Prologue

Deerwood, Texas

1866

The first thing Alma noticed when she woke up that morning was how silent it was. Silence for some was golden. For Alma, it signified her father, Leon Gray, had not come home from the saloon the night before. This was typical behavior for him. He was often too drunk to find his way home.

Alma had long stopped wishing for her father, Leon, to put down the bottle. He would drink himself to death. It was not only her who knew this, but the entire town.

Alma’s brothers followed in her father’s footsteps, adding to the Gray family’s notorious reputation. She tried to hold her head up high to prove she was more than the rumors and gossip, but it was not a task easily achieved.

The longer she stayed in bed musing over the fact that her father hadn’t come home, the more chance there was of being late for school. Going to school was Alma’s only solace. She poured all her time and energy into it, hoping to make something of herself and be more than just the town drunk’s daughter.

Alma carefully parted her raven black hair, securing it into a neat bun. It was second nature to do this every morning. By now, Alma was an expert at getting ready quickly. After washing, she put on a pale blue dress that had clearly seen better days. But for school, it would have to do.

The house was a one story and inside, the wallpaper was peeling. Alma couldn’t recall it ever looking different. She walked carefully down the hall, avoiding the loose floorboards, rotten wood, and dangerously large gaps. All of the furniture was in a similar state. Old and worn.

After gathering her books, Alma left the house. It was a particularly sunny day, the sun already high in the sky and the wind non-existent. She made the right choice in choosing a thin shawl which she draped around her shoulders.

Alma turned from the front door and started walking towards school. She walked quickly, not wanting to be even a moment late. When her eyes locked with the sheriff’s, Alma prayed he wasn’t there for her.

‘Let this be a mistake,’ she thought, but no, the sheriff was looking at her and was now fast approaching.

She had only taken a few steps away from the front door and there already seemed to be trouble brewing.

There was only one explanation for the sheriff to be coming over. It had something to do with her father. Like so many times before, he had gotten himself into some trouble with the law.

Alma’s heart was beating so loudly it felt like it might burst out of her chest. She remained calm, greeting the sheriff with a polite good morning.

“Morning, Alma.”

She smiled nervously. “Sheriff, has my father gotten himself into trouble again?”

“Sharp as ever,” he said with a laugh. “Your father was caught trying to break into the general store last night. His excuse? He was hungry. So, my men and I are holding him for a few days to teach him a lesson.”

Alma didn’t like the thought of her father being in jail but while he was he couldn’t get into any more trouble. For a few days at least, Alma could rest easy.

“I appreciate you letting me know, Sheriff,” she thanked him, her tone exasperated.

Alma wasn’t surprised to hear her father was in jail. He was perpetually irresponsible, leaving eighteen-year-old Alma to raise herself. After her mother left, Alma assumed too many responsibilities. She felt mixed emotions towards her mother, but Alma could barely remember her anymore.

Sheriff Myers tipped his hat in Alma’s direction. She noted that he was not his usual immaculate self, sporting the beginnings of an unkempt beard. It was uncharacteristic of a man who normally presented himself so well, and Alma hoped her father’s troublemaking wasn’t to blame. Despite the problems the rest of her family had caused, the sheriff had always been kind to Alma. She imagined the reason was he pitied her.

“Figured it was the least I could do. Have a good rest of the day, Alma.”

Alma continued on her way to school, now in even more of a hurry. When she entered the class, everyone turned their attention toward her. They whispered as Alma slowly walked to her seat, situated in the back of the schoolhouse. The looks and stares stopped only when the teacher came in.

He cleared his throat, instructing everyone to focus on him and their current lesson. Alma tried to, but it wasn’t easy. Whenever she locked eyes with a classmate, they would smirk or giggle.

The town children were well aware of the Gray family’s reputation. It was a common topic for those parents looking for the latest, scandalous gossip. Alma ignored the teasing and when class was over, intended to hurry back home fast. However, before she could, the teacher called out to her.

She stood there awkwardly as everyone shuffled out the doors to go about their day.

“Alma, I was hoping to have a word with you before you go,” the teacher called out as she was about to leave.

Alma sat across from the teacher at his desk, wondering what he wished to speak to her about.

He was a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a gentle smile. She felt grateful for his kindness.

