Prologue

Late Spring, 1862

Salem, Oregon

Fifteen-year-old Eleanor Sanders lay awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling and doing her best not to shiver with fear.

The home her father had built had always been a refuge. Merely being within these walls had made her feel safe from the world outside. But tonight felt different. The powerful drumming of the rain on the roof overhead seemed to escalate by the minute, matching the pounding of her heart.

It’s only a little rain. Rain can’t hurt me.

But that wasn’t true, and Eleanor knew it.

Rain could hurt.

Rain could rob the family of the things that were dear to them. Only this afternoon, it had invaded the lower level of the house and swept away some of Eleanor’s father’s books. It was impossible to imagine Marcus Sanders without his books. He was a man who loved reading and who took time every night to share a bit of whatever book he was currently enjoying with his family.

But it wasn’t just the books. It was the crops too. This entire season’s crops had been ruined by the floods washing over the fields, and that was a serious problem, because the Sanders needed the money they would earn from their wheat harvest to get them through the winter. Eleanor had heard her parents murmuring about that late into the night, when they believed their four children were all asleep.

If only this rain would stop!

Lightning crashed overhead, followed by a roll of thunder that rattled Eleanor to her bones. Involuntarily, she let out a little cry of fear and huddled deeper beneath her blankets, trying her best to be strong. To be brave.

From somewhere below came a loud bang, followed by the sound of rushing water. She sat up in bed, her blonde hair coming loose from its braid and spilling down around her shoulders.

Then came the most frightening noise she had heard all night—the sound of her father’s voice.

Eleanor so rarely found her father’s voice anything to fear. She loved and trusted him, and he was a source of comfort to her. But Marcus Sanders could be a terrifying man sometimes, and there was an urgency in his voice now that scared her.

“Paul!” he yelled. “Fetch your brother and your sisters! Go quickly! There’s no time to lose!”

Eleanor was out of bed at once, without knowing what was happening or why. A moment later, the door to her bedroom burst open, and her nineteen-year-old brother, Paul, came rushing in. Her tiny bedroom, which had barely enough room for her bed, suddenly felt much more crowded.

“Eleanor, it’s time to go,” he said, his dark eyes flashing. With his dark hair and towering height, Paul resembled their father so strongly that for a moment Eleanor could almost believe she was looking at him.

“What? Go where?”

“Father says we’re all to come downstairs at once. The house is flooding. We need to leave.”

Eleanor’s mind raced with frantic questions. They were going to leave? But where were they going to go? This home was all she had ever known.

The sound of water rushing downstairs galvanized her. She turned toward her wardrobe to put some things in a bag.

Paul stopped her, grabbing her wrist. “There isn’t time for that,” he said. “Father says you’re to leave everything behind and just come.”

“But…” Eleanor didn’t know what to say. How could she just leave everything? Leaving the house was terrifying enough, but to leave all their things? To go away with nothing at all? “I’m not dressed,” she finished, for lack of anything better to say, and ran her hands over her nightgown.

“That doesn’t matter,” Paul said.

Doesn’t matter? How could it not matter? Surely she would require clothing in the days to come.

But Paul had her by the wrist and was pulling her toward the door, and she had no choice but to leave everything behind and go along with him.

His fear was contagious. It infected her like a poison, driving her own terror to new heights. Her heart was pounding so furiously that it hurt.

Anna and Timothy, her other two siblings, were waiting in the hall. Seventeen-year-old Anna had her arms around five-year-old Timothy, and though it had been months since he had consented to being hugged by his elder sister, today he was allowing it. His eyes were wide with terror—he looked as frightened as Eleanor felt.

“Everyone must stay with me,” Paul said. “Anna, bring up the rear and keep your eyes on Timothy. Eleanor, keep close.”

He led the way down the stairs.

As the first floor of the house came into view, Eleanor couldn’t help it—she let out a gasp.

Water had come rushing in. It was pouring through the doorway and even through the windows. Eleanor couldn’t believe how high it had risen. As Paul stepped forward off the stairs and waded in, it was up to his waist.

