“I delighted in every turn of the story and, when away from it, found myself eager to return to Emerson Pass. I can't wait for the next book.” —Kay Bratt, bestselling author of Wish Me Home

The delightful first book in USA Today bestselling author Tess Thompson's Emerson Pass Historicals historical romance series.

An untested teacher. A wealthy benefactor. When their attraction becomes undeniable, will they open their hearts to each other?

Colorado, 1910. Quinn Cooper can’t help feeling uneasy. But securing a job as a schoolmarm in a tiny frontier town was the only way to save her family from starvation back in Boston. And her nerves aren’t eased by a stray gunshot that spooks the sleigh horses, casting her into the snow… until she’s rescued by a handsome stranger.

Lord Alexander Barnes knows better than to believe any pretty young woman would willingly become a mother to five children. But the lonely widower finds himself charmed by the lovely newcomer and her easy rapport with his offspring. And after his disgruntled nanny quits, his heart melts at the sight of her joyfully taking over the role.

Determined to prove herself in the schoolhouse and as a governess, Quinn fears her near-poverty will prevent any possible courtship with the affluent Englishman. And between their age difference and prejudicial violence in the town, Lord Barnes is certain this second chance at happiness just cannot be.

Will their love go unspoken, or will their persistence reward them with a lasting passion?

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More Reviews:

“I frequently found myself getting lost in the characters and forgetting that I was reading a book.” —Camille Di Maio, bestselling author of The Memory of Us

 “I loved this book!” —Karen McQuestion, bestselling author of Hello Love and Good Man, Dayton

Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical romantic women’s fiction with nearly forty published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on “Hometowns and Heartstrings.”

 

Book Excerpt:

Chapter 1: Quinn

Had I known of the ways in which Emerson Pass would test my character, I might not have had the mettle to step off the train that autumn day in 1910. Then again, perhaps I would have. The path to our true places, our northern lights, are circuitous. We cannot predict the joys and sorrows that await us on this journey through life. Courage is our only map.

My journey began when we lurched to a stop at the train station with a terrible roar and release of steam from the engine. As I had during the entire way from Denver to Emerson Pass, I wondered if the passenger car would remain in one piece. During our trek higher and higher into the Rocky Mountains, through tunnels and over tracks built on stilts over deep canyons, I’d feared we’d never reach our destination. My wild imagination had run amok envisioning the train falling from the track and killing us all. Would I die in the unforgiving mountains after making it all the way from Boston to Denver?

I cleaned the window and pressed close, hoping to catch a glimpse of the former mining town that was to be my new home. I’d expected golden leaves of the famous aspens this time of year. Instead, I saw nothing but snow flurries so thick it was as if I were peering into a closely knitted white blanket.

I slipped into my wool coat, frayed and tattered from withstanding six Boston winters, and squared my shoulders. Courage, just then, was a shadow buried deep within me. Even more so than the day last week when I’d pressed this same nose to a different window to catch one last glimpse of my mother and sister as the train pulled from the station.

Next to me, the baby asleep in her mother’s arms woke and began to howl. Her diaper was full. The odor mixed with that of human perspiration and the greasy hair of my companions might have turned my stomach, but I was too tired and hungry to care. Third-class was not for the fainthearted. I gathered my suitcase and rose unsteadily to my feet. I waited for the couple with the baby to exit first, then the two men dressed in overalls and heavy work boots with whom I’d been sure to avoid eye contact. For a woman, traveling alone was not wise. For those like me, without funds or a companion, I had no choice but to set out alone.

I held my long skirts high and stepped from the train down to the platform and lifted my face toward a sky the color of smoke. Daylight was nearing its end. Snowflakes as big as quarters caught in my lashes. Grime and soot swirled about me as I tromped onto the platform. The covered area was a relief, although the wooden planks were icy. Behind me, the train groaned as if it too were happy to have arrived. Here at last, it seemed to say.

The trip had taken almost a week to get from Boston to Denver. Long days with the scent of oil and unwashed men. When we reached the plains, blizzards, ice storms, and harrowing wind that howled like a tortured animal had chased us all the way to Denver. “Unusual this time of year,” the porter had said to me, probably in response to my terrified expression. After a night spent in Union Station in Denver, unable to sleep for fear of being murdered for my meager possessions, I’d boarded the train that took us up the mountains to my final destination.

A gust of wind swept under the train station’s awning and threatened to lift my hat from my head. I gripped the brim between gloved fingers. This hat with its wide black bow was no match for the gusts of wind and snow. It did not matter. I was off the godforsaken train. I was alive, despite nature’s relentless attempt to make it otherwise.

I would have dropped to my knees and kissed the ground if I hadn’t been concerned with decorum. Truly, with no thought to my only gloves and second-best dress, I’d have dug through the snowdrifts that were as tall as my five-foot-two-inch frame and given the ground a big smooch as if it were my beloved. Instead, I sighed with great relief and stuck a pin through my hat, fixing it more securely into my masses of honey-blond hair.

My thick, silky hair was my only vanity. Some women needed wigs to make their buns appear thicker, but mine needed no enhancements. I’d once hoped my golden tresses compensated for my lack of figure. Even with my corset pulled tight, I had no curves. My hips were narrow and my chest flat. Combined with a quick mind that suffered no fools, and a teaching degree instead of a dowry, my fate was clear. Spinsterhood.

Alexander Barnes had written that he would send a man to fetch me and take me to the boardinghouse in town where I was to live. Clutching my suitcase, I searched the platform but saw no one. I exhaled, long and slow. My warm breath made a cloud in the frigid air. Only a few seconds off the train and I couldn’t feel my toes. Dizzy and light-headed, I felt as if I were drunk. Was it the altitude?

What if no one came for me? What if coming out here all alone to this place that was truly the Wild West was a terrible mistake? Emerson Pass was a town of prospectors, mostly men and probably heathens. One tiny woman named Quinn Cooper who had never set foot outside of Boston until a week ago was sure to fail.

I gave myself a stern lecture as I stood shivering on the platform. What was needed were the skills of a fine actress and the courage of a lion. For Mother and Annabelle. Images of their thin faces wavered before me like apparitions. Under my gloves, there were cracks between my fingers from the frigid nights without heat. I was their remedy and their hope. This work would save them. I’d live frugally with the barest of necessities and send everything else to them. Soon, I would have enough to send for them. We could all be together. Or I would return home.

No looking back. I can do this. I will do this. I was a young, educated woman about to teach at a newly built school. Lord Barnes had written of its brick construction and shiny wood floors. A dozen students, he’d said, who needed an education. I might be headed to spinsterhood, but I was a good teacher. Having my own school was a dream. Remember how blessed you are, I reminded myself.

I’d be plucky, like the characters in the novels I loved so much.

Please, someone come. Don’t leave me to freeze when I’ve finally reached my destination. As if I had conjured him, a young man appeared from the curtain of snow. He had dark eyes with thick lashes and a red mouth, which smiled at me. Brown curls sneaked out from under the back of his newsboy cap.

“Miss Cooper?”

“Yes, yes.” Relief flooded through me. I was saved.

“It’s Harley, Miss Cooper. I’m sorry to be late.” I detected a slight accent. French, perhaps? “This storm came out of nowhere this afternoon and made traveling slow. Our horses don’t like it. We have a twenty-minute drive to town in the sleigh, but I have blankets.”

Harley took my suitcase, and I followed him outside where a sleigh waited, hitched to two brown horses. One whinnied and grinned at me with his large teeth. “Hello, lovely.” I stroked his nose. He nudged at me, most likely wondering if I had an apple. If I’d had one, despite how much I loved animals, I would not have shared it with him. I hadn’t eaten since the morning. Although my room and board would be covered, I’d had to leave most of the traveling money Lord Barnes had sent with Mother. They needed it to survive until I could mail my first paycheck. Which meant that I’d had to get by on one meal a day.

“Careful now,” Harley said, helping me into the sleigh. “We’ll have you there by suppertime. Mrs. Winslow makes a fine stew, and the boardinghouse is warm.” Had he hesitated before the adjective warm? What else was it besides warm? Was warmth all it had to brag of? And Mrs. Winslow’s stew? I thought of Mother’s meals. Although made of meager provisions, somehow, they always tasted delicious, if not altogether filling. Bread filled the spaces between our bones, my mother sometimes said when the soup was mostly broth.

I ached with a sudden homesickness. They would be sitting by the fire by now with their knitting or needlepoint. I was not there to read to them as had become our custom since my father passed two years ago.

No, I must not succumb to self-pity. This was an adventure. An opportunity. Traveling across the country to this beautiful, uninhabited land. A newly built schoolhouse and children who craved learning. I’d read the letter from Lord Barnes so many times I had it memorized.

The children here need education and refinement. The West lacks in proper guidance for young ladies, especially. Our hope is for your good breeding and manners to influence and educate a new generation of Americans. These are children born of adventurous and hopeful men, who have longed to provide better lives for their children. Alas, with this effort comes the wild.

Five out of the dozen children in town were his own. He was the board of education for their community, he had written. Not because I’m fit for the vocation, but because there was no one else. He did not mention a wife in his letters. I felt certain she was dead, as he’d referenced a nanny who cared for his children, but never a mother.

It was how he’d spoken of education that had touched my heart.

We raise them to be tough here, but at what cost? Surely culture and art must be taught, no matter that the gold rush has given birth to a new West?

“Please take off your hat or you might lose it,” Harley said.

I undid the pins and stuck them into the band, then handed the hat to him. He set it under a blanket in the back, along with my bag. “And wrap this scarf around your head and face.”

He tucked several blankets around me. On top of those, he laid a fur of some kind that smelled of oil. I lifted my scarf over my nose, which still carried the scent of home, and tried to relax. Bells around the horses’ necks made a merry song as Harley drove us away from the station. It was slow going for the horses through the high snow, but they clopped at a steady pace.

“Thank you for picking me up,” I said.

“It’s my pleasure, miss. I work for Lord Barnes. I take care of the animals and the garden, and whatever else needs doing. My little sister, Poppy, and I live in the servant’s cottage on his property.”

“I thought the train station would be closer to town.”

“Back during the gold rush, the train stopped at the mining site,” he said. “As the town grew, they realized building in the valley between the two mountains made more sense.”

“Have you been here long?”

“A few years, yes. My parents were French. They came out here chasing gold, like most. They died three winters ago from the flu, and so now it’s just Poppy and me.”

“Poppy? What a sweet name.”

“She’s thirteen. Same age as Miss Josephine, Lord Barnes’s oldest daughter. She can’t wait to start school. Until my parents died, we spoke mostly French, so she’s anxious to learn to read in English.”

“Does Lord Barnes live in town?” I asked.

“No, his estate’s a few miles from town.”

Estate? Estates were large with servants and fine meals. What did I expect from a man with the title Lord in front of his name?

“Lord Barnes owns at least a thousand acres, including the land in town. There was a fire in the late nineties and most of the residents left. Lord Barnes bought up all the property and rebuilt the town. This time in brick.”

“He owns everything?”

“That’s right. He rents the buildings to local businessmen for a fair price. His aim is to civilize this place.” Harley laughed, clearly fond of his boss. “If anyone can, it’s him.”

Normally, I would have been fascinated to learn more. I’m curious bordering on nosy. People are like books. I can’t wait to turn the next page to learn what happens next. But I felt sleepy, lulled by the rhythm of the sled across snow. I blinked to try to stay alert, but between the falling snow and dimming light blocking the view, in combination with the warmth of the fur some poor animal had sacrificed, I drifted to sleep.

The sound of a shotgun jarred me awake. Both horses jumped and neighed and then began to run. Harley called to them and tried to rein them in, but to no avail. They were afraid. As was I. Another shot rang out. The horses ran faster. The sled seemed to be several inches above the snow, as though we were flying. We were out of control. I could feel it in the way the sled shimmied. One of the horses reared back, and the sled yanked hard to the left. We flew over an embankment. A large tree loomed close. I screamed as I flew from the sled. Everything went black.

Chapter 2: Alexander

A pounding on my front door pulled me from a particularly moving passage in a Henry James novel. Startled, I looked at the clock in the corner of my library. Six on an evening? Who would call without notice? The children were all upstairs with Nanny Foster having baths. My belly was full of Lizzie’s hearty stewed chicken and potatoes, and I’d just settled in with a glass of whiskey for a deep read.

The knocking turned loud and fierce. I rose from my chair, alarmed. This was not the typical timid tap of tradespeople or visitors, but urgent, almost frightened, as if something was terribly wrong. A shiver crept up the back of my neck. Jasper’s efficient footsteps passed by the door of the library, all click-click on the hardwood floors.

I crossed the room and into the hallway just as Jasper yanked open the front door. Wayne Higgins stood on the steps, holding his hat in his hands. Behind him, snow dumped from a hidden sky.

“Mr. Higgins, are you all right?” Jasper asked.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry to bother you.” Wayne nodded to me as I came to stand next to Jasper. “Lord Barnes, Harley’s had an accident. He and the schoolmistress were coming from the station.

Someone fired a gun and the horses got spooked and somehow the sled got unattached and it went over the embankment just yonder.” He pointed toward the road. “Clive and I saw the whole thing. We hauled them up from the bank, sir.” A layer of snow had already covered his white-blond hair and glistened in the lamplight.

Harley had gone to get Miss Cooper an hour ago. “Are they hurt?” I asked.

“Harley’s all right. We dropped him at the cottage so his sister could clean up a gash on his hand. He was bleeding pretty good. The teacher hasn’t opened her eyes or made any noise. We thought it best to bring her here so we could call the doctor.”

“Of course, yes, come in,” I said. From the darkness, Wayne’s brother, Clive, appeared, carrying a woman in his arms. She was a tiny slip of a thing, not much bigger than my thirteen-year-old daughter. Her boots were well-polished, but the soles were thin, and the sleeves of her dark coat tattered. Fair curls had come loose from her bun and dangled over Clive’s arms.

“Evening, Lord Barnes.” Clive shared the same light blue eyes with his brother. Tall and broad, made from German stock, they owned the butcher shop in town. The Higgins Brothers Butcher Shop was clean and well-run. They sold their cuts of meat at a fair price. I’d known them from the first day they move here. I happened to know, too, they gave away scraps and day-old meat to the hungry.

“I think she’s bumped her head real good.”

I stepped forward. “I’ll take her.”

“Yes, sir.” Clive transferred her to me. I gazed down at the lovely face that belonged to Miss Cooper. This was not the old lady spinster I’d expected. For one, she was a young woman. And my, she was a beauty, with alabaster skin and delicate bone structure. Her cheeks, flushed from the cold, were the color of cherry blossoms in the spring. She had long dark eyelashes and hair the color of wheat. A small mouth suited her small oval face.

Clive and Wayne hovered by the front door, holding their hats in their hands. “We sure hope she’s not hurt too bad,” Clive said.

“Would you like to come in?” I asked. “Lizzie can get you something warm to drink before you go back out in the cold.”

“No, sir. We best get back into town and send the doctor out,” Wayne said.

“This time of night he’ll be at the saloon,” Clive said.

“Thank you. It’s very kind of you,” I said, holding back from making a comment about the doctor’s gambling and whiskey habits.

“One more thing before we go,” Clive said. “The shots sounded like they were down by the Coles’ place. It might be best to send someone out there in the morning to make sure they’re all right.”

Samuel Cole and his family lived on the other side of the creek that separated our property. He and Rachel were good friends and neighbors. I doubted there was anything amiss. Samuel knew these parts better than anyone. The shots were most likely from him. He hunted or trapped almost all their meat. Deer were particularly abundant this year.

“Thank you. We’ll take care of it,” Jasper said as he clasped his hands behind his back. A habit from the old days when he’d been trained as a footman on my father’s estate.

“Yes, sir,” Clive said, without making eye contact.

At first glance, one wouldn’t have thought Jasper to be intimidating. He was quite ordinary-looking—tall and slim with sandy-colored hair and light blue eyes. It was the unfortunate way his lips often puckered, as if he smelled something foul, and his posh British accent that made him seem haughty and disdainful.

“Thank you. That’ll be all,” Jasper said to the Higgins brothers.

The young men put their hats back on and inched backward before escaping into the night.

Jasper shut the door as I headed toward the library with Miss Cooper.

