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Chapter 1: Escaping in the Dark

The clock struck two as Grace slipped out of her father's darkened two-story house. Situated behind the general store, she crept between the buildings with her valise and violin case clutched in her arms. The black wool cape with a hood hid her brown hair from the moonshine and obscured the determined scowl on her freckled face. But every scrape of her shoe and barking dog halted her progress. She held her breath until the solitary sound she heard was her own heart pounding, then proceeded toward the only place she felt safe. There could be no turning back.

Slipping around the side of the manse, Grace knocked on the back door, then scanned behind her for movement and possible detection. Through the lace-curtained door, she saw a faint light cast flickering patterns on the maid's brown face.

The curtains were pulled aside, and recognition widened eyes already the size of hedge apples. The lock grated, and the door opened a crack.

"Why, Miss Grace, what are you doing out at this time of night?"

"Can I come in, please?" Grace gasped for breath. "I have to see Mrs. Robinson."

The maid studied her, then shook a brown finger the size of a sausage at Grace's nose. "She is sleeping, and I don't want to wake her." But she opened the door, and the young woman slipped inside.

"Please, Bess. It's urgent." Grace struggled not to cry. Now was not the time to fall apart. Her father had made his decision, and she had made hers.

"I don't know what you're up to, Miss, but you are whiter than white, so I expect it must be important. You wait here, and I'll fetch the Missus." She turned and proceeded to the stairs.

"Thank you," Grace whispered to the empty room. She strained to hear, but no sound escaped the thick wood floors and walls.

When she did hear the swish of her old friend's dressing gown and the pad of bare feet, Grace's heart beat a little faster. What if Mrs. Robinson sent her back?

"Put on some water for tea and light more candles, please," the lady instructed her servant. Mrs. Robinson took Grace's cold hand and guided her into the darkened parlor, candlestick aloft. The room smelled like lemon and candle wax.

"Sit down, my dear, and tell me what's happened."

Her violin case clutched to her chest. Grace eased onto the settee and laid the instrument in her lap. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but I didn't know where else to turn."

"Not to worry, child," Mrs. Robinson said. She took a seat beside Grace and patted her pale hand.

Turning toward the kitchen doorway, Grace remained silent.

"Go on, now. You can speak candidly. Bess knows everyone's business within twenty miles and doesn't speak a word about it to anyone, but me."

On cue, the long-time servant brought in a tray with tea and cookies, as if it were an afternoon visit and not the wee hours of the morning. She gave Grace a reassuring wink and curtsied to her employer. "I'd better get back to bed, Missus, but holler if you need anything."

"Thank you, Bess. Good night." Effie Robinson turned back to her guest, handing her a cup of tea.

With shaking fingers, the young woman grasped the delicate China cup and sipped. The warm chamomile soothed her raw nerves. "I need to leave Oskaloosa. Tonight, if possible. There's a train in an hour, but I…" Looking at her lap, Grace cleared the lump that clogged her throat.

"Do you need money?"

"No." Grace took a strengthening breath. "I don't know where to go."

Mrs. Robinson studied the distressed young woman before her. "Maybe it would help to tell me why you're going. Perhaps a destination will present itself."

With a heavy sigh, the words poured forth. "Papa signed a paper at the bank that gives Percival Standford half ownership of the store if he marries me."

"What? Ezra Baker is a fool…" The older woman's mouth clamped shut, forming a thin line between her hollow cheeks.

"He's got money trouble, and this was the only way he could see to keep the Standford Bank from taking it all."

"And the price was thirty pieces of silver and you?" Effie Robinson sipped her tea. Looking over the gilded rim, she said, "You'd eat Percival Standford alive."

"What? Oh." Grace's hand stroked the leather instrument case, her cheeks pink in the candlelight. "My younger sister, Evelyn, is in love with him."

Effie Robinson raised her eyes heavenward. "Good, lord. No wonder you're in such a state."

"When Papa broached the subject of marriage between Percival and me, Evie became hysterical." Grace threw up her hands. "She swore she'd run away if she had to watch me marry the man she loves."

Shaking her gray head, Effie clucked her tongue. "She's sixteen, isn't she? A very melodramatic age."

"I can't break my sister's heart, and she's not strong enough to make it in the world alone." Grace straightened the folds of her skirt. "Besides, I'm not ready to get married, even though I am six years her senior."

"Let Ezra marry Standford." Effie chuckled. "Grace, you're a very strong young woman, well educated, I've seen to that. You possess something neither your father nor sister will ever have."

"Excuse me," Grace said with a puzzled frown. "What would that be?"

"Common sense. Your father's no financial genius, and, since your mother died, he's even lost his faith. His kind think women need looking after."

"It’s 1893 and I don't need someone to take care of me." Grace set down her cup and gripped the edge of her violin case. "But I think that Evie does. She's physically frail like our mother."

"There's nothing you can do for your family. We each must choose our own path." Mrs. Robinson paused, a faraway look crossed her face, while Grace continued.

"There's Stotty, too."

"Your little brother's almost grown. I have no doubt he'll be fine." Mrs. Robinson nodded and set down her cup. "He's smart and strong like his eldest sister."

With a steadier hand, Grace reached for a cookie. It'd been hours since dinner, and she hadn't had much appetite when her father had announced his intentions.

The older woman rose from the chair and paced the room. "What you need is a plan."

"Yes, but ma'am, I don't know anyone outside of Iowa."

"But I do. Have you seen this?" Effie handed Grace a bulletin that had lain under the candlestick. The header read "Cherokee Land Rush."

"No, but I've heard talk of it." Grace studied the drawing of soft rolling hills and fields.

"The government's offering eight million acres of land in the Oklahoma Indian Territory. And, it's open to single women." She grasped Grace's hand. "Do you think you're strong enough to start from scratch, on your own?"

Swallowing, Grace attempted to clear the lump from her throat. "Yes, I think so. I've read about the territory in some of the travel journals. But, other than a vegetable garden and raising a few chickens, I don't have much experience living off the land." Grace looked away from the older woman's shining black eyes. "Maybe Papa's right."

"I don't think so," Effie said, lifting Grace's chin. "You have grit, something many women fail to develop. You have the good sense God gave you and a creative spark that will stand you well in problem-solving. The frontier requires a strong will, innovation, and determination. You're a survivor, young lady."