The Orphan’s Road to Vengeance (Preview)

Prologue

Purgatory, Northern Texas Territory, 1869

The wind carried a chill that cut through Obadiah Calhoun’s jacket, seeping through the gaps in the material. It carried the last dying breaths of winter like a promise that it would return as soon as it could. The wind crawled out of the north, cold, thin, and mean like a gossip’s tongue. 

Below the rise, the town of Purgatory slept under a blanket of mist and moonlight. The word “town” was generous as it was little more than a huddle of crooked roofs and shuttered windows boarded against the night. 

A dog barked into the night, then fell silent. 

Obadiah’s horse, Ash, a large beast that had ridden with him into battle, stamped and snorted against the wind. Ash was impatient to get moving, but Obadiah’s hand was firm on the reins. Every muscle in his body was coiled, ready to spring into action, but with most things, he wouldn’t give the order until he was sure it was the perfect time. 

His coat flapped against his sides, heavy with dust and the scent of gun oil. He studied the town, searching for any sign of trouble. 

Beside him, Black Lung Logan, coughed into his fist, a low rattling rasp that sounded like gravel being crushed beneath a wagon wheel. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before raising a cigarette to his lips. The glowing end caused shadows to fall against the hollows of his cheeks and caught the bags beneath his eyes. 

“Wind’s pickin’ up,” Logan wheezed, “Gonna make ridin’ difficult afore sunrise.” 

Obadiah didn’t answer straight away. When he did, he cast a long look over his shoulder at the other mask riders. His gang waited patiently for his orders, knowing that disobedience or murmuring against their leader wouldn’t be worth the trouble. 

A flash of pride went through Obadiah. He’d learned from his time in the army that the only way to keep a true handle on his men was through fear and discipline. All his fellow officers who tried to be liked by their subordinates ended up dead in a ditch. Obadiah made no such mistake.

His men knew who was in charge, and in return he offered them all the bounty they could take. 

“You go on and take the boys,” Obadiah said. His voice was as rough, damaged by years of shouting orders over gunfire. “Go into town. Find the man they call Vance. Bring him back here and wait for me.” 

The men began shifting in the dark like a faceless mass, their anticipation filling the air like the prickling in the air before a lightning storm.

Logan leaned back in his saddle and raised an eyebrow at Obadiah. “What you gonna do?” 

The corners of Obadiah’s lips turned upward in a humorless smile. “I’ll be payin’ a visit to some old friends of mine.” 

Logan snorted and shook his head as he pressed his cigarette out against his leather saddle. “Don’t go havin’ too much fun without us.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Obadiah joked. 

He tugged at Ash’s reins and jabbed his spurs into the horse’s sides. Ash whinnied in response and reared before surging forward. Obadiah didn’t need to turn around to see if his orders were being followed. He could hear their whoops as the gang swarmed into town. Gunshots filled the air, and before long, the sound of the townspeople screaming in fright joined the cacophony. 

Obadiah headed down the lonely country road, allowing his memories to take him back. They filled his heart with rage, and caused him to urge Ash into a gallop. Before long, he made it to the Longstreet ranch that lay on the outskirts of Purgatory. 

He rode past the freshly painted white picket fence and dying grass. The moon sat low over the plains, pale and sharp. Obadiah made his way past the corral where the cattle were pressed together. They moved away from him as he neared, skittish in that way animals became when danger was near. 

A single light burned behind a curtained window in the house. Obadiah slowed at the sight of it. Was someone awake? 

Most men were sound asleep at that hour, especially considering the time of the year. With the annual cattle drives about to start, the men usually got as much sleep as they could since there wouldn’t be much rest on the trail. 

It was part of the reason why Obadiah had chosen to return in the spring. Everything had been planned down to the smallest detail. 

He tugged at Ash’s reins and dismounted near the house. His boots sank into the soft dirt as he dismounted, and he drew his revolver. The long barrel glinted in the moonlight. It was a thing of beauty. Obadiah had it custom made a few years prior, but the sight of it still sent shivers down his back. 

He crept toward the house, waiting for someone to give a warning shout. The air remained quiet as he stalked up to the door, and kicked it with all his might. The wood gave way with a sickening crack and he pushed his way into the simple dwelling. 

