Prologue

Paw Paw, Illinois

1886

Abigail Whitaker sighed, locked the door to her rented room for the last time, and stood still for a moment, her hand gripping the cold brass knob. Her knuckles were turning white, and she wanted more than anything to dive back into the safety of the room.

The sound of the latch sliding into place echoed through the narrow hallway. It was an ordinary sound that she’d heard thousands of times before. This time was different, though. This time, she wouldn’t be coming back.

It took all of her willpower to pull her hand away, because that would make the next steps she had to take all too real. A door had shut on her past, and she had to walk into a brand-new world that she’d only read about in the dime novels sold at the general store. She was sure that the accounts about the West had been exaggerated to make people buy the books, but at the same time, if even a small portion of the tales were true, she feared she’d have a rough time with her new life.

She inhaled deeply to calm her nerves. You’re being silly. People move out west all the time, and they do just fine. They go out there to make new lives for themselves, and they do well. Besides, what do you have to lose by going? There’s nothing left for you here.

She looked at the closed door and shut her eyes for a moment. The room she was leaving behind her was small and plain, furnished with little more than a narrow bed, a washstand, a single chair, and a narrow desk positioned beneath the window. The wallpaper, once pale blue, had faded into something closer to gray. The floorboards creaked no matter how carefully one stepped. In winter, drafts slipped in through the window frame. In summer, the air grew thick and stale.

Abigail had spent many hours at the small desk in the room, first studying, and then grading assignments and preparing lesson plans. She’d sat in the chair for hours at a time, staring out the window, dreaming about the different places she’d read about in books.

It was not a beautiful place, but it had been hers. For nearly six years, it had been the only home she could afford, and it was nice enough, especially compared to some of the places she’d seen people in the big city living in. This was the only place that had been entirely her own since the day she had buried both of her parents within three months of each other and moved to Paw Paw with nothing but a small inheritance.

“If you don’t get going, you’re going to be late for the train,” she muttered to herself. She adjusted her grip on the handle of her trunk and began carefully down the narrow stairwell.

The wooden steps dipped slightly in the center, and one of the stairs sounded like it was snapping in half, especially later in the evenings when the house was quiet and everyone had retired to their rooms. Abigail knew each uneven step by memory. She had learned to walk them in the dark when returning late from evening meetings or church socials, and she’d climbed them countless times with arms full of books and papers, lesson plans, and student essays, making sure to place her feet carefully so she didn’t trip.

She felt as though her feet were moving through thick sludge. The thought of moving to Bitter Creek Crossing in Montana Territory both excited and terrified her. Her parents had instilled a wanderlust in her when she was young, and Abigail always looked for new adventures. Of course, before this, those adventures had been safely close to home.

Her small trunk with reinforced leather straps and scuffed at the corners bumped lightly against her leg as she descended the staircase. Everything she owned that mattered was inside it: her clothes, her books, her teaching certificates, her mother’s sewing kit, and a few letters she could not bring herself to discard. Except for a few pieces of jewelry from her mother, now tucked safely in her reticule, Abigail had sold everything else after her parents’ death.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and paused again, looking back one last time. Then, she shook her head. The time for thinking about what she had in Paw Paw was over. She had to focus on what lay ahead.

Abigail jumped when a door closed loudly overhead, then saw Lily Jenkins at the top of the staircase. She could hear the clicking of her button boots as Lily moved down each step.

Abigail smiled. “Are you off to see David?”

Lily blushed and nodded. “I am. I’m certain that he’s going to propose soon.” She looked at Abigail’s trunk. “So, you’re going through with this? Aren’t you afraid?”

“Yes. Terrified, actually.” She shrugged. “But this will be a new start. There’s nothing here in Paw Paw for me. Ma and Pa have been gone for years. I have no family. I may as well try something new.”

“You’re braver than I am.” Lily kissed her cheek. “I wish you the best of luck. Make sure you write to me. I want to hear all about your life in the wild west.”

“I will. I hope David proposes today.”

“Me, too.” Lily giggled and rushed out the front door, letting it bang shut behind her.

Abigail watched her leave. She wished that she’d had a man to love her the way David loved Lily. She was sure that they’d settle down and have a whole house of children. But no one had ever approached Abigail. Sure, men had danced with her at church socials, but never more than once.

Shaking her head, she walked toward Mrs. Hargraves’s office. There was no point in putting off the inevitable, especially since she had a train to catch.

The thin, older woman, who’d run the boarding house for at least the last thirty years, sat behind a large oak desk. Her spectacles were perched on the end of her nose as she studied the ledgers in front of her.

Abigail knocked on the office door and walked into the room.

Mrs. Hargroves looked up and smiled. “Abigail. So, you’re all set?”

