A Drifter’s Duty to Her Heart (Preview)

Chapter One

1880, Southern Arizona

The wind was getting up, raking across the plains and buffeting against the train carriage. Several passengers murmured in alarm, craning their necks and peering fearfully out of the windows.

Esther hid a smile. She’d traveled enough to know when to worry about the weather and when to save her energy for other things. The wind was bad, but nothing to worry about.

But between worries over the wind and whisperings of train robbers, her poor fellow passengers hadn’t had a very peaceful journey.

To distract herself, Esther glanced down at the stack of letters on her lap once again. They were pretty long, most of them—whoever said that men didn’t write good letters clearly hadn’t met this particular man—and the most recent letters were full of stories of what Arizona was like and what she should expect.

It’s hotter and bigger than Boston, Esther. It’ll take some getting used to, I can warn you of that. And as for people, well, you can go days at a time without seeing a soul if you’re in the right place. If you’re in the wrong place, you can go for weeks or months, maybe even forever. I liked Arizona when I traveled through, although I haven’t been to Setter’s Creek. You’ll have to tell me all about it when you get there.

“You want something to eat, honey?”

Esther flinched at the sudden voice at her elbow and glanced over to find an elderly woman sitting there. She must have crept over while Esther was absorbed in the latest letter, and she was holding an apple in each hand.

“It’s not much,” she added, gesturing to the apples, “but I haven’t seen you eat since I boarded the train. You must be hungry.”

Esther hesitated only for a moment. She took the apple, smiling.

“Thank you, that’s kind.”

“It’s rare to see a girl your age traveling alone,” the woman said, biting delicately into her own apple with her few remaining teeth.

“I’m not a girl,” Esther responded, swallowing down the familiar rush of irritation. “I’m twenty years old.”

The woman chuckled. “And when I was twenty years old, I thought I was pretty grown up, too. Forgive me, I don’t mean to be condescending. A girl who can travel by herself out here is no child. My name is Miriam.”

Esther relaxed a little. The woman meant no harm, after all. And most of the journey had gone by in silence, so perhaps it would be nice to have a little polite conversation. She didn’t want to reach her destination and be all groggy and hoarse. First impressions counted, even if it wasn’t a first first impression.

“I’m Esther. Esther Temkin.”

Miriam’s eyes brightened. “Well, what luck! We both have Bible names. Yours is very pretty. Esther has always been my favorite book in the Bible, too. What a woman she was, indeed. Do you have much farther to travel?”

Esther shook her head. “I’m almost there.”

“I hope you’re being met at the other end.”

“Yes.” She paused, hesitating just for a moment. “My fiancé is meeting me, as a matter of fact.”

Miriam broke into a smile. “Aha! I knew it. A girl as pretty as you must have a fellow.”

Esther smiled politely and said nothing. She didn’t consider herself particularly pretty. She was of average height and average form, with blue eyes and pale skin and a headful of red curls that generally refused to be tamed, even after she’d cut them into a demure shoulder-length style.

In Boston, she was nothing special, and she didn’t expect to be anything special when she got to Setter’s Creek, either. She didn’t need to be, as she already knew who she was going to marry. It was all arranged.

Her life held no further uncertainties, and Esther only felt relief over that. Aunt Evie had told her that security was worth its weight in gold, and she was right.

“I’m traveling out here so we can finalize the plans for our wedding,” Esther volunteered. Miriam had been kind and friendly, but her questions were more intrusive than Esther liked.

Aunt Evangeline had been very clear on how important it was not to stick one’s nose into the businesses of others. She had a horror of gossip and of chatty strangers, and although Aunt Evie had been dead for close to a year now, Esther still found herself hiding information about anything and everything for no good reason.

And yet, despite it all, Aunt Evie had been so very clear on how a woman must be polite, and politeness meant answering questions. If Aunt Evie had been here, she’d have found a way to parry Miriam’s questions without seeming rude in the slightest, simultaneously not giving away a scrap of information.

Esther didn’t have that knack, so she found herself simply answering Miriam’s questions, albeit with a little resentment.

Her gaze dropped back to the pile of letters, and she bit back a smile. He didn’t have the same reservations, that was clear. He talked and talked, asking endless questions.

