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Chapter One
Hannah
Larimer County, Colorado
Mid-October 1880
Hannah stood shivering outside the small farmhouse, gazing toward the towering mountains to the north and west, and a lower range of mountains surrounding the valley. The mountain peaks were already buried under caps of snow with more on the way. Her cheeks tingled with cold, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, and hands tucked under her arms. She shook her head.
Good Lord, have I done the right thing? Winter had arrived in the Rocky Mountains of northern Colorado. Usually her favorite time of year, she couldn’t help but worry about mounting debts, her mother’s health, and her own future. Any day now she would receive visitors. One would likely be from the town banker reminding her of the overdue payment on the bank loan she had taken out three years earlier.
A gust of wind tugged several strands out of the loose braid that draped down the front of her shoulder almost to her waist. She felt the bite of it against her face, making her eyes water. With a sigh, she walked from the small barn back to the house, the bitter wind pulling at the worn, woolen skirt and blouse, the waist-length cape came flapping around her in the breeze.
She entered the house, immediately enveloped in the warmth from the small fire banked in the stone fireplace to her left. To her right stood the small kitchen, dishes waiting to be washed.
“Hannah?”
Her mother’s voice came from her bedroom. She moved toward the doorway of her mother’s room, directly across the hall from her own. She paused there, doing her best to hide the sadness nearly overwhelming her. Her mother had been bedridden for the past month. The affliction had started several months ago, but the doctor couldn’t identify what it was that slowly sapped her mother’s strength day by day.
She forced a smile as she gazed at her mother, a shadow of her former self. She glanced at the small stone fireplace opposite the bed and realized that the fire had nearly gone out overnight. The room felt chilly.
“Let me get some more wood for your fire, Ma—”
“That can wait a moment, Hannah,” Doris Matthews murmured.
Even her mother’s voice had changed over the past few months, the almost-always chipper tone and lilt fading day by day. Of Irish ancestry, her parents had emigrated from Ireland not long after what they now called the great potato famine. Her father had died when she was only twelve years old, forcing her and her mother to leave the small tenement they’d called home in New York City. Her mother had gotten a job as a nanny to a family in the western part of the state for a while, but after that they’d lived in countless number of boarding houses as they moved around, her mother constantly seeking work as a cook, housekeeper, maid, or any other job she could find. Hannah helped as she could.
At nineteen, Hannah had met Levi Clayton. Oh, how she missed his booming laugh and twinkling eyes. Her black-haired and smiling Levi. She’d fallen in love with his smile and his zest for life. When she’d first met him, he worked in a coal mine. They’d courted for six months before he asked her to marry him, much to her mother’s delight and her own. Not long after the wedding, when he’d started to cough from inhaling coal dust, they’d moved west to Indiana, where he worked above ground as a milker on a large and profitable dairy farm. Her mother was hired to help with the housework and Hannah watched over the woman’s two children, both under three.
Their little family had scrimped and saved enough money to someday buy a chunk of land out west while Hannah yearned for a child of her own. Eventually Levi announced that they would make the long journey west for a new start in Colorado Territory.
Levi bought some land and built a small farmhouse for the three of them. He’d even added on an extra room for the day she would announce the news they all waited for. But her deepest desire never came to pass.
Their first year’s crops had been destroyed by a hailstorm, stones the size of her fist pounding down from the sky. With no money left and none coming in, Levi had left home to get a job on the railroad. He sent every penny he earned back to Hannah on the farm. Six months later, he was killed in a railway accident.
That was two years ago. Two long years. Hannah heaved a sigh, missing him and his laugh more than ever.
“Read me the letter, Hannah,” Doris Matthews murmured. “I’d like to hear it again. He should be arriving any day now, shouldn’t he?”
Hannah didn’t want to read the letter again. She already felt guilty for not telling her mother the truth. Her mother, worried about her working the farm all by herself had suggested she reply to a mail-order bride service. She pretended she had, just to keep her ill mother happy. With a sigh, Hannah retreated to her own room and reached for the envelope that contained a fictitious letter she’d written herself. She’d even wasted a perfectly good envelope to continue the sham. The envelope was wrinkled and smudged with dirt and what looked suspiciously like a spilled coffee stain. My fault, she thought, this has gone on too far. She’d told her mother she didn’t want to marry again, that her heart still belonged to Levi. Her mother replied that she was young enough to make another good marriage and she shouldn’t surrender her life to that of a spinster.