A startled cry cut through the air, hoarse with sleep and fear. The inside of the house smelled like woodsmoke and beef stew, reminding Obadiah of easier times. 

“Gary Longstreet!” Obadiah’s voice boomed through the house, low and even, like thunder rolling over the plains. 

Feet shuffled against the wooden floor, and one of the doors opened to reveal Gary, half-dressed in his long johns with his hair sticking up in every direction. His mouth was open in a gape and he blinked in surprise. 

Obadiah raised his gun and the resulting bang reverberated throughout the small room. Gary went down, clutching his leg as blood seeped through his fingers. His dazed reaction gave way to pain and shock. 

A girl screamed, and Obadiah looked over to see a young woman of around twenty years old trembling in her nightgown. It was like he’d been transported back two decades.  The girl’s long copper-colored hair hung over her shoulder in a thick braid, and her freckles stood out in contrast to her pale skin. She was the spitting image of her mother, causing an unexpected twinge in his heart. 

Time slowed down as he put all the pieces of the puzzle together in his head. Pain bloomed throughout his chest. He’d been robbed before, but this was the worst. 

“Where’s your ma?” Obadiah turned the gun on her, not to fire but to show her that she had no choice but to answer. 

The girl raised a shaky hand, pointing just beyond her father. “She’s in there… She’s sick… Please—”

Obadiah ignored her blubbering and walked past Gary. 

“Stop! She needs to sleep!” The man tried to grab his chaps, but Obadiah gave one swift kick to the fallen man’s ribs and stepped over him. 

Ingrid Longstreet lay in bed, her skin pale as tallow, her breathing shallow and weak. He stopped at the foot of her bed, staring down at the woman. Her eyelids flickered open as she looked past him. Something stirred inside Obadiah’s chest, something he was sure had been long dead. 

“She ain’t got long,” Gary gasped, still holding onto his leg. 

Obadiah went to her bedside as if in a dream. He pushed her matted hair away from her sweaty forehead and stared down at the face of the woman he had once known. 

“Obie?” Her voice was cracked and soft, still carrying the thick accent of her homeland. 

Ingrid had once said that no matter how far she traveled, whenever she opened her mouth, she’d be reminded of Ireland. 

Obadiah turned away from Ingrid, shutting his heart to her as he made his way out to the living room. 

“What’s your name, girl?” He stepped closer to her, inspecting every inch of her face like it was a map. 

“Wendy.” She crossed her arms over her body and stepped away, likely assuming the worst of him. 

Did she know his name? It wasn’t likely. “How old are you, Wendy?” 

“Twenty.” 

He turned away from her in frustration. 

“You know we ain’t got nothing of value here,” Gary said, narrowing his eyes at Obadiah as he backed up against the wall, still holding his leg. “Just go.” 

Obadiah let out a heavy sigh and knelt in front of Gary. “Funny thing, Gary,” he said, his voice as cold as steel. “Even good, God-fearin’ men have to pay their debts sometime.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gary muttered, but the color drained from his face. 

He snorted as he straightened. Obadiah took a long, leisurely turn around the room. It was almost the same as when he’d last been there. He smiled to himself as he tapped the Bible lying on the table with the barrel of his gun. 

“Where’s Vance?” Obadiah asked carefully. 

Gary shook his head emphatically. “Ain’t nobody seen Vance in a long time.”

Obadiah sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have time for your lying, Gary.” 

“I ain’t lying!” Gary’s voice cracked. “I swear it!” 

Disgust settled in Obadiah’s stomach as he gazed down at the sniveling man in front of him. He could hardly believe that this was what passed for a man in Purgatory. It would be so easy to take a shot and rid the world of Gary’s pathetic weakness. 

The only thing that stopped him from acting was knowing that Ingrid was in the next room and Wendy was watching. That, and the fact that Gary had knowledge that Obadiah wanted. 

“Fine, then where’s the map?” Obadiah asked, raising his eyebrows. 

Gary swallowed hard and shook his head. “I wish I could tell you, Obadiah, I swear.” 

“You know this man, Pa?” Wendy asked, her voice clear and strong. 

Obadiah turned to her, pride flickering in his chest. He didn’t know what to think of her or what to make of her presence, but one thing was sure. She was brave. 

