Prologue

Dusty Creek, Kansas, Spring 1849

A fly buzzed noisily against the kitchen window glass as Sarah ran a hand over the back of her neck, beads of perspiration running down the arch of her spine. A sudden flutter in the pit of her stomach caused her to lower her hands, pressing it against her slightly swollen belly.

Sarah hadn’t told her husband that she was with child again. She was afraid of how Robert would react.

Sarah turned away from the stove and looked out the window. The late afternoon sun beat down mercilessly upon the parched earth, casting long shadows across the barren landscape. It was spring, but the air hung heavy with the oppressive heat, suffocating and unrelenting. Not a whisper of breeze stirred the dust that swirled in lazy spirals, coating everything in a fine layer of grit.

Through the window, Sarah surveyed the remnants of what was once a thriving community, now reduced to a dusty relic of its former self. The once vibrant town lay nestled amidst the sun-scorched plains, its wooden structures weathered and worn by years of relentless sun and unforgiving winds. The Great Drought was still upon them, and the creek, once a lifeline for the town’s residents, lay dormant and dry, a mere memory of the life-giving waters that once flowed freely.

In the distance, the skeletal remains of last year’s crops stood as silent sentinels, their wilted leaves drooping in defeat under the relentless onslaught of the sun. The landscape stretched out before her, a vast expanse of cracked earth and faded dreams, the harsh reality of life in the heart of the Dust Creek.

Sarah sighed as she turned her attention back to the pots on the stove. It was too hot for cooked food, but she knew Robert would complain if she served a cold supper. She and Robert had been married for four years, ever since Sarah was eighteen years old.

Sarah had been forced to marry Robert Turner, a man ten years her senior. Her father, a poor farmer, had traded her for a piece of the last fertile land in the town. Sarah could still remember the day her father had come home with the news. She’d thought he was joking at first, a sick, cruel joke, but she quickly realized he wasn’t joking. He’d traded her life as if she were no better than a heifer or broodmare. She’d thought about running away, but she had nothing. Her family was as poor as the dirt that coated their boots.

The night before her wedding, Sarah had cried bitterly into her pillow, but when the dawn light peeked in through the gap in the threadbare curtains, she’d washed her face and decided that it might not be all bad. Perhaps Robert Turner would be kind to her, give her a better life than the one she had, stuck in a decaying house with her father, who’d given up living the day her mother had passed away.

She’d married Robert Turner almost four years ago to the day, and not a day had passed that she’d wished she’d run away despite having nothing to her name. That tiny glimmer of hope she’d had on the morning of her wedding faded into nothing but shadow only hours after they said their vows.

On the night of their wedding, Robert had gotten stinking drunk and crawled into their marriage bed. That night had been the start of the rest of Sarah’s life.

Lost in her thoughts, Sarah reached for the spoon handle and gasped, pulling her hand away and cradling it against her chest for a moment. Then she opened it, wincing as she looked down at the scorched, red, and inflamed skin. She walked over to the sink and put her hand into the basin of cool water, wincing slightly.

She looked out of the window again, blinking back tears. The baby growing inside her belly should be something that made her full of joy and gratitude, but instead, it only instilled in her a deep sense of fear and regret. Over the past four years, she’d been with child three times. The first baby died before it was even three months old; the second and third were both stillborn. The pain of losing her babies was something that weighed heavily on Sarah’s chest. Sometimes, her grief was so great that it crushed her, making it impossible to think or breathe, as if it were pulling her under the water, deeper and deeper, until the daylight above her grew paler and paler, vanishing altogether into suffocating darkness.

Equivalent to her grief was Robert’s anger. With every child they lost, he grew more and more resentful, as if it were Sarah’s fault, as if she wasn’t trying hard enough or doing something wrong. Did he not understand how it felt as a mother? To carry life inside of you only to see it taken away in a second? Yet that was Robert; he had a way of always choosing his words, a way that cast doubt upon Sarah’s perceptions, eroding her sense of self. She was trapped in her marriage, and each day that passed, she struggled to discern truth from fiction and reclaim her own agency in a world of his making.

Another flutter in her stomach, and Sarah looked down at her stomach, her long, dark-blonde plait falling over her right shoulder. She’d always longed for a family and children, but how could she bring them into this world? A world full of cruelty and pain? How could she protect her unborn child from their father when she couldn’t even protect herself?