She pulled the letter from the envelope, unfolded it, and eyed the writing, small and tidy save a small splotch of ink on the bottom right corner opposite the forged signature. She can’t ever learn the truth about my duplicity. Not ever!
“Hannah? Are you going to read it?”
“Yes, Ma,” she mumbled. She returned to her mother’s room and glanced at her, half-sitting, her back resting against plumped pillows, her eyes closed and a small smile curving her lips. Hannah took a deep breath. “My dear Hannah…” she hesitated. Why don’t you just tell her the truth? No one wanted to marry a twenty-six-year-old widow who lived on a small farm out in the middle of nowhere. She cleared her throat and said the words she’d memorized instead. “Unfortunately, my dear, I will not be able to leave as soon as I had planned. Some business takes me to New York City…” She thought quickly. “… and perhaps as far as London. I am sorry to be the bearer of such sad news, but I may be away for a year or more. I must care for the health of the business prior to making such a commitment to you. Sincerely yours, Bryce Anderson.” It was all made up. Every word.
“Oh,” her mother sighed, frowning with disappointment. “I had so hoped to see you wed before Christmas.”
“Yes, but as the Good Book says, good things come to those who wait,” Hannah said with false cheer. She folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope, wishing that she could rip the blasted thing up and throw it into the fireplace. She didn’t want to be reminded that she was lying to her mother, but she was doing it for a good reason, wasn’t she? Saving her mother grief and worry?
“I need to go into town. Are you all right by yourself for a little while?”
Doris turned to her with a wan smile. It hurt Hannah to see her mother had lost so much weight. Her pallid skin and deeply sunken eyes never failed to alarm her. She wished more than anything that she could change things but there was no point in hoping for the impossible.
“I’m fine, dear. You go along. I believe I’ll take a nap.”
Hannah quietly left the room and moved down the hallway and into the kitchen, slowly shaking her head. She didn’t know what to do. The debts, her mother’s illness, and now the gentle yet insistent pressure to remarry? She dreaded the thought of remarriage. Since her beloved Levi had died, she had not even thought of marrying again, at least not until recently after her mother brought it up. She had loved Levi with everything she had. To think of another man walking in this house, working the land, and sharing a bed with her made her stomach tighten with a knot of dread. Yet she also knew that she couldn’t keep this farm going on her own for much longer. It was close to impossible to keep up with chores and take care of her mother, growing worse every week, at the same time. Her mother didn’t want for much, except to see Hannah married again before she passed.
Good Lord, are You with me now? Have I done something to disappoint You? Is there some reason that we’re being punished?
“Shame on you,” she muttered. “Quit feeling sorry for yourself and get to work!”
She lifted the empty wicker basket from the floor in front of the pantry and left the room. From the hooks in the wall by the front door, she gathered her crocheted shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. Her hand twisting the cold brass knob, she opened the door to the cold bite of air outside. Another long, harsh winter was on the way. She stepped outside, the chill tingling in her cheeks and making her eyes water. Closing the door quietly behind her, she glanced toward the wood pile off to the side of the house underneath the sagging and open-sided wood shed. The wood cutter, Hank Wilson, had already bucked the trees into usable lengths, ready to be chopped for firewood. The supply would be enough for the fireplace in the front room, her mother’s room, and the cast iron stove in the kitchen for a month or two if she used it carefully. The pile of wood that still needed to be chopped was waist high and nearly ten feet long. One stump of wood, her makeshift chopping block, stood off to the side of the pile, the blade of the ax buried deep in it.
Her shoulders were still sore from yesterday’s chopping. She glanced down at the palm of her right hand where new blisters formed. What man in his right mind wanted a woman with roughened, blistered hands and chipped fingernails? Hank had offered to chop some of the wood for her, but since she had nothing to pay him with, she had politely refused the offer. She didn’t like accepting charity, no matter how kindly it was offered.