It would reach Timothy’s shoulders. She took his hand.

“Outside, and quickly.” Paul propelled her forward with a firm hand on her back. “Father is going to meet us there. No questions, Eleanor.”

She had been on the verge of asking a question. She wanted to know where her father was now—what he was doing and why it had fallen to Paul to get them out of the house. She wanted to know what they would do once they got outside. Would they be safe from the rising water? Where would they go?

But Paul had said no questions, and Eleanor knew better than to argue with her brother at a moment like this.

The siblings made their way through the kitchen and out onto the porch.

Paul swore under his breath.

The world had been transformed.

The porch was completely underwater, impossible to see. The road that passed in front of their home was gone. Off in the distance, Eleanor could make out the place where the fields should have been—they were underwater, and she knew that there was no hope of a decent crop this season.

The rising water was washing away more than their home. It was washing away their hopes.

“Hold on tight to the porch railing.” Paul’s voice was loud, his calm obviously beginning to fray. It was more difficult to make out his voice now than it had been when they were indoors. The sound of rushing water drowned him out.

Eleanor kept a firm grip on Timothy’s hand. He had to kick his feet to swim his way over to the porch railing. She was barely able to keep her own feet under her, and just as she reached the railing, a rush of water swept beneath her and almost washed her away.

Anna let out a dismayed cry that rose to a scream as the rush of water caught her.

“Anna!” Eleanor cried, reaching out for her sister.

It was Paul, though, who captured Anna’s hand in his own and pulled her back to the porch railing. The wood groaned under the weight of the rushing water.

Eleanor’s parents appeared in the doorway. In spite of the sheer horror of everything they were experiencing, Eleanor felt a wave of relief break over her at the sight of them, at the knowledge that Mother and Father were here. At fifteen years of age, she was too old to believe that her parents could solve every problem and right every wrong, yet she felt reassured by their presence anyway. If anyone could end the horror of this night, it would be Father, who was always so capable and strong. If anyone could quiet their fears, it would be Mother, with her loving and compassionate arms.

Father helped Mother reach one of the porch railings. Eleanor saw his gaze find each of his children, as if he were counting them—as if he were making certain they were all there.

She shivered. The water was frigid, and it felt as if the cold might kill her. Surely this couldn’t last much longer. Something would happen. Something would change.

She watched as the Taylors, who lived just a quarter mile up the road, came down it. They were riding in a canoe. Mr. Taylor sat in the front of the boat, Mrs. Taylor in the rear, and their twin sons between them. For a moment, the Sanders family fell silent to watch the strange sight.

If only we had a boat!

But they didn’t, of course. What did they need with a boat in Salem? They had no use for such a thing.

Eleanor’s cheeks were wet. Was it the rain, or was she crying? She didn’t know. It didn’t seem to matter very much. The two things felt like one and the same. It felt as if the rain were being wrenched from her very soul, as if Eleanor’s grief for everything that was being lost were the very thing that was stealing it all from her.

There was a loud crack.

“The roof!” her father yelled.

Everyone looked up. Sure enough, the roof of the house had split right down the middle. It was beginning to collapse.

Paul let out a low moan. Somehow, her older brother’s fear frightened Eleanor more than anything that had happened thus far.

“God be with us,” her father called out. “God, save us tonight. Show mercy on my family, as you showed mercy on Noah and spared him from the rising waters. Save my children. Save my wife. I beg you to save us.”

Eleanor had seen her father lead the family in prayer countless times. He was a godly man, and he read to them from the Bible every Sunday.

But she had never heard her father beg God for anything.

The water rose higher, and so did her terror.

Timothy reached out his hand to her, and Eleanor clutched it. She knew she was his favorite of all his siblings, and that he likely felt reassured by her in a way he didn’t with the others. She wished desperately that she could tell him that everything was going to be all right.

She closed her eyes and added her own prayer to her father’s.

God, please spare us from this. Please protect my family. Please call back these waters and save us from this flood.