“Yes, sir?” Alma asked nervously. She had a feeling she knew what he was going to say.

He sighed. “Alma, did you give any more thought to applying for the scholarship to attend the teacher’s college? You are at the top of the class, and it would be a shame to see you waste such a valuable opportunity.”

Alma could almost hear the unspoken ‘and become like your father.’ Her teacher may not have said it out loud, but it was what he was getting at. She wanted so much to be a teacher. It had been her dream for some time now.

What of her father? In his current predicament, it was clear he couldn’t take care of himself. Imagine trying to break into a store because, in his drunken state, he wasn’t thinking clearly. If left alone he wouldn’t survive very long on his own.

“I’ll consider it, sir,” she told him, unable to bring herself to admit that she would never be able to go to the teacher’s college.

She already knew it would be impossible to go. Her teacher must have noticed the way Alma was hunched over in the chair, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. It was a poor attempt at comfort.

Alma’s father might be a drunk and was certainly not a good father to her or her brothers, but it didn’t change the fact that Leon Gray was her kin, for better or worse.

She headed home, finding the house still empty. According to the sheriff, her father wouldn’t be back for a few days. Her brothers were rarely home anymore, preferring to run around with those with even worse reputations than themselves.

That night, Alma crawled into bed with a growling stomach. She was no stranger to going to bed hungry, but tonight was particularly difficult. If not for the lunches the school provided, she would’ve gone some days without eating at all.

To think, the one shining chance Alma had to get out of this town and make a better life for herself was just out of reach. It always seemed like a long shot, but her father’s drinking was getting worse, and she was getting desperate.

Would life ever get better for her, or would Alma continue to suffer at the hands of her father? She was beginning to think that Deerwood was where she would remain for the rest of her life.

Chapter One

Deerwood, Texas

1868

The morning sun shining through the paper-thin curtains was Alma’s wake-up call to the beginning of yet another day in the Gray household. She thought back to two years before, and the day she realized she would never be able to leave the town of Deerwood. To turn down that scholarship and put her dream of becoming a teacher on hold had been almost more than Alma could bear.

Leon Gray hadn’t changed one bit. He was still a drunk, but even worse now. It was rare for Alma’s father to come home more than two nights in a row. Most times he would pass out somewhere else in town. Sometimes, he would pass out right at the saloon.

The saloon owner had a strained relationship with Leon. They had grown up together and often he took pity on him. Her father took whatever odd jobs around town he could find to pay for his drink. This stopped once Alma started working at the saloon.

Alma always hoped her siblings would not follow in their father’s footsteps. Her two older brothers were troubled, but Alma wanted them to better themselves. When word reached the family that they had deserted the army and joined a gang of bandits, Alma was heartbroken.

It was expected, but it hurt Alma to think they continued to make the same mistakes their father made. Every day, he got himself blackout drunk. The Gray’s reputation in town had fallen even further. Alma did not think the town could look down on them any more than they already did, but she was proven wrong.

Many of the townsfolk saw Alma and assumed she was exactly like her no-good father and brothers. She tried so hard to prove them wrong by studying hard, doing well in school, and finding a proper job to give back to the community.

There were some exceptions, but Alma knew they only pitied her.

Alma’s teacher tried to convince her many times after that day in the schoolroom; to take the scholarship, leave Deerwood, and never look back. It was best for her to put her family behind her and focus on her future.

The words were wise and true. But Alma loved her father, despite his many, many faults. If she were not there to take care of him, who would? No one in town would shed a tear at the loss of Leon Gray. Most might even say good riddance and move on with their lives as if nothing had happened.

Most mornings Alma found it difficult to get out of bed and start her day. This morning was no different. She washed and got ready for work at the saloon with a heavy heart. It wasn’t the job she wanted, but it was the job Alma had. The reputation that followed her family made it difficult for her to find any other work.

She threw on one of her old dresses that had seen better days. While she got ready, Alma caught her reflection in the window. During Leon’s sober moments, he said she was the spitting image of her mother; the same heart-shaped face and high cheekbones.

The frown staring back at her was a near-permanent fixture on Alma’s features. She rarely smiled anymore, but there was nothing to smile about. Her shoulders were also becoming permanently slumped.

Alma didn’t even know if their father’s death would move her brothers. They acted just like him but seemed to despise him.

