Adventure. Love. Heartbreak. Welcome to the California gold rush.

Although these things are difficult to pin down so far ahead of schedule, I anticipate Halcyon Days will see the publication light of day in 2023. I have a rough draft, but it's still in its manuscript infancy, so there's a long way to go yet. I do most of my writing in winter, so I'm confident I'll make great strides in late 2022.

Halcyon Days is the emotional tale of Norah Foster, an outcast in her own family, and Merrick Brandt, a young ranch hand determined to reach the California gold fields and make his fortune. In an act of desperation to escape her cruel family, Norah commits an irrevocable mistake that has far-reaching consequence that binds her fate to Merrick's.  These two have a lot to overcome before they get their happy ending, but their tender embrace on the cover perfectly illustrates how Merrick and Norah ultimately become each other's emotional rock. 

Scroll Down to Read an Excerpt

Chapter 2: "Merrick Brandt"

​“I stayed up waiting for you, miss. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show.”

Norah appeared around the open doorway of the tack storage room just as Merrick Brandt sat up from his relaxed sprawl on his sleeping cot. The glow from the lamp briefly illuminated his polite but otherwise unremarkably arranged features as he quickly folded the newspaper clipping in his hand and tucked it beneath his pillow.

She pretended not to notice the discreet movement. “Dinner tonight lasted longer than expected,” she replied, and that was as detailed as her answer was going to be.

Not that Merrick Brandt desired any details. He was a reserved young man. His nod was respectful but didn’t encourage conversation. Nor did his expression reveal any curiosity concerning her statement. He kept his eyes averted and his words brief.

“Your little mother here is famished. She’s gotten used to your table scraps.” He gave a departing tug to the brim of his tweed flat cap. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”  

As he had for the past two nights, Merrick Brandt promptly vacated his temporary sleeping quarters in the stable tack room and left Norah alone with the calico cat and her three kittens that had made a home on an old saddle pad beneath the cot. A moment of regret assailed her for disturbing him. He wasn’t a man who lingered, but that was how Norah preferred it. They were strangers. Beyond the occasional acknowledgment or exchange of information like the one that had just occurred, young Mr. Brandt adhered strictly to social proprieties and was never alone with her for more than a few seconds.

Norah frowned as she remembered Marcella’s enthusiastic comment at dinner concerning their foreman’s temporary employee. She still wondered if Merrick Brandt was responsible for the incriminating grass stain on the back of Marcella’s skirt. Perhaps the reserve he showed Norah didn’t apply to her passionate sister.

Her frown disappeared. It was none of her concern. Marcella was welcome to him.

Norah carefully installed herself on the sand and dirt floor, gathering and tucking her yellow gingham skirts in a modest arrangement around her. It was one of the few simple gowns she owned that was suitable for illicit, late night forays to the stable. Not that feeding a barn feline the beef she’d saved from dinner and subsequently hidden inside her napkin constituted illicit activity, but Judith would have been appalled, nonetheless. It was long past the hour for proper young ladies to be asleep in their beds. Stratton would have been equally scandalized; squandering beef filet on a mere cat was criminal.

The small rebellion brought her immense satisfaction, as did the throaty purr of welcome that greeted her when she leaned down and peered beneath the cot. A pair of bright, copper-colored eyes gleamed peacefully from the darkness. Three distinct balls of wriggling fur and a chorus of tiny meows confirmed the calico’s litter was thriving, in no small part thanks to the table scraps Norah regularly provided. She’d befriended the little feline family on a boring rainy afternoon several days ago, and not even Merrick Brandt’s unexpected relocation from the bunkhouse to the stable to monitor a risky pregnancy in one of the mares had deterred her visits.

Norah might dislike strangers and avoid them as a rule, but she liked the cat more. She’d bravely shoved her way inside the small room even as Mr. Brandt excused himself with what would prove to be a signature tug of his cap. It had been their unexciting pattern ever since.

“You’re a good mother,” she praised, spreading open the table napkin and offering the cat her first portion of meat. The animal plucked it delicately from her outstretched fingers without disturbing her nursing kittens. “Human mothers could learn a thing or two from you.”

