Prologue

Wallace, Idaho, 1895

Emily stood by the sink, the rhythmic sound of water filling the kettle soothing her frayed nerves. The kitchen was dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls as the sun set outside. As she turned off the tap, she caught sight of her reflection in the glass.

Emily raised her right hand, her fingers trembling slightly as she traced the dark purple and black bruise that marred the skin under her left eye. The bruise stood out starkly against her pale complexion, making her blue eyes seem even bluer. She winced the pain from the touch, a sharp reminder of the night before.

“Mama?” a small voice called from the kitchen table.

Emily turned to see her daughter Susanna, her innocent eyes wide with expectation.

“Is the hot cocoa ready?”

Snapping back to the present, Emily quickly resumed her task, filling the kettle with water.

“Almost,” she replied, forcing a smile as she turned on the stove.

Emily moved away from the stove as the kettle began to heat, its gentle hum filling the quiet kitchen. She walked over to the table where Susanna was diligently practicing her letters on an old wooden slate. The slate had once belonged to Emily, and it had worn smooth from years of use. The wood had darkened with age and countless lessons. Emily watched her daughter’s small hand grasp the chalk, forming letters with a concentration that brought a soft smile to her face.

Susanna would be starting school in the fall, and Emily was determined to have her prepared.

She leaned over. “Try to keep the lines straight, darling,” she murmured, guiding her daughter’s hand.

“Is that better?” Susanna asked, looking up at her.

“Much,” Emily said, smiling.

The kettle’s whistle cut through the moment, bright and cheerful. Emily returned to the stove, removed the kettle from the heat, and poured the hot water into a chipped, blue enamel pot filled with cocoa powder and sugar. The rich aroma of chocolate filled the room, mingling with the scent of the lavender Emily had hung by the window to dry. She stirred the mixture with a wooden spoon, the steam curling into the air.

Emily carried the steaming mug to Susanna and handed it to her daughter, who took it gratefully with both hands.

“Thank you, Mama,” Susanna said, her eyes lighting up as she took a few careful sips before setting it down and returning to her work.

Emily sat in the chair opposite her daughter, her eyes tracing Susanna’s delicate features. The girl, with her dark hair and eyes, was the spitting image of her father, a stark contrast to Emily’s own fair complexion and light hair. Even the slope of Susanna’s nose was the same, a gentle curve that Emily had once found endearing in her husband.

As they sat in the quiet kitchen, Emily’s thoughts drifted back to the night before. The memory of her husband’s anger was as vivid as the bruise under her eye. The argument had erupted over something small, as it usually did, but the rage in his eyes had grown, consuming all reason. Emily had tried to shield Susanna from the worst, but there was no hiding the aftermath.

Emily sighed softly to herself as she looked around the room. The kitchen was filled with small reminders of happier times. The worn oak table, inherited from Emily’s grandmother, bore the marks of countless family meals. A copper kettle, its surface dulled with age but still serviceable, hung above the stove. An old clock on the mantel ticked steadily, its pendulum swinging with a reassuring rhythm.

As she looked at the clock, Emily realized that Donald was late.

After a moment, Emily got up from the table, giving Susanna’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

Susanna nodded, her focus returning to the slate in front of her.

Emily walked through the small house to their modest bedroom, which bore the marks of a family trying to make do with little. The walls were papered in a faded floral pattern, remnants of a time when the room had been brighter and new. A cast-iron bed with a patchwork quilt dominated one side of the room, its frame cold to the touch in the morning chill. The quilt had been stitched together from scraps of old clothing, each piece a fragment of history woven into the fabric of their lives.

In the corner stood a small wooden vanity. The mirror, slightly cloudy with age, was framed with delicate carvings of leaves and vines, a testament to the craftsmanship of an earlier era. Emily walked across the room and sat on the creaky stool, opening the drawer to retrieve her face powder.

She dipped the puff into the powder, tapping off the excess before gently applying it to the dark bruise under her eye. The fine particles clung to her skin, dulling the harsh colors but not entirely masking them. As she worked, her thoughts turned to Donald. She worried how the sight of her bruise would upset him, though it was his own doing.

