A Home for Silent Hearts (Preview)

Chapter One

Clara’s back ached from the last thirty minutes of riding in Mr. Hicks’ wagon, listening to him talk nonstop.

She stared straight ahead as Hicks turned down the road toward her brother’s ranch. She’d never seen it, and she couldn’t tell if what was settled in her chest was excitement or dread.

“Never knew Thomas had a sister. He kept to himself for the most part.” Mr. Hicks shook his head. “Maybe if he were a little more social, people would have looked for him sooner. Took two days to find the body.”

Clara swallowed hard.

“I’d rather not discuss it,” she managed to get out. 

Her brother’s lawyer had included how he’d died in their letter. The same letter she held gripped in her hands as if it might slip away from her. 

The tears behind her eyes pressed with urgency, and she struggled to keep her emotions at bay as she had the whole trip. When they drove around the last corner, and Mr. Hicks nodded toward a large cabin and barn in the distance, she nearly collapsed off the wagon in relief.

“Here it is, all yours now. Let me know if you need any help with the place. Pretty young woman like yourself won’t be able to handle a ranch on your own.”

“Good day, Mr. Hicks.” Clara handed him a coin from her purse for his trouble, hoping that would be the end of it.

Mr. Hicks did not take the hint.

“Now hold on there, miss,” he said, climbing down from the wagon. “Can’t have you dragging your things in by yourself. Thomas wouldn’t have liked that.”

Before she could protest, he reached into the back of the wagon and lifted her satchel.

Clara suppressed a sigh.

“It’s only one bag,” she said.

“Still,” he replied cheerfully, already striding toward the porch. “First time seeing the place and all. Must be strange coming out here after so long.”

She turned and made her way up the short driveway to her brother’s house, Mr. Hicks following beside her with the satchel swinging from his hand.

It was everything Thomas used to talk about. The Wyoming Territory stretched out as far as the eye could see, and it had been a long journey to get to Thomas’s ranch. A good, well-built cabin. A large barn, full of animals from the sound of things. She spotted a white cat darting into an open barn window.

“Thomas built most of this himself, I heard,” Mr. Hicks said, nodding toward the barn. “Hard worker, that one. Just not much interest in the community.”

Clara didn’t answer.

Birds chirped in the distance as she got to the porch. She paused, turning toward the land to take it all in.

Thomas had promised to return for her and her mother. He said that he’d change their life, make things better for all of them. Then he’d disappeared without a trace. Every moment when she’d needed him, he’d frozen her out, not even taking the time to send a letter.

She wiped a tear from her eye, hoping Mr. Hicks wouldn’t notice. There was no love left for her brother. She’d buried him and any previous attachments to him, the day she’d buried her mother, after pleading with him to come back, to help her share that one last burden.

Mr. Hicks set her satchel down beside the door as she opened it.

“You really haven’t seen him in a while?” he asked.

Clara hesitated before answering.

“Ten years.”

Mr. Hicks let out a low whistle. “That’s a long stretch between family visits.”

She shook her head, set her jaw, and stepped into the cabin. It might as well have been a stranger who left her the ranch. After all, what did she really know about the man she hadn’t seen in ten years?

The front yard looked as if it had been well cared for recently, and nothing looked as if it had been abandoned. She wondered who had been caring for the place for the past three weeks, since her brother passed.

“Mr. Hicks?” she said, turning back toward him.

“Yes, miss?”

“Do you know if someone was living here with my brother?”

He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Not that I ever saw. Thomas didn’t have many close friends.”

“Then who’s been taking care of the place?” she asked quietly.

Mr. Hicks shrugged. “Couldn’t say. Some folks help neighbors when trouble comes. Might be someone from town stopping by.”

She glanced down at the envelope in her hand. There were two envelopes inside it, one of them, she’d read. It was from the lawyer who was in charge of her brother’s estate, telling her what happened to him, and that he’d left everything he owned to her. The other letter was one from her brother. He’d apparently written it for her almost six months ago, when he’d gotten his affairs in order. She couldn’t bring herself to read it. Would he say he hated her? What made him want to leave her everything six months ago?

Clara thought her brother had forgotten about her. Thomas hadn’t written in so long. Maybe he’d only left her everything because he had no one else in his life.