A more cynical observer would have equated the cat’s motherly devotion to instinct and nothing more. It wasn’t love Norah was witnessing but the innate biological drive of a beast ensuring the survival of its offspring.

It didn’t matter. Not to her. It was still an improvement over a mother who contemplated drowning her newborn or abandoning it on the doorstep of a mission.

She quickly pushed the thought away. She’d been pushing such thoughts away her entire life. It was that or fall apart.

“I made a terrible mistake tonight,” she admitted to the purring feline. “I lost control of my temper in front of the entire family. That’s never happened before. Now Marcella will make my life even more miserable.” Norah sighed deeply and offered up another morsel; she liked to think the answering vibration a sympathetic sound. “She convinced Mother that I was lying about Diego, and so who was locked in her room as punishment? Not Marcella, but me.” She leaned closer to whisper confidingly, “I sneaked out easily enough, though. I always do.”

Foster House wasn’t a house. It was a compound. Constructed in the Spanish colonial style, it was a two-storied fortress of stuccoed adobe walls and shuttered windows that had been built to withstand sieges from Mexican soldiers and attacks from Apache and Comanche raiding parties. Reaching her destination tonight had been a disciplined flight of crouching and tiptoeing that had taken Norah past an endless dark maze of outbuildings and structures: summer kitchen, icehouse, chicken coop, root cellar, storage dugouts, sheds, cisterns, branding pens, and paddocks. The bunkhouse and cabins at the farthest reaches of the property were too outlying to merit concern, but the vaqueros who populated them were a different matter entirely; not because they were a threat to her, but because they stood guard throughout the ranch, and avoiding them was difficult. It was a dangerous frontier they lived in, and Stratton Foster insisted upon regular nightly patrols.

None of the men had ever stopped her, though. As much as Norah liked to believe she slipped by unnoticed, good sense dictated otherwise. She was seen, but her activities weren’t hindered. She wasn’t important enough to stop. The cattle herders were accustomed to the various Foster siblings roaming the land at odd hours. Her luckless brothers habitually sneaked to the bunkhouse and played cards and dice, and she suspected the stockmen won too much money from the fools to raise the hue and cry, whereas Marcella sealed their collective loyalty with her generous favors. None would put a stop to the undisciplined wanderings of the Foster brood.

Norah only benefited from that latitude, but unlike her half-siblings, aside from coercing affection from the horses with apples pilfered from the root cellar or wasting fine beef filet on a mangy barn cat, there was nothing duplicitous about her comings and goings.

Well…perhaps that wasn’t entirely true.

The small lump wrapped inside a handkerchief and jammed down the front of her tightly laced corset chose that moment to shift slightly, making its presence known along with the lie she’d just told herself. Her assertion at dinner that Marcella’s ruby pendeloque earrings were probably in the stomach of a cow by now had been a rare bit of guile on Norah’s part. She knew exactly where to find Marcella’s earrings, but no hapless cows were involved in their disappearance.

Norah wriggled a bit until the lump shifted back into place against her breastbone. She’d been concealing the earrings thusly for almost a week now. She’d discovered them purely by accident in the hayloft. Marcella’s slovenly habits kept their harried maids Josefina and Consuelo busy inside the house, but there were no overtaxed domestic staff shadowing Marcella on her outdoor assignations. Any ribbons or garters she misplaced were left to the birds and mice.

Not so with the ruby earrings. While the twins had their fancywork to anchor their sanity, Norah had her pencil illustrations, and she’d found the earrings while exploring the rafters for bird nests to sketch. A beam of sunlight had caught on the dark red stones lost among the scattered pieces of hay, and she had quickly snatched them up.

Norah didn’t possess any valuable trinkets of her own. She was given paste jewelry or temporarily loaned pieces from the family safe for special occasions, but petty-minded jealousy wasn’t the inspiration behind that day’s theft.

Freedom was.

The jewelry was her ticket to California. She’d been dreaming of escaping there since reports had started appearing in the papers. She had little experience with the outside world and what things cost, but she was hopeful the gemstones were valuable enough to fund an expedition West.

