Prologue

Near Fort Hall, Idaho

April 1849

Happy birthday… I guess. Too bad I woke up to a nightmare.

Wesley Holt sighed and ran a curry comb down the sleek chestnut hide of the stallion he’d scrimped and saved to buy. The majestic animal was a birthday gift he’d gotten for himself. Eighteen only came around once in a lifetime.

He bent to the task with a small smile on his face. Guess I should thank the good Lord for some favors, even if the world is falling apart.

He had Tinker now—and he was eighteen. The trouble wouldn’t bother him as much as the younger kids.

Tinker whinnied, either from pleasure or impatience at being groomed so thoroughly. The sound resonated in the mostly empty barn.

“Sorry there, fella.” Wesley gave the stallion’s mane a final pat and dropped the comb into a leather saddlebag of gear, already packed for the trip. He ran a hand through his own mess of wild, dark hair, frowning with worry.

“Wesley!” called a man’s deep voice behind him, and he turned around. “All ready for your adventure, I see.”

The silhouette of a short, stout figure stood at the barn door, long robe cinched with a rope at the waist. The sun shining around the priest gave him a glow like a halo, until he stepped into the dimmer barn. Inside, Father Elijah Carter became not an angelic vision, but the same friendly, bald mentor whom Wesley had known since he was eight.

“Almost,” he agreed quietly, as Father’s chubby cheeks widened into a smile. Even at a time like this, the priest had an air of peace about him.

I don’t know how he can smile. Not with his whole world collapsing.

Not when the orphanage was so close to ending.

“It’s not right!” Wesley ground out, anger still boiling inside, as it had been for days. “How can the town shut down this orphanage? What’s so wrong that they have to investigate?”

He practically spat the last word in his fury. He didn’t like the humiliation of being an orphan, but no one could say he’d ever been mistreated here.

As always, Father Elijah soothed over the situation in the same way that he had with every slight or injury Wesley had felt since he’d come to live at the orphanage after Ma’s death. “Now, Wesley,” he said gently, “we must find forgiveness in our hearts. I’m sure that once the dust settles, the orphanage will still be standing. We’ve endured other scandals, other investigations, and God has taken care of us. Haven’t I taught you to always trust Him? He will protect us.”

Shaking his head resentfully, Wesley busied his hands packing up the rest of the tack he’d need for his trip. “That’s all well and good, Father, but it doesn’t help the little kids.”

Father Elijah had always tried to teach the kids about forgiveness, patience, trust. But somehow, the older he got, the less Wesley found himself agreeing with the peaceful attitude of the man he considered a father.

What about young Joey, who was only six, and his little sister Beth? What would happen to them if the orphanage closed? Where would they go? Who would care for them? Or the older girls, twelve and thirteen?

Father Elijah had made sure that they all received schooling, learned decent trades. Alberta, the only other eighteen-year-old at the orphanage, had already been hired to clean rooms at the hotel in a town near Fort Hall. A decent wage and respectable working conditions.

Finally, Wesley closed the leather flaps of his saddlebag and trusted himself to speak calmly. “What they’re doing is foolish. It’s terrifying for the younger kids. They have no idea what to do.” He cast a troubled look at Father Elijah. “I know I said I’d leave after eighteen… but I didn’t expect any of this to happen. It feels like I’m abandoning you all. Maybe I should try to find a job closer around.”

“Nonsense!” Father Elijah exclaimed. “You’re eighteen, a young man now, and you’ve got your eyes set on adventure. The California Trail!” As he often did when excited, the short priest clasped his hands together and sighed toward Heaven. “If the good Lord had seen fit to give me a sign to travel onward, I’d join you in an instant.”

“I wish you could.” The idea of the round, dumpy little man scampering down the rough road toward California brought a slight smile to Wesley’s lips. He took a deep breath, unwilling to let himself dream an impossible wish. “The other kids, too. What’s going to happen to them?”

“God knows,” the gentle priest replied softly. “Just as He knows this is the best opportunity for you, Wesley. You’re an intelligent man, gifted with horses. Why, look how you earned Tinker here, doing such a good job at the livery. It’s only right that you should join the wagon train and head off to make your fortune. The other children, they will be fine.”

