Prologue

HASTINGS, COLORADO 1880

Tillie Goodwin had to take a breath to fortify herself as the coachman got her two bags off the top of the stagecoach for her. As he set them on the ground near her feet, she tucked a loose strand of her black hair behind her ear, and sent him a grateful smile as she said, “Thank you so much for agreeing to let me off here instead of the regular stop in town.”

The coachman, being a man of few words, simply nodded at her and replied, “No problem.” A moment later, he was back on his seat, reins in hand, and getting the horses going again to continue his route.

Turning around, now that she was all by herself, Tillie finally took a good look at her childhood home. It had been a full eight years since she had been here—she hadn’t seen the inside since she was thirteen—and it was quite obvious that the place had not aged well in the absence of a caretaker.

Just from the outside, the paint was faded and dingy, the roof clearly needed to be fixed in at least one place, and she had to completely avoid the one step that had caved in as she hauled her bags to the front door. Inside, it was just as bad; dust covered everything from the faded curtains to the pictures on the walls and the small knickknacks. She almost hated having to take her bags inside due to how dusty the outside of them would get, deciding to leave them near the door for now.

Scrunching up her nose and trying to avoid breathing, Tillie started opening the windows to get some air circulating. She was sure that the stale and dusty air would set off her asthma if she had to breathe it for much longer.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of a breeze, so this didn’t help much. With a sigh, she decided the best thing she could do was to start clearing the dust away. Rolling up the sleeves of the reddish-brown dress she was wearing, she headed to the kitchen to see if there was anything she could use to clean with.

She found a few old rags that had been left, and there were pots and pans still in the cupboards that needed to be cleaned as well. Tillie filled a few with water, set them on the stove, and then got a fire going to heat the water. Cleaning with hot water might not be the best, but it was the best she could do right then.

Once the water was hot, she decided to start with the windows, where she could get some clean air while she worked, and then move further into the house toward her old bedroom. She wouldn’t bother cleaning any of the areas she wouldn’t be using just yet, such as her late parents’ room.

As she worked, Tillie found herself reminiscing. It was very bittersweet, to say the least. Even though it had been years since her parents had died, she also hadn’t lived there since. As a result, the memories seemed fresh, especially as she had only stayed for one additional week there, after their funeral, before going to live with her aunt, Beatrice.

The fact that she was only back in Hastings due to her aunt’s recent death made it all the harder to tell at times if her dark blue eyes were watering because of the dust or because of the reminder of all she had already lost in her short life. She didn’t really care to examine it closely enough to find out which one was the cause.

When her arms got sore, and her back ached, Tillie took a break from cleaning and started making a list of all the things she needed to do while having a glass of water in the kitchen to quench her thirst. First of all, she needed to see what repairs needed to be made. However, making the repairs would require money.

While she had some money from her parents, Tillie’s aunt hadn’t been able to leave her anything at all due to being sick for a whole year before she died. Her parents had left her the house, but she had almost nothing else to her name.

Therefore, Tillie not only wasn’t sure how much it would cost to make repairs, but she also didn’t know if she had enough money to cover it. She would also have to have some money to live on until she could find some way of earning money.

Shaking her head, Tillie forced herself to refocus on making her list. She added that she needed to find a job, get groceries for food, finish cleaning the house, and get someone over to tell her how much it would cost for repairs.

With this last thing in mind, Tillie decided to try making an estimate of the costs herself. Unfortunately, she quickly realized that she had no idea what lumber, nails, and other things cost. This wasn’t surprising, though, as she had never needed to buy those things.

Her family home was a fairly nice one—or, at least, it used to be. There was a large living room, a small library that her father had also used as a study, four bedrooms, and an attic. Things everywhere were showing signs of their age.

The well-loved books on the shelves had faded colors on their binders, the large cobwebs and thick dust in places she hadn’t cleaned yet, and the dullness of the mirrors, door handles, and everything else that should have shown were all examples of aging.

In the attic, Tillie discovered a hole in the roof that would need to be completely replaced. The hole had caused water damage to the floor beneath it—and likely to the bedroom below that.

She sincerely hoped that she was mistaken about a raccoon, or something having taken residence, using the hole as an entry point, but she refused to get close enough to verify. However, the mayhem of chewed boxes and shredded fabrics, some of which were piled into one corner, said otherwise.