The ruby pendeloque earrings were so vital in what they now represented—escape from her dreary life with the Fosters—that no hiding place was deemed safe enough. Norah carried them with her always. She’d been summoning the courage to propose a partnership with Stratton Junior, for his desire to reach California seemed to parallel her own, but tonight’s revelation at dinner had Norah rethinking her potential partner. She didn’t trust her brother and couldn’t risk his betrayal, but Merrick Brandt had shown no animosity toward her. It was a promising characteristic.

She strained to hear the one-sided conversation drifting down the stable’s long center aisle. She easily recognized the low, soothing tone he used with Frida, the mare soon due to foal, as he checked her and then groomed her each night. It was now or never.

Norah fed the mother cat the last morsel of beef and rose to her feet with purpose. Her eyes darted around the small room, alighting on the saddle racks and neatly hung rows of bits, halters, and bridles before taking a longer, apprehensive survey of the open doorway. She must hurry so she wasn’t caught. Resolve overrode guilt as she reached beneath the pillow positioned neatly at the head of the cot. She already suspected what it hid but had to know for certain.

A pile of newspaper clippings and pamphlets lay beneath the straw-filled bolster. Her heart quickened at the discovery. It was a large pile. She smiled. They must crinkle while he slept.

The top clipping came all the way from the office of The New York Herald, and a quick examination of the ones beneath revealed a similar theme in each bold headline. All gave various accountings of the gold rush in a fervor of eye-catching, sculpted typefaces that beckoned Adventure! Riches! Manifest Destiny! Norah lightly trailed her fingertips over the topmost clipping and recalled how he’d concealed it upon her arrival. He’d done so smoothly, without any outward show of embarrassment, but she’d recognized the wary gesture.

It was the self-protectiveness of a dreamer. Stratton Junior behaved in a similar fashion whenever he snapped open the Texas Register and pretended to read about cattle prices when he was really reading yet another editorial about the great exodus westward. Norah herself had done her own guilty shifting and eye-darting after spinning the globe in the family library and envisioning possible escape routes. By land or by sea? Frustrated dreamers were deft at guarding themselves from those who would readily mock and crush their hopes.

Reassured, her fingers stroked the newsprint once more, then she replaced the pillow as it had been. She now had her proof. It seemed Merrick Brandt was someone who dreamed big dreams, too. Now all she had to do was convince him they were better off together than alone.

Impossible?

Maybe. But she would still try.

The center aisle of the stable was laid in stone, and the echo of her footsteps brought his attention swinging around. He smiled politely, lips lifting then relaxing without any show of teeth. It was a respectful but impersonal smile. “All done, miss? Goodnight to you, then.” He didn’t await her reply but stroked the mare’s soft nose a few more times with the face brush, then he dropped the grooming implement into the pail that hung outside the stall. He’d occupied himself appropriately during his temporary eviction and thought his time was his own again.

A presumption that was evident in his confused frown when Norah went to stand beside him at the stall gate instead of continuing down the aisle and out the large double doors as was her routine.   

“Our foreman Fernando Ramírez says you have a rare gift out on the range with the first-year heifers,” she opened.

“Señor Ramírez is overly generous with his compliments.”

The impossible task she faced put too much nervousness in her voice. Norah didn’t have ample experience conversing with strangers, but even she knew she couldn’t simply blurt out a proposed partnership. These sorts of things needed easing into, but the admiration shared by her brother at dinner didn’t have the desired conversational effect on Merrick. It put him off instead. His expression beneath the shadow of his tweed flat cap was tense and guarded.

She tried again.        
                                                                        
“How did you come by your knowledge of animal husbandry, Mr. Brandt?”

“The same as most people. I picked up a little here and a little there.”

Merrick retrieved the face brush and resumed grooming Frida. Norah recognized the action of someone who needed the pretense of looking busy to discourage undue chatter. His brief responses were further deterrents, but Norah wasn’t deterred. She couldn’t afford to be. Young Merrick Brandt was her only chance of escaping the oppressiveness of Foster House.
​
“Will Frida be all right?” Most people found her nearness offensive, which might explain his terseness. She was mindful to leave an appropriate amount of space between them as she reached over the gate and scratched the mare’s velvety nose. “She slipped her first foal. That was nearly two years ago.”
​
She couldn’t miss the way he stiffened and shifted away. It was subtle but noticeable. Like most, he seemed intolerant of a mixed-race woman. She’d hoped...but no matter. Norah swallowed her disappointment and continued scratching the soft nose. She’d always liked the pretty little mare.

