Prologue

“A Sleigh Ride For Claire”

Crystal Creek, Kansas

December 1875

 A storm was brewin’.

Linc Wyse looked to the north, then across the pasture where his herd of dairy cows ambled toward the barn. Storms that blew in from that direction usually were fierce, often resulting in a blizzard. His daughters would be home from school soon and together he and his eldest daughter, Rachel, would get to work milking the cows. But Rachel was the only one of his three girls who was old enough to understand what needed to be done without hurting herself. At eight years old, she couldn’t offer much in the way of help, but at the moment she was all he had.

“Papa!” He turned away from looking at the sky as his youngest daughter raced toward him. She ran from the road into the yard as if he would disappear at any minute. No matter how often he’d reassured her that he wasn’t going anywhere, she still wasn’t convinced. She had gone to her Nana’s house one afternoon last fall when everything was right in her world only to return to find her mother gone and her father tormented with grief.

He dismissed the thought. Re-hashing the past never did any good. All he could do was move forward and hope for the best. He had no other choice.

“Papa! Papa!” Daisy flung herself at his legs, giving him no choice but to hug her to his knees before swinging her into his arms. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, but her blue eyes, so much like his were wary. “I’m glad you’re here, Papa.”

“Of course, I am, Daisy.” Kissing her temple, he wanted to hold her close to his heart until all the clouds left her eyes. But that wouldn’t have solved anything. If anything, he feared it would only make her more anxious.

As usual, Rachel and Violet had long since forgotten their promise to keep Daisy close by them. They plodded the same route Daisy had taken but at a decidedly much slower pace, their lunch pails swinging from their hands.

“Inside, girls,” Linc instructed. “We’ll have a glass of milk and some cheese before we start our chores.” Raising dairy cows at least assured them of fresh milk, cream for his coffee, and cheese for their lunches—when he got around to making it.

The girls didn’t complain; they knew better, but it didn’t stop them from dragging their feet as they trekked to the house. As they removed their coats and set their lunch pails on the drain board, Linc rinsed out four glasses before getting a pitcher of milk and a hunk of cheese wrapped in a cloth from the cold box on the porch. He tried not to think about how the dishes needed to be washed, dried, and stored after every meal.

He cut the cheese into chunks and placed them on a dish along with some stale crackers from the mercantile. Though he was anxious to get the chores done, he idly chewed his cracker, its flavor tasting more like sawdust in his mouth. He looked around the table, watching the girls pick at the cheese and crackers. They had no more interest in eating them than he did. What wouldn’t he give for one of his mother’s molasses jumbles?

“When is Nana and Auntie Betts coming back?” Rachel asked. Her cracker, broken in two, surely tasted as unappetizing as it looked.

Three weeks ago, they’d gotten word that Linc’s sister-in-law had given birth to twin boys up in Fort Riley. Immediately, his mother and his only sister, Betsy, made plans for the twelve-hour train ride East, leaving Linc and the girls to fend for themselves. His brothers had their own families and problems. If nothing else, their absence made it clear that it was time for Linc to move on and figure out what to do about stale crackers and the everyday care of his daughters.

“Papa?” Rachel turned her blue eyes to him. “Is Nana and Auntie Betts ever coming home? They’ve been gone for such a long time.”

Linc swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Of course, sweetpea.” He supposed ten days seemed like forever to an eight-year-old. “She’ll be home for Christmas.” He couldn’t imagine Doreen Wyse not celebrating the Lord’s birth. His mother loved the holidays, fussing over the baking, and decorating the house inside and out with fragrant cedar boughs, ribbons, and of course, a Christmas tree.

Despite his own doubts, the girls seemed to accept his answer.

But now more than ever, he could see how hard his family was struggling without the care of a woman in the house. The girls needed a woman to help them with their hair, to care for them, and to show them all the things a mother shows her daughters.

But their mother had only been gone a year, and the thought of marrying again didn’t sit well with him. He shook his head to dismiss the idea.

“Let’s go, ladies,” he announced, shooing his daughters toward the pegs where their outerwear hung. “Those cows get ornery when we don’t milk them on time.”