Prologue

Copper Mountain, Colorado, 1885

Noelle Foster lay on the kitchen floor, grasping at her bleeding temple, trying her best not to lose consciousness. Her husband, Henry, had returned just past midnight, as he always did, drunk from his hours spent at the saloon.

As per usual, he’d burst into the room, rousing her from sleep, and demanded a hot meal. Not the cold dinner she’d left covered on the stove; the same dinner he’d been too late to eat, and she’d been left to eat alone with only the fruit flies as company.

Of course, when she’d taken too long to heat the potatoes and chicken, she’d spent hours preparing that afternoon, he’d gotten angry. Angry enough to shove her down to the floor, causing her to hit her head hard enough that a faint trickle of blood now stained the collar of her white sleeping gown.

After taking a few moments to recollect herself, Noelle mustered enough strength to lift herself off the ground, rinse her face, and tumble into bed. Leaving a feasting husband downstairs, she stared at the ceiling for a while, listening to the clanking of pots and plates. Tears rolled down her cheeks into her neck, washing away the dreams she’d once had for herself, and left her with nothing but a wet hem and a broken heart.

***

The next morning, tendrils of sunlight danced upon the white ceiling, like beautiful ballerinas come to remind her that she would be okay. Noelle lay in bed, tightly wrapped within her white linens, her copper hair strewn about the pillows. She rose, a sad smile on her face as she let her fingers dance in the light, as if she could take some of the sun’s warmth into her soul.

The house was silent save for the calm buzz of insects in the garden outside—no breaking glass, no shattering bones, no sounds of her body hitting the wood floors. Noelle made her way to the kitchen, ignoring the exact spot where droplets of her blood had been. Henry was seated at the breakfast table, thumbing through the newspaper, smoking a pipe. His wrinkled face was pulled into a scowl, displaying his displeasure and usual broodiness. He said nothing, not that he ever did after a… scene.

“I need to speak with you about something,” she said, her voice timid and awfully soft. “It is rather important. And I think it would please you.”

He snorted. “A man cannot even eat breakfast before being bombarded with a woman’s relentless cries. What is it?”

Noelle kept her back to him as she mixed the pancake batter, the eggs already sizzling in the pan. “Well, last Sunday in church, Pastor Hastings told me about an orphanage nearby. You see, I’d told him about our—” He cleared his throat, interrupting her sentence and making his point clear. She hurriedly added, “my inability to have a child. And he was gracious enough to offer a kind word about us to the Sister in charge of the orphanage.”

“Does this story have an end in sight, Noelle?”

“Well, I made a stop there, with no real intent. But I had the thought—to give a child a family, as we have waited so long to have.” It had been her life-long dream, and even though she could not manage to carry a baby to term, that didn’t mean she couldn’t be a mother at all.

“So you have found us a son?” He interrupted, belching in her face as she hunched over to pour him a glass of milk. She did not want to be bothered with his cries of heartburn again.

“Her name is Carol,” Noelle said carefully. “Her parents died tragically in a fire, and she’s been left without a family or a home.”

“I want a son, Noelle. Daughters cannot carry my name and continue my bloodline. Nor can they inherit this ranch,” he said, shaking the newspaper upright. “I did not spend my life working this ranch to see it be given to another man’s son.”

“I understand, Henry. But—”

A plate whizzed by her head, smashing into the cupboard above her. The scrape of the chair was all she heard before he roughly grabbed her by the arm, surely leaving bruises behind.

“Forget that child, Noelle. I am old and I cannot wait any longer than you have forced me to.”

With that, he departed, grabbing his coat and hat from the hanger at the front of the house. Noelle was praying by the time the door slammed, asking The Lord for strength.

Chapter One

Copper Mountain, Colorado, 1885

One Month Later

The choir had once again outdone themselves, leaving Noelle to wipe salty tears from her cheeks as she made to file out of the church. Their symphonies had spoken to her soul, making her raise her arms in worship as she felt the warm embrace of the Holy Spirit. She smiled at passing people, laughing when some of them shot her knowing looks. Noelle had a habit of crying in church, much to the adoration and amusement of the people around her.

The sermon had been just what she needed today, a little pick-me-up after the horrid week she’d had. Henry had absolutely forbidden her to speak of Carol or the orphanage again, and had threatened more violence should she not heed his command. There were no more talks of adoption unless she mentioned a son, which she wished were the case, but she had no connection to another child like the one she had with Carol.

