Prologue

Butte, Montana 1865

“I should have died in Tennessee,” Allen Strauss muttered under his breath as he reached down to massage his leg. He’d been shot during the last battle, and it was taking a while to heal.

Allen looked over the railing of the steamboat into the Missouri River. He stared sightlessly at the murky waves as the paddlewheel churned up the muddy water. The scent of damp earth and sagebrush wafted on the warm breeze. It was a sharp contrast to the acrid smoke from the gunpowder that had burned his lungs for the last four years.

He rolled his shoulders, the tension making them stiff.

His eyes glazed over, and the river, the boat, and everything around him disappeared. The image of his brother’s face as he lay dying in the field haunted him. His eyes had been wide with pain, and the ground below them was soaked with blood. Joseph’s angular face and dark brown eyes mirrored Allen’s, and Allen felt a piece of him dying with his brother. The brothers had been the same height, and since Joseph had only been a year older than Allen, they’d done everything together. Allen thought his brother was invincible.

Allen could still hear his brother’s last words echoing in his mind. “Stay the course, Brother, and may God watch over you. Don’t grieve. We’re fighting for something bigger than ourselves.”

Then, he’d exhaled his last breath.

Allen had dug his brother’s grave and put a cross at the top. He’d said a few words and then walked away. There was no time to mourn because the soldiers had to keep moving.

Once the dead were buried, Captain Strauss led his company further south to their next battle point. He fought like a man who had nothing to lose. Their father had been killed at Gettysburg and had been buried in the Soldiers’ National Cemetery a month before Joseph had been killed. Their losses devastated him. His brother’s voice haunted him, sneaking into his mind and punching him in the gut with pain.

Allen’s white-knuckled grip tightened on the railing of the ship as the memories flooded back. He swallowed hard, barely able to breathe as the pain of losing them ripped him apart inside like a jagged knife tears into a piece of meat. A guttural sound of anguish tore from the depths of his soul.

The only thing that kept him going was that his sweet love, Angelica, was waiting for him at home. Occasionally, her letters caught up with him. They were full of stories about what was happening in Montana Territory, which sounded perfectly ordinary.

He’d sit down and picture her beautiful face. Her flashing green eyes were always full of laughter and fire. She’d help any person or animal who was in need, but she could put the toughest men in their place when necessary. She had long black hair, which she kept in a braid that trailed down her back.

Finally, when the war was over, he used his muster-out pay to book a passage back home. Allen boarded the steamer in St. Joseph, Missouri, in June, heading for Fort Benton, Montana.

A deep voice brought him out of his reverie. “Are you doin’ all right, Capt’n?” one of the sailors asked.

“Fine, Monty. Thanks.”

As he looked out over the countryside, Allen found it hard to believe that the land was pure and untouched by the war. Green bluffs lined the riverbank. Clusters of cottonwood trees grew along the winding waterway. Occasionally, he spotted a settler’s cabin and a herd of deer or bison as they grazed on the tall prairie grass.

The sixty-day journey by steamboat seemed to take forever. After three years of fighting and moving, each day was tedious, with nothing to occupy his time. Not that he would ever want to go back to war—not in a million years—but he itched to do something to keep active and to occupy his mind.

Scenes from the war constantly haunted him. He could hear the cries of the men as they fell, and he was certain that he’d never get the smell of gunpowder off of him. He simply wanted to go home, leave all the death and destruction behind, and start a life with Angelica.

Allen stayed on deck as much as possible. When he was forced to be inside his cabin, it felt as though the walls were closing in on him and suffocating him.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the steamboat arrived at Fort Benton. His heart beat faster because he was so close to home, anticipation and dread tangling together in his chest. The death of Joseph and their father would make Butte so different, and he felt the never-ending grief crushing his heart. It wouldn’t be the same without them.

He smelled the familiar scent of pine, and Allen took slow, uneven breaths, trying to ease the tightness in his chest. The thought of setting foot in Butte without his father and brother by his side sent a sharp, excruciating pain through him. Their deaths created an achy emptiness inside of him that hurt as much as the day he’d buried his brother.

Still, he hoped to build a life with Angelica, and while that would never make the pain disappear, it would be something beautiful and good.

The three-day stagecoach ride from Fort Benton to Butte dragged on. The minutes wore on with agonizing slowness. The terrain was rough, and the cramped passengers were thrown from side to side like a ship in a violent storm. Allen was pretty sure that every organ inside his body was mush by the time they finally arrived.

Allen was still in uniform as he stepped off the stagecoach and grabbed his bag. Several people welcomed him home. Eventually, he was able to untangle himself from the old women’s hugs and handshakes from the men. He didn’t bother going home to the ranch first.

Determined to greet the woman he loved, kiss her, and marry her, he limped to the small house she shared with her mother.