My cook, Lizzie, appeared, poking her head out of the door that led downstairs to the kitchen, bringing the scent of garlic and butter with her. “What’s all the commotion?” She placed her flour-covered hands over her round cheeks. “Who is that?”

“The new schoolteacher. Harley had an accident on the way back from the station,” Jasper said. “Don’t worry, he’s all right.” He often anticipated a question before it was asked. “But he’s got a gash on his hand. Can you send Merry over to check on him?”

Merry, who had appeared from downstairs before she could be summoned, nodded and scuttled to the closet for a coat. “Yes, yes. I’ll go right away.” Not that I would have discussed such a topic, but I assumed I wasn’t the only person in this house who’d observed young Merry’s crush on Harley. In fact, the only person who seemed oblivious to the pretty Swedish immigrant’s devotion was Harley himself. If he didn’t come to his senses soon, I couldn’t imagine the strong, tall woman with golden skin and hair would remain single for long. The town was full of men only too happy to entertain her.

As Merry bounded out the door, I headed into the library, Lizzie and Jasper close at my heels.

I set Miss Cooper on the east-facing couch. In the lamplight, she looked even younger. She couldn’t have been much older than twenty. In our correspondence, Quinn Cooper had never mentioned her age, but I’d assumed she was an old maid—a spinster with a silver bun and a long nose with a wart.

Jasper had already fetched a blanket. I grabbed one of the square pillows from the settee and placed it under Miss Cooper’s head.

Lizzie, never exactly calm in normal circumstances, stood over Miss Cooper, tutting and fussing. “Is she breathing?” Short and round with curly brown hair that was forever springing from her bun and freckles that covered her fair skin, Lizzie looked very much like her Irish mother. Both her parents had worked for my father at our country estate. When I left for America, she and Jasper had asked to join me. Initially, I brought only Jasper but sent for her as soon as I was settled here in Emerson Pass. She’d been making delicious meals ever since.

I knelt at the side of the couch and picked up one limp arm to feel Miss Cooper’s pulse. “Strong,” I said.

“Shall I fetch tea?” Lizzie asked, looking as if she were about to burst into tears. “For when she wakes?”

“Yes, and smelling salts,” Jasper said. “We need smelling salts.”

“And loosen her corset,” Lizzie said. “God knows that’ll help.”

Jasper coughed and turned red.

“Let’s try smelling salts first,” I said, almost laughing despite the gravity of the situation.

Lizzie nodded and flew from the room and down the stairs to the kitchen.

“I had no idea she was young,” I said to Jasper.

“It’s not proper for her to travel alone,” Jasper said. “Americans have no sense of propriety.”

At times, I found Jasper’s reluctance to accept America’s ways irritating, but this time I agreed with him. A wave of shame washed over me. Why hadn’t a companion accompanied her? It wasn’t proper. Every young woman should travel with a companion. I should have paid for someone to chaperone her. Dangers lurked around every corner on a train headed west. Not to mention here in Emerson Pass. Rough and lonely men would do terrible things to her if given the chance. How could I have possibly suggested she stay at the boardinghouse? She wouldn’t be safe there. Miners and prospectors stayed there, forever enraged that the gold they hoped for never appeared. They stumbled home at night from the saloon, drunk and violent. It would be fine for an older woman who had more than likely seen a thing or two, but this innocent woman would be in constant danger.

She would have to stay here in the house. We had more than enough rooms to accommodate her. I’d built this house with three extra bedrooms, hoping for family and friends from England to come for extended stays.

I heard the clamor of my children filing down the stairs. They’d come to say good night. Would seeing their teacher splayed out upon their couch scare them? I feared it might. Especially after what had happened to their mother. I glanced at Jasper, who uncharacteristically seemed as rattled and unsure as I. Before I could decide upon a diversion, the children burst into the library. All five of them. Wearing their flannel nightgowns, they looked clean and shiny and smelled of lavender soap. I loved them after their baths.

For once, the children seemed stunned into silence. They gathered around the prone body on the sofa and stared.

Flynn, one of the nine-year-old twins, not unusually, found his voice first. “Who is she, Papa?”

Before I could answer, Cymbeline, only six years old but particularly articulate, stepped closer to Miss Cooper and whispered, “Is she a princess from a faraway land?” Cymbeline’s dark curls, still damp from her bath, stuck to her rosy cheeks.

Nanny Foster, from behind, spoke in a sharp voice. “Cymbeline, don’t get too close. She might be sick.”

“No, it’s all right, Nanny,” I said. “She’s only bumped her head.”

“Is she a stranger, Papa?” Josephine asked in a voice much too old for only being thirteen. “Have we taken her in from the cold?”

“No, this is our new teacher. Harley had an accident in the sleigh.”

“The small sleigh?” Flynn asked.

“What does it matter?” I asked.

“I’m just wondering,” Flynn said, grinning. “Because if the larger one is wrecked, then we wouldn’t be able to go into town for school.”

“You’re out of luck. It was the small one,” I said.

Fiona, my smallest daughter, slipped her hand into mine. At three, she still looked like a doll, with dark ringlets and round blue eyes that could melt the heart of the fiercest man. Especially her father. “Papa, I’m scared.”

I lifted her into my arms. “No need to be afraid, my darling. Doc’s on his way. He’ll fix her right up.”

“What if he can’t?” Theo asked. The quiet, worried half of my twin set didn’t have to explain his question. He would be thinking of his mother, who had walked into a blizzard and died when Fiona was a baby. Theo had been the one to find her. The doctor had come then, too.

“Let’s not worry ourselves,” Nanny Foster said in her brisk, unemotional way. “This looks like a strong but rather foolish young woman.”

I wasn’t sure how a bump on her head made her foolish, but I’d learned not to follow up with Nanny Foster’s observations unless I wanted a few more paragraphs of her opinions.

The children all gathered close, inspecting our patient.

Fiona wriggled from my arms, forever worried she’d miss something her older siblings were privy to.

Jasper appeared with a piece of ice wrapped in a cloth and placed it gently on top of that mound of shiny hair.

Miss Cooper’s eyes fluttered open. I took a step backward, stunned by the beauty of those eyes, brown and shiny as polished stone. They widened with alarm as she took in her surroundings. Here we were, staring at her like she was part of the circus. “Children, step away. Give Miss Cooper some room to breathe.”

“Oh, dear,” Miss Cooper said. “What’s happened? Where am I?”

 

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Book 1 in The Heathcliff Lennox series

It's 1920 and Christmas is coming. Major Lennox finds a body on his doorstep - why on his doorstep? Was it to do with the Countess? Was it about the ruby necklace? Lennox goes to Melrose Court home to his uncle, Lord Melrose, to uncover the mystery. But then the murders begin and it snows and it all becomes very complicated....

Major Heathcliff Lennox, ex-WW1 war pilot, six feet 3 inches, tousled, dark blond hair, age around 30 - named after the hero of Wuthering Heights by his romantically minded mother - much to his great annoyance. Murder at Melrose Court is the first book in the Lennox series.

About the Author
Menuhin, Karen Baugh: - "1920's, Cozy crime, Traditional Detectives, Downton Abbey - I love them! Along with my family, my friends, my dog, and my cat. At age 60 I decided to write. I don't know why but suddenly the stories came pouring out along with the characters. Eccentric uncles, stalwart butlers, idiosyncratic servants, machinating Countesses, Mr Fogg the dog, and the hapless Major Heathcliff Lennox at the center of it all. Suddenly a whole world built itself upon the page and I just followed along... I've lived an itinerate life, always on the move having grown up in the military. My two sons are Jonathan and Sam Baugh, married to Laura and Wendy respectively. Grandchildren are Scarlett, Hugo, Charlie, Joshua and Isabella Rose. We are infinitely fortunate in each other. My dear husband is Krov Menuhin, ex-US Special Forces, and documentary filmmaker. He is the eldest son of the violinist, Yehudi Menuhin."

Kilteegan Bridge, Ireland. 1975

Despite the best efforts to the older generation to maintain standards, short skirts, long hair and loud music are all the rage in Kilteegan Bridge.

Emmet Kogan has set his sights on an education at the prestigious Stanford University in California, while his cousin Nellie also longs to get away, but for very different reasons. If she's to escape too, it will mean wrapping herself in a web of lies, but it's a price she's willing to pay.

Lena and Eli are terrified they will lose their boy to the bright lights of America forever, while Emily and Blackie make a decision to keep a dangerous secret, despite knowing the damage such duplicity can do.

On the exciting streets of 1970s San Francisco, two young Irish people have to learn to navigate this new world of wonderful opportunities and dangerous vices, and learn that no matter how open and accepting a society is, there are always rules.

Rules that if broken, carry a heavy penalty.

Kilteegan Bridge, Ireland 1963.

On the face of it, life is idyllic for Eli and Lena Kogan. Living in their beautiful house in the Irish countryside, their children are growing up happy and safe surrounded by a loving community. So when a letter arrives one day threatening to shatter their peaceful and prosperous world, Lena and Eli have no option but face the dark reality of their situation. How best to do that, is something that drives a wedge between them.
As a Jewish child, escaped from Germany in 1939, Eli is all for letting those dark days where they belong, for him, there's no future in the past.
But for Lena, it's different. She knows that the only way she can move her family forward in peace is to first go back, and there is only one man who knows the whole truth.
From rural Ireland to wartime France, What Divides us, tells a tale of loyalty and love, resentment and revenge, that has far reaching consequences for the Kogan family, the unravelling of which might just destroy their future.

“I really enjoyed this book and thought the cliffhanger ending was incredible! I didn't see it coming and think that author Roberta Kagan has done a brilliant job at ensuring that the second book in the series will be one no fan will miss!” —Kim’s Reading Nook

When three little girls—Anna, Bernie, and Elica—make a pact to be blood sisters for life, they believe nothing can come between them.

Austria 1929. Anna is from an affluent Jewish family, while Bernie and Elica are from poor Austrian families who barely make ends meet. As they get older, their social differences become all too real.

With infectious Jew-hate-laden rhetoric from Nazi Germany spreading into Austria, it is only a matter of time before their bond of friendship gets severely tested.

How strong is a bond sealed in blood?

Author Bio:

Roberta Kagan is a USA Today bestselling author of historical Jewish fiction mainly set in WWII. Kagan’s father was Romany and her mother was Jewish. She learned about the Holocaust when she was very young. Since then she’s researched, met with survivors, and even met with children and grandchildren of SS officers. Kagan believes that through her work she must tell these stories before all of the survivors are gone.

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“…an intriguing combination of genres—true crime, women’s fiction, and the paranormal—all woven into a compelling historical novel. Highly recommended.” —Historical Novel Society

The Lovely Bones meets the Wild, Wild West in this haunting tale of betrayal, revenge, and redemption inspired by the true story of a much-sought-after nineteenth-century prostitute who longs to return to respectable society-but instead endures the ultimate betrayal.

Diamonds aren’t always a girl’s best friend.

Pregnant out of wedlock, sixteen-year-old Annie Moore is sent to live at a convent for fallen women. When the nuns take her baby, Annie escapes, determined to find a way to be reunited with her daughter. But few rights or opportunities are available to a woman in the 1860s, and after failing to find a respectable job, Annie resorts to prostitution in order to survive.

As a highly sought-after demi-mondaine, Annie—now Bessie—garners many expensive gifts from her admirers, and eventually meets and marries the son of a wealthy jeweler. With her marriage, she believes her dream of returning to proper society has finally come true. She’s proven wrong when she suffers the ultimate betrayal at the hands of the man she thought would be her salvation. But Bessie doesn’t let her story end there.

Inspired by a true story and set amid the burgeoning women’s rights movement, The Lives of Diamond Bessie is a haunting tale of betrayal and redemption that explores whether seeking revenge is worth the price you might pay.

Awards:

2023 IBPA Benjamin Franklin Awards Gold Medal Winner - General Fiction
2023 Eric Hoffer Book Award Winner - Commercial Fiction
2022 CIBA Goethe Book Awards Winner
2022 Global Book Awards Gold Medal - Women’s Fiction
2022 PenCraft Book Awards First Place Winner - Supernatural Fiction
2022 American Fiction Awards Winner - Cross Genre Fiction
2022 Firebird Book Awards First Place Winner - Crime Fiction
2022 Global Book Awards Silver Medal - Mystery, Historical Fiction
2022 NYC Big Book Awards Distinguished Favorite - Paranormal Mystery/Thriller
2022 Firebird Book Awards Second Place Winner - Cross Genre Fiction
2022 IPPY Awards Bronze Medal Winner - Historical Fiction
2022 Foreword INDIES Finalist - Adult Fiction, Mystery
2022 Sarton Awards Finalist - Historical Fiction
2022 Next Generation Indie Book Awards Finalist - Paranormal and Suspense
2022 American Fiction Awards Finalist - Historical Fiction, Historical Mystery/Suspense, and Women’s Fiction

More Reviews:

“Drawing on a true story, Hadlock uses authentic period detail and well-drawn characters to pull readers into Annie/Bessie’s precarious journey toward redemption, which comes to an unexpected ending. This affecting tale of a 19th-century American woman struggling to prove her worth other than as a marriage prospect leaves a lasting impression.” —Publishers Weekly

“[A] genre-bending debut novel….There’s an impressive deliberateness in the way that Hadlock present her themes…. The novel also skillfully uses foreshadowing to create a suspenseful atmosphere without giving the game away…. An often engaging and inventive character study.” —Kirkus

“Hadlock’s unvarnished, sympathetic portrayal makes Bessie’s hardscrabble existence all the more heart-wrenching and transforms Bessie into a feminist heroine. The Lives of Diamond Bessie is a picaresque, a courtroom drama, and a ghost story rolled into one, celebrating the heart and soul of a woman done wrong.” —Mark Beauregard, author of The Whale

“Fast-paced, richly observed, and populated with vibrant characters, The Lives of Diamond Bessie is unputdownable.” —Adrienne Brodeur, bestselling author of Wild Game

“As fascinating as it is riveting as it is original, The Lives of Diamond Bessie is a compelling novel of historical suspense with a paranormal twist that will have you shivering. Bessie… is a character who will haunt you for all the right reasons—for her determination, her heart, and her soul. I was enthralled.” —M.J. Rose, New York Times bestselling author of The Last Tiara

Author Bio:

Jody Hadlock’s love of history goes all the way back to junior high, when she was a member of the Junior Historians of Texas—so it’s no surprise her first novel is historical. She studied journalism at Texas A&M University and worked as a broadcast journalist and then in nonprofit public relations before turning her focus to fiction. She also writes screenplays and won the 2020 Dallas International Film Festival’s screenplay contest. She lives in Colleyville, TX.

 

Independently published with SparkPress

Kilteegan Bridge, Ireland 1974

For each member of the O'Sullivan family there are turbulent times ahead.

Eli's need to do his best for his patients is a cause for a bitter divide in the community. Emmet seems hell bent on going down a path in life his parents dread but they're unable to stop him. Jack's life and liberty are in grave peril as his secret faces exposure, while Emily's troubles are, it seems only just beginning with the return of someone she would much rather had disappeared forever. And Maria must decide, is blood really thicker than water, and should family always come first, no matter the cost?

In More Harm than Good, the Kilteegan Bridge Series continues, as the modernity of the 1970's challenges Irish traditional ways, and generations clash, sometimes with deadly consequences.

”Sandra Wagner-Wright is an excellent storyteller with a natural flair for historical accuracy and powerful character development.” —Seattle Book Review

Great for fans of Jane Austen, Natasha Boyd’s The Indigo Girl, and Anya Seton’s The Winthrop Woman

Three Weddings – Two Rival Families

In 1735 Richard Derby, a ship’s master in colonial Salem, Massachusetts, married Mary Hodges, a merchant’s daughter. The alliance was good business, and Mary Hodges was a willing bride. Richard prospered, retired from the sea, and founded his own merchant house. With one exception, Richard’s sons went to sea. Hasket Derby stayed ashore, learning to manage the trading network his father built.

George Crowninshield was the youngest of four brothers. Three sailed for Salem merchants. Richard Derby enticed George to sail for him by matching George with his daughter Mary. George knew a good opportunity when he saw it. Mary wanted more than a house and children, but marriage was her only option. “Marry me,” George said. “Be my partner.”

