Prologue

September 1888

Three Rivers

A small toy soldier lay abandoned looking up at the sky. A drop of blood streamed down his cheek.

Two pine boxes, stacked one on top of the other with a small motionless hand hanging over the side, sat on the side of the driveway. It was a warning to others to stay away.

Death had come to Three Rivers.

It was unusually eerie with a foreboding black cloud floating in the distance.

Margaret screamed to release her grief and ran toward the house with fading white paint. She flailed her arms in the air. It was the most horrifying thing she had ever done. She didn’t know how she would ever sleep again with those haunted images in her head.

She glanced over her shoulder at the black crows perched high in the tree. The swing attached to it barely moved. It had to be some kind of dark omen for them to sit there like that watching her every move.

She breathlessly got inside and closed the door. Her hands shook.

Carrying out the bodies was something she would never forget. She just kept talking to herself and refused to look at their vacant stares. Shrouding them in white sheets helped, but not much.

She sat and composed herself for a few minutes at the rickety kitchen table before ladling a chipped brown bowl to the brim. Some splashed over the side with her hand still shaking. She grimaced from the superficial burn to her right hand as some of the boiling liquid scalded her skin. It was only a few droplets but it stung. She almost cursed but held her tongue.

The pain was nothing more than a nuisance.

Margaret balanced the tray with the bowl. It was mostly broth, with some seasonal vegetables from the garden.

She was short, at barely five feet and a hundred pounds, but that didn’t mean she was weak.

She blew a strand of dark hair away from her eyes, dripping with perspiration.

The laundry would have to wait. It was already piled up in the basket next to the back door leading out to uncut grass, brown and dying, within a few steps of the clothesline stretching from the kitchen window.

There were no neighbors for miles. Nobody visited. The whole town of Three Rivers was under a strict curfew. Nobody ventured very far at the risk of being infected by smallpox.

That feeling of being powerless angered Margaret. She took solace in a higher power’s words of wisdom courtesy of the Bible she kept by her bed. Her faith was strong and she truly believed in miracles, but some things were out of her hands.

That was the worst part.

She could make them comfortable, and feed them, but in the end, she watched them slowly fade with their zest for life disappearing one day after the other.

“I know you said you didn’t want anything to eat but I really think you should have something. The only way you’re going to get better is to keep your strength up. If you take a few bites, I’ll take you outside this afternoon to get some air. You can help me hang the laundry,” she called out to her mother in the hopes that she heard her.

Her mother was always so full of life. Biggest smile, long dark hair, and amazing green eyes. The woman was a workhorse and Margaret admired everything about her. She followed her around and worked tirelessly to earn her respect. Margaret was no stranger to hard work with a role model like her as her example.

The stairs wobbled but she hadn’t had the chance to fix them. A few flakes of paint came off with the tray balanced on it. The light from upstairs spilled out over the hardwood floors. The chest in the hallway was her grandmother’s, a symbol to convince Margaret to travel. She didn’t know whether she would get the chance. It was a dream, something to strive for, but her place was at the farm.

A coffee stain at her feet wouldn’t come out. It didn’t matter how hard she scrubbed. It was a reminder of when her mother showed the first signs of the disease and almost fainted.

The heat from the stove downstairs touched her bare feet. She was trying not to make any noise.

Cinnamon followed her down the hall. It was some kind of incense. It was said to have healing properties. She had bought it from a local apothecary. She wasn’t all the sure it was working. She relied on the Bible to get her through the tough times.

One window at the end of the hall looking out on the lawn had a spiderweb of cracks. The storm the other night had scared her and she’d stayed huddled next to her mother.

She walked into the dimly lit room. The huddled mass under the sheet stirred.

She didn’t recognized the emaciated shape. Her mother’s usual pink cheeks were sullen and pale. Her usual long hair had no life. It lay there limply on the pillow.

The pungent scent of sweat was hard to ignore.

She spied her mother’s brush with gold inlaid. It was fool’s gold but you wouldn’t know it at first glance. She spent hours grooming her hair with a thousand brushes every morning. Margaret would have given anything to see her sitting at the vanity mirror counting those brush strokes.

