Prologue

Georgetown, Texas

Edwards Boardinghouse

February 1889

Grace Edwards stared at her reflection in the full-length cheval mirror, and her mirror-twin stared back with wide-set, smoky-gray eyes. Normally her eyes were bright, shiny, glittering with a bit of a pewter spark, but today they were red-rimmed and bleary. Her dark blonde hair was usually vibrant like the sun-kissed wheat fields of the north, but lately even her hair had lost its shine. She wore the front strands tied back with a ribbon, and the rest she allowed to flow down her back in waves. Those sun-kissed wheat fields now looked as lifeless as the dry stalks after harvest.

Her narrow shoulders slumped in defeat. Her petite frame, previously lithe, but rounded with good health, had thinned even more over the last months, reflecting her worry and sadness.

The beautiful cherry wood of the mirror gleamed softly, even in the dim sunlight of a somewhat gloomy February afternoon. A gloomy day to match her equally gloomy mood.

“Take a good look, girl.” Her voice sounded hollow, sad, and anyone looking at her would wonder what had happened to bring such a lost expression to her face. Her throat tightened, and she cleared her throat, forcing more words out.

“After today, your vain indulgences will be no more. You’ll be lucky to see enough of yourself to put your hair up.” She took a deep breath and released a sigh that could have reached the heavens themselves. “Vanity is a sin anyway,” she whispered. “It’s nothing but pride for oneself. And pride goeth before a fall. Everyone knows that.”

A fall she must endure, though she had not been the cause. No one had. Everything happened for a reason. It was what God said, what everyone said, though she could not fathom the reason for her parents’ deaths. What could have been the purpose behind that?

She put the thought from her mind because God would not want her to question His plans for her. “It is not your role to question. All will become clear in due time…”

Still, she would miss this mirror. She would miss everything in this room—her brass bedstead, the gold-plated gas lamp, and the lace curtains that danced across her windows with the first breezes of spring. She would miss everything in this building, with its many rooms lining the maze of hallways, its formal foyer, and the cozy common room, where they spent evenings entertaining the guests and boarders with glasses of sherry and tunes on the piano. Mostly she would miss the large kitchen where she’d learned to cook and spent most days of her adult life. And always now, in the back of her mind, was an image of the life she thought she would have in the future, a life that had disappeared in front of her eyes.

Several strands of dark blonde hair had come loose from her pins. More than several, if truth be told. She looked like she’d been combing through a briar patch and gotten snagged more than once. In reality, she’d been packing crates for days. Two months since her parents had died of smallpox. Two months since she’d engaged the auctioneer to help her with the earthly possessions of the Edwards family, including the boardinghouse that had been her home since birth.

Now their building and business had been sold, and the things the new owner had not purchased were being transported to Austin. The auctioneer had told her that most of it would be sold in its own time and she would see the profits spread out over months, perhaps years.

“How will we survive if we must wait for years?”

Grace smoothed the wavy blonde locks back behind her ears, trying her best to hold back the tears that brimmed in her gray eyes, eyes filled with enough sorrow to weigh down even the most stoic. She’d tried. She’d really tried.

Her shoulders slumped beneath the white cotton blouse she wore, and she ran her fingers down the sides of gray wool skirt, scratchy and pinched in several inches at the waist. It was held up with a pin. Both pieces of clothing were too big for her small frame. Both had belonged to her mother. Deborah Edwards had been larger, several inches taller than Grace, who was just over five feet, and much sturdier by comparison. Grace was, as her father always said, “as delicate as a Texas bluebell.”

Grace’s breath caught as fresh tears pooled in her eyes.

“Stop thinking of Papa,” she scolded, brushing her cheeks quickly to catch the tears falling like gentle drops of rain. “Stop thinking of Mother. They are gone. What use are you to Samuel if you’re crying all the time?” She squared her shoulders and adjusted her white apron, swiping at the cobwebs dusted across the bleached cotton.

Her own clothes, most of them anyway, were already packed in crates. Her beautiful silks and fashionable hats and stylish overcoats would be auctioned off in Austin as well, as would her mother’s. Her father had indulged both of the women in his life, and she realized now that, for all she loved her father, he had succumbed to vanity as well. He’d taken pride in how they looked to the outside world, both the people in their community and those that traveled through.

