Prologue

Charleston, South Carolina

1870

“I have arranged for you to marry Avery Kemp.”

Father had just told Clara the worst news she had ever heard, and now he stood waiting for her response. His tired gray eyes beseeched her to accept.

For all that Clara loved her father, she could not.

She stood in the doorway of the sitting room, looking up at him, her hands clasped tightly together in front of herself. “I will not marry Avery Kemp.”

Father sighed and looked past her into the room, not at anything in particular but just avoiding eye contact with her. “I wasn’t asking, Clara. I am telling you. You will be marrying him.”

Avery Kemp, a local wealthy businessman, had come to their house mere minutes ago, alongside an associate, for a friendly meeting with Clara’s father. That was what she had been told, and she had planned to come out of her room to politely greet the pair before returning to work on an embroidery. There wasn’t any possibility that she could provide good company for the men, and they would surely not want her around while they talked. But now her father had come to her to tell her that Avery had expressed interest in marrying her. That was terrible enough as it was, but then Father went on to say this to her, telling her this choice wasn’t hers to make.

Her heart began to thump harder as what began as an ordinary day was quickly devolving into the type of nightmare that she might awaken from with a gasp.

“Father, he’s almost your age!” Clara protested. She spread her hands, trying to get him to see reason. “And I don’t know him at all except for having seen him once or twice at social events. What sort of marriage could we have based on that?”

Father gave another sigh. Though it was true that he and Avery were both around 50 years of age, Father was more wrinkled, with a prominent streak of gray-white in his hair. Clara knew he was often stressed, and that showed in his appearance. He was stressed now because of her. She trembled, guilt gnawing at her from the inside, threatening to eat away at her until she was nothing.

“People in our circle don’t marry for love. They marry as a duty to their families, to keep their status and spread their influence.” Father put his hand on her shoulder. “You know this. You’ve always known this.”

Clara lowered her head while her heart continued to beat fast. Her mother had died in childbirth, leaving Father to care for her on his own. That wasn’t an easy thing to do, especially when business wasn’t what it once was. With so many families seeking to move out West, the buying and selling of land locally had slowed to a mere crawl. Times were hard, and they were sure to only get harder.

It was her responsibility as a young woman of status to marry into another well-to-do family. She had always known that, had been raised in the pursuit of that, and taught manners and the ways of polite society since she was old enough to sit still for prolonged periods of time. And she had accepted that as her lot in life, had been determined to see this duty through.

But….

“I…I thought that I would be marrying Paul Johnson or even George Northway,” Clara stammered out.

Both were young gentlemen in their twenties, just like her, from families in the same social circle. They had both been kind to her. Paul had even given her a flower once, a tiny little buttercup picked from the field behind his house when she was there for dinner last summer. He had tucked the buttercup behind her ear and smiled at her so that her insides fluttered.

And now she was being asked to do this instead.

“This is how things have to be,” Father said. “I’m sorry. Why don’t you come on out and join us for coffee and pie? You can get to know Avery a little better that way. Of course, the marriage will have to be discussed in full on some other occasion.”

Clara felt sick to her stomach with this sudden change in what she had been expecting for her life. She really needed to think on this, and she wouldn’t get that chance if she had to sit around and play the gracious host for two unfamiliar men.

She pulled in a breath and said, “I’m not feeling all that well right now. It’s the heat, I think. I am afraid I won’t be the best company for our visitors. Perhaps it would be best if I met with Avery another day.”

The look Father gave her said that he knew exactly what she was doing, yet he also couldn’t rightfully say that she was faking her ill feelings. She did feel hot and uneasy, and he had to be able to see that. So he gave a slow nod. “Then I will tell Avery to come by another day to discuss such business.”

Business. That was what her marriage had to be.

Clara murmured her thanks, and Father studied her for a moment before turning and heading off down the hallway. She leaned around the doorway and heard him speak briefly to the guests in the foyer, inviting them into the kitchen for coffee before going on without them to get the water heating up.

