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Two Years Later
Stockholm, Sweden
1878
The spring sun streamed through the tall windows of Fristaden, the large yellow house on Södermalm that Erika had purchased eighteen months before. She stood at the kitchen table, kneading bread dough alongside two of the women who lived there—Maja, a young widow with twin boys, and Ingrid, who had fled a violent husband in Gothenburg.
“You’re pressing too hard,” Erika told Ingrid gently, demonstrating with her own hands. “The dough should feel like a baby’s cheek when it’s ready.”
Ingrid laughed—a sound Erika hadn’t heard from her in the three weeks since she’d arrived at their door, bruised and penniless. “I never learned to bake. My mother died when I was small.”
“Then you’ll learn here,” Erika replied with a warm smile. “We all learn things here.”
The front bell rang, and Erika wiped her floury hands on her apron. “Keep working. I’ll see who it is.”
She walked through the bright hallway, past the sitting room where several children were playing under the watchful eye of old Mrs. Lindqvist, the housekeeper. Fristaden—”The Sanctuary”—currently housed seven women and twelve children. Some stayed for weeks, some for months. A few had moved on to their own homes and jobs. It was exactly what Erika had dreamed of building during those dark days in Himmel.
She opened the heavy front door and felt her heart stop.
A young man stood on the steps, well-dressed in an American-style suit. His face was familiar, and when her eyes dropped to the silver badge on his chest, her blood turned to ice.
The Pinkerton agent. Ted Williams. The man who’d been hunting her in Himmel.
“Mrs. Muller,” he said and removed his hat.
Erika’s hand tightened on the doorframe. Her mind raced through escape routes—the back door through the kitchen, the cellar entrance—but her feet wouldn’t move. After two years of peace, after building this life, they’d found her at last.
“I’m not—” she started, but he held up a hand.
“Please, ma’am. I haven’t come to arrest you.” He reached into his coat, and she flinched, but he only withdrew an envelope. “I’ve come to deliver news. Good news, if you’ll hear it.”
She stared at him, not trusting herself to speak.
“May I come in?” he asked quietly. “I’ve traveled a very long way.”
Against every instinct screaming at her to run, she stepped aside and led him to the small parlor she used for private meetings. She didn’t sit, and neither did he.
“Say what you came to say,” she told him, her voice steadier than she felt.
He turned the envelope over in his hands. “Mrs. Muller, I’ve spent two years on this case. I was hired by the state of Minnesota to find you and bring you back to stand trial for the murders of Karl Muller and Finn Doherty.”
Her stomach clenched. “And now you’ve found me.”
“I have.” He paused and met her eyes. “But I’m not here to arrest you. I’m here to tell you that all charges against you have been dropped. You’ve been completely exonerated.”
Erika sank into the nearest chair, her legs suddenly unable to hold her. “What did you say?”
“You’re a free woman, Mrs. Muller. You have been for six months now. It took me this long to track you down.” Williams sat across from her and placed the envelope on the table between them. “The evidence cleared you entirely.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “What evidence? I thought—Stokes was dead. There was no one left to tell the truth.”
Williams leaned forward. “Do you remember the mayor of Hastings? The one whose safe was robbed?”
“I never knew him. Only what Karl told me.”
“His wife, then. A young woman named Clara.”
Erika frowned, trying to recall. Karl had mentioned her once or twice. “I thought she died. Karl said she was poisoned.”
“She nearly did,” Williams replied. “The laudanum put her in a coma for weeks. Everyone assumed she’d never wake up. But she did, Mrs. Muller. About eight months ago, she opened her eyes.”
Erika pressed a hand to her mouth.
“When she recovered enough to speak, she told the authorities everything. How Sheriff Stokes recruited your husband and Finn Doherty to help him rob the mayor. ” Williams shook his head. “When Karl found out she was in a coma, he probably tried to back out.”
“And they killed him for it,” Erika breathed.
“Yes, ma’am. Clara confirmed everything. She also confirmed that you had nothing to do with any of it.” He tapped the envelope. “This contains the official documents—the dismissal of charges, statements from the court in Minnesota. You can return to America whenever you like. No one will trouble you.”
Erika stared at the envelope as if it might bite her. Two years she’d spent looking over her shoulder. Two years of flinching at every knock on the door, of scanning crowds for familiar faces, of waking from nightmares where men dragged her away from Kirsten.
And now, with a few words, it was over.
“Why did you come all this way?” she asked. “You could have sent a letter.”
Williams smiled slightly. “I spent two years hunting you, Mrs. Muller. I suppose I felt I owed you the news in person.” He rose and placed his hat back on his head. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I was just doing my job, but I know the fear I must have caused you. I’m glad the truth came out.”
She stood and extended her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Williams.”
He shook it firmly. “What will you do now? Will you go back?”
Erika looked around the parlor—at the fresh flowers on the windowsill, the children’s drawings pinned to the wall, the sounds of women’s voices drifting from the kitchen.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I’ll have to think about it.”