“Oh, Papa…” Her voice dropped to a whisper as her gaze flickered over her practical—ugly, they’re ugly—clothing. “You should not have indulged us so. What good are pretty dresses now except as income to be gained in years? Better we should have that money now.”

She’d kept her more modest clothing, things that would serve her well in whatever occupation she could find—perhaps a role as a governess—but they were packed away until needed. Until then, she wore Deborah’s kitchen clothes.

The boardinghouse sale would pay off their debts to the local shop owners and give them some money to live on for a while. She already knew the income wouldn’t last long because she needed to pay several months in advance to keep her and her fifteen-year-old brother, Samuel, in their rented rooms down near the livery. They would be moving there tomorrow.

Samuel had already gotten a position as a clerk in the farm supply store the stablemaster owned next door to the livery. He’d been working the desk of the boardinghouse for three years, and Mr. Caldwell had recognized her brother’s temperament was suitable for helping his customers as well. Samuel was an affable young man, almost always in a good mood, which was why she hated to see his face without a smile. He would be starting at the store the day after the move, and she was most grateful to her brother for his determination and decisiveness in securing a position so quickly.

Samuel’s income would feed them, but she couldn’t put the burden for their existence on him. She was hoping to garner enough revenue from the auction to tide them over until she secured a suitable position. Perhaps that governess position that had crossed her mind…

She was good with children. Well, at least she always had been when families had traveled through Georgetown and taken lodging in their boardinghouse. She was good with her sums, could read with proficient skill, and had a respectful hand when it came to writing. She had graduated the eighth grade. Yes, she was sure she could be an acceptable governess. She would put an advertisement in the newspaper. Hopefully someone local would employ her, because leaving Georgetown was out of the question. This was her life, where her brother was, where her church was. She could not leave it.

As a governess, she might even meet her very own Mr. Rochester, though with a far less dire ending, of course. Jane Eyre was her most favorite book.

Perhaps a position with the milliner or the draper… Surely someone had need of a female clerk to put the women customers at ease.

Perhaps one of the hotels or boardinghouses would hire her as a cook. Both businesses absolutely needed a cook, and she had enough experience. She’d been helping her mother in the kitchen since she was steady enough to stand on a stool at the work table.

She glanced at her hands and ran her fingertip over several puckered scars from burns she’d gotten in her youth. Her mother had not coddled her in the kitchen, and though Grace had been as careful as possible, accidents happened, especially when she’d been so young.

She had always disliked her hands.

“More vanity,” she said firmly. “They are good hands. Strong hands for working. It doesn’t matter what they look like. They are hands to do God’s work. Hands to protect your brother and provide for him.”

If she could find a position to provide for them, if she was able to allow him free time, she could help him acquire his true goal. Samuel dreamed of being a performer in a Wild West show. They’d seen one in Austin several years ago. Such things they’d witnessed… true wonders and such skill the performers had!

Samuel had begged their father for riding lessons so that he could learn some of those skills, but their father, though he indulged the women in his life, did not indulge Samuel. His son would inherit the boardinghouse. His purpose in life was to become an innkeeper. There was no room in a man’s life for wasteful frivolities, such as riding lessons to perform in what Joshua Edwards considered to be nothing more than a traveling spectacle that pulled men away from their godly pursuits.

Joshua’s foot had come down hard on Samuel’s dreams. Even now, Grace wished she could give Samuel what he most wanted. Perhaps she could, in a future that didn’t hold grief.

Another sigh drifted from her as her gaze roamed over the face staring back at her. The gray eyes had lightened a bit. The sorrow seemed… less. Thinking about her brother and his dreams often buoyed her spirits a bit.

“I will pray on it. Perhaps God will provide an answer for me. Despite what Papa said, all frivolities in a man’s life can’t be a waste of time, can they?”

“Grace!”

Her brother’s voice caught her attention.

“With God on our side, we will prevail.” She nodded once to herself, straightened her spine, and went into the hallway. She found her brother in his room, holding a claw hammer.

She mock-frowned and teased, “What are you on about, Sam?”