Clara barely breathed as she heard Avery and his associate moving around in the foyer, afraid they might decide to check out the house and find her there. They stepped into view, and she shrank back, but neither saw her; their backs were turned, and their heads were close together.

The second man, a red-haired gentleman, spoke so softly that Clara could barely hear him. “You’re lucky he agreed. Didn’t think he would.”

Avery made a grumbling sound that she belatedly realized was a laugh. He was a very big man, with a deep chest. “Callum isn’t a fool. He knows his daughter is a worthy prize for any man to own. He knows I’ll do anything to make her mine.”

Then, the men went off into the kitchen for coffee.

Clara trembled all over, her blood cold in her veins. She couldn’t believe what she had just heard. Avery wanted to “own” her. He saw her as an object, not a woman.

And Father was going to force her to marry him? So that she could be treated like something shiny and expensive to be paraded around in front of his friends?

All at once, she questioned the purpose of her life. At least by marrying someone her own age, she would be his partner, his equal. They would grow together, learn together, perhaps even find love developing between them as time passed by. Avery already seemed to have made up his mind on what she was to him. And what could she provide for him that he didn’t already have?

Disturbed and shaken by these questions she had never faced before, Clara decided that she could not simply go to her room and wait to feel better. She had to talk about this with someone who would understand, someone who would not judge her.

She ducked out of the sitting room and hastened to the foyer to put on her shoes, looking over her shoulder as she did, worried that at any moment someone would hear her and investigate. No one did, and she slipped out through the front door and rushed across the yard with the skirt of her dress fluttering against her legs. The heat of the summer sun beat down on the back of her neck. It was with no small amount of relief that she passed through the line of trees separating her house from the neighbors’, the shade beneath the branches providing a momentary reprieve.

Her aunt and uncle on her father’s side lived in this tidy blue house with the expansive back garden. Her cousin, Maybelle, spent almost every spare moment out in the garden, no matter the season. Clara hoped fervently that that was the case on this day.

Coming around the back of the house, she cried out in gratitude at her answered prayer. Maybelle sat out at the picnic table next to a bed of blossoming flowers, sipping tea and watching the bees bumbling about from one bloom to the other.

Seeing Clara, Maybelle jumped to her feet and rushed to meet her. They embraced, and Maybelle stiffened. She grasped Clara by the arms and leaned back, studying her face. Her thin brows knitted together with concern. “Goodness, Clara, you haven’t been this pale since that time you spilled tea on grandmother’s heirloom rug. What’s happened?”

Clara felt tears brimming in her eyes, and she shook her head, wordless. Ever the problem-solver and leader, Maybelle held onto her and led her over to the picnic table, where she sat them both down.

“Now, tell me what’s going on,” Maybelle insisted, still with an arm around her. “I saw some men on horses ride up to your horse a short time ago. Does that have something to do with why you’re upset?”

Suddenly, Clara found herself blurting out everything that had happened and all her treacherous thoughts. Maybelle rested her hand on her chin, her expression still and thoughtful for the entire time it took Clara to get everything out. At last, she had nothing more to say, and just in time, for her throat was feeling quite dry from so much talking.

And Maybelle knew that because she knew everything, giving her the cup of now lukewarm tea to drink from. She seemed resolved, almost resigned, for some odd reason that Clara couldn’t figure out. “You wait right here. I have something to show you.”

Clara sipped the warm liquid, grateful for the soothing effect on her throat. She felt a tiny bit better for having shared her problem with someone else, and she wondered what it was that Maybelle would show her. A new hand mirror? Some pretty thread purchased recently? No, her expression said it would be more important than that.

Maybelle returned from the house with a newspaper in hand. She placed it down on the table in front of Clara and tapped it. “This right here is the solution to your problem.”

Clara frowned. “What do I do? Smack Avery with it until he leaves me alone?”