She generally had to read his letters several times to decide which questions she should answer. Usually, she settled on the questions he’d repeated more than twice and answered them first.

Miriam followed her gaze and smiled a little.

“These letters must be from your fellow, eh? Goodness, he writes to you a lot. When I was courting my husband, I was hard-pressed to get more a page out of him at a time. Even then, he filled up half the page with kisses, bless him. This one likes you a lot. What’s his name?” She leaned forward, nudging Esther’s shoulder, reading the name signed at the bottom of one letter. She wrinkled her nose. “Goffredo? What a funny name. Is it Italian?”

Color flushed across Esther’s face. She shifted her hand to cover the letters.

“His mother was Italian,” she answered, somewhat automatically. “And he’s not my fiancé! Goodness, what an idea. No, Goffredo and I are just friends. We’ve been friends since we were children. I think he’d be horrified at the idea of marrying anyone, let alone me. I’m… I’m like a sister to him.”

Miriam blinked, missing a beat. “Oh. Well, I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to assume.”

Esther swallowed, glancing down at the apple in her hand. She hadn’t taken a bite of it yet. She had been hungry, but the hunger seemed to have faded.

“Goffredo’s a traveler,” she found herself saying, even though Miriam hadn’t asked for an explanation. “He’s restless, can’t settle in one place. We’ve been friends for a long time, but my aunt didn’t much like him. You see, just before my aunt died, she managed to make a match for me with one of her friends, so I’d be looked after.

“His name is Ezekiel Holt. He’s a widower, and he’s been extremely good to me. I’m glad to be marrying him. Lots of women don’t get as lucky as me when it comes to husbands. We’ll have a good life together, and his family is already there with him, so I’ll have a proper family at last. I’m lucky.”

She was babbling, the words pouring out. It didn’t help that Miriam didn’t bother to cut off her chatter. The older woman stared at Esther for a long moment. Her gaze made Esther feel uncomfortable.

What business of it is hers? How embarrassing that she thought Goffredo was my fiancé.

“I see,” Miriam said at last. “Well, this serves me right for diving straight in, headfirst, and presuming I know everything about a stranger. I hope you’ll forgive my rudeness.”

Esther managed a small smile. “You weren’t rude.”

“So, you’ve got a house all waiting for you?”

“I expect so. I let Ezekiel take care of the preparations.”

Miriam nodded. “Well, you said you were lucky, and you are. Lots of women struggle in this world. You love him, of course?”

Esther flinched, glancing warily at the older woman. She really did want Miriam to move back to her own seat now. “What?”

“This Ezekiel of yours. You do love him, don’t you?”

Esther stiffened, drawing herself up. “What a question! Of course I do.”

Miriam smiled, nodding as if confirming something to herself.

“Well, then I’d best congratulate you. And I suggest you enjoy these letters while you can. Once you’re married, you can’t be writing so much to a single man, especially a young and handsome one.”

Esther eyed her. “What makes you think Goffredo is young and handsome?”

Miriam shrugged airily. “Just a guess.”

*

“And you’re sure nobody came to pick me up?” Esther asked the station master for what felt like the hundredth time.

The man shook his head, exasperated. “I told you, girl, no. You’re the only one who got off here, and nobody came to wait.”

Esther swallowed hard, trying to push down the panic. The train had long gone, and the station felt very bare and exposed. There was so much space. No matter in which direction Esther looked, she couldn’t see a single dwelling.

And the heat! Despite the fact it was late in the day, with the sun beginning to draw toward the horizon, the air was still hot and oppressive. She was wearing her favorite blue dress, decorated with white flowers on the skirts. It was plain and simple, and until now, she’d considered it a good traveling dress. Now, the long sleeves seemed to stick to her arms, and under the high collar her skin was prickling.

She knew there were unsightly patches of sweat all over the bodice. She was glad at least that she’d pinned her hair on top of her head to keep it off her neck, but tendrils were starting to come down around her face, sticking to her skin.

“He was meant to be here,” Esther whispered. “If Ezekiel couldn’t get here for whatever reason, he would have sent Thomas, at least.”

The station master sighed, eyeing her with displeasure. “Maybe there was a mistake about the time. Maybe he thought you were coming earlier or later. Either way, if you want to get into town, it’s three miles that way.”