Eliza Crowninshield set her cap for a husband who would bring her wealth and status. She craved a brick house superior to any other dwelling in Salem. She wanted to dress at the height of fashion and entertain lavishly. Hasket Derby needed a wife as ambitious as he was. He expected to lead the Salem business community and required a wife to complement his achievements. Together, they became the “First Family” of Salem.

Against the backdrop of tensions between Great Britain and her American colonies, George and Hasket built their trading empires. After Americans gained independence in 1783, their sons sailed everywhere trade took place from the West Indies to the Baltic Sea, from Isle de France to Batavia, India, and China.

Inspired by true events, this is the story of two rival families who made their fortunes in the new United States of America.

More Reviews:

"If you love Jane Austin, you will love Sandra Wagner-Wright…. Inspired by true events, this book is a must-read and suitable for all ages. Wagner-Wright has a unique gift to keep her audience captivated and makes it fun to learn." —Reader's Favorite

"This bold, decades-spanning historical novel from Wagner-Wright…centers on rival families in 18th century Salem, Massachusetts, set to forge an unlikely alliance via marriage to build upon their fortunes and travel the seas, as tensions rise between Great Britain and the American… [A] transportive historical novel of Colonial marriage, shipping, and life." —BookLife

"An elaborately detailed period piece packed with intriguing nuggets of history…. Wagner-Wright combines a well-researched history of the merchant shipping industry along the Eastern Seaboard of the United States...with vivid depictions...[and] a wealth of historical details." —Kirkus

"Author Wagner-Wright does an excellent job of conveying the social mores, class hierarchy, and dangers of the time—no matter how harsh they may seem to modern readers." —IndieReader

Author Bio:

Sandra Wagner-Wright holds the doctoral degree in history and taught women’s and global history at the University of Hawai`i. When she’s not researching or writing, Sandra enjoys travel, including a recent visit to Antarctica. She lives in Hilo, Hawai`i with her family and writes a blog relating to history, travel, and the idiosyncrasies of life. Ambition, Arrogance & Pride is Sandra's most recent novel. 

She's searching for the most important thing... Can she find it before it's s too late?

Armed with a mysterious ruby brooch and a duffel bag judiciously packed with modern conveniences, paramedic Kit MacKlenna swirls through time, appearing in 1852 on the Oregon Trail with only one goal in mind--find her birth parents before their murderers do.

A serendipitous meeting on a wagon train with sexy lawyer Cullen Montgomery, who resembles the ghost who has haunted her for years, just might set her off track. Her desire for secrecy collides with his pursuit of truth. If she can survive the dangerous journey and thwart his attempts to expose her as a fraud, she might uncover the identity of her birth parents and return home to reassemble the shambles of her life.

As the journey continues westward, a mutual spark of attraction ignites and grows too strong to resist, forcing her to question what she truly wants. When disaster strikes, she must decide whether to stay in the past with her heart, or return to her home in the future--a place she believes she no longer belongs?

About the Author
Katherine's historical research has taken her along the Oregon Trail, to the reenactment of the Battle of Cedar Creek, to England and Scotland, and the beaches of Normandy. Also, while researching 'The Emerald Brooch' she flew on Texas Raiders, a World War II B-17. Katherine is the mother of two daughters and the grandmother of five. She is also a marathoner and lives in Lexington, Kentucky.

The gruesome truth hung in the air, and none of us wanted to go near it. Not yet.

Ireland, 1848. Fourteen-year-old Rosaleen watches her mother die. Her country is reeling from the great potato famine, which will ultimately kill more than one million people. Driven by a promise and her will to survive, Rosaleen flees her small coastal town.

She eventually arrives in America at the birth of the industrial revolution and is filled with hope and a new sense of independence. Yet the more Rosaleen becomes a part of this new world, the more she longs for a community she lost and a young man she can't forget.

Through a series of both heartwarming and tragic events, Rosaleen learns that she can't outrun the problems that come along with being Irish. And maybe, she doesn't want to.

About the Author
Boyle, Lisa: - Lisa Boyle has been writing stories for as long as she can remember. Born and raised in Finksburg, Maryland, Lisa received a bachelor's degree in journalism and a bachelor's degree in international affairs from Northeastern University in Boston, Massachusetts. As part of her college program, Lisa traveled the Middle East and spent two months reporting on political and human-interest stories. She has been published in various online publications and magazines, and has held many different jobs over the years from cheesemonger, to educator at the U.S.S. Constitution Museum. Lisa and her husband Tim live in North Carolina with their daughter and a goofy-looking mutt named Lloyd. Signed, A Paddy is Lisa's first novel.

Held captive on an 18th century ship by a drug lord turned pirate, Alaina and Jack must find a way to, not only get their family to safety, but navigate back to the storm before he does. Torn between virtue and self-preservation, each survivor must face hard decisions regarding their affect on both the past and the future.

When new memories form as the result of the group's interference in time, some bonds will be strengthened while others are tested, and moral lines will become blurred.

What does it mean to take a life in the past? And is the life of one worth the lives of many? How will the 21st century change as a result? And who will suffer for it?

On a trip to reignite the spark in her marriage, Alaina Grace's upgraded first-class ticket places her far from her husband and next to the notorious Jack Volmer, a former teen actor who'd previously hung on posters in her childhood bedroom. When an unusual storm forces their plane out of the sky, her ticket will save her life and force her to question everything.

Ripped from the comforts of her world and injured, Alaina finds herself on a raft in the ocean, completely separated from her husband among eleven strangers.

Seeking comfort in the presence of the single familiar face, Alaina quickly finds herself torn between her past and her present; between two loves in two contrasting worlds, and must let go of one in order to keep the other.

Arriving on an island in the middle of the Pacific, strangers become family as they navigate unfamiliar terrain to uncover hidden mysteries, endless adventure, and love where they least expected to find it.

A librarian with a mysterious past, a war hero with a secret, and the heist of a magic painting. The Librarian of Crooked Lane is an intriguing new fantasy from C.J. Archer, the USA Today bestselling author of the Glass and Steele series.

Librarian Sylvia Ashe knows nothing about her past, having grown up without a father and a mother who refused to discuss him. When she stumbles upon a diary that suggests she's descended from magicians, she's skeptical. After all, magicians are special, and she's just an ordinary woman who loves books. She seeks answers from a member of the most prominent family of magicians, but she quickly learns that finding the truth won't be easy, especially when he turns out to be as artless as her, and more compelling and dangerous than books.

War hero Gabe is gifted with wealth, a loving family, and an incredible amount of luck that saw him survive four harrowing years of a brutal war without injury. But not all injuries are visible. Burying himself in his work as a consultant for Scotland Yard, Gabe is going through the motions as he investigates the theft of a magician-made painting. But his life changes when he unwittingly gets Sylvia dismissed from her job and places her in danger.

After securing her new employment in a library housing the world's greatest collection of books about magic, Gabe and Sylvia's lives become intwined as they work together to find both the painting and the truth about Sylvia's past before powerful people can stop them.

But sometimes the past is better left buried...

Author Bio:

C.J. Archer is the USA Today bestselling author of historical fantasy and historical mystery novels. C.J. has loved history and books for as long as she can remember and feels fortunate that she found a way to combine the two. She has at various times worked as a librarian, IT support person and technical writer but in her heart has always been a fiction writer. She lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her husband, 2 children and Coco the black and white cat. 

Shop The Glass Library series

2020 HOLT Medallion Winner - Historical

“Matthews weaves suspense and mystery within an absorbing love story. Readers will be hard put to set this one down before the end.” —Library Journal

An Uncommon Beauty...

Hidden away in rural Devonshire, Phyllida Satterthwaite has always been considered more odd than beautiful. But in London, her oddity has made her a sensation. Far worse, it's caught the eye of the sinister Duke of Moreland—a notorious art collector obsessed with acquiring one-of-a-kind treasures. To escape the duke's clutches, she's going to need a little help.

An Unlikely Hero...

Captain Arthur Heywood's days of heroism are long past. Grievously injured in the Peninsular War, he can no longer walk unaided, let alone shoot a pistol. What use can he possibly be to a damsel in distress? He has nothing left to offer except his good name.

Can a marriage of convenience save Philly from the vengeful duke? Or will life with Arthur put her—and her heart—in more danger than ever?

More Reviews:

“The author seamlessly combines a suspenseful tale and a soaring romance, the plot by turns sweetly moving and dramatically stirring...A thoughtfully executed tale that perceptively dramatizes the tension between the demands of love and commerce.” —Kirkus

“Mimi Matthews pens a thrilling novel of a young lady at the mercy of distant relations...a deliciously enchanting novel which was a delight to read.” —Readers' Favorite

“The Work of Art is a book that keeps you guessing until the very last chapter...In its pages are romance, adventure, bravery, and humor...and my absolute favorite—the universal themes of courage, loss, and restoration. I highly recommend this enchanting and thought-provoking novel...” —Austenprose

“Truly a work of art...when it comes to this book, romance and suspense are a match made in heaven.” —Bookstr

"If all Regency Romances were written as well as The Work of Art, I would read them all...[Matthews] has a true gift for storytelling.” —The Herald-Dispatch

“I crave well written historical romances and this fit the bill perfectly. A fantastic story. Highly recommend!” —Jane Porter, New York Times bestselling author

Author Bio:

USA Today bestselling author Mimi Matthews writes both historical non-fiction and traditional historical romances set in Victorian England. Her articles on nineteenth century history have been published on various academic and history sites, including the Victorian Web and the Journal of Victorian Culture, and are also syndicated weekly at BUST Magazine. In her other life, Mimi is an attorney. She resides in California with her family, which includes an Andalusian dressage horse, two Shelties, and two Siamese cats.

Shop the Somerset Stories series

Shop all Mimi Matthews books 

Glancia is plunged into perilous times, but it's the events in her village that worry Josie more. A terrible fire puts the lives of those she loves at risk and threatens to shatter the uneasy peace.

Josie and the captain investigate the cause of the blaze, but powerful enemies try to stop them. As the dangers grow more intense, so do the feelings between Josie and the captain.

With nobles circling and plotting, new arrivals in the village cause a stir, for they recognize one of the servants. Those who've lost their memories are suddenly more hopeful of learning about their pasts, but this new discovery only throws up more questions than answers. Answers the captain will do anything to discover.

In 1782, a ghost ship ran aground in a secluded cove in Cornwall. To this day, no one knows what became of the Aurora’s crew or the shadowy woman rumored to be onboard.

In 2021, when Kyle inherits his aunt’s historic house in Cornwall, all Nicole anticipates is a few idyllic days in a beautiful setting—until she discovers that not only is the house connected to the centuries-old legend of the Aurora and the woman at the center of the mystery, but it also hides its own dark past.

As Kyle and Nicole delve deeper into the unexplained disappearance of the crew, they unearth secrets both old and new, along with truths that could alter the shape of their own family in ways they never expected.

Author Bio:

Irina Shapiro will be first in line if recreational time travel ever becomes a reality, but for now, she must rely on flights of imagination, traveling through time and space vicariously through her characters. Irina particularly enjoys stories set in the past, where the characters must navigate the volatile political climates of their time while still managing to live, love, and cause mischief.

Shop the Nicole Rayburn Historical Mysteries series

In 1640, Alys Bailey was accused of witchcraft and sentenced to hang. Today, Alys is said to haunt Lockwood Hall, the Tudor manor house where she died. When Nicole Rayburn travels to Lockwood Hall and begins to research Alys’s story for a new book, she discovers startling irregularities in Alys’s case. Nicole’s suspicions mount as every answer leads to more questions. What really happened to Alys? And what became of her son, who disappeared the day she was hanged? Could it be that Alys’s death was the result of a well-planned conspiracy, or is there another, less obvious answer? And who is trying to sabotage Nicole's attempts to discover the truth?

As Nicole delves deeper into Alys’s life, with the help of a handsome crime writer and a history-obsessed vicar, she comes to realize that things are not quite as they appear, and people will sometimes do the unthinkable to protect their secrets.

Author Bio:

Irina Shapiro will be first in line if recreational time travel ever becomes a reality, but for now, she must rely on flights of imagination, traveling through time and space vicariously through her characters. Irina particularly enjoys stories set in the past, where the characters must navigate the volatile political climates of their time while still managing to live, love, and cause mischief.

Shop the Nicole Rayburn Historical Mysteries series

“Jan Moran is the new queen of the epic romance.” —USA Today bestselling author Rebecca Forster

 

A young widow. A husband she thought she knew. On the picturesque Italian coast of Amalfi lies a chocolatier's destiny...

San Francisco, 1953: Heartbroken over the mysterious death of her husband, Celina Savoia, a second-generation chocolatière, resolves to take their young son to Italy's shimmering Amalfi coast to introduce him to his father's family. Just as she embarks on a magical, romantic life of making chocolate by the sea surrounded by a loving family, she begins to suspect that her husband had a dark secret—forged in the final days of WWII—that could destroy the relationships she's come to cherish.

While a second chance at love is tempting, the mystery of her husband's true identity thwarts her efforts. Challenged to pursue the truth or lose the life she's come to love, Celina and her late husband's brother, Lauro, must trace the past to a remote, Peruvian cocoa region to face the deceit that threatens to shatter their lives—or lose the life and those she has come to love.

More Reviews:

“A solid pick for fans of historical romances combined with a heartbreaking mystery.” —Library Journal

“A novel that gives fans of romantic sagas a compelling voice to follow.” —Booklist

Author Bio:

Jan Moran is a USA Today bestselling author of women's fiction. She writes stylish, uplifting, and emotionally rich contemporary and 20th-century historical fiction. Midwest Book Review and Kirkus have recommended her books, calling her heroines strong, complex, and resourceful. Her books are also translated into German, Italian, Russian, Portuguese, Dutch, Polish, Turkish, Bulgarian, Lithuanian, and other languages. Jan studied writing at the UCLA Writers Program, sailed on Semester at Sea, and graduated from the University of Texas and Harvard Business School. She lives near the beach in southern California.

Shop the Heartwarming Family Sagas Standalone Fiction series

"I delighted in every turn of the story and when away from it found myself eager to return to Emerson Pass. I can't wait for the next book." —Kay Bratt, author of Wish Me Home

She's marrying him out of necessity. He's secretly hoping to sway her heart. Will their friendship deepen into happily ever after?

Colorado, 1924. Louisa Lind is a dutiful daughter to her adoptive parents. After the boy she loves marries someone else, she vows to assist her father and mother with church work and forget all about marriage. But when tragedy strikes, the suddenly penniless young woman reluctantly accepts a marriage proposal...from her dream man's twin brother.

Having completed his medical school studies, Theo Barnes has returned to Emerson Pass to apprentice under the town's doctor. Smitten since childhood with the pastor's adopted daughter, he gallantly offers to wed Louisa to save her from destitution even though he knows her to have been in love with his twin brother. Despite his family believing the marriage to be a mistake, Theo persistently holds out hope that all he needs is time to win Louisa's heart.

They both suffer from childhood wounds and began to see their connection as something much deeper.

Can the two damaged souls find a way to finally move on from their painful pasts and find love?

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Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical romantic women’s fiction with nearly forty published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on “Hometowns and Heartstrings.”

Book Excerpt:

Chapter 1: Theo

On a summer day in 1924, I arrived home to Emerson Pass, Colorado, with no idea of the ways in which my life would be irrevocably altered in the months to come. Had I known what waited for me, I’d have run off the train instead of walking like the gentlemanly scholar I fancied myself.

All I knew that day was that I was glad to be home. I’d been away at medical school for over four years. I was now about to step off the train to begin a new season of my life as a small-town doctor.

For the second time in my life, my family stood on the platform anticipating my arrival. The first had been when my twin brother, Flynn, and I had returned from the war. His was the face I spotted from the window. We were alike in appearance but opposites in personalities. He looked rakish in a tan summer suit and straw hat. Next to him, the oldest of my siblings, Josephine, stood with baby Poppy in her arms. Her husband, Phillip, was next to her, clinging to the hand of their little girl, Quinn, named after our stepmother. She was the second child of my stepmother’s first students to be named Quinn. I wouldn’t be surprised if someday they named the school after her.

My second sister, Cymbeline, never one to wait patiently, ran toward the passenger car, waving frantically as her hat came unpinned from her piles of dark brown hair and caught flight. Our younger sister Fiona followed closely behind. Her quick hands, made for playing the piano and catching her sister’s lost items, snatched the hat from midair.

