When the Heart Falls

by Kimberly Lewis

  “Mama!” Brenna knelt down next to her mother’s head and watched as her father tried to encourage the animal to move just enough so that they could pull Rebecca out from under it.

  Brenna held onto her mother’s cold hand and covered her with her body as best she could to shield her from the downpour.

  “Brenna!” Her father looked at her and shouted over the storm. “Go, as fast as ye can and bring help.”

  “Papa!” Brenna felt like a little girl again not knowing what to do.

  “Brenna, go! I’ll stay with yer mother!” He shouted over the sounds of clapping thunder and gusting winds. “Go!”

  Brenna mounted the mare and raced toward home, pleading over and over that they’d make it there without further injury so she could get help to her mother.

  “Iain!” Brenna raced toward the stable, shouting Iain’s name. He and his wife Maggie loyally served the Camerons for more than twenty years and Brenna considered them part of the family. If anyone could help, it was Iain.

  “Iain please!” Brenna dismounted and turned, shouting his name again when Iain raced toward her.

  “Brenna lass, whatever is wrong?” He took in her rain-soaked hair and clothes and the panicked look in her eyes.

  “Where are yer parents lass?”

  “Near the cliffs Iain, by Fowler’s Cove.” Brenna tried catching her breath. “Hurry! Mama’s trapped under her horse.”

  Under different circumstances, Brenna could have admired how swiftly the older man moved into action. He rang the emergency bell by the stable door which brought the few other servants outside. Maggie and the stable boy, who had been carrying wood inside, rushed to the stable. Iain waited for the boy with saddled horses.

  Brenna moved to remount, but Iain laid a strong hand on her shoulder.

  “Stay here lass,” he said, even as she shook her head.

  “I’m going Iain.”

  It was her father’s own stubbornness Iain saw in her, so he pleaded. “Ye’ll hurt them more if something happened to ye Brenna. Stay.”

  Brenna couldn’t take that risk. Iain’s wife wrapped an arm around Brenna’s waist and they watched the two riders race into the storm.

  Two weeks passed since the afternoon when the storm swept through and carried away bits of Brenna’s heart. An accident. Everyone called it a terrible accident, but Brenna didn’t want to think about it. She couldn’t think about it because her father needed her to be strong. He refused to leave Rebecca’s side from the moment they finally pulled the horse off of her body. Brenna didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to her mother. By the time they brought her home she had been unconscious. When the doctor finally arrived, Rebecca had passed.

  “Papa?” Brenna softly closed the door behind her as she walked into her father’s study. The room remained dark, much as it had been since her mother’s death. He rarely left that room and he rarely ate or slept.

  Brenna walked quietly over the thick rug and knelt in front of the heavy chair, where her father spent many hours these past days. She took his hands off his lap and held them softly in her own.

  “Papa?” Brenna said again, only this time he lifted his eyes to hers.

  “She’s gone Brenna,” he whispered hoarsely. “Me beautiful Rebecca is gone.”

  “I know Papa,” she replied, holding back the tears threatening to be released, “but she’s still with us and she would not want to see you this way.”

  This time Duncan leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his daughter. “I know me darling girl. I can hear her now telling me to put away me whiskey and open the windows.”

  “I can hear her too Papa.”

  “We’ll be all right won’t we lass?”

  “Yes, Papa, we’ll be all right.”

  2

  JUSTICE HAS ITS OWN LAW

  Hawk’s Peak, Montana–1870

  “I’m not going back.”

  “You’re being too stubborn Ethan! You only have one year left of college. The ranch will still be here.”

  “Am I interrupting?”

  Ethan turned to look at his brother who poked his head into the room.

  “Yes!” shouted their father.

  “No!” Ethan yelled at the same time.

  Jacob Gallagher looked at his oldest son and tried to calm himself down. This stubborn streak his son possessed was one thing he wished he’d not passed down. He loved his boys and felt grateful they loved ranching and this land. Jacob left the city as a young man to escape a congested life and build a legacy for his children in the west. His sons were a necessary part of building that legacy, but he wanted them to have all he could provide. That included an education.

