Chapter One
Travis Blythe awoke with a small, warm body pressed against him.
Turning over, he noticed four-year-old Lillian nestled beside him, her eyes closed in peaceful slumber.
His lips curled slightly, but not enough to be a happy smile.
Lillian had often crawled into bed with him and Sophie when she was alive.
Travis closed his eyes and exhaled softly, rubbing his face.
He missed those days. It was no longer the same with one body missing from the bed.
Sophie weighed on Travis’s mind night and day, never leaving him, as if she were a ghost, haunting him, with reminders lingering everywhere he turned—the smell of coffee she’d brew each morning, the taste of huckleberries fresh from the vine which was her favorite treat, and the way the wind whispered, sweeping his hair across his ear and tickling him like she used to.
And how could he forget those emerald-green eyes?
They were like the trees viewed from the height of a mountain peak—so deep they could drown a person, beautiful enough to lure one in, yet impossible to escape.
Travis had never wanted to be free of her; if she wanted to haunt him, he’d let her.
Forever, her ghost would remain in this cabin, built by his own two hands for the girl who had become his whole world.
From the moment he was a young boy, falling in love with the new girl who came to the valley to farm alongside her father, she had been his everything.
At seventeen, Sophie finally said yes to courting him, three years her senior, and from that moment on, Travis’s world revolved around her.
Within six months, they were married, and, after two years, their first daughter, Ivy, was born, followed by Jonas and Lillian.
Each of their children inherited their mother’s copper-brown hair—all except the last addition, who had Travis’s coal-black hair.
Gideon. Travis’s breath caught, instantly removing the covers from his body, careful not to disturb Lillian’s rest. Tiptoeing across the rickety floorboards that desperately needed replacing after a decade of wear, Travis hurried to the corner of the room to check on the sleeping seven-month-old.
The child still slept, sucking his thumb in his crib.
Staring down at the perfect little angel, Travis couldn’t smile.
Every time he looked at Gideon, the smile faded before it could reach his lips.
Travis reeled away, his stomach churning with the familiar nausea.
He prayed that one day he could see the child without the burden of this anguish, but how could he ever forget?
One day, his son would learn the truth about his existence, and when he did, he would surely lay the blame at Travis’s feet.
Keeping emotional distance, Travis often told himself, would make it easier.
The less he knew Gideon, the less it would hurt when the truth finally came to light.
Travis opened his tiny closet that still smelled like the honeysuckle perfume he’d bought Sophie four years ago during a trip to Bozeman.
He quickly retrieved his work clothes and shut the door, covering his nose.
His pants were ripped in many places, but time did not allow for them to be mended.
That was Sophie’s job. She could have them mended within an hour.
But it didn’t matter anymore anyway; they were for work only, not Sunday best.
After changing behind the dressing screen, Travis snuck out the room and closed the door behind him.
However, his quiet attempts hardly mattered once he heard rummaging in the kitchen.
Aunt Polly always rose early to help with the children and household, but she had a homestead of her own to run and a bed of herbs to care for.
As the town’s healer, she had long lists of patients whose cures required long hours of brewing and drying herbs.
But now, she hardly had the time. Travis never asked his father’s sister-in-law to devote so much time to his family, but he didn’t know how he’d manage without her.
Maybe that was why he never asked her to stop.
The strong smell of bacon consumed the air, making Travis’s stomach grumble.
He peered around the corner, seeing his aunt flip long strips of bacon on a cast iron skillet atop their iron stove.
Like always, her silver hair was pulled back into a long braid that extended down her back.
She looked up, giving Travis a warm smile.
“Good morning, Travis.”
“Good morning,” Travis said, giving his aunt a kiss on the cheek.
“There’s coffee on the table for ya.”
Travis retrieved a tin cup hanging above the stove and paused, the familiar scent hitting his nostrils.
Don’t do this to me now, Sophie. To distract himself, he held his breath, filling the cup to the brim.
He blew gently over the top, the steam swirling as he sat down at the table, trying to focus on anything but the memories that had flooded back.
Aunt Polly handed Travis a plate with two fried eggs and three sticks of bacon that glistened with grease. Travis licked his lips.
“Thank you,” Travis said.
Aunt Polly smiled. “You’re welcome.”
After Travis’s first bite of bacon, Aunt Polly sat in front of him, drawing his attention. He paused, his brows arched high.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, reaching for his coffee. This was unusual; Aunt Polly rarely paused in her morning routine, always eager to get the children up and ready.
Travis forced hot liquid down his throat.
He winced for a moment, the burn spreading across his tongue, then pushed the cup away.
That should be enough to get through the day.
A burnt tongue was better than slacking off from exhaustion.