Fine? How can they be fine? Wesley scowled and turned back to his saddlebags. “It’s just—it’s not fair. Or right. The way the town committee is investigating the orphanage. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

The older man shook his head. “No, but sometimes in their anger or grief, people look for someone to blame.”

If Father Elijah’s orphanage failed, it would be because of nothing more than a freak accident. Two of the ten-year-olds had been hunting with the handyman, Mr. Tobias. Just as Tommy pulled the trigger to bag a rabbit, the other boy, Eugene, jumped up, and the bullet had struck him instead.

Little Eugene hadn’t died, but the shot had injured his spine. He would never walk again. Yet instead of calling it the accident it was, the town leaders were enraged. They began to “investigate” the orphanage and Father Elijah, and spread rumors about shutting the doors of the brown clapboard house where Wesley had found a home and a family after Ma had died.

“It’s not fair!” Wesley managed again, hot anger burning in his stomach.

Father Elijah chuckled and reached out to place a steady hand on his shoulder. “You’ll find that very few things in life are. Now, I’ve just come to wish you goodbye and give you a blessing for the trip.”

Part of Wesley wanted to tell the priest he would stay, see this trouble through, and help with the other children. But another part of him was restless at the idea of being forced to stay behind. He wanted to get on Tinker and ride toward California as fast as he could.

The investigation and the townspeople’s scrutiny had reawakened him like an oil lamp casting a shining beam across his life. No one had to say, “You’re an orphan; you aren’t like us.” They didn’t have to. It was clear in the way they studied him and the others, looking for a flaw, a reason to condemn them.

I’m tired of it.

Wesley stood there quietly as the priest spoke the words of blessing over him, then admonished, “You write often, young man. Let us know how you’re getting along.”

Before Wesley could reply, he reached into his long sleeve and pulled out a small linen bag of coins, placing it in Wesley’s hand.

“I can’t take—” Wesley tried to give back the coins, but Father Elijah folded his hands and refused.

“Go with God, son.”

Wesley hesitated a moment, then dipped his head in submission. I’ll go.

But the reason wasn’t adventure, or new opportunities. It was to find a place where no one would know who he was. Where no one had ever heard of Pa, or what he had been.

Not sure even God cares much about me going.

Chapter One

April 1849

Bennett Ranch

Pocatello, Idaho

“Dead?” Tessa Bennett stood frozen on the shady front porch, a mended apron in one slim hand, the other hand pressed over the stabbing pain in her heart… as if that was enough to contain the sharp dagger of grief beneath her yellow calico bodice. “But… they just left this morning. How can they be dead?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Bennett.” Sheriff Hanes stood at the bottom of the wooden steps, shifting a wide-brimmed gray hat between his tanned fingers.

The sun still shone, but the light and everything it touched had gone gray, shadowed. Tessa suddenly felt decades older than her eighteen years—old, almost as old as their neighbor Granny South.

Papa and Mama… dead?

She pulled her long, brown braid over her shoulder, staring fixedly at the lawman’s shiny badge, numbly seeing the biscuit crumb in his salt-and-pepper beard.

I won’t cry. I won’t. James and Eli her brothers were running over from the barn with worried calls, but she barely noticed.

Surely this is a dream.

No, not a dream. A nightmare.

Unable to meet Tessa’s eyes, the sheriff stared at the muddy ground, mumbling sympathetic words. “If it’s any consolation, it looks like they died right quick.”

“It’s not!” James snapped out. He was the oldest, and he’d taken on a man’s responsibilities more and more often around the ranch. Beside him, Eli, the youngest, stood stiffly, pale and silent.

Visits from the sheriff had become more frequent in the past few months, especially since Mr. Williams the banker had been pestering Papa to pay off his debts. Mere hours ago, Papa had driven with Mama into Pocatello in hopes of arranging a deal to keep the ranch until the crops were planted and harvested.

How could they drive away and… die? Tessa swallowed past a hard, aching lump in her throat.

Sheriff Hanes turned to James’ reddened face and spoke softly. “James, I know how you feel—honest, I do. But it was an accident, plain an’ simple. Your pa’s axle broke, and the buggy tipped over by McGuffey Cliff… they were both thrown out…”

A gasp escaped Tessa as the grim details flooded her mind, twisting the image in her head. Tears burned in her eyes and slid down her sunburnt cheeks.