She strode quickly through the yard, trying to ignore all the work that waited. The last of the fall garden vegetables needed to be pulled up, washed, and stored in the root cellar. Several shingles were missing from the chicken house, and the fence around it needed to be braced up. Again. She didn’t even want to look at the barn, where several wood shingles were missing from the roof as well, tugged off by a fierce wind storm just a few weeks ago.
“Lord help me,” she muttered. She tried not to grow discouraged, but it was hard to keep her chin up and smile around her mother every day, knowing that everything was falling apart around her. Hot tears filled her eyes, but the chill breeze immediately cooled them, forcing her to fiercely blink them back. I can do this, she told herself. I can do this.
She walked briskly away from the farm toward town, nestled between two mountain ranges west of Fort Collins. Her farm was just three miles away from Blanding. The sleepy little place had grown from twenty-five residents to nearly fifty in the past couple of years. Every spring brought new residents. When she had first arrived with Levi and her mother, Blanding had been nothing more than a frontier trading post and a stop along the stagecoach route to the mountains west.
She glanced up at those mountains, rising high into the sky, their peaks already covered with a dusting of snow. It didn’t take long for the chill to seep through her heavy woolen dress and stockings, prompting her to shiver. Time to pull the heavier leather and sheep-lined coat from the cedar chest at the foot of her bed. Levi’s coat. That first winter without him, donning the coat had been nearly impossible. Every time she’d slid her arms into the coat, she’d catch a whiff of Levi, as if the coat desperately sought to cling to his memory. Tears filled her eyes as they had that day and her heart ached, her sense of loss nearly overwhelming. Yet she carried on, day by day, but oh, how she missed him!
“One day at a time, Hannah,” she murmured, her breath floating in the cold air. She wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders, the ends clutched tightly in one hand, the basket tucked under one arm, her other hand shoved into the pocket of her skirt as she lowered her head against the breeze and picked up her pace. She fingered the two bills and coins in her pocket, hoping it would be enough to purchase two one-pound bags of flour, a half-pound bag of salt, a half-pound bag of baking soda and two pounds of dried beans, each packed into one-pound bags. Also on the list was a pound of coffee and a bar of lavender scented soap she hoped to give her mother for Christmas.
She planned to make a thick vegetable stew tonight. If she were lucky, some biscuits to go with it. The challenge would be to get her mother to eat more than a spoonful of the soup and at least half a biscuit, but she would try her best. It broke her heart to watch her mother wasting away before her eyes. Every time she looked at her mother, the doctor’s words came back to haunt her. He’d come for that first visit a few weeks ago at Hannah’s request. Outside, climbing back into his buggy, he had broken the news to Hannah.
“I’m sorry, Hannah, there’s nothing I can do to help her.”
Hannah had refused to believe it. She’d forced back tears and lifted her chin. “What’s wrong with her?”
“I’m not sure. I fear that there might be something wrong with her heart. Sometimes it does not beat as it should. It’s likely that she’s suffering from some sort of wasting disease. I’ve seen it before, but there’s no cure. I’m sorry.”
He had left her with a bottle of laudanum in the event her mother’s pain grew intolerable, or to help her sleep, but so far, her mother had declined even a spoonful. She began to fear that her mother would not see another spring—
“No!” She took a deep breath, the cold air filling her lungs. She huffed it out. “You can’t lose hope. You can’t!” She’d lost so much already; her father, her husband, the hopes of a big family, of finding the contentment that she had yearned for. She blinked back hot tears and put one foot in front of the other. She could do it. She knew she could. Still, sometimes the sorrow, the grief, and the hopelessness sought to carry her away in waves.
Her face cold to the touch, her fingers and toes stinging with tiny needles of icy, she finally spied the outskirts of town. She marveled at how much it had grown since she had seen it that first time. In place of the trading post now stood a small mercantile, the only one between Fort Collins to the east and the western slope of the Rocky Mountains to the west. Along Main Street, running east and west, now stood not only the mercantile, but scattered along its length stood a seamstress and tailoring shop, the doctor’s office, and the town church which was also combined into a schoolhouse that was used after planting in the spring until harvesting in the fall. A livery stood on the far eastern edge of town.
