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  Blast Christopher! What a predicament he’d left them all in. “Where are you going to go? Your husband never amounted to anything. You should have told him to get a job and work if you didn’t want to live in a mining town, where all he did was drink and gamble away the hours rather than actually do the hard work of a miner. And before you say another word about raising the girls in a mining town, please remember that my livelihood has provided for you the entire course of your life, and I happen to have a very successful mine here. We’ve always been successful, from the Black Hills Gold Rush until now.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “I’m so sorry, Papa, I didn’t mean . . .” Her voice cracked. “That sounded so ungrateful of me.”

  Oh, why did he say all that? This wasn’t about him or his pride. It was about taking care of his daughter. Chuck sighed. “I’m sorry, Melly. I never should have said those things.” Swiping a hand down his face, he clenched and unclenched his hands. “My frustration with your husband all these years was hard to keep shoved down.”

  Melissa’s face had gone pale. She licked her lips. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to insult the hard work that you’ve always done, Papa. It’s just . . . I never saw the ugly side of mining until Chris . . . that is, I never had a problem with you mining or living in a mining town until Chris started at it and failed. I don’t know what I feel. Every negative remark I’ve ever heard about miners and mining towns has rushed to the surface—like it’s my fault that I chose to raise my children in this. I probably should’ve stood up to him about staying here, but I have to admit that it was a comfort knowing that you were here.” She held up a hand. “Not that I expected you to have to do what Chris asked of you, but having family around made me feel secure. I loved my husband . . . believed him when he said he was taking care of things. I simply can’t believe he’s gone.” A sob shook her shoulders.

  “Oh, Melly. This isn’t the time to be speaking of such things with you just getting the news about Chris.”

  “I didn’t realize everything Chris had done. . . . I guess he had too many vices.” She shook her head and swiped at her eyes. “I can’t believe I was so blind.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up over this. Give yourself time to grieve.” It would take a lot for her to heal, especially if she found out the whole truth. And she did have a point. In fact . . .

  The more he thought about it, moving away had a great appeal. “I understand it’s hard to stay here. But for right now, this is where we are. How about we make a deal?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of a deal?”

  “If you agree to stay here for a bit, I’ll look into selling the mine and finding us another place to call home.”

  For a moment she looked like a little girl again, wanting her daddy’s approval. “You’d do that for me?”

  “I’d do anything for you and the girls. I hope you know that.”

  Her lips made a thin line. Either she was trying to control her emotions, or she was still perturbed with him. “That’s a deal I can agree to. I appreciate all you’ve done for us over the years, but I would prefer not to raise the girls here. That doesn’t mean that I want to take you away from your livelihood. We’ve done just fine in different mining areas over the years. I just don’t want to stay here, where everyone will remember Chris for his failings. As the girls get older, I don’t want them hearing things . . .”

  Of course she didn’t. He should have thought of that. Chuck nodded. “Perhaps we can head north. I hear there’s some beautiful country yet to be discovered.”

  “Thanks, Papa.” She stood and twisted the handkerchief in her hands. “I think I need to lie down for a while and figure out how to break this to the girls. Would you keep an eye on them for a bit until I’m ready?” Leaning down, she kissed him on the cheek.

  “Of course.”

  Melly walked out of the room, the weight of the world appearing to rest on her shoulders. This whole conversation had been harder than he’d expected. But then, he hadn’t thought it all through. He’d been thinking of himself. What a relief it would be to him. How this would affect him.

  Getting to his feet, he wandered to the window in the kitchen area. When he’d come home to give his daughter the news, a neighbor’s wife had been having tea with Melly and the girls. He’d asked the woman to take the girls outside.

  As he gazed out the window, he smiled at the girls tramping around in the snow, their cheeks pink and faces full of smiles. Completely unaware of the news their mother would share with them later.

  How would they take it?

  Whitney, as the oldest, would try to hold her tears back . . . but then she would take the other two under her wing. Like she always did. Havyn adored her father, at least from what Chuck had observed, but she had a good head on her shoulders and would be strong for her mother and sisters. Madysen, though . . .

  She was the one he worried about the most. At seven years old, she was also the most tenderhearted of the three.

  The girls’ laughter drifted to him. If only there were an easier way for his dear granddaughters. But there wasn’t. What was done was done. With a tap to the windowsill, he made a decision.

  Tomorrow, he’d put the word out that the mine was for sale. Melissa was correct—the sooner they left Cripple Creek, the better.

  One

  Thirteen Years Later

  Nome, Alaska—April 1904

  Guiding the bow over the strings, Havyn Powell played the final run in Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D Major. Her fingers flew over the fingerboard as she raced to the end of the piece she’d worked on for the past three years. As the last notes resounded from her violin, Granddad stood to his feet in the parlor and clapped. Even though they were alone, she couldn’t help but let a smile bubble up and spread across her face. She took a deep curtsy as Granddad continued to applaud.

  She’d finally conquered the great piece!

