Chapter 1

Oak Creek, Nebraska

June 1870

The stage coach came to an abrupt stop causing most of the occupants to grab whatever was closest to keep from sliding off the seats. Liam O'Shea opened the coach door and disembarked. Only a few more stops like this until they made it to Omaha. There they would take the train to Philadelphia, and what a welcome relief that would be from the bumpy coach rides they had endured thus far from Wyoming. He held his hand out for his niece and helped her find the first step.

An accident near ten years before almost took the life of his dear niece, instead it robbed her of her vision. Miraculously a few months later the child began seeing shadows and light. But no matter how many specialists they took her too Brenna hadn't regained much more of her vision. Liam felt a twinge of pride in his heart as he watched Brenna defy the obstacles thrust upon her at such a tender age. She had spent the majority of her young life relearning the world in darkness.

Though all the doctor's and specialists agreed her sight had been permanently damaged, it wasn't good enough for her father. Ferguson O'Shea had spent years taking Brenna to different hospitals, even once as far as England to restore her sight, all in vain. After much correspondence and a few visits himself he pleaded with Brenna to try one more doctor.

Brenna had become accustomed to her world of shadows and had long become tiered of all the poking and prodding by doctors. But she couldn't deny her father one last try. He had been so excited about this correspondence with a doctor in Philadelphia.

"Two steps up." Liam instructed his niece. Brenna held tightly to his arm and stepped up to the wooden boardwalk. She was exhausted and she wanted to get to the hotel and sleep. She knew that would make her uncle happy as well. He could use some time to himself. She knew it wasn't easy for him to take care of her.

"We'll get a couple of rooms then have dinner. How does that sound?" Liam pulled her out of the way from two drunk men lumbering their way.

"Would you mind Uncle, if I took dinner in my room? I'm tiered and I'd just rather just rest." Brenna asked.

"Of course not." Liam exchanged a few coins with the man behind the hotel desk, securing their lodgings for the night, before accepting the keys with a grateful nod. Guiding Brenna up the creaking stairs and down the dimly lit hallway, he reached her room and unlocked the door. Stepping inside, Liam gently led Brenna around the unfamiliar space, his voice steady as he pointed out the key features of the room.

"Here's the bed," he said, guiding her hand to the edge of the mattress, "and here's the table where we'll put your things." He carefully traced her fingers along the surface, ensuring she could familiarize herself with the layout. "The washbasin is over here," he continued, leading her to the corner of the room, "and the window is just beside it."

As Brenna lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, a small sigh of relief escaped her lips. The weariness of the journey set into her bones, and the softness of the mattress provided a welcome respite. She leaned back slightly, letting the tension melt away as she savored the momentary stillness.

"I'll have some dinner sent up. Then have a drink or two at the saloon." He kissed her cheek. "I'll check in on you before I turn in alright?"

"Thank you uncle." She smiled. "I'll be fine."

Brenna lay down on the bed, finding immediate relief in its soft embrace. Moments later, a gentle knock at the door interrupted her rest, stirring her appetite. She navigated to the door with ease, accepting the plate of food with gratitude. The aroma of steak teased her senses, awakening a hunger she hadn't fully realized.

Returning to the bed, Brenna indulged in the meal, her fingers navigating the plate with a sense of familiarity and ease. She chuckled softly at the thought of her mother's reaction to her less-than-refined dining manners, finding amusement in the contrast between her current circumstances and the expectations of her upbringing.

Though she couldn't discern every ingredient, the unmistakable taste of steak and potatoes brought a smile to her lips. With each bite, Brenna savored the flavors, feeling of contentment wash over her. Once the last morsel had disappeared, she set the empty plate aside, her hunger satiated and her spirits lifted.

As she made her way to the wash basin, Brenna realized she had forgotten to ask Liam to retrieve her nightdress. With a sigh, she improvised with what was available, grateful for the simple comforts of the room and the unwavering care of her uncle.

Startled by the sudden eruption of gunfire echoing through the streets below, Brenna instinctively ducked, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for the chaos to subside. As the voices began to fade, a loud, urgent knock at her door shattered the uneasy calm. Brenna hesitated, her hand hovering uncertainly over the handle, her mind racing. She knew she couldn't ignore the summons, but the fear of what lay beyond the door held her back, tethering her to the safety of her room.

"Miss O'Shea!" The urgent voice jolted Brenna from her shock. "Your uncle has been shot."

Her heart seized in her chest at the news, her hands trembling as she fumbled with the door, desperation lending her movements a frantic urgency.

"They've taken him to the doctor." the voice continued, already retreating down the hallway.

"Wait, please wait," Brenna pleaded, her voice quivering with fear and uncertainty. "Sir, I can't see. Please, will you take me to him?"

The man paused, his steps faltering as he turned back to her. Without hesitation, he extended his arm. "Of course."

Brenna clung tightly to the stranger's arm, her senses overwhelmed her as the man navigated her through darkness. The man's steady voice provided a faint anchor amidst the noise, explaining in hushed tones the unfortunate sequence of events that had led to her uncle's injury.

As they entered the cramped confines of the doctor's office, the oppressive stench of alcohol, sweat, and blood assaulted Brenna's senses, threatening to engulf her in a wave of nausea and despair. She tightened her grip on the man's arm, seeking solace and reassurance in his presence. But as he gently withdrew from her grasp, a sinking realization washed over her that things were grim.

In the dimly lit room, Brenna's eyes darted wildly, struggling to discern the shapes that surrounded her. She could barely make out the outlines of the furniture—a table, perhaps the looming silhouette of the doctor's examination table.

With trembling fingers, she reached out, her hand guided by a desperate instinct to touch the familiar form lying before her. As her fingertips grazed the lifeless body of her uncle, the reality of his absence crashing over her.

"Hello?" Brenna stood still for a moment then reached out for a wall or something to get her bearings. "Hello?"

"Yes Ma'am. I'm Doc. Peters." When the doctor realized that she had absolutely no reaction to the scene before her, nor did her eyes follow his movements. He waved his hand in front of her and watched as she stared blankly ahead of her.

"Doctor, my uncle —."

"I'm terribly sorry child." The doctor wiped his bloody hands at the wash basin and took her by the arm. "There was nothin' I could do for him."

Brenna's knees gave way, weakened by the flood of emotions crashing over her. She sank to the floor, tears flowing freely down her cheeks, saturating her skirt. Time seemed to blur as she remained huddled on the cold ground. She couldn't gauge how much time had passed, lost in her grief, nor could she recall when the doctor had gently assisted her back to the hotel. The walk back to her room was a blur, her mind consumed by the weight of her loss, her heart heavy with sorrow.