Over the years that they had been married, she had learned through painful experience that Donald did not like being confronted with the evidence of his actions. It was as if he were forced to look at his failures as a husband, at his cruelty. Part of Emily wanted him to have to stare at it over dinner to confront the reality of what he had done. But a larger part of her feared his anger, the unpredictable rage that could flare up at any moment. For Susanna’s sake, it was safer to hide the evidence.

Emily finished applying the powder, sighing as she assessed her work in the mirror. The bruise was still visible, but less so. She hoped it would be enough to keep the peace for the evening. She carefully put the powder back in the drawer, closing it with a soft click.

As she stood up, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror again and hesitated. The woman looking back at her seemed a stranger, a shadow of the vibrant girl she had once been. But she couldn’t dwell on that now. She had to be strong for Susanna. Taking a deep breath, Emily left the bedroom, her resolve hardening with each step back to the kitchen.

Returning to Susanna, Emily saw her daughter’s eyes light up. “Did you finish your letters?” she asked.

“Almost, Mama,” Susanna replied, showing her work proudly.

“Good job, darling,” Emily said, her heart aching with love and determination.

Then, Emily heard the front porch creak and immediately tensed, expecting the heavy tread of Donald’s boots. But suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and her brow furrowed in confusion—Donald would never knock. Leaving Susanna to her letters, she walked to the front door, her heart thudding.

When she opened the door, she found Bill, Donald’s younger brother, standing on the porch. His face was pale, and he clutched his hat tightly, twisting the brim nervously. The corners of his broad mouth were turned down as he met her eyes. Emily was surprised to see him, and not in a good way. Bill was very much like his older brother—prone to too much drinking and fits of anger. In the years Emily had known him, she’d never warmed to him, not even a little.

“Bill?” Emily said, frowning. “What are you doing here?”

Bill glanced down the road before meeting her eyes. “Can I come in?” he asked, his voice strained.

She nodded as she stepped aside, allowing him to enter. They walked down the hallway together, the old floorboards creaking under their weight.

Susanna jumped up from the table as they entered the kitchen, her face lighting up at the sight of her uncle.

“Uncle Bill!” she exclaimed, running over to him.

Bill managed a weak smile, ruffling Susanna’s hair. “Hey there, Susie,” he said, but his eyes were worried, and Emily’s dread deepened.

“Susanna, why don’t you go play in your room for a bit?” Emily said, trying to keep her voice calm.

“But Mama, I want to stay and visit with Uncle Bill,” Susanna protested.

“Please, Susanna. Just for a little while,” Emily insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, Susanna nodded and went to her room, casting a curious glance back at Emily and Bill.

Once Susanna was out of earshot, Emily turned to Bill, her hands trembling. “What’s happened, Bill?” she asked. “Where is Donald?”

Bill took a deep breath, his eyes filling with tears. “There’s been an accident,” he said, his voice breaking. “Donald’s cart… it overturned just outside of town.”

“What?” Emily said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bill swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “We’d been at the saloon, having a drink after work,” he continued. “And then we parted ways. I was almost home when a young man came to fetch me. Said there’d been an accident.”

Emily’s stomach dropped, her breath catching in her throat. “Is he… is he all right?”

Bill shook his head, tears now streaming down his cheeks. “No, Emily. He’s gone,” Bill choked. “Donald’s dead.”

Emily felt as if the world had tilted on its axis. She gripped the back of a chair to steady herself, her mind struggling to process the words. Donald… dead? She didn’t know what to say, her thoughts a whirl of shock and confusion.

Bill was sobbing openly now, his shoulders shaking. “My big brother… he’s gone,” he wept, his grief raw and palpable.

Emily watched him, a numbness settling over her. She should be feeling something, she knew. Grief, anger, relief—something. But at that moment, she could only stare at Bill, his anguish echoing in the small room.

The kitchen around them seemed frozen in time. The kettle, now quiet, sat forgotten on the stove. Susanna’s slate with her letters was still on the table, a testament to the normalcy that was shattered in an instant. Emily’s eyes drifted to the clock on the mantel, its ticking the only sound in the heavy silence.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. “What do we do now?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Bill wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to compose himself. “We need to go to the town. They have his body there. We need to make arrangements.”

Emily nodded numbly. She turned toward Susanna’s room, her heart aching at the thought of telling her daughter. How could she explain that her father was gone? She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the difficult road ahead.

