A Widow’s Promise to the Orphan Boy (Preview)

Chapter One

Independence, Missouri,  March 27^th, 1883

A pushing, scraping sound emanated from the front door, causing Evie to look up in surprise. Her hands were covered in dough, and her sleeves had been rolled up to her elbows. She hadn’t done a good enough job of rolling them up, and they threatened to fall around her wrists. Frustration washed over her. She tried to push them back up using the edge of the counter, but they kept slipping perilously closer to the sticky dough.

“Is anyone there?” she called, scraping the dough off her hands. “I won’t be a minute!”

Evie’s heart hammered painfully in her chest. She hadn’t been expecting anyone, but she had a good idea of what was about to come. When she reached the door, an envelope waited for her on the floor. Its edges were mangled and creased. Whoever had left it for her had struggled to get it under the doorway.

She hesitated at the kitchen door. The railroad company’s stamp was emblazoned on the front. Evie crept up to the letter, forcing herself to take deep, calming breaths. Everything that could have gone wrong in the past year had gone wrong. She’d been dreading news from the railroad company, and it seemed that the day she feared had finally arrived.

Her hand shook as she reached out and took it. Once she had the letter in her hand, it was as if she was ejected from her body. She watched from above as her hands opened the seal, took out the single piece of paper and unfolded it.

The writing was neat, with even spaces and no mistakes.

Independence & Western Railroad Company

Housing and Provisions Office

Independence, Missouri

March 13, 1883

Mrs. Grant,

It is with due regret that we acknowledge the passing of your husband, Mr. Henry Grant, formerly employed as a maintenance foreman in the service of this Company. His conduct and labor were regarded as satisfactory during his term of employment.

Pursuant to Company police regarding employee-provided dwellings, the residence presently occupied by you at Mile Marker 12 is designated for active employees only. As Mr. Henry Grant is no longer in service of the Company, we must request that the premises be vacated no later than the final day of the current month.

Arrangements may be made with the undersigned for the orderly return of Company property contained within the dwelling, including but not limited to furnishings, stove, and fixtures.

We trust you will understand that this action is a matter of regulation rather than personal consideration.

Respectfully,

J. H. Whitaker

Superintendent of Housing

Independence & Western Railroad Company

Evie read through it several times, her eyes glazing over the words as she grappled to make sense of the harsh truth contained in the orderly rows of letters. Her hands shook as she lowered the letter and looked around the room. She’d known that it was coming, but it didn’t make the blow easier to handle. Her husband hadn’t been dead long, and now she had to leave her home, too.

It was already the twenty-seventh day of the month. That left her less than a week to vacate her home. How was that even possible?

A sob burst out of her lips, and she covered her mouth, shocked that such a sound might escape her.

As Mr. Henry Grant is no longer in service of the Company…

“He’s dead!” Evie cried. “Of course he’s no longer working for you!”

A horrible, stomach-churning nausea ripped through her. She dashed for the chamber      pot and narrowly made it before vomiting her breakfast. When she was done, she fell to her knees, wiped her mouth, and looked back at the letter.

Where am I supposed to go?

She looked around, as if seeing the house for the first time again.

The railroad house was far from a palace, but it had seemed as grand as any fortress the first time she’d seen it. It stood as part of a short row of identical dwellings set close to the tracks, their backs turned toward the town and their fronts forever dusted with coal grit. It was made out of pain pine boards pained dull company gray. The house had a narrow porch just wide enough for a chair and a pair of muddy boots.

The windows rattled faintly whenever a freight train passed, and at night the whistle carried straight through the walls, shrill and impossible to ignore.

Inside, the rooms were small and efficiently laid out. There were two rooms below, and two above, with low ceilings that trapped heat in the summer and cold in the winter. The kitchen smelled of iron and smoke from the potbelly stove, and the floors bore deep grooves from the heavy work boots pacing after long shifts.

Nothing in the house truly belonged to them. She couldn’t take the stove, or the cupboards… not even the nails in the wall where she hung her bonnet.

Despair bubbled up inside of her.

Henry, her deceased husband, had brought her back to the railroad house after their simple wedding ceremony in the church next to the orphanage where she’d grown up. The moment she’d laid eyes on the house, a sense of security had fallen over her.

It was hers. She didn’t have to share the space with twenty other      people or keep all her belongings in a small wooden box beneath her bed. Evie only had to share it with Henry, and there had never been a more considerate roommate.

As she thought about the orphanage, her eyes flew open and she scrambled to her feet. If there was anyone who would know what to do, it would be Mrs. Agnes Bell, the owner of St. Brigid’s Orphanage.

Evie quickly brushed her hair, splashed water on her face and hurried outside, gathering her skirts in her hands. The neighbor, Mrs. Foley, a large woman with greasy hair and a baby permanently attached to her hip, was standing outside, watching her other four children play.

“Where you off to in such a hurry?” Mrs. Foley asked, raising her bushy eyebrows.

“Oh, nowhere in particular. I hope you have a lovely day, Mrs. Foley…” Evie ducked her head as she picked up her pace.