Behind her, Mr. Hicks cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said, shifting his hat in his hands, “I ought to let you settle in.”

Clara nodded quickly. “Thank you for bringing me.”

“If you need anything,” he said, stepping toward the door, “you know where to find me.”

She waved politely, but was secretly relieved to be on her own to look around her brother’s cabin. She took a moment to let her gaze run over everything near her.

It was larger than the little two-bedroom flat she’d used to live in with her parents, and certainly bigger than the one-bedroom she’d lived in with her mother after her father passed away. She rubbed her hands, remembering the aches that had plagued her for years from long days of hard work. Her brother’s ranch would be no easier, but she was prepared for the hard work, for the new things she’d have to learn.

She’d still have to work hard, but she’d be working for something she could keep, maybe something she could sell. She wasn’t sure. She’d have to take the time to evaluate what the best course of action was after she figured out exactly what the situation was.

The cabin was simple. A large sitting area stretched out with hand-carved seats. Had Thomas made them? He’d never shown an interest in carving.

Clara stepped farther into the cabin, her boots quiet against the worn wooden floor. The place held the quiet stillness of a home that was still lived in. The air smelled faintly of pine and smoke, as if someone had lit the hearth not long ago.

She set her small satchel on a chair and slowly turned in a circle, taking everything in. She’d dreamed of living in a place like this for years. It had always been just that, a distant dream.

Clara made her way down the hallway and into the kitchen. It was medium-sized, but held everything a person could need.

A sturdy table sat near the window, its surface scratched from years of use. Two chairs stood pushed beneath it. A small shelf hung on the wall above the long counter, holding a few tin cups and plates. Everything was plain, but it was clean and efficient.

She walked toward the back of the cabin, her fingers brushing along the edge of the table as she passed. Whoever had been here last had not left in a hurry. A folded cloth rested beside the hearth, and a kettle still hung above it.

Her chest tightened.

Thomas had lived here. Sat at that table. Slept under this roof. Was that the way he left it? Or had someone moved things since?

Clara swallowed the thought and moved down the short hallway. The first door opened into a small bedroom. A narrow bed sat against the wall, covered with a plain wool blanket. A pair of boots rested neatly beside it. A wooden chest sat at the foot of the bed, its lid closed.

She stepped inside but did not touch anything.

This must have been his room, she thought.

For a moment, she simply stood there, unsure what to feel. Anger had carried her from home. She wanted to see the life that had been good enough to justify abandoning his entire family and his promises for.

But having the finality hit her, realizing how much she could never ask him, felt like too much.

She backed out quietly and closed the door.

The second room was smaller. A guest room, perhaps. A single bed and a washstand filled most of the space. Dust had begun to settle across the surface of the stand, but not much. Again, it looked as though someone had cared for the place.

Clara frowned slightly.

Three weeks was long enough for dust to gather, for things to feel forgotten. Who was caring for his things?

This was his life. His home. His land.

And now it was hers.

Clara straightened and exhaled slowly. There would be time later to sort through the cabin and figure out what she had inherited. Right now, she needed to see the rest of the property.

The animals she’d heard earlier were still making noise out in the barn. If the ranch were to keep running, they would need tending before long. She’d never tended to animals. Her days back in Chicago had been full of sewing, cleaning, and washing. Day in and day out, she’d filled her hours since before her father died. She’d never really been around horses or chickens.

She stepped back outside, closing the cabin door behind her.

The afternoon sun had begun to sink lower across the open land, casting long shadows across the yard. The barn stood a short distance away, its large doors half open. From inside came the low sound of shifting hooves and the occasional snort of a horse.

Clara crossed the yard, the dry grass crunching beneath her boots. The white cat she’d seen earlier darted along the side of the barn and disappeared.

She liked animals. There had been a little gray cat that lived behind the place where she lived with her mother. Mrs. Grady hated cats and would shoo him away whenever she saw him.

Clara frowned at the thought of Mrs. Grady. As a Christian, she knew she was supposed to be loving and kind to all, but Mrs. Grady had proven to be malicious over the years, and Clara had realized that if Mrs. Grady had it her way, she’d never be able to move on from her past. She shoved the thoughts away for another day. It didn’t matter that Mrs. Grady had made it impossible to return to Chicago. There was nothing waiting for her there anymore anyway.

