Prologue

Deerwood Orphanage, Territory of Dakota, 1870

The wooden floor creaked beneath Cora Dawson’s feet as she carried the basin of water back to the kitchen.

Night chores were always her favorite part of the day. Not because she particularly enjoyed scrubbing pots or wiping down counters but because the silence gave her space to think—space she rarely found during the bustling chaos of the orphanage.

Her hands, raw from the day’s work, trembled slightly as she placed the basin on the counter. A sliver of moonlight crept through the window, illuminating the faint scar on her right hand. She traced it absently, a habit she’d picked up when her mind wandered.

Nineteen. Next month, she’d finally be nineteen.

For most of the other girls, nineteen marked the end of their time at the orphanage, the start of their lives out in the world. For Cora, the thought of leaving filled her with an odd mixture of anticipation and dread. Nearly all her life, she’d only known these walls, these chores, and the cold, watchful eyes of Mr. Ezekial Grimsby, the orphanage founder.

She didn’t remember much about her life before the orphanage. Just flashes, like the flickering light of a candle, almost burned out: her mother’s laugh, bright and full of warmth; her father’s rough but gentle hand smoothing her hair after a long day; and the smell of something sweet baking in the oven.

But the memory that stood out most was tied to the book with the tattered blue cover—the one thing she had managed to hold onto through the years. It was a slim volume, its edges frayed, and the gold lettering on the spine nearly faded away. She couldn’t even remember the title anymore, but she knew every crease and stain on its pages as well as the lines on her own hands.

It had been her mother’s favorite book. Cora could still picture her mother sitting in the old rocking chair by the window, the book open on her lap as her lips moved so effortlessly over the words. When her father returned home from working the fields, he would pause in the doorway, leaning on the frame to listen as her mother read aloud.

Cora would curl up at her mother’s side, lulled by the cadence of her voice. She didn’t understand all the words back then—most of them were too big for a child of six—but she remembered how the story made her feel. Safe. Loved. At home.

One of her clearest memories from that time was of a stormy night when the wind howled, and the rain lashed against the shutters. She had been afraid of storms back then, the booming thunder sending her scrambling under the covers of her small bed. But that night, her mother had come to her room with the blue book in hand, her smile soft and reassuring.

“Come here, my little bird,” her mother had said, scooping Cora into her arms and carrying her to the rocking chair by the window.

Wrapped in a warm quilt, Cora had listened as her mother’s voice rose and fell with the rhythm of the story. The words became a shield against the storm, the roaring wind outside fading into the background as her mother’s voice filled the room with light.

When her father came in to check on them, Cora was fast asleep, her head resting against her mother’s shoulder. She had woken briefly when her father’s hand brushed her hair, his voice a low murmur as he asked, “Was the storm too much for our little bird?”

Her mother smiled, shifting the book to one hand as she held Cora closer. “Not anymore,” she had replied softly.

The memory was so vivid that sometimes when Cora closed her eyes, she could still feel the warmth of her mother’s arms and hear the faint rustle of the book’s pages as they turned.

The familiar ache of loneliness tugged at her chest. Even Emma, the one friend she’d ever had at the orphanage, had left three years ago. Married now, Emma’s letters had grown fewer and far between as she built her new life. Cora didn’t blame her—it was only natural, wasn’t it? People moved on, built families, and found love.

Love.

The word felt foreign on her tongue, like something reserved for others but never for her. Her days were full of work and dreariness, with no affection from those who should care. Especially none from the man in charge, Mr. Grimsby.

However, Grimsby had spoken to her earlier that day, his tone unusually cordial. A job opportunity, he’d said. A position as a maid for a wealthy couple. He’d even smiled, though the look hadn’t reached his eyes. Cora knew better than to trust him, but the idea of finally stepping out of the orphanage’s shadow was too enticing to dismiss.

She walked to the window, drawn by the cool silver light spilling into the room. Outside, the stars glimmered like scattered diamonds, promising a world far beyond this place. As her gaze lingered on the endless sky, her reflection emerged faintly on the glass.

Dark brown hair, pulled back into a simple braid, framed her oval face. Her green eyes, though sharp and clear, held a weariness that felt far older than her near-nineteen years. A smudge of soot streaked her cheek, but she didn’t bother to wipe it away. She tilted her head slightly, studying the reflection as though it belonged to someone else—a girl she didn’t quite know.