  “Magnificent, my dear. Absolutely magnificent!” He came to her side and put his hands on her shoulders. “I believe you’ve mastered it.”

  “Truly?” Praise from Granddad came on a daily basis. But this? This was different. He knew how important this piece was to her. She couldn’t hold back her exuberance as her heart pounded in her chest. Bouncing on her toes, she clutched the violin to her chest. “Do you think Mother will be pleased?”

  “Absolutely, and won’t she be surprised?” He tucked his thumbs behind his suspenders and looked as proud as her prized rooster. “She’ll never guess that you’ve prepared such a piece for her birthday. Now if only we had one of those big bands—”

  “Orchestras.”

  “Yes, one of those.” He pointed at her and winked. “To play the part that backs you up. Not that you need anyone to back you up. You sound splendid.”

  Havyn laid her bow and violin on the piano bench in their large parlor. The sun sparkled off the snow outside and filled the room with glorious light. “Don’t you worry, Granddad, Whit has been looking at the orchestrations and she’s made up a piano part to play along with it.” Her older sister was such a genius on the piano. No matter what she played, it would be beautiful accompaniment.

  “I’m sure it will be the likes of nothing we have heard before.” His eyes twinkled.

  “Thanks for listening to me practice. I knew this was my chance while Mama was in town with Madysen. And poor Whitney has heard it too many times already.”

  “Your mother will love it.” He moved forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Where is Whitney?”

  “Out with her dogs. She wanted to get another run in with the sled and the new pups. All this late snow has been good for the new litter to practice. They’re quick learners.”

  He clapped his hands together. “With Whitney as their teacher, do they have any other choice?” Granddad wiggled his eyebrows.

  “Very true. It’s a good thing she’s the eldest, because she’s definitely the best at barking out orders.”

  They laughed together and G
randdad put an arm around her shoulder. “A couple weeks until your mother’s party, and then we can all go back to our regular shenanigans.”

  Placing a hand on her hip, she gave him a look. “You are the only one who’s allowed to get away with shenanigans. And it’s highly unlikely you’ll stop them for that amount of time. Am I supposed to believe you are going to be on your best behavior for the next two weeks?” She shook her head and went to put her violin back in its case.

  “Of course not. It’s a rite of passage that you too will one day enjoy . . . once you’re old like me and have earned it.” He tugged on her braid and then headed to the door. “I best get back out there. More calves should be making their appearance any day now.”

  Havyn smiled as her grandfather walked out the door. How she loved her family. With a glance around the room that had been their gathering place every night since 1892, images washed over her.

  The exquisite grand piano that Granddad paid for in gold and had shipped up from Seattle so their mother could play for hours each day and teach all of them music. The massive windows that looked out upon the beautiful rolling hills surrounding their farm—how many fingerprints and smudges had she and her sisters made on those panes when they were younger? The dark, wood shelves filled to the brim with music and books.

  Oh, how she loved this room! It was so warm and inviting, with the massive stone fireplace in the corner. They’d practiced their instruments, sung their hearts out, had their own concerts, and even held Sunday services here.

  She’d also been told more than one secret in this room. Probably because she was a good listener and she also knew how to keep a confidence—

  She wrapped her arms around her middle and looked back to the window.

  Dad.

  He used to tell her secrets.

  Oh, how she missed him. Her little-girl memories of him were a treasure.

  Why did they have to leave him buried on the mountain in Cripple Creek? It seemed so cold and unforgiving up there. As a child, that was the part she couldn’t understand. Even now as an adult, it felt . . . wrong somehow.

  Stepping closer to the large picture window that faced south, Havyn blinked at the brightness. The days were getting longer, but the snow lingered. Which happened often up in their little hamlet near the top of the world.

  When they’d moved up to the Alaska Territory after Dad died, she’d been enchanted by the area from the very beginning. The new adventure had made it easier on her young heart, helping her heal. She’d always been a daddy’s girl.

  But the first few years had been rough on their mother. She’d grieved their father and refused to talk to the girls about him. Oh, she put her best foot forward for the girls’ birthdays and for Christmas . . . but celebrating her own birthday hadn’t been allowed. Because it had also been her wedding anniversary. As Havyn and her sisters got older and the grief became memories, they’d tried to surprise their mother with something special on her birthday. With no success. Somehow, Mama always figured it out. She’d smile and hug them all, but the sadness behind her eyes always showed up on that day.

  This year would be different. It had to be. She and her sisters had planned and planned, and Granddad had helped. Hopefully they’d be able to pull off their plans. Especially since the party was to be a full week before Mama’s actual birthday. Havyn clapped her hands as excitement filled her stomach. They’d bring such joy to Mama!

  She’d taught them all music since they were old enough to pick up a bow or sit at the piano. The delight that music brought to their lives was immeasurable.

  So their plan was perfect. A special night to honor their mother and thank her for the years she’d invested in them, teaching them what she loved most. They were going to perform pieces that they wrote themselves or had practiced without their mother’s knowledge.