Esther’s heart sank. She hadn’t brought a lot of luggage, but even the two small bags resting by her feet would be troublesome if she had to lug them several miles.

“I… I don’t know this place.”

The man sighed again. “Follow the path. You can’t miss it. Once you get into town, you’ll see people, and you can ask to get to where you’re going. I can’t help you any more, I’m afraid.”

“Should I wait for him here?”

The man glanced over at her, and this time there was a flash of pity in his eyes.

“You can wait if you want, but what if he doesn’t come?”

Esther closed her eyes for a brief minute. “Okay. Okay, you’re right. I’ll walk. That way, you said?”

The man grunted, which she took to be a yes. There was really nothing left to do.

I can’t go back. I can only go forward, so there’s no sense in dragging things out.

Lifting up a bag in each hand—already they felt too heavy—Esther set off determinedly.

He’s got a lot of explaining to do.

*

By the time Esther arrived in town, sweating and red-faced, it was dark. She asked for directions to Ezekiel Holt’s ranch and received curious stares in return. She was eventually directed to a narrow, stony path which sloped steeply upward out of town, toward distant hills.

“A mile out of town,” a kindly-looking man explained, “but it’s steep, so it feels like two.”

He was wrong. It felt like three. The moon was out and the stars were glistening above her by the time she finally spotted a low, square ranch house squatting in the dip between two hills.

This must be the place, Esther thought, pausing to catch her breath. All of the lights were on, glimmering out of the windows, and she felt a burst of anger. What was he thinking, sitting with his feet up in his house while she was forced to trek through a place she didn’t know?

A black-covered carriage stood in the courtyard in front of the house, and she wondered if he had guests. Even so, it was no excuse. She was going to be his wife, for heaven’s sake.

When Esther finally staggered onto the porch, gasping and sweating, she was furious. She’d spent the last leg of the journey going over in her head just what sharp words she’d say to Ezekiel when she saw him. Not too sharp, of course, as she was going to marry this man, but enough to make her displeasure clearly felt.

Not that he would argue with her. Ezekiel was a calm, mild-mannered man, who was well-known for having treated his wife excellently. They’d never been blessed with children, but they’d been happy enough, people said. Esther was confident that she, too, would be happy enough.

Many women married horrible men, even men they thought they’d loved once upon a time. She wasn’t in love with Ezekiel, of course, but she certainly loved him in a way. They were friends, and who could ask for more? He’d take care of her. She knew he would. She would be safe, just like Aunt Evie wanted.

She rapped on the door a little harder than was polite, wiping sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. Her handkerchief had fallen out of her pocket somewhere along the journey, and she didn’t have another.

Murmurs came from inside the house, and a minute or two passed before footsteps approached. Abruptly, a lock clicked. The door juddered open, revealing a man of about thirty.

He was short and somewhat thin, with a head of fair hair and a high forehead which would soon turn into a receding hairline. There were dark circles around his eyes, and he smelled unwashed. His clothes looked unwashed, too, crumpled and dirty as they were.

The floor was dusty, and there was caked, dried mud on his boots which flaked off in tiny pieces, leaving a trail of what looked like breadcrumbs behind him. It made her think of the old stories Aunt Evie had read to her as a child, tales about unsuspecting children lost in forests, desperate to find their way home.

His eyes widened when he saw her, and he drew in a rasping, reflexive breath.

“Esther,” he gasped. “The train!”

She gave him a brittle smile. “Hello, Thomas. Yes, the train. Where is Ezekiel? He promised that he’d collect me. I’m going to assume that something happened, and I—”

Thomas turned away, cutting her off.

“She’s here!” he bellowed. “She’s here.”

He left the door swinging open. Esther stood at the door, baffled. For want of anything else to do, she stepped inside, dragging her bags with her. The palms of her hands were reddened and sore from carrying them.

She wanted some food, something to drink, a bath, and a place to sit down. She wanted to hear an apology from Ezekiel, and maybe an explanation, and then she wanted to have a proper look around the house that was going to be hers.

More than that, she wanted to know just what exactly was going on, because a sensation of unease had uncoiled itself in her chest, and she could not make it go away.