Allen hesitated for a moment before he knocked on the door. His heart raced, and a huge knot had formed in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t the same man who’d left three years ago. Would Angelica recognize him? Allen felt as though he’d aged a million years, and the horrific scenes he’d witnessed were etched on his face.

Biting his bottom lip, he knocked. After a few moments, an older woman answered the door.

She smiled warmly at him. “Hello, Allen. I heard the war was over and hoped that you’d be coming back soon.”

“Yes, ma’am. Can I see Angelica, please?”

Her smile faded, and her face turned white. A hint of tears sprang in her eyes. She put her hand on his arm and said, “Oh, Allen, I’m so sorry. She died a few months ago from the fever that swept through the town. We lost a lot of people. I tried sending you a letter, but I guess it never caught up with you.”

Allen’s heart and soul shattered into a million pieces. The world tilted around him. He couldn’t breathe, and his insides twisted. He slumped against the door frame, as his legs could no longer hold him up, and he stared at the older woman in disbelief.

“I kept the ring you gave her. I know it was your mother’s. Hang on a minute.”

She turned, and as soon as she was out of sight, Allen walked away, putting distance between him and the unbearable agony that devoured him. The whole world had gone dark. Allen’s mother had died giving birth to him. His father and brother were dead, and now he’d lost his sweet Angelica.

***

“I see you’re home, boy,” Uncle Amos said when Allen walked into the ranch house.

“It would seem so.”

“Got your letter about James and Joseph. Darn shame.” Amos’s voice reflected his usual gruffness, which made it hard to tell if he felt anything at all about the loss of his brother and nephew.

“Yes.” Allen’s soul felt empty, and he didn’t have another ounce of himself to give to the man who’d taught him how to be a rancher but never showed a bit of affection for him or Joseph.

“You can have the second room.”

Allen nodded. He went into the room and lay down on the first bed that didn’t move and was comfortable. The cots and bedrolls he slept on in the war were hard, and the bed on the ship had continuously rocked with the motion of the waves.

He slept through the rest of the afternoon and all night.

He groaned when he woke up the next morning, unhappy to discover that he was still alive. Allen had hoped that the sleep had taken him away from his grief, and he wouldn’t have to face a world where everyone he loved had been ripped away from him. A crushing weight settled on his chest, and he stared at the ceiling, knowing he was trapped in this world.

Uncle Amos already had breakfast ready when Allen limped to the table. “I’m getting too old to run this ranch. I ain’t got no other kin. If you take over the ranch, it’s yours when I’m gone.”

Allen looked at his uncle. The shriveled man was several years older than his father and didn’t look too healthy. He thought about the offer. Allen had no other prospects and no other plans. He honestly hadn’t thought much about his future except to marry Angelica.

“That sounds reasonable.”

He almost regretted his decision when he discovered the deplorable state the ranch was in. Uncle Amos owned five thousand acres and had approximately two hundred fifty head of Hereford cattle. The only smart thing he’d done was to contract with one of the local farmers for hay so the animals could be fed in the winter.

Allen threw himself into the task of making the ranch successful. He never allowed himself to stop and think about the war, his father, his brother, or Angelica. Allen was up with the first light of day and worked until it was too dark to see an inch in front of him.

On the rare occasions that his uncle showed any concern for him, he’d say, “Boy, you’re going to work yourself to death.”

Allen simply shrugged him off.

He seldom ventured into town, letting his uncle get any supplies they needed. It was too hard dealing with people. Even though the war had been over for a while, the country was still healing. For the people in Montana Territory, who’d been so far away from it, it was a fascinating topic. Luckily, most people understood when he didn’t want to talk about it.

Allen dreaded nights. As captain, he’d been in charge of the lives of around a hundred men. In his nightmares, he could see them being mowed down by the enemy. Their screams echoed in the night air, and the stench of blood and gunpowder hung heavily in the air.

He’d get two or three hours of sleep before his eyes popped open from the terror and heartache that burned deep inside of him. Occasionally, he screamed. His body was drenched with sweat, and his heart pounded so hard that he was sure it was going to rip out of his chest. He’d fumble for a weapon that wasn’t there.

Finally, after several agonizing minutes, it registered that Allen wasn’t on the battlefield. He was in his room, far away from the blood, the death, and the terror of what was to come next.

The first couple of times, Uncle Amos had rushed into his room to find out what was wrong. The conversation had always been the same.

“Why are you screaming, boy?” Amos asked, sounding more annoyed than concerned.

“I see them dying. I see the bullets ripping open the wounds in their sides,” Allen whispered, the horror echoed in his voice.

“Boy, the war is over.” Amos sounded more disgusted than sympathetic.

“I wish it was.” Allen pressed his hands against his head as though it would make the visions disappear.

Now, Uncle Amos stayed in his room and didn’t bother checking on Allen, much to his relief. He was humiliated by the nightmares. Real men didn’t scream like children in the middle of the night.