“You don’t look so different,” she murmured to herself. “Not from the little girl who first came here.”

But she was different, wasn’t she? Life at the orphanage had shaped her, chiseled away at her innocence, and left behind a girl who knew how to survive.

She leaned against the sink, her gaze drifting past the reflection and back to the stars. “Maybe this is it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crickets outside. “Maybe this is how it all begins.”

A moment later, Cora turned away from the window and left the kitchen. The faint glow of lantern light flickered against the walls as she made her way toward the storage room, her worn, soft-soled shoes muffling the sounds of the floorboards.

The orphanage’s halls were lined with peeling wallpaper in a faded floral pattern, remnants of a time when this building might have been full of warmth and hope. Now, the walls were faded and streaked with grime, and the air carried the lingering scent of damp wood and unwashed linens.

The Deerwood Orphanage had once been a grand boarding house, as the rumors said. But its grandeur had faded long before Cora arrived. The high ceilings sagged slightly, and the windows were perpetually smudged, letting in only a faint, dusty light during the day. At night, the orphanage felt like a different world—silent and oppressive, the creaks and groans of the old structure like whispers in the dark.

Cora clutched her lantern tightly as she passed the rows of silent dormitories. Most of the younger children were asleep by now, their faint breaths rising and falling in unison. The storage room wasn’t far, just past the office where Mr. Grimsby conducted his business.

Her thoughts wandered as she walked, lingering on the possibility of leaving this place. A job as a maid. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a chance to escape the orphanage’s gray monotony and build a life of her own.

She turned a corner, the lantern casting shadows that danced like ghosts along the corridor.

Just as she approached the slightly ajar door to Grimsby’s office, the sound of her name stopped her cold.

“Cora Dawson,” a man’s voice said, low and gravelly.

Her heart skipped a beat. She stepped closer, careful to keep silent, and peered through a slight crack in the door.

Inside, Mr. Grimsby sat at his desk, his thin, angular face illuminated by the lamp’s flickering light. Opposite him was a man she didn’t recognize—broad-shouldered, with a weathered face and a hat pulled low over his eyes.

“She’s a pretty one,” the man said, a smile twisting his mouth. “I’ll pay top dollar for her. She’ll bring in more business than you can imagine.”

Cora felt her stomach twist as the man’s words sunk in. Her? Business?

Mr. Grimsby leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped together. “As I said, you won’t be disappointed. I’ll deliver her to you after her birthday next month. Nineteen, perfectly legal. And you’ll have your commission ready, I trust?”

The man chuckled darkly. “You’ll get your cut, Ezekiel. But I’m telling you now—she better be everything you promised. Girls like her don’t come around often. Pretty face, slim figure. She’ll have the saloon patrons lining up for a drink and whatever else they might pay for.”

Cora’s breath caught in her throat, and she pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. The bile rose in her throat as the reality of their conversation struck her like a blow. Grimsby was selling her… to a saloon.

Her legs felt like lead as her mind raced back to the other girls who had left before her. Had the other young women who had been promised work as maids or governesses been sold, too? Was their fate the same as the one being planned for her?

She clutched the edge of the doorframe, her knuckles white. No. She wouldn’t let this happen. She wouldn’t let them control her.

Cora took a step back, her movements slow and deliberate. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her mind raced with thoughts of escape. She had to leave. She had to leave now before they could carry out their plan.

As she retreated down the hallway, the voices in the office continued, but she no longer heard them. Her world had narrowed to one singular, desperate thought.

She had to be free.

Moments later, Cora stepped into the dormitory. The room was dark, and the other girls were asleep as she padded across the floor to the window.

She gripped the windowsill, her breath fogging the glass as she stared into the world beyond the orphanage. The moon hung high, casting silver light over the fields, turning the world quiet and still.

A breeze slipped through the narrow crack in the window, cool against her skin.

Suddenly, a streak of light shot across the sky.

Cora gasped, watching as the shooting star burned bright before vanishing into the darkness. It was gone instantly, but something about it settled deep inside her. A sign, perhaps. A promise that no matter how uncertain the road ahead seemed, she was not powerless.

