Chapter 2

Baltimore, Maryland - November 1873

The snowstorm howled outside the Laurent manor for over a week. Inside, the sisters found solace in their own pursuits. Gabrielle, hunched over the oak desk, fighting the never-ending war against an ever-growing stack of bills and payroll ledgers. Every now and then, she'd glance at Violette, who sat on the plush settee, practically glued to her father's journal.

Since its discovery, the book had become an extension of her, rarely leaving her lap. She barely stopped to eat, her brow furrowed in concentration as she devoured each page with an insatiable hunger.

The image of her father that emerged from the journal was a revelation. The man Violette had known was a shadow, cloaked in melancholy and a persistent scent of stale alcohol. He haunted the library, rarely venturing out, and when he did, it was always adorned in an uncomfortably stiff suit, a mask of formality obscuring any hint of his inner life.

The man in the journal was a stark contrast to the one Violette remembered. Each entry chipped away at the image she thought she had known, revealing a man full of life, a yearning that seemed to have vanished before he'd even met her mother. The contrast fueled a burning question in Violette's mind: what had happened to the vibrant man who had ridden horses on Oklahoma plains?

June 15, 1840

Three weeks, and the callouses on my hands are a testament to the honest work here. While the physical labor is demanding, it's a welcome change from the confines of the city. Fresh air, endless sky, and the company of these magnificent animals – it's worth every ache. Tomorrow brings the dreaded task of fence mending – a chore I could gladly live without.

Today, I had my first encounter with the "wild Indians". I've seen Indians in New York, dressed like white folks, but they aren't like the ones out here. Six of them, mounted and silhouetted against the cliffs bordering the ranch. Thankfully, a warning shot from my boss scattered them quickly.

There are several tribes out here. The Cheyenne and Cherokee seem peaceful enough, causing no trouble. But the Kiowa and Apache, my boss warned me they're a different story – violent and merciless towards lone ranchers. Something to keep in mind when venturing out alone.

July 27, 1840

The days seem to blend together, the routine, while predictable, hasn't offered much material for these pages. Today, however, brought an unexpected encounter. While down by the creek, I stumbled upon a group of Indian women washing clothes. Unable to distinguish the tribes yet, I assumed them to be Kiowa. I kept a safe distance and eventually moved on.

August 07, 1840

I've been drawn back to the creek repeatedly. The woman with the blue beads adorning her dress has become a constant presence in my thoughts. Today, to my surprise, our paths finally crossed.

Though a language barrier separated us – her words as foreign to me as mine must be to her – there exists a universal tongue that transcends spoken language. A connection sparked a silent understanding that left a profound impression.

"Brie!" Violette shrieked, leaping out of her chair with a startled gasp.

Gabrielle's head snapped up, a furrow etching itself between her brows. "Vee?! What is it?" She exclaimed, concern lacing her voice.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Violette stammered, her eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. "It's just... you won't believe what I just read in Father's journal!"

Gabrielle took a deep, calming breath, setting down her pencil with a soft thud. "All right, all right," she said, forcing a smile. "What is it?"

Leaning forward, Violette recounted the passage about the woman with the blue beads, her voice brimming with a nervous energy. "He met her by the creek, and they... well, they didn't speak the same language, but..." her voice trailed off, a blush creeping up her cheeks as she quoted the entry, "A connection sparked, a silent understanding that left a profound impression!'"

"That doesn't sound like your father at all."

Gabrielle's memories of her stepfather were fragmented at best. He'd been an army officer when her mother met him, a man who often spoke of battles fought and "savages" subdued. A chilling memory surfaced – her stepfather boasting about a supposed triumph. Settlers had desecrated a burial ground, and some Apache had retaliated. His infantry, he'd recounted with a sickening pride, had hunted down not just the warriors, but every last soul in the village – women, children, the elderly. None were spared.

The image of a proud soldier clashed violently with the man described in the journal. The man who'd found connection beyond language. The dissonance gnawed at Gabrielle, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. This journal was a window into a life her stepfather had kept hidden, a life that challenged everything she thought she knew about him.

"I knew Mother wasn't his only love," Violette admitted, her voice thick with a mix of sadness and resignation. "But an Indian lover? I never even considered..."

"I don't want to tarnish your memory of him, Sis," Gabrielle interjected worriedly.

"No, Brie," Violette cut her off, meeting her sister's gaze with a newfound determination. "I want to know the truth, no matter what it is."

There was a long silence, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, Gabrielle broke the stillness.

"He wasn't a saint, you know," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I remember... I remember him leaving a lot at night, and whispers about..." she hesitated, the words catching in her throat.

"About other women?" Violette finished softly, understanding dawning in her eyes.

Gabrielle nodded, a flicker of shame coloring her cheeks. "I never wanted to tell you, being so young."

Violette let out a frustrated sigh. "Young? Brie, I'm fifteen! I'm practically old enough to marry!" She added with a touch of sarcasm.

"There's no rush to grow up, you know."

"Speaking of getting married," Violette countered, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "I ran into Monty Gilford at the store last week. He asked about you."

"Violette Catherine!" Gabrielle exclaimed, her cheeks burning a shade darker than before.

"What?" Violette teased, a playful grin stretching across her face. "He's awfully handsome, wouldn't you say?"

"I don't have time for such frivolous things right now," Gabrielle retorted, forcing a stern tone.

"Well, when will you?" Violette persisted, her smile unwavering.

"I'll never have time unless I sort out these accounts." Gabrielle threw her hands up in mock surrender, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.