Conversations with the old man were mostly about what supplies were needed, what chores had to be taken care of, and when the breeding cows were due. That suited Allen just fine.

Most of the time, Uncle Amos was a nuisance. He seemed to resent the fact that Allen had turned the ranch around and made it profitable. He grumbled and complained constantly, and more than once, Allen wondered whether the hassle was worth it. He had money saved, and he could buy land and start his own ranch. Then, he reminded himself of all the hard work he put in and didn’t want to see it go downhill.

Allen did his best to focus only on the ranch’s progress. He had fifty purebred Herefords that were breeders and ten bulls that serviced them. Cows on the range were also breeding, so the herd was growing.

After about a year, the ranch was more than Allen could handle by himself. He contacted his buddy, Ben, who’d been in his company, and invited him to come to work on the ranch. Ben, who was about to muster out, needed a job and agreed.

Shortly after Ben arrived, the old sheriff retired. Allen, following in his father’s footsteps, ran for office and easily won the election. Any time a memory snaked its way into his brain, Allen pushed it away and forced himself to work harder. His sole focus was on the ranch and keeping order in town. He soon gained a reputation as a fair but hard man.

Most importantly, Allen didn’t have to think or remember when he pushed himself. At night, most of the time, he was so exhausted he didn’t dream—or didn’t remember anything if he did dream. That was the way he wanted it. As long as he kept his hands busy and his mind focused on the tasks at hand, the past couldn’t catch him.

Chapter One

New York City, 1875

Virginia looked up from her sewing machine and rubbed her eyes. The low lighting in the factory made it hard for her to see the seams, so she had to focus hard on the fabric and thread to make sure that not a single stitch was out of place. Her leg hurt from pumping the treadle. Sighing heavily, she cut the string from the dress that she’d never have enough money to buy for herself. The fine wool crepe dress was dark forest green and would have perfectly offset her bright emerald eyes.

She stretched out her hands, which trembled like a woman three times her age. The calluses on her fingertips were bleeding from where the needles had pricked her several times a day. Her back ached from being hunched over the sewing machine for hours, and her neck was so tense that she could scarcely turn her head without a jolt of pain shooting down her spine.

The endless clatter of machines had dulled her senses. The cotton she stuffed in her ears didn’t block out much of the sound. Her head pounded until she was sure that it was going to explode.

Sighing heavily, she put the dress on the stack with the other dresses she’d made. At the end of the shift, the foreman, Jack, would count the pieces completed by each person so they could be paid at the end of the week.

Virginia looked up at the clock. Her twelve-hour shift was almost over. There were twenty minutes left, so she wound the empty bobbins. She checked the tension on the machine, cleaned it to ensure there was no dust, lint, or thread around it, and then oiled it to make sure that it would be ready to go first thing in the morning. After checking the needle, she changed it since it had dulled.

Finally, after what seemed like an entire year had gone by, the whistle blew, indicating that her shift was over. She quickly grabbed her shawl and waited for the foreman to note the time she left.

Meaghan grabbed her arm as she stepped onto the street, breathing in and relishing the fresh air. “We’re getting together later at my and Ian’s apartment. Would you like to stop by and play rummy?”

“I wish I could, but my aunt will want me to help out with the children.”

“She’s a slave driver,” Meaghan said. “It’s bad enough that she takes all of your pay.”

Virginia shrugged. “She took me in after my father died. It’s the least I can do.”

Meaghan hugged her. “You’re a saint. I know that I wouldn’t be taking her attitude and treatment as well. I’d best be getting home. Ian will be getting off work soon and will want his supper.”

“Have fun tonight.”

Virginia’s stomach rumbled, as the two pieces of bread she’d had for lunch didn’t come close to filling her up, although that was her usual fare. She was pretty sure that if her aunt didn’t know she had to have some kind of nourishment to keep going, she wouldn’t even get the bread.

She walked ten blocks to the tall tenement building she lived in with her aunt, uncle, and three cousins. It was seven stories tall and had a dingy brick exterior stained with coal smoke. The single entrance led to dark hallways with apartments lined on either side.

She climbed the narrow, steep staircase to the third-floor apartment. Virginia closed her eyes briefly and took a huge breath before entering. She could hear her youngest cousin, Samuel, screaming at the top of his lungs and her aunt Fiona yelling over him.

As soon as she entered the three-room apartment, her aunt yelled, “It’s about time you got here. You’re late—again. How many times have I told you not to lollygag and hurry home? You’re needed here.”

Virginia knew better than to argue with her. It would simply earn her a slap in the face.

“Set the table. Dinner will be ready shortly.”

“Can I change my dress? I’ll be quick about it.”

Virginia cringed as Aunt Fiona turned around with a wooden spoon raised high in her hand as though she was going to strike her niece.