In spite of the disarray, Tillie was able to recognize her old crib, her mother’s favorite vase, and other things that had been placed in the attic. This, of course, reminded her of the fact that Beatrice had helped her pack some of her parents’ things up here before they left.

She still remembered that day and how often she had started crying, in spite of the fact that it made her chest tight and set off her asthma, even when she felt she had no tears left. She also remembered some of the things her aunt had told her as Beatrice had closed up the house…

“I know, I know,” Beatrice told her, her voice full of sympathy as she wrapped Tillie’s thirteen-year-old frame in a hug for a moment before they walked toward the front door. “All these memories are hard right now, and I’m sure they’ll be almost as bad when you come back here one day, but they won’t always hurt so much.”

Tillie’s face scrunched up, and she frowned and started shaking her head. “I don’t see how it could ever hurt any less!” She announced, her lower lip trembling. “And why would I come back here after going to live with you? I mean, I don’t want to leave, but…”

Somehow, her aunt had known exactly what to say. “Oh, don’t worry, I understand,” Beatrice had replied, her tone somehow convincing Tillie that she did, indeed, truly understand the thoughts tumbling around in Tillie’s mind. “You want to stay here where you can remember them, but remembering them is also painful right now, which is why part of you is perfectly happy to leave with me.”

Nodding her head in agreement—that had perfectly summed up her feelings on the matter—Tillie shed a few more tears as her aunt told her, “It’s perfectly natural to feel that way, Tillie, and I promise it will get better with time. As I said, you’ll be back here someday; I know you will, and I promise it won’t be as bad.”

Tillie wasn’t sure why or when she would be coming back, or even if it was something she looked forward to or dreaded. Deciding that it wasn’t worth thinking about just then, she had simply nodded her head so that her aunt would move on to a different subject.

Shaking her head, Tillie pulled herself out of the memory, pursing her lips in displeasure at the momentary flash of bitterness and the wish that she could go back and tell her aunt that she had been wrong: it was every bit as painful now as it had been then.

However, Tillie reminded herself that this likely had at least a little to do with the fact that she was there only because her aunt had died. If she had gone back there with her aunt—or if Beatrice had simply still been alive—it wouldn’t hurt nearly as much to be there. Therefore, the pain she was experiencing was because of her aunt’s death.

Fixing that thought firmly in her mind, Tillie took her bags to her room, pointedly ignoring the wave of nostalgia that hit her as she unpacked. After putting her clothes away, she set up a few keepsakes from her aunt. Lastly, she looked around for just the right place to put up the picture of her aunt she had brought with her.

It had to go in just the right spot to give due honor to the woman who had been a second mother to her. It took walking through the house a little and focusing on nothing but where to put the picture before Tillie decided to place it on the wall across from her room so she could see it every day. Hopefully, it wouldn’t make her too melancholy to see it there, or she would have to place it elsewhere.

Trying to regain control over her emotions, she went to have a look at the guest bedroom, the one below where the hole in the attic was, in an attempt to distract herself. She realized a moment later that she really shouldn’t have done that while she was already feeling like crying.

The sight of the water damage and the rotting boards on the floor of the bedroom was more than she could take. She couldn’t even have said, if asked, why the sight bothered her so much.

However, Tillie wanted nothing more at that moment than to sit down on the floor and have a long cry. She had hoped that coming here would give her a fresh start; she remembered how much a fresh start had benefited her when she had left Hasting to go live with her aunt.

However, instead of making her feel better, it only reminded her of past pain. It also reminded her that she was on her own and that there was so much that needed to be done. It felt insurmountable to provide for herself and take care of the house.

Later, when her tears were over, she would tell herself to simply take things one day at a time. However, right then, Tillie let herself indulge in self-pity and the hope that this was the worst of it—that things would get better from there on out. How it could get better, she didn’t know quite yet, but that didn’t prevent her from hoping.

Chapter One

HASTINGS, COLORADO 1880

It had only been a week since Tillie had arrived at her old home and started settling in, but the days had dragged on so much that it felt like it had been at least two weeks. It had rained one day—thankfully not very much—and this revealed the true extent of the damage to the roof, which turned out to be widespread.

Each day had been a struggle to find the motivation to get out of her bed and start cleaning. Apart from the damage, the faded colors, and other things that couldn’t be fixed with a simple cleaning, the inside of the house was actually starting to look livable again.

The dust was gone, the cobwebs cleared away, the door handles and mirrors had been cleaned until they shone, and she hadn’t realized that the windows had been dull until she had properly cleaned them.

