Chapter One
Eden Caruthers never thought the day would come that she’d
return home to the beautiful but dangerous Nebraska Territory. Many times, she
wanted to but didn’t. While the paralyzing harsh winters and the threat of
attack by renegade Indians might have been reason enough, she needed to keep
her distance from a cruel father and the man who broke her heart.
Now she was back. Times had changed. Indians had resigned
themselves to living on reservations. The 1870s promised a brighter future to
those heading westward, in part to the Transcontinental Railroad.
The tedious trip by train and then stagecoach north to the
Sweet Grove Trading Post had taken a toll on her strength. Yet she wasted no
time in renting a wagon and horse to finish the journey to her home on the
prairie.
As the midsummer sun warmed her cheeks, Eden removed her
bonnet and glanced at her surroundings. The barn, the woodshed, the house all
stood deserted. They appeared as tired as she felt.
She studied her old house. The weathered wood planks of the
walls still appeared sound, the structure sturdy. How different a house could
look with paint. She thought of her aunt and uncle’s white house with black
shutters back in Boston.
The contrast of the two homes she had resided in went beyond
appearance. Everything about the people she lived with had drastic effects on
her disposition. If not for her aunt and uncle’s generous hospitality and
gentle ways, she would never have realized the depths of her father’s meanness.
Slowly she climbed from the wagon seat and glanced at the
marker on her father’s grave plot. She thought she might feel sorrow. Instead,
her father’s death lifted a weight of fear from her shoulders. He hadn’t been
part of her life for nearly five years yet that didn’t stop her from having
nightmares of him dragging her back home.
Eden looked up at Charlie, thankful her son never knew an
ounce of the mistreatment she bore at the hands of her father.
“Be careful.” She tried not to hover over her four year old
as he shrugged off her help and climbed down from the wagon on his own.
Turning her attention from him back to the house, she eyed
it for problems that could possibly prevent them from staying in it until she
settled her deceased father’s affairs. Some missing wood shakes on the roof
meant she might find a few leaks inside when it rained, but nothing that should
stop them from being comfortable.
A sudden breeze rattled a shutter and drew her gaze to the
window of her room. For a moment, she thought the strangely familiar sound
would force her to remember something good about her childhood. Yet, her best
recollections always vanished under her worst memories.
“Mama, there’s an Indian riding this way,” Charlie
exclaimed.
Eden spun around and looked to where he pointed toward the
western horizon. Gusts of wind across the prairie threw dust in her eyes,
blinding her from seeing what Charlie did.
The cloudy afternoon, the distant rumble of a storm and the
glare from the setting sun made it hard to focus as well. She lifted her hand
to shield her eyes and stared at the fast-approaching lone rider.
“Do you think he’s dangerous?” Charlie asked.
Eden didn’t answer—she couldn’t speak. A long-suppressed
emotion rose from her heart, choking her voice as she stared at the shadowy
image that took form. She placed her hand on the side of the wagon for support.
It didn’t stop the trembling in her legs or the shiver of apprehension rolling
along her spine.
“Is he going to scalp us?” Charlie moved closer, his hand
seeking hers.
Putting her arm around his small shoulders, she mustered up
courage she didn’t feel. She tried to keep her voice steady and reassuring when
she answered, “No, dear.”
Luckily, Charlie’s fixation on the Indian prevented him from
noticing her rattled tone.
“What do you think he wants?” Charlie whispered.
What wouldn’t she do to have a gypsy
Eden Caruthers never thought the day would come that she’d
return home to the beautiful but dangerous Nebraska Territory. Many times, she
wanted to but didn’t. While the paralyzing harsh winters and the threat of
attack by renegade Indians might have been reason enough, she needed to keep
her distance from a cruel father and the man who broke her heart.
Now she was back. Times had changed. Indians had resigned
themselves to living on reservations. The 1870s promised a brighter future to
those heading westward, in part to the Transcontinental Railroad.
The tedious trip by train and then stagecoach north to the
Sweet Grove Trading Post had taken a toll on her strength. Yet she wasted no
time in renting a wagon and horse to finish the journey to her home on the
prairie.
As the midsummer sun warmed her cheeks, Eden removed her
bonnet and glanced at her surroundings. The barn, the woodshed, the house all
stood deserted. They appeared as tired as she felt.
She studied her old house. The weathered wood planks of the
walls still appeared sound, the structure sturdy. How different a house could
look with paint. She thought of her aunt and uncle’s white house with black
shutters back in Boston.
The contrast of the two homes she had resided in went beyond
appearance. Everything about the people she lived with had drastic effects on
her disposition. If not for her aunt and uncle’s generous hospitality and
gentle ways, she would never have realized the depths of her father’s meanness.
Slowly she climbed from the wagon seat and glanced at the
marker on her father’s grave plot. She thought she might feel sorrow. Instead,
her father’s death lifted a weight of fear from her shoulders. He hadn’t been
part of her life for nearly five years yet that didn’t stop her from having
nightmares of him dragging her back home.
Eden looked up at Charlie, thankful her son never knew an
ounce of the mistreatment she bore at the hands of her father.
“Be careful.” She tried not to hover over her four year old
as he shrugged off her help and climbed down from the wagon on his own.
Turning her attention from him back to the house, she eyed
it for problems that could possibly prevent them from staying in it until she
settled her deceased father’s affairs. Some missing wood shakes on the roof
meant she might find a few leaks inside when it rained, but nothing that should
stop them from being comfortable.
A sudden breeze rattled a shutter and drew her gaze to the
window of her room. For a moment, she thought the strangely familiar sound
would force her to remember something good about her childhood. Yet, her best
recollections always vanished under her worst memories.
“Mama, there’s an Indian riding this way,” Charlie
exclaimed.
Eden spun around and looked to where he pointed toward the
western horizon. Gusts of wind across the prairie threw dust in her eyes,
blinding her from seeing what Charlie did.
The cloudy afternoon, the distant rumble of a storm and the
glare from the setting sun made it hard to focus as well. She lifted her hand
to shield her eyes and stared at the fast-approaching lone rider.
“Do you think he’s dangerous?” Charlie asked.
Eden didn’t answer—she couldn’t speak. A long-suppressed
emotion rose from her heart, choking her voice as she stared at the shadowy
image that took form. She placed her hand on the side of the wagon for support.
It didn’t stop the trembling in her legs or the shiver of apprehension rolling
along her spine.
“Is he going to scalp us?” Charlie moved closer, his hand
seeking hers.
Putting her arm around his small shoulders, she mustered up
courage she didn’t feel. She tried to keep her voice steady and reassuring when
she answered, “No, dear.”
Luckily, Charlie’s fixation on the Indian prevented him from
noticing her rattled tone.
“What do you think he wants?” Charlie whispered.
What wouldn’t she do to have a gypsy
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