Maybelle laughed and sat down beside her again. She took her hand and squeezed. “No. Listen. This is important.”

Whenever Maybelle said something was important, Clara knew it was. She listened.

“You know that there are many men out West looking for wives to help them on their ranches and farms. They write out these personal ads to be placed in the papers. If you truly want the power to choose your own life, consider answering one of these men and heading West to meet them. And you’ll have to do it soon, before Avery can trap you.”

Clara almost couldn’t understand what her cousin was telling her. This was what that resigned expression was about? She thought that Clara could, and would, just uproot and leave her and everything else behind?

She naturally protested. “This is all happening much too fast. I could never just go off to marry a man I don’t know! That’s even worse than being married to Avery.”

“Is it?” Maybelle challenged, leaning close, their heads together just like when they were children and scheming to steal cookies before dinner. “It would be your choice. You would have a purpose, a future. That sounds like it’s what you want. Or do you really want to sit around in some old man’s house while he lives his life without you?”

Clara lowered her head, staring at the newspaper. She knew that people did this sort of thing. In fact, she personally knew someone who had left Charleston to go all the way to Oregon to be with a gold miner. It wasn’t common, but neither was it unusual, especially for people with few other options. Like her.

“But…to just leave everything…to leave you!” Clara’s voice broke. Never seeing her cousin again was about the worst thing she could imagine.

But maybe not as bad as marrying Avery….

“I’d miss you. You know that.” Maybelle put an arm around her shoulders. “But I’d rather know that you’re out there happy instead of sitting alone in Avery’s house. Because that’s what happens to trophies. They sit there, and people look at them.”

Clara rubbed her face over her hands, a low moan in her throat. She was a mouse backed into a corner by a snarling tomcat, pinned and unable to escape. Her only option was to head for a small, dark crack in the wall. Where it went, she couldn’t know. Could she take the risk, or was she going to accept this fate forced upon her?

“I need to think on it.” Clara pushed the newspaper away. “And I…I should get home before Father notices I’m not actually sick in my room.”

“Don’t take too long to think about it,” Maybelle warned. “As soon as your father thinks you’re feeling better, he’ll have you meet with Avery, and then you’ll be married to him within the week.”

“Then I’ll have to decide…by tonight,” Clara realized.

“Sneak over tonight.” Maybelle squeezed her hand. “We’ll look at some of the personal advertisements together. If there’s one that’s good enough…then I say you should act on it.”

“Maybe.” Clara turned to her and put her arms around her. “Thank you.”

Maybelle gave a laugh that was watery and rested her chin on her shoulder. “Nothing’s happened yet.”

“You’ve given me options I didn’t have before. That’s everything.” Clara closed her eyes.

“Oh, Clara, anything for you.” And Maybelle held her a little tighter.

Once they finally parted, they bid each other farewell, and Clara snuck off back toward her own house, feeling even more confused than before. Could she—should she—really do this? Give up everything she knew, leave her family behind, for just the vague promise of something more?

If that promise was for something better….

Yes.

Chapter One

Maybelle was there at the side door of her house when Clara snuck over around midnight. This was far from the first time they had met in secret under the cover of night, sneaking away for a few hours to simply enjoy themselves without their families watching and placing expectations upon them. Those previous times had been spent sneaking cookies, whispering frightening stories, and gossiping about local happenings. This time, there was none of the usual mirth and warmth in their meeting. There were no giggles to be stifled as Maybelle led the way up the steps to her small room in the attic.

Practice had honed their sneaking skills, and they were both careful to walk only on the very right edge of the steps where the staircase connected to the wall, which greatly minimized squeaks and creaks. A single candle illuminated just the bare edges of the furniture, gilding the bedspread, desk, and dresser.

Maybelle pointed past Clara at the bed where two folded newspapers had been placed. Clara took the candle from the desk and brought the fragile light over to the papers to read the dates. They had been printed on the day just past, and on the day before that.