Cymbeline looked much the same as when I’d first left for school when she was sixteen. Fiona, however, had grown up during my time away. At seventeen, she was now more of a woman than a girl. No longer in short skirts and pinafores, she wore a rose-colored drop-waisted dress that hung loosely over her small frame. Both Cymbeline and Fiona were delicate beauties with alabaster skin and almost black hair. They’d always looked similar but, like Flynn and me, were not of similar dispositions.

Papa stood with his arm around my stepmother. Stoic in public, Papa was as soft inside as any man I’d ever known. Mama held a handkerchief to her mouth. Her weekly letters to me while I was away had been as consistent as the university’s chapel bell ringing on a Sunday morning. Whether she’d given birth to us or not, Mama was our mother. She’d come to us when Flynn and I were nine years old. He claimed to remember little from before that time, but I wasn’t sure that was true. Regardless, we loved her with all our hearts. She looked as young and pretty as she’d been when she first came to us, stepping onto this very same platform on a snowy winter’s day.

My smallest sisters, Addie and Delphia, twelve and eight respectively, stood close to Papa. I had to take them in for a moment too, changed as they were from the image in my mind of two small girls. As fair-haired as Cymbeline and Fiona were dark, they competed with the summer sun with their yellow hair and light blue eyes. My chest ached at the sight of them. Time didn’t ebb and flow but constantly charged forward with no pause with which one could catch up. I’d missed much while at school. But I was home now, I reminded myself. Where I belonged.

As soon as the doors opened, I grabbed my suitcase and headed down the steps to the platform. The first-class car had been empty since Denver, so I exited with ease. Cymbeline threw herself at me with such power that she nearly knocked us both to the ground. She was as strong as many men. A natural athlete. One frustrated by her lack of opportunities to compete.

“Theo, I’ve missed you so,” Cymbeline said, almost angrily.

I chuckled at her stormy expression. “I’ve missed you. Now, don’t be angry with me. I’m here now.”

She hugged me again, then stepped away to peer at me with dark eyes fringed with thick lashes. “You seem larger.”

“Do I? You’re prettier than ever,” I said.

“Don’t be silly. I have more important things to do than be pretty.” Regardless of Cymbeline’s retort, I could see in her brilliant smile that my compliment pleased her.

Flynn held out his hand before pulling me into a half embrace. “Brother, have you learned everything there is to know and are ready to stay put?”

“Not everything,” I said, grinning back at the face that looked so much like mine. “Now that you’re married, have you been tamed?”

“A little,” Flynn said. “I’m going to be a father soon.”

“What? How come I didn’t know?”

“We just told the folks last night. Or I did. Shannon’s feeling too sick to come out.”

“Nothing serious?” I asked.

“Mama says it’s morning sickness and completely normal,” Flynn said. Shannon was a beauty with dark curls and skin the color of milk. My brother had fallen for her shortly after we’d returned from the war. Although Flynn had been saying all his life that he was to remain a bachelor until the day he died, he’d been unable to resist Shannon. They’d married a few years back. I’d worried when Mama had written there were still no babies that there might be something wrong. Given this happy news, I needn’t have.

Fiona approached in her quiet manner, still holding Cymbeline’s hat. “Hello, Theo.” Her voice was as soft and sweet as it had always been. Listening to her speak, no one would guess at how powerful and crystal clear her singing voice was. She’d gotten enough musical talent for all seven of us.

I set my satchel down to take her hands. “Hello, Fi.” Her hair curled at the nape of her delicate neck. She made me think of a newly budded pink rose. “What’s happened to you? You’re all grown up.”

“Not so much,” Fiona said, smiling. “I’m still your baby sister in here.” She tapped her chest before taking my hand to lead me over to the rest of my family.

“Theo, welcome home,” Papa said with a voice thick with emotion. He held out his hand for me to shake.

“Thanks, Papa.” Tears threatened to break through my natural reserve. I turned to my mother.

“I’m so very happy to see you.” Mama embraced me.

“I’m sure Lizzie can fatten me up in a few weeks,” I said.

Josephine, cradling her infant, held out her cheek for me to kiss. I did so before pulling back the blanket to see my niece, Poppy. She was too young to see who she resembled or even to open her eyes to greet me. “She’s precious, Jo.”

“We think so,” Josephine said with a glance up at her husband, Phillip.

I shook Phillip’s hand and knelt to say hello to little Quinn, who promptly hid herself behind her father.

“Quinn looks like her namesake,” I said. Although that was impossible, as they shared no blood. Still, odder things had come about in our family.

“Isn’t it strange?” Josephine asked as she and Mama exchanged a smile. “As sweet as her, too.”

My little sisters approached next. Addie reminded me very much of Josephine. They were both blonde and slight, although Addie was quieter and frailer than Jo had been at that age. Jo had been a little mother to all of us after our mother died and before Mama Quinn came to us. She’d had to grow up too fast.

“Hi, Theo,” Addie said shyly. “I made you this.” She thrust a card with a pressed orange poppy into my hand.

“Thank you.” I knelt on the platform to get a better look at her.

“Are poppies still your favorite?” Addie’s blue eyes were the same color as the sky above us and had this way of unsettling me with their purity.

“They are. This is very pretty. You did a wonderful job.”

“I thought you might’ve changed.” Addie’s bottom lip trembled. “Or forgotten me.”

I brushed her soft cheek with my thumb. “I could never forget you.”

“What about me? Did you forget me?” Delphia, her little body tense as if waiting for a fight, watched me with narrowed eyes.

“Hmm…what’s your name again? You look vaguely familiar.”

Delphia stomped her boot. “You’re lying. You remember me.” I laughed and picked her up and swirled her in a circle.

“Don’t be a goose. Of course I remember my baby sister.”

She laughed and hugged my neck with all the strength in her thin arms. “I knew it.”

I set her down. “In fact, I want you to tell me everything about everything.”

“All right. But not now. Mama said I’m not to dominate the conversation at lunch.”

“Maybe later you, Addie, and I can go out to the meadow and pick some flowers for the table and we can talk all about everything then.”

Delphia grinned and lifted her chin defiantly. “Yes. But I’ll do most of the talking. That’s how it is with Addie and me.”

“I remember,” I said, winking at Addie.

“Let’s get you home and settled,” Mama said. “Lizzie’s prepared a feast for lunch.”

“Fried chicken.” Delphia took my hand. “And strawberry ice cream for dessert.”

My mouth watered. “I can’t wait.”

Just like that, I was back in the thick of the Barnes family.

***

When we arrived, Jasper greeted us at the door as he always had. He and his wife, Lizzie, who ran our kitchen, had come with Papa from England years and years before. When Papa had decided to give up his lord title as firstborn son and come to America, Jasper had insisted on accompanying him.

“Theo, welcome home,” Jasper said. His British accent was as strong as it had ever been. I could not decide if he clung to his English ways out of spite or habit. “We have you in the guest room upstairs.”

“Fiona and Cymbeline share your old room now,” Mama said.

I followed Jasper upstairs to clean up and get unpacked. “Your mother had some new suits made for you.” Jasper went to the wardrobe and opened both the doors. “Nonetheless, there should be sufficient room for whatever’s in your luggage.”

Several new suit jackets and trousers were hung in a row along with crisp shirts.

“They’re made of fine material. Mr. Olofsson used his best.” Jasper nodded with obvious approval. “I made sure.”

“Thank you.” I turned away from the wardrobe to get a better look at him. He was as formal and tidy as always in his black suit with its vest and tie. “How’s Lizzie?”

“She’s well and would like to see you as soon as you’re able.”

“And Florence?” Their daughter was around the same age as Addie with a cheerful, outgoing personality like her mother.

At the sound of his daughter’s name, a slight smile lifted the corners of Jasper’s mouth, but only for an instant. “Florence is a little too American for my taste, but she’s a fine girl.” He returned to the business at hand, never one to deviate too far from his duties. “The water closet is ready for you if you’d like to freshen up.” He gestured toward the adjoining bathroom. “Dinner is at seven. They no longer dress for it in the summer, as they eat outside on the porch.” He imitated an American accent with the word porch. “Which has a screen around the perimeter.” He sniffed. I wasn’t sure why a screen was particularly offensive, but I didn’t ask.

“Your brother-in-law built this back porch specifically for outdoor eating,” Jasper said. “Lord Barnes is quite taken with the idea and insists that everyone remain in their day clothes.”

I nodded, fighting the urge to laugh. “He’s gone rogue on us, Jasper.”

“Yes, but what can you expect?”

I wasn’t entirely sure of the meaning of that question, so I simply thanked him. “I’ll be down shortly. I’m looking forward to one of Lizzie and Mrs. Wu’s wonderful meals.”

“Very good, Dr. Barnes.”

The pride in his voice made me smile. Being home was indeed very good.

After he left, I looked around the room, which hadn’t changed much since I’d last seen it. Lilies in a vase on the dresser gave off a lovely scent, one I remembered well from my childhood. Walnut furniture, a yellow-and-red braided rug, and the easy chair by the window were familiar and comforting to me. I’d lived lean during my university years, renting a room close to campus and eating meals at the cafeteria or the neighborhood diner. Because of the vigor with which I’d approached my schooling, I’d done little else but study.

I hung my few items of clothing in the wardrobe and placed the rest in the dresser. I bathed and shaved, happy to wash away the grime of my travels. I’d just finished dressing, having chosen a light blue linen suit, when there was a knock on the door. “Theo, it’s Fiona and Cymbeline. Are you available for a visit?”

“Yes, yes, come in,” I called out to them.

They came into the room, bringing the scent of their rosewater perfume, and sat on the end of my bed. Like two pretty bookends, they wore white dresses with dropped waists and had their hair pulled back in a way that made it seem as if they had cut their hair like so many of the girls did now. I was happy to see they’d kept their long tresses.

“You’re actually here,” Cymbeline said. “I thought you might never come home.”

“Why would you think such a thing?” I sat in the armchair. “I’d never planned on staying away forever.”

Cymbeline lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I don’t know. We thought you might meet a lady and not want to leave her.”

“Did you meet any ladies?” Fiona asked.

“No, I was too busy for that,” I said.

“Thank goodness,” Fiona said. “We wouldn’t have liked you to choose someone without all of us having a good look at her first.”

I laughed. “Pity the poor woman who has to face all of you.”

“True enough.” Cymbeline rolled her eyes. “No one in this family can stay out of anyone else’s business.”

“But we’re lucky to have one another.” Fiona smiled sweetly. “Cym likes to pretend she doesn’t need us, but it’s not true.”

Cymbeline shot me a sassy grin. “Fiona always sees the good in people, even me.”

“You are good,” Fiona said. “Having opinions and wishing certain things about this world were different doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.”

“Do you see what I mean, Theo?” Cymbeline asked. “Fiona’s the good one.”

“She is pure of heart,” I said. “And we love you for it, Fiona.” Fiona beamed at us. “I love you both very much too. I’m glad we’re all back together.”

“Have you seen any of the old gang from school? I’ve exchanged a few letters with Isak, of course, but he’s not the best correspondent.”

Isak, Flynn, and I had all served together during the war. Like Flynn, he’d started a business upon his return to Emerson Pass. I hadn’t anticipated that he’d open a bakery. “I had no idea Isak wanted to be a baker.”

“He makes the most delicious breads and pies,” Fiona said. “Even Lizzie says so.”

“Is he courting anyone?” I asked. “I thought he’d be married by now.” Isak and his brother, Viktor, resembled Vikings from the storybooks we’d read as children—tall, wide-shouldered, and blond hair that looked red in certain light. If anyone wanted to make either of them mad, all you had to do was mention that their hair was red. Regardless of what they thought about their hair, they were popular with the young ladies.

“Not that we know of,” Fiona said.

“How’s Viktor?” I asked, cautiously. Viktor was a sore subject with Cymbeline. His adoration of my sister seemed to agitate her instead of the desired effect. He’d been enamored with her since we were young.

“He’s back in town,” Cymbeline said. “Not that I care.”

“He’s returned home with a degree in mathematics,” Fiona said. “He’s working at the bank.”

“Ah, yes, I think Isak mentioned that.”

“Mama’s terribly proud of him,” Fiona said.

“They gave him the money for college,” Cymbeline said. “Mama said he was always clever and should go to school if he wanted.”

“They’re thankful to him for saving Jo, you know,” Fiona said.

“I do know,” I said. Our family would be forever in Viktor’s debt for saving Josephine from sure death when she’d been taken by a bad man.

“Now he’s a banker.” Fiona wriggled her eyebrows at her sister. “Very fancy. Right, Cymbeline?”

“I told you I couldn’t care less,” Cymbeline said. “And wouldn’t you know, Theo, the big oaf still thinks he’s in love with me.”

I didn’t think there was much thinking involved. He knew for sure how he felt about her. He’d wanted my sister for as long as I could recall. She, however, detested him, mostly because she’d thought of him as competition during her school days. He was athletic and smart. In addition, and possibly the worst offense, he was a boy, which meant he had all the opportunities she wished she had.

“What else is happening in town?” I asked.

“There’s trouble brewing at the church,” Fiona said. “A few horrible ladies who are on the church board don’t like Pastor Lind.”

“We heard from a friend that there’s a group who want him out,” Cymbeline said. “Even Papa’s worried.”

“Can’t he help?” My skin prickled at the sound of the name Lind. I’d once thought I was in love with Louisa Lind. I’d embarrassed myself when I’d asked her if she’d write to me when I was away at the war. Unfortunately, it was Flynn she wished she could write. We’d only been sixteen when we lied our way into the army. I told myself I’d been young and stupid back then. I’d had no earthly idea how to tell that a girl loved my twin brother instead of me.

“No, the church has its own board, which includes awful Mrs. Poe,” Fiona said. “She doesn’t like Pastor Lind. I don’t understand why.”

“It’s because she’s a bluenose,” Cymbeline said, sounding disgusted. “She thinks Pastor Lind is too casual and encouraging.”

“She wants him to talk about hell more,” Fiona said. “But you know that’s not how Pastor Lind does things.”

“How do you two know all this?” I asked.

They exchanged a look. One I didn’t understand other than it told me however they’d come upon this information would not be shared with me.

“We know people who know things,” Cymbeline said.

“The Linds have no idea,” Fiona said. “They’re going to spring it on him.”

“Wouldn’t that mean they’d have no place to live?” If I remembered correctly, the Linds’ home, right next to the church, was actually owned by the congregation. Papa, years ago, had sold it all to the church. How that worked exactly as far as the deed to the house went, I wasn’t sure. Even so, I had a bad feeling that would be the case.

“But Pastor Lind’s been there since we were young,” I said. “They can’t just get rid of him, can they? What would it mean to his wife and daughter?”

“Last Sunday, Pastor Lind looked awful, right, Fi?” Cymbeline asked. “Pale and kind of sickly.”

“Yes. Mama noticed too.” Fiona’s cheeks flushed. “I think it’s that terrible woman causing all the trouble that’s making him sick. I can’t stand it when people are unkind.”

“She’s been extremely vocal about her discontent,” Cymbeline said. “Horrible woman.”

“How’s Louisa?” I asked, keeping my voice casual. “You don’t think she suspects? Doesn’t she run around with the same group of friends as you two?”

My sisters exchanged a look. They knew of my ill-fated attempt with Louisa.

“Don’t look like that,” I said. “I’m asking as an old friend of hers. I’d think her father being in trouble would bother her.”

“She doesn’t socialize with the old crowd any longer,” Cymbeline said. “She’s gotten strange.”

“Strange?” Louisa had been adopted by the Linds after her father had been killed in a shootout. She’d always been quiet. I suspected the first nine years of her life had been traumatizing but didn’t know the details.

“All closed up,” Fiona said.

“Pinched like—in the face.” Cymbeline scrunched her brows together. “Like she always has a lot on her mind.”

“That’s a shame. Is she stepping out with anyone?” I was pleased with myself that I could ask the question and not care about the answer. My misplaced feelings for her were nothing but a boyhood infatuation. I’d hardly thought of her in the time I’d been away.

“No.” Cymbeline shook her head. “She doesn’t do much but church duties and taking care of the Linds. They’re not young, after all.”

I left it at that, not wanting to delve any further into the Linds when it was my sisters I was interested in hearing about. “What about you two? Do I need to chase any suitors away?”

“Not a one,” Cymbeline said. “We like it that way.”

