I ached with a sudden homesickness. They would be sitting by the fire by now with their knitting or needlepoint. I was not there to read to them as had become our custom since my father passed two years ago.
No, I must not succumb to self-pity. This was an adventure. An opportunity. Traveling across the country to this beautiful, uninhabited land. A newly built schoolhouse and children who craved learning. I’d read the letter from Lord Barnes so many times I had it memorized.
The children here need education and refinement. The West lacks in proper guidance for young ladies, especially. Our hope is for your good breeding and manners to influence and educate a new generation of Americans. These are children born of adventurous and hopeful men, who have longed to provide better lives for their children. Alas, with this effort comes the wild.
Five out of the dozen children in town were his own. He was the board of education for their community, he had written. Not because I’m fit for the vocation, but because there was no one else. He did not mention a wife in his letters. I felt certain she was dead, as he’d referenced a nanny who cared for his children, but never a mother.
It was how he’d spoken of education that had touched my heart.
We raise them to be tough here, but at what cost? Surely culture and art must be taught, no matter that the gold rush has given birth to a new West?
“Please take off your hat or you might lose it,” Harley said.
I undid the pins and stuck them into the band, then handed the hat to him. He set it under a blanket in the back, along with my bag. “And wrap this scarf around your head and face.”
He tucked several blankets around me. On top of those, he laid a fur of some kind that smelled of oil. I lifted my scarf over my nose, which still carried the scent of home, and tried to relax. Bells around the horses’ necks made a merry song as Harley drove us away from the station. It was slow going for the horses through the high snow, but they clopped at a steady pace.
“Thank you for picking me up,” I said.
“It’s my pleasure, miss. I work for Lord Barnes. I take care of the animals and the garden, and whatever else needs doing. My little sister, Poppy, and I live in the servant’s cottage on his property.”
“I thought the train station would be closer to town.”
“Back during the gold rush, the train stopped at the mining site,” he said. “As the town grew, they realized building in the valley between the two mountains made more sense.”
“Have you been here long?”
“A few years, yes. My parents were French. They came out here chasing gold, like most. They died three winters ago from the flu, and so now it’s just Poppy and me.”
“Poppy? What a sweet name.”
“She’s thirteen. Same age as Miss Josephine, Lord Barnes’s oldest daughter. She can’t wait to start school. Until my parents died, we spoke mostly French, so she’s anxious to learn to read in English.”
“Does Lord Barnes live in town?” I asked.
“No, his estate’s a few miles from town.”
Estate? Estates were large with servants and fine meals. What did I expect from a man with the title Lord in front of his name?
“Lord Barnes owns at least a thousand acres, including the land in town. There was a fire in the late nineties and most of the residents left. Lord Barnes bought up all the property and rebuilt the town. This time in brick.”
“He owns everything?”
“That’s right. He rents the buildings to local businessmen for a fair price. His aim is to civilize this place.” Harley laughed, clearly fond of his boss. “If anyone can, it’s him.”
Normally, I would have been fascinated to learn more. I’m curious bordering on nosy. People are like books. I can’t wait to turn the next page to learn what happens next. But I felt sleepy, lulled by the rhythm of the sled across snow. I blinked to try to stay alert, but between the falling snow and dimming light blocking the view, in combination with the warmth of the fur some poor animal had sacrificed, I drifted to sleep.
The sound of a shotgun jarred me awake. Both horses jumped and neighed and then began to run. Harley called to them and tried to rein them in, but to no avail. They were afraid. As was I. Another shot rang out. The horses ran faster. The sled seemed to be several inches above the snow, as though we were flying. We were out of control. I could feel it in the way the sled shimmied. One of the horses reared back, and the sled yanked hard to the left. We flew over an embankment. A large tree loomed close. I screamed as I flew from the sled. Everything went black.
Chapter 2
Alexander
* * *
A pounding on my front door pulled me from a particularly moving passage in a Henry James novel. Startled, I looked at the clock in the corner of my library. Six on an evening? Who would call without notice? The children were all upstairs with Nanny Foster having baths. My belly was full of Lizzie’s hearty stewed chicken and potatoes, and I’d just settled in with a glass of whiskey for a deep read.
The knocking turned loud and fierce. I rose from my chair, alarmed. This was not the typical timid tap of tradespeople or visitors, but urgent, almost frightened, as if something was terribly wrong. A shiver crept up the back of my neck. Jasper’