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her childhood. She’d sold most of her jewelry and all of her good clothes early in her marriage to satisfy Edward’s creditors. But somehow she had held onto the gold brooch, with its engraved frigate under full sail and her grandfather’s lock of hair inside. Hal, like all of the Commodore’s grandsons, had a matching watch. The brooch had more sentimental value than monetary, but now it, too, was gone.
    Only a whisky bottle remained. It stood between the frayed curtains in the single window, filled with sprays of yellow roses from Edward’s grave and weighted with sand to keep it steady. An envelope rested beside it like a communication from the dead. Viola dropped the basket on the floor and went unsteadily toward the missive.
    “Come, Jenny. Let’s leave Mrs. Ross alone for now.” Jenny’s mother’s voice came from a great distance and Viola didn’t look back. She managed to pick up the envelope with only slightly shaking hands. The paper was crumpled but the address was clear enough: Mrs. Edward Ross. She hesitated for a moment then ripped it open. After all, bad news never improved with age.
    My dearest, dearest Viola,
    I do not know how to break the news to you gracefully so I shall be quick about it instead. I have sold the house and all its contents to Mr. Paul Lennox. He was kind enough to pay an amount sufficient to remove Mr. Watson’s debts and see Mr. Jones and me well started on our marriage.
    Please understand the necessity of my doing this. I simply cannot abide remaining in this barren waste for another day, especially when my beloved Mr. Jones is overdue to return to his mountain home.
    I am certain that you will manage well without my guidance. In fact, I know that all your possessions will swiftly rejoin you when you marry Mr. Lennox today. My only regret is that Mr. Jones and I cannot dance at your nuptials.
    Pray give Mabel an extra pat and some alfalfa for me.
    Ever your most loyal friend,
Maggie
    Viola read the letter once and then twice without improving its meaning. Maggie had sold everything so she could run away. Then justified herself by saying that Viola would marry again, this time to a man heartily despised by most. Including Maggie, at least before she wrote this nonsense.
    Viola balled the letter and hurled it against the wall. Dammit, Maggie was as weak as Edward had warned when she’d comforted the woman after her child’s death.
    When would she ever learn that people always chose money and power, never honor? First Mother, then Edward, and now Maggie. Would there ever be a man she could trust completely, someone to ride the river with, as the old saying went?
    Somehow she had to rebuild her life without depending on anyone else.
    She turned to stare out the window at the desert beyond and tried to think of something, anything, she could do to make a living with just the clothes on her back and a handful of change.
    Restart the business? She laughed mirthlessly at that. She hadn’t the means and no one here would loan it to her against Lennox’s will. He owned the silver mine that kept this town alive and made sure that every man, woman, and child knew exactly whose money put food on their plates, clothes on their backs, and a roof over their heads.
    Write her family? That was an even worse option. As he’d promised when she married Edward, her father had refused every letter she had sent thereafter. Even a telegram begging for forgiveness hadn’t breached his legendary stubbornness.
    As for remarriage…No! Even if there was a man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, she had no offers to accept since Lennox had scared them off.
    Unbidden, she remembered Lily Mae’s purr as she spoke of Mr. Donovan, and snorted. As if a man like that would have anything to do with someone as scrawny as her.
    “Your laughter falls on the air like rain in a desert, Mrs. Ross.” A clipped New York accent broke into her thoughts.
    Viola choked and whirled around, her hand