“I saw ol’ Jamesy leaving your place in a mighty hurry. They finally come to kick you out? My cousin’s been waiting to move in there ever since he got your Henry’s job!”

Evie gritted her teeth. Henry always said Mrs. Foley was a nasty piece of work, and she had to agree with him. However, in her months of staying at the railroad house, she’d learned that it was better to ignore the woman otherwise she’d somehow find herself babysitting all the children while Mrs. Foley slept.

“Poor thing! Now you have to find yourself a new man!” Mrs. Foley called out after Evie.

     Her neighbors had always been a little cool toward her. Most of them were large families with multiple children, and she was much younger than all the other wives. Perhaps Evie could have made things easier on herself if she’d befriended some of the women, but she’d never spent much time with adults at the orphanage except for Mrs. Bell. She never knew what to say to them and got all tongue-tied. As a result, she stuck out like a sore thumb among the women who had been friends for years.

It didn’t help that Henry had been fifteen years her senior. She could only imagine what it had looked like to them. He was a quiet, studious man and everyone thought he would remain a bachelor. However, one day he showed up at home with a young bride from the orphanage, and everyone assumed that she’d connived her way into marriage so that she wouldn’t have to live on the street.

Of course, they thought that because the gossipy Mrs. Foley had said as much.

Evie swallowed hard and ducked her head, a familiar shame creeping up her neck. She hated that she cared what other people thought. If she wasn’t careful, her head would be filled with dark thoughts.

While her marriage to Henry hadn’t been born out of love, they’d both entered the union with a mutual understanding that it was a practical match for both sides. Henry needed someone to care for      his house and cook his meals while he worked long hours, and she was too old to remain at the orphanage.

St. Brigid’s rose up in the distance, as if conjured by her thoughts. It stood on the western edge of Independence, where the town thinned and the roads widened into something more uncertain. It was a broad, two-story clapboard house, its pale paint worn thin by sun and wind, its roofline uneven but sound.

A low fence traced the yard, more symbolic than practical. The land sloped gently beyond the orphanage, interrupted by the rutted roads that carried wagons west each spring. From the porch, one could hear the distant creak of wheels and the calls of teamsters gathering supplies before crossing the Missouri River.

A modest garden clung to the soil beside the house, and a clothesline stretched between two posts, patched garments swaying in the warm air like quiet proof that life kept going. Children dotted the yard, calling to each other and laughing among themselves.

She relaxed as she approached. It was the familiar sound of her childhood and never failed to put her at ease. Even after she got married, she still returned to the orphanage at least once a day to lend a helping hand. Or, at least, she had returned to the orphanage up until a month ago. It had become too painful to return once Oliver was no longer there.

The moment she reached the gate, Evie was greeted by an enthusiastic chorus.

“Look, it’s Evie!”

“Hi, Evie!”

“Hello, darlings.” She hugged each of them, while silently searching for one in particular.

“Guess what?” Ben, a lanky twelve-year-old with a scar on his face, asked.

“What?” Evie widened her eyes slightly.

“Oliver’s back!” Ben said. “He came back this morning.”

Evie put a hand to her chest as she tried to keep her breathing even.  She couldn’t even allow herself to hope that it was true. “He is? Where?”

“Ollie’s with his uncle,” Rachel, a gap-toothed little girl, said with an adorable lisp.

Evie frowned. Uncle?

She hurried inside. The house creaked and groaned as the sound of running feet echoed through the hallway. The floors bore the shine of constant scrubbing, and the walls were lined with pegs crowded with coats and bonnets of every size.

The smell of bread and lye hung in the air, mingling with the      ever-present smokiness of the cookstove that served as the home’s heart. The corridor was lined with doorways, and if she peeked through them, she’d find two or three narrow iron beds in each room, quilts covering each bed. The quilts were stitched from castoff fabric and careful hands, lovingly made by Agnes herself.

Evie’s quilt adorned her bed back home.

Her throat constricted with emotion. No, it was no longer her home. She’d have to find some other place to keep her quilt.

When she couldn’t find Oliver or Agnes in the house, she made her way outside to the large vegetable garden. It was there that she spotted a small group of people. She hesitated in the doorway, watching as Agnes, a tall, lanky woman with graying black hair, hung onto Oliver, a thin, pale little boy.

Lilian, Agnes’ helper, stood in front of them, her arms spread out protectively as she glared at a tall man in a tailored suit. She couldn’t believe what her eyes were seeing. The man looked as out of place as a silk hat at a barn raising.

“We’re not letting you take him, no matter what you say!” Lilian declared.

Evie didn’t waste any time. She ran forward, holding up her skirts to keep them out of her way. When she approached, Oliver looked at her with painfully large eyes. He wrenched himself out of Agnes’ grip and threw his arms around her waist.

“What’s going on?” she asked breathlessly.

Lilian and Agnes looked over at her. While Lilian looked furious, Agnes seemed pained and uncertain.

The man’s pale blue eyes slid over her and he snorted dismissively.

“Mr. Mallory’s come to fetch Oliver,” Agnes explained in a soft tone.

“What are you doing here, sweetie?” Evie asked, smoothing Oliver’s hair away from his face.