The boys at the orphanage were all uninterested and cold, indifferent towards her when she tried her best to form a connection. It was cruel of her to say, but she’d rather not have a child than adopt a child that she did not have a connection with. Was she horrible to say that?

It felt like it. Although if she was being honest, it had more to do with not being able to adopt Carol than it did with not wanting a child at all. Noelle had prayed every morning and night, and even sometimes in the afternoon that week, for strength and the ability to persuade her husband.

He hadn’t even considered going with her to the orphanage, nor had he softened in his resolve to have a son. She tried her best, the bruises on her arms, legs, and torso were proof of that; but he didn’t relent. Henry Foster wanted a son. And nothing else. No matter what destiny or God might have to do with it.

Henry had once again not joined her, claiming a badly sprained ankle from the night before. But she knew better than to believe the ankle part—she’d bet her prized chickens he had a headache and was packing away her specialty grilled chicken. Possibly also chugging an obscene amount of water to flush his liver and rid himself of the ever-persistent thirst he no-doubt also had. She shook her head, not too upset that he’d been unable to join. She wanted the day to herself, to think and to mourn the family that could have been. She needed that Sunday to reflect and regain her composure.

Noelle dodged puddles as she made her way over to the small white building off the left of the church, lifting her baby-blue skirt and smiling to herself as she spotted tiny little humans running around and enjoying themselves.

They all greeted her with smiles and shouts of joy, overwhelming her with laughter and hugs until she had to clutch onto the building to stay upright. She’d been helping Pastor Sam at the Sunday school since two winters passed, and she loved every second of it. It was a way for her to connect fully to her own inner child and also to surround herself with the childlike innocence adults seemed to lose in their lifetimes.

It was also a way for her to do good, sharing the tales of God and Jesus with young minds so that they might become wonderful young adults who lived for the word of God. However, it was bittersweet.

Pastor Sam joined soon after, laughing and shooing away the hordes of children until they were all seated in a little circle, intent on listening to the tales of their Lord and Savior. Their eyes were wide with wonder as Pastor Sam told them about Noah and the Ark, and how he’d been instructed by God himself.

So many hands raised with questions once he was done, and the kind-hearted man answered every single curious mind’s question, until they could no longer contain their restlessness. Afterward, when Noelle was on her way to the small little horse-pulled wagon, she felt the all-too familiar pang of longing and sadness return, making her shoulders feel packed with weight and her heart ache with pain. She loved interacting with the children, and she loved even more to help Pastor Sam with the Sunday school sessions.

But she would be lying if she didn’t feel envy at every mother catching their running child into their arms, or every child that received a kiss from their parents. Noelle’s face contorted in a pained smile, her heart cracking and soaring at the same time. She was happy for the mothers that had children to hold, but she could not escape the small part of her heart that hurt whenever she saw their moments.

“What troubles you, friend?” Pastor Sam’s smooth voice sounded behind her, greeting her with a warm smile as he fell in step beside her. “You are not yourself today.”

Noelle smiled, fidgeting with the ruffles on her gloves as they walked. His presence was calming, his unrelenting kindness a safe space for so many to talk about their troubles and heartaches. Pastor Sam always had wisdom to share and advice to give to the downtrodden souls that sought his help, and he was usually right.

“I visited the orphanage that you told me of last week.” Noelle started, her voice wobbling with sadness already. “And I met a young girl—her name was Carol—who’d lost her family in a tragic fire.”

Pastor Sam inclined his head supportively, prompting her to continue. His black robes dragged through the mud and dirt as they walked, but he didn’t seem too bothered about it. He never seemed bothered by anything.

“I fell in love with her instantly—I felt a deep connection to her, like she was meant to be my daughter, and I her mother,” Noelle said, but added hurriedly, “I do not want to sound insensitive toward her situation or offend her own mother. But we are connected somehow, Carol and I.” Her voice was desperate, her hands clutching at each other as she talked. She was visibly frustrated with the whole situation, and the utter desperation in her voice was saddening.

“I cannot explain it, but I just know that God intended for me to adopt Carol.”

“Why don’t you join my family for lunch,” he said, placing a supportive hand on her upper back, “then we can talk on the way.”

“Will I not be intruding?” She sounded uncertain even to her own ears.

