Chapter Two
Independence, Montana
A cacophony of sound filled the air as men and women bustled around the string of covered wagons.
Grace Hawthorne took a steadying breath and let herself absorb all of it: the white canvas tops of the wagons, their color pristine against the backdrop of the lush mountains; the many horses of varying colors impatiently pawing at the earth; and the rough mannerisms and dress of most of the people milling around her.
“This is amazing!” Grace’s daughter Emily stared at the assembly with wide green eyes.
Emily was four years old and the exact image of Grace when she was that age: a plump child with the same green eyes and auburn hair that Grace had.
The child looked out of place here, wearing a sky-blue dress trimmed with pristine white lace.
Grace forced a smile, burying her fear deep inside her, imagining that it could be locked inside a box and thrown away. It wasn’t that simple, of course. Grace didn’t look like most of these people, for one thing.
While the women were dressed in faded calico and rough wool, she wore a dress of fine peach silk.
It was not her best dress, but she suspected it was finer than most of these women had ever seen.
Several of them looked, for lack of a kinder word, worn.
Hardship had eroded their faces, and left heavy lines across their foreheads and black shadows beneath their eyes.
Every ounce of Grace’s pleasant life and wealthy, respectable family settled uneasily inside her. A knot twisted in her chest as she met the gaze of a weary-eyed woman with lank blonde hair. ‘You do not belong here,’ Grace imagined her thinking.
“It certainly is something else,” said Richard Hawthorne, Grace’s father.
He stood beside them, his mouth stretched into a thin line.
Although Grace’s father was forty-seven, he held his age well and had a volcanic energy that rivaled that of men half his age.
She looked at the older men who had joined the line of wagons with a bit of guilt.
Did her father feel like an interloper, too?
“How far are we going?” Emily asked.
“Very far,” Grace said. “It will be like going to another world.”
Grace hoped to reach Oregon and begin a new life there, one unburdened by the lingering shadow of Charles.
Pa had forced the man to leave town, then spread the story that Charles had abandoned Grace without warning.
It had been a relief to see Charles gone, but thinking on it at any length also caused her a great deal of shame.
Her father’s plan had assuaged some of the gossip…
but not enough. Everyone had looked at Grace with such pity in their eyes that she couldn’t bear it at times.
“It’s not too late to reconsider this whole thing,” her father said gruffly.
“It is,” Grace argued. “I have already decided that we will do this. You don’t have to come with me, Father.”
He was a successful timber merchant, so wealthy that he had no need to work anymore and could comfortably live the rest of his life without ever lifting a finger, but he refused to retire. ‘Nothing good ever came from idleness,’ he always said. ‘A man is meant to work.’
Of the three of them, he was the one making true sacrifices. Already, he had agreed to let another man run his business, but Grace suspected it was not too late for him to back out of the agreement.
“I cannot let you go alone. You’re a young woman with a child,” Father said, lowering his voice when he referred to Emily. “The trip will be treacherous enough already without someone to look after you. Besides, many men would seek to take advantage of a lone woman.”
“I will not change my mind,” Grace said.
He removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair, the brown now streaked with silver, which grew a little every year. “Fine. Sometimes, I wish you weren’t so independent.”
A dark-haired man dressed in a worn brown coat stared at them. He squinted, as though he thought they might be an illusion. After a brief, considering look, he came over to them.
Out of the corner of her eye, Grace saw her father straighten his jacket and brush a speck of invisible dirt from his shoulder. Once the stranger was near, Father offered his hand to the man.
“Richard Hawthorne,” he introduced himself.
“Amos Briggs. I’m the trail boss.”
The men shook hands. Amos’ sharp brown eyes darted to Grace, clearly in anticipation of an introduction.
“My daughters,” Father said. “Grace and Emily.”
“How do you do?” Emily asked, smiling brightly. She clasped her hands behind her back and rocked forward on her heels.
Amos smiled, revealing that he was missing a tooth. “How do you do, little miss,” he said, tipping his hat.
Emily squealed and hid behind Grace’s leg.
“Apologies, she’s a little shy,” Grace explained.
“Children that age usually are,” Amos said, seemingly unbothered by her reaction. “We don’t see many of them on the Bozeman Trail. It’s a difficult route for young’uns.”
“So we’ve heard,” Grace said. “But my father and I will look after her.”
Amos did not bother to hide his doubt, his brow furrowing.
Grace tried to imagine how the situation might appear from his perspective.
Here were three well-dressed strangers seeking to abandon their lives of luxury and journey into the treacherous west. In his situation, she’d likely be doubtful, too.
Even that realization could not quite dampen the spark of irritation she felt, though. Just because she had not suffered the same kind of hardships or the poverty of some of the others here did not mean she was some silly, empty-headed girl who didn’t understand the reality presented by the trail.
“If y’all say so,” Amos replied. “I hope you’re aware that I’ve already assigned routes to everyone, and we’ve made our preparations to leave. We won’t stop until we reach our destination, so if y’all decide that the trail isn’t for you, there’s no—”
“No turning back,” Father interrupted. “We understand that perfectly. Thank you.”
