs cut through the air like a knife.

“Ruth!” he called out.

She looked up, tears streaming down her face. Ruth leapt up and flew into his arms, instantly soaking his vest with her tears. “Oh, Marshall…” she sobbed. “It’s so awful.”

Fear wrapped around his heart like a vice. He gently pushed her aside and ran into the house.

The smell of gunpowder and blood punched him in the stomach, making him stagger back.

Doctor Sullivan stood in the parlor with his back to Marshall. His hands were covered in blood. He was pulling a white sheet over a body on the floor.

“No, no, no!” Marshall screamed as he lunged for the body.

Hands grabbed him and held him back. “Marshall. You don’t want to see them like that.”

“Let go of me,” he roared, yanking himself out of Oscar’s hands and dashing over to the body.

“It’s Sarah,” someone said. Their voice seemed to come from very far away as though it was from a distant nightmare. “She fought them, trying to protect herself and the baby.”

Marshall’s knees buckled and he fell to the floor next to the white sheet that was already starting to turn red. With shaking hands, he pulled the sheet back to see Sarah cradling Adelaide in her arms. Their eyes were closed. They almost seemed to be sleeping peacefully except for the large blood stains on their chests.

The quiet chatter dissolved into a buzzing sound. The world spun around in a circle and Marshall’s stomach tightened.

“Who did this?” he demanded through gritted teeth.

“A group of bandits,” Eli said quietly. He stood in the doorway, his eyes filled with tears at the site of his neighbor and friend lying dead holding her baby. He twisted his hat in his hands and sucked in a huge breath of air. “The group that’s been attacking people and houses all over the area. They busted in here and started carrying out everything of value you had. By the time anyone figured out what was going on, they’d already left. We found them. I found them.” Anguish filled Eli’s voice.

Marshall clenched his fists so tightly that his nails drew blood from his palms. His vision blurred as his anger and grief exploded into a storm that threatened to consume him. “They’ll pay for this.” His voice was a low, menacing growl. “I’ll hunt down every last one of them and make them wish that they’d never drawn a breath. I’ll send them all to meet their maker.”

Oscar gripped his shoulder, tightly. “We’ll get them soon enough. But for now, we have to take care of Sarah and Adelaide.”

A sharp pain stabbed his heart. He had failed his wife and daughter. While he was out hunting a bad guy, several others had descended on his home and stolen everything that mattered to him. The knowledge left him feeling hollow.

The entire town turned out for Sarah’s and Adelaide’s funeral. The preacher spoke outside of the church, as there was not enough room inside. People stood around with their hats and hands over their hearts, gripping the hands of their loved ones tightly. Pastor Gavin spoke of how well-loved Sarah had been and that she’d been an angel in the community, always helping out those in need.

Afterward, everyone followed the horse-drawn hearse to the cemetery in a solemn procession to pay their final respects. Marshall chose to have them buried in the same coffin. He couldn’t bear separating them, or thinking about his little girl, lying all alone, cold in the pine box. He knew she had gone on to be with Jesus, just like Sarah, but he couldn’t shake the thought that they had to be laid to rest together.

As was customary, everyone gathered back at Marshall’s house to eat and talk about Sarah and the baby. After half an hour, Marshall was certain that he was going to explode if he heard one more “I’m sorry for your loss,” or “If there’s anything I can do”.

He slipped out of the crowd, saddled Sampson, and rode as fast as he could out into the prairie. Marshall stopped by the creek where he and Sarah had often picnicked and slid off his horse, dropping to his knees. He screamed out her name in anguish, wishing that the earth would open up and swallow him, putting an end to the hatred, regret, and guilt that was devouring his soul.

The next morning, he walked into the sheriff’s office where Oscar and the other deputies were waiting. Several other men, who would be temporarily deputized and join the posse, were also present. They had already anticipated his order. “We find them. Now.”

Marshall, Oscar, and the others hunted the bandits for the next couple of weeks. One by one, the sheriff and his posse found the men who had killed Sarah and Adelaide.