Maybelle huddled in close to Clara and spoke in just the faintest exhalation of breath. “You look through one, and I’ll do the other.”

Clara sat on the edge of the bed, the frame of which creaked, though that was alright, considering bed noises were more acceptable to hear in the night than steps on staircases. “I still don’t know about this.”

“If you weren’t certain, you wouldn’t be here.” Maybelle gave her a hard look.

Clara avoided her cousin’s eyes and stared at the gently burning candle. A wisp of smoke drifted up from the teardrop of fire. “I tried and tried all day to imagine myself married to Avery. I can’t.” Her mind simply balked whenever she tried to lead it in that direction. She knew she couldn’t do it, couldn’t bear to accept that fate for herself.

“Then what’s the problem?” Maybelle sounded impatient.

They had grown up very close, almost like sisters, and Maybelle was always more daring and outspoken, never afraid to speak her mind. The voice that came from her could match any man’s in strength, which was strange for someone who looked very much like a doll, so delicate and pretty with her pale-blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes.

Clara looked rather similar to her cousin, which added to misperceptions that they were sisters. However, she had never been called a doll. She was just a little taller than Maybelle, though certainly not tall at all, and a little less delicate. Her eyes were more of a muted blue, the color of her hair dulled from pure white-gold to brownish.

She had always been a little like Maybelle’s shadow, and her lack of conviction now was proof of that.

“I’d be leaving Father all alone.” Clara knew little about her mother, her father barely ever talking about her. Could she do this to him, abandon him?

Maybelle scoffed, and the candle flame danced on her exhaled breath. “All he’s wanted to do for years now is marry you off! Now we know that it’s all about money with him, with him choosing Avery for you instead of Paul or someone else more appropriate. Maybe you can reconnect with your father someday. But right now, you must think of yourself. You must do what is best for you.”

Clara didn’t know what to think about all of that just yet, but Maybelle was right. As much as she loved Father and wished that she could do good by him, this life he was trying to make for her was not what she wanted.

She gave a nod and picked up the newspaper nearest her, and Maybelle did the same. Sharing the light of the single candle between them, with only the hooting of an owl in a tree outside to keep them company, they looked through the advertisements to find a good one.

Right away, it was clear that Clara had many options to choose from. There was a farmer in Colorado, two ranchers from Montana, and several more in California, all men seeking a wife to assist them. The advertisements varied in length and always included a little about the man himself and his situation. Names and descriptions floated through Clara’s mind as she read paragraph after paragraph, all blurring together.

“How about this one?” Clara nudged Maybelle for her attention and indicated one of the men from California, a landowner and mining foreman.

Maybelle scrunched her nose. “Three children? Goodness, no.”

“Oh, I didn’t see that part….”

“Well, look at this one. It’s a rancher, in Wyoming.”

Clara took the paper to get a look for herself. The rancher’s name was Jesse Boone, a simple, strong name that was followed by simple, strong descriptions. He lived in a town called Willow Creek. His purpose in placing his advertisement was to find a woman capable of assisting in tending to the homestead, and to provide a stable environment for his teenage brother, Eli.

“I don’t have much to offer, and in return, I don’t ask much. Only hard work and honesty.”

Something about Jesse’s writings spoke to Clara in a way that no other had thus far. He did not endeavor to entice a wife by describing his lands and promising wealth. He seemed to only want assistance and companionship.

Nowhere does he say as much…but I have the feeling that he’s lonely.

A rancher without any family except for a younger brother? It must have been difficult for him. He needed someone to shoulder some of his burdens.

“I like this one,” Clara said, and her body tensed with the significance of what she was saying, what she was about to do. “It says that…that if anyone has an interest, to send a letter back and then take the train to Willow Creek. He doesn’t even want to exchange letters first? What if multiple women arrive?”

“Then I would suppose he’d choose the best match.” Maybelle was obviously unconcerned.