  “Ethan, we can argue about this until roundup, but you’re still going back.”

  Ethan usually kept a cool head but he and his father shared many of the same traits. He gave his old man a good hard stare trying to decide if defying him would be worth the argument he couldn’t possibly win. Ethan loved his pa and knew his father wanted the best for him. It galled Ethan to know that his pa was right. It galled him even more to see his brother still standing there, grinning like a fool. Knowing that Gabriel didn’t have much longer before following in his footsteps took away some of the sting.

  “All right Pa,” Ethan finally conceded. “One more year, but after that I’m staying for good.”

  Jacob clasped his son’s hand and gave him a smile in thanks. “One more year,” his father agreed. “Now, let’s go into dinner before your mother comes in and tans us both.”

  Hawk’s Peak Land, Outside of Briarwood, Montana Territory–1879

  He couldn’t let the grievance go unanswered. His parents found thirty years of peaceful living in this beautiful and rugged land. They traveled to the northern territories to escape the sweltering madness of Texas, worked hard, and found peace. Even when the land became the Territory of Montana more than ten years ago, they still lived in peace with the other settlers swarming the west to mine and graze cattle. In all that time they had only one encounter with the Indians and that without loss of life. Since the army met defeat by some of the tribes about ten years back, the Indians were content to keep peace as long as the settlers stayed on their land and left the natives alone on theirs.

  Peace for the Gallaghers ended with Nathan Hunter.

  The blackguard purchased land only a few miles from their extensive borders. The small stretch of grass between the two spreads belonged to a belligerent old swindler, Dwight Dickens, who refused to work the valuable land. When the fool realized more than one interested party wanted the land, he let the bidding war begin. With little more than fifteen acres, the land didn’t offer much— except the water. Water and grass were the greatest currencies out west, without which a rancher may as well pack up and leave. Control of that stretch meant control of the stream coming down from the mountains. The snowfall each year assured that the water flowed continuously through till the next winter and kept their ponds full.

  The Gallagher family won the bidding war, but only once they agreed that Old Man Dickens could keep his small homestead on the land. A small sacrifice for the water rights.

  One week later, Nathan Hunter’s men stretched barbed wire along the new boundary line. The Gallaghers hated wire.

  When they first arrived in Montana Territory, the area consisted of little more than a few small ranches in the area they chose to settle, a day’s ride north of Bozeman. Not many settlers lasted past their first winter in the harsh climate, but the Gallaghers found home and soon became some of the most respected ranching families in the territory. Known for their fairness in business and hard work, they made a solid name for themselves. Jacob Gallagher built a legacy on that wild land and his children were damned if they’d let one man destroy it.

  Ethan Gallagher sat tall atop the midnight black stallion, a magnificent animal bred from the Hawk’s Peak bloodline. Gabriel, his younger brother by two years, sat just as tall on his own dark Thoroughbred, a beauty he brought
with him to Montana from a Kentucky horse farm on his way back from school in the east. Both animals wore the staggered HP brand of the Hawk’s Peak ranch.

  Gabriel swore loudly enough to annoy his mount. He settled the animal with a soothing word and glanced at his brother. Ethan said nothing. He appeared to not have a care in the world. Gabriel knew better. Ethan didn’t wear his anger on the surface. The darkness of his eyes and the clenched jaw were sure indications that his brother could commit murder. In this instance, it would be the murder of Nathan Hunter. Gabriel wouldn’t think ill of his brother if it came to that end.

  When the wranglers went out to round up a few strays that had wandered during a fierce thunderstorm the previous night, they discovered the latest in a string of misdeeds. The cow lay dead on the earth, its blood mixing with the summer grass and its eyes open and lifeless. The cow dropped a calf only the week before. The calf had been injured trying to stay near its mother, but when the wranglers brought it back to the ranch, everyone knew they couldn’t save him.