“Yes, ma’am. Everything in my room is in order.” She reached into her reticule and pulled out the room key, almost reluctant to hand it over. This would truly end her time here.

The older woman looked at the key and back at Abigail. “Are you sure about this? Montana Territory is a long way away. It’s not going to be like it is here. There’s not much out there, from what I hear.”

“I’m certain. The school closed here, and I need a job. Plus, moving to Montana Territory will give me a chance to see and experience something new.”

With a sigh, the older woman stood and hugged her, “I wish you the best of luck. Keep in touch and let me know how you’re doing.”

Abigail only nodded, then left the room and stepped out into the morning sunshine, closing the door behind her.

Paw Paw was busier than normal. A couple of wagons rattled down the dirt street, and horses stamped their feet and tossed their heads in the corral next to the livery station.

She remembered arriving here when she was eighteen, right after her parents had died. She’d only had a small amount of money from the sale of her ma’s and pa’s small farm, but with it she had enrolled in school and gotten her teaching certificate. She’d been happy teaching here until the mayor told her, after the school year ended, that they wouldn’t be renewing her contract. There weren’t enough students in the area to justify paying a full-time teacher.

Abigail didn’t cry at the news. She hadn’t cried since her parents died, and didn’t have the luxury of crying then. Instead, she’d sat down at her desk and answered every advertisement for a teaching job that she could find. Most offered very low wages that wouldn’t support her, while others couldn’t guarantee her a position for more than a month-to-month basis. Some of the folks never replied, and some politely declined to hire her.

Then, she’d seen the notice in the paper advertising for a teacher in the Montana Territory. It was near the Bitterroot Mountain Range. The position guaranteed a one-year contract and provided lodging with an allowance for food.

She’d read it three times, her heart pounding, before she’d dared answer it. Two weeks later, they responded with instructions and the tickets needed to get to Bitter Creek Crossing.

She adjusted her grip on her trunk and briskly walked to the train depot, relieved to be just in time.

After the station agent weighed her trunk, tagged it, and sent it to the baggage car, Abigail found her seat near a window and let out a slow breath. The other passengers settled in around her. A young couple settled in a seat opposite of her, holding hands and whispering to each other. An older man adjusted his coat before sitting, while a young mother, holding the hand of a toddler and carrying a baby, sat in the corner. She briefly wondered what stories were, where they were going, and why.

No one paid her any particular attention, which suited Abigail just fine.

Abigail pulled the letter out of her bag and reread it again, even though she’d already gone over the words what seemed like a thousand times. Phrases jumped off the page at her. Small mountain community. Limited resources, especially in the winter. Isolated during the winter months. Expectation of self-reliance.

There weren’t any false promises, and the person had made sure that Abigail knew exactly what she was getting herself into. She respected the honesty, grim though it sounded.

It’s too late to turn back now, even if I wanted to.

The whistle sounded, and the train lurched, jolting her and pressing her back against the seat. Slowly, it began to move.

Abigail rested her head against the glass as she watched her former world go by. The buildings slid past, and the streets blurred. The stores disappeared, and soon there was nothing but open prairie.

It has to work. I have nowhere else to go and no other choices. I can’t stand the thought of moving to St. Louis or Chicago and working in one of those factories where women sew for twelve hours straight. Abigail folded her hands together and put them in her lap. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. I won’t let this fail. I can’t.

The words stayed in her mind, almost like a prayer, as the train gathered speed.

I will do such a good job that they keep asking me back year after year.

Chapter One

Ten days later

Bitter Creek Crossing, The Montana Territory

By the time the stagecoach left Missoula, Abigail no longer remembered what it felt like to be comfortable and not have her entire body aching. Her back throbbed from sitting rigidly on the hard train seat, and now on the wooden seat of the stagecoach. Her neck protested as the coach lurched from one side to the other. If she hadn’t been sitting next to the window, pressed up against the side, she would have been thrown around like a rag doll.

She shifted carefully on the narrow seat, wincing as the movement sent a twinge through her hips. I might be twenty-four, but I’m pretty sure this is what the old ladies sitting on their porches felt like when they were complaining about their rheumatism flaring up.

It didn’t seem possible that ten days ago, she’d packed her bags, convinced that she was ready for anything that came her way. Now, she’d be satisfied with getting to Bitter Creek Crossing in one piece.

She leaned forward to look out the window. The landscape seemed to go on forever, rolling hills covered with pine and sagebrush. Wildflowers in all different colors dotted the prairie. Herds of antelope grazed on the golden grass that danced in the wind. Jackrabbits bound from one sagebrush to another. Prairie dogs poked their heads out of their holes, curiously watching the stagecoach go by.