She couldn’t bring herself to look at his uncle.

Edwin Mallory was responsible for the greatest heartbreak of her life, but she couldn’t even hate him for it.

“Don’t make me go back,” Oliver whimpered, burying his face in her stomach.

“What did you do to him?” Lilian asked, putting her hands on her hips.

“The boy is being dramatic,” Mr. Mallory scoffed. “I did my best with him, but he’s determined to push me away! When I found out he was missing this morning, I searched high and low for him. Only to find out that he came here!”

He threw his hands in the air in anger, and Oliver flinched. Evie clung to Oliver, holding him as tightly as she could. She hadn’t seen him in over a month, but she’d thought about him every day.

“This is your fault,” Lilian snapped. “If you had just let us see him when we came to visit,      then he wouldn’t be so upset.      It was cruel of you to separate him from us so completely.”

“Lilian, careful,” Agnes said in a measured tone as Edwin’s eyes narrowed.

“He’s my nephew,” Edwin said, frustration seeping into his tone. He stepped closer, a dark cloud crossing his face.

“So you claim,” Evie retorted, partly to keep him from advancing on Agnes.

Everyone turned to her in surprise and she raised her chin defiantly. “     I was there when his parents were dying. Not you. I promised Claire that I would take care of her son right before she passed. Like it or not, but I have a connection with the child that you cannot take away.”

“How many times must I tell you?” Edwin sighed. “My brother and I never got along. We had an unfortunate falling out when little Ollie was still a baby. We parted ways, and I haven’t seen any of them since. It was a real shock to learn of their deaths. I came over as soon as I could.”

Lilian eyed him warily. “Well, that may be true, but Evie worked for David and Claire before they died. If anyone should be caring for the child, it’s her. She was with them when they died.”

Evie winced at Lilian’s words and looked away. The last thing she wanted to think about was the day that she’d lost her dear friends. While David and Claire had been her employers, they had felt more like family.

“I don’t want to go back with him,” Oliver whimpered, clutching tightly to Evie. “I want to stay here.”

“Come now, boy,” Edwin said, frustration seeping into his tone. “I’m taking you back to your home. The ranch.”

“There’s nothing we can do, girls,” Agnes said, her tone tight with emotion. “We went through this already. The law is clear. Mr. Mallory is the boy’s legal guardian.”

Evie swallowed hard as she looked down at Oliver. While his parents had asked her to care for the child and stay on the ranch with him, they hadn’t been able to put their wishes in writing before they passed away. It had been a devastating blow to lose them so quickly after her husband died. It had all happened in the span of a month, as a terrible fever raged through the town.

She had been prepared to stay on the ranch and help take care of it for Oliver. Agnes had been in the process of hiring a ranch manager so that it would be in experienced hands. Then Edwin Mallory arrived one day, claiming that the ranch was his inheritance. Since Oliver’s parents hadn’t been able to put their wishes into writing, Evie had no choice but to allow Edwin to take control of the ranch.

As a result, she’d been evicted from the ranch and was forced to stand on the sidelines as Edwin Mallory took control of his nephew.

“Can’t we just visit with him for a short while?” Evie asked, looking over at Edwin. “He’ll feel better afterwards. I promise.”

Edwin scoffed at      her and reached out to grab Oliver. She turned at just the right moment so his hand glanced off her back. Oliver tightened his grip on her waist, and panic gripped her. She was on the edge of losing everything she held dear.

“Give the boy back to me. Now!” Edwin demanded.

“He doesn’t want to go back with you,” Lilian said, shaking her head at him. “You’ll have to come back.”

“I’m not going to leave my nephew with you lot,” Edwin said. He reached forward with      lightning-fast reflexes. It was clear he was going for Oliver, but Evie moved the child out of the way so Edwin grabbed hold of her arm instead. She gasped in pain and wrenched herself away from him. “If you don’t hand him over right this second, I’m going to have you all arrested!”

“Let her go!” Lilian cried.

“Mr. Mallory, there’s no need…” Agnes started, but he held up a hand to stop her.

“You have five seconds,” Edwin said.

Evie studied Oliver’s face. The child, who’d once been full of life and joy, was drawn and thin. He’d lost all his      color and was thinner than she’d ever seen him. Her heart clenched painfully at the sight of him. What had happened to her boy?

“He doesn’t want to go with you,” Evie said firmly. “Go, fetch the sheriff. We’ll let Oliver tell him exactly what you’ve done to him on that ranch.”

Edwin took a step back as he glared at her. “This isn’t over. Just you wait.”

He turned on his heel and marched off, muttering angrily as he went.

Oliver immediately relaxed as his uncle left, while Lilian and Agnes turned to Evie with concerned expressions.

“I don’t like that man,” Lilian muttered.

Although the two women were around the same age, Lilian stood about a foot taller than Evie. Where Lilian was willowy, Evie was petite. And while Lilian had pin-straight blonde hair, Evie had wild brown curls that could only be tamed by multiple braids pinned in an updo.

