-Prologue-

  The Granger Ranch, Montana - December 1926

  The smell of fresh-baked bread and woodsmoke lingered in the air. In the small bedroom tucked at the back of the house, Abigail Granger dabbed a cool cloth against her eldest son’s fevered brow. Ray moaned weakly, his face pale and slick with sweat. The flu had hit him hard in the days following Christmas, leaving the whole household on edge. Abigail’s usually bright eyes were rimmed with dark circles, her weariness etched into the lines of her face.

  “Ma, how’s Ray?” Emmett’s voice carried from the doorway, rough with impatience. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, his boots tracking melted snow onto the worn wooden floor.

  Abigail didn’t look up from her task. “He’s resting, Emmett. You know he needs quiet.” Her tone was soft but firm. She once again wetted the cloth, wringing it out in the basin beside the bed.

  “Well, Margerite won’t stop bothering me about going outside.” Emmett grumbled, glancing back toward the kitchen where his little sister’s high-pitched voice could be heard singing to herself.

  Abigail sighed, rubbing her temple. “Your father’s out in the barn with the hands, and I can’t leave Ray. You’ll have to take her, Emmett.”

  “Ma…”

  “Enough.” She cut him off, her voice sharper this time. She turned to fix him with a tired but steely gaze. “Your sister’s been cooped up for days, and she’s been dying to use those skates. Just take her to the pond for a little while. She won’t be any trouble if you keep an eye on her.”

  Emmett scowled but didn’t argue further. He knew better. When his mother gave that look, even his father, Martin Granger, knew to keep his head down.

  “Fine.” He muttered, turning on his heel.

  “Make sure she bundles up.” Abigail called after him, her voice softening slightly. “And be patient with her, Emmett. She’s just a little girl.”

  He didn’t respond, stomping back into the main room where Margerite was already tugging on her boots, her small face glowing with excitement.

  “Hurry up, Emmett!” she chirped, fumbling with her scarf. “I wanna’ go before the sun melts the snow!”

  “It’s ten degrees outside. The snow’s not going anywhere.” He muttered, grabbing his coat from the hook near the door. He pulled it on roughly, the leather creaking as he jammed his arms through the sleeves.

  Margerite ignored his sour tone, too busy trying to wrap her scarf around her neck in a lopsided knot. Emmett sighed and crouched down, fixing it for her.

  “There.” He grunted, tying the ends securely. “Now let’s go before I change my mind.”

  Emmett walked to the door, glancing behind as his hand rested on the cold, brass knob. The house groaned as a sharp wind rattled its windows, but the fire in the hearth kept the main room cozy and warm. Emmett glanced back at it longingly as he opened the door and stepped out into the biting cold. Margerite darted ahead of him, her new skates slung over her shoulder, and he couldn’t help but groan.

  As he stepped outside, the January wind bit harshly at Emmett’s cheeks as he began trudging through the ankle-deep snow, his jaw tight with irritation. His younger sister, quickly falling behind, her little legs struggling to keep pace with his longer strides. She cried out again, the high-pitched whine of her voice grinding on Emmett’s nerves.

  "Emmett! You're walking too fast!" She complained, nearly tripping over her oversized galoshes. They used to be Rays when he was her age, hastily repurposed for Margerite until they could afford new ones.

  "Then walk faster!" Emmett snapped over his shoulder, not breaking stride. He was cold, and furious that his mother had saddled him with babysitting duty.

  "I can’t!" Margerite protested, puffing as she struggled to keep up. "My legs are shorter than yours!"

  Emmett groaned but slowed his pace slightly, his irritation bubbling just under the surface. The pond wasn’t far now, and the sooner she skated her fill, the sooner he could be back in the warmth of the house.

  She finally caught up, walking alongside him with her head bowed. "Why don’t you like me, Emmett?" Margerite asked, her voice was small and hurt, cutting through the frosty air.

  Emmett sighed heavily, his breath misting. "I don’t hate you, Margerite." He said, but his tone carried no warmth, only exasperation.

  "Yeah, but you’re always mean to me." She replied, glancing up at him with wide, hurt eyes. The accusation stung a little, though Emmett wouldn’t admit it.

  "Because you follow me everywhere, like a damn shadow!" He shot back, glaring down at her. "You never leave me alone."