She had made it this far. And she wasn’t done yet.

Her grip loosened, her fingers brushing absently against the windowsill. Somewhere in the distance, the faint call of an owl echoed through the night, the sound steady and unafraid.

Cora lifted her chin. She would not let fear decide her fate.

She had to be free.

And she would be.

Chapter One

Deerwood Orphanage, Territory of Dakota, 1870

Cora lay still in her narrow bed, staring at the ceiling as her mind churned with the events of the previous night. The dawn light filtered through the thin, patched curtains of the dormitory, painting streaks of pale gold across the worn wooden floor.

The men’s voices echoed in her head. Pretty face. Slim figure. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push away the sickening words, but they clung to her like a stain she couldn’t wash out.

She had to leave. There was no other choice.

The creak of the door snapped her out of her thoughts. Daisy peeked in the doorway. She was more than ten years old, with golden yellow hair and a heart-shaped face.

“Cora?” she whispered. “You’d best get up, or you’ll miss breakfast.”

Cora forced herself to sit up, smoothing her braid and offering the girl a small smile. “I’ll be right there.”

The girl nodded and ducked back out, leaving Cora alone in the suffocating silence of the room.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet brushing against the cool floor. Her chest tightened as she thought of the other girls. What if Grimsby plans the same for them? What if they’re next?

But what could she do? She could barely save herself.

The dining hall buzzed with the hum of morning chatter. Boys and girls of all ages sat at long wooden tables, passing bowls of porridge and tearing off chunks of bread. Cora slipped into her usual spot, her movements deliberate, controlled. She couldn’t let them see her fear.

“Cora, you were up late last night,” said Mary, a girl around her age with round cheeks and a perpetually curious expression.

“Just finishing some chores,” Cora replied, keeping her voice light.

Mary studied her for a moment before shrugging and dipping her spoon into her porridge.

“Well, better you than me. Grimsby’s been in one of his moods lately. I thought for sure he’d catch someone slacking and make them scrub floors.”

Cora managed a faint smile, but her appetite was nonexistent. She poked at the gray porridge with her spoon, her thoughts elsewhere.

Daisy sat across from her, swinging her legs as she munched a slice of bread. “Do you think we’ll get apples today?” Daisy asked, her voice filled with hope.

Cora blinked, pulled back into the present. “Maybe. If you’re good.”

Daisy grinned, crumbs dotting her chin. “I’ll be the best today, I promise.”

Cora’s chest ached. The girl’s innocence contrasted sharply with the knot of fear tightening in her chest. She looked around the table at the other girls, laughing, whispering, and sharing dreams of futures they might never have.

Futures Grimsby could steal from them like he wants to steal from me.

The guilt was a weight in her stomach. How could she leave them behind, knowing the truth? But what could she do? She wasn’t strong enough to stop Grimsby or his schemes. If she stayed, she’d only end up like the others—another pawn in his twisted game.

“Cora?” Mary’s voice brought her back again. “Are you okay?”

Cora forced a smile and reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”

Mary smiled, satisfied with the answer, and returned to her bread.

Cora looked around the room again, her determination hardening. She couldn’t save everyone, but she could save herself. And maybe, just maybe, if she found a way out, she’d find a way to help them, too.

***

The leather strap of the mailbag bit into Cora’s shoulder as she trudged along the dirt path, her mind spinning with plans and doubts. It was mid-morning, and the sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the dusty road leading to town.

The orphanage rarely sent her to the post office—this task was usually reserved for one of the younger boys. But Grimsby had surprised her with the assignment that morning, barking instructions as she scrubbed the kitchen floor.

“You!” Grimsby barked, his tone sharp and impatient. “Get these letters to the post office and return straight away.”

She hadn’t questioned him, just nodded and taken the bag, but now she wondered if he was testing her. Did he suspect something? Had she done something to reveal her growing unease?

The town of Deerwood was small, with one main street flanked by wooden buildings, their paint weathered by the harsh Dakota summers. Dust swirled in the late afternoon breeze, settling on the wooden boardwalks lining the street. It was a patchwork of grit and determination, shaped by those who had carved out a life on the frontier.