As she looked back at Bill, Emily’s feelings were a tangled mess, but she knew she had to stay strong—for Susanna, herself, and the uncertain future that suddenly lay before them.

Chapter One

Wallace, Idaho, 1896

Emily stood by the school gates, the afternoon sun dipping just below the tree line. The schoolhouse was a simple, one-room building with weathered wooden siding and a pitched roof. The windows were large and clear, allowing plenty of light to flood the interior, and a small bell tower perched atop the roof. A white picket fence enclosed the schoolyard, its paint chipped and peeling, and the ground was packed dirt, worn smooth by the daily trample of children’s feet.

As the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Emily craned her neck, scanning the sea of faces for Susanna. Children burst through the door, their lunch pails swinging and slates clutched under their arms. The boys were rowdy, shoving and laughing, their energy infectious. The girls emerged more sedately, holding hands and skipping in pairs, their braids bouncing with each step.

Emily’s eyes searched anxiously, but she did not see Susanna among the crowd. Her heart quickened until she finally spotted her daughter, emerging last from the schoolhouse. Susanna’s head was down, her steps slow and solitary.

“Susanna!” Emily called, her voice carrying over the noise of the other children.

Susanna’s face brightened at the sound of her mother’s voice, and she looked up. Yet Emily couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under her daughter’s eyes and the pallor of her skin, sharp against her dark hair. The sight filled Emily with a pang of guilt.

Susanna raced toward her, her tiny legs pumping furiously. She threw herself into her mother’s arms, and Emily hugged her tightly, feeling the thinness of her daughter’s frame through her dress.

Crouching down to Susanna’s level, Emily brushed a stray lock of hair from her daughter’s face. “How was school today, sweetheart?” she asked, eyes searching Susanna’s for any sign of trouble.

Susanna shrugged, her gaze dropping to the ground. “Fine,” she said softly, her voice lacking enthusiasm.

Emily gave her a tight-lipped smile, trying to mask her concern. “Come on,” she said, standing up and taking Susanna’s hand. “Let’s get you home.”

As they walked, Emily kept a close eye on her daughter. Susanna’s once-rosy cheeks had lost color, and her energy seemed sapped. Emily’s mind raced with worry.

“We’ll have a nice supper tonight,” she said, attempting to lift Susanna’s spirits. “How about your favorite? Chicken and dumplings.”

Susanna’s face lit up slightly at the mention of her favorite meal, but the spark quickly faded. “It’s okay, Mama,” she said. “I know we can’t afford it.”

“You let me worry about that,” Emily said.

Emily held Susanna’s hand as they walked home from school, taking the longer route to avoid the street where they used to live.

It was only after Donald had died that Emily discovered the extent of his gambling and the debts he had incurred. He had taken a second mortgage on their home without her knowledge. Without the means to pay the debts, they had lost their little house, and over the past few months, life had been a series of difficult adjustments.

Emily had managed to find work as a maid at the local saloon, cleaning in the mornings before it opened. It wasn’t the future she had imagined for herself or Susanna, but it provided a roof over their heads.

As they walked, the saloon at the end of the road came into view, its windows glowing warmly in the gathering dusk. The laughter and music spilled into the street, growing louder as they approached. Emily’s grip on Susanna’s hand tightened slightly, a silent reassurance to her daughter as they neared the bustling establishment.

They walked around the side of the building to a small, narrow staircase that led to their rented room above the saloon. The room was modest and sparsely furnished, but Emily had done her best to make it bright and cheerful for Susanna’s sake. The walls were painted a soft, calming blue, a stark contrast to the drabness of their circumstances. A small window overlooked the back alley, where the noise from the saloon was muted, allowing some semblance of peace.

Inside, the room was just large enough to fit a single bed, a wooden dresser, and a small table with two chairs. Emily had added a few personal touches: a handmade quilt on the bed, floral curtains at the window, and a vase of wildflowers she picked during her morning walks. On the dresser, a framed photograph of Emily, Donald, and Susanna, something Emily had kept for her daughter’s sake.

“Why don’t you start on your homework,” Emily said, gently squeezing her daughter’s shoulder. “I’ll get supper started.”

Susanna nodded and sat at the small table, pulling her slate and chalk from her satchel. Emily watched her for a moment, noting the tiredness in her eyes. Living above a saloon was less than ideal, and they were both kept awake most of the night by the noise rising from below. Still, Emily’s choices were limited, and for now, she was trying to do her best with what very little she had.