  Margerite shrugged, her small frame shivering against the cold. "There’s not a lot of kids to play with." She said quietly. "Except when we’re at church or school. But at home... it’s just me and you and Ray."

  Emmett’s scowl deepened, and he didn’t reply. They walked in tense silence the rest of the way, the crunch of snow beneath their feet the only sound. When the frozen pond finally came into view, Margerite’s face lit up with excitement. Emmett, meanwhile, stared at it with growing annoyance.

  The smooth, glistening surface stretched before them, untouched and inviting. Margerite hurried to sit on a fallen log near the edge, fumbling with the laces of her new skates. Eager to get started.

  Emmett wasn’t sharing her excitement. The idea of sitting here, freezing, while his little sister skated joyfully around, filled him with resentment. His eyes landed on a large rock near the shore, and an idea formed. It was mean, but he didn’t care. "Hold on, Margerite." He said, trying to sound concerned. "The ice looks too thin."

  Margeret paused, glancing at the pristine ice, then back at him. "It’s not." She said firmly. "Mom said…"

  "Let me check." Emmett interrupted, stomping over to the rock. He heaved against its weight, straining, until he managed to lift it. "Watch." He grunted, dragging it to the edge. With a great heave, he tossed it onto the frozen surface.

  The rock crashed through the ice with a loud crack, splintering it into jagged spiderwebs. Margerite gasped in horror, her small hands flying to her mouth. "See?" Emmett said smugly, pointing at the hole. "The rock’s about as heavy as you. It’s not safe."

  Tears welled in Margerite’s eyes as she stared at the ruined ice, her dreams of skating shattered. "You did that on purpose!" She wailed, standing up. Her fists balled at her sides, trembling with rage.

  "I didn’t!" Emmett lied, his smirk betraying him. "I probably just saved your life!"

  "You just didn’t want to spend time with me!" She yelled, stepping between him and the pond. Her small frame shook with anger, her cheeks red from the cold and frustration.

  Emmett sneered. "Maybe I didn’t." He muttered under his breath.

  Margeret’s face twisted with fury. She bent down, scooping up a handful of snow. Unbeknownst to her, a small rock was nestled inside. "I hate you, Emmett!" She shrieked, hurling it at his face.

  The rock struck him squarely on the forehead, and pain exploded behind his eyes. He staggered back, clutching at the growing goose egg on his head. "You... you did that on purpose!" he bellowed.

  Margerite stuck out her tongue defiantly. "I hate you!" She shot back.

  Emmett’s anger boiled over. He lunged forward and shoved her with all his might. Margerite’s eyes widened in shock as she stumbled backward. Her feet slipped on the icy bank, and with a sharp cry, she fell through the cracked ice into the freezing water.

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  "MARGERITE!" Emmett screamed, the sound tearing from his throat. The pain in his forehead forgotten. He ran to the edge, slipping and crashing to his knees. His head smacked the ice, stars bursting behind his eyes. When his vision cleared, he saw her. A small, frantic shadow beneath the surface, pounding desperately against the ice.

  "No! No, no, no!" He wailed, scrambling to his feet. He slid across the ice to where she was trapped, her little fists banging on the translucent barrier. Tears streamed down his face as he pounded against the ice with his fists, the skin splitting and knuckles cracking under the force.

  "Margerite! Hold on!" He screamed, his voice hoarse. He hit the ice again and again, ignoring the pain, until it finally gave way with a sickening crack. The freezing water surged around him, nearly dragging him in, but he grabbed her arm with both hands and hauled her out with a feral cry, supporting himself on the edge of the ice.

  She was coughing, sputtering, her lips already turning blue. "I’m sorry! I’m sorry!" Emmett sobbed, dragging her across the ice and onto the shore. He hoisted her onto his back, her small body limp, trembling and freezing against him. He turned and as quickly as he could, began running home.

  Margerite coughed up water. Sputtering and gasping. "I hate you, Emmett." She wheezed weakly, her voice trembling with pain.

  "I don’t hate you, Margerite! I love you!" Emmett cried, his legs burning as he ran toward home. Tears streamed down his face. "I’m sorry! I’m sorry!" he choked out between gasps.

  Emmett’s legs churned through the snow, his boots slipping and sinking into the uneven ground with each frantic step. Margerite’s small body hung limp on his back, her arms loosely draped over his shoulders. She coughed weakly, a pitiful, gurgling sound that only spurred him to move faster.