She didn’t ask God to restore their fields or their possessions. Eleanor had been raised not to be greedy, to ask for no more than she needed, and she knew that she didn’t truly need those things. Everything else could be restored. The fields would mend themselves, and possessions could be replaced.

The family couldn’t be replaced.

Mother, Father, Paul, Anna, Timothy.

She spoke the names silently in her head, again and again, as if by doing so she could ensure the success of her prayer. As if she could remind God, somehow, of whom she was trying to protect. Of whom she wanted to see safely through this horror.

Lightning split the sky once more. It felt impossibly close. The Earth seemed to shake, as if God had reached down from the heavens to put a finger close to Eleanor, to let her know that her prayer had been received…if not necessarily granted.

Then there was another loud crash.

At first, she thought it was thunder again, but her mother let out a cry that sounded more like pain than fear.

Eleanor’s eyes flew open, but she saw nothing at all. At first, she couldn’t understand it, and then she realized—the roof had detached from the house in the wind of the storm, and it was flying toward her.

She felt a crack of intense, skull-splitting pain, and then everything went black.

Chapter One

1867

Just Outside Missoula, Montana

Vernon James carefully stomped the dirt off his boots before entering his home.

Paying attention to dirt and its accumulation was not a habit that had come naturally to him. Over the past two years, however, he had come to realize how necessary it was to pay attention to every speck of dirt that entered the house. It wouldn’t leave again unless someone took the time to clean it up, and who was going to do that? Vernon had no time for such things.

Satisfied that his boots were as clean as they were going to get, Vernon went inside. He took his boots off at once and set them beside the door.

Then he looked around and shook his head in disappointment—the kitchen was a mess.

That wasn’t so unusual. The kitchen was always a mess. But Vernon was exhausted after the day’s hard work. He didn’t want to spend his evening cleaning up messy dishes, for heaven’s sake.

“Lyle!” he yelled.

Lyle’s face appeared around the corner. His ginger hair was in disarray, but he wore a massive smile. “Are the cattle in?”

“No thanks to you,” Vernon said, teeth gritted. “You know, you said that you were going to help out on the ranch today.”

“I spent all morning fixing the fence, Vernon, and you know that, so don’t you do this thing you always do,” Lyle said. “I’m not in a mood to be harped on. I finished the chores that were allocated to me hours ago, and I came back here to see to our dinner so that we wouldn’t find ourselves having to eat yesterday’s cold stew yet again.”

“And did you make dinner?” Vernon asked. If his best friend possessed any cooking skills at all, he was certainly unaware of it.

“I made biscuits,” Lyle said. “They’re on the table.”

Vernon looked. Sure enough, there was a tray of biscuits there. Even from a distance, he could see that they would be tough and hard—the dough was thickly packed, and they were blackened at the bottom. “What else?” he asked.

Lyle’s smile faltered slightly. “What else?”

“You can’t mean to tell me that you believed we would have nothing but biscuits for our dinner,” Vernon said. “That’s not a meal.”

Lyle scowled and crossed his arms. “I worked hard to prepare this.”

“I’m not suggesting that you didn’t, but there’s no meat, Lyle. This is a cattle ranch, for heaven’s sake. You couldn’t make sure there was meat on the table?” Vernon picked up one of the biscuits, examined it, and then knocked it against the plate. It made a ringing sound.

Lyle had the self-consciousness to look ashamed. “I didn’t think of that.”

Vernon sighed. “I suppose I can’t blame you,” he grumbled. “I might not have thought of it either. Getting dinner on the table is the duty of a woman.”

For a moment, neither of the two men spoke.

“You’re going to be the one cleaning all this up,” Vernon said, taking a seat at the table.

“Isn’t that also the duty of a woman?”

“What of it? Do you see any women around here? If you do, you’re welcome to pass the task along to them.”

Lyle was quiet for a moment. “You know, Vernon, if you ever wanted to talk about Mary…”

“I don’t want to talk about Mary.” Frustrated, Vernon took a furious bite of his biscuit and chewed ferociously. It would take days to get it down.