Sarah turned as she heard the front porch creak under Robert’s weight. The knots in her stomach tightened uncomfortably. She quickly smoothed the crease in her white apron and plastered a smile onto her pale face as she turned to the door.

Robert stumbled into the kitchen moments later. He held onto the door frame as he looked around the kitchen. Sarah held her breath as she looked at him. Robert was a tall man with a head of thick, black curls and a dark beard. He had dark blue eyes and a crooked nose, broken during a brawl as a younger man. When Sarah had first laid eyes on him, she’d thought he was handsome, but now she only saw the rottenness inside him.

“What’s for supper?” he barked as he walked across the kitchen, almost losing his balance as he sat at the small table.

“Roast chicken and potatoes,” Sarah said automatically.

Robert squinted his eyes at her as Sarah chewed the inside of her cheek nervously. It was not unusual for Robert to come back drunk; however, today, there was something in his eyes, a darkness that scared Sarah, leaving her frozen to the spot.

“Well, hurry up,” he snapped.

Sarah jumped before she quickly turned to the stove. She picked up the roasting dish, doing her best to steady her shaking hands. She carried the roast chicken to the table and set it down before fetching the potatoes.

Sarah sat opposite Robert as he carved the chicken, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She kept her head down, worried that she might look at Robert in a way that irritated or angered him.

They ate in silence for a long while. Sarah kept her eyes glued to her plate. The chicken tasted like sawdust in her mouth as she struggled to swallow. The air in the kitchen was tense.

“Chicken’s dry,” Robert said, pushing his plate back in disgust.

Sarah said nothing, her throat dry.

“Look at me when I am talking to you,” Robert commanded.

Sarah looked up at him under her long lashes.

“A man works hard all day, and this is what he comes home to?” Robert said, his eyes glowering. “I reckon even a dog wouldn’t touch this sorry excuse for a meal. Do you even know the first thing about cooking? It’s a wonder I haven’t withered away to nothing with the slop you serve up on this table. A man expects a decent meal after a hard day’s work, not this sorry excuse for food.”

“I-I-I am sorry,” she stammered.

“A lot of good that is going to do now.”

“I will do better tomorrow,” Sarah promised him.

Robert scoffed as he pushed back his chair. “I am going to bed.”

Sarah lowered her gaze as Robert left the kitchen. As soon as he was gone, she took a deep breath, her shoulders dropping. She sat at the table for a while longer before she got up and cleared the table.

By the time she had finished washing the dishes, it was dark outside, and the moon was rising over the horizon.

Sarah left the kitchen and went to bed, where Robert snored loudly. She got undressed and into bed, careful not to make a sound in case she woke him.

Sarah lay in bed staring at the ceiling for a long time, wishing for the sweet release of sleep. Yet her mind was racing. Perhaps she could leave, pack up her things and go. Robert worked at the farm store in town all day, so if she left right after he went to work, she’d be a whole day away by the time he realized she was gone. Leaving was the only way she could have this baby. She could not raise them in this home. The idea of leaving Robert filled Sarah with as much fear as it did hope. It was not the first time she’d considered leaving him, but she’d always hoped things would improve. Maybe Robert would change if they had a child, but now she knew she’d been a fool to think so.

Sarah rolled over in her, her mind racing. She’d been stashing away some extra money every week, but it wasn’t enough to leave yet. Maybe it would be in a week or two.

The next morning, Sarah took great care in preparing Robert’s breakfast exactly as he liked it. However, morning came and went, and Robert did not come out of the bedroom. Sarah thought about waking him; she did not want him to be late for work, but she was afraid.

Around midmorning, Robert entered the kitchen, his skin ashen and eyes bloodshot. His breakfast was now cold, the eggs rubbery.

“Coffee,” Robert ordered.

Sarah fetched the pot of coffee and poured him a mug, handing it to him with trembling hands. He took it without a word of thanks.

“I wonder if I should perhaps wake you…” Sarah said, her voice trailing off.

Robert took a long sip from the mug.

“I’m not working at the farm store anymore,” Robert said, putting his mug on the table a little too firmly.

Sarah’s eyes widened. “Oh?” she said cautiously.

