Twenty four year old Marie Gilchrist sat at the dressing table in yet another fine hotel, studying her reflection as she moved her sore jaw back and forth, making sure it still worked.

She was still quite pretty, she thought; even beautiful. The bruising and swelling would soon fade away entirely. And it didn't really matter anyway what she thought. This older gentleman of means thought she was beautiful, beautiful enough that he risked his reputation to take her in. They had passed each other out on Park Avenue often enough that they had started to exchange greetings, and then pleasantries. He knew what she was the moment he laid eyes on her and it didn't take her long to know she could have him, too.

She'd grown tired of Charles Lorton, Esquire, of Seattle and New York, long before. He had become grouchy and demanding where he was once generous with compliments and gifts. This last visit was too much, though. He seemed quieter than usual at first, said his wife had a family emergency in California. Marie laughed to herself: family emergency in California, indeed. Likely, she broke a fingernail or her fancy hat blew off her fancy head. Marie had asked Charles about his wife only once, years before, and learned she was the spoiled daughter of some ranching family Out West, mealy-mouthed, demure, and fragile.

Marie smiled back at her reflection. Yes, she was still beautiful, appearing for all the world as if she, too, were fragile and demure. But she wasn't fragile or demure at all and she certainly wasn't mealy-mouthed. After Charles had stormed out of the apartment, she had her maid send word to her brothers down in The Bowery and it didn't take long for them to come and see for themselves what their sister's cruel paramour had done.

Charles had been in town for several weeks when he got the telegram from his attorney in Seattle informing him that his wife had filed for divorce on the grounds of cruelty and adultery and that she had named names. It made him feel trapped and exposed and he didn't like feeling trapped and exposed; he liked being the predator, the one with the advantage and in this situation he couldn't find it. He'd had his attorney file papers to retain custody of his son but when he got to the school he learned the boy had left for the term, took the train west, he was told. The only person here he had advantage over was Marie and he took it. He ranted and yelled and threw her across the room. He even hit her across the face. And what was she going to do about it? She didn't have any rich family of cowboys and lawyers to protect her. No, she was from the tenements on lower Manhattan, came from an enormous family who lived like sardines in one cold room. Marie was nothing without him. She needed him.

But like Marie, her brothers were ambitious and, bit by little bit, had built up their own little empire along the docks and shipyards, and, where their power stretched thin, they made allies of other enterprising sons of other immigrants scratching to rise above the stench of The Bowery.

Marie was more frightened than she was physically hurt and this had a powerful impact on her brothers. Three of them had come to the apartment and whatever disapproval they may have had for their sister's lifestyle was far outstripped by their fury at what that fancy rich man had done to her and they swore their vengeance aloud and by action. By the time their associates had been contacted with their orders, however, Charles Lorton, Esquire, of Seattle and New York, was seated comfortably in the first class car as the train began its long journey to California.

Emily had worn herself out over Julia's illness to such a degree that she had caught the illness herself. Rapidly, it manifested into her lungs and declared itself as pneumonia. Nick refused to think Emily might die. To him, that possibility was inconceivable, unacceptable, and he would not tolerate it. He would lay awake at night reassuring himself with her breathing next to him. He even shouted at her a few times, so frantic with a fear he couldn't articulate, that he thought maybe he could make her get well by the sheer force of his will. And even though her head hurt, her lungs felt like someone had poured wet clay into them, and she got dizzy whenever she moved her head, she smiled at him. Dear Nick, she thought, exuberant and demonstrative Nick, whose fear and fury overlap and run into each other. And the collision is always loud. She calmly informed him she had no intention of dying anytime soon and knew, in her heart, that her will was just as strong as his, just quieter.

Thus, Emily and Julia recuperated together, though Julia's recovery was both rapid and delightful. Now it was her turn to fret over Emily. Sarah had gone home to Heath when Emily was able to get up and spend time downstairs. Audra slipped into the role of running the house and was stronger and more industrious than ever with her son at her side. Julia rarely left her mother's side and was, in a practical way, helpful with her solicitous enticements of tea and broth and general non-stop expressions of care and concern. Had Emily's will to survive flagged at any time, she had only to look at her youngest and know she had to see what the years ahead would bring.

