Prologue

Wild Flats, Arizona, 1875

Francine Haywood repositioned her belongings in her small suitcase for the tenth time, brushing her wild, hapless copper hair from her face as she did so. She huffed as she straightened herself and plopped her tall, willowy frame down on her bed beside the open bag. She was preparing for the journey on which she was embarking, and yet she was less prepared for it now than before she knew anything of it.

Am I doomed to make a mess of everything? she thought, rubbing her temple. She closed her eyes just long enough to take a deep breath, and then opened them again slowly. She let them wander around the room, properly taking in every detail for the last time in her life. What she was doing must be done, she knew, and yet she remained all-overish about it.

Unconsciously, her gaze drifted over to the bed that sat against the west wall of the room. She bit her lip hard, preferring the taste of blood on her tongue to the sting of tears in her eyes as she stared at the perfectly smooth pale green covers. They had not been touched since the day Anna died.

A stinging sensation and the tang of salt mingling with blood were Francine’s only clues that she was crying, despite herself. Looking at her sister’s bed reminded her of all the nights they spent whispering to one another when they were supposed to be asleep. If the soft yellow walls of the little bedroom could talk, they could tell hundreds of secrets shared between the twins late at night. Perhaps it was just Francine’s imagination, but the walls appeared to have faded in brightness in the past year. Even Anna’s polished oak bedside table and dresser, which matched her own, appeared to sag with invisible weight.

Too often, she dreamed of the dust storm that ultimately claimed her twin’s life one year prior and woke up screaming Anna’s name. Their mother asked them to collect some wild berries for a pie, so they set out early that morning. The day started out a lovely one for gathering fruit, and the two girls were having a wonderful time. The storm moved in fast and hard, and Francine herself was nearly claimed, as well. She never actually saw what happened to Anna. Her body was only found the next day, but Francine had not been allowed to see.

When the terrible nightmares began, her parents never came to comfort her, even though she knew they could hear through the thin walls of their home. She couldn’t blame them, but it still broke her heart. In her soul, she felt sure that had she not been selfish seeking shelter from the storm, Anna would still be alive. Francine would always carry that guilt with her; perhaps she deserved to.

Movement outside her window caught her attention. She looked outside and saw a man riding by on a horse. But when the horse was out of view, Francine’s heart stopped. In the dust kicked up by the horse’s hooves there lingered a transparent figure with a familiar face. Francine was sure it was reaching for her. Anna…

A sudden sound yanked Francine’s head toward the doorway. Her mother stood there, her face lined with grief and fatigue, and her rapidly-graying red hair standing up wildly all over her head. Her skin was pale enough to compete with whitewash and her green eyes, which were two shades darker than her daughter’s, looked washed out and insipid. Her gray dress was tired and unkempt, only adding to her faded appearance.

“Francine, you look so down in the mouth,” Lenore Haywood said softly, walking over to her slowly. “Are you sure you want to pursue this mail-order-bride idea?”

Francine sighed, turning her eyes away from her mother. The aging and sadness in her mother’s features only added to her guilt, and that burden had quickly become too much to bear. Where once Lenore had gazed at Francine as though she were the light of her life, now she only looked at her with weary indifference.

Francine was sure it was because her mother blamed her for Anna’s death. If the way her parents looked at her with anguished disdain wasn’t proof enough, the conversation they still didn’t know she overheard two weeks prior was. Her father told her mother she should be happy for Francine leaving. It would make the strain of life after losing Anna much easier on them both. She would never let on that she heard those words, but she would never be able to forget them.

“I am, Mama,” she lied, looking up just long enough to give her mother an uncertain smile. “I know this is the right thing for me. I can’t be a burden to you and Papa forever, and there are simply no eligible bachelors here.”

Lenore nodded slowly. “One of us should come with you to meet your new husband.”

Francine shook her head. “It’s all right, Mama,” she insisted. “You don’t need to put yourself out for me.” Even if her mother blamed her for Anna’s death, Francine still cared about her. She couldn’t stomach the thought of her mother going to Staghill and making herself sicker. She knew that her mother’s nerves wouldn’t fail to put her straight to bed when they arrived, and for no telling how long. It was a foolish risk, and Francine couldn’t think of asking her to do it.

Lenore looked through her daughter with haunted eyes. “Your father said the same thing,” she said. “I regret not being able to go with you to see you get settled in, though.”

To Francine, her mother’s words were kind but hollow, as though Lenore was only saying what she knew she should say. There was no real remorse, or affection for that matter, making Francine certain that her parents didn’t want her anymore.

She shrugged, feigning enthusiasm for packing that she didn’t actually feel. She went to her dresser, pulling out dresses of blue, green, and gray. Then she wandered over to Anna’s, opening the top drawer where Anna’s journal still lay. Francine already knew nearly every word on every page because Anna often read her entries aloud as soon as she was finished. Still, it was as close as she would ever get to her sister speaking to her ever again, and Francine needed her now more than ever.

“I’m looking forward to my new life,” she said, trying to mean it, even as she shifted her weight nervously. “Where’s Papa? Will I get to see him before I leave tomorrow?”