Those who surrendered were hauled back to Bloomington, tried, and hung on the gallows within a week. Those who fought back met their end at the barrel of a gun.

When the final man was caught, Marshall walked into the sheriff’s office, took off his badge, and set it on the desk. “I’m done.”

“Where are you going?” Oscar leaned away from the desk and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I took a job with a wagon train heading to California.”

“The people here care about you and count on you.”

“They’ll find someone else.”

Oscar continued to argue with him, a worried look filling his eyes. “What about your house?”

Marshall gritted his teeth. “Let it rot.”

Chapter One

Council Bluffs, Iowa, 1855

“Mama, I’m hungry.”

Leona Wright looked down at the small face standing next to her in the kitchen. His big brown eyes peered up at her intently.

“I know, baby. I’m trying to figure something out. Can you go play with your blocks for a few minutes?”

He nodded and obediently went into the parlor of the run-down farmhouse.

She leaned against the cabinet next to the stove and rubbed her face. Jeremy had eaten the last egg for breakfast that Leona had managed to squirrel away. Bruce had eaten the rest of them, not caring that he had a hungry wife and child.

He was supposed to be back by now with more food. She’d given him fifteen dollars that morning that she had earned from sewing new clothes and mending others for the people in town.

She trembled as she thought of her husband. They’d been married for four years now, and she thought of him as more of a monster than a man. He’d become abusive soon after they were married. The birth of their son, Jeremy, had only made him more violent. Even if Bruce had the knowledge and skill of a farmer, he wouldn’t have had time to tend to their land with all of the drinking he did.

Leona sighed and looked at Jeremy playing with his wooden blocks. Her heart broke thinking of how sweet her boy was, to be hungry and yet not complain.

Digging through the pantry again, she prayed that God’s mercy would provide something she could give Jeremy. She opened a tin that she found hidden behind a few empty burlap bags that had once contained flour and sugar. She crossed her fingers, hoping that there would be something in there and sighed with relief when she found some beef jerky. She said a quick prayer of thanks and offered it to Jeremy, ignoring her own rumbling belly.

He smiled and took the food, offering her a bite.

“Have some.”

“No, I’m not hungry. You eat it,” Leona said, even though her mouth salivated at the sight of the food. She hadn’t eaten for a day and a half. “You’re so sweet and you’re the best little boy in the whole world.”

Jeremy finished the last of the jerky and looked up at her with a question in his eyes. She knew he was hoping for more. Tears stung Leona’s eyes and she dropped her chin to her chest. There was nothing else.

She gently traced the scar on Jeremy’s right cheek. Leona gritted her teeth. Bruce had cut Jeremy’s face deeply when he had thrown the boy against the table in a violent rage. More than once she’d been tempted to leave, but she had no place to go.

“Let’s go to town. What do you think? Would you like that?”

He nodded and jumped up. “Let’s go to town,” he said excitedly.

She quickly saddled her horse, Cinnamon, and the two of them headed to town. If it was any other day, she would have enjoyed the ride on the well-worn dirt road that wound around the rolling hills that were blanketed in prairie grass. Small clusters of wildflowers dotted the land. Blazing stars, coneflowers, and goldenrods made the prairie seem like a paradise.

Leona shook her head at the small wooden sign that marked the boundary of the Wright Farm. Not much of a farm.

The Missouri River rushed past its banks not too far from the road. Fields of corn and wheat that waved in the gentle wind from the neighbor’s farm were a bitter reminder that even though Bruce had been given land to farm, he had failed completely.

Jeremy looked around with interest, pointing out the different animals he spotted.

“Look at the deer,” he exclaimed, pointing at the white-tailed animals munching on the prairie grass. Everything excited him, from the rabbit that hopped alongside of them for a minute to the squirrel that darted out in front of them, climbed a tree, and chittered angrily at them.

It’s a good thing Cinnamon is so steady.