  Ethan’s gaze went to the mangled legs of the animal, sure indications that the innocent creature struggled and suffered before death and had been unsuccessful in its fight to survive. The deadly wire wrapped around the poor creature’s legs left enough proof for Ethan. Proof that regardless of the backbreaking wooden fence the Gallaghers put up to keep their cattle from that particular stretch of wire, someone deliberately put the wire onto their land.

  Only one of many unprovable incidences which had occurred since the arrival of Nathan Hunter. Ethan was close to not caring about proof for the marshal. If the law of the territory couldn’t put a stop to it, the law of the land would. Ethan spared his brother one last look, turned his mount, and headed for the bordering spread.

  In the countryside of Borthwick, Edinburghshire, Scotland–February 1882

  “Papa?” The hands firmly within Brenna’s grasp felt as cold as the frigid lochs in winter. Her emerald-green eyes, a gift from her mother, gazed into the haggard face of the man she loved the whole of her life.

  “Me darling Brenna.” His voice sounded hoarse and the strength behind his deep brogue weakened.

  “Yes Papa, I’m here.”

  “Brenna, I must . . .”

  “You must rest now Papa,” she pleaded.

  “No, I must tell ye.” He breathed in as much air into his lungs as he could. When he spoke again, his voice came out surprisingly smooth and his eyes weary with the weight of secrets long kept. Brenna sat up a bit straighter, holding tightly to her father’s weakened hand. She waited for him to find his words.

  “Many years ago I traveled to America. I ended up in Texas where I met your mother.”

  Brenna knew of how her parents met, but she waited and listened.

  His eyes filled with determination as though these last words would be the most important he’d ever speak. “Yer mother and I fell in love immediately. I knew the moment we met that we’d marry. I would have done anything to make her mine Brenna—anything. Her father didna want the marriage and didna want me near me Rebecca. Yer mother defied him and we married without his blessing. When he discovered her rebellion, he disowned her and told her never to return. Yer mother never wept for the loss. She packed her things and we left on the next train heading east and then a ship home to Scotland. We told ye yer grandfather died before ye were born.” Her father coughed and once again struggled with his breathing, the sickness consuming his lungs.

  The great man Brenna loved and revered her whole life was not the man slipping away before her eyes. She feared what he would say next, but waited even as a stone settled in her heart. He asked her to pull open the drawer next to his bed. Her hands wanted to tremble, but she didn’t allow herself that weakness. Brenna pulled an opened envelope from the drawer. The crispness of the paper had long since faded into worn softness indicating how often the words had been read. It was addressed to her mother, postmarked Texas.

  His breathing became more shallow. “Yer mother and I agreed not to tell ye, but now I’m thinking that we did ye wrong lass. We never thought we wouldna be here to protect you.” He took another labored breath and in a voice barely above a whisper said, “Your grandfather lives. He’s an unkind man Brenna and he . . . but ye’re not alone in the world me darling girl.”

  Duncan Cameron struggled to bring air into his lungs and it became evident that the loving father who taught her to ride horses as a child was leaving her. He didn’t have many breaths left in his once strong and proud body. Yet even now, his words pulled at something within her that she couldn’t explain. Brenna wanted to ask her father from what they wanted to protect her. Now she could ask him nothing. His eyes closed and soon after, his soul left his silent body and departed the earth.

  Brenna never felt more alone. The pain his passing left behind soon festered into hatred. She never hated anyone before and didn’t think she possessed the capacity for it. Then she read her grandfather’s letter to her mother.

  October 1857

  Rebecca,

  I have received your letter and will write only this once. I have not changed my feelings in regard to your scandalous marriage to that Scotsman or for your disregard to my orders that you not marry. Your mother is in agreement. You wrote to tell me of your children. Know only this. Before you left I told you what I wanted and I expect you to heed my wishes.

