Prologue
Virginia City, Nevada
Autumn 1870
“Portia! Wake up!”
Twelve-year-old Portia Carmichael slowly awakened to her Aunt Eddy roughly shaking her shoulder. “I need you to get dressed! Quickly!”
Portia sat up and through groggy eyes saw that it was still dark. Aunt Eddy was now waking Portia’s ten-year-old sister, Regan.
“Come on, girls! We have to leave the house!”
Portia heard what sounded like shouting off in the distance outside. “What’s happening?”
“I’ll explain later. Put your shoes on!”
There was a fear in her aunt’s voice she’d never heard before and that alone made Portia throw off her nightgown and pull on the shirt and denims she’d left on the chair before going to bed.
Uncle Rhine rushed in. The moonlight streaming in through the windows showed the tense set of his ivory face and the rifle in his hand. “They’re almost here!”
The shouting sounded closer, echoing like rumbling thunder.
Eddy was still helping the half-asleep Regan into her clothes. Once that was accomplished, Eddy took Portia and Regan by the hand. “We have to run!”
They flew down the stairs behind Uncle Rhine and out into the night. A wagon with two horses waited. Jim Dade, Uncle Rhine’s business partner, held the reins. Mounted on horseback beside it was Kent Randolph, Uncle Rhine’s eighteen-year-old bartender.
“Eddy, you and the girls get in and lie down!” Rhine ordered. “Kent, get to a safe place!”
Kent rode away, and Portia and Regan scrambled into the bed of the wagon. Aunt Eddy followed and gathered them tightly to her side. Rhine tossed a tarp over them. Portia felt the wagon dip as he took the seat beside his friend. “Go, Jim!”
The wagon took flight and because she wanted to know what this all meant, Portia rose up and looked back. A crowd of men carrying torches surrounded the house. Windows were broken and the interior began glowing.
A male voice yelled. “They’re getting away!”
Bullets hit the wagon and Eddy snatched Portia down. Only when the horses had put ample distance between themselves and the scene did Eddy raise the tarp. Portia and Regan watched the scene with wide eyes. Their home was fully engulfed. Flames shot out of the roof. Stunned, Portia asked, “Why did they do this?”
It took Eddy so long to answer, Portia didn’t think she would respond. “They’re angry because Uncle Rhine pretended to be White.”
Icy fear grabbed her. “Will they follow us? Will they lynch Uncle Rhine?” Portia read the newspapers. Men of the race were being lynched daily.
“We’re far enough away that I don’t think they’ll follow us.”
“Are we ever going to go back?” Regan asked.
Eddy replied grimly, “No, we’re going forward.”
Portia wanted to ask if she was sure the mob wouldn’t come after them, and where the wagon was going, but her aunt said, “Lie down. Try to sleep. We’ve a long journey ahead.”
Still afraid, Portia settled in next to her little sister and tried to be as brave as she knew Aunt Eddy needed them to be, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw the house afire, heard the roar of the angry mob, and thought about Uncle Rhine hanging from the end of a rope.