Reclaiming Love

The rain outside mirrored the downpour in seven-year-old Pauline’s heart. Tucked into the worn armchair, she sobbed quietly, clutching a faded photograph of her mother. The house felt impossibly large and terribly empty.

A warm, calloused hand rested on her small shoulder. Pauline looked up, her tear-streaked face revealing eyes swollen from inconsolable grief. Her grandfather, Jefferson Chestnut Slade, stood over her, his strong features softened by a sorrow that mirrored her own. He eased onto the armrest beside her, pulling her close into the familiar scent of sweat and old books.

“Oh, my little wren,” he murmured, his voice a low, comforting rumble against her hair. “Your mama . . . she wouldn’t want to see you so broken—not like this.”

Pauline burrowed deeper into his side, her words muffled by his tweed jacket. “But, Grandpa, she’s gone! What will I do without her? I can’t stand it. It hurts too much!” Her voice hitched into a guttural sob.

Jefferson sighed, a deep, weary sound. “I know it feels that way, sweetheart. Like the world has ended, but it hasn’t. And you, my brave girl, will find a way through this.” He paused, looking at the photograph in her hand. “You know, my own mother, your great-grandmother Sarah Mary Chestnut, she knew this feeling too. Better than anyone.”

Pauline looked up, a flicker of curiosity momentarily eclipsing her despair. “She did?”

“She did,” Jefferson confirmed, his gaze distant. “My mother was just your age, seven years old, when terrible men, driven by greed, took and killed her mama and papa. In the blink of an eye, she and her and her siblings became orphans.”

Pauline gasped, her eyes widening, her pain momentarily forgotten in the face of such a stark, unimaginable loss. “Both of them? Killed?”

“Both of them.” He nodded gravely, his jaw tightening. “And that wasn’t the end of their cruelty. They tied my mother, Sarah, her younger brother, and her older sister to a cow, pointed it in the direction of a far-off settlement, and slapped its flank, leaving the beast to pull the children across the unforgiving Utah desert. Perhaps they told themselves the cow would eventually lead the children to safety. But imagine a little orphan girl no older than you adrift in that vast, desolate wilderness. She cried, I’m sure, just as you are now, probably even more desperately because there was truly no adult left to hold her hand or tell her it would be all right.”

“What . . . what happened to her?” Pauline whispered, her voice barely audible, imagining her great-grandmother so small, so utterly stranded, and facing such a monstrous fate.

“Well,” Jefferson said, a smile touching his lips, “providence, or perhaps a sheer miracle, intervened. A good man by the name of Samuel Adair, a widower himself with eight children to his name, was traversing that very desert when he found them barely clinging to life, tied to that cow, those three terrified orphans. Without a moment’s hesitation, he cut them free. And he didn’t just save them; he took them under his wing, into his family, and brought them to the Salt Lake Valley.”

Pauline burrowed into his side, a final, ragged sob escaping her lips. The image of her great-grandmother, small and utterly alone, was replaced by the warmth of her grandpa’s jacket. “So, she was safe?”

Jefferson nodded as he stroked her hair. “Safe enough to survive, my little wren. But surviving the desert is easier than surviving a broken heart.”

Chapter 1

Sarah Mary Chestnut

September 26, 1852

The night was cold, but Sarah didn’t care. Nothing felt real anymore, not since her life had been reduced to a single, searing point of pain. Everything else was a blur of dust and sorrow. St. Louis, the solid floors of her family’s home, the familiar roughness of her father’s work-calloused hand ruffling her hair—all of it felt a lifetime away, a slippery dream that escaped through her fingers like a wisp of smoke.

The strange, vast, empty bowl of mountains felt alien and frightening. A blackness, thick and heavy, wrapped around her soul. Only four days had passed, but the gaping hole where her parents once stood swallowed all light, all possibility of happiness. She knew now that being dead meant being gone forever. It was a big, scary truth that grew inside her and broke her world into pieces. She tried to recall a single nursery rhyme, a single easy lesson her mother had taught, but the only thing that came to mind was the cold certainty that she would never be safe again. Her life felt like a mistake, a world gone from bedtime stories to a dark, incomprehensible secret.

She sat up, the rough canvas of the tent scraping her head. In the inky blackness, she reached out, her fingers finding the small, warm shape of her five-year-old brother, Alfred. A small comfort, the name a break from William, a name that had brought him too many tears, too heavy with the memory of their father. Curled up next to Alfred lay Samuel Adair’s youngest children, Rufus and Jemima. On her other side she felt for the still form of her eight-year-old sister, Ann. They were still here. She leaned back, a slow exhale escaping her lips, then squeezed her eyes shut against the ever-present tears.

Nightmarish memories slammed into her mind, battering it with a torrent of images she wished she could forget—the day her world ended with a thunderous crack, the sight of her mother and father sinking to the ground, streams of red seeping from holes in their clothes into the soil.

Rupert’s face, their killer, seared her vision. The cold cruelty of his eyes were like a blade that finally pierced her resolve and shattered her trust. Her tears were hot, stinging, and fueled by a helpless rage she couldn’t outrun.

