ONE
PROLOGUE
THE YEAR WAS 1918, and the great war in Europe still raged, but Esau Porter was heading home to Texas.
The young sergeant arrived at his parents’ ranch northwest of San Antonio on a Sunday night, only the celebration didn’t go off as planned. Most of the townsfolk of Carmelita had come out to welcome Esau home, but when they saw the sorry condition of the boy, they gave their respects quickly and left.
The fever got so bad so fast that Mrs. Porter hardly knew what to do. By Monday night, before the doctor from San Antonio made it into town, Esau was dead.
The Porter family grieved. How could their son have survived the German peril, only to burn up and die in his own bed? It wasn’t much of a surprise when Mrs. Porter took to her bed on Wednesday. But it was a hell of a shock when half the residents of Carmelita came down with the horrible illness. House after house was hit by death, and all the townspeople could do was pray for salvation.
None came. By the end of the year, over one hundred souls had perished. The influenza virus took those in the prime of life, leaving behind an unprecedented number of orphans. And the virus knew no boundaries. By the time the threat had passed, more than thirty-seven million people had succumbed worldwide.
But in one house, there still remained hope.
Isabella Trueblood had come to Carmelita in the late 1800s with her father, blacksmith Saul Trueblood, and her mother, Teresa Collier Trueblood. The family had traveled from Indiana, and left their Quaker roots behind.
Young Isabella grew up to be an intelligent woman who had a gift for healing and storytelling. Her dreams centered on the boy next door, Foster Carter, the son of Chester and Grace.
Just before the bad times came in 1918, Foster asked Isabella to be his wife, and the future of the Carter spread was secured. It was a happy union, and the future looked bright for the young couple.
Two years later, not one of their relatives was alive. How the young couple had survived was a miracle. And during the epidemic, Isabella and Foster had taken in more than twenty-two orphaned children from all over the county. They fed them, clothed them, taught them as if they were blood kin.
Then Isabella became pregnant, but there were complications. Love for her handsome son Josiah, born in 1920, wasn’t enough to stop her from growing weaker by the day. Knowing she couldn’t leave her husband to tend to all the children if she died, she set out to find families for each one of her orphaned charges.
And so the Trueblood Foundation was born. Named in memory of Isabella’s parents, it would become famous all over Texas. Some of the orphaned children went to strangers, but many were reunited with their families. After reading notices in newspapers and church bulletins, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents rushed to Carmelita to find the young ones they’d given up for dead.
Toward the end of Isabella’s life, she’d brought together more than thirty families, and not just her orphans. Many others, old and young, made their way to her doorstep, and Isabella turned no one away.
At her death, the town’s name was changed to Trueblood, in her honor. For years to come, her simple grave was adorned with flowers on the anniversary of her death, grateful tokens of appreciation from the families she had brought together.
Isabella’s son, Josiah, grew into a fine rancher and married Rebecca Montgomery in 1938. They had a daughter, Carrie Trueblood Carter, in 1940. Carrie married her neighbor William Garrett in 1965 and gave birth to Lily and Dylan in 1971, and daughter Ashley a few years later. Home was the Double G ranch, about ten miles from Trueblood proper, and the Garrett children grew up listening to stories of their famous great-grandmother Isabella. Because they were Truebloods, they knew that they, too, had a sacred duty to carry on the tradition passed down to them: finding lost souls and reuniting loved ones.
CHAPTER ONE
THE MANTEL OF the massive stone fireplace in the great room of the Double G ranch overflowed with calla lilies. The elegant white flowers had been placed with care just below the portrait of great-grandmother Isabella Trueblood, and Lily Garrett knew who was behind the sentimental gesture.
She turned to face her loved ones, and her gaze landed on her father, William. “I can’t believe you did this, Daddy. You know they’re my favorite. You’re trying to make me cry, aren’t you?”
“Nothing wrong with a tear now and again.” With a smile that made him seem much younger than his sixty-one years, William leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t give you, darlin’,” he whispered.
“I know, Daddy. Thank you.” Before Lily let the moment disarm her further, she looked over at the couch. Her brother, Dylan, sat perched on the arm. “Hey, get over here. It’s your birthday, too.”
He shook his head. “I’m fine right where I am.”
“You coward.”
He shrugged. “That’s me.”
She sighed, even though she wasn’t really upset. Dylan was shy about this kind of thing, which was peculiar, since he wasn’t shy about anything else. But she didn’t mind taking the spotlight for her twin. “I’m only letting you off the hook because I’m so much older.”
“Ha,” he said. “By all of eight minutes.”
“Quiet, you young whippersnapper.” She smiled, really looking at him, appreciating him. He had the light-brown hair and blue eyes of their father, while Lily had inherited her mother’s wavy black hair and green eyes, but they were well and truly twins. The bond between them… Well, sometimes even she didn’t understand the connection.
Her gaze moved to the rest of the family. Her sister, Ashley, who looked disgustingly young and perky in her tennis whites. Six years Lily’s junior, Ashley had taken time from her busy schedule at the ad agency to be at the birthday party.