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A sinister novel based on the real Bloody Benders, a family of serial killers in the old West bound by butchery and obscured by the shadows of American history. The winds shift nervously on the Kansas plain whispering of travelers lost and buried, whispering of witches. Something dark and twisted has taken root at the Bender Inn. At first the townspeople of Cherryvale welcome the rising medium Kate Bender and her family. Kate's messages from the Beyond give their tedious dreams hope and her mother's potions cure their little ills—for a price. No one knows about their other business, the shortcut to a better life. And why shouldn’t their family prosper? They’re careful. It’s only from those who are marked, those who travel alone and can easily disappear, that the Benders demand their pound of flesh. But even a gifted seer like Kate can make a misstep. Now as the secrets festering beneath the soil of the family orchard threaten to bring them all to ruin, the Benders must sharpen their craft—or vanish themselves. Product DetailsISBN-13: 9780593102596 Media Type: Hardcover Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group Publication Date: 11-22-2022 Pages: 384 Product Dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.10(h) x 1.50(d)About the Author Camilla Bruce is a Norwegian writer of speculative and historical fiction. She has a master's degree in comparative literature and has co-run a small press that published dark fairy tales. Camilla currently lives in Trondheim with her son and cat.Read an Excerpt Read an Excerpt 1. Kate Labette County, Kansas 1871 When we departed the train on that January morning, all I could see was a bleak sky stretching out in every direction. It was freezing cold with not so much as a draft in the air. Dust coated everything around us, making it seem lifeless and dull. This was a cursed land for sure. In the bustle at the train station, I saw men with hard faces, baked and set by a scorching sun that had now sadly departed for the winter season; several of them chewed tobacco and wore wide-brimmed hats caked with dust. They were bowlegged from riding and filthy from the barn; their eyes reminded me of specks of glass set upon the skin of wrinkled old fruits. The women, too, looked haggard, all wrapped up like little presents in dresses of calico, their faces swallowed by voluptuous bonnets whose strings trailed under their chins like wattles. Children's hands were clutching at their skirts; the toddlers' faces were stained with grime and snot and their eyes were soft with pleading. The station smelled strongly of horseshit and smoke. A few scrawny stray dogs sniffed along the rails. Of course, there was no one there to help us with the trunk. We had to carry it between us through the throng. Both Ma and I were huffing and puffing. Not one single gentleman stepped in to lighten our load. I looked around for a boy eager for a coin or someone from the railway company but could not see any of them either. There were only those weatherworn men, chewing their tobacco, their eyes as dead and docile as those of cows. Perhaps they spent more time with such creatures than their fellow men and had taken on some of their traits. I knew longhorns from Texas were shipped north from Kansas, so that was certainly something to look forward to as well: stray wild beasts and the occasional stampede-as if the prospect of the wolves and coyotes roaming the prairie was not horrible enough. It was a cursed land, and no one could convince me otherwise, least of all Ma, whose judgment was entirely in question at this point. We were both close to exhaustion by the time we had escaped the crowd and entered calmer seas. The hem of my new dress was caked with dust, and underneath the fabric, I was drenched in perspiration despite the cold. I wondered when I would have the opportunity to bathe again. How could Ma ever believe that this would be our salvation? I had been opposed to Kansas from the start, but Ma had been adamant. It was better, she said, to lie low for a while, and what better place to disappear than out on the prairie? The landscape was vast and empty, with only lonesome travelers passing through. We could keep to ourselves there, she said, as if that was a glorious, miraculous thing. Keep to ourselves until all was forgotten, and then we could emerge again, as new and fresh as lambs in spring. She did not seem to grasp the implications: I could hardly fulfill my aspirations in hiding. The foolish plan that she and her husband had cooked up did nothing but slow me down, and I was not thrilled about it. But then, she always knew how to have her way, holding guilt above my head like a sharpened blade. It did not much matter that I was a woman grown, twenty years last spring. She would hold me enthralled until my debt was settled, and should I fail to satisfy, she would surely feed me to the wolves. Finally, we caught sight of them. Pa and John had opted to stay with the wagon rather than come to our