Walnut Grove came into view. Shops lined the main street, each shop with a wooden sign swinging out front. Women and men thronged on the wooden sidewalks as children played in the dirt road, jumping out of the way when a wagon or rider approached.

She gently set Jeremy on the ground before sliding off of Cinnamon. Leona petted the horse and tied her to the hitching post. “You’re a good girl. We’ll just be a minute.”

Jeremy held tight to her hand as they walked into the general store. His head was on a swivel as he looked around at all of the interesting things on the shelves.

Calculating how much she would have to spend after Bruce paid down the balance they owed, Leona chose a two-pound bag of beans, some salt pork, and scooped five pounds of cornmeal into a small sack she’d brought.

She smiled at Mr. Gentry, who owned the general store. “Good afternoon. I hope you’re doing well.”

“I am, Leona. Hello, Jeremy.”

The little boy wiggled his fingers at the man behind the counter.

Mr. Gentry looked at the meager items she’d set on the counter and sighed. He looked at her with kind eyes. “Your credit bill is quite high. Is there any way that you can pay some of it off?”

“Bruce was supposed to come in here today. I gave him fifteen dollars this morning that I earned from sewing and mending.”

Leona’s heart sank when Mr. Gentry pressed his lips together and closed his eyes for a brief second.

“I’m afraid that he never made it in here.”

Anger exploded inside of her. Heat rose to her face and her heart raced. She gritted her teeth and squeezed her hands. Tears burned the back of her eyes as she stared at Mr. Gentry in disbelief. Bruce must have ridden the extra twenty miles to Council Bluffs to drink at one of the taverns there and pick up a game of poker.

“Ow, Mommy.”

She looked down at Jeremy. “Sorry, Honey.” Leona hadn’t realized she’d been holding Jeremy’s hand so tightly.

Leona straightened her shoulders and tried to put on a brave face. “I’ll come back for these another time.”

“Up,” Jeremy insisted, raising his arms.

Leona knew he was tired and hungry, so she leaned down and lifted him up. As she did her sleeves rode up her arms, showing deep bruises on her forearms, some older than others. A huge black and blue mark had formed over the top of previous bruises. Bruce had grabbed her last night and thrown her across the room.

Mr. Gentry’s eyes fell on her arms and pity filled his eyes. She quickly pulled her sleeves back down. He packed all of the food into a bag she could carry on the horse and put in a couple pieces of candy for Jeremy, another five pounds of flour, and five more pounds of beans.

“Let me carry this out for you.”

“Mr. Gentry, as you pointed out, we already owe you a lot and I have no way to pay for this.”

“You’ll find a way. Maybe we could do a trade. You could do some sewing for me. I sell handkerchiefs, bonnets, shirts, pants, and dresses in here, too,” he said gently.

Pride made Leona want to refuse his generosity. She hated charity, but Jeremy needed to eat.

“Thank you. Let me know what I can do for you. I would love to be able to make a trade with you.”

Mr. Gentry must have sensed how hard it was for her to accept his help. “The next time you come in, I’ll have some fabric for you, thread, and a list of requests.”

The kindness in his voice was overwhelming and almost made the tears actually spill over.

Mr. Gentry fastened the bag to Cinnamon so that she could easily carry it. He helped her mount the horse, although she was capable of doing it herself. She’d taken care of herself for so long that she almost forgot what it meant to have help. He lifted Jeremy up to her.

“Have a safe trip back.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back in a couple of days for your order,” Leona promised.

They’d just started the ride back when she heard Sheriff Branson call her name.

“Leona. We need a moment of your time, please.”

What now? If Bruce has been put back in jail, I don’t have the money to get him out.

She grimaced because she knew this likely meant another beating.

Leona turned Cinnamon around to face him and plastered a fake smile on her face.

“Good afternoon, Sheriff.”

“We were just heading out your way to talk to you. You’ve saved us a trip. Can you follow us to the station?”

Leona looked at the man on the horse next to him curiously, but he didn’t introduce himself.