“Maybe it would be for the best if you did talk about her.” Lyle leaned his elbows on the table and tried to make eye contact.

Vernon put down the biscuit with unnecessary force. “What do you want me to say?” he demanded. “What do you think I should say about Mary? She’s gone. She’s been gone for a very long time now, and she isn’t coming back.”

“I know you miss her,” Lyle said.

“I don’t miss her. How could I possibly miss someone who was so disloyal?” He ground his teeth at the thought of it. “While you and I were off doing our part in the war effort, she was breaking her marriage vows with my cousin and leaving me nothing to come home to. We nearly lost this ranch because of her sinful, prideful choices.” He pushed his chair back from the table and turned his body away from Lyle, snatching up the biscuit once more. He gripped it so forcefully that crumbs flaked off into his lap.

Lyle’s eyes narrowed skeptically.

“Do I miss having a woman’s touch around the house? All right, yes, sometimes I do,” Vernon conceded. “Especially on days like this one, when it’s abundantly clear that we need someone capable of preparing a proper meal and cleaning up afterward.” He waved a hand at the mess of dirty dishes.

“And yet you’ve never remarried,” Lyle noted. “You say you miss having a woman about the place, but you make no attempt to find one.”

“You haven’t married either,” Vernon pointed out. “You can’t put that responsibility solely on me.”

“Oh, but who would marry me?” Lyle asked dismissively. He picked up one of the biscuits and tossed it pensively from hand to hand. “I have none of what you have to recommend you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s the matter of your money.”

“What money? My cousin stole my money when he ran away with my wife, as you know perfectly well.”

“I do.” Lyle pinched a bit off the top of his biscuit—the part that was soft and tender enough to eat—and popped it into his mouth. “I also know that the last two years you and I have spent restoring this ranch have not gone to waste. Your accounts are now in balance. A woman might choose to marry you because of your ability to provide for her—an ability I simply don’t have, seeing as how I don’t own my own property and merely serve as your ranch hand. And then there is the matter of your looks.”

“What about my looks?” Vernon lifted a hand to his full beard.

Lyle rolled his eyes. “Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed the way women look at you, Vernon. We’ve been friends since we were young, and it’s always been true. I’ve never been jealous of the attention you receive from women, but don’t anger me now by pretending that it isn’t true when we both know that it is. If one of us were to marry, you are the likely candidate.”

“You’re forgetting the most important thing, which is that I don’t wish to be married.”

“Oh, don’t be so ridiculous,” Lyle said. “I know you don’t want to fall in love and start a family and all those things—no one’s talking about that. We’re talking about having a woman around the house. Like hiring help. Surely you can see the benefit of that kind of arrangement.”

“What do you suggest?”

Lyle hesitated, then placed his palms flat on the table. “There’s an idea I’ve been considering for a while,” he said slowly.

Vernon felt his eyes narrow. “I’m not going to like this, am I?’

“You might, if you’re open-minded about it.” Lyle shook his head. “I don’t know who I’m kidding. I can’t remember the last time you were open-minded about anything.

Vernon rose from the table, ready to end the conversation.

“All right, all right.” Lyle held up his hands in surrender. “But try not to dismiss it out of hand.”

“Just tell me,” Vernon growled, folding his arms.

“We ought to put a notice in the paper, advertising for a bride for you,” Lyle said. “We ought to put the word out that you’re looking for someone to marry. We’d find a response, I know we would—a good hardworking woman who’s looking to start a life out west, looking for someone to provide for her. You wouldn’t have to worry about falling in love. You’d have a woman’s touch around the house without having to involve your heart, and doesn’t that sound like just what the doctor ordered?”

Vernon looked around the place.

He had to concede that Lyle had a point. They did need a woman’s touch around here—that much was undeniable. Though they had done well for themselves in the task of restoring the ranch, there was very little that could be said in defense of the way they kept their home. Dust everywhere, dirty dishes piled up in the sink, dirt on the floors and clothes that were in desperate need of laundering—there was no denying that they were a mess.