She was standing at the head of a long hallway. A door opened onto what was probably a parlor on her left, and the hallway ended in a kitchen. Various doors opened on the right, doubtless leading to bedrooms. One door swung open, and light streamed out. Murmured voices came from inside, so she went toward it.

“… just come around,” said an unfamiliar voice. “The timing is very fortunate. Mr. Holt, he doesn’t have long left. He waited for her, I think.”

The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

“Thomas?” Esther managed, her voice quavering.

There was a brief silence, then Thomas’s voice came from inside.

“You’d better come in, Esther.”

I don’t want to, she thought, almost childishly. Her feet carried her forward anyway.

The room was a large one, square and well-decorated, clearly designed to be the primary bedroom. A stranger sat in the corner, clutching a leather briefcase, and did not meet her eye.

Thomas stood by the window, and he didn’t look at her, either. Instead, he gestured briefly toward the bed, a good, square, four-poster bed that she imagined was designed for her to share with Ezekiel.

Ezekiel was lying in the bed now, although she didn’t recognize him for a moment. He was so pale and thin he seemed to melt into the blankets and pillows. Of course, he had always been thin, just like his younger brother, but this was something else.

A middle-aged man she did not recognize stood by the bedside, holding Ezekiel’s wrist, taking his pulse. He shook his head but said nothing.

“He’s… he’s ill?” Esther stammered, making no move to step toward the bed.

“A fever,” Thomas spoke up, his voice wobbling. “It came on suddenly a few days ago. He’s been incoherent, mostly, but he’s been asking for you. I knew you were coming, but I didn’t know when, and I didn’t want to risk waiting for you at the station in case…”

He swallowed thickly, closing his eyes. “In case he passed and I wasn’t here. I’d never forgive myself. I should have sent word to the station master, but at the time I didn’t… I haven’t… Well, I’m not thinking straight. I’m sorry, Esther.”

Esther said nothing. It seemed incredible that she’d been angry only a few moments ago, thinking that she’d been forgotten. How stupid. How childish. How selfish.

“I can hear you all, you know,” came a frail, rasping voice from the bed. It sounded as if it came from a much, much older man, but Esther still recognized Ezekiel’s familiar, amused voice. He waved his thin hand, and the doctor backed away. The same hand beckoned Esther closer.

She moved forward as if she were in a dream. All she could see of Ezekiel was his face, his skin stretched across his bones and his eyes sunken. His hair, the same blond as his younger brother’s, seemed to have almost completely fallen out.

He was much older than Thomas, a full fifteen years, but previously the age difference had seemed much smaller. Now, it almost seemed like he could be Thomas’s grandfather.

“I’m glad you came,” Ezekiel rasped. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

He held out his hand, and Esther took it, wrapping both hands around it in an effort to get some warmth into his papery skin.

“Goodbye? Don’t be silly,” she answered, trying to conjure up some of the sensible, no-nonsense talk that he’d so admired about her. “There’s a doctor here, and I’m here, and Thomas. You’ll be fine in the morning. Why don’t you try and eat something?”

Ezekiel swallowed thickly, closing his eyes. “No time for that. I was trying to tell Thomas to fetch you, but I couldn’t… couldn’t manage to make him understand. But my prayers were answered, and you’re here in time. Now, there’s no time to waste. My attorney is here.”

The man in the corner with the briefcase rose to his feet, inching a little closer. Esther stared at him, bewildered. “I don’t understand.”

Ezekiel smiled weakly at her. “I have a gift for you, Esther. A last gift.”

 

Chapter Two

“There you go. It’s all there,” the rancher said, handing over a handful of dollar bills.

Goffredo took the money with an easy grin. He thumbed through the dirty, crumpled notes, counting carefully. It wouldn’t be the first time an employer had tried to short-change him, counting on him not checking the cash before it was too late.

Not this time, though. Mr. Black, the rancher, seemed happy enough to hand over a fair wage. The money was indeed all there. A month’s worth of wages, ready to burn a hole in his pocket. The rancher was as good as his word, then.

Some employers seemed to think they could withhold pay from drifters and get away with it. Often, they did. Once, a farmer had flat-out refused to pay Goffredo his day’s wage, and when Goffredo complained, he’d brandished a shotgun and told him to get off his land.