She stepped through the wide barn doors and paused to let her eyes adjust to the dimmer light.

The smell of hay and animals filled the air. Several horses stood in their stalls along one wall, lifting their heads as she entered. A few chickens wandered lazily near the far side of the barn. Somewhere above, a pigeon fluttered in the rafters.

Clara walked slowly down the center aisle.

The stalls were sturdy, well-built. Fresh hay had been thrown down recently, and water troughs were filled.

Someone had definitely been caring for the animals.

Her brow creased.

Why would anyone do that after Thomas died? That would mean he had friends, and if he knew someone kind enough to take care of his things, why wouldn’t he have left the ranch to them?

She stopped beside one of the horses and reached out cautiously. The animal sniffed her hand before returning to its hay.

“Guess we’re both adjusting,” she murmured. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” She had a feeling that she was more afraid of the horse than it was of her. She pulled her hand back, deciding that she could wait another day or two before braving petting the horses.

She continued farther down the row of stalls, glancing into each one as she passed.

The last few stood empty.

Clara had just turned to head back when a sudden thud sounded behind her.

She froze.

The noise had come from one of the empty stalls.

Then came the unmistakable scrape of something moving against wood.

Her pulse jumped.

Slowly, Clara slid her hand into the pocket of her skirt.

Her fingers closed around the familiar handle of the small knife she carried. Years of living carefully had taught her never to go anywhere without it. She knew what could happen if she did. The scar on her arm practically burned at the thought.

She pulled the knife free and held it low at her side.

“Hello?” she called, her voice steady.

No answer.

The stall stood only a few steps away now.

Clara moved closer, every sense alert. The wooden gate was partly closed, leaving only a narrow gap to see inside. Another faint movement came from within.

She tightened her grip on the knife.

“Who’s there?” she said, sharper this time.

The barn fell silent again.

Then something shifted inside the stall again.

Clara took one slow step forward and peered through the narrow opening of the stall.

Her breath caught as her fingers relaxed around the knife.

A boy crouched in the far corner, pressed tightly against the wooden boards as if he could make himself disappear into them. He couldn’t have been more than six or seven. Dirt smudged his face and hands, and his sandy brown hair stuck out in uneven clumps as though it had not seen a comb in some time. His clothes hung loose on his thin frame.

In his arms, he clutched something tight against his chest. At first, Clara thought it was only a bundle of cloth. Then the edge of worn leather caught the light.

A Bible.

The boy did not move.

He only stared at her with wide, dark brown eyes.

Clara blinked in surprise. She’d imagined a couple of different possibilities, but none of them had been a child.

The boy watched her, his small hands gripping the book so tightly that his knuckles had gone pale beneath the dirt.

Slowly, very slowly, Clara pushed the stall gate open the rest of the way.

The hinges creaked.

The boy flinched.

Clara stopped, tucking her knife back in her pocket, realizing it might be scaring the boy. He clearly needed no more of that. She frowned. Did Thomas know the boy was in his barn?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said quietly.

Her voice sounded too loud in the still barn, so she lowered it even more. He looked so frightened, she was tempted to go back to the house and leave him alone, but that seemed like the wrong thing to do.

“I promise.” She did her best to reassure him.

The boy didn’t answer.

What child would trust a stranger walking into a barn with a knife in her hand?

Clara exhaled softly and crouched down, sliding the knife back in her pocket. She held her hands open in front of her, opening them palms up.

“There,” she said gently. “See? No knife. I only keep the knife close in case bad people want to hurt me.” She wondered if he knew what that was like. There was something familiar in his eyes.

She remained kneeling, keeping her distance.

“My name is Clara. I’ve been hurt before, too. It makes us very afraid, even of people who are safe sometimes.”

The boy’s eyes never left her; he looked like he was holding on to every word she was saying, though he made no move to come closer. 

“Did you know Thomas? Mr. Westbrook?” She tried. When his dark brown eyes lit up, and his shoulders fell ever so slightly, Clara knew there was a connection there. “Did your ma or pa work for Mr. Westbrook?” 

The boy shook his head. 

Had her brother had a child? Goodness, that didn’t seem likely. The boy didn’t look too much like her brother, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t possible.