“A friend in need never intrudes.” Crinkles appeared around his eyes as he smiled reassuringly. Noelle relented, following him as he led her to his home. She knew his wife and kids well, as they were friends outside of church. They were wonderful and warm people, and it was at his home that he’d told her about the orphanage, using his very cute children as persuasion for Noelle to give it a try.

“Forgive me, friend, but I do not see what troubles you so,” Pastor Sam said carefully. “Are you not happy to have found a child?”

They passed rows and rows of trees lining the sidewalks along either side of the road, fallen leaves decorating the concrete with orange and brown. The air was crisp with winter, their breaths puffing with each word that was spoken.

She shook her head, eyes glued to the sidewalk as she spoke. “It is not the child that troubles me. My husband… he does not want a daughter. He wishes for a son that can carry his name, and inherit the ranch when he has gone. He insists that he is old, and that he cannot wait any longer for risk of passing on without a legacy to leave behind.”

Pastor Sam was quiet as she spoke, allowing her to get it all out. “He has forbidden me from speaking of it entirely, claiming that I would not leave it alone if he did otherwise. But I do not understand, Pastor, why did God bring me to this child, why did He lead me to her if I am to be denied? When she is now also denied a mother that would love her dearly? Why do I suffer so?”

Before he could answer, Noelle started crying. “I am a Godly woman. I am a good wife, a whole-hearted Christian, and yet I still seem to struggle more than some of the people I know. Do I not do enough? Must I prove myself worthy of His blessing?”

Pastor Sam looked sympathetically at his friend, smiling softly as she tried to wipe the tears before he could see. “I understand you are struggling now. And I can understand why you might feel like you are being punished, or that you must somehow prove yourself worthy of our Lord’s blessing. But I can assure you that if anyone is receiving it, it is you, Noelle.”

“It does not feel that way, forgive me for saying.”

“The Lord has his own plan for our lives, his own ways that he ensures we live the most wonderful lives we can. And in doing so, sometimes we wait a bit longer than we wished. But I can assure you, friend, that God has a plan for you.

And I am sorry, but He will make your dreams come true when He wishes it, and when He believes is the best time to make them happen.” His words calmed her, his voice kind and patient as he encouraged her. He spoke like a father motivating his disheartened child; she’d never felt more disheartened than she had before their talk.

They rounded another corner that would lead them to the front of his home, Noelle could already hear the hordes of children playing. The grass was covered in snow, their footsteps crunching as they went, the scent of pine and snow assaulting her senses. She was suddenly very thankful for the boots she had on beneath her dress.

The home that stretched before them was wonderfully built with a wrap-around white porch, decorated with porch swings and a seating arrangement. It stretched far above them, the second-story home she knew had more than enough rooms for all eight of the kids that now ran rampant in the front yard, chasing each other and dirtying their church clothes, throwing snowballs that would most likely take out one of the large windows that lined the house.

They stopped before the porch, turning towards each other as Sam smiled warmly again.

“Do not lose faith and do not become discouraged. There is a bigger plan at play here, bigger than any of us can see. It will happen for you, friend. I have no doubt about it.”

“I was wondering when you were going to saunter back here.” Pastor Sam’s wife greeted, throwing the dish rag over her shoulder as she did. Her smile was warm, her soft brown eyes awfully kind. She was right on time, as their conversation had ended. Noelle wished she felt better about it all, and she did, ever so slightly. But she still felt the ache in her chest, the impatience in her mind, when she saw their children running about. When she heard their unchecked laughter.

“Please come in, I just finished up with lunch.” His wife welcomed, sweeping an arm at the entrance to their home.

Noelle followed them inside, sighing at the blissful aroma of a well-cooked meal. Sam’s wife had always been the best cook, and had been someone Noelle looked up to. She still was, especially with the way she handled all eight of their children with ease, while cooking and cleaning. She never complained about it either, or rather, not to Noelle. But she supposed Sam got an earful whenever he didn’t do his part. As it should be, Noelle supposed. She wouldn’t know what it was to talk back to your husband; she was too afraid.

They led her to the dining room, a large wood oak table in the center of it, already bedecked with a centerpiece, loads of dishes and a plate at each chair. There was even a plate for her, as if they had planned on inviting her all along.

