Autumn 1865
"Two horses? What do you mean, two horses?" Tamsin MacGreggor pushed back the black netting of her widow's veil and stared in shock at the lawyer.
"Best you sit, Mrs. MacGreggor," Randolph Crawshaw advised. "It's understandable that a lady in your circumstances-"
Tamsin found it hard to breathe. "You knew what my grandfather left me," she managed. "Four hundred acres of prime farmland, a mill, two houses, barns, over forty head of breeding horses-"
He shook his head. "Unfortunately, your husband-"
"Was a fool!" She struggled to regain her composure. "Surely our investments, the railroad stocks-"
"All gone." The lawyer mopped his bald head. "It grieves me to bring you such terrible financial news on top of your loss."
"Loss? Atwood MacGreggor?" She pressed her lips tightly together and stood up. "The only good thing my husband ever did for me was to save me the trouble of shooting him."