That evening, after the children were in bed and the house had settled into quiet, Erika wrapped herself in a shawl and walked out to the garden behind Fristaden. The May air was cool but soft, and the first stars were beginning to appear above the rooftops.
She found Joseph where she knew he would be—sitting on the wooden bench beneath the old apple tree, whittling a small figure by the last light of dusk. He looked up as she approached, and without a word, moved aside to make room for her.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. This had become their ritual over the past two years, these quiet evenings together after the chaos of the day had ended.
“The American told you something that troubles you,” Joseph said finally. It wasn’t a question.
She almost smiled. Nothing escaped him. “He told me I’ve been exonerated. The charges were dropped. I’m free to go back to America.”
Joseph’s hands stilled on the wood. “That is good news.”
“Yes.” She pulled the shawl tighter. “I should be happy. I am happy. But now I have to decide what to do with this freedom.”
“What do you want to do?”
She watched a moth flutter around the lantern hanging from a low branch. “Part of me wants to go back. To walk into Hastings with my head held high and show everyone that I was innocent. To stand at Karl’s grave and…” She trailed off, not sure how to finish.
“And the other part?”
She turned to look at him—really look at him. In two years, he had become as essential to her life as breathing. He had learned Swedish with surprising speed, had helped her build the haven house from nothing, had become a father figure to Kirsten and a protector to every woman who walked through their doors.
“The other part doesn’t want to leave,” she admitted quietly. “This is home now. You and Kirsten and this house—this is my life.”
Joseph set down his whittling and turned to face her. In the dim light, his dark eyes were unreadable, but his voice was gentle.
“When I came to Sweden,” he said slowly, “I told you I would see it and then decide. Do you remember?”
“I remember.”
“I decided a long time ago, Erika.” He reached out and took her hand—the first time he had ever done so. His palm was warm and rough against hers. “I stayed because of Kirsten. But I stay now because of you.”
Her breath caught. “Joseph…”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he continued. “I know you are still healing. I know your husband—”
“Karl was my husband,” she interrupted softly, “but he stopped being my partner long before he died. What I feel for you…” She squeezed his hand. “It’s different. It’s real.”
The ghost of a smile crossed his weathered face. “Then stay,” he said simply. “Stay here, with me. Build this life. America can wait.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder, and his arm came around her. Above them, the stars emerged one by one, bright and steady.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll stay.”
Six months later, on a golden October afternoon, Erika stood in the small Lutheran church two streets from Fristaden and exchanged vows with Joseph Makede.
Kirsten, now six years old, served as the flower girl, scattering autumn leaves down the aisle instead of petals. Father Lindgren—no relation to their housekeeper—performed the ceremony in Swedish, though Joseph had insisted on speaking his vows in both Swedish and Omaha.
“I take you as my wife,” he said, his deep voice steady. “In this land and any other. For as long as the rivers flow.”
Erika wiped her eyes and replied, “I take you as my husband. In this life and whatever comes after.”
The reception was held in the garden of Fristaden, with all the women and children in attendance. Maja had baked the wedding cake. Ingrid—who had discovered a talent for sewing—had helped make Erika’s simple cream-colored dress. Even old Mrs. Lindqvist wept into her handkerchief.
Late in the evening, after the guests had gone inside and Kirsten had fallen asleep in a chair, Erika and Joseph stood together beneath the apple tree.
“Mrs. Makede,” he said, testing the name.
She laughed. “Mrs. Makede. It will take some getting used to.”
“You can keep Muller if you prefer.”
“No.” She shook her head firmly. “I want your name. I want this new beginning.”
He drew her close, and she rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“For what?”
“For saving us. For staying. For…” She gestured at the house, the garden, the life they’d built. “For all of this.”
He pressed a kiss to her hair. “You saved yourself, Erika. I only walked beside you.”
She smiled and closed her eyes. The night was cool, but she was warm in his arms.
Somewhere inside the house, a child laughed. A door opened and closed. The sounds of Fristaden settling in for the night drifted through the windows—the haven she had created, the family she had found.
She had come to Sweden a fugitive, hunted and afraid.
She would stay here a free woman, loved and home at last.
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 2 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Guns and Justice in the West", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed my new western adventure story as well as my extended epilogue! Let me know what you think below.
Loved the book would recommend it to anyone. keeps you wondering if mother and daughter are going to make it to stay alive. exciting adventure story
Thank you, Niki, glad to hear you loved it! I hope it kept you good company.
Johnnie, this was another great thought-out book. The characters, the plot, the action, and finally the romance kept me reading. I look forward to your books of this nature. Keep up the good work and continue to enthrall your readers.
Thank you, I am really happy that the book resonated with you. You’re very kind!
I Couldn’t Stop Reading Until I Had Read The Last Words of This Story ! This is the first book I’ve read written by Johnnie Burns , but definitely will not be the last !!!
Thank you, Dixie! I think this one is very suspenseful. I’m glad you felt the same way!
This is one of the best books I’ve read. I couldn’t wait set down and reading it again. Thank you for and exciting book.
Hello Derenda, and thank you for your kind words! Glad you enjoyed it, and thank you for reaching out and letting me know!