“Señor Ramírez told me she had colic and that’s why she aborted,” he replied after making a dozen or so unhurried strokes with the brush. “She seems perfectly healthy with this pregnancy, but someone still needs to keep a close watch on her.”

It was left unsaid that someone was him. “Do you expect she’ll foal soon?”

Another dozen strokes passed. “Today was the first day her udder stayed full instead of shrinking when she exercised, but she isn’t ready yet. The other signs are still missing.”

She liked the way he spoke. He didn’t seem pressured to respond right away but instead took the time to formulate his thoughts. He communicated with deliberateness, and the unhurried pace of each word dropping effortlessly into place was soothing.
Enthralled by the peaceful effect, she carelessly inquired, “And what signs might those be, Mr. Brandt?”

The answering silence was cumbersome, and Norah immediately regretted her curiosity. Secretions and bloody discharge were not suitable topics of discussion between an unacquainted man and woman. Or acquainted ones, for that matter. Labor was likely the same in horses as it was in women, cats, and heifers: painful and messy.

Merrick’s response, when it finally came, was blessedly tactful. “She’ll be sweaty and want to move around a lot. She might kick at her sides.” He hesitated. “Is Frida your horse?” A slight softening had entered his voice. “Most mares foal safely on their own and don’t need any help. I’m sure she’ll be grand, miss.”

​

Her interest in Frida had relaxed him, and something in his expression relaxed her. She could almost forget the way he’d stiffened and shifted away from her earlier. Unlike the other ranch hands, there was no curiosity in his gaze whenever he looked at her. He wasn’t puzzling over how she fit into the Foster family. Someone somewhere had taught him manners. Confidence, too. He had an admirable sense of self for one so young.

Norah wished she could say yes to his question, but Frida wasn’t hers. Despite the well-appointed stable, there were no cherished pets here. All were hardy American Quarter Horses used in herding cattle. They were boarded according to their preferences and not because any one animal was prized over the other. Some beasts liked the warm, cozy confinement of a box stall, while others loathed it and were pastured in the paddock instead.

“I was never allowed to have my own horse,” she said. “Nor my sisters.” Including them in her explanation sounded less pathetic. “Pleasure riding serves no purpose.”

The glance he cut her contained irony. “That’s why it’s called pleasure riding. It doesn’t have to serve a purpose beyond pleasure.”

“Mother frowns upon it. Pleasure riding, that is,” she quickly clarified. “She doesn’t frown upon pleasure. We’re permitted our amusements. She allows the twins to have their fancywork and me my sketching.” Norah decided now was the opportune time for her bold announcement. “I yearn for more from life, though. I have it on good authority you do as well.”

The brief relaxing of his shoulders was a thing of the past. “It’s good to know you’re permitted your amusements,” he said stiffly, “but just as I told your sister Marcella, I’m not up for your definition of amusement.”

“Marcella approached you?” The blood drained from her face. Marcella knew about her desire to go to California? “I don’t understand. What did she say?” 

“She said she only wanted a kiss, but a girl who professes to only want a kiss somehow ends up becoming a man’s wife. I’m only twenty-two and not ready to be anyone’s husband. I’m bound for California and plan on being unmarried when I go.” His brown gaze sharpened. “Señor Ramírez warned me about your sister, but no one warned me about you.”

Mortified, she realized her comment about pleasure and amusements had been misconstrued. He thought she was inappropriately propositioning him. He thought she was loose with her favors like Marcella!

“I wasn’t suggesting a tryst,” she protested. “I was trying to summon the courage to propose a business partnership. I want to go to California with you as your business partner!”

His tight expression didn’t alter any. Either he didn’t believe her or the prospect of being business partners with her was just as distasteful as a fictitious seduction. Dismayed and discouraged, Norah nonetheless felt an inexplicable rush of relief that Merrick Brandt wasn’t responsible for the grass stain on the back of Marcella’s skirt. “Then she wasn’t with you today?”