Her fifteen-year-old brother, five years younger than herself, turned toward her. She’d often thought if she’d been a boy, she would look like Sam. He had blond hair just a bit more golden than her own, more like flax than wheat, though she was glad to see that Sam’s still held a healthy shine. His eyes were gray as well—their father’s eyes—but Sam’s still radiated that spark of excitement and a twinkle of happiness that even recent sadness couldn’t quite quell. Sam was such a happy boy.

Even his frame, short still, though lanky and agile, was very similar to her own. Yes, had she been a boy, she would have looked like Sam.

He gestured to the poster on the wall—his most prized possession—a drawing of a man on a bucking bronco, dust kicking up beneath the horse’s hooves, his Stetson flying behind him in a swoosh of air. Above the drawing, in big bold type, were the words Captain Davis and His Wild West Show Coming to a City Near You! Starring Flying Fletcher and Jesse, the Wonder Horse! Also featuring Sharpshooter Kate “Eagle Eye” Daily and Trick Rider Perry McCray.

“Can you help me take it off the wall?” Samuel asked. “It’s nailed up, and I don’t want to tear it.”

“Oh, yes, your Flying Fletcher… Mustn’t damage the poster. But there’s no worry for putting a hole in the wall?” she teased.

“Um, no, I mean…” Samuel said, blushing a bit. “Figured you could do it without damagin’ both.”

She took the hammer and gently pried the nail out of the wall, being very cautious not to tear the paper because she knew how much the poster meant to her brother, though she wasn’t sure why. She’d heard that Elijah Fletcher had stopped performing last year because of an accident.

When she handed Samuel the poster, he laid it very carefully inside his trunk on top of the many newspaper articles about the Wild West shows that had come to Texas. He’d saved them all.

“You know Elijah Fletcher doesn’t perform any longer,” Grace said. “Some sort of accident, though I’m not sure of his injury. Why do you treasure this so?”

Samuel’s gray eyes, so like her own, brightened, and his smile lit up the entire room. “It’s still my dream,” he said, and his voice held a touch of something she wished she could find in herself.

She’d lost that hopeful spirit, that sense of wanting something beyond survival, when their parents died. He ran his finger over the colorful poster and then closed the trunk lid and patted the top. The trunk held everything he would be taking into their new life.

It was disturbing to think the sum of a life, even one of only fifteen years, could be contained in one trunk. It bothered her greatly, yet she also knew they were lucky to have what they had.

Grace shook the bad thoughts away and closed her eyes. She said a quiet prayer that God would give her the strength she’d need in the days to come. Talking with God always helped. She counted on Him. He would help her to get through each day. He would show her the miracle that came with each sunrise and the blessings in each sunset. His love would lift her up, and His mercy would descend on her when she failed. He—

“Um, Grace…”

She opened her eyes to find him watching her curiously, his eyes filled with hope. She saw then that he held a piece of newsprint in his hands.

“What do you think?” he asked.

She tilted her head. “About what?”

Samuel laughed. “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”

“I did not,” she said, letting out a giggle of her own. Thank you, God, for even that small bit of laughter. Every good thought matters.

“Can I take lessons? From Flying Fletcher?”

She took the paper from Samuel’s hand and read the small advertisement tucked between articles containing tips for the upcoming planting season. Elijah Fletcher was offering lessons of all sorts on his ranch, roping, herding, riding…

“Samuel, we have no need of cowboy lessons. We live in town, and with your position at the farm supply, you’ll be more apt to need additional arithmetic tutoring, not—”

“Look!” He pointed to the bottom of the advertisement. “It’s not just cowboy lessons. It’s performin’! Trick ridin’! Bronco bustin’!”

She saw the prices listed for weekly lessons. So much money for something that wouldn’t feed them. He must have heard her sigh because his shoulders slumped. She hadn’t meant to let it out, but it was so hard to hold things in these days.

“I understand,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I asked. It’s just a stupid dream anyway.”

His head dropped, and her heart nearly shattered. It would cost them dearly, but she would find a way. She needed his smile to get through each day. She cupped his chin and lifted his face. They were eye to eye, the same size yet, but soon he would surpass her. He might, even now, be an inch or two taller.

“There are no stupid dreams,” she said, “and I will do what I can to bring yours to you. You are a good boy, Sam.”