He couldn’t let grief—or even coffee—stop him from providing for his family.
He looked up at Aunt Polly, her fingers tapping on the table
“Travis, we need to talk . . . There is news.”
“What is it?”
Aunt Polly dug into her apron pocket and pulled out a letter. She handed it to Travis. He carefully examined it, quickly noticing the return address. It came from as far as Charlotte, North Carolina—a place he never dreamed to go near.
A southern state.
“After all these months, we finally get a reply, hm,” Travis said flatly, taking a large gulp of coffee, only to regret it immediately as the scorching liquid burned his tongue again. He broke the wax seal, shaking his head with a grunt.
Travis leaned back, ready to be entertained by a prank. No one in town knew Aunt Polly had talked him into placing an advertisement in a newspaper, one that went far east, up north, and apparently down South. A woman had penned the letter—he could tell by the careful, neat script.
Dear Sir,
My name is Josephine Callahan, and I am replying to your post regarding a mail-order bride.
I confess, I am just as uncomfortable writing this as you probably are reading.
However, I felt compelled to answer anyway, given your current situation and my desire to help in your time of need.
Since I have never tried this before, I thought it would be wise to introduce myself.
I grew up in Asheville, North Carolina, and I am temporarily residing with my great aunt in Charlotte. I’m afraid I do not have much experience caring for children except growing up with my younger sister, Susannah, who was three years younger than me.
Despite my experience being low, I must add that I know what it is like to lose a mother. If you do not want to consider me as the answer to your posting, I understand. Your family will remain in my prayers.
Sincerely,
Josephine Callahan
Travis read the letter twice. He rubbed his chin, processing the information.
He wasn’t keen on marrying again, but Aunt Polly convinced him to put away his selfishness and think about the children.
After four months of waiting, there hadn’t been a response.
Travis personally didn’t blame the women.
Who would want to move out to the wild country and marry a man with four children?
Travis specifically requested to mention only a mother instead of a wife.
Having a wife was his last priority; he experienced enough love to last him a lifetime, and if he married again, it would be nothing more than a professional arrangement.
The only woman who would ever have a chokehold on his heart was Sophie, whether she was dead or alive.
“What does it say?” Aunt Polly asked.
Travis tossed her the letter then leaned back in his chair. “Read it for yourself.”
Aunt Polly held the letter closer, her eyes narrowing. It didn’t take her long to finish. “She sounds like a wonderful woman, humble to respond and respectful to mention her intentions. Will you propose?”
Travis huffed, folding his arms over his chest. “This doesn’t feel right. How can I bring a stranger into my own home to raise my children?”
Aunt Polly put down the letter. “And how many women are in the valley, lining up to marry you with those four children to raise?”
“Miss Callahan doesn’t have experience raising children.”
Aunt Polly smiled and shrugged. “At least she’s honest. If it makes you comfortable, I can stay around until she has the hang of things.”
Think about your children, Travis kept telling himself. His face flushed with heat, shame washing over him. The very thought seemed like a betrayal towards Sophie, as if pondering the potential marriage somehow tarnished her memory.
“I just . . .” Travis stuttered, raking his hand through his hair. “It was one thing sending out an advertisement, but now the day has come . . . It’s even harder thinking about another woman running this house . . . Sophie’s house.”
“I know it’s hard. I often think about what I would have done if I were in your shoes twenty years ago. It makes me realize how lucky the twins were . . .”
Travis’s stomach sank. “I’m sorry, Aunt Polly, I didn’t think about—”
She patted Travis’s hand. “Don’t ya worry about silly ‘ole me. The past is in the past now. It’s those children’s future you should worry about.” She stood slowly, letting out a soft sigh. “Now let me get them young’uns ready. They’ll get lazier if they sleep an extra minute.”
Travis winced as he took another sip of coffee, his eyes landing on the letter in front of him.
Would he write back? His fingers gripped around his cup.
How could he? He stared at the words, trying to imagine Josephine stepping into this house and caring for his children.
Except he couldn’t picture her in his mind.
How old was she? Her writing was legible, displaying her education, but did she know anything about homesteading?
Could she cook? Clean? What about tending to livestock and harvesting wheat?
Miss Callahan might become a wonderful homemaker and mother, but what about a farmer’s wife?
Travis stared at the name, written in elegant cursive penmanship.
He chewed his bottom lip. This was driving him crazy!
This woman was a mystery. Why would she give up everything to come out west and marry him of all people?
And she didn’t even know him! Travis could be an evil brute or a drunkard, yet she was willing to sacrifice everything to stand by his side, in sickness and in health. It didn’t make sense.
“Who are you, Josephine Callahan?”