  "I’m sorry, Margerite." He sobbed, his voice cracking. His throat burned from the cold air tearing through his lungs. "I didn’t mean it…I didn’t mean it, I swear!"

  Her head rested against his shoulder, her small, wet cheek pressed against his neck. Her wheezing breaths were shallow and labored, each one sounding more strained than the last. Emmett’s heart pounded in his chest, a panicked drumbeat driving him forward. His legs felt like they were on fire, the muscles screaming with exhaustion, as he ran as fast as he could through the snow.

  "You’re gonna be okay." He panted, his voice high and desperate. "We’re almost home. Momma will fix this. She’ll fix everything."

  Margeret coughed again, and he felt water and mucus splatter against his neck. He didn’t focus on it, his mind too frenzied to do more than focus on getting home and comforting his sister.

  "I love you, Margerite." He choked out, his voice trembling. "I love you, I promise."

  The snow grew deeper as he stumbled into a small drift, nearly losing his footing. He caught himself just in time, clutching her arms as tight as he could. "I’m sorry." He repeated, over and over, the words tumbling from his lips like a mantra. Tears blurred his vision, freezing against his raw, windburned cheeks.

  Her wheezing grew softer, fainter, but Emmett couldn’t let himself think about what that meant. He shook his head violently, as if to dislodge the growing fear. "You’re gonna be fine." He insisted, his voice rising. "You’re tough, Margerite. You’re the toughest little sister."

  The house finally came into view, its familiar shape cutting through the stark, snowy landscape like a beacon. Relief surged through him, but it was quickly swallowed by terror as he felt her breathing falter. "Margerite, stay with me!" he begged, his voice cracking. "Please! Just hold on a little longer!"

  She coughed weakly, her voice barely audible. "I... hate you..." She gasped.

  "No, you don’t." Emmett cried, his tears falling freely now. "You don’t hate me. You can’t… Because I don’t hate you. I love you, Margerite. I love you so much."

  Her head lolled against his shoulder, her breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. Emmett’s heart raced as he forced his legs to move faster, his body screaming in protest. His chest burned, his arms ached from holding her, but none of it mattered. He would get her home. He had to.

  "I’m sorry." He gasped again, the words catching in his throat. "I’m sorry for everything. I’ll be better, I promise. Just don’t leave me, Margerite. Please!"

  The snow seemed to stretch endlessly, each step forward feeling heavier than the last. His breaths came in frantic, shallow gulps, his vision swimming with exhaustion and panic.

  "We’re almost there." He rasped, his voice raw and broken. "You’ll see Momma soon, and she’ll make everything better. Just hold on, Margerite. Please."

  The house grew larger, closer, but Emmett barely registered it. His world narrowed to the sound of her fading breaths and the snow crunching under his feet. His legs buckled once, then twice, but he forced himself upright each time, his determination burning brighter than his fatigue.

  As the porch came into view, Emmett tripped over a buried rock, his foot catching awkwardly. He fell forward with a sharp cry, Margerite’s small body tumbling from his back. He scrambled to his knees, his chest heaving as he reached for her.

  "Margie?" He gasped, crawling toward her. The sight stopped him cold.

  She was still against the snow. Her fingers twitching. His hands trembled as he turned her over, his stomach twisting in horror. Blood-soaked mucus trickled from the corners of her mouth, and her eyes stared blankly at the gray sky above.

  "No, no, no." He whispered, shaking his head violently. "Margerite!" His voice cracked into a scream as he pulled her into his arms, clutching her limp body against his chest. "I love you, Margerite! I love you! Please don’t die!"

  Her head lolled against his shoulder, her small frame lifeless in his arms. Emmett rocked her back and forth, sobbing into her soaked hair. "Please, Margie." He begged, his voice a broken whisper. "I’ll be good, I swear I’ll be good. Just wake up. Please wake up."

  The sound of a door slamming open tore through the air, followed by a piercing scream. "MARGERITE!" Their mother shrieked, her voice filled with raw, anguished terror.

  Emmett didn’t look up, didn’t move. He held his sister tighter, his own sobs mingling with the echo of his mother’s cries, as the cold January wind howled around them.

  The house had never felt so small. So suffocating.

