Betrayal
Robin Lee
HATCHER
betrayal
WHERE THE HEART LIVES
And those who know Your name will put their trust in You,
For You, O L
ORD,
have not forsaken those who seek You
.
Psalm 9:10 NASB
Table of Contents
Praise for Robin Lee Hatcher’s: WHERE THE HEART LIVES SERIES
S
PRING
1881
The train belched black smoke as it chugged across the wide prairie. In the third railcar were twenty-six orphans and two adults from Dr. Cray’s Asylum for Little Wanderers. The children had left Chicago and were headed west for placement, hoping to leave poverty, cold, and hunger behind them.
Technically, the Brennan children weren’t orphans. Although their mother had died this past winter, their father was still alive. Somewhere. Least as far as anyone knew. But when it came to his children, Sweeney Brennan was as good as dead.
Thirteen-year-old Hugh was now the head of the family. He’d promised his mother on her deathbed that he would take care of his younger sisters. He was determined to keep that promise. Only how? He’d been warned it was unlikely they would find a family to take in all three. Well, he would just have to do some fast talking. If he’d inherited anything from his father, it was the gift of gab.
Hugh turned away from the window to look at his sisters. Leaning against each other, Felicia and Diana slept, lulled by the
warmth of the railcar. Wisps of Felicia’s long hair fell across her face. He leaned forward and brushed it aside.
She opened her eyes and gave him a groggy look. “Are we there?” she whispered.
“Not yet. Soon, I think.”
Releasing a sigh, she closed her eyes again.
I’ll take care of them, Mum. I won’t fail you. You’ll see
.
M
AY
1899
Julia Grace shielded her eyes against the sun as she stood on the bluff and stared south. Far in the distance, a train churned its way west across the plains, a ribbon of smoke trailing from its stack. As always, she wondered about the passengers onboard. What was their destination? Was someone waiting for them once they arrived, or were they all alone in the world? Alone … like her.
A warm wind whistled around her, tugging on her skirt, pulling her hair free from its ribbon. Spring had arrived in Wyoming at last, kissing the mountains and plains with green. The highest peaks were still white with snow, but down below, a harsh winter was forgotten. New life was everywhere, from the shoots of grass in the forest meadows to the leaves unfurling on trees to the baby hawks in the rocky crag overlooking Burt’s Canyon to the calves cavorting in the pastures.
She hated the harsh Wyoming winters — had hated them ever since she’d come here as a new bride. Most years it seemed that the cold, snowy, dark season would never end. But spring inevitably came — and with it, Julia’s freedom. Freedom to roam. Freedom to ride. Freedom to dream. Freedom to escape the pain, both physical and emotional.
Only, she didn’t need to escape now. She
was
free. Really free.
Teddy, her black gelding, nickered.
Julia turned around. “Taking too long, am I?”
The horse bobbed his head.
She laughed. If her brother-in-law were to hear her talking to Teddy, he would declare her insane. Come to think of it, he’d probably like that. It would give him control of the ranch, and he wouldn’t even have to convince her to sell.
She drew a deep breath and forced the unpleasant thoughts from her mind. She wasn’t going to let her husband’s half-brother spoil this beautiful day for her. She knew she would be forced to deal with him again. But not right now.
Julia stepped to Teddy’s side and swung into the saddle. By the time she’d collected the reins in one hand, she saw Bandit, her spaniel, racing toward her, bounding over the sagebrush, long tongue flapping out one side of his mouth like a flag.
Laughter bubbled up again. Maybe she
was
daft, but she didn’t care. Sadness and fear had stalked her for too many years. She was tired of it. She refused to allow its return. Rejoice, the Good Book said. Rejoice in every circumstance. She meant to put those words into practice.
She turned Teddy away from the bluff and nudged him into a canter, riding toward the small ranch she’d named Sage-hen. Angus Grace, her husband of eleven years, had mocked her because of the name. Land was land, he’d said. It didn’t need a name. But with Angus’s death thirteen months ago, Sage-hen had become hers, and she would call it what she pleased. She’d paid for that right in countless ways, including in her own blood.
Dusk shrouded the earth by the time Hugh Brennan decided to make camp for the night. After taking care of the horse, he built a fire and warmed a can of beans over it. Not much of a supper, but he’d eaten worse. He’d even gone without food plenty of nights, so he wouldn’t complain.
If he was right about how far he’d traveled this week, he should cross over into Idaho by late tomorrow afternoon. Maybe another week or ten days and he would reach the capital city. Of course, if he had the money for train fare, he would be there already, but he was dead broke. Work was hard to come by. Strange, the way people looked at him and seemed to know his history.
With his belly full, he lay on his back and stared at the stars. There’d been plenty of times when he couldn’t see the sky, day or night, and he didn’t fail to be thankful that he could see it now. It made the night spent on the hard ground seem not as long.
Years ago, Hugh had told his sister Felicia that as long as she could see the Big Dipper she would know they weren’t far apart, that he would be looking up at the very same constellation and thinking of her and Diana, that he would find his sisters again. He’d been a boy of thirteen when he’d uttered those words of assurance. He was no longer a boy. Eighteen years had come and gone without him keeping his promise. But another week, maybe two, and he might find Felicia at last. Would she be glad to see him? Or had too much time passed for her to care?