“That much is very clear,” Agnes said in a disapproving tone. “However, the man is Oliver’s legal guardian. And now that Mr. Mallory has the vast Mallory fortune to his name, he’s a dangerous enemy, one that we cannot afford to have.”

“Are you saying we should give Oliver back?” Evie asked in a tremulous voice.

Agnes raised her eyebrows as she turned to Evie. “Now, darling, I raised you better than that, didn’t I?”

Hope filtered through Evie’s heart as she stood a little taller.

“Well, if it’s the Mallory fortune that’s giving him his power, then the answer is simple,” Lilian said, putting her hands on her hips.

“What do you mean?” Evie asked.

“The Mallory couple may not have      left you anything in their will, but they left everything to Ollie.” Lilian ruffled Oliver’s hair affectionately. “If he wasn’t around anymore, then Edwin wouldn’t have access to his family’s funds. He wouldn’t be able to hassle us no more.”

“Careful dear,” Agnes said, shaking her head. “What you’re suggesting sounds an awful lot like a crime, and I can’t have any part of it. Now, I’m going to leave, and I trust that you two won’t do anything      out of line.”

Agnes paused as she looked meaningfully at Evie and Lilian.

“We’d never,” Lilian swore solemnly, holding up her hands in surrender.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Evie said, clutching Oliver’s hand like a lifeline.

“Good, then I can tell you with a clear conscience that my friend Reverend Crowe is leading a wagon train out west to Oregon. And I feel comfortable letting you know that I have some savings stashed away under my bed.”

“Won’t they say I kidnapped him for his money?” Evie asked in alarm.

“You know the money is in a trust until he’s older,” Agnes reminded her. “You couldn’t get that money even if you tried. No wonder Edwin is so desperate to keep hold of the child.      Now, let me go check on the children for a couple of hours.”

Agnes paused by Oliver and quickly kissed his cheek. She gave the women another meaningful look before hurrying off.

“Did she just…” Evie turned to Lilian.

“I think she did.” Lilian nodded emphatically. “Come on, we need to get ready.”

Evie hesitated as she looked down at Oliver. “Do you want to stay here? If you do, you’ll have to go back to your uncle.”

Oliver shook his head solemnly. “He’s going to send me away. I heard him. He wants to send me to New York. He said if I go, I won’t come back.”

Evie swallowed hard as a knot formed in her stomach. The child trembled as she held him, and she knew that she couldn’t let him slip through her fingers again. If she did, she’d never see him again.

Chapter Two

Kansas City, Missouri, April 2^nd, 1883

The street was a churn of motion and      noise; the kind Kansas City seemed to thrive on. Mud lay thick between the wooden sidewalks, tracked into ruts by freight wagons and splashed onto boots by passing horses. Spring rain had softened the ground without cleaning it, leaving the air sharp with the smell of wet earth, manure, and coal smoke.

Storefronts pressed close together: dry goods, saloons, and outfitters. Each store had its own signs painted with bold colors to stand out from the hundreds of other signs.

Men moved with purpose. Railroad workers pushed post with soot-darkened collars. Drovers led cattle through the din. Clerks darted between offices with papers clutched tightly in their hands.

Samuel Reid kept his head down and his collar turned up against the breeze as he headed toward his favorite saloon, the Silver Steer. He kept his eyes straight ahead, so other people jumped out of the way, sure that he’d push past them if they didn’t. Samuel was used to it. Being taller and larger than most men, people always hopped out of his way, as if he was dangerous. Sometimes it worked in his favor.

When he stepped into the Silver Steer, he removed his hat and jacket and went to sit in the corner. Back when he’d left the Pinkertons, he’d had no idea what to do with himself. At first, he’d tried a few odd jobs as he tried to leave his gun-toting days behind him.

Unfortunately, most of the skills that made him a somewhat decent lawman, didn’t translate to other professions. And to make things worse, most of the jobs he took on were mind-numbingly boring.

That’s when he started frequenting the Silver Steer, offering his gun and his services to anyone who needed it.

On that particular day, his customary table was taken. He hesitated, pausing mid-stride when he spotted his friend, Robert, sitting alongside a stranger. The newcomer was tall, bordering on lanky with flint-blue eyes and black hair. From the shine of his boots, it was clear the man had money.

He wrung his hands as his eyes flitted across the room. Every few seconds, he’d run a palm down the side of his head, as if smoothing down his hair. The result was that the sides of his head were a little greasy from the constant touching.

Samuel had seen the symptoms before. He was dealing with a desperate man.

“Ah, there you are,” Robert called out, waving Samuel over.

Samuel sat at the table, ignoring the stranger and focusing intently on Robert.

“Don’t start.” Robert held up his hands. “I know you don’t like this sort of thing, but I brought you a possible client.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I’d take it myself,” Robert said, “but this one requires a little more… care. You know I only take jobs that will keep me in the city. My wife will kill me otherwise. This one will take a couple of months.”

Samuel chewed on the inside of his cheek before shaking his head slightly. Eliza was getting married soon. While he needed money to help his little sister start her new life, he couldn’t ask her to postpone her upcoming nuptials. The young couple doted on each other, and waiting any longer than necessary to get married would only make life harder.