“I ain’t going to work for a swine who treats his employers like dogs,” Robert said, his voice rising in anger, and his fists balled up so tightly that Sarah could see the whites of his knuckles.

Sarah said nothing. Mr. Harriet, the farm store owner, was a kind and generous man. Everyone in Dust Creek liked him, and he’d given Robert numerous warnings about coming to work drunk. There had been an incident a few months back when some of the supplies had gone missing. Sarah had heard from several sources in town that Robert and his younger brother, Jacob, were involved, yet Mr. Harriet had never been able to prove it.

Sarah wanted to know what had happened, but she dared not ask. Her heart was in her throat.

Just then, Jacob appeared in the back doorway, and Sarah turned to him. He held her gaze for a moment before Sarah looked away. Jacob looked much like his older brother, with the same dark hair and blue eyes. He was a few years younger, closer to Sarah’s age. Sarah didn’t like Jacob; he had a way of looking at her that made her stomach squirm.

“Jacob,” Robert said. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see if you want to go down to the saloon?” Jacob asked.

“Why not?” Robert said. “Ain’t got no place better to be.”

Robert pulled himself up from his seat and walked over to the back door, not giving Sarah a second glance. Jacob tipped his hat to her before following his older brother outside and leaving Sarah alone.

She watched them disappear around the side of the house and out of sight. As soon as they were gone, she exhaled shakily. What was she going to do now? If Robert had lost his job, it meant there would be no more money. With his reputation, there was no way anyone else in town would hire him, and even without his poor reputation, jobs were scarce in Dusty Creek. The two-year-long drought had gutted their town.

Sarah pressed her hands to her stomach as she blinked back tears. If there was no more money, how could she leave? And with Robert home all day, her only escape now seemed impossible.

Chapter One

Dusty Creek, Kansas, Summer 1849

Sarah stood in the doorway, wishing for the slightest hint of a breeze. Her lips were dried and cracked, and her skin felt like sandpaper. How long would they have to endure this drought?

The sun beat down on the small porch as Sarah turned and walked back into the house. As she did, she caught sight of her reflection in the dusty glass.

Her cheeks hollowed, and her brown eyes sunken with fatigue. The lines of worry etched upon her brow. Her clothing hung loosely upon her emaciated frame, the fabric worn thin. Her dark-blonde hair was tousled, strands hanging loosely over her shoulders and back. Sarah barely recognized herself anymore.

Sarah quickly looked away, bowing her head as she walked back into the house.

Robert was asleep in a chair in the sitting room, an empty bottle at his feet. His legs were stretched out in front of him, and his mouth hung open, a thin trail of saliva running down his chin.

Two months had passed since Robert had lost his job, and Sarah’s life had become unbearable. If she’d thought things were bad before now, they were much worse. Not a day went by when Sarah prayed for some respite from this torture, to be free of Robert and his hold on her.

Sarah walked into the kitchen and into the pantry, where the air was slightly cooler. She looked around, but the shelves were bare. She had no idea what she would make for supper; they had no meat and barely enough flour to make bread. Yet Robert expected food on the table as if Sarah were some kind of magician who could fashion food out of thin air.

She pressed her back against the cool wall and sighed. She had not told Robert about the baby yet, and he barely paid her enough attention to notice. Yet it wouldn’t be too long before she started to show. Sarah knew she had to tell him, but something held her back. It was as if she kept it a secret, then there was still a chance she could escape.

After a few moments, Sarah left the pantry, fetching a wicker basket from the floor beside the door. She went out the back door to the small vegetable garden. Sarah kneeled, shifting uncomfortably as she searched in vain for something to salvage, but the vegetable garden was nothing but cracked soil and wilted foliage. The tomatoes and cucumbers that had survived the heat were all a sickly shade of brown, with shriveled skins. Still, there was nothing else, so Sarah picked them up and placed them in the basket. She then got up, and as she did, she suddenly felt faint.

Sarah rocked on the heels of her boots for a moment, closing her eyes as she took deep breaths. But the air was heavy and thick, alive with the scent of rotting vegetation. Sarah exhaled shakily as the world moved in and out of focus.

Just then, she felt a pair of hands on her waist, and she turned to find Jacob, Robert’s younger brother, standing behind her. He was so close that she could smell the whiskey on his breath and the sweet, sickly sweat on his skin.