“I know better than to tangle with rich men’s daughters.”

“I’m not Stratton Foster’s daughter.”

Too late, she heard the suggestiveness of her statement. Norah flinched. Everything was coming out wrong around him. Merrick’s disapproving scowl confirmed he’d noticed it, too, but the regulated sweeps of the grooming brush never faltered. He concentrated fully on the mare and didn’t look at her again. Frida would be the most pampered horse in all of Texas if her blunders continued.

“I only meant that he wouldn’t mourn me if I left,” she explained. “He would probably be grateful to you. They all would. My family and I…are not close.”

“I’m sorry, miss. I have no need of a business partner any more than I have need of a wife.”

“Please, Mr. Brandt. At least take the night to consider before saying no.”

It seemed silly to keep calling him a mister when he was younger than she. It seemed equally silly that he kept referring to her as a miss for the same reason, but social etiquette often fell into that category: silly.

“I’ll be traveling to California alone,” he declined. “I prefer my own company. It’s nothing against you. It’s just the way I like it.”

Self-sufficiency was admirable, but his youth made him careless. He hadn’t struck her as a reckless sort until now.

“I’ve read enough newspaper articles about the journey overland to know that’s not a good idea,” she cautioned. “There’s too many dangers that could befall a solitary traveler.”

His profile shifted with a faint smile of amusement. “I didn’t mean to imply that I was going alone. I’ll be traveling with a wagon party. I’m not suicidal.”

It was a relief to discover he wasn’t reckless after all. He was simply a private man who liked being on his own. He had a transitory quality about him. She saw that now. He wasn’t here to form attachments or make connections but to achieve a goal.
But Norah was here to achieve a goal, too. “I have money. Or I will once I go to San Antonio and sell some possessions,” she amended, fully aware of the lump pressing into her sternum. “I could fund your entire trip if you agree to take me with you.” It was a brash statement from someone with no knowledge of what things cost, but young Merrick Brandt didn’t know that.

“You’re placing me in an awkward situation, miss. I don’t like being unkind, but this conversation needs to end. I won’t take you anywhere.”

Frustration welled up inside her. “Why?” she challenged.
It was her skin. It had to be. She would make him say it.
The perplexity in her voice must have provoked him. His hand stilled, and the line of his mouth pressed flat. An unyielding stare focused on her.

“I won’t take you with me for the same reason I wouldn’t agree to take your brother: You’re both deadweight.”

The unflattering assessment didn’t hurt because it was true. She was useless. Instead Norah grappled with the real injustice of his announcement. “Stratton Junior already asked to partner with you?” she despaired. Men stuck together. She didn’t have a chance now.

“He asked me yesterday. He thinks reading a few newspaper articles makes him fit to be a California gold miner. He doesn’t know what real danger is or the hard work it’ll take to get there.”

Norah wisely refrained from mentioning Merrick’s own stash of newspaper articles. “But you do,” she stated assuredly.

His nod was confident without being arrogant. “I’ve done the research. More importantly, I’ve traveled enough to realize it won’t be easy. It’ll take four months by wagon to reach California. There’s Comanche and Apache that will take exception to thousands of strangers passing through their lands. There’s rattlesnakes, cholera, and wolves waiting to strike, sicken, and make a meal out of a novice like your brother. The chances of dying of thirst in the Gila Desert or drowning fording the Colorado River hasn’t even crossed his mind. Your brother’s spoiled, and the life he’s led so far hasn’t prepared him for riding in a wagon for four months swatting at flies, sleeping on the ground, and cooking over a campfire. And that’s just the journey to San Diego!” he cautioned. “There’s still the ship voyage to San Francisco to take, then if he hasn’t been scalped, starved, or poisoned, the odds of him reaching the gold fields before the winter rains set in are slim to none.”

Norah wouldn’t lie. All that sounded daunting, but it didn’t lessen her determination. “You sound well-prepared, Mr. Brandt. That’s an admirable quality in a business partner.”