Besides, he could already hear what Eliza would say if he told her he was taking on a months-long assignment to make more money for her wedding.

It’s not about the money, Sammy. We’re family. We’re all we’ve got. Money will come and go, but we’re forever.

“Hear him out,” Robert said. “Even Eliza would understand if you took this one on.”

Samuel snorted, but he turned expectantly to the stranger. The man tapped his fingers on the table, looking between Samuel and Robert as if he was waiting for permission to speak.

“Go on.” Robert motioned toward Samuel.

“Uh… Well, I’m Edwin Mallory.” He stuck out his hand to Samuel.

Edwin’s hand was soft and clammy. It told Samuel everything he needed to know about the man. Very few people in the west managed to keep their hands soft. Even people with money had to work hard just to survive. If a person wasn’t in the habit of working hard, it usually hinted at a moral defect.

“My nephew was kidnapped a few weeks ago,” Edwin explained. “You see, the boy’s parents left him their fortune. I was away on business when they died, and so I wasn’t there to protect him. It was all very sudden. Now, he’s been taken by a woman, terrible woman. She’s smuggling him away so that she can take control of the fortune.”

Loud laughter burst out from the other side of the room, temporarily interrupting their conversation. Samuel used the opportunity to clear his head. He didn’t trust Edwin, but that was no judge of the man’s character. Samuel trusted very few people.

“Let me guess,” Samuel said, raising his eyebrows. “That’s your job?”

Edwin narrowed his eyes at Samuel. “My brother and his wife are dead. That little boy is the only family that I have left. I will move heaven and earth to get him back.”

Samuel glanced out the window. Edwin’s words struck an uncomfortable nerve. Robert nudged Samuel, a question in his eyes. Samuel waved his concern away.

“What do you think that woman will do to him once she has the money?” Edwin continued in a fierce tone. “     Please, you have to get him back for me.”

Samuel sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t see why you need me going after him. Isn’t this a job for the law?”

“I went to the sheriff for help,” Edwin said, “and he spent a couple of hours looking for the boy before giving up. I need someone who’s going to see this through to the end. Robert tells me you’re the man for the job.”

“He pays well,” Robert said, waggling his eyebrows. “And it’s a good cause. Come on, Samuel. This one has your name written all over it.”

Samuel hesitated as he tapped his fingers against the counter.

“She’s got him all twisted up,” Edwin said. “She got her claws in deep. The boy’s only seven years old. He believes she wants to be his mother, and that she cares about him. I… I don’t know what this is going to do to him when he finds out the truth.” Edwin smoothed his palm down the side of his head. “I hear you used to be a Pinkerton man. And… Robert tells me that you’ve got a gentle touch. This boy… He’s all I have left. Please, you have to help him     .”

Samuel shifted in his seat. He glanced over at Robert, who was gazing at him with a sympathetic expression. It was hard imagining the little boy all alone in the world except for a treacherous companion. Samuel’s chest burned with fury and indignation. If he could protect one innocent soul from experiencing such a profound betrayal, then he was honor-bound to do so.

“This doesn’t sound like a normal case,” Samuel mused.

“No,” Edwin said grimly, “it’s not. I don’t want you to just save the boy. I want you to protect his innocence. You think you can do that?”

Samuel hesitated before nodding. Eliza would never forgive him if he said no.

“Where is this woman?” Samuel asked. “And how can I find her?”

Edwin’s relief was palpable as he offered Samuel a tentative smile.

“They were last seen at St. Brigid’s orphanage. The boy went out for a ride, and the next thing I know… he was gone. I suspect that she lured him there and took him elsewhere.”

     Samuel nodded intently. It wasn’t much to go on, but he had his ways of finding things out.

***

Independence, Missouri,     April 4th, 1883

St. Brigid’s sat at the edge of the town, a weather-worn building with children spilling out from all sides. Samuel tipped his head back as he scanned the landscape. The sun was bright, causing him to squint as he tried to gather as much information as possible.

He dug his heels into Bullet, his bay gelding. Bullet’s black mane was short, and his tail was worn thin from brush and weather. The animal stood little under sixteen hands, strong through shoulder and deep in the chest. While he wasn’t the fastest animal in the county, no other horse could match his dogged endurance.

Bullet’s ears moved constantly, tilting toward sound before Samuel seemed to register it. His feet landed soft and deliberate, always sure on uneven ground. He responded to Samuel’s every movement. A shift of weight, a tough of the heel, and that was all the signals that Bullet needed.

They rode hard down the path leading to the orphanage. When he stopped outside the building, a few children ran toward them.

“That’s a nice horse, mister!”

“Are you adopting someone today?”

“Don’t be daft, Carrie, he’s here to teach us about horses!”

“Now, now,” Samuel said, gently guiding the children away from him. “I’m actually here looking for one of your friends. You ever heard about a boy named Oliver Mallory?”

“I know Oliver!” A little boy around six-years-old stuck up his hand and waved it around.

An older boy, around twelve or so, put his hand on the younger child’s shoulder and shook his head. “I think it’s best you talk to Mrs. Bell. Or Lilian.”