“Me and your daddy go way back,” Obadiah said, smiling at her. 

She stared back at him with a flash of defiance in her eyes. It endeared her to him. Perhaps he wouldn’t burn the place to the ground. Or, if he did, he’d spare her. After all, children shouldn’t pay for the sins of their parents. 

“I’m curious,” Obadiah said, kneeling at Gary’s side as he lowered his voice. “What’s it been like all these years? Knowing that I might come back any moment? Did you enjoy wearing my shoes?” 

Gary looked away in disgust, but he didn’t say a word. The man’s control didn’t impress Obadiah. It wasn’t self-discipline that was keeping Gary’s mouth shut, it was cowardice. If Gary had said something, finally stood up for himself, Obadiah might have had a little respect for him. 

“Tell me what I want to know and you can save them,” Obadiah sneered, looking down at Gary as if the man was something he’d found stuck to the bottom of his shoe. 

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” Gary said, his voice steady. “I swear it.” 

Obadiah leaned forward and shoved the barrel of his pistol under Gary’s chin. He forced Gary to look him in the eye. Obadiah didn’t like what he found there. Gary looked afraid, but he also seemed determined. 

If there was one thing he knew about Gary, it was that if the man made up his mind, then nothing could stop him. He was like a burr caught in wool, impossible to shake off. There was only one way to deal with something like that. Cut it off completely. 

“How about I make Ingrid’s time shorter?” Obadiah asked thoughtfully. “It would be a kindness, don’t you think?” 

“Gary?” Ingrid’s tremulous voice spilled out from the bedroom. 

Obadiah couldn’t help but look in her direction. He cursed himself for his weakness as he turned back to Gary. 

“I’ll be right there, love,” Gary called out, looking directly at Obadiah, as if he thought Obadiah wouldn’t pull the trigger. 

Obadiah straightened. He was about to walk into the room when a flash of red caught the corner of his eye. When he turned, he found Wendy staring back at him, her eyes wide as she held onto the doorway, as if for support. 

He smiled, looking right through her as an idea sprang to mind. Obadiah knelt closer to Gary again. 

“How about I take the girl?” Obadiah asked.

All the color drained from Gary’s face as he looked at Obadiah in horror. “You wouldn’t… Please…” 

“Oh, but I would,” Obadiah said, raising his eyebrows. “I could give her the life she was meant to have. What do you think, Gary? You think being an outlaw’s in her blood?” 

Gary shook his head desperately. “I don’t know where Vance is. And I sure don’t know anything about no map!” 

Obadiah growled in frustration. He lowered his head as he considered his next moves. The girl wouldn’t come easily, that much was sure. She wouldn’t take kindly to him after he burned down the homestead with her parents still inside. 

The floorboards creaked behind him, but he was too focused on his exit. Besides, there wasn’t any danger. Ingrid was too weak to move and Wendy was still frozen in terror. She wouldn’t be for long, so he had to find a way to keep her docile. 

There was bound to be rope somewhere. Gary wasn’t half the man he should have been, but even the most incompetent rancher would have rope lying somewhere. 

A shotgun blast ripped through the air. It was like a thousand tiny needles hit Obadiah’s shoulder, and he roared in pain. He was up in a flash as he tried to hold onto his shoulder. He staggered back, knocking over the lamp on the table. The flame flared, then died, plunging the room into darkness. 

“Wendy! Hide!” 

Obadiah stumbled onto the porch, clutching at his wound as the cold night stung his face. 

“You stay away from my family!” Gary shouted from inside, his tone ragged and desperate. 

Obadiah’s mind reeled as he realized what must have happened. Wendy had shot him. He’d underestimated her, and for that he’d paid the price. There was no way he was going to subdue her by himself, not when his arm was already starting to go numb. He had to get out of there before the girl came after him. 

“This ain’t over!” Obadiah vowed, rushing into the dark. “Not by a long shot!” 

His eyes had grown accustomed to the light in the house, and now he was all but blind. He suspected this would give him just enough of a head start as Wendy’s eyes would take some time to adjust. 