“And why is that?” I asked.

“Because we’re busy,” Fiona said. “Me with my music. Cymbeline helps Poppy with her veterinarian calls almost every day.”

“Really? That’s great, Cym.” My middle sister had always loved animals. She loved being outside as well.

“Papa says it keeps me out of trouble,” Cymbeline said.

“Which apparently is important because of my attitude.” All three of us burst into laughter.

***

The entire family had lunch on the newly built screened porch at the back of the house. Perhaps it was because I was home, but everything shone with a special luster. I couldn’t remember the lawn ever being as green. Rhododendrons bloomed in bright pink and red at the edges of the fenced yard.

Everyone talked at once between bites of Lizzie’s juicy fried chicken pieces.

“Mama, can we be excused to play croquet?” Delphia asked.

“Yes, but you have to let Quinn play too,” Mama said, gesturing toward my niece, who sat in her father’s lap. “Please be careful to keep her out of harm’s way.”

“We will,” Fiona said before lifting Quinn into her arms. “Do you want to be my partner?”

Quinn nodded and answered with a slight lisp. “Yeth, please.”

“Are you coming?” Delphia asked Cymbeline.

Cymbeline looked torn for a moment, but her love of sport won out over wanting to stay with the adults. “Why not?”

Except for Josephine, all my sisters exited the porch and spilled out onto the lawn. If I were a painter, I would have wanted to capture the beauty of the girls in their light summer dresses.

“Aren’t they something?” Papa asked me.

“They are. I’ve missed you all more than I can say.” I exchanged a smile with Josephine.

Talk turned to Josephine’s library and how they’d had to allocate money for more children’s books. “We’ve had quite the population growth,” Papa said. “There are a lot of new babies, not just here at our table.”

“A large batch of christenings over the last few years,” Mama said.

Flynn glanced at his pocket watch for the sixth time in as many minutes. “Flynn, do you need to be somewhere?” Papa asked, indulgently.

“Are you worried about Shannon?” Mama asked.

“A little,” Flynn said. “She was feeling pretty sick earlier.”

“Go home,” Josephine said. “It’ll ease your mind.”

“I hate to leave,” Flynn said. “But I should check on her. She wasn’t doing too well when I left.”

“Do go,” I said. “We have plenty of days to visit now that I’m home.”

Flynn stood, looking relieved. He clapped me on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re home. I’ll see you soon.”

We all said our goodbyes before he practically ran down the steps of the porch and around the corner of the house.

“What do you think of the new porch?” Josephine asked me. “Phillip designed and built the whole thing.”

“I like it very much,” I said. “What a great way to spend the afternoon.”

“And it keeps the bugs out in the evening,” Mama said. “Thanks to clever Phillip.”

Josephine beamed at her husband. “He is clever.”

Phillip brushed aside the compliment. “Nothing to it, really.”

“I saw Dr. Neal at the Johnsons’ store yesterday,” Papa said. “He looked as if he might collapse on the spot.”

“The poor man,” Mama said. “He’s been counting the days until you arrived, Theo.”

Papa nodded. “He lost a baby in delivery last month and feels haunted by it. He’ll want you to take over that part of things, I expect.”

Josephine had baby Poppy cradled in one arm as she poked her fork into one last bite of chicken. “Martha said he hasn’t slept well since.”

“Sadly, losing babies happens,” I said. “I’m certain he’s blameless.”

The talk moved to the opening of the new schoolhouse. My attention waned. Hearing about Dr. Neal’s troubles worried me. The life of a small-town doctor would encompass a myriad of responsibilities. Losing babies was inevitable. I must harden myself to a certain extent.

“Do you ever miss teaching, Mama?” I asked, forcing myself back into the conversation.

She glanced over at Papa. “Once in a while I have a twinge of remorse, but you kids have kept me so busy over the years that it was like I had a full classroom.”

Josephine laughed. “Seven of us is like a classroom.”

“And now we have the grand-babies.” Papa’s eyes twinkled. “Never a dull moment.”

Chapter 2: Louisa

The problem with trouble? One never sees it coming until it’s too late. In the years since I’d been with the Linds, I’d been lulled into a false sense of safety. Then, out of nowhere, I was faced with complete uncertainty. Would I be returned to a life of near starvation and homelessness?

I’d gone to Isak Olofsson’s bakery thinking all was well. I lived a quiet life with the Linds, taking care of them as they began to show the signs of age, cooking, shopping, and cleaning for them. In addition, I taught Sunday school and helped with whatever other church duties they needed. My existence wasn’t exciting, but it was steady and safe. That’s all I needed.

“Louisa, I wondered if you had a minute?” From behind the counter, Isak wiped his hands on the front of his apron.

“Yes, what is it?”

He looked around his empty shop as if he were worried there were others eavesdropping before speaking. “I heard a few of the old biddies from church talking this morning. They must have thought I couldn’t hear or maybe that I wouldn’t care, but they were talking about Pastor Lind.”

I clenched my teeth together. Knowing what he would say, I waited. Mrs. Poe hadn’t been discreet in her dislike of Father. No doubt she’d decided to start another church in town. What did I care, anyway? There were enough sinners in town for two churches.

Isak placed both of his large hands palm down on the wooden counter. A powder of flour dust coated the reddish hairs on his forearms. “Mrs. Poe said the church board has voted and they’re getting rid of your father.”

My stomach dropped. Black dots danced before my eyes. “That’s impossible.”

“I asked Flynn about this,” Isak said. “He said the board is elected by the members to represent their wishes. Apparently, Mrs. Poe has been on a secret campaign to lure people over to her side.”

I thought I might pass out as I gripped the edge of the counter. “I had no idea.”

“She’s very persuasive, I guess. I’m sorry, Louisa. I wanted you to know in case there’s something to be done.”

“Thank you.” I picked up my loaf of bread and left the shop in a daze. Blindly, I walked the few blocks home. How was this happening? Where would we go? The house belonged to the church. Did Father and Mother have savings? Would we be able to find somewhere to live?

Yes, I told myself. Of course they had savings. They’d sent me away to finishing school, after all. That wasn’t the act of poor people.

Yet there was also the fact of my mother’s surgery the previous year. My mother hadn’t wanted anyone to know that she’d suffered through a serious health condition. It had started with a chronic wet cough and shortness of breath. I’d insisted, finally, that she go see Dr. Neal. He’d done a few tests and sent her to an expert in Denver. The team there had suspected lung cancer and had immediately taken her in for surgery where they removed part of her lung. The doctor said the masses were definitely cancerous but assured us that his expert skills had gotten all of the bad cells. I wasn’t so sure. Regardless, we’d told no one. Mother was proud that way. She considered her stout strength her greatest asset as a preacher’s wife.

There was another fact that had me worried. A small-town preacher relied upon donations from his congregation to pay his salary. For whatever reasons, we were never as successful filling the donation bowl as we hoped. Father always said the Lord would provide. I wasn’t so sure about that, either.

When I came in through the back door, Mother was at the small table near the kitchen window. Sunshine streamed through the spotless glass. In the bright light, the wrinkles that etched her face were more evident. For a second, I saw her as an old woman instead of Mother. She’d aged right before my eyes but without me truly seeing.

Even though I’d been with them since I was nine years old and I was now in my early twenties, I still felt as though I’d only just arrived. The three of us had needed one another with an urgency unlike other families. Mother had yearned for a child that never came. Father wanted nothing but to make her happy. I’d needed them for all things: shelter, food, and mostly love. No one could have been more patient or caring. I came to them broken open to the very core. They stitched me up day by day until much of my past, if not forgotten, faded enough for me to feel close to a normal girl.

I had only to let my mind drift back to the years with my real father to shudder. The games he played with me were too horrid to revisit. Yet when I’d first come here, Mother had encouraged me to talk about them if I needed to. Now that I was gown, I could imagine how awful it must have been for her to hear the atrocities of my childhood. At the time, I was grateful to let them out.

However, I’d kept one horrible thing to myself. As much as I’d shared with the Linds, I couldn’t tell them about the other thing. The thing my father did that made it impossible for me to love a man. I put all that aside for now. How could I tell Mother and Father what I’d heard?

Mother smiled at me as I set the loaf of bread on the table. Even if I’d been able to contemplate marriage, leaving my parents wasn’t an option. They needed me to cook and clean and take care of most everything. I couldn’t leave them. Not that I wanted to. They’d given me a chance for a good life. The least I could do was repay them with the same kindness.

I leaned down to kiss Mother’s soft cheek. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Right as rain.”

“Good. Would you like me to make coffee?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Would you, dear?”

“Isak had just pulled the sourdough loaves out of his ovens this morning. I bought one to go with our eggs.” I’d walked out to the Cassidys’ farm the day before to buy a dozen eggs from Nora. The youngest of the Cassidy girls had taken over the farm after her father died. She’d added a few milk cows and invested in layer chickens to supplement their cattle. She now kept many of us in town with fresh milk and eggs.

“How was Nora?” Mother asked. “She wasn’t at church last Sunday.”

“She was well but said one of her cows had a baby in the middle of Saturday night and she was too tired to make it to church.”

“That girl works too hard.”

It was true. Their father had died right after the war, leaving his wife and three daughters with a barely profitable small cattle ranch. The oldest of the Cassidy sisters, Alma, had gone off to nursing school and had fallen in love with a gentleman from Chicago and not returned to Emerson Pass. Shannon had married rich Flynn Barnes. Nora, like me, hadn’t felt she could leave her mother, and did the work of a man to keep the place going. I hoped for her sake that she’d have the chance to have a husband and family of her own.

Father came in the back door. I knew the moment I saw the gray tinge to his complexion that something was wrong. He didn’t greet us but instead sat heavily on one of the chairs at the table.

“Louisa brought bread from the bakery,” Mother said.

“I’m fixing eggs, too. Would you like coffee?”

“No, thank you,” Father said. “I have to talk to you both.”

“What is it, Simon?” Mother asked. “Are you unwell?”

He looked pale and exhausted, with puffy bags under his eyes. “I’ve had a shock.”

I sat with them at the table and clasped my hands together.

“The board voted. They want us out,” Father said.

“How can this be?” Mother clutched the cross that hung from her neck. “Where will we go?”

“We have to be out by the end of the month,” Father said.

My mind couldn’t grasp any of this. I looked around our small, tidy kitchen. It was all I’d known since I’d moved in with the Linds when I was nine years old. We would be homeless.

“But why would they do this?” I asked out loud.

“From what I can gather, Mrs. Poe would like more fire and brimstone,” Father said. “And less encouragement about how the love of Jesus can save any sinner.”

“Isn’t that the main message of Jesus?” I asked, flabbergasted. Before I’d come to live with the Linds, I hadn’t known much about being a Christian. We hadn’t even had a Bible in our ramshackle house. But they’d quickly rectified that, teaching me of the ways of the Lord. I’d come to understand how daily talks with God could change a battered heart.

“What will we do?” I asked.

Mother sighed. “Do what we’ve always done, move on.”

“To another church?” I couldn’t believe my ears. This was our home. “Can’t you simply retire? We could find another house here in Emerson Pass.” Father was in his mid-sixties. He’d been working hard all his life, always there for his flock.

Father took off his wire-rimmed glasses and cleaned them with his handkerchief. “My salary was barely enough to live on and with your mother’s operation last year, we’re out of money. There’s nothing left. I don’t know what we can do, other than find another church. There are small towns sprouting up all over the country. Surely I can find another position. We always have before.”

The idea of leaving Emerson Pass seemed inconceivable. We belonged here. All our friends were here. Frustration made me tremble. What had been the point of sending me to school? “Why, in heaven’s name, did you send me to finishing school? I should have stayed here and worked.”

“We wanted you to find a wealthy young man who could take care of you,” Father said. “I thought it was your best chance of meeting the right sort of people.”

“Right sort of people? You’re my people. I didn’t want to get married and leave either of you or Emerson Pass. This is my home.”

He put his glasses back on, tucking the flexible temples around the backs of his ears in a gesture I knew very well. “Louisa, you have to think about yourself. We’re not going to live much longer. A husband is your only opportunity.”

“Opportunity? For what?”

“Survival.”

I stared at him as tears of anger dampened my cheeks. “Father, why didn’t you send me to school for something practical? I could have become a teacher or a nurse.”

“Neither of those professions is something you can do and have a family. Do you want to be an old maid?” Mother asked.

I was astounded by their reaction. Had I not known how much they wanted me to marry? Neither had ever expressed it in such a blunt fashion. Perhaps they should have. I’d thought they were content to have me stay with them forever. That idea had been shortsighted. I could see that now. However, the idea of either of them dying on me was so heartbreaking, I couldn’t even think about it.

“I thought you wanted me to stay with you,” I said. “I’ve been useful to you, haven’t I?”

Mother’s eyes filled with tears. “Louisa, I told you from the beginning that we weren’t adopting you because we couldn’t afford a housekeeper. You’re our daughter, not our maid.”

“Is that what you’ve thought?” Father asked. “That we needed you?”

“Well, don’t you?” I asked. “I’m young and strong. And a good cook.” I mumbled the last part.

“Do you not want to marry because of us?” Mother asked.

“Because that’s not a good reason.”

“I don’t want to marry because, well, I just don’t want to.”

“As much as we love you, we want you to have a life of your own,” Mother said. “A family of your own.”

“We thought finishing school would bring exactly that,” Father said. “Didn’t you wonder why we were sending you in the first place?”

“I…I guess I didn’t,” I said. “I thought you wanted to refine me so that I would be more of an asset at the church. Anyway, how was I supposed to meet a young man at a girls’ school?”

“By becoming friends with your classmates who would then introduce you to brothers and cousins,” Father said with obvious irritation in his voice. “Louisa, I don’t understand you.”

That much was clear.

“But what about Flynn?” Father asked. “You liked him.”

“He didn’t reciprocate those feelings,” I said. “Shannon was the one he wanted. Anyway, he was just a crush I had. All of the other girls in town had one on him.”

My parents exchanged a glance.

“Theo cared for you, though,” Mother said. “He made no secret of it.”

“Mother, no. Not Theo.” How could I explain that Theo would be the absolute last man on earth I’d ever marry? Even if he wanted me still, which I felt certain he wouldn’t. He’d gone off to medical school and would be returning to Emerson Pass to be Dr. Neal’s partner. Most likely, he’d met someone and would bring her here to marry.

“What’s wrong with Theo?” Father asked. “He was an excellent Sunday school student.”

“Yes, he always knew his verses. Flynn did not.” Mother seemed to have forgotten our dire situation, because she actually smiled. She’d always been fond of all the Barnes children. Like everyone else in town.

“Theo’s not for me.” I left it at that mostly because I couldn’t articulate what it was about him that I didn’t like. He was too much like me, perhaps. I could see the pain of his past in his eyes. Sensitive, all-seeing eyes. When he looked at me, I imagined that he could see into the deepest parts of me. The parts I wanted to keep hidden from the world. With someone like him, I’d never be able to stay separate. He’d insist on knowing me. I didn’t want to be known. Not even to my parents.

If they knew what my father had done, they might understand that the idea of a man’s touch terrified me. I should tell them, I thought. My secret that I’d kept hidden all these years. The words wouldn’t come. Instead, a darkness seeped into my very core. I was bad and damaged. No decent man would want me.

“I can try to get a job,” I said. “Maybe somewhere in town?”

“Doing what?” Father asked, not unkindly but with utter hopelessness.

“Maybe I could get a job as a maid?” I clamped my lips together to keep them from trembling before continuing. “Quinn might need another maid. Or I could assist Lizzie in the kitchen.”

“Even if you were able to get work, we have no place to live.” Father put both his hands over his knees and took in a shuddering breath. “I’m not feeling well. I need to lie down for a while.”

I’d go see the Barnes family as soon as I could. Quinn wouldn’t turn me away. She would surely have some variety of work for me. Or maybe Mrs. Johnson needed someone to help her at her store.

“I’ll think of something,” I said. “I know I will.”

Mother only nodded, then rose to her feet and followed Father into the bedroom.

Chapter 3: Theo

The first morning assisting Dr. Neal, I drove into town feeling robust and excited. I was home where I belonged and about to begin the work I’d studied long and hard to learn. Wildflowers decorated the meadows and scented the air with sweet perfume. The sun had already risen in the east and cast rays of morning light onto the landscape. The first part of June and too early for dust, potholes still held puddles of brown water. Mama had told me a sudden rainstorm had come just days before I arrived. Today, the sky was cloudless and a shade of deep blue I’d not seen in my travels.

