Chapter 1: The Price of Shame

Tuscon, Arizona Territory. 1887

The dust of the Santa Cruz Valley was the first thing Steward Grainger tasted in Tucson. It was a gritty, relentless powder that coated his tongue and settled into his lungs like fine, abrasive silt. Even in the relatively cooler hours of the late morning, the heat radiating off the thick adobe walls of the Territorial Capital was a physical burden. It was late spring, 1887. Steward was here for essential business, but his mind was on his empty house, the silence a constant, damning reminder of the scarlet fever that had taken his wife, Elsa, and daughter, Lily, three years ago.

He stepped into the chaotic theatre of the auction pens. A cacophony of bellowing cattle and shouting drovers assaulted his ears. Steward, heading toward the freight office, was stopped by the voice of Hake, the auctioneer, selling his final, repulsive ‘lot.’

On the raised platform, beneath the brutal Arizona sun, stood two Native American girls. The older one, Elara, about twelve, stood rigid, shielding the younger one, Miya, who was no more than eight. Both were painfully thin.

Their clothes spoke volumes of their abuse. Elara’s dress, once a simple cotton shift, had been slashed with a knife down the front, barely providing any coverage. Miya’s dress had a jaggedly torn sleeve, strategically ripped away from the arm that displayed a large, sickly yellow-and-purple bruise.

Lily would have been eight. The thought hit Steward with stunning force, eclipsing the noise and the heat. This was not justice; this was repulsive, sanctioned cruelty.