“Thomas was my brother.” The word felt strange in her mouth after so many years, but she forced the words out. “This was my brother’s ranch.”

The boy’s fingers tightened briefly around the Bible.

Clara noticed the movement.

“I won’t hurt you,” she repeated. “I just arrived today. I didn’t even know anyone else was here.” Clara studied the worn Bible in his arms. The leather cover looked old, the corners softened with years of use.

“Did my brother give that to you?” she asked gently.

No answer.

She shifted her weight slightly and settled more comfortably on her knees.

“Well,” she said after a moment, “since we’re both here, I suppose we should get acquainted.”

The boy tilted his head just barely, as if the word puzzled him, but he didn’t look quite as afraid or tense as he had before, and she decided that was good enough for the moment. Clara gave a small, careful smile.

“I’m not very frightening once people get to know me. Many children actually like me. Back in the city, there was a wealthy family I used to help. I’d watch their children for them. They had a little boy like you.”

The boy leaned back against the back of the stall, stretching his legs out in front of him, and resting the Bible on his legs, as if waiting for her to go on.

“He really liked to play games. We would play chess, and I’d tell him stories. I never had a lot of good real stories, so we’d make up stories about faraway lands, and knights and kings. I think you’d like some of the stories I used to tell him. I could tell them to you if you want to come inside. You could sit and listen while I make dinner for us. I’m rather hungry. How about you?” She wasn’t sure what there was to eat in the cabin, but she had some bread and some apples in her bag. If there was nothing else, it could serve as a simple supper.

He nodded. One tiny nod that she wasn’t sure she’d seen at first.

Her throat tightened unexpectedly.

“You must have been very brave to stay here by yourself.”

He nodded again. Her heart ached, and those pesky tears from earlier pressed again, wanting her to let them free. She swallowed, trying to lock her emotions back up where they belonged.

“Why don’t I tell you half of one of my stories now, and if you like it, we’ll go inside.”

The boy’s eyes widened, and she knew she had herself a deal. Maybe secretly, she was dreading going back inside, too, and that was why sitting in the barn, talking to the boy, sounded like a good plan to her, too.

Chapter Two

Elijah slowed his pace as he reached Thomas’s barn. There was a lamp lit inside, and he knew he’d left it off when he’d left that morning. He sighed. Had Jonah lit a lamp? It would be unusual.

Then again, he thought they’d gotten past Jonah running off to Thomas’s. He’d left him alone for less than an hour, and he’d run away…again. Elijah frowned. He wasn’t sure if the boy even understood Thomas was dead, that he wasn’t coming back.

Elijah sighed and hurried toward the barn. He had to make sure Jonah understood how dangerous lighting a lamp on his own was. He could burn the whole barn down, right on top of him. The thought of harm coming to Jonah made his chest ache.

He’d promised Thomas that if anything ever happened to him, he’d take care of Jonah, protect him with his life. He had to keep a better eye on him. The quiet child hadn’t said anything, not since Thomas found him, and certainly not since Thomas died. 

Elijah stepped through the already open barn door and made his way toward the back stall. He stopped short when he heard an unfamiliar voice. A woman’s voice. He listened to what she was saying for a moment.

“The brave knight wouldn’t stand for how they were treating the princess, so he came riding back. He put on his best brave look and held his sword in front of him until he was face to face with his enemy.”

It took him a second to realize whoever the woman was, she was telling a story.

A floorboard creaked under his boot, and a flurry of movement happened in the stall as he stepped forward. The woman had been sitting on the floor, but in less than a second, she was on her feet, facing him, a small knife in her hand.

“Who are you?” She demanded in a strong voice.

He watched her for a moment, studying her. She was slim, but her stance was strong, as if she believed she could truly protect Jonah if it came to that.  It was laughable that she thought he could bring some sort of harm to the boy. He almost snorted with amusement. Of course, she would think that. Most people looked at him like he was a danger. Perhaps it was his dark hair, pulled back with a leather cord, and the dark complexion of his skin. He might be half-white, but he still looked more like his Indian half. He was everything opposite of her. The honey brown hair, pale white skin, a spray of freckles over her nose, and high cheekbones made him look her over twice. She was the type of woman someone might overlook at first in a crowd, but if they stopped to pay attention, she’d never lose it.