The life she was living was not one Alma saw a way out of. This rundown, one-story house with chipped and fading green paint was where she was born, and it might just be the place where she took her last breath.

Alma had clung to the idea she would be able to go on and teach in a small town such as Deerwood. Until two years ago, that was. There was not a drop of hope left in her. Why hope when there was no way out of her current predicament?

She did try seeing if she could work at the general store, the very one her father had tried to break into. But they turned her down.

It was still fresh in her mind even now.

“I’m sorry, Miss Gray, but we are not looking for help right now,” the owner’s wife, Abigail, had told her.

She was a very prim and proper woman in her fifties with not a hair out of place. The way she looked at Alma made her feel so much less than.

Alma frowned, remembering the “Help Wanted” sign was still in the window. “Has someone else been hired for the job?” she had asked the owner’s wife.

“No,” she spat.

It dealt a stinging blow to Alma’s confidence; what little she had left.

“I… see. Well, thank you for taking the time to speak with me.”

The woman had sneered. “Either buy something or leave. You’re taking up time I could be using to work.”

The “Help Wanted” sign remained in the window for another week.

Alma was unsure if her father’s previous attempt to break in or Gray’s reputation worked against her. She had tried to get a job at some of the other shops in town but she faced the same situation over and over again. No business was willing to hire her or even give her a chance except the saloon where her father spent nearly all of his waking hours.

Alma had never wanted to become a saloon girl. She wanted to teach for a living and help children learn. The simple fact was that she desperately needed money and the saloon was the only place that was willing to give her a chance.

“When can you start?” the owner Bert had asked her curtly.

Alma had blinked back in surprise. She had only just walked in and asked about a job. Bert sat down with her at an empty table and already seemed intent on hiring her.

“I—you don’t want to ask me any questions?” Alma had asked him timidly.

Bert had snorted. “What’s the use of that? All we need is a young, pretty face. If you don’t want the job, then go. I’ll have a new saloon girl come lunchtime.”

She had applied herself in school and studied hard but for what? This job required none of those skills and the realization twisted her stomach into knots.

Alma had cleared her throat. “I can start as soon as possible. Tomorrow, even.”

“Then you’re hired. Be here by eight, so the other girls have time to show you around.”

“I will be here,” Alma had assured Bert. “Thank you for the job. I am incredibly grateful.”

Bert laughed. “Girl, I told you we would’ve had another saloon girl by noon! You just got lucky by walking in here first is all.”

“I’m honored,” she said, her tone flat.

He smirked. “I don’t mind the sass but don’t direct that towards the customers, you hear?”

“Yes, I understand.”

She wanted to lift her skirts and march right out of there, but her desperation kept her from doing so.

Some time had passed since Alma started working at the saloon and she had barely saved up any money during that time. Whenever her father would come into the saloon, he would put all his drinks under her wages. It didn’t matter if Alma was working a shift or not. The constant accumulation of drinks drained her earnings down to practically zero.

That day, before Alma left for her shift at the saloon, she heard a loud snoring coming from the back room. The familiar drone belonged to her father. This was one of the rare days he was home, probably sleeping off a particularly bad binge.

Alma sighed in relief. This meant her father would be spending most of the day here at the house recovering and not at the bar, hassling her for more drinks.

She left the house and walked to the saloon with a heavy heart. It wasn’t terribly busy at this time of day, but there was still work to be done. The saloon was an older building with creaky chairs, floors, and tables. Alma and the other girls had a bet that one day soon one of the swing doors would fall off their hinges.

The minimal furniture and lack of decorations did not help entice Alma to work every day. In fact, it had the opposite effect.

During Alma’s lunch break, she took a moment to read a letter she had received from the school a few days before. In a brief moment of courage, Alma had applied for an open teacher’s position. She had applied a few weeks before, knowing this could be her last chance to work in the profession she had always dreamed of working in.

Alma opened the letter and knew from the first sentence they had rejected her application at the schoolhouse. She would have cried if she had any more tears left. Living with her father had drained Alma of all her hope, will, energy, and tears. All that was left was a husk of a woman who once dreamed of so much more.

It had been a fool’s dream to apply. Had Alma been able to study further at a teaching school, then she may have gotten the job she so desperately wanted.