aid. Not even when they saw us come around the station building with our heavy load did they move into action, but remained there, watching. William, in his black hat, leaned against the weather-beaten side of the vehicle, while John sat at the reins. His shoulders were hunched and his head bowed. A stupid little smile played on his lips. His straw hat was new and made him look like a fruit farmer. Neither of them smiled or even greeted us properly. There were no signs of relief on their drab features. Nor did Ma express any gratitude for the reunion, but set the trunk down and scurried at once to get up on the wagon's dusty deck. A few barrels were there, and some rope, but nothing but some burlap to sit on, which had me fretting for the dress again. It was a pretty thing of silk, striped in a lovely raspberry hue and a deep, clear blue. William had noticed my new attire. "You're on the prairie now, Kate," he said as he helped Ma onto the wagon. "Nothing will do but some plain calico." "She dresses like those whores she befriended," Ma said, huffing as she sank down on a sack of potatoes. "It's all so shiny on the outside with them, while on the inside there's nothing but rot." I rolled my eyes at her silly statement-we were hardly ones to pass judgment-and then I climbed onto the wagon as well, needing no help, though my skirt snagged on splinters in the rough wood. I winced when I felt it happening, but I would not show it. I was not about to prove William right. Our journey thus far had been long and trying, and the rest of it promised to be just as bad. Ma and I had suffered hours upon hours in a cramped, hot train carriage, surrounded by gaunt and tired faces. The air had reeked of smoke, sweat, and a hint of manure, and not even the sweetness of the apples Ma had brought for us had been able to chase the foul taste of defeat from my mouth. "Stop sulking, Kate," Ma had said when I put my fruit away. "You'll feel better once we are settled in our new home." "I know what to expect," I replied, speaking in German like her. "More toil; that is what." I refused to be anything but honest. "More delays and regret-" "Well, we would not be in this predicament if it hadn't been for you." She spoke in a cool and even voice, even as her gaze wandered restlessly around us, taking in every face. She meant to shame me by saying such things, but it never worked. "I had nothing to with them," I said, thinking of the Vandles, of course. "My God, woman, I was outside in the wagon with you!" "Oh, be quiet, Kate," she snapped at me. She huffed and sat back in her seat, holding the basket of fruit and beer close to her chest. Her traveling hat was a tattered thing: old when bought and rarely used. The brown ribbon at the pull was unraveling, as the silken butterfly pinned there had lost a wing. "If it hadn't been for you, we would never have met them in the first place." I could hardly argue with that, and neither did I care to. Instead, I leaned back on the tattered seat and continued devouring my apple, wrinkled and winter sweet, tasting faintly of the barrel. "What is it you used to say?" I asked after a while. "We take care of our own, and the rest can fend for themselves." I did my best impression of her, making my voice sound sharp and shrill. "I honestly don't see why you're so concerned with what happened to the Vandles." Ma sighed. "No, you wouldn't, would you? It's all so easy to you." It was my turn to sigh. "You're hardly blameless, Ma." "I know," she replied and sent me a cold look. "I raised you, for one, which has surely bought me a ticket to hell." The train had continued at a steady pace, swallowing the miles to Ottawa, where Pa and John were waiting for our arrival. From time to time, the whistle burst out hoarse signals, and sooty clouds of smoke passed by the windows. No one in our carriage seemed inclined to talk much. It was not first class, so they were a ragtag bunch. I saw a couple of young boys in similar hats and coats, who looked about them fearfully, and so were most likely traveling alone. There were pale-faced men with well-trimmed mustaches, vests, and pocket watches, whose financial strains still showed in the worn patches of fabric in their clothing. Their ink-stained fingers made them out as clerks. A few farmers were there as well, in sturdy but unfashionable wear; their wives, too, in colorful calico dresses and unbecoming bonnets. There was also a reverend, all dressed in black. The carriage was built to be impressive, with green velvet upholstery and dark wood, but it had all become tired and old. Brown spittle and pieces of food marred the carpeted aisle, and someone had spilled beer there, too, leaving a sticky puddle. I sighed deeply when I noticed how Ma, once again, squinted at the passengers with suspicion written all over her features, raising a few eyebrows among our fellow travelers. "Stop looking around," I scolded her. "The law is not on our heels, Ma. They have no idea where we went. Besides, I've sew
Portrait of a Heart by Christian Schloe