Clara couldn’t be convinced so easily. “Maybe, but still. Would he want to know anything about me? I suppose the letter will arrive first, but—”

Maybelle cut her off. “He must be eager to have a wife immediately. And willing to make anything work. Take advantage of it. This is the best chance for you.”

Clara traced her finger over the printed letters, offering her the smallest, most fractured glimpse into Jesse Boone’s life. A rancher in need of company and a woman needing a husband who would value her.

It seemed as though they were a match.

“Yes,” Clara said softly. “This is my best chance.”

***

Clara clutched her carpetbag, soon all that would connect her to the life she was leaving behind. She stood in the midst of a crowd of others at the train station, just one of dozens, a hundred, a droplet in a full bucket. No one in the crowd or on the street passing by appeared to see her there. Or, if they did, they minded their own business and let her be.

It’s not as if anyone knows what I’m doing, she consoled herself. No one knows I’m running away. I’m just another traveler. Perhaps on my way to visit family. I look perfectly ordinary from the outside.

She hardly felt ordinary.

She and Maybelle had worked hard two nights prior to write a letter in response to Jesse Boone. It seemed best that she not mention that she was of a wealthy family. No rancher would be interested in a spoiled wife incapable of hard work. And she hoped to avoid Jesse looking at her the same way Avery did, as a prize.

Instead, they had focused on having her describe herself in a way that would appeal specifically to Jesse in his circumstances. Up until right then, when Maybelle was telling her to say she had a “steady nature” and “strong constitution,” Clara hadn’t quite realized exactly what she was potentially committing herself to. She was actually going to have to work on a ranch and tend to all these chores that she normally had a maid do for her.

Once the letter was written, Maybelle had kept it to send the next morning. They had parted ways with several long embraces and promises to write often. Then, Clara had gone home for a fitful rest before putting the next stage of the plan in motion.

Once again, she had lied to her father about being ill. He had believed her readily, the lack of sleep and anxiety giving her a pale and weak appearance. He allowed her to stay in her room to recover and went into town for business. She had snagged the carpetbag from their storage room and packed as many of her personal belongings as she could cram in, until the bag almost wouldn’t shut. The rest of the day had been spent in trying to sleep and gathering some strength for the long, long journey ahead.

Now she was here, almost at the point of no return, with a ticket in her pocket that would bring her all the way to Willow Creek. The next train, her train, was pulling in with a rush of heat and a terrible cacophonous rattle. The doors were opened and passengers allowed off, and then at last the crowd around her was moving to board, carrying her along in the flow. She held her bag tightly and climbed inside.

She was not unfamiliar with traveling by train. She had accompanied her father on a few trips for business, as well as visiting distant family members up north in New York. The press of bodies all around her paradoxically didn’t bother her as much in these tight confines as opposed to the open air outside. Outside had been chaos. Inside the train was order, a process of finding open seats and stowing luggage away. A man nearby was even so kind as to put her bag away for her while she sat down.

She slid close to the window to look out at her city for a final time before the departure. Past the train station were all the stores she had spent hours shopping at with friends and family by her side. She had attended church every single week for her entire life, drawn there time and again by the clear, powerful chiming of the bell. She had picnicked on the shores while watching the ships arrive and depart.

So many memories.

Could she really give all of this up? Her whole life? Everything that had made her the person she was?

Even if marrying Avery Kemp would mean trapping herself in this place, binding herself to him, was that such a bad thing? After all, caged birds still sang.

The train’s horn blasted, and then it began to move, rather like an enormous carriage in feel. Everyone who hadn’t yet settled in hastened to do so. Clara felt tears prickling in her eyes as the houses and shops and familiar streets slid away from her.

But she felt that now, in this moment when she could no longer turn back, she understood something new.

The caged bird might sing still. But it sang with want, cried out for freedom from the cage.

As Charleston faded out behind her, she became a freed bird, migrating toward better days, better places.

She hoped.