My stomach fluttered at the first sign of the brick buildings of town. Dr. Neal’s office was just a block off Barnes Avenue, named after my father. He’d addressed me as Dr. Barnes when he’d called the house last night and asked me to come in first thing in the morning. Dr. Barnes? It still seemed like a title for someone else, not me. I parked near Papa’s office and straightened my tie, studying myself in the mirror for a quick moment. My thick, wavy hair had been tamed with a light pomade my sister Cymbeline had suggested. I ran a few fingers along my chin, feeling for any spots of shaving soap that might linger. All these newfangled soaps and lotions were all the rage. I had to admit they smelled nice.

I smiled slightly remembering how proud Mama and my sisters had looked when I went downstairs in one of my new suits. I opened the car door and placed my feet onto the ground. One foot after the other, as I’d done for the last four years. Papa’s dream had been a thriving community when he’d first come here as a young man. He’d accomplished that, I thought, as I walked down the main street of town. We were nestled in the valley between two mountains and isolated from much of the world. Ice that covered the pond all winter had melted and reflected the blue sky. The Johnsons’ dry goods store had its doors open to allow the fresh air in while Mrs. Johnson hustled behind the long counter waiting on customers. I waved to her as I passed by, and she called out to me. “Good luck on your first day.”

“Thank you,” I called back. Dr. Neal was her son-in-law, having married Martha Johnson. Like many of the other young couples in town, they had a gaggle of children and another one on the way. Which was why we needed another doctor.

Through the window of the tailor’s shop, I spotted Mr. Olofsson bent over a piece of fabric. His shoulders had a permanent slump from leaning over his work for so many years. His wife was at the counter wrapping a package in brown paper for a customer.

I passed by the bank. Viktor Olofsson was inside, looking very official as he wrote into a leather ledger. He didn’t raise his head from his work. Although neither of Olofsson boys had followed in their father’s footsteps, they’d inherited his work ethic.

The boardinghouse had been sold recently, and the new owners had given it a fresh look with a fresh coat of paint and a porch swing and pots filled with colorful flowers.

I was just rounding the corner to head to the doctor’s office when I ran into Louisa Kellam. Or Louisa Lind, as she was known now, having been adopted by the pastor and his wife. The atrocities of her childhood before then had only been imagined by my siblings and me. Mama had always been tight-lipped about the whole affair, saying only that Louisa had suffered greatly before being adopted.

“Theo Barnes, is that you?” Her eyes widened from under the brim of her hat.

I smiled, taking her in as she held out her hand to me. “It most certainly is.” I lightly brushed my lips over her gloved hand. “I start work with Dr. Neal this morning.”

“A doctor. Your parents must be proud.”

“I believe they are, yes.” Her golden hair was tucked under a light straw hat with a blue ribbon that matched her dress. She was no longer the malnourished little girl she’d once been; a slight flush in her cheeks and her curves told me she was in good health.

“Poor Martha says she never sees her husband,” Louisa said. “They’re anxious for your help.”

“I’m delighted to be of service.” I touched the front brim of my hat.

She looked down at the tips of her shoes. “You’re looking well. Medical school agreed with you.”

“As are you.” In fact, she was more beautiful than ever. I felt a tinge of my old crush coming back to life. Never mind, I told myself. She would never be interested in me. I’d certainly learned that with my ill-fated request to write to her during the war. What an idiot I must have seemed to her. I’d certainly felt like one. Despite the embarrassment the memory brought, it all seemed like another lifetime now. I’d gone to school and forgotten her. My infatuation was simply a young man’s fanciful imagination. Not true love.

She caught her bottom lip with the top one before speaking. “I’ve always meant to say how sorry I was about how I acted that day when you asked if I’d write to you.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

“I was a stupid child.”

“And I, the wrong twin,” I said with a laugh.

“Oh, Theo. Don’t say that.”

I waved a hand dismissively, smiling down at her. “I’m only teasing. I was simply scared and needed something to cling to.”

She briefly touched the sleeve of my jacket. “Of course you were scared. Going off to fight a war that had nothing to do with us. And not yet seventeen. I couldn’t believe my ears when you told me you and Flynn had enlisted. You were too young to have to face such a horrible war.”

“We were but didn’t know it.”

She glanced upward before smiling. “When Flynn started courting Shannon, I didn’t want to show my face in town. I think the whole town knew I liked him. I was such a lost little lamb—thinking I was in love when I knew nothing about what that really meant.”

I laughed again. “That describes me as well. How about we agree to never think of it again?”

“Agreed. I’m glad you haven’t held a grudge. It’s nice to see you.”

“You too. Are your parents well?” I asked.

She touched a slender finger to the brim of her hat. “Not entirely well. Father has been fired from the church.”

“No, really?” Fired from the church? Was that even possible? “Papa wouldn’t let that happen.” He’d found Pastor Lind himself.

“Things have changed. The town and church have gotten bigger. Your father isn’t able to protect everyone like he used to. The congregation decided they wanted a board to run the finances and staff. They didn’t like Father, and now they’ve pushed him out.”

I didn’t know what to say. How could they not like kind Pastor Lind? He was jolly and encouraging, especially to the youngsters. “Your father was a great pastor. I can’t comprehend what they didn’t like.”

“They’re more the fire-and-brimstone types. Father’s style isn’t that way.”

“I do recall your father’s message to be uplifting rather than threatening.” Pastor Lind and his wife suggested we carry on conversations with the Lord, as if he were an intimate friend.

She sighed and clutched her package against her chest. “Since Prohibition, a war has developed.”

“A war?”

“Between those who believe Prohibition saves souls and those who don’t.”

“Right, yes. That seems to be everywhere in our country,” I said. “Dividing communities and even families.” Flynn and my father thought the government shouldn’t be involved in business, let alone ban alcohol. Flynn and Phillip were running a secret bar in the basement of the ski lodge. The sheriff looked the other way. When I’d asked Mama what she thought, she’d merely pursed her lips and given a little shake of her head. Phillip and my brother were upstanding businessmen in this town. Did running an illegal bar make them less so? I didn’t think so, but I knew there were many who would disagree. Would those same women who were forcing out Pastor Lind convince the sheriff to shut down the bar? Were my brother and brother-in-law setting themselves up for trouble? For that matter, who was making the booze in the first place?

“We’re going to have to move out of the house,” Louisa said, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Where will you go?” I asked.

Her gaze flickered toward a man walking by us. She seemed to wait until he was out of earshot before turning back to me. “I’ve no idea. Father thinks he’ll find another position in a different town but, Theo, he’s old. This whole ordeal has defeated him. I’m not sure he’s well. He looks terrible.” She paused, shaking her head. “I want him to retire and take it easy.”

“That isn’t an option? I mean, if you could find a new place to live here in Emerson Pass?” Already my mind had moved forward, thinking through how we could help them.

“There’s nothing left. Mother needed an operation last year, which wiped out his savings. The rest of it he’d wasted on sending me to finishing school. We’re in terrible trouble.” She tilted her head and peered up at me from under her lashes. I fell backward into the past, as she looked much more like the frightened child she’d been than the moment before. She must be feeling the way she had when she was young, unsure where her next meal would come from or where she would sleep.

“I had no idea.” I felt certain my parents hadn’t, either.

“As a matter of fact, I wondered if your mother had any positions open?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know.” A job at the estate? Not Louisa. She was clever and educated. “What sort of position do you have in mind?”

“Anything.” Her shoulders heaved as she let out a sharp, quick breath. “I have to find a way to take care of my parents. I owe them my life. If they hadn’t taken me in, who knows what would have happened to me.” She looked sideways as if she wondered if someone watched her before answering. “I’m grateful to Father, but I wish I’d learned something more useful than how to walk with a book atop my head. I didn’t know we were in trouble or I would have done something useful and gotten a teaching certificate.”

A woman carrying the load of a household seemed unfathomable to me. However, the world was changing. Since the war, women seemed to have different expectations for their lives. They’d carried on at home while the men were at war.

“My father has been on the same side as Flynn,” Louisa said. “As have all the early settlers. The newcomers are of a different ilk.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have predicted your father to be of that mindset.”

She gave me a tight smile. “He’s a Scotchman, after all. His stance on Prohibition is another reason why the church board wants him out. He and your brother haven’t exactly kept their opinions to themselves.”

“I worry about my brother and brother-in-law, if you want to know the truth.”

She fluttered her fingers toward the street. “The whole affair makes me sad. I never thought this town would be in such conflict.”

“Me either.” I hadn’t realized all this was going on while I’d been away at school. My stomach churned at the thought of my father’s peaceful town having two sides of a debate. In the past, we’d prided ourselves on our tight-knit community. However, I knew the spirits of the early citizens. They’d come from other countries where poverty and oppression had made it impossible for them to live satisfying and prosperous lives. Here in the wilds of the Rockies, they’d had the chance to live lives exactly as they wished. With new people coming in, had the original spirit of our community been stifled?

“Father’s soul’s broken,” Louisa said. “The trouble with the congregation and my lack of marriage.”

Why hadn’t she married? I couldn’t imagine she wasn’t sought after wherever she went. “I have to admit, I thought you’d be married by now.” That would be the obvious solution for her. She needed a husband with the financial means to take care of her and her parents. “Is there no one?”

“No. My father thought I’d meet someone rich and powerful to take care of me. That’s why he sent me away to school. Sadly, I didn’t realize that’s what he wanted.”

“It’s not too late. You’re young and beautiful.”

“Thank you, Theo, but marriage isn’t an option. Now go. I don’t want to make you late for your first day.”

“Yes, I should.” I glanced downward, thinking for a moment. “You know, I think you should go out and visit my mother this morning. I’m not sure she’ll have a position for you, but I know she’ll have some ideas about where you might move to. She and Papa own a lot of these buildings in town. Surely there’s a place for you to go. Papa’s not going to leave his oldest friend without a home.”

“You’re a good person, Theo Barnes,” Louisa said. “Some things don’t change.” With that, she turned away and made her way toward the church.

I watched her for a few more seconds before heading the other direction toward the doctor’s office. We’d been going opposite directions since the beginning. That, too, hadn’t changed.
 
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Cymbeline Barnes declared Viktor Olofsson her arch-enemy when they were children. When he saved her beloved sister, she started to see him as a hero instead. Still, she can't let go of the idea that her destiny is waiting somewhere else in the world.

Viktor Olofsson has cared for Cymbeline his whole life. However, when she continues to rebuff him, he allows himself to entertain the idea of newcomer Emma.

Will Cymbeline come to terms with her life and wake up to the idea of love before it's too late?

Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical romantic women’s fiction with nearly forty published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on “Hometowns and Heartstrings.”

 

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“A story worthy of more than 5 Stars.” —Wild Sage Book Blog

The wholesome second book in USA Today bestselling author Tess Thompson's Emerson Pass Historicals historical romance series.

Her love died on a battlefield. He carries a torch for a woman he’s never met. Can the tragic death of a soldier entwine the souls of two strangers?

Colorado, 1920. Josephine Barnes wrote every day to her beloved fiancé battling in the trenches of the Great War. Devastated when he’s killed in action, she vows never to marry and buries her grief in the construction of the town’s first library. But she’s left breathless when she receives a request from a gracious gentleman to visit and return the letters containing her declarations of desire.

Philip Baker survived the war but returned home burdened with a distressing secret. Though he knows it’s wrong, he can’t stop reading through the beautiful sentiments left among his slain comrade’s possessions. Plagued by guilt, he’s unable to resist connecting with the extraordinary woman who captured his heart with her words.

When Josephine invites Philip to join her gregarious family for the holidays, she’s torn by her loyalty to a ghost and her growing feelings for the gallant man. And as Philip prepares to risk everything by telling her the truth about her dead fiancé, he fears he could crush Josephine’s blossoming happiness forever. 

Will they break free from their painful pasts to embrace a passion meant to be?

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Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical romantic women’s fiction with nearly forty published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on “Hometowns and Heartstrings.”

 

Book Excerpt:

Chapter 1: Josephine

The letter from Phillip Baker came on paper as thin as our pond’s ice after a first autumn freeze. Perhaps that delicate paper should have been a clue as to what was to come. How my life would change. One could not skate on ice that thin. How right I was.

I read his correspondence twice, thinking through his offer. With a lightness in my steps that did not match my heavy heart, I walked to the window of my parents’ sitting room. A first snowfall had blanketed the valley where my father’s estate dwelt between two Colorado mountains. Our winter wonderland had come late this year. A brilliant, sunny, crisp fall had gone on for months. Given all that the last few years had bestowed upon us, we gratefully enjoyed every moment.

We’d survived the days and days of worry over my twin brothers fighting in France and the threat of the Spanish flu to the troops. Then, a second wave—the deadliest wave—of the Spanish flu had plundered the world. A third in the fall, threatening us once more. Emerson Pass had managed to remain isolated enough that we’d been spared.

Finally, though, it seemed as if the world would return to our lives before the war. Papa and Mama had seemed to be able to breathe again for the first time since the boys had enlisted, not yet seventeen, having lied about their age. Our dear friend Isak Olofsson had also survived. All three were home now. Not quite the same, but physically intact.

Not all of our boys returned to Emerson Pass. We’d lost Francis Lane. I hadn’t known him well, but he was part of us. A soul lost. Buried in a cemetery across the seas. A young man who would never know what it was like to marry, have children, grow old.

And I’d lost Walter Green. He was not one of us. No one but I mourned him here. I had enough grief for a whole town.

The first letter from Phillip Baker had come in the fall of 1918. I could remember every word.

My name is Phillip Baker. I’m not sure if Walter ever mentioned me in his letters, but we knew each other for a brief time when we were children and then, by coincidence, were assigned to the same unit for basic training and sent to France together. I’m writing to tell you that Walter was killed in action last week. I was aware of your correspondence with him and that you would want to know. I’m sorry. He died bravely and without any suffering.

Just a month before the end, he’d been killed in action. The promise of our future together snuffed out before it began. I’d had only two weeks with him. Two weeks of bliss. Now I had only the memories. They would have to sustain me for the rest of my life. I would be a spinster. A librarian spinster and auntie to my six siblings’ children.

I touched my fingertips to the cold glass. Snow fell steadily outside the windows. In Colorado, we had at least a dozen words to describe snowflakes. Today it was a dry, fat flake. Good for skiing, according to Flynn and Theo. A new sport they’d fallen in love with after their time in Europe. They’d come home determined to bring skiing here to Emerson Pass. The sport of the future, Flynn had declared. A way for our town to continue to grow and flourish. Shops would be built around the visitors. They’d seen it in the Alps. It would work here too, they’d told Papa. He’d agreed to let them use part of their trust for the investment in their future. They were now happily planning away for the new version of our town. They’d cleared trees on the northern mountain for runs and built a lodge from the logs. In the spring, they would complete the rest of the needed details. By next winter, if all went well, skiing would have come to us for good.

I returned to the letter, reading the neat handwriting.

November 20, 1919

Dear Josephine,

I hope this letter will find you well. I’m also hopeful that you’ll remember who I am. If not, I’ll be mortified. Since returning from the war, I’ve been in New York City. Unfortunately, I became very ill last year with the Spanish flu. While convalescing, I remembered your descriptions of Emerson Pass from the letters you wrote to Walter. (He often read passages to me and the other men.)

Your descriptions of the wildflowers, sky, and trees have convinced me to travel west in pursuit of my own place of belonging. I’ve decided to take a leap of faith and come to Colorado, perhaps to settle for good. I’m writing to see if I might visit you and your family? I ended up with your letters and the books you sent. I feel guilty that I haven’t sent them to you before now, as I’m sure you’d like to have them.

My request and trip may sound strange to you, but there’s nothing or no one keeping me here. I grew up in an orphanage and have never truly had a home.

We all looked forward to your letters, as Walter shared many stories of you and your family with the rest of us lonely boys who, sadly, had no one writing to us. From your stories, I feel as if I know you all. I’d be honored to bring your letters, novels, and photograph and to meet you and your family.

I’m also hopeful that your father and brothers might have ideas for me in regard to work. Before the war, I apprenticed with a cabinetmaker. If they know of anything, I’d be pleased to hear of it.