The coach passed by fenced pastures filled with cattle and horses as well. She spotted a couple of houses and barns in the distance, a sight terrifying and beautiful all at once.

Her stomach rolled at the thought of living out in the middle of nowhere. The letter had warned her that the town was isolated, but she wasn’t expecting this. She thought that isolated meant that the next town wasn’t within walking distance and that it might be an hour’s ride away. Then, she’d been told by fellow travelers that the closest town to Bitter Creek Crossing was Stevensville, a half of a day away—if the weather was good.

The stagecoach lurched to a stop with a final groan of protesting wood and leather. Abigail’s body swayed with the motion before she steadied herself. A moment later, the door was pulled open, letting the cool mountain air flood into the carriage.

“We’re here, miss,” the driver said.

She blinked once, then nodded. “Thank you.”

She rose to her feet with some trepidation, still stiff and sore. She was certain the wheels had hit every hole, rut, and rock along the way between Missoula and Bitter Creek Crossing.

She stepped down carefully, holding onto the stagecoach, willing her legs not to buckle. Her trunk was lowered from the top of the carriage and landed on the ground with a loud thud. Clutching her canvas bag and reticule, she looked around.

The first thing she noticed was the quiet. Although Paw Paw had been a very small town, it seemed a lot busier than Bitter Creek Crossing. The town before her was little more than a scattering of wooden buildings at the base of rising hills. A general store, a dry goods store, a blacksmith shop, a feed store, a saloon, a church, a boardinghouse, and a squat schoolhouse made up most of it. There was also a doctor’s office, a bank, an assayer’s office, and an attorney’s office. But no bustle on the sidewalks, no crowds of people buying supplies as they traveled west.

A few cabins sat at uneven distances, half-hidden among trees. Another street behind Main Street was lined with small clapboard houses.

The mountains loomed large and seemed so close that all she would have to do was take a couple of steps to start climbing. Pine trees grew everywhere, and the air was heavy with their scent. The sun was starting to get lower in the sky, making the feathery clouds glow yellow, lavender, and pink. If Paw Paw didn’t have enough students to keep a school open, how is this place going to?

Abigail shrugged. The advertisement and the following letter promised her a year’s salary. Whether she had one student or a hundred didn’t matter to her. She was here to do a job and fulfill a contract. She looked around for someone to greet her, wondering if the headmaster of all the schools in the area had received her letter.

She grabbed the handle of her trunk and pulled it away from the stagecoach toward the platform. Two men had already run out of the station to unhitch the team that had brought her to Bitter Creek Crossing and hitched the next team to the stagecoach. A couple of other men unloaded the mail and various goods that had traveled with her.

The driver who’d brought her trudged tiredly inside the station. He nodded to Abigail. “Good luck to you, miss. I hope you find what you’re looking for here.”

She smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”

I hope I can find what I’m looking for, too. The problem was that she wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted, except for a steady job. She would sit down and figure out the rest of her life later.

She had begun to walk toward the station, hoping to find a place to wash the dust off her face, when a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair, a sharp nose, green eyes, and long arms and legs hurried toward her. In fact, the man reminded her of Ichabod Crane from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, by Washington Irving.

“Miss Whitaker?” he asked in a nasally voice.

“Yes.”

“I’m Edwin Carver. Headmaster of the school.” He offered his hand. “We’re glad you’ve arrived safely.”

She shook it. “So am I.”

He glanced at her trunk, which was covered in dust. “How was your trip?”

Abigail was tempted to tell him that the ten days it took to travel from Paw Paw to Bitter Creek Crossing had seemed like a full year. The train cars were full of smoke, dust, and people who hadn’t bathed in a very long time. Although she’d been alone in the stagecoach for most of the ride, it had rattled her bones. She was positive that her lungs were filled with enough dirt to start a garden.

However, she didn’t want to seem like someone who complained all the time, so she simply smiled and said, “It went well. I arrived safely, and that’s all that matters.”

He pointed to the schoolhouse. “That’s where you’ll hold classes. There are about twenty to thirty kids who attend, depending on whether they can come in. Sometimes, the weather gets so bad that they can’t get too far.”

“There don’t seem to be many houses in town.”

He looked around. “There are more than you think.” Then, he gestured toward the open range. “Most of the children live on farms and ranches outside of town. They travel about an hour to come into school and another hour back home. Most of the parents value education and will make sure that the kids come to school when they can. During the spring, a lot of the kids will stay home because their help is needed on the farm. Their attendance will be spotty. You’ll have to work around that.”

They reached the schoolhouse, and Mr. Carver opened the door. It was modest, but well-kept. The windows were polished, and the desks had been dusted recently. Books lined a couple of bookshelves along the wall. A large blackboard covered one entire wall behind the teacher’s desk. A stove sat in the corner with a box full of wood next to it.