  No, Havyn couldn’t imagine a better present—any more than she could imagine her life without music. Without singing. Without performing. Havyn loved the violin, but singing was her favorite—not that she wanted to tell Mama that. Besides, so far her largest audience to her solo vocals had been her chickens.

  The chickens! She turned from the window and her mind’s wanderings and rushed to the door. In the mud room, she grabbed her apron. Maybe her girls wouldn’t give her too hard a time. It was well past the time for feeding, and they tended to get a little ornery when she was late. Whit said it was because Havyn spoiled them, but she refused to believe it and rolled her eyes whenever her older sister said anything of the sort.

  Just because they all had names, she treated them like pets, and she’d made them their own individual nesting boxes didn’t mean she spoiled them.

  Most people didn’t understand her special relationship with them. They talked to her. Well, in their own little way. And they all had distinct personalities. A point on which her sisters had debated her at the dinner table on more than one occasion.

  But Havyn’s chickens were for egg laying and egg laying alone, a fact that produced many an argument with Granddad over the past year, after they added the poultry farm to their dairy farm. He’d made her promise that the next batch of chicks would be raised for eating. Of course, she would let someone else deal with that. After all, she did enjoy eating chicken.

  Just not her chickens.

  As she trudged through the path they’d shoveled to the farm area, the walls of snow on either side of her made her feel cozy and protected. It always made her a bit sad when spring breakup happened and all the snow melted away. But when the weather was brutally cold and it froze her lungs every time she inhaled, she did think of warmer days. Still, that was the great thing about Nome—there were wonderful seasons in addition to the long winter. The seasons were short. But beautiful.

  On her trek to the chicken house, the soft lowing of the cows in the birthing shed floated over the cold air toward her. Several of them would probably become new mamas today.

  As her feet crunched closer to the chicken yard, the chatter of her girls soon took over all sound around her.

  “I know, I know, I’m coming. I’m sorry I’m late.” Opening the gate, she stomped some of the snow off her boots and picked up the feed bucket. “Go ahead and get your feathers unruffled, because food is coming.” Filling up the bucket, she listened to the uproar and then took the first round out to the gathering of hens. Angry Bird led the entourage. Her black feathers shone almost blue in the sun, with the red around her head giving the appearance of a flame. Angry Bird earned her name the day she hatched by pecking and squawking at everyone that came into her space. Havyn was the only one she’d allow to pick her up. Havyn laughed every time she saw the chicken puff out her breast feathers and try to make everyone else listen to her.

  Then there was Buttercup, the mother hen to everyone else. She spent most of her time at the back, helping to herd the rest of the girls where they were supposed to go. She was also one of the loudest, which always made Havyn giggle. Even if Havyn couldn’t see the golden beauty, she’d hear her. Bossing all the other girls around.

  Within seconds, Havyn was surrounded by the one hundred fifty chickens that made up her flock. Counting heads, she made sure everyone was there. The roosters were in another yard right now, since they tended to cause arguments among the hens.

  Havyn filled up the bucket again, then hummed as she spread feed in the short trough. Next came the watering hole, where she broke the ice so all the chickens could get fresh water. There’d been a lot more snow this past winter, and the temperatures continued to dip well below freezing. Even though Havyn loved the snow, she was ready to see the ground again.

  About a dozen of the girls followed at her feet like little puppy dogs, chattering away. Havyn joined in. “Oh, really? That’s fascinating. Everyone staying warm enough?” As she continued caring for them, the jabbering continued.

  A loud crash made most of the hens jump and flap their wings.

  What . . . ? Havyn looked toward the birthing shed.


  Thud!

  Oh no! “Granddad?” She yelled for him across the yard.

  No response.

  She set the bucket down at the gate, rushed through, and set the latch. Her heart sank even as it picked up its pace. She raced through the troughs of snow. Granddad always answered. That was one of their rules. A sort of game they played as children, but one meant to ensure safety. Whenever anyone called out on the farm, whoever was present answered.

  Every time.

  Except this one.

  Opening the door to the barn they used for the birthing, she blinked to adjust her eyes to the dim interior. As she scanned the room, she spotted her grandfather lying on the floor, tools scattered around him. “Granddad?”

  A lump swelled in her throat as she raced to his side and knelt beside him. What had happened? Havyn rolled him over onto his back and put her ear to his face, praying she would hear the soft whoosh of a breath.

  A light flutter of air brushed over her cheek and she let out a long sigh. “Thank You, Lord.” She sat up and gripped his shoulders. “Granddad. Granddad, wake up.”

  A moan escaped his lips and his eyelids fluttered.

  “Please, Granddad. I need you to look at me.” Her heart beat faster with every silent moment. What could have brought her strong grandfather down?

  His eyes finally opened. “Havyn?” His voice sounded so unlike him. He sounded . . . weak.

  “I’m here.” She lowered her face closer to him again. “What happened? Can you move?”