Lenore shook her head. “He’ll be out herding cattle when you go to the station in the morning,” she said. “He’s already gone to bed for the night but said to wish you a safe trip.”

Francine paused. She knew her father didn’t say that. Since Anna’s death he’d treated her like she was invisible. That was proof enough that he now hated her too much to say something so caring. He had not spoken more than a handful of words to her since Anna’s passing, and none of those had been anything but clinical and cursory.

Once upon a time her father treated her like a princess. Now, he acted as though she were a stranger he had to tolerate. Still, she hoped to say goodbye to him, if only for her own closure.

Her mother leaned against the door frame, as though unable to hold up her own weight. She was already pale, but suddenly she looked paler still. Francine stepped forward to help, but Lenore held up a weak trembling hand.

“I’m all right,” she said. “I just feel a bit puny, is all. You mustn’t worry yourself with me, dear. You have a lot of packing ahead of you.”

Francine bit her lip. She did, indeed, have much left to do. But some part of her still hoped that her mother would show her that she still loved her remaining daughter, and that she would do anything for her. She began nervously picking at her nails, trying to think how to help her mother while simultaneously concealing her fears.

“Would you like me to help you to bed?” she asked, trying to smile brightly.

Lenore shook her head so weakly that it was almost imperceptible. “No. I’ll be all right. It’s just my nerves playing up.”

Francine bit the inside of her cheek until it bled. She wished to argue with her mother, but she knew that would only serve to further the distance between them. She didn’t wish to do that right before leaving for Staghill the following day.

Before she could say more, her mother sighed heavily, wiping at her waxen forehead. “I do feel very tired,” she said, looking more haggard than when she entered. “I think I’ll take myself to bed. Good night, Francine.”

“Good night, Mama,” Francine said, but her mother was already gone, leaving her alone with her own thoughts once more.

With her mother gone, Francine resumed packing with shaky hands. Wild Flats, Arizona had been her home her whole life, and she found comfort in gazing at the surrounding canyons and red desert when she was rattled. She’d spent even more time staring at the scenery since Anna died, but it brought her no more comfort than her presence near her parents brought them.

No one ever understood her like Anna had. They shared the same womb after all, and there was no bond like that which twins shared. Since Anna’s death, she felt utterly abandoned. She wondered if she would ever be understood or accepted again. That was the reason why she decided to place the mail order bride ad and leave her hometown. Her father, who was always strong and quiet, grew suddenly distant and almost utterly silent. He rarely looked his surviving daughter in the eye, and he made a point to leave a room whenever she entered. Her poor mother suffered terribly with her nerve condition, which was drastically worse since her daughter died. It was manageable before Anna died.

Blinking back tears, she folded and packed her dresses, moving on to her combs and hair pins. She took some books from the shelf she had shared with Anna, thinking about the man who was to be her husband. She never mentioned her sister’s death in her correspondence to him because she didn’t want him choosing her as his mail order bride out of pity. She still had some pride, after all, and she would accept no charity.

It would hardly do for her to tell a man she hadn’t yet met that she blamed herself for her sister’s death. What would he think of her if he knew that she left her sister to die while she sought shelter, or that her parents seemed to blame her just as much as she blamed herself? Besides, she thought that conversation was best held face-to-face rather than hiding behind a letter.

He must be a good man, she told herself as she bustled around the room. A bad man could never become sheriff. She wanted to believe that, and she felt sure that Anna would tell her the same thing. In truth, she couldn’t ask for anything better than a sheriff. He would be honest and kind, as she knew from his letters. If she gave him the same in return, she was sure they would have a good marriage and a nice life together.

At last, she was packed. Though her heart was full of chaos, her mind was made up. She would speak with John Burghard, sheriff of Staghill and her husband-to-be, and tell him the truth. He was a good man if their correspondence was anything to go by, and she thought he would be understanding. Whatever happened, she needed to run away from the once cozy home and loving family that now made her feel unwanted, where her sister’s ghost never ceased haunting her.

Chapter One

Wild Flats, Arizona, 1875

The following day, with her carpet bag in tow, Francine boarded the wagon she hired with her savings to take her to the train station. She glanced back as the creaking wagon pulled away from her house, hoping to see a glimpse of her father. All she saw, however, was the barn door slamming shut as he went inside.

Tears stung her eyes as she realized her father deliberately avoided waving goodbye to her. Her mother didn’t even rise to see her to the wagon, which broke her heart. She wiped furiously at the hot tears on her cheeks as her house faded from sight. If her parents weren’t sad about her departure, then neither was she.

The familiar canyons and sparse bushes blurred through her tears. She didn’t need to see them as the wagon rolled along, as they were all memorized. Each path she saw reminded her of games she used to play with Anna, and every plant made her think of every secret talk they had out of earshot of their parents. Those memories brought to mind the haunted look in their eyes. She knew she was to blame for Anna’s death, and she knew that looking at her only reminded her parents of their lost daughter. Francine couldn’t blame them, but deep down, she wished they remembered that she was their daughter, too.