She spent the rest of her lunch break unable to eat the meal she had packed. Alma hated to waste food. All too often, she had gone to bed hungry, the pains in her stomach strong enough to wake her up during all hours of the night.

She went back to her shift with a heavy heart. The letter was tucked back into her pocket. When Alma had a chance, she would dispose of it. It was a stark reminder that her family’s reputation would constantly plague her.

Alma headed to the general store after work. She ignored the stares and looks she received. By now, Alma was used to it. It was to be expected.

After grabbing a few items, Alma paid for them and left. When she arrived home, she could no longer hear her father’s snores. The house was silent. Alma set the shopping down and looked for him, only to find the house empty.

He had most likely gone out back to the bar. Alma would need to talk to her boss when she had a chance and see if he could stop letting her father put his drinks against her wages. This had to stop.

Alma could see his fit of anger now. His eyes would turn dark, and his face red at the mere idea of his ungrateful daughter not allowing him to take advantage of her job anymore.

She attempted to eat some dinner that night, but her appetite had not yet returned. Eventually, Alma gave up and decided to stop trying to force herself to eat when she just couldn’t.

Would Alma ever be able to leave town? It was all she had wanted for so long now, but every year that passed, her desire to leave seemed to become more and more unattainable.

If Alma even did manage to leave, where was she going to go? She barely had any money and anywhere nearby might know of her family’s reputation. Alma felt stuck, like there was no escape from her father.

Alma cleaned up after herself and the mess her father had made from his latest drunken rampage. He would often make a mess of the house by tripping over furniture, slamming doors hard enough to knock them off their hinges, and just being a general menace.

Alma got ready for bed and tried her best to fall asleep, but sleep didn’t come to her very easily. It never had, honestly. Tomorrow would be a repeat of today and Alma’s father was likely to make an appearance in the saloon and kick up a fuss as usual.

When Alma got to work the next day, she intended to talk to her boss. She had to make him understand that her father could no longer use her. Let him fuss and rant. If he damaged any of the property in the saloon, Alma would rather let that come out of her pay.

Alma hoped that it would not end up coming to that. An unpredictable drunk was the worst type of drunk and her father could certainly keep one on their toes.

A few nights before, he had come home in a rage. Alma couldn’t even recall what he had been angry about.

She had come home from a particularly difficult shift at the saloon. A bunch of rowdy men had come in to celebrate finishing the work day and it was a miracle no one had started a fight.

“Alma, where were you this morning’?” Leon had snapped. “I went to the saloon, and you weren’t there! The foolish girl behind the bar wouldn’t let me put my drinks under your wages!”

Alma’s father had looked like his typical disheveled self. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hands were shaking. She suspected he hadn’t gotten a drink in him for some time and he had his usual case of the shakes.

“She… She is a new hire, father, and wasn’t told about the arrangement you have with Bert,” Alma had explained to him quickly.

“That doesn’t explain why you weren’t there,” he had scowled back at her.

“My shift wasn’t scheduled for until later in the afternoon. I told you that the other night, but you probably don’t remember.”

Alma had tried her best to speak calmly, not wanting to irritate her father any further than he already had been.

He had raised his hand as if to strike her with. Alma had flinched, jerking away and thankfully, he had put his hand down again.

“Make sure you tell the new girl,” he had grumbled, shoving past her and out the door to presumedly find himself another drink.

Chapter Two

It was safe to say that Ray would rather have been anywhere but here at the breakfast table with his parents. The conversation going on around him went unnoticed. He did not want to give it any attention. Not because it was beneath him to engage in a morning conversation. Rather, it was pointless when there was nothing to say that would convince him he deserved to be there.

When he returned from the war his parents were thrilled he came back alive and well. Save for a shoulder injury where he took a stray bullet, the rest of Ray’s body remained intact. His mind was a different story, however. It was in tatters and every night it filled with one nightmare after another.

Ray rarely slept through an entire night without waking up in a cold sweat. The night before it had been no different. He had woken up at least twice. Each time, it took him twice as long to fall back to sleep again.

What he would give for a good night’s sleep for once. To not wake up screaming, the sheets tangled around his sweat-soaked body, but he had accepted that it was likely he would never experience a good night’s sleep ever again.