Her heart warmed, Sam’s wife imploring her to take a seat beside her so that they might converse. Soon after she yelled outside, bounties of children came running through the den, almost tipping over the chairs in their haste to stuff their tiny little mouths. Sam and his wife did not find it amusing, but not having to be the parent in this scenario, Noelle laughed softly as she watched them sternly control their children’s energy.

The afternoon was absolutely marvelous, and the food was delicious. More so, the company she shared was even more wonderful than the big meal they had prepared. Noelle spoke with Pastor Sam and Katherine, his wife, and their children—the latter telling her tall tales of all the dragons they’d slayed that day, and how good they were doing in school. By the time Pastor Sam had walked her to her wagon, her tummy, and her heart, were full. The latter incredibly filled with love and warmth, her belly aching with all the laughter, and her eyes once again alight with joy.

***

Noelle was barely through the door when her husband’s grumble reached her, distaste and irritation making the hordes of wrinkles in his face even deeper. He was seated in the living room before he came to meet her at the door, disgruntled and upset that she had not made him lunch.

“I’m sorry, I was at Sunday school, and it ran late.” Noelle blushed at her lie, which Henry took immediate notice of. “I’ll make something to eat.”

“You smell like roast beef. Where were you after church?” He accused, pointed at her with a meaty finger.

“I was at Sunday school, and then Pastor Sam invited me to join his family for lunch.”

“So you leave me here to starve so you can eat at another man’s house?”

She knew that tone. Noelle had first heard it years ago when they’d first married, and he’d hit her for the first, but not the last, time.

She flinched again, as she always did, when the first slap landed, stinging her cheek. However, she was grateful. This attack didn’t last as long as the rest did, and she escaped with barely a scratch aside for the bruise she’d have on her cheek. She wasn’t always so fortunate.

That night, in bed, Noelle lay awake as her older husband snored next to her. She had never wanted to marry him in the first place, but her father had insisted, like she was some cattle to be sold and not his own daughter. She listened to his rumbling as she prayed, wishing to God that he would remove her from this childless life. Remove her from this abusive man and the life she had not chosen for herself. Tears stained her pillow when she fell asleep, wetting her copper hair, and washing away her will to live.

Chapter Two

Copper Mountain, Colorado, 1885

Seated in his office, hard at work, Nicholas Birch was a sight to behold. Immersed in what seemed like mountains of paperwork, his face was pulled into a concentrated frown, slight lines appearing between his brows and beside his eyes. The office around him was deathly quiet, no sound beside the men working and shouting outside, and the sound of chatter in one of the other offices.

He was never one that could work in too much noise. Seated at a large wooden desk, swaying his large body this way and that on his pivotal wheel desk chair, Nicholas just stared at the work before him. The mounds of paperwork in front of him blur together as the hours droned by without end.

His men were deep underground today, his most trusted managers all assigned to this specific project to make sure everyone remained safe and alive. He would never forgive himself if something were to happen under his watch. But it seemed God had other plans for Nicholas.

The door to his office door burst open, Callum, one of his best workers, was absolutely red in the face and hyperventilating where he stood. The young man was leaning against the doorway, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His eyes were panicked, and his face was ghostly white.

Nicholas rose from his chair, dropping the pen on the papers he’s just been working on.

“There’s been an accident,” the boy gasped out. “An avalanche—it’s flooded the whole mine.”

Nicholas sped around the desk, the young boy jogging to keep up with his long-legged pace as they moved through the various hallways to the entrance of the mine. His heart was beating a mile a minute, his breath coming in short bursts as his world crumbled.

“They’re dispatching a rescue team now, but it’s likely we won’t be able to do much. There’s too much snow.”

Nicholas said nothing for the whole time it took for them to get to the scene, and he didn’t say anything after that either. Mounds and mounds of snow covered the entrance of the mine, and according to other workers, had completely filled the mine as well. They estimated that every single worker in the mine that he’d assigned, was either deceased or about to suffocate.

Survival rate was close to none. And Nicholas had the shameful job of having to inform their families. His heart broke into a million tiny pieces, guilt threatening to choke him to death as he stood there, staring at the natural disaster that had just placed a weight on his shoulders. All of the men he’d promised safety to, each and every man, husband, and father—they were all dead because of his incompetence to protect his men against these things.

If he was being fair, he’d say that it wasn’t his fault as he could not predict a natural disaster. But he had known the risks, had assessed them with his team and still decided to send them down. He would never forgive himself, and neither would the families. But then again, why should they?