Her father’s final words were a knot she could not untangle: “I forgive you, Rupert.” It was a baffling truth she could not comprehend. How could he pardon the man who stole her entire world, who took her parents, then bound her and her siblings to a cow and abandoned them to wander, pulled by the whims of a stingy beast in this cruel, empty land?

In that moment, she almost wished the desert had swallowed her whole, for it would have been a kinder ending than life lived in a world without loving parents.

Her mother’s promise was a hollow echo in the vast silence. “Trust in God, and everything will be all right.” But nothing was all right. She sought for God in the quiet and found only an unforgiving, echoing void. She felt completely and utterly alone. She longed for the touch, the voice, the love that had been stolen from her.

In the blackness, Sarah listened for the breathing of her brother and sister, wondering how they could sleep so peacefully when their parents were dead. She wanted to wake them so she wouldn’t be alone, but she couldn’t risk also waking the others huddled nearby.

Samuel’s rescue had provided a safe harbor, and she was grateful for it. His kindness was a steady hand in the chaos. He found them, freed them, and accepted them into his family by adopting them. And yet, while her body was safe, her spirit felt like a desolate land, a place where nothing, not even happiness, could find a home.

This new place wasn’t even a home. It was a waystation. They’d thought that finally reaching Salt Lake City would mean the end of their long, weary journey. But their stay was to be for one night only. In the morning, Samuel would look for a place to settle and build a home.

He and his older children slept in a small, hastily built log cabin the established Saints had thrown together for newcomers. It was just big enough for two beds and a few chairs. Sarah wished she could have been in that tiny cabin; it surely would be warmer than this tent.

Many of these small cabins dotted the area, temporary shelters for those coming off the plains. But there weren’t nearly enough. Tents lay scattered among them, a stark reminder that their lives were still unsettled, still exposed to the world that had shattered them.

Sarah’s brother and sister were all she had left, and the thought brought tears that slid freely down her cheeks. A feeling of bitter emptiness rose inside her.

The happy memories returned only to torment her; the touch, the laughter, and the simple presence she knew she’d never experience again, all came in a terrifying rush—a tidal wave of grief that swallowed her whole. The emptiness clawed its way up her throat; she couldn’t stop the sobs from escaping.

Sarah heard Ann move, and tried to stifle the noise, but Ann sat up beside her. Sarah felt Ann’s hand on her back.

“I heard you crying. Are you all right?” Ann whispered.

A few blinks, and Sarah’s control shattered. She dissolved into tears. The memories were now a brutal, painful reminder of everything she had lost.

“I miss Mama and Papa so much, Ann,” she replied, her words choked with sobs.

Ann wrapped her arms around her. “Oh, Sarah, so do I.” They cried together for a few moments until Ann wiped away her own tears. Her voice steady, Ann murmured, “I know it hurts. But we’re going to be all right. We still have each other and Alfred. Mr. Adair will take care of us. He promised. We need to be strong for Alfred.”

Sarah looked down. “I don’t think I can, Ann. I just can’t stop thinking about them.”

“I think about them all the time too.” Ann gave her sister a gentle, lingering squeeze. “It hurts to know we won’t see them again. But Mr. Adair said we should always remember them and keep the best things they taught us inside our hearts. Nobody can ever take that away.”

Sarah nodded.

Light filled the tent as Samuel poked his head through the flap, a candle in his hand. He looked at the two girls. “I heard you were awake. I just wanted to check on you.”

Ann wiped her eyes. “We’re sorry. We didn’t mean to wake you.”

He knelt next to them. “It’s all right. I was up anyway. Listen, I can’t undo what happened, but I will do everything I can to give you two and your brother a home, a safe place where you can live.”

Alfred grunted and moved in his sleep causing Rufus to rustle.

Sarah lowered her voice. “Why should we even try without Mama and Papa?”

Samuel put his hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “What happened to your parents is terrible. But they’ve not left you. I know they haven’t. Their bodies are gone, yes, but their spirits live on. They watch over you and make sure you’re protected. I have no doubt they led me to find you. They are watching over you now more than ever before because they can’t be with you physically.”

Sarah sat in silence, thinking about what Samuel said. The stillness was broken only by the chirping of crickets.

“You two try to get a little more shut-eye,” he said. “Morning will be here all too soon, and we have a big day ahead of us.”

He backed out of the tent, the darkness rushing in to fill the space he left behind.

~ * * * ~

Later that morning, Samuel’s oldest son, John, and the twins, George and Permelia, readied the wagons. Sarah felt the familiar dread of another day on the road as she stood waiting with the rest of the group.

Finally, Samuel appeared, his voice cheerful. “Glad to see everything is ready to go, John.” He turned to all of them. “My three brothers settled about sixty miles south of here in a town called Payson. That’s where we’ll go. It’s only about a three-day journey.”

Sarah heard the other children moan, but she and Ann kept quiet. She felt a familiar weight in her stomach. Three more days.