Instinctively, Sarah pushed his hand off her and stepped back. Jacob’s blue eyes were fixed on her as she quickly reached down and picked up the basket. Without a word, she headed back to the house.

Sarah stood beside the sink as Jacob entered the kitchen. He sat at the table and watched her as she peeled off the wrinkled skins of the tomatoes. She was painfully aware of his eyes on her, traveling the curves and arches of her body, and she was terrified he would notice her growing belly.

Just then, Sarah heard boots in the hallway and turned to see Robert entering the kitchen. He did not look at her as he walked to the table and sat beside his brother.

“You,” he said, looking at Sarah now. “Fetch us a drink.”

Sarah wiped her hands on her apron before reaching under the sink and fetching a bottle of whiskey. She then got two glasses from the dresser and carried them to the table before putting them down.

Robert uncorked the bottle with his teeth and poured amber liquid into two glasses, filling them to the brim.

Sarah returned to the sink, keeping her head down as the brothers spoke.

“So?” Robert said. “Is it sorted?”

“Yup,” Jacob said, sitting forward in his chair. “We leave at dawn for Westport.”

Sarah frowned. Where were they going? Perhaps this would be her chance to get away.

“Woman,” Robert said sharply.

She turned away from the sink and looked at him. His eyes, as usual, were bloodshot.

“Start packin’,” he said. “We leave at first light.”

Sarah stared at him, her heart racing. “W-where are we going?”

“California,” Robert said shortly.

Sarah continued to stare at him, frozen to the spot. She couldn’t go to California, not in her condition.

“There’s a group leaving tomorrow,” Jacob explained. “We’re joining.”

Sarah glanced at Jacob. She had heard stories of the California Trail—they all had. Two thousand miles of unforgiving terrain stretched on without an end, a crucible of adversity testing the limits of human endurance with each passing mile. She had heard the whispers of fierce storms that descend without warning, lashing out with fury upon the hapless travelers below, their wagons swallowed whole by the raging torrents of rain and wind.

And amidst the chaos of the elements, other dangers lurked in the shadows—bandits and outlaws, preying upon the vulnerable and unsuspecting. Wild animals roamed the untamed wilderness, their primal instincts honed by centuries of survival in the unforgiving landscape. Not to mention the disease and petulance that swept through camps without mercy. She would never survive such a trip, but what was more, there was no way her unborn baby would survive it.

“No,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “I-I-I can’t.”

A shadow passed over Robert’s face as he pressed his lips into a hard line.

“There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it,” he said sharply. “I’ve made up my mind, and that’s the end of it. We’re headin’ west, and you’re comin’ along whether you like it or not. So quit your fussin’ and start packin’.”

Sarah opened her mouth and then closed it again, her mind racing. She had to tell him now; it might be the only way.

“I am with child,” Sarah blurted as she moved her hands instinctively over her stomach.

Robert raised his eyebrows, glancing at her belly before he turned away, draining his glass.

“Well, ain’t that just peachy?” he said bitterly. “Another mouth to feed on this fool’s errand of yours. We’re fixin’ to trek across the country, and now you reckon it’s a grand idea to saddle us with another burden? Three children gone to the dirt already, and you think this one’s gonna fare any better?”

Sarah’s mouth turned dry as she blinked back tears.

Robert filled his glass again and took another sip, shaking his head.

“You know, for all these years, I’ve been waitin’ on you to do your part as a wife, to give me children to carry on my name, but there’s something wrong with you, and I ain’t stayin’ here just ‘cause you’re with child. I ain’t puttin’ my faith in you to keep this one alive. We’re takin’ our chances on that trail.”

Sarah’s face burned as the little life growing inside of her fluttered. She loved the little person so much already. She had to do everything she could to protect the baby, even if it meant standing up against Robert. She had to try.

“Go without me,” she said.

Robert’s shoulders tensed, and he got up so quickly that his chair crashed to the floor behind him. He marched across the kitchen to Sarah and grabbed her wrists, twisting the skin painfully as she cried out in pain.

“You think I’d leave you behind?” he hissed, his blue eyes glinting dangerously. “You’re mine.”

“Please,” Sarah begged. “You’re hurting me.”

Robert tightened his grip on her wrists. “You’re pathetic,” he spat. “If your pa were still alive, I’d give you back to him. It’s no wonder he was so eager to be rid of you.”