She was shorter than him, by a good head, and she had to tilt her head back ever so slightly to hold his gaze. 

He lifted an eyebrow, catching her furious glare.

She was so ready with the knife, as if she’d faced similar situations in the past, and for a moment, curiosity stirred within him.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Elijah ventured as Jonah stood, and darted past the woman, leaning against Elijah’s legs, staring back at the woman, who was now staring at them in confusion as she put the knife away.

“I’m Clara. Thomas’s sister.”

Any curiosity Elijah had about the woman fizzled out. Leaving only fury in its wake. So, this was Clara, the sister who had torn his best friend’s heart out over and over for the past ten years.

“Ah.” He frowned. He’d expected someone a little more “witchy” looking, but Clara looked just…normal.

Her honey brown hair was pulled back in a simple, practical knot, though little wisps had worked their way loose, framing her face. It was round in the right places, and angular, too, making her face perfectly intriguing, in a simple, almost unnoticeable sort of way.

Her eyes were what drew his attention most. Light blue mixed with gray, like storm clouds brewing. He clenched his jaw.

“So, you’ve finally come. Took you long enough.”

“Chicago isn’t so close.” She straightened her shoulders and brushed her apron down, removing a few strands of straw. “Who are you?”

“Elijah Stone, Thomas’s friend and neighbor.”

“Is he your son?” she asked, nodding at Jonah, a judgmental pinch in her eyebrows. “Or Thomas’s?”

“No. If you’d bothered to learn anything about your brother, you’d know that Jonah here was Thomas’ ward. Thomas took to caring for the boy since he wandered into the barn about seven months ago.”

Her expression hardly changed, but there was an almost imperceptible flinch at his words. He didn’t feel a moment’s sympathy. Not for her. He couldn’t imagine how someone could have the heart to treat another person the way this woman had treated Thomas for years on end. The man had forgiven her, loved her, and to the end, insisted that it was his fault, and he deserved how she’d treated him. She’d sent a couple of letters at first, but as soon as he’d started sending her money, Thomas told him that his sister never spoke another word to him, not another letter, or a bit of news from home in ten long years.

Elijah had vehemently disagreed with the way Thomas took all the blame on himself and still did.

“Are you here to sell Thomas’s land?” He had to know. It was understandable that the woman would swoop in, sell all the assets, and leave with the money Thomas had worked so hard to accumulate for the business. 

“I don’t know.” She regarded him with similar dislike, the countenance on her face making him believe he was even more right about her than he’d originally thought. Maybe she carried the knife to rob people, not to defend herself as he’d assumed before realizing who she was. “I intend to care for the place, at least for the foreseeable future.”

“Right.” He looked her over again. Even though her dress seemed a bit worn, it was pristine, not a spot on it.  She was a city girl. There was no way that she knew anything about running a ranch. “I wish you well. I’ve cared for the place as I promised Thomas I would. I suppose it’s your responsibility now.” Elijah tipped his hat with respect he didn’t feel, then took Jonah’s hand gently, and started to lead him away.

“Wait,” Clara called out behind him.

He stopped in his tracks, debating in his mind whether he should turn around or not. He should walk away, let her figure out the state of things on her own. But he’d promised Thomas that he would take care of things if something happened. He should have realized how much of a possibility that was before. Maybe he could have done something.

“I don’t really know how to take care of the animals.”

He turned back reluctantly. He had to make sure she knew how to keep Thomas’s horses alive, and his other animals. It would be cruel if he didn’t.

“If you teach me how to care for them, I’ll do all the work. I’ll pay you for your trouble, if you’d like.”

Money. That’s all it was about to her.

“Thomas was my friend, like a brother to me. I’d take care of this place for free  for him.” Elijah let his words hang in the air for a long moment. “I’ll teach you how to do things, so I know that you won’t slowly kill the animals, then you’ll be on your own.”

He set his jaw, determined not to give in more than that. She deserved to figure things out all alone, after everything she’d done to Thomas. But he still had the vow he’d made to Thomas in life and in death, and he wasn’t the type to go back on his word.

She nodded, red creeping into her cheeks, as if she were embarrassed and angry at herself for having to ask for help.