Margaret lowered the tray and reached for the basin of cold water she had fetched early in the morning, but it had already turned lukewarm while she was making breakfast.

Margaret was stretched pretty thin. The only time she was able to breathe was when she lay down at night. It didn’t mean she slept. How could she, when her family was suffering indignities that she wouldn’t want to wish on her worst enemy?

Her father and little brother Ray had already died but she hadn’t mentioned it to her mother. That would be the final straw.

She used the soaking wet washcloth on her mother’s glistening forehead while whistling a happy little hymn from her childhood. It made Margaret feel better and she found it spiritually healing to sing the praises of God.

She dropped to her knees, clutching the dingy gray washcloth in her fist with droplets spattering the sheet beneath her mother. She had experienced too much loss in such a short time. She refused to fall apart despite the overwhelming ache burning within her. She was alive but she couldn’t understand the reason why.

“I beg you to spare my mother and take me instead,” she pleaded in a whisper, on her knees with her head bowed and her eyes closed.

She waited for some kind of divine intervention. She begged for a sign. A crack of thunder, a bolt of lightning, anything to let her know there was somebody listening to her.

She finally stood and dusted herself off with both hands. There were a few frayed edges on her dark green dress.

The house had always been filled with laughter and love.

Her mother blinked. “Is that you, Margaret?”

Margaret sat down on the bed with a deep sigh of concern for her mother.

“I don’t know how much more I can take.” She held her mother’s warm hand and placed it soothingly against her cheek.

“I might not be around to see you grow up to be the remarkable young woman I know you’re going to be. My love is always with you right here whenever you need it,” she said with labored breath, wheezing and clutching at the sheets.

She lifted her hand and pressed her finger to Margaret’s heart.

It wasn’t going to be the same without them.

“That does make me feel a little better.”

“I think I’m going to close my eyes for a little while.” Her mother’s hand slipped slowly from her grip.

Margaret made one final silent plea but knew in her heart that her words fell on deaf ears.

Her mother was dead.

Chapter One

October 1888

Three Rivers

The train left the station with the wheels clicking and clacking along the track. She didn’t even notice those around her. She was lost in deep thought.

The past was hard to run from.

Margaret touched the window, a tear trailing wetly down her cheek. It had been an emotional few days but she’d remained strong.

The days had bled into one another until she didn’t even know what month it was.

She remembered standing there in front of the priest for quite some time, contemplating a future without them. She could almost hear their whispered voices telling her to be strong. It was just the wind blowing through the graveyard. She relived every moment of their time together.

It made her smile.

She wasn’t alone in her grief. Others she had crossed paths with had been going through the motions.

They walked in a fog of confusion, numb and broken on the inside.

Margaret had sworn to herself that she would make her family proud of her.

The funeral was over and for a brief moment, she listened to her own heart breaking. Her family was gone and she had nobody to rely on. A fistful of dirt had fallen through her fingers onto their freshly dug graves.

The bank was going to foreclose on the property. She didn’t have the money to fight it.

Maybe if she had gotten a second job and worked her fingers to the bone, she might have been able to make a go of it. It was her home, but now she was going to have to say goodbye.

Death was all around her and there was no escaping it. She had to get out of the house with a shred of her sanity still intact. It was painful to leave everything she loved behind. The house was more than just boards and nails. Everything around her had reminded her of the family she had lost.

It was so unfair.

Knickknacks her father had whittled out of wood were some of her treasured possessions. She had passed down a few of those things to her brother but he wasn’t going to need them anymore. They would go with her wherever she hung her hat.

The house didn’t have the same love and laughter. It would never be her home again.

She had punched the wall with the resounding echo of her fist ringing in her ears. It didn’t even hurt but the blood grazing her knuckles made her feel alive. It had been a therapeutic exercise to release some of that pent-up frustration.

She didn’t have to see them to know her family’s footsteps would walk with her in this next phase of her journey.