A short distance beyond, toward the river that ran around the north end of town, stood a small grain mill, a blacksmith shop, and even further along, Mr. Wilson’s sawmill. The town also boasted a boarding house and a livery. Every year saw more businesses and people. Still, it was nowhere near the size of Fort Collins and would’ve been dwarfed by the quickly growing city of Denver to the south. Perhaps, after Levi’s death, she should’ve simply sold the farm and moved with her mother into a larger city where jobs were more plentiful, but what could she do? She didn’t have the patience or the skills of a schoolteacher, nor the certification. She could sew a little bit, but only when she had to, and her stitches were not near as perfect as those of the town seamstress. She had never worked in a mercantile, nor did she have any skills in medicine.
No, the farm was all she had. Since their arrival, she had worked side-by-side with Levi as they had raised their crops of wheat or corn, switching back and forth from harvest to harvest. She knew how to harness their draft horse to the plow, and she could plow a straight line as well as any man. Yet since Levi’s death, the work just piled up and there was just never enough time in the day to take care of everything. Laundry, gardening, housework, caring for her mother, and working the land by herself had all taken its toll.
“Hannah!”
She looked up to find the town seamstress, Ellie Baker, hurrying toward her, a waist length dark gray woolen cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Hannah smiled. “Morning, Ellie.”
“I’m glad I saw you this morning. I’ve been meaning to get out to your place, but I’ve been so busy with work.”
No doubt about it, Ellie Baker had made a name for herself in Blandings with her skills with needle and thread. She was able to look at any of the latest fashions from magazines or catalogs and mimic those same designs for the ladies and gentlemen around town, using simpler and less expensive cloth.
“I understand. I’ve been busy too.”
“How’s your mother?”
They walked side by side, north along First Street, passing a couple of dirt side streets and small homes as they headed toward Main Street, running east and west. “She’s doing all right, thank you for asking.” She didn’t like to talk about private matters with the townspeople, even those she had known for years now. She didn’t want or need anyone’s pity. “How have you and Marty been? I haven’t gotten into town in over a week.”
Ellie smiled. She’d gotten married four months ago. “We’re adjusting to married life,” she confided. “It’s a lot different from courting to being married, isn’t it?”
Hannah couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, it is, but it’s also wonderful, isn’t it?”
Ellie laughed. “Most of the time, yes.”
They reached the intersection of Main and First. “I’ve got to get a few things from the mercantile.”
“I won’t keep you then, but I wanted to ask you something.”
Hannah paused, turning her back to the wind. “What is it?”
“The women’s league at church was thinking it would be a nice idea for the schoolchildren to form a choir at church, so they sing for the congregation on Christmas Eve. You have such a lovely voice, Hannah, and the ladies and I wanted to ask if you might agree to be in charge of that.”
Hannah’s eyebrows rose. “In charge of a choir?” She immediately shook her head. “I know nothing about leading anyone.” She didn’t want to disappoint Ellie but had to. “I’m sorry, Ellie, but there’s just so much work to do at home, and with my mother being sick, I can’t be away for long.” She blinked back tears. “She’s growing so weak and can hardly get out of bed anymore. I do hope you understand. Please give the ladies my best, but I just can’t.”
Ellie placed a hand on her arm. “I understand, Hannah. I figured that’s what you would say, but I told them that I would ask.”
“Please tell them that I’m honored that they did. It’s just that…” Her voice broke. “My mother needs me right now.”
“Understood,” Ellie said. She squeezed Hannah’s arm. “Please do let me know if you need any help with anything. You know that I’ll come if you do.”
“Thank you,” Hannah murmured. She glanced around at several others on the street taking care of their own needs. “I’d better get going.”
“Of course. Will we see you at church this Sunday?”