Maybe. Maybe not. But he had to try. He owed it to his mother’s memory if nothing else.
Felicia Kristoffersen. That’s the name his sister went by now. She’d taken the last name of the people who’d raised her. Had they been good to her? Had they loved her? He had his doubts, judging by the so-called relatives he’d met on the farm in eastern Wyoming.
Eighteen years. Maybe it was unrealistic to try to find her after
so long. She must have a new and better life. What would she need with a brother like him, coming around to spoil things for her?
Eighteen years. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the memories that threatened. Trying not to smell the stink of a tenement flat. Trying not to imagine himself slipping through a narrow opening into a darkened house that wasn’t his own. Trying not to hear the slurred speech of his father, the slamming of iron doors, the harsh orders of guards. Trying not to feel the blows that fell like rain, fist against flesh.
Trying but failing.
This would be another night of bad dreams.
The chickens scolded as Julia took fresh eggs from the nests inside the coop. She paid them no heed; the sound was as familiar to her ears as the sight of the sun rising in the east each morning was to her eyes. Beyond the wire that enclosed the coop, protecting the birds from predators, Bandit lay in the barnyard, head upon his paws, waiting for Julia to finish her morning chores.
Dear Bandit. He’d been her faithful friend through thick and thin these past nine years. He wasn’t as fast as he’d once been, and she suspected his eyes weren’t as sharp either. But his heart was as big as ever. Oh, that more people could love as deeply as her brown and white spaniel.
“Ready for breakfast?” she asked the dog as she unlatched the gate and stepped out of the enclosure.
Bandit was instantly on his feet, expectation in his dark eyes. Julia would swear he smiled at her.
“Of course you are.” She laughed softly as she turned toward the house.
Bandit ran ahead of her, but before he reached the porch, he stopped and stared off to the south. His head lowered, and he growled a warning. Julia turned in the direction of the dog’s gaze in time to see a lone man leave the trees, leading his horse. Alarm shot
through her. She’d left the rifle inside the house, something she rarely did since the death of her husband. It was always better to be prepared for trouble. If not from men, then from bears or rattlers.
“Easy, Bandit,” she said softly, moving toward the dog without taking her eyes off the man.
He was a stranger to her. She could see that as he drew closer. He had a handsome face, despite a pale scar on his right cheek, a noticeable zigzag that cut into the dark shadow of a beard on his jaw. Lines etched the corners of his eyes and his mouth. She guessed him to be a few years her senior. No more than thirty-five.
He stopped a short distance away. “Ma’am.” He tugged the brim of his hat. “My horse pulled up lame a ways back and could use some rest. Could we trouble you for a drink of water?”
She nodded, then motioned with her head toward the pump. “Help yourself.”
Bandit sat and continued to watch the man while his mistress carried the basket of eggs into the house. On her way back to the porch, Julia picked up her rifle and moved it to a spot just outside the door. She wanted the stranger to know she wasn’t vulnerable. In fact, she’d become a good shot, as long as her target wasn’t moving too fast.
After the man — now hatless — slaked his thirst from the stream flowing out of the spout, he filled his canteen and then splashed water on his face and the back of his neck. He finished by slicking his thick dark hair with both hands as he straightened, his gaze moving toward the house.
“I’m obliged.” Motioning to the horse drinking from the trough, he added, “Both of us are.”
She nodded.
“How far am I from the nearest town?”
“A couple hours’ ride. Less if you push your horse.”
The man squinted toward the west. “Can’t push him. Guess it’ll take longer.”
He looked hungry. Not that his stomach was any of her concern.
“You wouldn’t be looking for a hired hand, would you?”
She didn’t answer.
“Temporary. Just until my horse heals up?” The stranger picked up his hat and set it over his dampened hair.
Julia didn’t want anyone to work for her. Couldn’t afford to hire a hand for one thing. Liked her solitude for another. Still, the fellow
did
look hungry, and his horse
was
favoring his left foreleg. Against her better judgment, she said, “I reckon I might need a few things done around the place. Until your horse is healed. Can’t pay you anything, but you’ll have plenty to eat while you’re here.”
Relief flashed in his eyes.
“You look as if you could use some grub now.”
Relief changed to surprise. “Yes, ma’am.”
She supposed he couldn’t be any more surprised by her offer than she was. “Turn your horse into the corral there. It won’t take me long to whip up some breakfast.”
“That’s kind of you.”
She shrugged as she turned and went inside.
What on earth was she thinking? Offering a drifter breakfast and a job, no matter how temporary. How did she know he wasn’t dangerous? It wasn’t as if Sage-hen was on a well-traveled road. It was a good piece off the beaten path. What was he doing in these parts? Then again, he didn’t look like a thief so much as someone who’d fallen on hard times. From the look of his shaggy hair, he hadn’t been near a barber in a couple of months.
“That’s kind of you.”
He wasn’t from around these parts. That was clear in his voice.
He had a slight accent of some sort, although she wasn’t well-traveled enough to recognize where from. Then again, it didn’t much matter where he was from or where he was going. She’d promised him breakfast, and she’d best get him fed.