Though it looked better, the house felt less livable when she finally got someone to come over and look at the house, to tell her what all needed to be fixed and how much it would cost. Even having the bare minimum of work done, which would only fix the roof and the floor of the attic, would cost far more than she could afford.

As she cleaned, she came up with a way she could try to get money for the repairs: sell some of the things around the house. There were a number of knickknacks and keepsakes scattered around in most of the rooms, as well as boxes of them in the attic. While Tillie didn’t like the idea of getting rid of them, she saw no reason to keep the ones that had no memories attached to them.

There was also the crib and other large things, like the changing table that went with the crib and a small shelf or two that had been in the attic for as long as she could remember. Tillie knew that she could part with these without hardship. In the meantime, she decided she would go into town to see what she could get for some of the items, and try to see if there were any places she could find work.

In the attic, there were two old suitcases that were still perfectly usable, if a little frayed around some of the edges. Their faded brown color showed that they used to have a pattern of some sort on them, though it was no longer possible to determine what this pattern was. Still, she hoped that she would be able to get at least a little money for the suitcases in addition to the candlesticks, a small lamp, and other things she carefully placed inside. She also found a few doilies she was willing to part with, and she placed them in between the other things to prevent scratches.

Fortunately, it wasn’t far to walk to the center of town where most of the shops were. Unfortunately, she had packed the bags with more than she realized, and the weight, plus the fact that the air was thinner here in Colorado than it had been in Kansas with her aunt, was not getting along very well with her asthma. This had necessitated many frequent breaks to catch her breath.

It became easier when she finally entered town, as the roads were kept up nicely there. Though no one had offered to lend her a helping hand, she did get more than one nod of greeting in passing, and everyone seemed perfectly happy to give her the right of way.

This spared her the trouble of having to watch where she was going, allowing her to focus entirely on her footing and trying to avoid dragging the suitcases along the ground. She regretted this the instant she collided with someone coming out of the door of one of the shops beside her.

With a yelp, she dropped one bag as she tilted precariously to one side, desperately trying to regain her balance before she fell over completely and fearing that she would break something if she ended up falling on top of either suitcase.

She thought she wasn’t going to make it for a moment, but then she managed to settle both her feet beneath her again. Breathing gently as though a rough breath would send her toppling over again, Tillie only then took the time to apologetically glance over at the person she had bumped into.

She saw a man with chin-length brown hair who was picking up something he had apparently dropped when they had collided. As he rose to his feet, she saw a hint of green in his brown eyes that she instantly decided were very cold and frustrated. Her apology died on her lips in response to his glare.

“You should be more careful and watch where you’re going,” he told her gruffly.

Tillie’s brows furrowed in displeasure. “It seems to me that you could have avoided me if you had been paying attention. It does take two people to run into each other and not just one,” she snapped back.

He blinked at that, giving her the impression that he was surprised she had retorted instead of apologizing. He frowned as he told her, “It isn’t like I expected to be run over the moment I stepped out of the shop, and unless you are blind, there aren’t exactly many windows besides the one in the door itself that I could have used to see if it was safe to come out.”

A glance showed her he was correct in his statement, with the only windows of this particular building being one further down and a small one set in the center of the top half of the door.

“And? It isn’t as though I was running down the walk at a breakneck pace. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was going at a snail’s pace,” Tillie informed him, her chin held high. “So, what were you looking at as you exited?”

She wasn’t sure what it was about this man that rubbed her the wrong way. Then again, his irrational irritability combined with her own recent problems was probably not the best combination.

Still, even knowing that she wasn’t helping matters any, she couldn’t help but feel vindicated when his jaw clenched, obviously unable to come up with a response. She knew he hadn’t been watching where he was going any more than she had been.

“Just be more careful,” he curtly told her as he walked away. She suspected that he was practically stomping away. She didn’t know how he usually walked, so she couldn’t be certain, but his footsteps were certainly loud.

Inhaling and then exhaling, her sense of pleasure at having bested him with her words quickly evaporated as she recalled that she still needed to finish hauling the suitcases to the pawnshop where she hoped to sell them.

“He could have at least helped me get a good grip on them again,” she grumbled to herself as she readjusted the one bag that she currently had in both arms to one side so she could lean over and pick up the other one.

Her arms were aching—which seemed to be their constant state lately—and her mood was definitely worse as she completed the journey to the pawnshop. This was a plain building that was in between a seamstress’s shop on one side and a blacksmith on the other. The sign reading Cavin’s Pawnshop.

