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Chapter 1
Galveston, Texas
March, 1907
“You’ll do exactly what I tell you to do!” Louis Smith wiped the spittle from his mouth with one hand, and sloshed scotch from his glass as he slammed it down on the dining room table with the other. “You belong to me. And don’t you ever forget it!”
Emily leaned back in her chair, knowing from the look on her husband’s face that this could easily turn into another beating. One of many she’d endured over the past three years. “I will do what you tell me, Louis. I’m just not sure what you want.” She tried to keep the pleading tone out of her voice which could easily trigger a backhand slap across her mouth.
He leaned over and grabbed her arm, dragging her halfway across the dining table. She kept her expression blank and briefly thought of what long-sleeved dress she could wear to Marigold Fenster’s tea the next afternoon to hide the black and blue marks that would surely result. Thinking of normal things kept her mind from dwelling on what might happen if Louis’s hair-trigger temper snapped.
“It’s very simple, you stupid ass. When you go to that Fenster thing tomorrow, make sure you find out who she’s sleeping with. I need something to dissuade her from asking too many questions about her money.”
How she hated this. And, God forgive her, hated him. Snooping on her friends to help Louis continue to cheat them caused her stomach to roil. She couldn’t do it anymore. The time had come to dig up the box she’d buried behind the gardener’s shed last year. The jewels and cash in there would get her far away from Louis and Galveston.
“I’ll ask her, but she is somewhat closed-mouthed.”
He yanked her farther until his nose and hers were only inches apart. “Well, you find a way to open it.”
The blue spider veins on his nose and cheeks were out of place in a man so young. But at thirty-seven, the hard life Louis had led, drinking, carousing, and God knows what all, had taken its toll. How had she ever thought this man would take care of her? Perhaps the fact that he kept his violent streak well hidden until their wedding night had something to do with it.
Pushing those unpleasant memories to the back of her mind, she said, “I’ll try.”
He shoved her back so hard she slammed against her chair, tumbling to the floor. He stumbled as he moved around the table and stood over her. “You’d better do more than try.” He leaned in further, the stench of his alcohol-laden breath causing her to turn her head aside. “Remember, bitch, I can kill you just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “And make it look like an unfortunate accident.”
He kicked her in the ribs, then laughed as he dusted off the sleeves of his jacket and straightened his tie. “Get out of here. I can’t stand the sight of you. You’re such a weak, sniveling little girl. Still hoping your daddy will come back to life and make it all right.” He walked unsteadily to the table and sat, taking up his glass. “Get out, I said!”
Emily scurried out the door, closing it behind her with a sigh of relief. Sore ribs and a bruised arm was nothing compared to what Louis was capable of. She walked directly to the back of the mansion and straight out the door. The last of the evening sun cast the gardens into a soft, mellow hue. Her fingers itched to paint the scene, but she had something more important to do. And Louis had busted up and thrown away all of her art materials the prior week anyway.
Retrieving a small shovel from the wall of the shed, she cast a furtive glance around the area before circling the small building. Panting heavily from fear of discovery, she counted thirty-two steps from the left side of the structure, six steps forward, then stopped and began to dig.
The next afternoon, Emily took the chauffer’s extended hand and stepped out of the automobile. She smiled brightly at Martin. “Thank you. You may return for me about five o’clock.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The man tipped his hat and returned to the car as she started up the steps. She took her time, pausing as if she had found something on her heel. As she fiddled with her shoe, she watched from beneath the brim of her hat as Martin pulled away from the front of Marigold’s house. The sleek vehicle entered the combination traffic of carriages and automobiles and soon disappeared from sight.
Holding her head high, as if she had no further business than a stroll around the block, Emily turned and walked down the path away from the Fenster home and made a right turn onto the sidewalk. The strong smell of ocean air mixed with the scent of her fear spurred her on. She had exactly fifteen minutes to walk the mile to the train station, buy her ticket, and board the train heading to Oklahoma City in Oklahoma Territory, where she would transfer to the train for Guthrie.
She arrived at the ticket office flushed an
d out of breath, but in plenty of time. With the ticket clutched firmly in her hand and the letter from The Harvey Houses snug in her reticule, she tapped her foot, anxious to be gone. Hopefully the job they’d offered her three weeks ago was still open. If not, she would find something else.
The wait for the delayed train was torture. She purchased a newspaper and held it up to cover her face as she sat on the bench praying the train would come before someone recognized her. Since Louis kept her mostly home and away from forming any close relationships, the chance was slight, but still there.
Emily closed her eyes and whispered a prayer of thanks at the sound of train wheels screeching as it slid to a halt outside the small building. She gathered up her things and quickly climbed the stairs to enter the train. She made her way through two cars before she found a seat. Settling onto the bench, she checked the watch pinned to her shirtwaist. Right about now Marigold would be wondering where she was. But it would be more than two hours before Martin arrived at the Fenster’s house for her.
She jerked as the train started up and then slowly moved into a smooth rhythm as it proceeded out of the Galveston station. The fluttering in her stomach turned from nervousness to excitement. She’d done it! She’d taken her life back from Louis Smith.
Smiling brightly, Emily watched the town fall behind her. In front of her was her new life. All she had to do was remain hidden.
Three months later
Guthrie, Oklahoma Territory
Hunter Henderson climbed out of the motorcar taxi, fumbling as he tried to pay the driver without dropping his crutches. He shoved his change into his pocket and picked up his satchel, throwing it over his shoulder. The taxi pulled away, spewing dust behind it.
Home.
A place he hadn’t seen in years. Thirteen, to be exact, had passed since he’d called this place home. He walked out of this house at eighteen years of age, two days after he graduated high school, and never looked back. Oh, he did drop the occasional letter over the years, but since he was always on the move, there was no way to receive return letters. For all he knew his entire family could have up and moved to another state.
Except the man who’d driven him from the train station said Senator Jesse Cochran and his wife, Tori still lived at this address. Senator. When he’d left, Uncle Jesse was merely a lawyer. What other changes would he find? Hunter wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his denims and shifted the crutches under his armpits. Slowly shuffling along, he made his way up the path, thankful there were no steps to climb. He remembered quite a bit about this house, where he’d lived for about four years.
Even before he’d seen anyone, the memories flooded back. Things he hadn’t thought of in years. Tori making the Land Run back in ‘89 dressed as a man. Rachel running away from home, back to Kansas, forcing Uncle Jesse and Tori to go after her. Ellie, his baby sister, run over by a wagon soon after they’d settled on their piece of land. And watching it happen, unable to stop it. Like all the other times in his life when he was useless. It all came rushing back in a flash.
Except for the one memory he’d taught his brain to suppress. The one that only rose to torture him while he slept. No matter that it had happened eighteen years ago. If he allowed the memory to slither like a snake into his brain the venom would crush him. Not until he found retribution would he allow the picture he’d shoved to the back of his mind to emerge again. And vanquish it forever.
“Hunter? Is that you?” Tori stood not more than six feet from him, poised in the open doorway, apparently on her way out.