“You ungrateful wench. You should be grateful to have a roof over your head. Don’t talk back to me. When I tell you to do something, you do it immediately. Am I understood?”

Aunt Fiona’s green eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed together in her haggard, thin face. Her frizzy red hair curled around her cheekbones, making her look like a madwoman.

Virginia bowed her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

Biting her lip, she knew better than to say anything back to her aunt. The woman had always treated her as an unwanted slave who had no thoughts or feelings of her own. Virginia wanted so badly to escape the tiny tenement apartment, to be able to breathe and have a life of her own, but it would be so hard with the mere pittance she received from the factory and the fact that her aunt took every penny of her pay.

There were days that she almost hated her aunt, but then forced herself to push away the feelings. She did have a roof over her head and food, which is more than what other people had. Some had to live on the streets, or even worse, in the poorhouse.

She quickly set the table and then picked up her seven-year-old cousin, who was almost as big as she was. The boy had been spoiled by his mother and had a tendency to scream when he didn’t get his own way.

“What’s going on, Seth?”

“I’m hungry.”

“I understand, but your mother’s making dinner. Screaming isn’t going to make her cook any faster.”

“I was mad because I’m hungry.”

Virginia hid her smile. “I get that way, too, but we have to be patient. She’s cooking as fast as she can.”

“You’re not his mother. Don’t talk to him like that,” Aunt Fiona snapped as she put the stew on the table.

Seth looked at Virginia sympathetically. Even though he was a brat, he did have a fondness for her.

“Yes, ma’am,” Virginia said.

Uncle Arthur walked into the apartment just as Aunt Fiona was putting the fresh bread on the table. He kissed his wife on the cheek and barely nodded at Virginia to acknowledge her existence.

Ten-year-old Patrick and twelve-year-old Bridget followed behind their father. They’d been playing on the streets with their friends. They sat down at the table and prayed over the stew, potatoes, and bread.

“The stew is wonderful,” Arthur said.

“Thank you. I had just enough money to get a little bit of meat from the butcher.”

There was barely enough food for the six of them. Seth gulped his down hungrily and eyed Virginia’s plate as she ate more slowly. He licked his lips, and his gaze was sharp with want.

Virginia briefly closed her eyes, knowing that her hunger pains would keep her up all night; still, she gave half of her meal to him. She already got the least amount of food of everyone. She was so thin that sometimes her friends pitied her and shared their lunch with her.

She helped clean up after the dishes were done and then went outside to sit on the steps, longing for some peace and quiet and fresh air. The factory was dusty and dirty, and the apartment smelled like unwashed bodies and boiled potatoes.

Finally, though, it got late, and she didn’t want to be forced to sleep in the hallway since her aunt locked the door after a certain time and would refuse to open it.

Virginia quietly opened the door. She could hear her uncle snoring in the only bedroom in the apartment. The three children were sleeping on the floor in the corner of the room, but Virginia was usually allowed to sleep on the couch.

Aunt Fiona patted the couch. “Come sit next to me.”

Nervous, since her aunt never spoke kindly to her, Virginia slowly approached the couch and sat as far away from the woman as she possibly could. She sat on her hands to keep them from trembling and swallowed hard. Virginia stared at her lap—anything to keep from looking at her aunt.

“As you know, times are tough. We barely have enough money to pay rent and buy food, as well as the other things that your cousins need. We’ve taken care of you since you were ten.”

Virginia’s head snapped up, and she looked at her aunt. “I started working at the factory when I came to live with you and brought home money to cover the costs of my clothes and food.”

Aunt Fiona held up her hand to stop her.

“You brought in money, and it wasn’t nearly enough. After Arthur got hurt and couldn’t work anymore, money got really short. Now, with three kids, we’re barely surviving. I’ve had to take in laundry to help support us.” She gestured around the room. “There’s not enough room for us, let alone you.”

“I bring in enough to cover my expenses,” Virginia argued. “I work very hard.”

“Yes, I know you do, but it’s not enough.” Aunt Fiona held Virginia’s chin in her hand and squeezed, causing Virginia to wince. “Plus, you’re twenty-three years old. It’s time you started your own life.”

Virginia’s heart sank, and her stomach twisted into knots. She envisioned herself sleeping in the alley with a threadbare blanket wrapped around her like some of the other homeless people. “What am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go?”

Aunt Fiona gave a sly smile that sent icy chills running up and down Virginia’s back. She shivered as she waited to hear what awful plan her aunt had.

“You don’t think that I’d throw my only niece out in the streets, do you? Why, my brother would turn in his grave and come back to haunt me.” The feral smile returned, and Virginia shrank inside herself. “I have something better. You’re going to be married. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Virginia’s eyes widened, and her jaw dropped as she tried to process what her aunt had just said. “What?”