Madame Sue Soderburg stopped, her face drawn, a cigarette burning in between her fingers despite the early hour. “They’re framing me for Roberta’s murder.”

On the mantle, a photograph in a tarnished frame showed a stern man, two children, and a woman with a hauntingly blank stare.

The canyon stretched before them under a half-moon. Cattle shuffled along the dusty trail below. Someone was stealing her livestock again.

It is with reverence and a hush of winter stillness that I present to you this series of letters from Mrs. Marian Tate—a young widow dwelling alone in the Kansas Territory during that first long, uncertain season of 1855.

Sagebrush Ridge Territory of Kansas September to April 1855   The wind whispered secrets through the tallgrass of the Kansas prairie, rustling the pages of Marian Tate’s latest letter. Ink stained her calloused fingers as she carefully formed each word, her gaze often drifting towards the figure resting on the cot in the corner of her small cabin. Hank Dawson. He’d arrived weeks ago, a broken man found near her property line, feverish and clutching a shattered leg.   Marian,

Her badge caught the sun just as a rider thundered down Main Street, raising a cloud of red clay behind him. Mercy recognized the horse before the man: the gray Appaloosa with a split ear. Wild Rye, Everett Tate's mare.

Cottonwood Springs Nebraska Territory 1863 The stagecoach rattled to a stop, sending plumes of dust into the parched air of Cottonwood Springs. Lillian McAllister clutched her valise in one hand and steadied her bonnet with the other as she stepped down onto the wooden platform. The town stretched before her, a single dusty street lined with weathered buildings that had seen better days, much like the weary faces that turned to appraise her.   "Schoolteacher?" the stagecoach

Her mind wandered to the meaning of the larkspur, a flower embodying joy and an open heart...

A rifle shot cracked through the quiet, the bullet slicing past Jed’s ear with a hiss like an angry rattler. He kicked Comet into a hard gallop...

“We survived a winter,” he had told her that morning, pressing a calloused hand against her cheek, “but it will take work to thrive in the

A splash of color caught her eye near the garden fence; delicate purple and yellow blooms pushing up through the thawing soil. Pansies.

Jed Smith takes his job riding for The Pony Express seriously as he traverses the plains and mountains to deliver the mail.

She had finally unpacked her gown meant for her wedding. Cream and lavender with lace collar and cuffs, she knew she looked pretty.

Eleanor and Henry finally arrive in Thistle Creek, Colorado, to start their new life.

Isobel MacLaren is regretting her choice to leave Scotland until she sees a reminder of home.

The motion of the steam engine, steadily carrying them across a continent, filled her with an unfamiliar sense of calm. Freedom.

Henry and Eleanor continue their journey on the train to Omaha. Will Lord Rutledge catch up or will they eacape?

Eleanor and Henry race off the boat to head off to the train station.

Eleanor and Henry start their adventure together in this week's installment.

"I can't stop thinking about you." The words, penned in a strong yet elegant hand, sent a shiver down her spine.