If she thought her rare moment of cheekiness would earn her a smile, she was quickly disappointed. His expression grew stern.
“The only good thing either of you has to contribute is money, and I’ll have enough of that when I get my wages at the end of the month. I expect he hasn’t taken no for an answer, but he’ll have to. You, too, miss. Either you’ll get me killed or get yourself killed. I don’t need the trouble.” He abruptly dropped the brush into the metal pail, surprising her and earning an affronted snort from the mare. “You Fosters are really something,” he critiqued. “Rich and bored and willing to nag a stranger to death instead of making the obvious choice and partnering up together. You’re both inexperienced, but you could easily hire a knowledgeable guide in San Antonio.”

He’d long since forgotten himself with her. Overstepped. The deferential employee was nowhere to be seen, but Norah liked this version of Merrick Brandt better. He was honest, if nothing else.

“I don’t think Stratton Junior is a good choice,” she deflected. “For me or for you. Haven’t you spent the last several minutes describing how useless he’d be?” She hedged closer and was reassured when he didn’t move away. “How much money did he offer you? I’m certain I can offer you more.” Rubies were costly gemstones. She knew that much.

He made a derisive sound. “I’m sure you could since he offered me nothing. He said his pockets were empty until his quarterly allowance comes in next month. Said it like he was some highborn noble from across the ocean.” He shook his head unhappily. “I thought America was supposed to be different from the old country.”

Startled by what amounted to a personal disclosure, Norah asked, “You weren’t born in America?”

“I emigrated from Ireland when I was a boy.”

The words slipped out carelessly. It was evident by the horror that took over his face. An intensely private man had just given away one of his secrets for free, and it was clear he wasn’t happy about the slip.

“I never would have guessed you’re Irish. You have no accent—”

“You’re not the only one around here trying to hide in plain sight.”

Merrick Brandt’s reluctance to draw attention to himself took on a whole new meaning. The Irish were looked on unfavorably, particularly since the recent potato blight had increased their emigration numbers to America. They were yet another class of people deemed inferior, and few were willing to hire a dirty Irishman.

Sympathy overtook her. They were kindred. Here was a man who’d experienced injustice, too. They had a connection, even if it was nothing more than the shared knowledge of how unfair life could be, but maybe that would be enough to get Merrick to change his mind.

“I’ve already told you Stratton Foster isn’t my father.” She didn’t have the luxury of pride, but it still embarrassed her to say the shameful words aloud. “Another man sired me. By violence.” Twenty-six years had passed since Stratton had made the irrevocable mistake of hiring a part-Comanche, part-Mexican horse trainer who’d attacked his young wife in the stable one day in a fit of lust and violence. Twenty six years later, and still no one was exempt from that day. “I’ve been a constant, unwanted reminder of that violence.” Norah inhaled deeply. “Please, Mr. Brandt. I need to leave this house before I crumble into dust.”

Merrick’s face was carefully neutral.

“I’m going for a walk, miss. I expect you to be gone when I get back.”

Her heart wailed in protest as he moved past her and into the aisle.

“I’ll change your mind,” she called after him.

Merrick didn’t turn around. He kept walking until he exited the same elaborately carved double doors she should have passed through a quarter of an hour ago.

She’d been dispassionately dismissed. Effortlessly rejected. His neutral expression as he’d refused her bothered Norah in a way she couldn’t have anticipated. His anger would have been better. At least a heated refusal would have indicated she’d gotten under his skin and left him with something to think about. His calm rejection said he wasn’t even tempted a little by her offer.

Norah’s jaw stubbornly set itself. She would change his mind.

An idea sent her rushing back into the tack room and reaching for his pillow. She dipped her fingers inside her bodice and withdrew the lumpy lawn handkerchief embroidered with delicate sheafs of wheat. She spread open the four corners with excited hands. The set of ruby pendeloque earrings shone a brilliant dark red, winking in conspiracy. Smiling, she selected one and lay it on top of the article from The New York Herald then replaced the pillow exactly as it was. The next time Merrick reached for his newspaper clippings, a surprise would be waiting for him.

The earring would sway him. It had to. She would come back tomorrow and ask if he still thought her deadweight.
​
Norah returned the earring’s mate down the front of her dress and left the stable feeling more optimistic than she ever had before in her life.

Halcyon Days coming in 2023
Check back for updates!