He’d gone to the local sheriff to complain, but the fat old lawman had only shrugged and said there was nothing he could do, that the farmer would argue that Goffredo had done the work in exchange for a hot meal and a bed—which he hadn’t received, of course—and there was no evidence to prove otherwise.

After a few incidents like this, Goffredo had gotten used to reading people. These days, he could guess which employers were half-decent men—or honest, at least—and which were likely to try and swindle him. It always piqued the swindlers when he cheerfully turned down their offers of work. They generally tried to convince him and got nasty when he stuck to his guns.

Still, those were the risks. Drifters weren’t proper men in the eyes of many employers. And in the eyes of lawmen, too. They were nuisances, occasionally useful and always annoying.

The trick was not to let it make you melancholy. Smile and skip away when you were treated badly, and don’t think too hard about the ones that swindled you. The trouble was with them, after all, not with him.

“Thanks,” Goffredo said, shoving the money in his pocket. In his head, he was already calculating the things he would buy.

It would be sensible to get some new shoes, or maybe a better saddle for Bramble. The expenses only mounted. His lodgings were all paid up, but the food was terrible. Perhaps he should treat himself to some meals? Some drink? A spare pair of boots, or maybe better-quality hay for Bramble?

Or he could travel somewhere. There was enough money for a couple of train tickets and lodgings at the other end. Goffredo’s heart began to beat faster. Esther’s wedding would happen soon. He didn’t want to be there for the wedding—no way—but she’d told him repeatedly that she wanted him to visit her and her new husband once they were settled.

I’ll see.

“You know, Freddie, if you’re around about a week from now, we’re driving another herd back the way we came,” the rancher added, leaning against a fence and eyeing him closely. “You’re a good worker, and a likable man. I might even consider giving you a permanent position. How does that sound?”

Goffredo bit back a smile. This rancher wasn’t the worst employer he’d ever had, but he knew what a permanent position meant—less money, generally, and more responsibility. What was more, those qualities the rancher was praising right now would soon become his right, taken for granted, rather than a novelty.

Employers loved hard workers and loyal men, but the second they had them on a permanent payroll, they started to think that those qualities belonged to them and their gratitude disappeared accordingly.

“I don’t know, maybe,” Goffredo responded airily. He hadn’t even risked using his proper name with this man.

The rancher had had a few choice words to say about drifters and foreigners, enough for Goffredo to be grateful for his bland surname of Smith. With men like that, or people he didn’t feel entirely safe around, he used a nickname—Fred, or Freddie—instead of his proper name. His real name, the one his mother had given him, when she realized she was going to die in America and never get back to Italy.

The rancher pouted. “Well, I won’t wait for you.”

Goffredo winked, turning on his heel.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he called over his shoulder.

The sun was setting, and most men had finished their workday by now. There was a lot of movement down in the town, mostly workers heading to the saloons. That was where Goffredo was headed, in all likelihood.

By the time he made it to the bottom of the hill, he’d already decided that he wouldn’t work for the rancher again. It was generally best to leave them wanting more, so that if he did decide to come back and get a permanent position, or pick up more work in a hurry, they’d be glad to give it to him. In Goffredo’s experience, the more time he spent with people, the more they got tired of him.

That was why he was careful to keep his distance from Esther. If she got sick of him, what would be the point of anything?

It’s not as though I’ll see much of her now, though, he reminded himself moodily. Not now that she’s almost a married woman.

This thought sent a pang of misery through his chest, which Goffredo dutifully swallowed down. Instead of heading to the saloon, he found himself walking toward the boarding house where he rented a tiny room. There wasn’t much in the room beyond a bed and a cracked washbasin, and he didn’t dare leave anything there in case it was stolen.

He’d had to risk it with the letters, though.

He could carry them around with him, maybe in a pocket protected by his sturdy chaps, but sometimes the cattle went stampeding through water and he was obliged to go riding after them. What would he do if Esther’s precious letters got wet? They’d be ruined. He wouldn’t be able to read them again, and that thought made his chest constrict with panic.

He pushed down this feeling, too, and bent his head to get through the low doorway. The landlady was waiting in the foyer, and her round face creased into a smile when he saw him.

“Hello, there, Freddie. Going out again, are you?”

“I don’t think so,” Goffredo responded, flashing her a mischievous smile which made her redden. “Unless you want to come with me?”