Margaret hadn’t waited for the bank to come knocking on her door. She had packed one tattered green bag with her meager possessions. She never wanted to step foot into the house again. It was as if their ghosts hung around with moaning cries of pain. It was probably a figment of her overactive imagination. She had stayed away for as long as possible, electing to camp in the great outdoors and live off the land the way that her father taught her to.

Being self-sufficient came with its own pros and cons. Men steered clear of her. She gave off his vibe of strength and conviction, with no need for a man to complete her. This was simply not true. She wanted what everybody else had. She sometimes regretted not marrying younger but she’d had family obligations to consider.

Those days were behind her.

A man bumped into her arm and brought her back to the here and now. He didn’t even apologize and mumbled something incoherent under his breath.

Pieces of her family remained in her heart. She had no doubt they would be watching over her. She was ready to close this chapter in her life and begin another.

It wasn’t going to be easy but her father told her that nothing good came without a lot of hard work. They prepared her to tackle the world on her own.

There had to be a purpose and a reason for everything but she was hard-pressed to think of what it might be.

She wasn’t sure what was waiting for her but she had heard good things about San Antonio.

She grabbed the silver cross around her neck and was prepared to rip it off but she didn’t. Her undying faith in something bigger than herself was the only thing she had left to hold on to. Her parents had stressed the importance of moving forward instead of backward. The only way to do that was to get a fresh start someplace new.

The train lurched and came to a sudden halt with a hiss. It was a good thing she was holding her luggage in her arms. It absorbed the impact of being thrown forward against the seat in front of her.

She gasped and tightened her grip on the bag.

Screams of pain and anguish were followed by the creaking of the train on the tracks. It was yawning a little to the left, threatening to tip over on its side if it became unbalanced enough.

“I don’t know what’s the meaning of this, but I have important business in San Antonio.” A man dressed to impress stood indignantly with his right hand staunching the flow of blood from what appeared to be a broken nose.

“I think my arm is broken,” a woman called out from somewhere on the train.

The porter appeared out of nowhere, brushing a hand over his perfectly manicured handlebar mustache. “I’m going to have to ask all of you to slowly get off the train one at a time. We somehow jumped the track.” He helped to herd them to the front of the train where they followed a procession of people walking gingerly and others limping.

Margaret had the wind blown out of her but she was in one piece. Her long, dark brown dress dragged on the floor. She attempted to lift it with one hand while hauling her luggage with the other, bumping it against the floor and half-carrying it while breathing deeply. She groaned and grunted, her muscles begging her to stop.

A large boulder sat on the winding tracks with the front end of the train folded in on itself. It could’ve been worse had they been going any faster. That was a small comfort to those displaced and looking for answers.

The same man claiming he had business in San Antonio grabbed the porter by his shirt with both hands. “My time is valuable. What am I supposed to do now? There has to be a way to get to San Antonio,” he desperately inquired.

He shook the poor man but the porter remained composed, not the least bit shaken by the confrontation.

“We don’t have very far to go to the next town. You can buy another ticket to San Antonio. We apologize for the inconvenience but this is an act of God. It’s going to take some time to remove the boulder and fix the train.” The porter spoke calmly without even raising his voice, which only seemed to anger the man more.

“Do you know who I am?”

The porter didn’t stick around to answer the question. He walked ahead of the others to lead the way to the next town barely visible in the distance. A few tendrils of smoke drifted into the air. The crunching of the dry grass followed their footsteps. Those injured had their wounds tended to until they could see a real doctor.

Margaret reached out to stop the porter with one hand on his shoulder. “I can’t afford another ticket. That was the last of my money. It’s not my fault the train hit a boulder. Why should I have to pay for another ticket? Why should any of us have to pay for another ticket?” She raised her voice to be heard.

Margaret balled up her fist but refused to let her anger get the best of her. The afternoon sun was high above them. Margaret didn’t concern herself with her clothes sticking to her. She was more worried about where she was going to get the money for another ticket. She didn’t have much left to her name.