“Children? What are you doing?” A tall blonde woman appeared on the porch, narrowing her eyes at Samuel.

The little boy cast one last longing look at the horse before hurrying up the stairs. The older boy stopped and had a word with the woman, causing her to cross her arms over her chest.

Samuel hesitated before approaching. He was about to face the dragon who protected the castle.

“We’re not looking for trouble,” she told him.

“Neither am I,” Samuel said.

“I hear you’re asking around about Oliver Mallory.” The woman jutted her chin out defiantly. “Well, we don’t have anything to say about      him.”

Samuel held up his hands in surrender. “Like I said, I’m not looking for trouble. Just trying to reunite a little boy with his worried uncle.”

The woman scoffed and ran a hand through her hair.

“Lilian?” An older woman approached     . She was just as tall with her gray hair pulled back in a braid. A mud-splattered apron covered her faded floral print dress. The woman smiled politely at Samuel. “Do you know where Henriette put those onions?”

“Agnes, this man over here is looking for Oliver Mallory,” Lilian said in a low tone. “He’s looking to reunite the boy with his worried uncle.”

“Oh…” Agnes turned to Samuel. “We’re also looking for that little boy. Will you do us the favor of letting us know when you’ve found him?”

Samuel couldn’t help but be impressed by how smoothly she lied. “I heard he was last seen at this here orphanage.”

“By whom?” Agnes raised her eyebrows. “As you can see, sir, we’ve got a lot of kids running around. Three of them are around Oliver’s age. It’s just as possible that someone thought they saw Oliver here. Last I saw Oliver, his uncle had come to take him. Poor Oliver wasn’t happy about the arrangement, but sadly, there was nothing we could do.”

Samuel stuck his hands in his pockets as he looked between the women. They were facing him fully, standing tall with their shoulders squared. It wasn’t likely that he was going to get anything out of them.

“And how about Mrs. Evelyn Grant?” Samuel asked.

“Lovely Evie,” Agnes said, a genuine smile crossing her face. “She grew up here. I raised her myself. The poor dear. She recently lost her husband. If you ask me, she should be left in peace.”

“I’m happy to leave a widow to grieve, just as long as she doesn’t take someone else’s ward,” Samuel pointed out.

“What do you know—” Lilian’s face twisted into a grimace as she advanced on him. Agnes put a hand on the woman’s shoulder and offered Samuel a placid smile.

“I’m sure we don’t know what you mean. Now, I’d invite you in for dinner, but for the life of me, I can’t find my onions. We should get back to work finding them before this horde turns on us. There’s nothing so frightening as a gang of children whose dinner has been delayed.”

Agnes turned her back on him and motioned for Lilian to follow.

“Oh.” She stopped and looked at Samuel over her shoulder. “If I hear you’ve been talking to my children without my permission again, I will have you arrested. Do you understand?”

He didn’t want any trouble. It seemed unlikely that she could have him arrested, btu she could kick up a stink that might draw the attention of the sheriff. Samuel wanted to get in and out of town as quietly as possible. To do otherwise would be to alert Evelyn Grant that he was on her trail.

Besides, he admired Agnes for her devotion to the children. It was clear that she cared deeply about her wards.

Samuel held up his hands and backed away. It was clear as day that he wasn’t going to get any information out of them. He wasn’t a man who was in the habit of wasting time.

The direct approach hadn’t worked, so he had to try something subtler. Samuel took Bullet and rode off over the path. He wandered the street for about an hour as the sun sank lower. Once he was sure that enough time had passed, he made his way back to the orphanage.

The doors were closed, and he made his way around the building, moving as quietly as possible. Laughter emanated from inside, and he peeked through the windows. Lilian and Agnes sat at either end of a long table, holding court as they chatted to the children.

Samuel ducked his head and crept inside. He was careful not to step too hard on the wooden      floorboards and checked every room until he finally found a small office off to the side of the kitchen.

The room was dark as the curtains had been drawn tightly shut. It was clear that Agnes was done with her business for the day.

A heavy wooden desk stood near the window, its surface worn smooth by years of use. Ledgers were stacked neatly to one side, their spines labeled in careful handwriting.

Samuel opened the tin box that stood near the      ledgers and found several donation receipts and a few folded letters tied with string. A cursory read told him that they were letters sent by happy adoptive parents, chronicling the progress of their newly adopted child. It was heartwarming, but it didn’t tell him anything useful.

An inkstand sat near the center, ink blotted and well used, with a dip pen laid across it. Samuel frowned. She must have been busy writing a letter. He made his way over to the inkstand. A single piece of paper was tucked beneath a ledger that lay on the desk.

He pulled it out and read through the words.

Mr. Smith,

I write to offer my sincere thanks for the kindness you showed in escorting Evelyn and young Oliver safely to Reverend Crowe and his company. It was no small favor you did us, and I am keenly aware that your time and attention are not lightly given.

To place a child upon the road, even under better circumstances, is no easy task. It was a comfort to know they were with you and       your steady hands for the first part of their journey. I especially appreciated the news that they arrived without trouble, as it eased a great burden from my mind.