Lyle’s point was well taken about the benefits of a mail-order bride. Vernon didn’t wish to put his heart on the line again after what had happened with Mary—he knew he’d never be able to trust another woman. If he were to have another wife, it would have to be someone he didn’t care very much about—someone who didn’t possess the power to do him any harm.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to put an advertisement in the paper,” he grumbled. After all, even if the notice received a response, he could always ignore or reject it. He wouldn’t be committing to anything just by putting the request out there.

Lyle beamed. “I thought you were going to say that,” he said.

“Did you?” Vernon’s eyebrows lifted.

“So much so that I already wrote the notice for you.”

“What?”

Lyle shoved his chair back and rose to his feet. “You know I’m better with words than you are,” he said defensively.

That was certainly true. Vernon had no idea what he would have said if he’d been tasked with writing the notice himself. “The problem isn’t that you did the writing,” he said, his hands clenching into fists. “The problem is that you did all this without asking me. Do I even get to read it? Is it in the study?” He started toward the door.

“I’ve already mailed it off to the paper. I haven’t got it anymore.”

“You did what?” Vernon whirled.

Lyle wore a sheepish smirk. “I didn’t want to waste any time.”

“And what if I had said no, Lyle?”

“There’s no need for dramatics. If you had said no, we would simply have ignored anyone who answered the ad. Simple enough.”

“You can’t do things like this. You can’t make arrangements for me without so much as seeking my permission first.”

“All right, all right.” Lyle laughed. “I promise it won’t happen again. But you’re not going to regret cooperating with this idea, Vernon. Just think of what it’ll be like when we’re able to return home from our duties on the ranch to find a nice hot meal waiting for us—a meal that will include meat! Not to mention the pleasure of a woman’s company around the place. You’ve got to admit, it’ll have a civilizing influence on the two of us.”

“That does sound fine,” Vernon was forced to admit. “But what if this wife has expectations of me?”

“What if she does? Your duty to a wife is to provide for her livelihood, and you’ll do that readily enough. Anything else she wants, she’ll adjust to not getting. She’ll learn to cope with it, and in the end, everyone will be the better for it. You know perfectly well that no woman will answer such an ad unless she’s willing to make compromises. Would Mary have answered an ad like this one?”

“No, she wouldn’t have.”

“And that means that the wife you’ll find won’t be someone like Mary. You won’t find someone given to romantic flights of fancy—someone likely to take off with your cousin. You’ll find someone who’s practical, and that’s exactly what we need around here. I’m right, Vernon, and you know that. Stop worrying about what might come to be and just accept that I had a good idea. You should be thanking me for it.”

That wasn’t going to happen. Vernon had agreed to Lyle’s suggestion, but he certainly wasn’t about to sit there and act as if he’d been done some favor.

“I’m going to take my dinner—such as it is—to my room,” he said. “You’ve given me a lot to think about here, Lyle.”

“I’m grateful to you, you know,” Lyle said. “For you to marry—it’ll make my life better, and I’m not ignorant of that fact. I know you’re doing this for the both of us. But what I’m doing is for the both of us too. I wish you understood that. I wish you knew that I see how unhappy you’ve been since Mary left and that I truly believe this will make you smile once again.”

“I don’t need to smile,” Vernon said. “What I need is a dinner that fills my belly after a hard day’s work. But you’re right that the best way to get such a thing is to have a woman here to provide it, so I’m willing to cooperate with your scheme—at least, for now.”

“That’s all I ask,” Lyle said. He moved toward the door. “You don’t need to take your food to your room if you wish to be alone. I’m leaving.”

Vernon watched him go, pondering everything that had just occurred.

Lyle was his oldest friend—truly, his only friend. Lyle would never knowingly steer him wrong. And even though the idea of marrying again felt like the worst thing Vernon could possibly do—perhaps Lyle was right. Perhaps he would be able to begin a new chapter in his life. By having a wife—even if she meant nothing to him—he would be able to let go of the life he had once hoped to build with Mary.

At least, he hoped he would.