A chorus of people echoing the same sentiment began to rise in pitch.

They crowded around the porter, glowering with their displeasure at the very mention of having to buy another ticket.

“What is this we are hearing about buying another ticket? I already paid for the one I had. We all did.” The man with a noticeable hand tremor motioned to the rest of the passengers.

The porter raised his hand for silence to be heard over the din. “I just work here. I reckon everything will get sorted out. Y’all are just going to have to be a little bit patient.”

His explanation did nothing to quell the disquiet.

He forced his way through the throngs of passengers while they shoved and screamed in his face.

“I don’t know about everybody else but I can’t afford to pay,” Margaret called after him and rushed to catch up to make her voice heard over the others.

“What can I tell you? Life isn’t fair. You can always get a job.” He walked a little faster but they kept pace with him, yelling obscenities and calling him every name in the book.

Margaret frowned and rummaged around in her luggage for any loose coins. There was nothing to be found. She was penniless, with no way of paying for a second ticket.

The faded sign of the town loomed ahead. She couldn’t make out what it said with the paint peeling from the letters. She squinted in the sun and made her way over to take a closer look.

Construction of a new church was underway, with men hard at work under the hot sun. The pounding of hammers slamming nails into boards could easily be heard from where they were standing. Every step got them closer to a town in transition. It looked quaint and had promise, but Margaret still didn’t know what to call her temporary home.

She stepped in what she hoped was mud. It almost covered her cowboy boots. They were going to need a little spit and polish to bring them back to their old glory. She wasn’t expecting to go on a long hike with her fellow passengers. It was again something out of her hands and her fingers attempted to touch the weathered and cracked spine of the Bible for some kind of comfort in her hour of need but she couldn’t reach it.

She wiped away a few branches and leaves until she was able to become acquainted with the town’s welcome sign.

Pleasanton was the place they were going to have to find lodging until the next available train out of town. That was going to be easier said than done for some.

Margaret didn’t know what she was going to do, but she considered herself a survivor. Nothing was going to get her down. There were no problems, only solutions. Everything would work out, but she would have to find somebody to take pity on her.

She didn’t want to rely on the kindness of strangers but she had no choice. She lifted her face to the sky with a silent prayer to a higher power. Immediately, a rush of pure love flowed through her. The one thing she could always rely on was her faith in something bigger than herself.

“I demand to talk to somebody in authority. I’m sure the railroad will compensate us for our inconvenience. They can’t possibly think that we are going to pay for another ticket. That’s completely unreasonable and I’m not the only one who thinks so.” Margaret spoke calmly but there was an edge to her voice.

There was always strength in numbers.

“I’m not the bad guy.” The porter waved his hand dismissively over his shoulder but didn’t turn around at the risk of facing mob mentality.

Lynching was still something to worry about when a crowd got out of control.

“You have to do something,” Margaret pleaded, her voice cracking.

“My hands are tied.”

They only had to walk a few more minutes until the town came into view. Many buildings were still being built. It was a town evolving with new construction.

They saw the train station and some hollered with relief while others grumbled under their breath.

The porter jumped onto the platform station and reached out to help those that couldn’t do it on their own.

Margaret slipped and fell to her knees but still managed to hold onto her luggage with the handle digging into the palm of her hand. She gritted her teeth and stood up to see those strong and able men applying their craft to contribute to the town’s success.

She had argued until she was blue in the face. It didn’t look like the porter had any authority to offer compensation to the passengers. He took out his pocket watch and consulted the time before putting it back in with the chain dangling from around his waist.

That piece of jewelry would pay for her ticket but she wasn’t in the habit of stealing from good people. It wasn’t the way that she was raised. It didn’t matter that she was down on her luck and struggling to make ends meet. She would never stoop so low to take something that wasn’t hers. It didn’t matter how bad things got.

Those that could afford it got in line to buy another ticket. None of them wanted to be there any longer than they had to be. Margaret was one of the few exceptions having to stay.

She didn’t like it but there was nothing she could do about it. It would all work itself out. Wouldn’t it?