Emily sighed softly, turning to the small stove in the corner of the room. She set about preparing their supper.

As she prepared the chicken and dumplings meal, her hands moved expertly, kneading the dough and seasoning the broth. However, as she worked, Emily could not help but notice how the flour tin was nearly empty and the salt was running low. She chewed her bottom lip, a habit she had when worried. Still, her first paycheck should be coming soon, and she should be able to restock their pantry.

As the savory aroma filled the room, there was a knock at the door. Emily wiped her hands on her apron and went to answer it. As she pulled open the door, she found Tina Thompson. Tina, who was twenty-two, also worked at the saloon. She had dark red hair that fell in loose curls around her shoulders. Her complexion was pale, and freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, making her look younger than her age.

“Tina,” Emily said.

“May I come in?” she asked.

“Of course,” Emily replied, moving aside.

Tina smiled brightly as she stepped inside, her sage-green skirts rustling against the doorframe.

“Hello, Susanna,” she said as she turned to the table. “How are you today?”

“Hello, Miss Tina,” Susanna replied shyly, her face lighting up at the sight of the young woman. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Would you like some tea?” Emily offered, already moving to the small stove to prepare it.

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Tina replied, sitting at the table.

Emily poured the tea and set a cup in front of Tina before sitting down herself. Susanna looked up from her homework and asked, “Mama, can I go play now?”

“Yes, darling, you can go play,” Emily said, smiling at her daughter.

Emily sat down in the empty seat. As she did, Tina reached into her apron pocket and pulled out an envelope. She handed it to Emily. “This is for you. Your first paycheck.”

Emily took the envelope, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened it. She pulled out the few bills inside and counted them quickly. The amount was disappointingly small, and Emily’s heart sank. She’d known the saloon owner, Mr. Burns, would deduct the board money from the room, but she’d expected more than this. How was she supposed to survive? How could she feed Susanna, keep her clothed, and ensure she had everything she needed?

“It’s not much, I know,” Tina said gently. “But it’s a start. And once you get used to the work, there might be opportunities for more hours or tips.”

Emily nodded but said nothing. The truth was that she couldn’t afford to work more hours; she had a daughter to care for, and Susanna needed her.

“Thank you, Tina,” Emily said, slipping the envelope into her pocket. “I appreciate all your help.”

Tina reached across the table and squeezed Emily’s hand. “I know it’s not easy, but you’re making it work.”

Emily squeezed her hand back, and the small gesture of solidarity provided comfort. “I just want to make sure Susanna has what she needs,” she said softly, glancing across the small room where her daughter was playing quietly beside the bed.

“You will. I know you will,” Tina said, her voice full of conviction. “And if you ever need anything, you know where to find me.”

Emily pressed her lips together in a tight smile. She appreciated that, but Tina had no extra to give, and Emily couldn’t ask.

After dinner, Emily gently tucked Susanna into bed. A single oil lamp dimly lit the small room, casting a warm glow over Susanna’s delicate features. As Emily pulled the patchwork quilt up to her daughter’s chin, the sounds of laughter and piano music drifted up from the saloon below, a constant reminder of the world just outside their door.

“Goodnight, my darling,” Emily whispered, brushing a strand of dark hair from Susanna’s forehead. “Sweet dreams.”

Susanna nodded sleepily, her eyelids heavy. “Goodnight, Mama,” she murmured.

Despite the noise from downstairs, exhaustion soon claimed her, and she fell into a deep sleep.

Emily lingered for a moment, watching her daughter’s peaceful face. The dark circles under Susanna’s eyes were a stark reminder of the past year’s hardships. Emily’s heart ached, but she forced herself to leave the bedside and head to the kitchen to do the washing up.

As she scrubbed the dishes, her mind wandered. She thought about her meager paycheck, the empty flour tin, and the salt that was running low. She needed to stretch every penny, and the constant worry gnawed at her.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. Expecting Tina, she dried her hands and went to answer it. Opening the door, she was startled to see Bill standing there. He looked disheveled, his clothes rumpled, and his hair unkempt. His face was flushed, a telltale sign of having had too much to drink. The sight of him standing in the doorway, hat in hand, was unexpected and concerning.