Once there, Cavin, an older man with a kind smile and salt and pepper hair, was gracious enough to help her. Her stomach rolled with hope and nervousness as she waited to see what he would pay her for the items she had brought.

She decided to see what prices he was charging for the things in his shop with the intention of trying to determine what he would be likely to pay her. Even though she walked around and looked at the tags that were attached to most of the items with strings, her brain refused to comprehend the numbers, too busy trying not to think of what numbers Cavin might be going over.

What seemed like both too long and not long enough, she was called back over to the front counter. The amount he was willing to pay her was probably reasonable, but it wasn’t nearly enough for the repairs. So, she told him about the crib and a few other larger things that she was willing to part with.

The estimates she got for those were just as disheartening, but she gave him a grateful smile anyway as she left the pawnshop. The weight in her small purse inside her pocket was far too light.

Telling herself not to cry and that she would go over the math later when she was at home by herself to see how much more she needed, Tillie next went to the town hall. As expected, there was a wall with various postings ranging from a missing pet to a music teacher looking for students. However, she was only interested in the ones where people were looking to hire help of some kind.

There was one paper about an older lady in town who wanted someone to come and help her once or twice a week with general cleaning and things of that nature. Though Tillie thought that sounded perfect, she also knew that it wouldn’t earn her nearly enough money to support herself, but she kept it in mind as she kept looking.

Then she saw an advertisement for a governess for a two-year-old boy. It was a live-in position, and the governess would be expected to do the cooking and cleaning in the house as well as take care of the boy.

Pursing her lips, Tillie weighed the pros and cons. On the downside, she had not spent much time with children before. She also didn’t know if she would even be able to get along with the family, and living there would mean there wouldn’t be any reprieve if she found them intolerable.

However, on the plus side, she would be able to save money more quickly if she didn’t have to buy her own groceries. She would probably also find it hard to live in her own home as it was being repaired anyway. With so many hours, she should also be able to afford all the repairs being made, even if the pay was low.

The thought that caused her to make up her mind, though, was the realization that living in a different house would help her not get so caught up in her memories. It would provide the fresh start and change of scene she had been hoping for.

With her decision made, Tillie read the whole thing once more to ensure she wasn’t missing anything. At the bottom, it instructed any interested parties to write a letter to Michael Walsh, giving his address and promising that he would reply swiftly to set up a meeting with any potential candidates that showed promise.

The sooner she knew if she was accepted, the better. So, Tillie wasted no time in going over to the post office, knowing they sold paper and envelopes there. Buying some of each, she then stood right there at the counter, borrowing a pen from the kind postman—she was slightly saddened by the fact that it was a different postman from when she was younger, but almost nothing was as she remembered it, and she hadn’t recognized anyone yet—and wrote out the letter right there.

In her letter, she mentioned that she was more than qualified to do all the cooking, cleaning, and other things, as she had been doing all of the above and caring for her aunt for a while before the latter died. Tillie didn’t let herself think about writing those words down, refusing to waste a piece of paper by rewriting the letter.

She then expressed her interest in being a governess, her willingness to live in their house, and her love of children. If this happened to insinuate that she knew more about children than she actually did, well, Tillie was certain she could learn that part fast enough, and she was certain it was known to be a common practice to exaggerate one’s suitability for a job—though she couldn’t say for certain, as this was the first time she had ever applied for one.

The moment she was done writing, she instantly sealed it up… and then realized that she didn’t remember the address. After a slightly embarrassing admission of this to the postman, the latter assured her that he knew the place she wanted and would make sure her letter got there, informing her that it would probably arrive there tomorrow and that it would then be at least another day or two after that for her to get a reply.

Though she inwardly sighed at the thought of having to wait so long, she nodded at the information and gave the postman a grateful smile, thanking him for all his help and chatting for a while with him to try to catch up on what changes had been made in Hastings in her absence. Almost all news seemed to go through the post office, at least that had not changed.

She headed straight home, and didn’t bother doing anything but go directly to her bed and collapse onto it, not caring that it was barely after noon. Or that she was neglecting eating, going over the funds she had, and everything else she needed to do. It had been a particularly long day already. However, she was also mildly satisfied with all she had been able to accomplish.

If she could only get the job, that would take care of a few of her problems. In short, applying for it had been a great first step, and all she needed to do was take one additional step at a time. Things were sure to get better from there.