She looked around for a minute before they stepped outside.

After locking the building, Mr. Carver handed her a key. “This is for the school.” He held up another before dropping it in her hand. “This is for the teacher’s cabin. It’s down that path.” He gestured toward a narrow path behind the school that led toward a copse of pine trees.

Her gaze followed the path until it disappeared into the trees. “There aren’t any rooms at the boardinghouse?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. It’s been full for months. There’s a group of men staying there. They heard about the gold found in the mountains.”

“If there are rumors of gold, I’m surprised the town isn’t a lot bigger.”

Mr. Carver cocked his head to one side and held up his hands. “I would think so, but I’m guessing that since no one has found a huge lode yet, no one is coming. Honestly, I prefer it that way. A rush of miners into a town is bound to cause trouble.”

“There aren’t any spare rooms anywhere?”

“No, there aren’t. This cabin was set aside especially for the teacher.” A slight smile spread across his face. “I would think that you’d value having a cabin all to yourself where you didn’t have to share a space with anyone.”

She liked the idea of not having to share living space with anyone, but at the same time, living alone in a cabin in the woods sounded a little frightening. She’d read about how men would raid isolated cabins…and then, there were bears. She didn’t have a hankering to be eaten by a bear. She’d just have to hope for the best.

Still smiling, she closed her hand around the keys. “Very well.”

He nodded as though he’d known what she was thinking. “Just head down that path about two miles. You’ll pass Bitter Creek, and then the cabin is in a clearing beyond that. You might want to buy a horse to make the trek easier.”

He paused. When she didn’t protest, he continued.

“Inside, you’ll find fresh sheets, blankets, and provisions. We stocked coffee, flour, beans, and preserved meat. The stove is in good working order. Firewood is stacked behind the cabin. The well is right out back. The water is pure and sweet, fed by Bitter Creek that runs through the woods.”

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.

“We’ll discuss your schedule tomorrow,” he added. “After you’ve rested.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” Mr. Carver put his hands behind his back and walked back toward the boarding house.

Abigail watched him leave. So much for gentlemanly conduct. He’s not even going to walk with me to make sure I get to the cabin safely. She peered down the path that was starting to darken with shadows. Maybe that’s just the way things are done out here. Everyone is on their own, even the women. Or maybe, since it’s the West, I’m supposed to be strong and not need a man’s help.

She started down the path, once more, nervous. The shadows were growing darker. Abigail half expected a bear or mountain lion to jump out at her at any minute.

The further she walked, the quieter it became. Birds seemed to whisper as they called to each other. Brush rustled as small animals darted through it. The town faded behind her, and the trees started to close in. The air cooled.

Her small trunk seemed to become heavier, harder to pull on the dirt path. The wheels worked fine on the wooden sidewalks, but kept getting stuck on rocks and clumps of grass. Her shoulders ached from carrying her heavy bag and tugging on the trunk.

Finally, after walking at least two miles, she saw a cabin in a small clearing. A pile of wood was stacked neatly on the front porch. A corral and small barn sat slightly behind the cabin.

This looks a lot more lived in than what Mr. Carver hinted at. He’d said that the cabin they had for the teacher hadn’t been lived in for a while.

She was too tired to think about the situation. The trip had seemed to go on forever. Her legs hurt, and her shoulder muscles were so tense that they radiated pain.

Sighing heavily, she dragged her small trunk onto the porch of the cabin, fished the cabin key out of her reticule, and tried to insert it. It didn’t turn.

She frowned and tried again. It didn’t work.

Maybe I got the two keys mixed up.

Abigail fished the other key out of her reticule and tried once more. It didn’t fit.

She hung her head, unease washing over her. Maybe she misunderstood. Mr. Carver hadn’t mentioned any other cabins along the trail, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Looking around, Abigail tried to spot any trace of another cabin, but couldn’t see anything.

This has to be it. Did he give me the wrong key? Did he mention that there would be a cabin before I got to mine, and I didn’t hear him?

The idea of walking the couple of miles back to town, pulling her trunk, and hauling her canvas bag, was unbearable. She didn’t think she had the strength.

“All I want is to go inside, make some tea, and go to bed,” she muttered under her breath as she tried the first key again.

It wouldn’t go in. She tried jiggling it, putting it in the other direction, and shaking the handle. The door wouldn’t budge.

Her heart pounded, and her breath caught in her throat. She was tired and alone. It was dark, she was miles away from town, and she was locked out of her cabin.

Sighing heavily, deciding that the only choice she had was to go back into town, she took a step back. Suddenly, rough hands seized her from behind, and she screamed.