“Bill,” she said, her voice tinged with both surprise and concern.

Bill swayed slightly, gripping the door frame for support. “Evening, Emily,” he slurred, his voice thick with drink. “Can I come in?”

“Susanna is asleep,” Emily said, frowning.

“Please,” he said, lowering his voice. “I only want a moment.”

Emily hesitated. She hadn’t seen much of Bill since they lost the house. After Donald’s death and the subsequent revelations of his debts, Bill had wanted Emily and Susanna to move in with him. Emily, determined to stand on her own two feet, had refused, leading to a heated argument. Bill had been angry, insisting they needed family around them, but Emily had been resolute in her decision. The tension between them had kept him away, and now, seeing him in this state, she felt worry and frustration.

“All right,” she sighed after a moment, stepping aside to let him in. “Come in.”

Bill stumbled slightly as he entered, his eyes scanning the small room. Emily could see the weariness etched into his face, the lines of worry and grief that had deepened over the past months.

“Please, sit down,” Emily said, guiding him to the table. He dropped heavily into a chair, his hat falling from his hands to the floor.

Emily sat down opposite him, her eyes searching his face. “Bill, what’s going on? Why are you here?”

Bill rubbed his face with his hands, a gesture of defeat. “I’ve been worried about you and Susanna,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know things haven’t been easy.”

“We’re managing,” Emily replied, her tone sharper than she intended. “I told you, we need to do this on our own.”

Bill looked up, his eyes bloodshot. “I just want to help, Emily,” he pressed. “It’s not right, you and Susanna livin’ above the saloon.”

“I told you, it’s only temporary until I can save enough money.”

Bill shook his head, his expression one of deep concern. “Emily, it’s no place for you and Susanna,” he repeated. “All that noise, those people… it’s not safe. You should come to live with me. It’s what Donald would have wanted.”

Emily felt a surge of frustration. “Bill, we’ve been through this. I appreciate your offer, but we must stand on our own two feet. I must prove to myself that I can care for Susanna.”

Bill leaned forward, his eyes hardening. “It’s not just about you. Think about Susanna. She needs stability and a proper home.”

Emily’s resolve hardened. “I am thinking about Susanna. This is the best I can do for now. I need to save money, and once I have enough, we’ll find a better place. But I have to do this my way.”

Bill slammed his hand on the table, causing Emily to jump. “It’s not just about pride, Emily! It’s about doing what’s right for Susanna. She needs family around her.”

“Mama?”

Emily turned to the bed to see Susanna sitting up, rubbing her sleepy eyes. “What’s going on?”

Emily got up and hurried over to her. “Nothing, darling,” she said. “Go back to sleep.”

Susanna lay down again, and Emily turned and walked back to the table.

“I think you should go now,” she said, her voice low.

“Emily—”

“Now, Bill,” she said firmly.

Bill hesitated, and for a moment, Emily thought he wouldn’t do as she asked, but then he sighed deeply and pulled himself to his feet.

“You’re being a fool,” he said.

Emily said nothing as he turned and left, the door clicking closed behind him. She then hurried across the room and turned the key, locking the door. She leaned her back against the hardwood as her heart raced.

She knew moving in with Bill would be the easier option, but it wasn’t just about proving she could stand on her own two feet or needing to save money. The truth was, she had never liked Bill.

Bill had always idolized Donald, believing he could do no wrong. Over the years they were married, Bill had ignored all the abuse Donald inflicted on Emily. He turned a blind eye to the bruises, the shouting, and the misery that had filled their home. Even now, after everything that had happened, Bill still spoke of Donald as if he were some kind of hero. Moving in with Bill would mean being constantly reminded of that past, of the pain and suffering she was trying so hard to escape. More than that, moving in with Bill would be like repeating history, and she did not want that. She did not want Susanna exposed to any more drinking, anger, or violence.

Emily shook her head, trying to clear the memories. She didn’t want Susanna to grow up in an environment where the past was ever-present, where the shadows of Donald’s cruelty lingered. She wanted to build a new life for them, free from the ghosts of what had been.

She returned to the kitchen, her resolve stronger than ever. As she finished washing the dishes, she thought about the future she wanted for Susanna. It wouldn’t be easy, but she was determined to create a safe and loving home for her daughter. One where they could heal and move forward without the constant reminder of the past.