Cora took in the steady rhythm of daily life— a rancher tugging a stubborn mule down the street, a blacksmith wiping soot from his hands as he spoke with a farmer hefting a sack of grain.

Children wove between buildings, their laughter ringing through the dust-laden air, while women in faded bonnets carried baskets of fabric and supplies, pausing to exchange quiet whispers of town gossip. Near the saloon, a grizzled prospector leaned against the railing, tin cup in hand, eyes narrowed as he watched the world move past. The faint, slightly off-key notes of a piano drifted from inside.

A wagon rattled down the uneven road, its driver tipping his hat to a pair of lounging cowhands. It wasn’t much—a town tucked into the vast Dakota Territory—but it pulsed with life, each person fighting for their place in an unforgiving land.

Everything looked so normal. And yet, Cora’s world was on the verge of unraveling.

The post office stood at the corner, a tidy structure with wide windows and a cheery red sign that read “Deerwood Post & Telegraph.” Cora pushed open the door, the familiar jingle of the bell announcing her arrival. Inside, the scent of ink and paper filled the air.

Behind the counter, Miss Edna looked up from a pile of envelopes, her kind eyes crinkling as she smiled. She was a stout woman in her early fifties, with silver-streaked curls pinned neatly under a modest bonnet. Her spectacles rested low on her nose, and the faint smell of lavender followed her—a scent that reminded Cora of sunlit meadows and the gentler days of spring.

Edna had always been kind to the orphans who came through the post office, often slipping them a peppermint or asking about their well-being. Despite her quiet demeanor, there was a sharpness in her gaze, a perceptiveness that made her seem to know more than she ever let on.

Her hands, calloused from years of hard work, moved with precision as she organized the mail, but they were soft when they reached out in comfort.

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Dawson,” Edna said, brushing a stray gray curl from her face. “What brings you here today?”

“Letters from the orphanage,” Cora replied, forcing her voice to sound steady. She set the stack on the counter and stepped back, avoiding Edna’s gaze.

Edna’s sharp eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary. “You’re looking a bit pale, dear. Is something troubling you?”

Cora hesitated, the weight of her fear pressing against her ribs. She shouldn’t say anything. She should deliver the letters, collect the receipt, and leave. But something in Edna’s gentle expression made her pause.

“I…” she began, her voice faltering.

Edna leaned closer, her voice low and soothing. “What is it, child? You can tell me.”

The words spilled out before Cora could stop them. “Mr. Grimsby—he’s planning to sell me. To the saloon owner.” She lowered her voice, glancing toward the door. “I overheard him last night.”

Edna’s expression hardened, her kind eyes narrowing. “That wretched man,” she muttered under her breath. Then, more gently, “Do you have a plan to get away?”

Cora shook her head. “Not yet. But I can’t stay. I won’t.”

Edna nodded firmly and reached beneath the counter, her movements deliberate. When she straightened, she handed Cora a folded receipt for the letters, slipping a piece of paper into her hand along with it.

Cora frowned, her fingers closing around the paper. “What’s this?”

“Read it later,” Edna said quietly. Her gaze flickered to the door, her voice soft but urgent. “And don’t let anyone see it. Now, go on before Grimsby wonders why you’ve taken so long.”

Cora swallowed hard and nodded.

“Thank you,” she whispered, clutching the paper tightly as she turned and left the post office.

***

The rest of the day passed in a haze of chores, each task mechanical and methodical as Cora tried to keep her thoughts steady. She scrubbed pots in the kitchen until her arms ached, swept the hallways until the broom handle dug blisters into her palms, and folded linens in the laundry room while the damp smell of soap clung to her skin.

But every so often, she would glance up and feel it—the weight of Grimsby’s gaze.

From across the dining hall, through the open door to his office, or as she passed by the staircase, his cold, calculating eyes followed her movements. She tried to ignore it, keeping her posture straight and her face blank, but it felt as though the piece of paper Miss Edna had slipped her was burning a hole through her pocket.

“Keep calm,” she whispered to herself as she bent over a stack of clothes. “Just keep calm.”

But her heart thudded louder with each passing hour.

The evening meal was quiet, the muted clatter of spoons against bowls filling the room. Cora forced herself to eat, though the watery soup sat heavy in her stomach.