He mounted Ash with effort, blood dripping down his sleeve before spurring Ash into action. Obadiah rode hard, not wasting a second. When he crested the nearby hill, he looked back at the town of Purgatory. It was engulfed in faint orange that stood in stark contrast against the black horizon. Smoke curled into the sky like a cry for help that would never be answered. 

Obadiah forced himself to go on, a bitter taste filling his mouth. He’d return soon enough. He wouldn’t stop until he’d claimed what was rightfully his. 

Chapter One

Summer, Silverton, Northern Texas Territory, 1869

***

The cannons looked wrong. 

They rolled across the muddy field on their own, as if guided by invisible men. Their wheels turned slowly and soundlessly through the gray mist that shrouded the battlefield. 

Noah Carter’s hands were scarred and rough from his time loading cannons at the front line. Panic coursed through his veins at the sight. A soldier spent his life dreading the moment when things started happening on the battlefield. His heart sped up in his chest as he ran to keep up with the cannons. If he didn’t tell somebody that something was wrong, then men would die.  

When the cannons finally ground to a halt, he looked around and found men standing all around him, their uniforms torn, faces pale, and eyes hollow. A few of them muttered prayers while others sobbed like children. Noah looked around frantically, trying to warn them not to waste time. 

He tried to call to them, but his lips wouldn’t work. No sound escaped his mouth, no matter how hard he tried. The worst part was that his hands were empty. He was in the middle of a battlefield with no way of defending himself. 

All at once, the cannons fired into the distance with a deafening boom. The world shook and Noah dropped to his knees, holding onto the earth just to keep steady. Smoke poured into the air, filling his lungs and nostrils. He choked, desperately trying to move, but the earth that had once been a comforting promise suddenly grabbed hold of him, keeping him stuck in place. 

The ground shook and cracked open. He looked up as a cannonball flew right toward his face, whistling faintly as it sailed through the air. Noah stared at it, knowing that this was the end. He wouldn’t look away. If he was going to die, he wanted to see it coming. 

To his surprise, the cannonball fell to the ground and bounced like a ball before rolling away. 

A high-pitched whistling filled the air and Noah woke up with a jolt. Sweat drenched his shirt, and his throat was raw, as if from screaming. He swallowed heavily and took the canteen of water from his side. Noah gulped the tepid water as if it was a gift from heaven before sitting upright and rubbing his eyes. 

The battlefield was gone, instead he was riding through the mesquite-covered plains with a wagon swaying gently beneath him. 

“Bad dream?” The old man driving the wagon asked, glancing over at Noah. 

He shrugged and looked around him. The morning sun quickly chased off any lingering chill as heat clung to everything it touched. The plains seemed to shimmer in the bright light. A locust jumped across from one bush to another but got caught on the wagon. It hopped over onto Noah’s pant leg, and he scooped it up before dropping it onto a nearby bush. 

“We’re here,” the old man said, looking straight ahead. 

Noah sat upright, straining for a glimpse of his childhood home. Silverton. A cluster of buildings stood in the same spot, and that was the only likeness it bore to the town he’d left seven years prior. 

The buildings that had once been neatly kept and freshly painted were dusty and dilapidated. Some of them were nothing more than burnt out husks. The smell of coal smoke from the train hung in the air, causing bile to rise in Noah’s throat. People swarmed through the streets like ants, while some street vendors called out from wooden stalls built outside the burned buildings. Ringing and hammering filled the air, and he saw men busy assembling a railway nearby while others built what appeared to be the station building. 

His heart hammered as he took in the sights. He searched for familiar faces, even though he knew there was little chance of recognizing anyone. It seemed that a lot had changed in Silverton. Besides, his parents would be holed up on the ranch. They had no idea he was coming. Still, he couldn’t help but search for them. 

The wagon rolled to a stop and Noah gathered his few belongings — a worn coat, and a bundle tied to a stick — before climbing down. 

He looked around and was disconcerted to see bullet holes in some of the buildings. What had happened while he was gone? 

“Much obliged for the ride,” Noah muttered. He reached into his pockets for his last few coins, but the old man waved him off. 

“I don’t want your money,” he said gruffly. “It was an honor to help a veteran.” 

Noah’s throat went dry as he kept searching for his coins. He had to pay his way. The old man clucked his tongue and urged the horses forward. Noah’s shoulders drooped as he watched the old man ride off. 