  The muffled wails from Margerite’s room filled the hallway, wrapping around Emmett like thick smoke. He sat motionless in the wooden chair outside the bedroom door, staring at the scuffed floorboards beneath his feet. His hands rested limply on his lap, his fingers twitching with the urge to grip something, anything, to keep himself from shaking apart.

  To his right, Ray leaned heavily against the wall, his entire body trembling. Not just from sickness but from something worse. He looked like he was about to collapse, losing the battle to keep his composure. His fingers curled weakly around the wall for support, his other hand clutching at the fabric of his nightshirt as though he could steady himself by sheer force of will.

  From inside the room, their mother’s weeping continued, raw and broken. Abigail Granger had always been strong, always kept her head high, even in the hardest of times. But now, her sobs were something primal, animalistic, shaking the walls and piercing through Emmett’s chest like a blade.

  Ray let out a sharp breath, clenched his jaw, and turned his head away. He couldn’t take it anymore. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his entire body shaking from the effort of holding himself together. Then, without another word, he stumbled away down the hall, his shoulders hunched, his gait uneven as though the weight of it all was crushing him from the inside out.

  Emmett didn’t watch him go. He couldn’t.

  Then, the door creaked open.

  Martin Granger stepped out.

  Martin looked… older. More tired than Emmett had ever seen him. His face, always firm, always composed, was slack with exhaustion and grief. His normally sharp eyes were red-rimmed, swollen, as if he’d been crying.

  And Emmett had never, never seen his father cry.

  Martin ran a shaking hand over his face and exhaled a long, uneven breath before turning his gaze on Emmett.

  He stepped forward, resting a strong, weathered hand on his son’s shoulder.

  Emmett didn’t look up.

  Martin lowered himself to one knee, bringing himself level with Emmett, searching his face.

  “Son,” he rasped, his voice rough. “Look at me.”

  Emmett hesitated, then slowly lifted his head. His father’s grief-stricken eyes locked onto his, and the lump in his throat grew unbearable.

  “Tell me what happened,” Martin said gently. His voice was tired, hoarse, but not angry. Not accusing. Just… pleading.

  Emmett’s throat tightened. His lips parted, but nothing came out. He felt like he was choking on the words. The truth burned inside of him like hot coal, but the moment he even considered saying it, a cold fear clamped down on his chest like iron.

  Martin gave his shoulder a small shake, coaxing him. “It’s okay, Emmett,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just tell me.”

  Emmett swallowed hard. His jaw quivered.

  “She was skating on the ice,” he forced out, his voice barely audible. He lowered his gaze to the floor, his fingernails digging into his palms. “She just… she just fell through.”

  The lie felt like bile on his tongue.

  Martin exhaled a long breath through his nose, his grip on Emmett’s shoulder tightening just slightly.

  For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, finally, his father pulled him into a tight embrace, his large hands pressing firmly against Emmett’s back, holding him in place.

  “This ain’t your fault,” Martin whispered, his voice thick. “You hear me? This ain’t your fault.”

  Emmett squeezed his eyes shut, his breath hitching in his throat. His father’s words cut him deeper than any knife could.

  It is my fault. It’s all my fault.

  Martin’s arms tightened around him as if he could somehow shield him from the weight of it all. “These things just happen sometimes, son,” he murmured. “Sometimes, no matter what we do, they just… happen.”

  The words shattered something inside Emmett.

  A choked sob tore from his throat before he could stop it. He clung to his father’s shirt with trembling hands, his whole body shaking. The weight of the guilt, the grief, the lie. It was too much.

  Martin held him, his own breath uneven. He didn’t speak. He just held his son, rubbing slow, steady circles against his back, the way he used to when Emmett was little.

  Emmett gasped against his father’s shoulder, barely able to breathe past the weight in his chest. He was crying now, full and unrestrained. His body trembled as the sobs tore through him, breaking him apart piece by piece.

  From inside Margerite’s room, his mother’s cries filled the air, a sound so full of anguish that it physically hurt to hear.

  Emmett squeezed his eyes shut tighter, pressing his face against his father’s shoulder, trying to block it all out.

  But he couldn’t.

  The memory was there.

  Margeret’s voice, weak and breathless, her blue lips trembling as she clung to life.

  "I hate you, Emmett. I hate you."

  Emmett let out a sharp, broken sob.

  Martin didn’t say anything else. He just held his son as the cold wind howled outside, and the house, once filled with warmth and life, sat in heavy, unbearable silence.