“Very well,” she said. She hadn’t thanked him, and it only solidified his view of her.

“Good evening, Miss Westbrook.” He tipped his hat again, then scooped Jonah up into his arms and walked out of the barn and into the night, without looking back.

His heart thundered in his chest. She’d been through Thomas’s things. She was there to stay, to take it all over, then throw it away for some money, or hand it to the highest bidder, the very same people Thomas had fought tooth and nail so he could keep his land.

He had no say in it. It wasn’t his land, and Thomas wasn’t there anymore, so what could he do?

“Are you all right?” Elijah asked Jonah.

The boy nodded. No words came from his lips, his hands still clung to the Bible, and Elijah didn’t expect them to let go. He was a silent child, but he still managed to communicate well enough. Elijah carried him the rest of the way home until he reached his own cabin. His small horse ranch started right on Thomas’s property line. It technically belonged to Pastor Hartwell first. The five-year claim had been finished, and Hartwell had signed it over to him as a gift. So, the land was in his name. Something that was rare for a man who came from an Indian heritage like himself.

Elijah took Jonah into the kitchen and set him at the table, then served him his supper. As the little boy ate his dinner like he hadn’t had a meal in a week, Elijah let his mind wander.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Clara. If she had ignored Thomas for so many years, why had she decided to come and claim his land? She had to be a special kind of heartless to turn her head on family, then come for the money.

He remembered the last discussion he’d had with Thomas about Clara.

“I don’t know why you still go to the post office every week.” Elijah had tried to temper the anger rising in his chest.

“I go because I have to keep up hope that one day, there will be a letter for me there, one that is different from the last.” Thomas shook his head, his eyebrows pulling into a frown. “I know it seems silly to be searching for hope after all these years, but I have nothing else left.”

“I know, but you have Jonah, your land, me, and others in town. She’s made it clear what she wants and doesn’t want.” Elijah had shaken his head. He hated to see Thomas in this state.

“I just don’t understand. We were close when we were young. I know leaving her when I did would hurt, and she’d struggle to understand, but I’ve done everything I can to make up for it. Maybe when all of this with Jonah is figured out, I’ll go back to Chicago. I could finally do it now, you know. All these years, I haven’t been able to leave the ranch, to get back there, but talking in person, we could have a shot to work it out.”

“Maybe.” Elijah had given him a friendly slap on the back. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you. I don’t know why she’s treated you the way she has. I know if she got to know you again, realized how much you’ve sacrificed to finally have your ranch, and your place, she’d understand.”

Thomas had nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

Elijah had wished there was something he could say to make his friend feel better.

Elijah pulled himself back to the present. There never was a letter, and Thomas never got his closure, because he was found dead four weeks after that conversation. Elijah thought of the beautiful, angry-looking woman in Thomas’s barn.

He would teach her how to take care of the horses and the ranch. That was the real Christian thing to do, the right thing, that Thomas would have wanted from him. But once she knew how to do it, he would take a step back. He’d focus on Jonah and forget about her.

She didn’t belong in town. She didn’t belong on Thomas’s ranch. The sooner she was gone, the better.

He thought of what he’d overheard before he’d interrupted her and Jonah. She’d been on her knees in that stall, telling a frightened little boy a story to calm him. As much as he hated her, that seemed like the sort of thing a kind and gentle person would do. It had been nice to see Jonah so calm for once when he was with her. His eyes usually went wild, and he looked panicked when he was around strangers. 

Her kindness to Jonah made no difference. She’d shown her true colors for ten years. He didn’t need to know anything else about her.

He only hoped he could keep his thoughts and his anger to himself while teaching her about the ranch. He would get a feeling for how that would be the next morning. He had no intentions of going easy on her. He’d show her exactly what her brother had to do every day to work for what he had, while she’d been off doing whatever it was that kept her from writing a simple letter in ten years.

Elijah finished his coffee and went over to a sleepy-looking Jonah, who had finished his food. The boy could eat, but still didn’t seem to gain weight. He scooped him up and carried him down the hall to his room, tucking him in before preparing for sleep. He climbed into the bed on the other side of the room, then got in beneath the quilts. He was dreading the next morning, but there was nothing he could do to stop time. Instead, he closed his eyes and willed sleep to take him away.