There’s no honor in war. 

It had taken him seven long years to learn that lesson, but it wasn’t something he’d ever forget. 

Noah sighed and rubbed the back of his neck as he turned to look at the town. A few new buildings had been built in between the old ones. The hammering in the distance matched the pounding in his head as he pushed through the masses. 

People crowded in on him from all sides, the smell of their stale sweat burning his nostrils as he kept his head down. Silverton was no longer the calm haven he remembered it being years before. 

He made his way to the edge of the new railway where its skeleton of iron and wood lay bare against the dirt. Noah swallowed hard as he tried to find where the old main road used to be. 

Noah huffed as he hitched his stick a little higher and made his way past the mercantile, then the saloon, before coming to a stop outside the funeral parlor. It was the busiest building by far. Wooden coffins, little more than cheap pine boxes, were lined up along the porch, each one the same size and color. The smell of fresh-cut timber mixed with the dust and sweat of the people around him. 

A shudder ran down Noah’s spine as he stared at the boxes. 

“Well, I’ll be… Is that you, Noah Carter?” 

Noah blinked in surprise and looked over at a thick-set older man. 

“Sheriff Moore?” Noah asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. 

The sheriff was older now, a little heavier around the middle, but still sharp-eyed. He’d managed to recognize Noah under all the dirt and scruff even though Noah had been a fresh-faced youth when he marched off to war. 

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he said, walking over to Noah. He gripped Noah’s hand in a firm shake, as he studied Noah’s face intently. “You just get in?” 

“Just now.” Noah gestured behind him. “I haven’t had a chance to see my folks yet.” 

The sheriff’s smile dimmed slightly. “Come on. You look starved. Let’s get you a hot meal. I’ll bet you’d like something strong to wash it down. My, I haven’t seen you since you were a boy. It don’t feel right offering you a drink.” 

Noah hesitated. He looked down the main road. Although he was eager to see his parents after all that time, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a proper meal. Besides, if the town was unrecognizable to him, there were bound to be changes back home. Perhaps it would be good to talk to the sheriff and get the lay of the land before heading back home. 

“I’d appreciate it,” Noah said sincerely, “as long as it ain’t too much trouble, Sheriff.” 

The sheriff snorted and waved his hand dismissively. “I offered. Now, call me Elijah. Heaven knows you earned it!” 

Noah smiled wanly. He allowed Elijah to guide him toward the saloon. It was one of the only buildings that hadn’t changed much. The building was dimly lit inside, and the floorboards were still warped. The smell of whiskey and sawdust hung in the air. 

Elijah talked incessantly as they waited for their food, and Noah allowed the noise to wash over him. When the steaming bowl of stew arrived, Noah ate so quickly that he didn’t realize it was burning his tongue until three spoonfuls in. 

His stomach cramped at the beefy richness, but it was so good to have something in his stomach again that he didn’t stop. 

Elijah nursed a drink, watching Noah eat. 

“You got something to say, don’t you?” Noah said, his words muffled as he spoke in between his chewing. 

Elijah sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Your folks… Uh… Son, you didn’t come back with the rest of the boys from your regiment…” 

Noah leaned back in his chair. His bowl was scraped clean, so he reached for the tumbler of whiskey. It burned all the way down, warming him up from the inside. 

“I was taken prisoner,” Noah said gruffly. “I didn’t make it back same as everyone else.” 

Elijah winced and nodded. “I heard… Sorry about that. When did you get out?”  

“A couple months after the war ended.” Noah shrugged. “It took some time getting out and getting things straight. Our lieutenant sold us up the creek when he retreated. Left his own men in the mud to get away. They had us working up in the mountains in the mine. I was up in Arkansas. The war might’ve been over on paper, but no one told us that while we were swinging axes down in the dark. Our boys didn’t find us until about four months after the war ended.” 

“I see…” Elijah chewed the inside of his cheek as he stared into the distance. “Still. That was almost four years ago. Where were you? Why didn’t you come back?” 

Noah’s shoulders sagged as he shook his head. “I was sick when they hauled me outta that mine. Nearly didn’t make it. Spent a couple of months in hospital. It took me at least a year before I was well enough to ride a horse. My parents have enough on their plate, Sher— Elijah. I couldn’t be a burden on them.” 