Eli began to weep, stumbling up the porch steps to her. Gulping sobs shook his body, and she put a comforting arm around his bony shoulders.

I guess I’m his mama now.

“Maybe it wasn’t an accident, Hanes!” When James got angry, which was often, nobody could calm him down. Papa had often called him “firecracker” because his temper had a way of exploding without warning.

And right now, he was angrier than Tessa had ever seen him.

“You’d better do some investigating to make dead sure!” he growled furiously. “My father’s been worried about someone trying to take over the ranch for months. You mean to tell me that his death on the day he left to find answers is an accident?”

Sheriff Hanes crushed the brim of his hat with a sigh. When he spoke again, his tone had become more authoritative. “I’m sorry, James. You’re right. I will ask some questions, but as things look now, it was an accident, plain and simple. I just came out to tell you what happened. If there’s anything I can do for you all… let me know.”

“You can find out why they died!” James barked, fists clenching at his sides.

“James!” Tessa dropped her arm from Eli and rushed down the steps to grab James instead. Beneath the brown linen shirt, his wiry muscles were hard in her grip. But she could feel a slight tremor, too. He glanced angrily at her, and the dark look in his blue-green eyes worried her.

“If the sheriff believes it was an accident, it probably was,” she whispered quietly, hoping he’d see reason. “You know Papa was worried about Festus. He wasn’t the steadiest buggy horse. Remember how—?”

James turned his eyes forward. “Be quiet, Tessa. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You’re just a girl.

He didn’t say it, but that didn’t matter. Stung to fresh tears, Tessa dropped her hand and stepped back.

“Where are they?”

It took her a second to realize that he had spoken again, asking about their parents.

Sheriff Hanes gave Tessa a sympathetic look before addressing James. “Deputy Rawlings and a couple of men took them into Doc’s office. Mr. O’Reilly is building the coffins, and we can take them anywhere you say.”

Coffins.

Mama and Papa were truly dead.

James didn’t wait to answer the sheriff. He stomped off toward the barn, pausing only to jerk his saddle off the corral fence.

Again, Sheriff Hanes said, “I’m sorry, Tessa.” Then he turned with slow steps, mounted his horse, and rode out of the farmyard.

Tessa’s fists tightened. Only then did she realize that she was still holding Mama’s rose-sprigged apron—the apron Mama had asked her to mend while they rode into town this morning.

She won’t ever wear it again.

Deep, choking sobs came. Tessa sank to the porch steps, curling in on herself, trying to breathe past the knife that had lodged itself in her chest.

Silently, Eli came to sit beside her, putting his skinny arms around her waist. At fifteen, he was already trying to act like a man—a younger version of James without the same hair-trigger temper. But he still had the gentle heart of a child.

They hugged one another, sobbing tears that mingled together on their flushed faces.

“I can’t believe they’re dead,” Eli choked out at last. “How can they be gone, Tessa? It’s not fair…”

Tessa cradled him against her bodice, chin pressed against his dark hair. He smelled of sweet hay, sweat, and suspiciously of the peach pie Mama had ordered them not to cut into. Another pang of agony stabbed through her at the memory.

“No, it’s not fair, Eli,” she whispered hoarsely. “But I guess God’s got a reason for letting it happen.”

“What’ll we do now? Will we keep the ranch?” Eli’s voice broke, and he clutched the sleeve of her dress with a childish grip. “Or will we have to go somewhere else?”

He didn’t say he was afraid, but Tessa knew exactly how he felt. Like a weight had fallen on their heads, a big rock of “what now.”

She took a deep breath, swiped her eyes and pushed Eli gently away. “Go put on your Sunday clothes. We’ll need to go into town to see about…”

Eli sobbed but obeyed.

Left alone on the porch, Tessa watched James thunder out of the barn on his horse and ride past the porch, heading down the road that led to town.

It seemed he was already going without them.

She stared after him, her heart feeling like stone in her chest.

What will we do?