If you’re amenable to my visit, I thank you kindly and look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Phillip Baker

His request to visit wasn’t the strange part. I found it odd that he made no mention of Walter, other than to say he’d shared my letters. An image of Walter laughing during one of our picnics flashed before my eyes. His sunny head of hair and light blue eyes had transfixed me from the start. He’d had an infectious smile that made me feel dizzy. I’d met him in Denver while I was attending a librarian conference. He’d been passing through on his way to report for duty. Our meeting had been pure chance. He happened to be out that warm evening while I walked in the park with colleagues. I’d thought at the time it was destiny. I now knew it was the day that led to my broken heart. Did I wish I’d never met him and be spared the pain of losing him? I couldn’t answer that question.

I pressed my forehead against the glass. If only the coolness would numb the rest of me. Even for a few minutes. To feel like my old self instead of a worn-out, dried-up spinster. I would be twenty-three on my next birthday. Most women were married with a child by this age.

“What is it, Jo? Why did you sigh?” Papa asked from behind his newspaper.

I hadn’t realized I’d sighed. Papa knew me too well. After everything we’d been through together, it was no wonder. I turned from the window and stepped nearer to the couch where he and Mama Quinn were having their tea. “It’s a letter from Walter’s friend. The one who wrote to tell me of Walter’s death.”

“Yes, we remember.” Mama’s eyes immediately softened with sympathy. “What does he want?”

“He wants to come out here for a visit and possibly to stay. My letters were a travel brochure, I guess.”

Papa lowered the paper onto his lap. “How interesting.” His English accent, according to my friends, remained as strong today as it had been when he came to America so many years ago. I, however, could not hear it. He sounded only like my beloved Papa.

“Does he have a wife and family?” Mama folded her hands together on her lap. I’d pulled her from reading. The novel, My Ántonia, was face-open on the couch next to her. Her fair hair was arranged in waves pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. Younger than my father by fifteen years, she was blessed with delicate, even features and a heart-shaped face.

Just over ten years had passed since she’d arrived to open the first school of Emerson Pass and my father’s heart. Almost immediately she’d become the heart of our family. All five of us thought of her as our mother. Since their marriage, two little sisters had come, bringing our total to seven. Papa called us “The Lucky Seven.”

“He has no family of any kind,” I said. “In fact, he was raised in an orphanage. I have the feeling he’s in need of a fresh start and work. He thought Papa might have ideas for him.”

“How sad. We’ll help him in any way we can.” Mama set her teacup onto its saucer and fixed her kind brown eyes upon me. “Unless there’s a reason you wouldn’t want him to come here?” The anxious way she looked at me lately filled me with guilt. Papa, Mama, and my sisters had been worried about me. I hated knowing I caused them concern. My job was to be the responsible, steady eldest, not the sad, mopey mess I’d become.

“No, not at all,” I said. “Should we invite him to stay with us? Just until he can figure out what to do next?”

“Yes, we’ve room for him if he doesn’t mind bunking with the boys.” Papa drained the last of his tea and set aside his cup. “I’m keen to help any man who fought in that terrible war.”

“He says he trained as a cabinetmaker.” I hugged my middle as I walked over to the fire that roared in the hearth, crackling and snapping. “He says Walter shared the contents of my letters with him and the rest of the boys. I find that…perplexing.”

“Which part?” Mama asked.

“That he shared them. My letters were intimate, meant for only one pair of eyes.” I looked down at my hands to keep from crying.

“Darling, it doesn’t really matter,” Papa said softly. “If your letters brought them some relief, isn’t it an honor?”

“I suppose.” I sat in one of the armchairs and watched the fire. One end of a log looked like the nose of a fox.

Mama smoothed her hands over the top of her day dress made of crimson organza. “Phillip must stay for Christmas.”

“Yes, I agree,” Papa said. “He shouldn’t be alone for the holidays. We’ll take care of him until he can get on his feet. The boys can show him around town, do a little carousing.”

“Alexander, carousing?” Mama raised her eyebrows and looked properly mortified. “Our boys do not carouse.”

Papa didn’t answer, but his eyes twinkled as he gazed at her. My chest ached with both gratitude and sorrow. Their love pleased me. Yet it also brought to light what I’d lost. I’d hoped Walter and I would share a life as they had.

Mama returned her gaze to me. “Jo, what’s troubling you?”

“We don’t know Phillip,” I said. “What if he’s awful?”

“I doubt he will be,” Mama said. “He was so kind to write to you about Walter’s death.”

“That’s true. If he’s Walter’s friend, he must be all right,” I said.

“We didn’t really know Walter,” Papa said.

I sucked in my bottom lip to hold back a retort. Never in my life had there been any discord between my parents and me. However, they hadn’t approved of my whirlwind courtship with Walter. Which was in no way his fault. He hadn’t had time to come home with me and meet my family. “He was here such a short time. There wasn’t an opportunity for him to court me properly. He planned to, when he returned from the war.”

“Yes, of course, darling. We understand,” Mama said in a soothing voice.

“Yes, yes, quite right.” Papa followed up too hastily. No one wanted to upset me these days. I missed when my family treated me normally. Now it felt as if I were a fragile piece of china no one wanted to break.

“May I read the letter?” Mama asked.

I nodded and handed it over the tea set. She unfolded the letter and began to read.

“Sweetheart, have a biscuit,” Papa said to me. “You’re looking much too thin.”

I obeyed, not having the energy to disagree, and put a cookie, which Papa called a biscuit, on a plate. He poured a cup of tea and set it on the table front of me. He believed most problems could be solved after a cup of tea. Given my troubled mother’s death when I was nine, I’d known differently for a long time.

Mama folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. She had a strange look on her face, somewhere between puzzled and intrigued. “I think it might be good for you to have him here.”

“You mean to tell me stories about Walter?”

“Not that exactly,” Mama said. “He’s someone of your own age group. Perhaps he will become a new friend?”

Mama and Papa exchanged a glance I couldn’t decipher.

“I don’t need friends. I have Poppy and my sisters.” Poppy and I had grown up together. Their parents had died when Poppy was young and her older brother, Harley, had raised her while acting as groundskeeper and gardener. Poppy had been away for the better part of two years, working as an apprentice to a veterinarian in cattle country. I’d missed her more than I’d thought possible. She had just always been there and now she was off to her own adventures. “Poppy will be back in a few weeks. But I shall be a good hostess, don’t worry.”

“Regardless, we can’t let a hero be alone during what’s supposed to be the merriest time of the year.” Mama had the biggest heart in the world, rivaled only by my sister Fiona, who seemed to think it was her job to look after every single person in the world.

“I’ll write him this evening and ask if he’d like to stay with us,” I said.

All four of my gaggle of sisters rushed into the room. Those who thought only boys were loud had never met my sisters. Harley had taken them into town in the sleigh to ice-skate for the afternoon. The pond in the center of town had frozen solid for the first time this season just last night.

“You won’t believe what Delphia did,” Cymbeline said, without concern over interrupting the adults.

Delphia, in preparation for the admonishment, tore a cap from her mushroom of blond curls and glared at her older sister. “I didn’t do it.”

At sixteen, Cymbeline lorded over the younger ones. Fiona, thirteen, was the protector. Adelaide, or Addie as we called her, was quiet and shy and obedient to bossy Cymbeline’s wishes. Four-year-old Delphia, bless her, had the same fire as Cymbeline. From the time she could talk, she was having none of the dictatorship.

“She challenged a boy twice her age to a race,” Cymbeline said. “And when she didn’t win, she knocked him to the ground.”

Delphia’s bottom lip trembled. “I didn’t.”

“The whole thing was an accident.” Fiona placed her hand on Delphia’s head. “She slid into him because she was going so fast. Anyway, she learned it from you, Cym. You’re always racing boys.”

“That’s different.” Cymbeline’s color heightened, making her even more beautiful than the moment before. God help us all, she was stunning and looked more like a woman than a girl. Mama always said we only had two types in this family. Fair and blond, like her, me, and the two youngest girls. Or dark hair and deep blue eyes, like Papa, the boys, Cymbeline and Fiona.

“Come here, little one,” Papa said to Delphia.

She trudged over to him. He pulled her into his lap. “Tell me what happened.”

She looked up at him with angelic eyes. “It’s what Fiona said. I was going fast, pretending that a monster was chasing me, and then I ran into him.”

“Did you say you were sorry?” Mama asked.

“Yes, that’s not the problem,” Cymbeline said as she grabbed a cookie from the plate. “She said she was sorry and then she planted a kiss on him. On his cheek.”

I had to cover my mouth with my hand to hide my smile.

“His cheeks looked like an apple,” Delphia said. “I just had to kiss one.”

I caught Mama’s eye. She seemed to be trying not to laugh but kept it together enough to say, “Delphia, you mustn’t ever kiss a boy.”

“But why?” Delphia blinked her big blue eyes.

“Because it’s not proper,” Mama said.

I noticed Addie was shivering. “Come here, doll. I’ll warm you up.” I tucked her into the chair next to me and rubbed her cold hands between mine. Addie was quiet and serious like me. I adored her.

“Mama and Papa kiss all the time,” Delphia said.

“They’re married.” Cymbeline plopped into an armchair next to me. “You don’t understand anything about how the world works.”

“Cym, don’t say it like that. She’s just a little girl.” Fiona went to stand in front of the fire with her hands behind her back.

“I’m your baby,” Delphia said as she gazed up at our father. “Right, Papa?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to kiss boys.” Papa put his chin on her head and looked over at me with eyes that danced with humor. Mama always says it was his dancing eyes that drew her to him. I knew exactly what she meant. “You’re my baby, which means you can’t love any boy but me.”

“I won’t do it again.” Delphia let out a long-suffering sigh, as if all the fun in the world was taken from her.

“Besides the unfortunate incident with the apple cheek,” Mama said, “what else happened?”

“That ridiculous Viktor Olofsson was skating with all the girls, one after another.” Cymbeline shook her dark curls. “He had the nerve to ask me.”

“What did you say?” I asked, knowing the answer, but teasing her anyway.

“Jo, don’t be daft,” Cymbeline said. “I would never let that big oaf touch my hand.”

He was a large man but most certainly not an oaf. Although his shoulders were thick and wide like a Colorado mountain, he was a gentle, intelligent soul who I suspected had a deep and long-lasting crush on Cymbeline. “I think he’s like a hero in a storybook. Brave and strong.” I’d once seen him pick up a wagon off a man’s leg when the horse had bucked and broken free, leaving his owner under a wheel. With almost white hair and light green eyes, he looked like the Vikings in one of the history books I had in the library.

Cymbeline’s eyes flashed as she stuck out her plump bottom lip and scowled. Strangely, her sour expression did nothing to disguise her beauty. “He’s such a show-off, doing tricks on the ice.”

“You do tricks on the ice,” Fiona said, not unkindly but more as a fact. “All the same ones Viktor does.”

Her observation was correct. If Viktor learned a trick on the ice, Cymbeline practiced until she’d conquered it.

Mama had confided in me more than once that she was afraid Cymbeline would never be satisfied living in a man’s world as we do. If she’d been old enough, I had no doubt she would have volunteered to be a nurse in the war effort overseas.

“Well, be that as it may,” Mama said, “we have exciting news. Jo’s acquaintance, Phillip Baker, is coming to stay with us for the holidays.”

“The one who wrote to you about Walter?” Fiona asked.

“The same,” I said. “How did you remember?”

Fiona shrugged. “I remember everything about my family. Anyway, it wasn’t like I could ever forget that day.” Her eyes glistened. “I shouldn’t like to ever see you that way again, Jo.”

I held out my hand to her. “Come here, sweet sister.” She sat on the arm of my chair and I patted her knee. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll never give my heart to anyone else. I’m the spinster of the family.”

Chapter 2: Phillip

The train chugged up a slope so steep I was certain we would not stay on the tracks. Across from me, a baby in her mother’s arms cried. To distract myself from my fears of falling into the abyss below me, I pulled out the letter from Josephine. I breathed in the faint smell of her perfume that lingered on the paper. My imagination? Perhaps. Regardless, this one was to me, unlike the stack I’d read too many times to remember. Letters that were not written to me. By a girl who didn’t belong to me.

It’s a terrible thing to hate a dead man.

Yet I knew him for who he truly was. When I’d known him as a child in the orphanage, I’d recognized immediately how he used his charm to get what he wanted. Even the nuns fell for his act. When he ran away at age twelve, I genuinely think their hearts were broken. Women, even ones sworn to love Jesus, couldn’t help but fall for Walter Green.

Hope lurked inside me, goading me into this fool’s errand. After cheating death a second time by recovering from the Spanish flu, I would not rest easy until I came west and told Josephine the truth about the man to whom she’d pledged her eternal love. If not for me, I knew she would love a ghost, possibly forever. Josephine Barnes was a loyal woman. Nothing would deter her unless she understood what kind of man he really was under all that golden-haired, blue-eyed charm. I couldn’t bear the thought of a woman like her spending the rest of her life remembering a man who never really existed. Walter Green was not the man she thought he was. I was the only one left alive to tell her the truth.

He hadn’t loved her. There were other women who wrote to him. All who believed he would marry them when he returned from the war. All targeted for their wealth. Playing the odds, he’d said to me one time. The more he had waiting, the more likely he would marry into money. Those were to secure his future. Countless dalliances with nurses were just for fun.

Yes, I wanted her to know the truth. But it wasn’t for purely altruistic reasons. I wanted her for myself. As I’d convalesced after the flu, I’d read the letters she’d sent to Walter hundreds of times. I’d stared at her photograph until I memorized every detail of her pretty face. The stories of her close family and the beautiful mountains where she lived had moved me more than they should have. In truth, I’d fallen in love with her. Was I lonely? Yes. I’d been lonely all my life. This was something else entirely. In addition to my yearning for a family and my romantic nature, I had this odd sensation of a deep connection between the two of us. The idea of fate, even soul mates, had crossed my mind. Was there a reason beyond mortal comprehension that I’d been the one who ended up with the box of her correspondence?

Could I pinpoint the exact moment I decided to write to her and ask if I might come to visit? Not really. It was more of a gradual thing, an expansion in my mind of what might be possible. Even though I knew her affection toward me was unlikely, I had to try. A man like me didn’t win a rich, beautiful girl like her. I was poor and uneducated. My only skills were those of a cabinetmaker. Yet I had hope. I’d escaped the war and then the flu. I had to take a chance.

I glanced down at the letter, reading it one more time.

Dear Phillip,

My family and I would very much like you to come for a visit. Whether you decide to stay permanently in Emerson Pass or not, we’d be honored if you’d spend the holidays with us.

I hope you won’t find my large and somewhat obnoxious family too overwhelming. I’ve asked them all to be on their best behavior, but that’s not a guarantee. You’ll bunk with my twin brothers. They also served in the war. I’m sure you’ll all become fast friends.

Papa and my brothers will be happy to help you find employment if you decide to stay.

I shall look forward to meeting you soon.

Sincerely,

Josephine Barnes

I folded the letter and put it back in the envelope, then traced the letters of my name, written by her hand.

Walter, I thought, you lucky, conniving bastard. He’d held that hand in his own.

The train had made it to the top of the peak. I looked out the window to snow that sparkled under the sun. Josephine hadn’t exaggerated about the piercing blue hue of the sky.

The baby stopped crying. Her mother, a pretty blonde woman wearing a gray traveling suit and matching hat, apologized to me for the noise. “The altitude hurts her ears.”

“No need to apologize, ma’am. We were all babies once.”

She peered back at me with obvious curiosity. “Do you know someone in Emerson Pass? Most people who head our way either live there or are visiting family or friends.”

“I’m visiting the Barnes family.”

Her face lit up with a bright smile. “The Barneses. They’re very close friends of mine. I’m Martha Neal. I was the second schoolteacher in Emerson Pass, but now I’m married to the town doctor. He was an outsider who moved to town to take over the practice of our last doctor and somehow managed to make me his wife.” She indicated the baby with a dip of her chin. “This one is named Quinn, after our first teacher in Emerson Pass, who is now married to Alexander Barnes. But you know all that, I suppose?”

How much should I say? My natural tendency was to remain taciturn. When one’s lived the kind of life I have, sharing too much led to either pity or fear, as if being an orphan or poor were contagious. “I served in the war with Josephine’s beau, Walter Green. When he died he left a few items that I thought she might like to have. It’s taken a while to get out here. My name’s Phillip Baker.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re a friend of Walter’s?”