“Really?” The smile that lit his face would have thrilled the angels. It certainly thrilled Grace.

“Really. I have a bit put aside. We can use it to start your lessons. When Mr. Caldwell pays your wages, you can take over the weekly payment. A man cannot live by bread alone.”

Samuel laughed. “I think it means the Lord’s word, not ridin’ lessons.”

“It might,” she said, giving him a little shake, “but I think God would want you to have your dreams also. Dreams bring us happiness.”

“What’s your dream, Grace?”

She shrugged but smiled as she did so. “My dream is to help you achieve yours. Do we have a deal?” She put out her hand, but Samuel ignored it.

He grabbed her in a bear hug and lifted her off the ground. So strong for his size.

“It’s a deal! Thank you, Grace! I love you so much!” He swung her around then set her on her feet, but he didn’t release her.

Grace felt her love for him double, as if that were even possible. She returned his hug and let her fingers drift through his soft blond hair. It clipped his shoulders now, and it looked good, but he really needed a haircut. She cupped his head, holding him close. “I love you too, Samuel. I am so grateful to have you in my life.”

Chapter One

Georgetown, Texas

The Bluebonnet Hotel

April 1889

Grace dusted her hands and then swiped them down her apron. The last batch of biscuits was ready for the oven. She reached toward the oven, but as the heat touched her fingertips, she jerked her hand back and grabbed a cloth. She added a few more small chunks of wood into the firebox to keep the heat high, waited a few minutes, and then adjusted the damper just a bit. When she felt her fire was burning steadily, she yanked open the heavy iron door and slid her tray of biscuits inside.

She flipped the cornmeal johnnycakes to cook the other side, thinking of the last few months and all the lofty goals she’d had for herself. Governess indeed. What had she been thinking?

Though there were a few wealthier families in town, Georgetown was primarily a working-class town, most of the men working at the railroad yard or the sawmill or another laborious position. The merchants in town, though steady and somewhat lucrative because people didn’t want to journey to Austin for supplies, had no need of a governess. Neither did the doctors, the judges, or the sheriff. Their wives lived comfortable lives and were perfectly capable of looking after their own children. Those women were looking for household servants, and Grace decided if she needed to go back to her boardinghouse roots, she would rather cook. Cooking was far more enjoyable than doing laundry and dusting chandeliers.

She’d been grateful when Mrs. Graves hired her. Sam earned enough to pay for their lodging but little else, and her position at the hotel included meals and enough money to pay for Sam’s cowboy lessons and put just a bit aside for a rainy day. Mrs. Graves, generous woman that she was, had agreed to include Sam’s meals as well. The woman had no idea how much a fifteen-year-old boy ate.

Grace was almost happy. If not happy, at least feeling content and secure. Two months ago she wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she and Sam thanked God daily for their good fortune. He had his position and his lessons, and Grace had her position and could help Sam achieve his dream.

She would just have to find her Mr. Rochester elsewhere.

Grace scooped up the johnnycakes, put them on a tray, and slid them into the warmer. She spun around to find her employer, Mrs. Graves, standing on the other side of the work counter. Though surprised that Mrs. Graves was in the kitchen at this early hour, Grace gave her a bright smile. The older woman, a bit on the portly side, gave her a weak smile in return.

“The last of the biscuits are in, sausage is ready, and I’ve opened a jar of blackberry jam because I know Mr. Graves loves it so. Did you have some changes to the menu this morning?” She glanced at the door that led into the dining room. “Do we have early patrons?”

“No, Grace, everything is as usual.” Mrs. Graves folded her hands in front of her ample waist and blinked rapidly. “You’ve been a wonderful addition to our kitchen.”

The only addition, Grace thought, holding in a smile. Maybe she’s come to offer a raise. We could certainly use the money, and I’ve worked so hard these last few months. I could— What? I can’t have heard that right.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” Grace asked.

“I said my niece will arrive on tomorrow’s train, and I know you’ll understand that we need to offer her employment until… well, possibly until she finds a husband.”

It took a moment for her employer’s words to sink in, but once they did, Grace’s heart sank too. She swallowed hard, trying to force words from a throat that had suddenly closed up. “So my position is gone?”