***

One Month Later

May 1849

Tessa sighed and placed another pot into the wooden crate James had brought into the kitchen. Pack light, he’d told her, but every time she thought she could leave some of Mama’s things behind, another flood of tears came.

I can’t believe they’re dead. Even though she’d visited the town cemetery and placed flowers at the graves every few days, the wooden crosses still gave her a shock. The words carved into them felt like fresh wounds every time she read them.

William and Eleanor Bennett. Rest in peace.

Nothing had been right since the carriage accident. Right after the funeral, Mr. Williams had told them the bitter truth about their financial situation. Unless James could come up with the money owed by the ranch in a month’s time, the bank would seize the property and resell it.

“Go ahead,” James had told the banker belligerently. “We’re not staying here, anyway.”

Tessa was worried about their plans, but James expected her and Eli to obey him no matter what decision he made. After all, as far as he was concerned, she was nothing but a little girl. And Eli, at fifteen, was a mere child.

She was eighteen, but James still acted like she was eight. I’m nothing more than his baby sister.

There were times she wished she had enough spunk to tell James her true feelings. Not that that could happen anytime soon, after all that they’d been through in the last month. There was no reason to risk stirring up more worry and pain than they were already suffering.

At supper that night, the same day Mr. Williams had told them the news, James had laid out his plans. “We’re going to California. Even if we plant a wheat crop, it won’t pay the debt on the ranch. We have no relatives to help us out, nowhere else to go.” He said it in a matter-of-fact tone, almost like he’d said they were going to buy more cattle.

“California?” Tessa stared at him in disbelief. “Why all the way out there?”

“Are we gonna pan for gold, James?” Eli asked eagerly, a slight smile on his face. “Maybe we’ll hit a bonanza, and I can have a horse of my own.”

“Is that what we’re planning to do?” Tessa put down the skillet of cornbread, the knife trembling in her hand. She was far less excited than Eli about the idea of prospecting. She’d read the stories about the gold strike in January, at a place called Sutter’s Mill. According to the Pocatello Times, the lure of gold had been a trail of heartache and death for many miners and their families.

James shook his head and spooned up a mouthful of pinto beans. “Gold mining’s a fool’s chore. There’s plenty of other opportunities—good land for farms, grazing or orchards. Or maybe we’ll go into business, open a store or restaurant. A lot of those fools need food and supplies in the boomtowns along the way.”

Has he lost his mind? “How can we do that, James?” Tessa broke in, worried. “We don’t have two cents to rub together!”

James glared at her, headstrong, like always. “We’ll find a way. We have Papa’s old wagon, so we might as well use it. I’ve traded the cows for two stout oxen to pull it, and we can sell off other stuff for supplies. There’s a man named Noel Thompson—he’s the leader of a wagon train, coming through in another week or so to Fort Hall. We can sign on with him.”

California? Tessa had known better than to protest. What good would it do, anyway? Where else could she go if her brothers left without her?

In the next few days, she and Eli had sorted through the house, packing, selling, giving things away. Each time she parted with one of Mama’s belongings, she felt a stabbing pain in her heart.

James had brought home a book, The Emigrant’s Guide to Oregon and California, so that they had an idea of what to pack. They worked from before dawn to long after dark preparing for the journey. While James and Eli covered the wagon bed with tar to make it waterproof, Tessa was given the task of oiling a canvas top to put over it.

“As soon as we have the wagon ready,” James had told them, “we’ll head for Fort Hall and buy our supplies for the trail.”

Tessa didn’t argue. Although the idea of leaving the only home she’d ever known frightened her, there was no choice now. She was trapped between their slim hope for a good future and all that they’d have to leave behind.

Mama and Papa were gone, but she still didn’t want to leave them.

Finally, their final morning dawned, clear and bright. Everything was ready.

“Tessa?” Eli asked her as they climbed into the wagon seat, waiting for James to finish a last look around the barn. “Are you scared?”

“A little,” she admitted quietly.

In the early morning, a wisp of fog lay low to the ground, faint ribbons of sunlight sparkling through the grey. It mirrored her thoughts exactly.

I’m afraid of what’s ahead. But… not just afraid.

The sun was just peeking through, a flicker of hope for the future. Whatever happened… it would be an adventure.