“Please—”

Robert held her gaze for a moment longer, and then he let go of her wrists, pushing her against the sink. Sarah gulped, unable to swallow over the lump in her throat. Her hands were shaking.

“Now, get packin’,” he said dismissively. “We’re leavin’ at first light, whether you like it or not.”

Sarah rushed across the kitchen, tears now rolling down her cheeks. As she reached the doorway, Robert cleared his throat.

“Sarah.”

She hesitated, not turning to look at him.

“If you think of running away, I’ll kill you myself,” he said.

Sarah rushed down the hallway and to their bedroom. As soon as she was inside, she collapsed onto the floor in a crumpled heap. A strangled sob escaped her throat as she pressed her cheek against the floor. She closed her eyes for a long moment, trying to slow her heart, which was threatening to beat right out of her chest.

As she lay on the hard floor, the walls of their small home started to close in around her. She’d been so desperate to escape this place, to escape Robert, but this? Did he hope that she would die on the Trail? Sarah had lost count of the number of times Robert had threatened to kill her over the years, and yet he’d never done it. Despite his hatred and threats of violence, she could not shake the unsettling realization that he relished in the power he had over her.

It was not love that bound them together, but something darker and more sinister—a twisted desire to control and dominate every aspect of her life. He may despise her, threaten her, even wish her dead, but he would never let her go. In his eyes, she was not a wife to be cherished and loved but a possession to be owned and controlled. She could try to run, but he would come after her.

Sarah exhaled heavily as she pulled herself up off the floor. She walked over to the dresser and reached up, removing the suitcase from the top. She carried it over to the bed and opened it.

Sarah’s hands trembled as she folded a dress and placed it in the worn leather suitcase on her bed. She had to pack as Robert told her to. Obedience had been ingrained in her through years of harsh lessons, and she knew better than to defy him. But as she moved mechanically, her mind raced, trying to think of a way out of this.

Suddenly, the floorboards creaked. Sarah froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She turned slowly, her eyes widening as she saw Jacob standing in the doorway, watching her through the crack in the bedroom door. She had no idea how long he had been there, silently observing. Neither of them moved, locked in a tense, unspoken moment.

“Jacob,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

She took a cautious step toward the door, her mind racing with a desperate plan. If anyone could stop Robert, it might be Jacob. He was the only one who ever seemed to get through to him, even if just a little.

“Can you… can you talk to Robert?” she asked, keeping her voice low, almost pleading. “Can you stop this? Please, Jacob. I don’t want to go. The baby…”

Jacob’s expression remained unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—sympathy, perhaps. He shook his head slowly. “I can’t, Sarah. Robert’s made up his mind. Once he’s decided on something, there’s no changing it.”

Sarah felt a wave of despair wash over her. “Please, Jacob,” she begged, her voice cracking. “You have to try. For the baby’s sake. I can’t… I can’t do this.”

Jacob looked away, a muscle in his jaw tightening. “You know how he is,” he said quietly. “He won’t be persuaded. Not by me, not by anyone.”

A lump rose in Sarah’s throat.

“But maybe it won’t be so bad,” Jacob said, his expression softening. “We’ll all be together.”

Sarah said nothing. His words, which she assumed meant to bring comfort, did the exact opposite. Not only was she to be trapped on a two-thousand-mile-long journey with Robert, but Jacob, too.

Just then, they heard Robert’s voice, harsh and commanding, bark Jacob’s name from down the hall. Jacob stiffened, casting a glance over his shoulder. He gave Sarah one last lingering look, then disappeared.

Sarah stood there, feeling utterly defeated. Her last hope had vanished with Jacob’s retreating form. She closed her eyes, fighting back tears. She had to stay strong for the baby. But the future felt darker and more uncertain than ever.

She returned to her packing, her movements slow and heavy with resignation. As she folded another dress, her thoughts drifted to what lay ahead. The Trail was fraught with dangers—disease, harsh weather, and the ever-present threat of attack. But the thought of Robert’s wrath if she disobeyed was even more frightening.

Tomorrow, they would leave Dusty Creek, and before them stood a journey of uncertainty and hardship. Sarah was no stranger to hardships, so it was not herself she was fearful for but for the fate of her unborn baby