She gave a hoot of delighted laughter, flicking a dishcloth at him as he went by.

“You’ve got a lot of impudence, young man!” She laughed. “It’s lucky for you you’re so handsome. You get away with a lot.”

Truer than you think, Goffredo thought with a wry smile. He had received enough compliments on his looks over his lifetime to know that he was quite something to look at. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a strong frame from a lifetime of hard work. He had olive skin, a good square jaw, even features, his mother’s melting brown eyes, and a headful of thick black curls.

Sometimes, Goffredo wished he looked a little more like his father—John Smith was the most English man Goffredo had ever known—and then he might fit in a little more. There were often narrow-eyed gazes thrown his way, with men and women trying to work out whether Goffredo was foreign or not, and therefore not to be trusted.

Saying that he was born in America would do no good, so he would always fall back on his name. Surely nobody called Freddie Smith could ever be foreign.

“Were there any letters for me?” Goffredo asked as he climbed the stairs toward his room.

The landlady shook her head. “Nothing, I’m afraid. Should there have been?”

Goffredo managed to keep a cheerful, careless smile on his face. “No, I don’t think so. I was just asking.”

Up in his room, Goffredo pushed the door closed—it didn’t fit right in the frame, and everything was lopsided in the house—and lifted the mattress of his narrow bed. There were the letters, right where he’d left them, tied together with a length of twine.

They were kept next to his pocket watch, a dented silver thing on a chain. He picked up the watch, opening the lid. The picture was where it always was, too, an old photograph of a man and a woman sitting side by side and staring out at the view. They held hands, and the woman rested her other hand on her rounded belly.

“Hey, Ma, hey Pa,” Goffredo whispered. He closed the pocket watch—he didn’t take it out often, on account of the cracked glass screen—and picked up the letters.

Letting out a sigh of relief, he sat on the bed—it creaked alarmingly under his weight, but he was used to that—and took out a letter to read. It was the one he seemed to keep coming back to, the one he’d read over and over again until it practically fell apart when he opened it.

I’ve got a bit of news for you, Goffredo. Bad news and good news. The bad news is that Aunt Evie isn’t getting any better. The doctor thinks she’s got a month or two left, at most.

She and I haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I can’t stand the thought of being without her. She’s worried about me. The house is rented, of course, and we haven’t got any money. I’ve been offered a housekeeping job, but I don’t want to spend my life doing that.

That brings me to the good news. Do you remember Ezekiel Holt? Aunt Evie was very close to his wife, who’s been dead for about two years now. Well, Aunt Evie suggested that Ezekiel marry me. He’s got money and plans to buy a ranch out West, and he can look after me. She said she knows he’ll be a good husband and that I should start thinking about the future.

I like Ezekiel, although I never considered marrying him. I suppose that doesn’t matter, does it? We’re friends, and that’s all I can ask for. So, I said yes. Will you be coming back to Boston any time soon? I’d like to see you.

Goffredo closed his eyes. The letter had been delayed, arriving months after it had been sent. He’d been way out West when it arrived. He knew now that Evangeline, Esther’s aunt, had already been dead by the time the letter reached him.

Maybe if I’d gone straight back to Boston…

No, that was a pointless train of thought. What would he have done? Gone back to Boston and told Esther he’d been in love with her for years, and that he wanted to marry her? He didn’t have anything to offer. Money fell through his fingers like water no matter how hard he tried.

He’d never seen much point in saving up, and so he never bothered. Not until recently, at least. At the time, he barely had the money for a train ticket. And why go through all of that to be rejected? Esther didn’t love him; he knew that. She thought of him as a brother, and he ought to be grateful for that.

It’s just as well I never told her how I felt, he thought, swallowing the lump in his throat. This husband of hers will probably tolerate our friendship, if I’m careful. If he knew I loved her, he’d never allow it. I’d never see her again, and that I can’t live with.

If only the husband would understand what he and Esther had been through. Two children, orphaned together in the same horrific circumstances. Goffredo shuddered, trying to put the memories away.

A train robbery with few survivors. Just me and Esther, running along the train tracks toward the deputies, hand in hand.