Please accept my gratitude and this humble apple pie. Should you ever find yourself in need, you will always find that your thoughtfulness with be remembered here.

May your herds fare well this season.

Respectfully yours,

Mrs. Agnes Bell

St. Brigid’s Orphanage

A loud clatter sounded from the kitchen, and Samuel quickly ducked behind the desk.

“It’s just the dog looking for bones!” a young voice cried.

He waited until the child’s footsteps subsided then stood. Samuel smiled to himself. He folded the letter neatly and placed it back where he’d found it. Samuel made his way to the window and pulled it open.

As he was about to leave, another burst of laughter echoed from the dining room. A pang went through him. The orphanage sounded a lot livelier than when he grew up. He shook his head and kept moving.

Samuel was one step closer to getting his payday. All he had to do was find the mysterious Reverend Crowe.

As he mounted Bullet, he directed the horse to the nearest saloon. In all his years as a Pinkerton man, he’d learned that the quickest way to find information that was meant to be hidden was in a saloon.

The Iron Rail sat on the corner of a hard-used street, close enough to the rail yards that coal dust settled permanently on its walls. Its false front rose higher than the rest of the building, the paint flaking off in patches.

A swinging sign hung from iron hooks above the door, creaking in the breeze. The lettering was chipped, but just legible.

The door groaned as it swung open, as if the effort was too much. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of whiskey, damp wool, and old smoke. The floor was scuffed and darkened by years of boots tracking in mud. Sawdust was scattered thickly near the bar to soak up spills and other messes. A long counter of scarred oak ran the length of the room, polished smooth by elbows. The shelves behind it      were crowded with mismatched bottles and tin cups.

Men were scattered around the space. Laughter came quick and loud, then faded just as quickly, replaced by low conversation. A battered piano stood in the corner, its keys uneven. Samuel was glad that no one had taken it upon themselves to play music. More often than not, the music was disjointed and out of tune.

Samuel set himself up in a corner that was far enough away from all the groups that he wouldn’t be included in the conversations, but close enough that he could still catch the gist of what they were speaking about.

For the better part of an hour, he nursed his drink, keeping an ear out for anything that might be useful.

“Most of the trains are headed out toward Oregon,” a thin man with large spectacles explained. “Made some good money this season. I’m telling you, setting up a general store in Independence was the best thing I ever did.”

Samuel stretched his arms over his shoulder and leaned a little closer. He waited a few minutes before getting up and sauntering over to the man.

“Excuse me,” he said, looking between the thin man and his companion. “I hope you don’t mind me interrupting, but I heard you have a general store. See, I’m looking to stock up on supplies before I leave for Oregon tomorrow.”

“Of course,” the man brightened. “I’d be happy to help you. Why don’t you come around first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Much obliged.” Samuel tipped his hat at the man.

“Are you traveling alone?” The man’s companion asked.

Samuel shrugged as he took a seat at their table. “Naw, I’m looking to meet up with some friends of mine. You’ve probably heard of them. They’re led by a man named Reverend Crowe?”

“Reverend Crowe…” The thin man frowned as he scratched the side of his head. “Oh, yes, he’s with the company headed to Oregon!”

Samuel nodded as if he’d known that all along. “Say, y’all have been so kind to me. Mind I buy you a drink to say thanks?”

The men looked at each other, smiles stretching across their faces. The shopkeeper nodded enthusiastically, and Samuel rose to get the drinks.

He couldn’t help but walk with a spring in his step. Now he knew where Evelyn had gone, and where she was headed. After a few drinks, he was sure the men would be able to tell him which route Reverend Crowe was using to get to Oregon, and before long, he’d be able to return Oliver to his uncle and claim his reward.

***

Independence, Missouri,     April 8th, 1883

Samuel found the wagon train about three days west of Independence. He followed them for a day or two, keeping an eye on them and getting a feel for their numbers. When they’d stopped for water, he had hidden behind some trees and listened to them call out to each other. As soon as one of them called to Reverend Crowe, he knew he had the right company.

It was quite a small group, only about ten to fifteen people. There were three children with them. He didn’t get close enough to identify his targets, but he didn’t mind. There was still time, and he’d need patience if he was going to be successful.

Before leaving Independence, he’d given Edwin Mallory a short update, informing his employer of everything he’d learned and where he was headed. Thankfully, Edwin was back on his ranch in Independence, so Samuel had been able to give him the news in person.

“See, I knew I was right to hire a Pinkerton man,” Edwin said, grinning as he leaned back in his leather chair.

Edwin had received him in his large study. The man sat behind an ornately carved desk that could probably serve as a bed for several people.

The rest of the house, while large, was comfortably furnished. Only the office displayed a certain level of opulence.

“Former Pinkerton man,” Samuel said carefully.

Edwin waved his hand dismissively. “How soon do you think you can get him back to me?”

“Give me a few weeks,” Samuel asked. “I’ll earn his     trust and bring him back once I’m sure the rest of the company won’t be able to follow.”

Edwin chewed the inside of his cheek before nodding. “All right. Be as quick as you can.”

“I’m sure you miss your nephew, but we must be careful,” Samuel said. “If I take him too soon, he’ll think of you as the man who ripped him away from her. We have to be careful.”