  Nathan Hunter

  Brenna did not know why her parents kept the letter after all these years. Even after her mother passed on, her father kept it hidden. Duncan Cameron died before he could explain why Nathan Hunter spoke of scandal or why he hated her father so much. Hated enough to turn his back on his daughter. Brenna’s mind filled with questions. What did my mother take? What of my grandmother? Did she still live? Papa didn’t mention a grandmother. He said only that I wasn’t alone, but he couldn’t possibly mean my grandfather.

  The letter confused her as it mentioned children. She was an only child. Brenna knew only that she must find the answers to the questions burning through her mind.

  Only one choice remained and she knew Iain would never understand and Maggie would likely insist on going or at the very least, hiring a companion. Brenna didn’t want to share what she felt had to be done with anyone, especially a stranger, and she couldn’t ask Maggie to leave her husband and home. Brenna didn’t know when she would again step foot on Scottish soil. The thought of telling them pained her, but she owed them the truth . . . or most of it. She would promise to hire someone to accompany her, but only until she reached the ship. By that time, it would be too late for anyone to stop her.

  3

  FINDING STRENGTH IN A NEW LAND

  Briarwood, Montana Territory–October 1882

  It seemed almost impossible that Brenna now stood in the middle of a dusty street on a brisk autumn morning thousands of miles from everything she knew and treasured. Almost impossible, but not quite for there she stood in the town of Briarwood in Montana Territory. The arduous journey left her weary and homesick: the seemingly never-ending crossing of the Atlantic, the miles of train tracks, the stink of unwashed people the farther from civilization she got, and the rattling stage ride. But this is where her grandfather lived. Or so the telegrams she received months past indicated.

  It had not taken long to discover the whereabouts of Nathan Hunter. Once Brenna arrived on Boston’s soil, a place so foreign to the country she loved, she had sent telegrams to the postmarked address in Texas from where Nathan Hunter’s last letter was sent. A reply arrived less than two days later informing her that Nathan Hunter no longer lived in Texas. He moved to the Montana Territory some years back. With a dozen more telegrams and the services of a costly private detective, she found him.

  If Brenna’s mind had not been filled with questions and worries, perhaps she could have better appreciated the grandeur of the place where she now stood. Mountains higher than she’d ever imagined jutted upward from the earth. So different from home, for those in Scotland stood a
s mere hills compared to the towering peaks surrounding the valley, which seemed to stretch farther than she could see. The fresh pine-scented air reminded her of the long walks she used to take with her father back home, when she picked bundles of heather for her mother. Blue skies so vast there seemed to be no end to the journey an eagle could take. Wildness and beauty unlike anything she’d ever imagined surrounded her.

  Unfortunately this majesty was wasted on Brenna those first moments. Her thoughts focused elsewhere. Brenna held her reticule close to her bosom, thinking of the letters tucked safely inside. She had found two more missives when she went through her father’s belongings. Neither told her anything more about Nathan Hunter than what she already surmised. She detested the man and the facts began to support her feelings. In fact her hatred still lurked below the surface, even though she knew it likely hurt her more than him.

  Brenna didn’t need to look at the letters. She had memorized their content on the sea crossing. Those worn papers gave her a small measure of courage, misplaced though it felt right now.

  Many times on the journey here, she questioned her decision to leave behind her beloved Scotland to find this man who destroyed his family. Of course her mother had been happy. Rebecca loved Duncan Cameron more than life itself, but the kindest part of her soul still believed that her own father could someday soften his heart. Brenna learned something about her mother in those letters. Rebecca Cameron had possessed one of the most forgiving hearts she’d ever known a person to have.

  Brenna had no intention of trying to spark a family relationship with Nathan Hunter, but her stubborn nature refused to let the matter of the letter’s content go without answers. The most puzzling thing of all was the mysterious item that he claimed his daughter took from him. The other two letters spoke of nothing but that, though bereft of details.