There’d been a scuffle afterward as to what to do with him and Esther. She had only had her parents, and he had only had his father. Nobody had known what to do with them. Relatives could not be found. Months had ticked by, with him and Esther becoming inseparable. There was talk of taking them to an orphanage, and then Esther’s Aunt Evangeline had come sailing in like a heroine and took charge.

She took Esther, of course, and found a place for Goffredo in the local marshal’s family as a foster son. Evangeline was a stern woman, but not a cruel one. She seemed to understand that the children were connected and allowed Esther to visit frequently and even brought Goffredo back to Boston to stay with them for weeks at a time.

Until Goffredo started to grow up, of course. Then she suddenly got wary.

For good reason, probably, Goffredo acknowledged. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love her.

A knock on the door made him jump. He scrambled to put the letters away, barely managing to slide them under the thin pillow before the door was shouldered open.

He relaxed at once when he saw who it was.

“What do you want, Jimmy?”

Jimmy was already drunk, quite clearly so. He swayed on his feet, eyes glassy. He stank of alcohol, and Goffredo wondered briefly why the landlady had even let him through the door.

“I came to find you, of course.” Jimmy hiccupped. “I’ve been bored all day without you.”

Goffredo rolled his eyes. “Well, if you’d picked up work this morning with the rest of us, you wouldn’t have been bored, and you would have had money. How about that?”

He pouted. “You’re no fun.”

Jimmy and Goffredo had been friends for a couple of years. It was generally safer for drifters to stick together, and it seemed to make sense for them to travel as a pair. Jimmy didn’t earn much and was always wheedling money from his friend, but he wasn’t a thief, and he wasn’t trouble.

Besides, it was nice to be with somebody who didn’t call him Freddie. Goffredo hated that name. It was so bland.

“And you,” Goffredo shot back, pointing at Jimmy, “are drunk.”

“So what if I am? I know you aren’t working tomorrow and that you’ve just got paid. Why shouldn’t we celebrate?”

He snorted. “Because for you, celebrating involves losing money hand over fist. I’m in no mood to gamble tonight.”

Jimmy sighed, leaning against the doorframe. He had lost weight since the two of them struck up a friendship, probably due to their transient lifestyle and Jimmy not earning enough money to feed himself properly. His clothes hung baggily around him, and there were permanent dark circles around his eyes. Aside from that, he could be a decent-looking young man, with a good head of brown hair and strong, even features.

“I don’t want to go to that saloon alone. They don’t like me there.”

“Yes, because you get drunk, throw up on the floor, and accuse strangers of cheating at cards,” Goffredo retorted. “You either go much too far, or you drink too much and can’t play to save your life.”

Jimmy sighed, folding his arms tight across his chest. “Well, what do you want to do tonight, then? Lounge around and cry over Esther’s letters?”

Goffredo stiffened. “Don’t. I’m serious, Jimmy.”

Jimmy blinked, seeming to sober up. He tottered over to sit beside his friend.

“That was too much,” he murmured quietly. “I… I went too far. Maybe I am too drunk.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

They sat in silence for a moment or two. Goffredo was glad he’d put the letters under the pillow. Jimmy generally didn’t tease him about Esther, but the wretched man was too sharp for his own good sometimes, and Goffredo was sure he knew more than he was letting on.

“You can’t sit here all night,” Jimmy said at last, his voice quiet. “It’s not good for you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Why don’t you come on down to the saloon? We can play a few hands of cards. You’re better than me, you might win something.”

Goffredo rolled his eyes. “I might lose something, too. Besides, you know I’m trying to save up. If I want to buy a ranch of my own, I’d better work hard and save hard.”

Jimmy nodded slowly, pursing his lips. “I mean, I guess that’s one way to do it.”

Goffredo narrowed his eyes. “Is there another way?”

He shrugged. “You could work hard for five years, save up, and buy a ranch, sure. Or, you could have one really, really good evening at the card tables. There’s a lot of stupid drunk men at the saloon tonight, all of whom have just gotten paid. Which would you prefer?”

Goffredo twisted around to stare at his friend, eyes narrowed. There was a moment or two of silence, then he gave a long, heavy sigh.

“Okay. Okay, fine. One hand of cards, and that’s it. That’s it, you hear?”

Jimmy leaped to his feet, grinning. “We’ll see.”