Ray was tired and irritable, hardly in a state to be entertaining guests. Yet, his mother had insisted on inviting a young woman to join them for tea. He didn’t learn about it until he came downstairs.

It was not the first time his mother had done this, and it would not be the last.

The latest young lady sat there at the table, looking nervous. When her eyes met Ray’s, she smiled shyly, but Ray struggled to return its warmth. None of his smiles were genuine anymore.

The young woman was pretty. She had hair the color of cornflower and eyes as blue as the sky.

“Good morning!” the young woman greeted, her small frame trembling with what he imagined was nerves.

He couldn’t even recall her name. His mother had whispered it into his ear a few moments before, but he hadn’t retained the information. It had vanished from his memory, like most things these days.

“Good morning.”

Ray’s mother Virgina cleared her throat. “I was just telling Charlotte all about you.”

Ah, that was it. Charlotte was her name.

“How are you, Charlotte?” Ray asked, locking eyes with his mother next door.

Charlotte flushed. “I am quite well, thank you. And yourself?”

The question couldn’t be answered honestly. Ray would rather avoid it entirely, but his mother and Charlotte were expecting one.

“I’m fine.”

His mother frowned. “You look tired, dear.”

“I did not get much sleep,” Ray admitted as he sat down to tea.

Charlotte expressed concern over him not sleeping but he shook his head softly.

“There is no need for concern. I find it difficult to sleep these days.”

“Charlotte, as I was telling you earlier, Ray is still adjusting to being home, especially with his war injury. He took a bullet, you know. My son is quite the war hero,” his mother gushed.

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Yes, your mother was telling me about what you did for your country. I want to thank you so much for your service.”

Ray found it telling that his mother claimed his injury was the reason he was struggling, when this was far from the truth. Better to live in denial, he supposed.

“The food is good, isn’t it?” Ray asked, purposely shifting attention away from his time in the war. He didn’t want to talk about that again.

Charlotte laughed awkwardly. “Yes, it is exceptionally good. I can’t recall the last time our cook prepared something at home that was half as delicious.”

It was difficult to force himself to eat. Ray took small bites of the food, though his appetite was nonexistent.

“Ray, do try to eat a little more,” his mother insisted. “You did say it was good, after all.”

He sighed. “It seems my sleepless night has left me without an appetite.”

Charlotte and his mother chattered on. Virgina attempted to draw her son into the conversation, but it never amounted to Ray giving more than a one-word answer.

“Charlotte, why don’t you tell Ray a little about yourself?”

Ray had to stop himself from sighing. His mother was truly determined to salvage this meeting, and he could simply not take another minute more.

Suddenly, Ray stood up from his seat.

“Mother, Miss Charlotte, if you would please excuse me. I have a lot of chores to get to,” Ray announced, excusing himself as politely as he could.

The now familiar look on his mother’s face was of disappointment and concern.

“Well, it was lovely to meet you,” Charlotte whispered, sounding equally disappointed.

Ray cast an apologetic look towards the two before heading out the front door. It was a nice morning with the sun shining high in the sky.

While Ray was working with the horses in the stables, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. He felt himself tensing up, and the footsteps suddenly stopped.

“It’s Georgie,” a familiar voice called out, and Ray’s shoulders relaxed.

“Morning,” Ray greeted with a small, bare smile.

Georgie was a ranch hand who started working at Ray’s family ranch while the North and South were at war. His parents had previously employed her father and when Ray enlisted, Georgie asked if she could take over his position on the ranch.

She stayed on even after Ray returned. He was withdrawn and stand-offish at first, but it had little to do with Georgie herself. Ray treated his parents the same way after returning home. But quickly, she’d managed to break down his walls and become his confidante and friend.

Georgie was a tall girl with a bright smile. When she walked her pretty, blonde curls bounced despite being pinned back out of the way of her face while she worked.

“I caught a glimpse of that girl your mother invited over for tea,” Georgie remarked with a smirk. “Based on her expression, it didn’t go too well.”

Ray shrugged. “Mother invited her without speaking to me about it first. I stayed for as long as I could stand it.”

“She comes from a good family, she’s pretty, and she’s well-spoken. The girl seems just fine,” Georgie chastised Ray firmly. “If only all of us were so lucky.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I always am,” she pointed out.