Not exactly a friend. “That’s correct. Did you know him?”

“No, no. I’ve only heard about him from Josephine. Those of us who attended school together are quite close. We meet for tea at least twice a month to discuss books and gossip. Oh dear me, where are my manners? I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Baker, and I’m terribly sorry about Walter. We lost one of our boys and the whole town cried for a week. What you must have seen, I can’t imagine.” Martha bounced Quinn on her lap. The baby babbled and chewed on her fist.

“Thank you. He wasn’t a close friend. We served together, that’s all.” The car jerked, causing both Martha and me to sway slightly. I gripped my seat with both hands.

“Our poor Josephine. His death broke her heart. We all hoped she’d move on, but so far she hasn’t.”

“How so?” I couldn’t help but ask. What luck to meet Martha. I’d gather as much information about Josephine as I could. The nuns often told us that the more we knew about a subject, the better we could make a decision or persuade others to our cause.

“She’s sworn herself to spinsterhood and running the library. Which is disappointing to the eligible bachelors in town. Given half a chance, most of them would snatch her up if they could. She’s remarkable. Did you know she brought the library to us with funding from Andrew Carnegie?”

I nodded. She’d written in detail about the building and opening of her library. As if Walter had cared. I’m not sure he’d ever read a book. “Yes, Walter mentioned that to me.”

“May I ask what you’re bringing to her?” Martha adjusted Quinn to the other knee.

“The letters she wrote to him. There are stacks of them, and I thought she might like to have them. I wanted an excuse to come out here, too. I’m thinking of staying.”

“I hope you will.” She smiled at me. “We’re friendly in Emerson Pass. I think you’ll love it as much as the rest of us do. And how kind of you to bring the letters. Jo walked to the post office every Monday and Friday with a letter in her hand. Without fail, even though he almost never sent one in return. Do you know why he wrote back so seldom?”

He was too busy sleeping with nurses to reply to Josephine’s heart-wrenchingly beautiful letters. “I’ve no idea, really. He wasn’t the writing sort, I guess.”

“Have you brought the books she sent, too?” Martha asked.

She knew about the books? “Yes, I wanted to return them to her for the library. They gave me such pleasure during difficult times. I wanted to make sure others could enjoy them.”

“You like books?” Martha watched me with a more serious expression on her face.

“More than anything.”

“And Walter?”

“Excuse me?”

“Did he like books? Martha asked.

“I can’t say that he did, no.” He’d always tossed them over to me the moment he took them from the box Josephine had sent. The candy he’d kept for himself. He’d had a terrible sweet tooth.

Her glaze flickered to the window. “How odd.”

“Ma’am?”

“Josephine told me he’d written to her two times about how much he enjoyed the books, even mentioning specific plots and characters. She was thrilled, of course.”

I flushed. I’d told him what to write in those letters so that she continued to think of him as a scholar. Both times he’d tricked me into describing the plots. I couldn’t help myself but to discuss books with enthusiasm.

Martha peered at me through narrowed eyes. “May I be frank about something?”

“Of course.” Where was she going with this?

“I’ve suspected there might have been others. Women, I mean.”

I bit back a bark of surprise. Martha was no fool. I almost smiled with triumph. “What makes you think this?”

“When my husband was courting me, he was already a busy country doctor, yet he wrote me love letters at least once a week, and we lived in the same town. All he had to do to say hello was walk over to my parents’ store. All of which leads me to believe that Walter’s feelings weren’t what he’d professed them to be. What’s the old saying? Actions speak louder than words.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s not for me to say.”

“You shouldn’t play poker.”

“Poker?”

The baby began to fuss. Martha reached into a bag by her side and came out with a hard-looking biscuit and handed it to Quinn. “I can see by the look on your face that there was more to this Walter than Josephine knew.”

I moved my gaze away from her, flustered by this interrogation, and looked out the window. We were now on actual ground, passing through a dense forest of fir and pine trees. If Martha was an example of what I was to face in Emerson Pass, then I better get my story straight.

Given that I was only four when they died of yellow fever, I had only a few memories of my parents. One of them was of my mother scolding me for lying about taking a cookie without asking. Tell the truth, Phillip, even when you know you could get away with a fib.

However, Martha was a stranger to me. I didn’t want Josephine needlessly hurt. If she were to learn Walter’s true character, it should come from me.

“Mr. Baker?”

I returned my gaze to Martha. “Men don’t speak often of matters of the heart.”

“But what about men who face death daily? Don’t they confess their fears? Their loves?”

I was starting to feel rather sorry for Martha’s husband. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“You are sure.”

I didn’t say anything.

“I’ll be clearer,” she said. “Was he in love with Josephine? Was he planning on marrying her as she thought?”

“Respectfully, Mrs. Neal, I’m not sure I know, even if it were for me to say.”

One eyebrow rose. “I see.”

I was afraid she did.

“May I ask,” I said, drawing the words out long, “if his intentions were not completely pure, what would you advise me to tell Josephine?”

She stared at me for a few seconds. Even the baby had stopped chewing on her cookie to focus on me. “I suppose that depends on your intentions. Have you come to hurt her?”

“Of course not. The opposite.”

She gave me a satisfied smile. “May I take a guess, Mr. Baker, about your actual intentions?”

“Of course.” Despite the chill of the train’s car, my shirt clung to my back.

“You’ve fallen in love with her photograph. And perhaps you’ve read her letters, which made you aware of her intelligence and good heart. You most certainly are the one who told Walter what to write about the books.”

I coughed and returned to the view of the landscape.

“You’ve come to get to know her,” Martha said. “To see if your instincts about her are correct.”

“What if I have? Will you rat on me?” I turned back to my interrogator.

She gave me another satisfied smile. “How fortunate that we were to meet today.”

I swallowed and waited for the blow. Was there any other way for her to interpret my actions? Traipsing across the country because I thought I was in love with a girl I’d never met would not be greeted with approval.

“Josephine is my dear friend whom I love very much. However, I also have excellent instincts about people, and I’ve thought from the beginning that something wasn’t quite right with this Walter character. Josephine has been practical and steady her entire life, but in this particular instance, I think she was taken away by the idea of love.”

“Don’t underestimate his charm,” I said drily. “He’d perfected it over time.”

“How long had you known him?”

I drew in a deep breath. I was in too far now. “I knew him for a brief time when we were children. We were at the same orphanage for a year or so. Until he ran away.”

Both eyebrows raised this time. “Ran away? To where, I wonder?”

“In all truthfulness, I don’t know.” He’d run away at twelve, unable to abide by the nuns’ rules. Even during all the hours we’d spent together during the war, he’d not filled me in on exactly where he went or how he survived during the time before he joined the army. I had a distinct feeling that he’d been involved in criminal activity.

“Were there other women? Is he a charlatan? Did he want her money?” Martha asked. “Please, Mr. Baker, tell me the truth.”

“I believe all those things to be true.”

“Believe or know?”

“Know.”

“And the others?”

“All from wealthy families. He was ensuring his future upon his return.”

She was quiet for a moment. Her cheeks had flushed red and she repeatedly tapped her foot as if she wanted to bore a hole through the floor. Finally, she turned to look at me.

“This is what you’re going to do, Mr. Baker. Give it a few days before you tell her of Walter’s true intentions. I’m afraid it’ll drive her away. Kill the messenger, if you will.”

“Yes.”

“Spend time with her. Maybe use a little charm of your own to thaw her out, perhaps show her how much life there is to live.”

“Being charming’s not really my strength. I’ve nothing to offer, really.”

“But you’ve come anyway?”

“Ever hopeful.”

“You’re handsome. That will help.”

I almost laughed. “I am?”

“Yes. Have you not seen yourself in the mirror? Strong jawline. High cheekbones. Sapphire-colored eyes. Enough hair for three men. My husband will be jealous of that, I can assure you.”

“Walter looked like the god of the sun or the like,” I said. “All golden.”

“Yes, I can imagine the type.” She wiped drool from Quinn’s chin with a handkerchief before looking back at me. “One piece of advice. If you win over her family, that’s half the battle. They’re as tight a clan as they come.”

I nodded. “That much was clear from the letters.”

She made a noise somewhere between a yelp and yap. “You did read them. I knew it.”

“I’m ashamed to admit it, but yes. He’d stored them all in a box. I took them with me after he was killed.”

“Did you not have letters of your own?”

“No. There’s no one. Never has been.”

“There should be.”

It was my turn to study Martha. “What makes you think I’m any different from Walter?”

“My parents own the dry goods store in town. I’ve spent my whole life watching people from behind the counter. I can tell an honest man when I see one.”

I had no idea what I’d done to make her think I was honest, but I didn’t ask. She’d figured out everything else rather quickly.

“Her family invited me to stay for the holidays,” I said. “Which astounded me.”

“Get ready, Mr. Baker. That’s just the beginning. In Emerson Pass no one’s allowed to be a stranger for long. Before you know it, you’ll feel like you’ve been here forever.”

As if the train agreed, it slowed as we approached the station.

“Welcome to Emerson Pass,” Martha said. “Where you can belong if you only ask.”

 

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When love becomes your greatest enemy

Moscow, 1935. Stalin is in power. People live in constant fear - fear of each other, fear of being denounced, and fear of Stalin's secret police, the NKVD. Ordinary citizens live behind a mask - a public face that enables them to toe the Party line and conceal their true feelings and personal thoughts.

One such citizen is thirty-year-old Maria. She has a past - the sort that, if known, would cost her her freedom. So monstrous her crime, she is forced to live a lie. Maria marries Petrov, a Party activist, not out of love, but as a means of forming a new identity, to escape her past. Her existence is safe - but dull. Until the day she meets Dmitry.

Dmitry is an artist, whose work allows him a standard of living above the average Muscovite. But Dmitry feels straitjacketed by what he's allowed to paint. Instead of the state approved rural idyll of his latest commission, he aspires to paint the female form. But when Maria offers to pose for him, he refuses - until he falls in love with her.

Dmitry's artistic aspirations and Maria's yearning for a new life force them to risk everything in the name of love and freedom.

The Black Maria is a novel about truth - the distortion of it, and the fear of it. And at the heart of the novel, is Maria's brutal past. When love comes unexpectedly, it threatens to expose the truth and destroy her.

"I'm seriously in awe. It's a remarkable piece of historical fiction. It's dark, gritty, and really quite disturbing. And heartbreaking at the same time. A brilliant achievement "

"A disquieting, well-told tale in which the author delves deeply and effectively into the minds of his characters. Is it entertaining? Yes. You'll be glad you read this novel."

"Hard-hitting, dark and, at times, unpalatable. It is also honest."

"I don't recall being quite as thoroughly chilled by Solzhenitsyn's works as I was with Rupert Colley's The Black Maria."

"Wonderfully written, this is a novel that lives long in the memory. Highly recommended."

"An absorbing if confronting read, and stayed with me long after I'd finished it."

Rupert Colley is the founder, editor and writer of the highly successful History In An Hour series of ebooks and audio, published by HarperCollins.

Historical fiction with heart and drama.

About the Author
Colley, Rupert: - "Rupert Colley was born one Christmas Day, which means, as a child, he lost out on presents. Nonetheless, looking back on it, he lived a childhood with a "silver spoon in my mouth" - brought up in a rambling manor house in the beautiful Devon countryside. It's been downhill ever since. He was a librarian for a long time, a noble profession. Then he started a series called History In An Hour, "history for busy people", which he sold to HarperCollins UK. He now lives in London with his wife, two children and dog (a fluffy cockapoo) and writes historical fiction, mainly 20th century war and misery. Historical fiction with heart."

“A story full of family secrets, twisted plots, and a striking English setting, A Promise Given is the perfect novel for fans of Sherlock Holmes.” ―Brit + Co.

This third book in the Henrietta and Inspector Howard series provides a delightful romp through the English countryside and back.

Anxious to be married, Henrietta and Clive push forward with their wedding plans despite their family differences, made worse now by Oldrich Exley’s attempts to control the Von Harmons. When the long-awaited wedding day arrives, there is more unfolding than just Clive and Henrietta’s vows of love. Stanley and Elsie’s relationship is sorely tested by the presence of the dashing Lieutenant Harrison Barnes-Smith and by Henrietta’s friend Rose―a situation that grows increasingly dark and confused as time goes on.

As Clive and Henrietta begin their honeymoon at Castle Linley, the Howards’ ancestral estate in England, they encounter a whole new host of characters, including the eccentric Lord and Lady Linley and Clive’s mysterious cousin, Wallace. When a man is murdered in the village on the night of a house party at the Castle, Wallace comes under suspicion―and Clive and Henrietta are reluctantly drawn into the case, despite Clive’s anxiety at involving his new bride and Henrietta’s distracting news from home.

Delicately attempting to work together for the first time, Clive and Henrietta set out to prove Wallace’s innocence, uncovering as they do so some rather shocking truths that will shake the Linley name and estate forever.

More Reviews:

2021 IPPY Awards Gold Winner in Fiction Book Series
2018 Chanticleer Awards Grand Prize Winner in Mystery and Mayhem, First Place Winner in Romance (Chatelaine), and Finalist in Historical Fiction (Goethe)
2019 IBPA Ben Franklin Award Silver Winner in Romance 
2019 Indie Excellence Awards Winner in Cross Genre 
2019 Independent Press Award Winner in Romantic Suspense
2019 International Book Awards Finalist in Cross Genre
2019 Next Generation Indie Book Awards Finalist in Best Series and Romance
2018 Best Book Awards Finalist in Romance and Cross-Genre
2019 Pulpwood Queens Bonus Book Selection

“Series fans will cheer the beginning of Clive and Henrietta’s private investigation business in an entry with welcome echoes of Pride and Prejudice.” ―Publishers Weekly

“The mix of sleuthing and aristocratic life pairs well with Rhys Bowen’s Royal Spyness series.” ―Booklist

“Cox’s eye for historical detail remains sharp… A pleasant, escapist diversion.” ―Kirkus

“A well-paced romantic mystery that sizzles with love and suspense. This third novel in the Inspector & Henrietta series will have readers begging for more! Highly recommended.” ―Chanticleer Reviews

“The writing is gorgeous and reflects the cultural and historical setting. Cox’s novel is filled with deeply moving passages and emotionally charged scenes. The characters are as sophisticated as they are relatable and the plot is designed to make for the perfect page-turner.” ―Readers Favorite

“Cox is a talented wordsmith who knows how to flawlessly write crime and mystery. She knows to capture her reader’s attention and entertain them from beginning to end.” ―Red Headed Book Lover

“Many of the book’s scenes could easily read like a Jane Austin novel, as Cox possesses that distinct ability to plant a reader directly into a specific room or landscape. The two partners, Henrietta and Clive, make a perfect sleuthing team that left me wanting more.” ―Reader Views

“What Cox captures so perfectly in Henrietta’s character is what a marriage would have been like at this time for an independent woman. We ride this rollercoaster of nerve and doubt up to the anticipated wedding night and fall even more deeply in love with Clive right along with Henrietta. The passion that is plastered all over the pages of A Promise Given is truly remarkable and a testament to the world that Cox has been able to create.” ―Paperback Paris

“A Promise Given is a well-told story which…had me immersed and wanting more. Well done!” ―Windy City Reviews

“Romantic and atmospheric, A Promise Given offers an intriguing glimpse into 1930s Chicago by weaving in authentic period details and exploring the social tensions of the day. The unlikely pairing of the Howards―two characters from very different worlds―provides a tender love story.” ―Susanna Calkins, award-winning author of the Lucy Campion Historical

Author Bio:

Michelle Cox is the author of the multiple award-winning Henrietta and Inspector Howard series as well as "Novel Notes of Local Lore," a weekly blog dedicated to Chicago's forgotten residents. She suspects she may have once lived in the 1930s and, having yet to discover a handy time machine lying around, has resorted to writing about the era as a way of getting herself back there. Coincidentally, her books have been praised by Kirkus, Library Journal, Publishers Weekly, Booklist, and many others, so she might be on to something. Unbeknownst to most, Michelle hoards board games she doesn't have time to play and is, not surprisingly, addicted to period dramas and big band music. Also marmalade.

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Self-published with She Writes Press