Amos scowled. Grace suspected that he wasn’t a man who was accustomed to being interrupted, but she found herself grateful that Father had spoken.
She had always tried to be strategic about when she shared her opinions, for Grace knew she had a bit of a temper.
Often, however, people simply took men more seriously than they did women, and she suspected that Amos might be just such a man.
An insistence from her father, then, would be seen as confidence, a patriarch asserting his authority over his family.
In contrast, a woman like Grace’s insistence would be seen as youthful petulance.
“Well, good,” Amos said. “We’ll leave soon.”
"Actually, I’d like your opinion on the family wagon,” her father said, casting an unreadable look at Grace. “I need to be sure that it is sufficient for my daughters.”
Grace bit the inside of her cheek. She suspected that her father was not going to check the wagon at all, but that he instead wished to speak to Amos without her hearing. There was no telling what her father needed to speak to Amos about, but she bristled at the thought of being left out once more.
“If you insist-” Amos made if you insist sound profoundly like an insult. “-but you should have already looked it over.”
“Another opinion wouldn’t hurt,” Father said.
“Bye-bye!” Emily exclaimed as the pair walked away.
Grace squeezed her daughter’s hand. “This will be a grand adventure, don’t you think?”
Emily enjoyed reading about heroines doing brave and exciting things, and her expression brightened at the comparison. “Yes!”
“You will have to be very brave,” Grace warned, giving Emily a serious look.
Emily nodded. Her eyes were wide and delighted, as if she was already anticipating conquering anything that might stand in their path. Grace forced a smile, refusing to dampen her daughter’s spirit, even though she knew just how treacherous the journey might be.
For a heartbeat, a tremor of doubt swept through her.
Most of the people in the wagon train had no choice but to start anew.
The Bozeman Trail was their last remaining option.
For Grace, there was no reason why she could not return to Lexington with her father and daughter, other than her own desire to start fresh.
Father had made it clear that he would take care of her for as long as she needed, but while Grace was grateful for his love and care, she could not bring herself to accept it indefinitely.
She needed to be her own woman.
“You should get into your wagon. We’re leaving soon.”
The voice came from behind her. Grace jumped a little and peered over her shoulder, her breath catching in her throat as she spied the man who had spoken.
He did not look out of place here at all.
Like the other travelers, his clothing was clearly well-worn, and his brow was already furrowed with faint lines, despite his relative youth.
She didn’t think he was older than thirty.
But her breath did not catch because of that.
Because, for all that this man looked tired, he was also uncommonly handsome.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, his well-formed muscles obvious even with the loose-fitting and patched clothes that he wore.
His beard was neatly trimmed, but his brown hair was a touch too long to be fashionable.
Somehow, he managed to look handsome in a rugged way, rather than unkempt.
His eyes were a marvelous hazel, nearly gold, with the faintest flecks of green.
“Oh,” she said.
Any articulate thoughts suddenly vanished from her mind, the words falling away. All right, he was handsome, but that alone should not have been enough to make butterflies flutter in Grace’s chest. Somehow, though, it was.
“I can take you to your wagon,” he said, offering his canteen to her. “Water for you and—”
“My sister,” Grace hastily supplied.
He grunted and jerked his head toward the wagons. Grace took the offered water and followed him, gripping Emily’s hand tightly to make sure she was not lost in the chaotic crowd still streaming around the wagons.
“I am Grace Hawthorne,” she said. “My sister’s name is Emily.”
“Ethan Walker.” His tone revealed little about how he might be feeling. He spoke in a way that was almost entirely flat and neutral. Guarded, even.
“Lovely to meet you,” Grace said. “Are you traveling alone?”
He cast a sharp look at her, and Grace wondered if she had somehow offended him. She had only been trying to talk to him and exchange the usual pleasantries one did when meeting a new person.
“No,” he said, providing no clarity as to who he might be in a party with.
“That’s fortunate,” she said. “I imagine the journey would be difficult to manage alone.”
He halted by the wagon she pointed out to him, and gestured for her to climb in. “If you’re going to finish this journey in one piece, you can’t let the pressure get to you,” Ethan said.
Obviously, she thought. Everyone needs fortitude to make such a trip.
“And it will be even more difficult with a child.”
At the mention of Emily, Grace bristled. Amos had felt the need to condescend to her, too. Why did men always imagine that women were incapable of making their own decisions?
“First of all, I can manage my-my younger sister perfectly well, even on the trail! And secondly, do you imagine that I have not already thought about these things? Do you think I am unaware of how dangerous this trip might be?”
Ethan didn’t answer, but his scrutiny was so sharp that she felt it like a bee sting. He was staring at her, clad in her soft and frilly peach-colored dress, probably thinking that she was a fool.
Well, this Ethan character could think whatever he wanted! Grace had made this decision for herself, the first truly independent decision she had made in a long time. She would not be turned away by him or anyone else.