As they walked south through the wide streets of Salt Lake City, they passed many busy shops. The people they saw looked happy and clean. Wagons went up and down the street, with many parked in front of the buildings.

Sarah jumped when she heard Alfred shout. “Look over there! That’s our wagon!”

It was the same big, dark-red wagon that carried them across the plains. Now it had horses hitched to it instead of the slow oxen.

Ann looked too. “Yes, it is! That’s our wagon!”

Sarah’s heart pounded. “That is our wagon!”

Two men came out of the store next to the wagon. Sarah froze, her hand clamped over her mouth. A silent, scream tore through her.

In a single, sickening flash, the truth hit her like a physical blow. They weren’t just men; they were Rupert and Otto—the men who had driven their wagon. The men who killed her mother and father.

Rupert and Otto stopped when they saw her, Ann, and Alfred, their eyes widened. They looked at each other, then back at the children, their eyes narrowing and their expressions hardening. Rupert moved toward Otto and said something Sarah couldn’t hear, but she saw Otto throw his hands up in the air. Alfred and Ann stopped talking and stared at Rupert and Otto.

A sudden chill left Sarah in a cold sweat. She watched with dread as the two murderers walked toward them. She could feel Rupert’s searing hate as his eyes locked on Sarah and her siblings.

Samuel shifted his gaze from the two men to the Chestnut children, then back to the two men. His eyes widened, then narrowed.

A visceral scream tore from Sarah’s throat. She tried to run but tripped on her own feet and fell to the dusty ground. She sat up, screaming, “No! Stay away!”

She heard her sister’s and brother’s terror-filled cries. Alfred scrambled to her and crouched behind her, his body shaking. Ann rushed to hide behind the twins.

“Shut those children up,” Otto snarled, his voice a low threat, “or we’ll shut them up for good!”

Sarah’s eyes widened, her bodyparalyzed with terror. She saw Rupert’s hand move, slow and deliberate, until it rested on the hilt of his gun. Alfred’s small hands dug into her arm, so fiercely it hurt.

Samuel took one heavy, deliberate step, placing himself like a wall of solid granite between the men and the screaming children. His voice was a rock of defiance. “You will not touch these children.”

Rupert’s gaze swept the street. People and wagons abounded—potential witnesses to their confrontation.

“Come on, Otto,” he said in a low voice.

They turned and walked back to their wagon, climbed up to the driver’s seat, and moved slowly down the road. Sarah held her breath as she heard Rupert call back, “If we see those children again, we’ll be the last thing they see.”

A cold shiver rushed up her spine, and she scrambled toward Samuel, seeking sanctuary in his arms. He folded her into his embrace, his voice a quiet current steadily pulling her from the drowning tide of her fear as he assured, “It’s all right now. They’re gone. You’re safe. It’s all right.”

Sarah clung to Samuel, convinced the men would return at any moment to finish what they started. Ann, a small, desperate shadow, clutched onto George, who struggled to pry her arms from his waist. Alfred still shook as he ran to Sarah, wrapping himself around her legs.

“Please don’t let them hurt us!” Ann begged.

Samuel’s face softened. He took a deep breath and looked at their faces, his eyes moistening. “Don’t worry, children. I’ll find the marshal and make sure those monsters come to justice. They’ll never get the chance to hurt you again.”

Chapter 2

No Good

As they rode along, Otto looked at Rupert. “What do you reckon we do now?”

Rupert lowered his head, then looked back at Otto. “First, I need you to go back and follow that man. Find out where they’re staying. If he’s watchin’ after the Chestnut children, he won’t hesitate to turn us in. We’ve got to take him out and the children as well. We need to finish what we started.”

“He had a whole crew of children with him, Rupert. What about them?” Otto asked.

“You follow him and find out where they’re sleeping. A few sticks of dynamite in the wee hours of the night should solve all our problems,” Rupert retorted, the words spitting from his mouth like venom.

Otto looked down at his boots, then back at Rupert, and nodded.

Rupert smiled and stopped the wagon. “Good. While you’re tracking them, I’ll go pick up the dynamite. We just need to do this one last deed, and we’ve got it made, Otto. You with me?”

Otto stared at his feet for a long moment, nodded again, and looked back at Rupert. “All right, Rupe. I’ll see you back at the hotel,” he said, hopping off the wagon.

~ * * * ~

In the aftermath of the encounter, George wrapped his arms around Ann. Permelia cradled Alfred’s shaking body, and Sarah clung to Samuel as he held her, her knuckles white against the rough fabric.

He gave her a gentle squeeze, and set her down. “I have to find the marshal, Sarah. I’ll be quick.”

“Please don’t leave us!” she cried.

“I’m not leavin’ you,” Samuel replied, his voice soft but firm.

The words didn’t make her feel any better. “Please!” she whispered, clinging even tighter.

Samuel tried to ease her hands from his leg, but she clung tighter, her eyes filled with terror. Seeing her fear, Samuel sighed and carefully scooped her up. “All right; you can come with me.”