Winter of Dreams
Cheryl St. John
This story is dedicated to my beautiful grandmother, Sarah Mellissa St.John, who by example taught me to call on the name of Jesus in times of trouble, to love unconditionally, to laugh a lot, to cry a little
and to always see the good in others.
O death, where is thy sting?
O grave, where is thy victory?
The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law.
But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory
through our Lord Jesus Christ.
—1 Corinthians 15:55–57
Contents
Chapter One
Colorado, January 1899
Mr. Hammond’s telegram had assured her, due to the mild winter, that the train would have no problem reaching Carson Springs mid-January. Violet Kristofferson unfolded his message and read it again, her gaze stumbling first over the name she’d chosen. She would have to remember. Bennett. Violet Bennett.
She’d barely been able to eat the entire way, even though train stations between Ohio and Colorado often had decent restaurants or a nice café next door.
Her stomach tightened now at the prospect of living and working among strangers in a place she’d never been, but she’d had little choice—her situation in Ohio had forced her to take action.
The heavy gray sky outside the steamed-over windows didn’t bolster her mood or her confidence, but some time ago the conductor had announced their destination only an hour hence. A single stove glowed in an attempt to heat the railcar, but all day her feet had been numb from the cold. Absently she checked the delicate gold watch that hung on a chain around her neck and discreetly adjusted one leg, then the other, eager to stretch. She would sleep like a baby once she was finally able to lie down with a comfortable mattress beneath her.
The rhythm of the wheels changed, and the car slowed fractionally. Passengers straightened in their seats in anticipation of the stop.
Violet wiped the window with her mittened hand and studied the landscape. Horses and cattle huddled in clusters, dotting the white expanse of snow. Scattered houses came into view, situated closer and closer together the more the locomotive slowed. The train turned a last bend, climbed an incline and chugged into the town.
Carson Springs was larger than she’d anticipated, a combination of stone, wood and brick buildings, most of which she could only see from the back. The train rolled alongside the station, blocking her view of the town. A large canopy covered the platform, wisely protecting it from the elements. From her window seat Violet strained to see the men and women waiting for arriving passengers, unable to guess which might be her new employer.
She waited her turn, descending the stairs behind a portly woman wearing a fox coat and a large plumed hat. Making her way to an open space on the wood platform, Violet stopped to get her bearings. Her breath came out in puffy white plumes. Her feet ached.
Nearby the porters unloaded and stacked trunks and valises.
Violet scanned the crowd. A tall man in a black coat and hat separated from the others and made his way toward her. “Miss Bennett?”
“Um.” Startled at hearing the unfamiliar surname, she composed herself. “Yes.” She didn’t want to be found, and her real name was too distinctive. “I’m Miss Bennett.”
He removed his hat, revealing an unruly shock of russet-brown hair. “I’m Ben Charles Hammond.”
“How do you do?” She offered her hand, and he held her wool-covered fingers for the briefest of moments in a polite greeting.
“I hope your journey wasn’t too unpleasant.”
He had a strong jawline, arching brows and friendly gray-green eyes. She liked him immediately. “Not at all. The accommodations were more than adequate, thank you.”
“If you’ll point out your luggage, I’ll take it to the carriage.”
“There’s only one carpetbag. The other two are crates. Fairly large ones. I don’t expect you to manage those on your own. I can hail someone—”
“Let’s have a look before you count me out.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I