Edwin’s expression darkened, but he gave a curt nod.

Samuel chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought back on the encounter. There had been something off about the interaction, but he couldn’t figure out what was bothering him. He shook his head firmly. There was no use in chasing after shadows.

He had a job to do.

As he followed the group, he watched as their numbers grew. A couple joined the company during the first afternoon that Samuel was watching them. On the third morning, a woman joined. Each time, they were welcomed with open arms. It gave Samuel hope that he’d be able to ingratiate himself into their midst too.

On the third afternoon of following them, the wagon train made their first stop just before dusk, a mile or two beyond the last scatter of farms west of Independence. The wagons pulled into a loose half-circle, their wheels sinking into the soft spring earth. Oxen lowed as they were unyoked, and smoke rose almost immediately. After a few days of riding, the people were well-practiced in their tasks.

Samuel rode up to them, unhitched his horse and began setting up his belongings as if he’d always been there. He dusted off his boots and slung his bedroll over his shoulder. Most people were too busy settling the wagons to notice him. Since they were still in safe territory, people came and went. Half the company had been straggling all afternoon.

A little boy, a pale slip of a thing, was struggling to tie off a mule. Samuel smiled at him and helped the child complete his task. The boy eyed him warily before backing away.

The leader stood a little apart from the chaos, inspecting the wagons. He removed his hat to reveal gray hair flattened by the day’s wind. He was a tall man, spare, with a preacher’s posture and dirty clothes.

“Let’s pray,” he intoned, causing everyone to gather around him.

He led the gathering in a long, drawn out prayer. When he was done, his eyes moved over the faces, as if assessing them all. His eyes stopped on Samuel, and Samuel offered him a blithe smile.

“You must be new,” he said, walking up to Samuel.

“Yes, sir.” Samuel stuck out his hand. “I’m Samuel Reid.”

“Reverend Josiah Crowe.” The preacher shook Samuel’s hand firmly. The skin on his hand was rough, likely from years of hard labor. “Who are you traveling with?”

“No one,” Samuel said. “I’m hoping to change that.”

A few people eyed them curiously as they walked past.

Crowe studied him intently, before gesturing for Samuel to follow him. “Walk with me.”

Samuel obliged, falling in step beside the preacher. The sounds of the camp filled the space between them so they weren’t beset by an awkward silence. Children laughed and played, kindle crackled, and the animals grunted tiredly.

“What’s your story, son?” Crowe asked.

“I was in business. Back East.”

Crowe raised his eyebrow, obviously expecting more.

“It failed.” Samuel ran a hand through his hair. “Bad timing. Even worse partners.” He paused, trying to convey emotion without seeming forced. “I lost my fiancée not long after. She got sick. There was no reason to stay when everything had gone sour.”

“Where you headed?” Crowe asked.

The man’s expression remained neutral, so it was impossible to tell if Samuel’s story had garnered him any sympathy.

“Oregon. I want a chance to start clean,” Samuel admitted. “I work hard, and I don’t drink. I won’t cause any trouble. Oh, and I can shoot.”

Crowe crossed his arms over his chest. “You understand that we’ve already started our journey. I don’t take just anyone on once we’re rolling.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why didn’t you join up when we were in Independence?”

“I wasn’t sure I wanted to,” Samuel said in a measured tone. “I asked around, got the lay of the land, and decided where I wanted to be.”

That earned him half a smile. “We’ve got room for another hand. You pull your weight, Mr. Reid, or we’ll leave you on the side of the road. If you fall behind, we leave you behind. It ain’t cruelty. It’s survival.”

“I understand, sir.” Samuel tipped his hat at the older man.

He thought that ministers were supposed to be like shepherds: watching over their flock, herding the sheep, and chasing down errant animals because they didn’t want to leave any behind. Samuel refrained from pointing that out.

“Now, I’ll give you a chance to prove yourself. You hear? Don’t make me regret it.”

Samuel nodded again. “Thank you, sir.”

Crowe exhaled. It was a slow, thoughtful sound. “Come, meet the rest.”

Samuel followed behind Crowe, nodding politely and greeting everyone. He took mental notes of the camp, trying to take stock of his fellow travelers. Most of the names went right over his head. There was only one name he was waiting to hear.

Finally, after meeting about ten people, Crowe led him to a petite woman with thick brown hair fastened in an intricate braided updo. As they approached, her large hazel eyes inspected him warily. The thin boy from earlier sat by her side, looking frightened of his own shadow.

“And this right here is Mrs. Evelyn Grant and her son, Oliver.” Crowe offered the pair a soft smile. “Mrs. Grant, this is Samuel Reid.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Reid.” Evelyn inclined her head to him and he offered her a friendly smile.

All the while, his chest tightened and burned. She kept Oliver close, as if she was afraid he’d start thinking for himself if she let him wander too far. It wouldn’t be the case for much longer. He would play the long game, patiently biding his time until he could save the child from her treacherous clutches.

“It’s lovely to meet you, ma’am.” He tipped his hat toward her.

The game was on.