“They would have gladly taken that burden,” Elijah said, his voice cracking slightly. 

Noah shook his head. He sipped the whiskey again. How could he explain to the lawman that he couldn’t come home broken in body and spirit? His father had been beaming with pride when he helped Noah prepare to leave for the army. When he’d left, he’d been sure that he’d return home in a blaze of glory. 

Instead, he’d been captured and forced to work for the enemy. Shame boiled inside of him as he remembered the expressions of the men who’d rescued him. They’d been kind and polite, but he’d seen the mixture of pity and disdain in their eyes. When they’d pulled him out of the mine, he’d been little more than a bag of bones with a rattling cough. 

He couldn’t return home like that, not when his mother had sobbed and begged him to stay. 

“I sent a letter,” Noah said quietly. 

Elijah sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I doubt they got it, son. Things haven’t been running smoothly since the war.” 

Noah shrugged. “I’m here now.” 

Elijah winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “There ain’t no easy way to say this, so I’m gonna dive right in. When you didn’t come back with the others, your mama was in a bad way.” 

“Didn’t they tell her I was a prisoner?” Noah asked in frustration. 

“They said you were dead,” Elijah said heavily. 

Noah slumped in his chair, staring at Elijah in disbelief. The sharp sting of betrayal pierced his heart. The war had been chaotic, but he’d assumed that someone had noticed his sacrifice. 

“Your ma… she couldn’t bear it. She… Well, she took her own life.” 

The pain hit Noah square in the gut. He gulped the remaining whiskey down and slammed the glass down on the table. 

“Your pa took to drinking,” Elijah continued. “He drank himself into the ground. I’m sorry to say that we buried him a year back.” 

Noah clenched his eyes shut as pain washed over him in waves. His mind grappled with the news. It couldn’t be true. His mother was waiting back home. She’d cry with relief when she saw him, and she’d immediately start cooking a huge meal of all his favorite foods. His father would clap him on the back, congratulating him even though there was nothing to congratulate. 

He felt like a little boy again as tears stung the back of his eyes. It was a little surprising, considering he thought he’d never cry again after all he’d been through. Apparently, life hadn’t given up on finding ways to break his spirit. 

Neither of them spoke for a long time as Noah tried to collect himself. 

Finally, Noah cleared his throat. “Where are they?” 

“We buried them in the cemetery at the top of the hill. I’ll take you there.” 

Noah shook his head. How could he face their gravestones when he’d been so close to seeing them again? It was too much for his sanity to bear. 

“I need… I want to go home.” It was as if he’d gone back in time. 

He was ten years old again. He’d fallen and skinned his knees. All he wanted was to go home and have his mama clean the wound and kiss his forehead. He just wanted to go home. 

Elijah swallowed hard and nodded. “Another time then.” 

The sheriff paid the bill and Noah followed him out of the saloon in a daze. They walked in silence as they made their way to the outskirts of town. The house was still standing, but just barely. The tall oak outside the house had grown a couple feet, and a rope swing hung from the branches, the rope frayed and faded. 

“I’ll let you get settled,” Elijah said, clapping Noah on the shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.” 

Noah managed to nod at the sheriff before making his way up the porch steps. A part of him believed that if he went inside, he’d find his parents inside. His mother would be cooking lunch and his father would be polishing his boots. 

The porch creaked beneath him as he tried the doorknob. It was locked. Noah went to the window, took out his knife and pried it open. He crawled through the window like a thief and stopped short. 

Everything was just the way it was before he’d left. The Bible was still on the coffee table, the flowered tablecloth on the dining table, only now it was all covered in a thick layer of dust. 

Noah went straight to his parents’ bedroom. He followed the same route as when he was a toddler, scared by a storm and seeking comfort in his parents’ bed. 

He dropped down onto the colorful quilt, causing a cloud of dust to fill the air as the bed creaked beneath him. Noah caught sight of himself in the cloudy mirror. He stared back at the gaunt stranger with the scraggly beard and sunken eyes. 

A sick feeling filled his stomach as shame burned through him. He should have found a way to come home sooner. Even if it meant crawling all the way to Silverton, he should have done it. 

Noah had come back to a house full of ghosts.