“Yes,” Hannah replied. She and Levi had been devoted members of the church. After his death, she and her mother sat side by side, until her mother got sick. She had no one to lean on except the Lord, and her church family meant everything to her. She’d missed last Sunday because her mother had been too weak, and she didn’t want to leave her alone. Sometimes it felt as if life were trying to pull her apart one piece at a time though she desperately tried to hold herself together.
Ellie turned away and quickly headed back to her shop on the east corner of Main Street and First. Hannah sighed and turned toward Jack’s Mercantile, which stood directly to the west side of First Street on the corner of Main. She stepped up onto the boardwalk under the overhang, glad to be sheltered from the wind. Entering the store, she was assailed with a myriad of heady aromas, from cinnamon to leather, tobacco, and the earthy scent of potatoes.
“Hannah! Good morning.”
She glanced at Jack Simpson, the owner. He stood behind the counter, a middle-aged man with a rather portly belly that strained his suspenders. He had a time worn and wrinkle face but was always quick to smile. Bushy caterpillar eyebrows rose over large brown eyes as he grinned.
“Good morning, Mr. Simpson,” she murmured. “I need a few things.”
“Certainly.” He extended a hand. “Where’s your list?”
She pulled her hand from her pocket and handed him the small slip of paper with the items she needed written on it.
The store owner lifted an eyebrow. “Two peppermint sticks?” he grinned. “You develop a sweet tooth, Hannah?”
She shook her head.
“It’ll just take me a few minutes,” Simpson murmured. He lifted his head and looked toward the front corner of the store, lifting a hand. “I’ll be with you in just a minute, Mr. Lawson!”
A deep, velvety voice answered. “No rush.”
She turned away from the counter, thinking to simply view some of the items hanging on the walls or sitting on the shelves that filled the store. A small cast iron stove stood in the middle of the room, the heat from the wood burning inside pleasantly warming the store. An older woman browsed the shelf of soaps in one corner of the room. A young girl standing with her mother was eyeing the shelf of shoes. She heard a footstep behind her and glanced over her shoulder to find a rather tall man with green eyes the color of early spring grass sliding past her toward the table that held shaving supplies. As he passed, he gave her a smile. A dimple appeared in his right cheek. His gaze quickly passed over her face. He had laugh wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He… she quickly turned away, alarmed by her reaction to him. How could she think him handsome? Guilt assaulted her. She felt as if she had just betrayed Levi’s memory. She moved away to peruse the shelves, arms wrapped around her waist and trying not to let her fingers lightly linger over any of the goods she passed.
“Hannah?”
She glanced toward the back of the store where Mr. Simpson stood behind the counter with a concerned frown. She moved quickly toward him. “You have my order gathered already?”
“I do.”
“How much do I owe you?”
He lowered his voice. “Three dollars and twenty-five cents, Hannah.”
She looked up at him, her eyes growing wide as she dipped her hand into the pocket of her dress again and retrieved two single one-dollar bills, a fifty-cent piece, a dime, and several pennies. Her cheeks flushed with heat. She didn’t have enough! She didn’t have enough to buy even meager supplies. She swallowed, refusing to allow tears to form as she pressed her lips together in embarrassment. “I’m afraid I didn’t bring enough money with me this morning, Mr. Simpson. “I have two dollars and sixty-three cents in my pocket right now. Can you take something off?”
He lowered his voice still more, glancing around before he turned to her. “I can extend you some credit, Hannah. I know times are hard and your mother’s been ill.”
Pride stiffened her back. “Thank you but no. Please just take something off the list.” She looked items over. “The bar of lavender soap can wait. There’s still plenty of time before Christmas for me to pick that up for my mother. Perhaps you can take the baking soda off. My biscuits will fluff just fine, they just won’t brown as much.” She doubted her mother would notice.
“Perhaps the peppermint sticks?”
She shook her head. “It’s not for me, Mr. Simpson. It’s for my mother. The peppermint helps to settle her stomach. One stick usually lasts about a week. I can come in for more later.” Her voice cracked. “Will that do it?”
Moments later, she left the store, her cheeks burning, her back stiff and wanting nothing more than to get back to the farm where she could work out her frustration on the wood waiting to be chopped. Dear Lord, when would it end? What was she going to do?
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