Grimsby was seated at his usual spot by the door, his presence a looming shadow over the room. She didn’t look at him, but she could feel his watchful eyes, and it was all she could do to keep her hands from shaking.

After dinner, the children shuffled off to their dormitories. Cora moved with them, her expression calm but her mind racing. She waited, pretending to straighten her bed and fluff her pillow until the whispers and giggles faded, and the room sank into stillness.

When she was certain everyone was asleep, she slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the window.

The moon hung high in the sky, its silvery light spilling into the room and casting faint shadows on the floor. She didn’t dare light a lamp—not with Grimsby still prowling about.

Instead, she reached into her pocket, her fingers trembling as they brushed against the folded paper.

Unfolding it carefully, she held it up to the moonlight and squinted to make out the words:

Seeking Brides for the West!

Are you a young woman of good character looking for a new beginning? Prosperous gentlemen in the Montana Territory seek wives to share their lives and homesteads. Experience in domestic tasks preferred, but all will be considered. Confidentiality assured. Travel arrangements provided.

For inquiries, write to: Mrs. Rosamund Fairchild, Matrimonial Agency, Denver, Colorado. Include your name and personal details in your letter, and arrangements will be made promptly.

Cora stared at the words, her breath catching in her throat.

A new beginning. A chance to leave.

Her heart thudded against her ribs as she read the ad again and again, the promises whispering to her like a lifeline. It wasn’t perfect—she knew nothing about the men on the other end of these arrangements—but it was freedom. And it might be her only chance.

Her mind churned as she folded the paper carefully and tucked it back into her pocket. She glanced around the room, ensuring the others were still asleep, and then crept back to her bed. Pulling out a scrap of paper and a pencil from her small belongings, she began to write by the faint light of the moon.

Dear Mrs. Fairchild,

My name is Cora Dawson. I am nineteen years old and eager to start a new life in the Montana Territory. I have experience with domestic work, including cleaning, cooking, and sewing. I am hardworking and loyal and hope to find someone who values companionship and honesty.

Please consider me for one of your arrangements. I am prepared to travel and would be grateful for any assistance in doing so.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to your response.

Sincerely,

Cora Dawson

She folded the letter, her hands steady now as determination settled over her like armor. She hid it among her meager belongings, tucking it beneath the false bottom of her small wooden box where no one would think to look.

Tomorrow, she would deliver it. She’d have to be fast, but she’d find a way.

As she lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling, the fear and doubt lingered, but beneath it all, a tiny spark of hope flickered. For the first time, she could see a glimmer of light beyond the shadows of the orphanage walls. It wasn’t much—just a sliver of hope, fragile but insistent. Cora let herself imagine, just for a moment, what life might look like if she could truly escape.

She imagined herself stepping off a train into a new town, her feet crunching on fresh soil as she looked up at a sky so big and blue it seemed to go on forever. She imagined a little cabin with a warm hearth and clean windows, surrounded by golden fields that stretched to the horizon.

It wouldn’t have to be grand or perfect. She didn’t dream of riches or luxury—just safety, freedom, and peace. A place where she could finally feel at home.

And then, unbidden, another thought surfaced. What kind of man would be waiting for her in this new life? Not the kind of smooth-talking charm Ezekiel promised in his schemes, but someone real. Someone steady.

She didn’t dare imagine a sweeping romance—no dashing hero to sweep her off her feet or whisper poetic words. She wouldn’t know what to do with someone like that anyway. But kindness… kindness she could imagine.

A man who spoke to her like an equal, who listened to her words instead of dismissing them. A man who didn’t take more than he gave. Someone with calloused hands and a quiet strength—someone who, like her, understood what it meant to work hard and carry burdens but still chose to keep going.

The thought made her chest ache with something that felt like hope. It was fragile, easily overshadowed by the harsh reality she still faced, but it was there.

She bit her lip, shaking her head as if to dismiss the thought. It felt foolish to dream of such things when she didn’t even know if she’d make it past Ezekiel’s watchful eye. And yet, the flicker of hope lingered, stubborn and persistent.

For the first time in years, Cora wondered if there might be a life waiting for her beyond the walls of the orphanage. A life where she could make her own choices and find her own happiness.

And she wasn’t going to let it slip away.