Francine didn’t realize that the wagon had stopped at the station until the driver shouted at her from his seat. “You gon’ get off?” he asked, grumpy and curt. “I ain’t got all day, miss.”

Flustered, Francine quickly grabbed her bag and hopped from the wagon. It pulled away just as she put both feet on the ground and she coughed in the dry dust it stirred up. She was too nervous to be angry, however. She simply brushed at the dirt that was settling on her dress and when it cleared, she made her way to the station platform.

Dean’s train station, named after the family who built and ran it, proudly displayed the sign bearing its name just above the entrance. It was a small, one-story gray building with a black roof. The station was ten years old, but it was well-maintained and looked no worse for wear. The interior was bland but cozy, with plain white walls, black seats, and a few portraits of trains hanging on the wall. She purchased her ticket and made her way to the platform to await her train.

The platform was empty save for her and three men standing together at the other end of the platform. She was in no mood for conversation anyway; her nerves threatened to rattle her very bones. She just wanted the train to hurry and come. She stared at her hands, one of which held her suitcase and the other held John’s last letter to her. She’d already read it several times, but she hoped it would bring her comfort and renewed confidence in her decision to reread it on the train.

The weather was pleasantly warm, and the sun shone brightly overhead. Yet her tangled nerves caused a chill, and she couldn’t help shuddering. It was worrisome to leave behind everything she ever knew. She gazed around at the canyons for what she knew would be the last time.

She had to stifle sudden panic as the thought crossed her mind. She didn’t know what to expect in Staghill, because John hadn’t described it much in his letter. He promised to show her around when she arrived, so she could acclimate to her new home.

A distant whistle let her know her train was approaching. She exhaled with relief, shifting her weight anxiously as the train pulled into the station. She glanced back at the men, who tipped their Stetsons politely and gestured for her to board ahead of them. She did so, recalling her seat assignment, and headed straight for it.

She was relieved to see that the train was mostly empty and that the seat beside hers was vacant. She was also pleased to find that she would get to sit beside the window. Before stowing her suitcase in the overhead rack, she dug out her ticket to show the attendant. Then, she settled into her seat, watching as her breath fogged the window glass.

When the fog cleared, her heart stopped. Where the mist was just seconds before, she now saw a white figure. She blinked and looked again, just making out the features of her dear sister. She pressed her face against the window, willing the apparition not to vanish. But as always, it did, leaving Francine with emptiness in her heart.

Her cheeks were now flushed and hot, and she pressed one against the cool glass, closing her eyes. It broke her heart to see these visions of her sister, knowing that she could never again speak to her. Would she ever stop seeing Anna everywhere she went?

The train whistled loudly, pulling away from the station. Francine opened her eyes long enough to watch her hometown fade from view. She reminded herself that her sister’s appearance was a figment of her imagination, and that she was still confident in the decision she’d made. But as the canyons became completely invisible to her, doubt filled the hole left by Anna’s disappearing ghost. Maybe she deserved to live in Wild Flats with her sister’s memory for the rest of her days.

To combat the grief and anxiety growing within her, Francine reopened the letter on her lap. She read her name written in John’s small neat script, and she let herself imagine that there was affection in his words. It was nice to know that someone was waiting and willing to love her, which might help to fill the void in her soul that Anna’s death left.

She opened the letter slowly, thinking back over their correspondence. That was the most recent letter, which made six letters in total that they exchanged. She pulled it from the envelope and spread it acrost her lap.

Dear Francine,

I hope this letter finds you well. I aim for you to feel at home from the minute you arrive, so I’ve been working hard to finish all the preparations.

I think you will like it here. It is much the way you describe Wild Flats, with lots of desert, and some canyons up the road a spell. If you like, after we’re married I’ll take you riding to see the canyons, and I would love to hear more about the canyons in your hometown.

The general store here is well-stocked. If you arrive in need of anything, I’ll be glad to take you shopping. You need only ask. You’ll be my wife, after all, and I am happy to oblige.

I’ll close this letter now. I think I hear another bar brawl and I need to go and do some sheriffin’. I anxiously await your arrival, Francine.

Yours,

John

Francine giggled at John’s humor, just as she did her first time reading it. Him calling his job “sheriffin’” told her that John was a man who didn’t take himself seriously all the time. As the Staghill sheriff, she knew he’d be tough and likely quick to come to attention in every serious situation. Knowing that he could enjoy a laugh made her feel he’d always be easy to talk to as well.

No matter how nice and honest he seemed in their correspondence, she still didn’t know him from Adam. She’d only discovered by accident that mail-order-bride ads were an option by reading a newspaper her father left on the kitchen table one day. What if John was a corrupt sheriff who allowed road agents to pay him off to look the other way? Or maybe he was abusive due to such a stressful job, and would beat her after they were wed. There were so many things to consider. She wished she’d thought of them before placing her mail-order ad.

Francine chewed her lip, fiddling with a crease in her dress. It was too late for her to worry about such things. The train was long gone from Wild Flats. Whatever fate awaited her was now closer than her safe, comforting home. She rubbed her temples, then folded the letter and closed her eyes, resting her head on the back of the seat behind her. Could she really not let herself have even a sliver of happiness?