She followed them to the sheriff’s station. Sheriff Branson reached up and caught Jeremy as he slid off the horse. Leona made sure to take the bag of food in with her. Although there were very few thieves in the area, there were some and she couldn’t afford to lose this food. Leona looked at Bruce’s horse tied to the post outside the sheriff’s office and groaned.

Leona settled into the chair that the Sheriff pulled out for her, holding Jeremy on her lap.

The stranger held out his hand. “I’m Sheriff George Cole from Council Bluffs.”

Her heart sank. This was worse than she thought. At least Sheriff Branson was familiar with Bruce and understood her situation, although it was nothing that people talked about. Sheriff Cole might not make it so easy on her.

“Your husband is Bruce Wright, correct.”

“Yes, sir,” Leona said, working hard to keep her voice steady. She gripped the arms of the chair tightly. Jeremy heard the stress in her voice and looked up at her wonderingly.

“I regret to tell you that your husband was killed in a bar fight this afternoon in Council Bluffs.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Leona was positive that she hadn’t heard him correctly.

“Your husband, Bruce, was playing poker with some locals. He was losing pretty badly. Apparently, he cheated and tried to palm the ace of spades.”

Leona simply stared at him, disbelievingly. A suffocating silence hung in the air like a wet, woolen blanket.

“Ma’am?”

“I’m sorry. I’m struggling to get my head around this. Bruce is dead?”

“Yes,” Sheriff Cole said. “I brought back his horse for you. His body is at the undertaker’s.”

“Mama?” Jeremy asked, looking at her.

He had no understanding of what they were talking about, but he could sense Leona’s tension.

“It’s okay, baby,” Leona said.

“I’m not a baby. I’m a big boy.”

Everyone smiled at that, in spite of the grave situation.

“Yes, honey, you are.” She looked at Sheriff Branson and then at Sheriff Cole. “So, what’s next?”

“He needs to be buried,” Sheriff Cole said.

“I’m afraid I have no money for that.”

“We could arrange a pauper’s burial for him,” the sheriff said gently.

“Leona, you don’t have to go to Council Bluffs. Plenty of people know him there, so his body has been identified. The undertaker, Fred Wilson, will handle everything.” Sheriff Branson’s voice was very kind and full of understanding.

He’d known that Bruce had a problem drinking and that he could become very violent. It was no secret that Bruce had been the cause of Jeremy’s scar and the occasional bruises on Leona’s face when he forgot to hit her in places that could be hidden by clothes.

“I feel that’s disrespectful,” Leona said. “He was my husband and Jeremy’s father.”

Sheriff Branson, an older gentleman, who’d been married for thirty years to a sweet woman, and had a couple of grandkids, shook his head. “He was no husband and he certainly wasn’t a father. We won’t say anything. When word gets out that he’s gone, no one in this town will think twice about whether you went to Council Bluffs or not.”

She nodded. “Then I will leave everything in your capable hands. I appreciate the help.”

The sheriff looked at her bag of food. “Are you doing okay? Can I help with anything?”

Leona sat still, her arms wrapped around Jeremy, who was leaning back against her. A rush of gratitude and warmth exploded inside of her. Mixed with that, though, was a fierce pride and a refusal to be seen as a charity case.

Her eyes darted to the ground, unable to meet the sheriff’s gaze. Humiliation stabbed her in the gut. This was a bitter reminder of how far her life had fallen.

After a brief second, she composed herself and looked at the sheriff’s compassionate face. “No thank you. I’ll be able to exchange some sewing work with Mr. Gentry.”

“Well, I best be getting back,” Sheriff Cole said, holding out his hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Leona shook it, noticing that he didn’t offer her condolences and didn’t say that he wished he could have met her under better circumstances. He must not have thought that Bruce’s death was any great loss.

“Likewise.”

Leona and Jeremy rode back home, leading Bruce’s horse. Although she felt extremely guilty, one thought continued to run through her mind. We’re finally free.