For his part, Charles, Junior reveled in every aspect of the ranch. But none of it would have interested him much were it not for the family that worked it and inhabited it. These were the people who loved his mother as she deserved and it was not lost on him that his mother never looked more beautiful..

Tom and Will brought him along when they rode fence. They thought they wouldn't care for him since they had so little in common with him but they were wrong. Charles paid attention and asked good questions. He would never be a rancher but then he openly acknowledged that. He and Will talked about school and professions. Charles was expected to join his father's business when the time came. He liked high finance and corporate management. He just wasn't convinced that he cared to work with his father. He had, however, friends – good friends – from school whose names graced the social registers of every major city Back East. He wasn't worried about his future.

Charles found Caroline and Leah to be a lovely dichotomy of brains and compassion: Leah with her books and Caroline with her growing concern for social justice. Grace remained a mystery to him, however. He'd never met any girl like her before; independent of thought and deed, happiest when doing men's work, and yet so very pretty. Daniel, and even Daniel's friend, Tommy, quickly lost interest in Charles and weren't around much. They were more interested in spending time together and had started building a fort somewhere towards the north pasture but they would never say where exactly. Only Charles knew where it was because he was helping to build it. For Charles, it was as if he suddenly had the brothers and sisters his mother wanted him to have. He thought he hadn't missed having siblings but now he at least knew how much he liked having cousins. But it was Julia who stole Charles' heart and he, hers. He called her Milady Julia and she would follow him like a shadow whenever her mother was sleeping.

One warm afternoon, Emily lay sleeping on the settee in the billiards rooms, while Julia played quietly with her dolls nearby. Audra was in the kitchen, working on dessert for that night's dinner. The men and all the boys were out either with the herd or at the fort while Caroline had gone to town, helping organize a church auction.

It was Florence who answered the knock at the door and the tall man she'd never seen before stepped right in, unbidden, his face tight with anger as he politely asked after Mrs. Audra Lorton.

Audra heard the voice before she heard the words and the blood froze in her veins. She was surprised she didn't feel more fearful as she walked towards the foyer. She wondered why her legs kept moving her in that direction, but there she was, facing Charles, the husband she once loved and now loathed.

"Audra," he said calmly, "where is my son?"

"He's not here, Charles." Audra noted she kept her distance. Florence knew enough that she hovered nearby and pretended to be busy with housework.

"I want my son and then I shall leave you in peace," he said.

"I told you, Charles, he's not here." It wasn't a lie; Charles, Junior was out working on the fort for the day.

Charles removed his hat and placed it on the table as he walked towards the parlor. Audra took a few steps back to keep her distance from him. Florence busied herself with dusting but kept her eyes on the man.

"Well, that's fine," he said, "I'll just wait here until he shows up or you tell me where I can find him."

As Charles started to sit, the sound of a rifle being cocked nearby stopped him in mid-squat. He straightened back up and turned in the direction of the sound. Emily stood in the entrance to the hall that lead to the library and the billiards room. Pale, petite Emily had a rifle poised and aimed at Charles.

"Get out of my house," she said with chilling and determined calm. She stared at him, unwavering in her focus, her expression matching the determination in her voice.

"Why, Emily! Of course! You're Nick's wife! My, it's been a long . . ."

"I mean it. Get out of my house." She gestured briefly toward the door with the rifle.

Charles had started walking towards Emily. While she certainly wasn't about to put the rifle down and have some happy reunion with him, she also wasn't sure she could actually shoot him but he didn't know that. Then again, maybe she could.

Charles had reached the midpoint between where Emily stood and where he had been. He was reaching his arms out in a caring gesture but also as if he intended to grab the rifle. Emily clutched the rifle and repositioned it slightly so it sat at a dead aim on Charles. He looked in her eyes at this closer distance, picked up his hat, and walked slowly towards the door. Emily took a few steps towards him, still aiming the rifle at him, and watched as he opened the front door and left the house. She followed till she stood in the doorway, still aiming the rifle at him, as he mounted his horse.

As he rode away, she fired a warning shot in his direction, and hoped to God she missed him, and maybe sent a signal shot to her men and the hands.