Set in Stone (Treasures of the Earth Book #2)

"Kimberley Woodhouse has crafted a treasure amid the Bone Wars of nineteenth-century Colorado. Set in Stone has adventure and romance, science and suspense in spades. A fresh setting and fascinating premise make this series sing!"

Laura Frantz, Christy Award-winning author of The Lacemaker

"A powerful blend of faith and science in a riveting novel! Woodhouse tackles a topic few other fiction writers have explored in her novel Set in Stone and peels back the layers with her superb research and masterful storytelling. I adored going on digs with a passionate, intelligent heroine and watching a partnership form with an unlikely hero. I found myself both savoring the story and eager to flip through the pages to find out what would happen—a thrilling ride!"

Joanna Davidson Politano, author of The Lost Melody and other historical fiction

Praise for Kimberley Woodhouse

A propulsive launch with plenty of fuel for future adventures. Readers will eagerly await the next in the series.

Publishers Weekly on The Secrets Beneath

An outstanding western romance that will have readers looking forward to the next in the series.

Booklist on The Heart’s Choice

"Kim has long been a favorite author of mine, and The Secrets Beneath is no exception. This book is full of intrigue and adventure, twists and turns, and the kind of spiritual encouragement and romance Kim is known for. This is the start of a new series, and I highly recommend you pick up a copy and enjoy the journey."

Tracie Peterson, EPCA and USA Today bestselling author of over 100 novels, including the PICTURES OF THE HEART series

This is a valuable author partnership merging Peterson’s attention to historical detail with Woodhouse’s cozy-mystery acumen. . . . Strong themes of justice and redemption shine through.

Library Journal on The Heart’s Choice

"A Mark of Grace is filled with heartache, love, and danger in a beautiful setting. I enjoyed revisiting the historic El Tovar Hotel through the pages of this spiritually satisfying and sweet romance."

Julie Klassen, bestselling author of A Winter by the Sea

Books by Kimberley Woodhouse

SECRETS OF THE CANYON

A Deep Divide

A Gem of Truth

A Mark of Grace

TREASURES OF THE EARTH

The Secrets Beneath

Set in Stone

Books by Kimberley Woodhouse

with Tracie Peterson

All Things Hidden

Beyond the Silence

THE HEART OF ALASKA

In the Shadow of Denali

Out of the Ashes

Under the Midnight Sun

THE TREASURES OF NOME

Forever Hidden

Endless Mercy

Ever Constant

THE JEWELS OF KALISPELL

The Heart’s Choice

© 2024 by Kimberley Woodhouse

Published by Bethany House Publishers

Minneapolis, Minnesota

BethanyHouse.com

Bethany House Publishers is a division of

Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

Ebook edition created 2024

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

ISBN 978-1-4934-4533-2

Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and post-consumer waste whenever possible.

This book is lovingly dedicated to:

My dear friends, Jeni and Gary Koch

Two people who have walked the road of life with Jeremy and me for a decade plus, and we love you dearly.

GARY—you’re awesome. Plain and simple. I could write paragraphs about you but you’d probably get mad at me, so I will refrain. Your zest for reading thrills me and you always know how to make me laugh.

JENI—dear friend, fellow crafter, Bible study partner, prayer partner, and my research buddy. Thank you for sacrificing so much time to journey with me to Utah, Wyoming, Colorado, and allllllll the museums so I could write this series. Your willingness to step off the beaten path and trek with me into the middle of nowhere to find just the right spot to set a story shows how much you must love this crazy author.

Thank you both for sticking with me all these years. For praying. For loving on us. For reading. And most importantly, for being our friends.

Dear Reader

I gave the heroine in this story her first name in honor of my dear friend, prayer partner, and golfing buddy—Martha Ilgenfritz.

If you haven’t read the first book in this series, The Secrets Beneath, that’s all right (though you really should go pick it up—no pressure). But allow me to give you a little context and set the stage. Dinosaur National Monument is in the northwest corner of Colorado and the northeast corner of Utah. Earl Douglass—a paleontologist for the Carnegie Museum in Pittsburgh—found the first bones in 1909, which were the beginning of the dinosaur quarry which is now famous around the world. Earl was a fascinating man and dreamed of having a place where people could see the bones in the actual rock for all time. His dream became reality.

It’s because of him that Dinosaur National Monument is there. And it’s amazing.

The idea for a series about women in paleontology and dinosaurs came because I threw out a question to my readers on my Facebook page about things (topics, people, historical events) they would like to see next in my books. Laura Flint tossed out The Bone Wars. Now, if you don’t know anything about that, you’ll learn about them through this series, but you can also look them up online. I’ll give links in the Note from the Author at the end of the book. But through our chats, Laura connected me with Diane Douglass Iverson. Earl’s granddaughter. Isn’t that awesome?

Through this amazing friendship, I learned incredible things about Earl. That’s why you’ll see quotes from his personal journals throughout the book. I hope they inspire and intrigue you as well. Diane has graciously given us permission to use Earl’s words and poems and has helped me immeasurably throughout my research and writing of this book.

I spent almost two weeks out in Colorado, Wyoming, and Utah doing research. Meeting with real-life paleontologists like Dr. Sue Ann Bilbey, going to museum after museum, and visiting site after site. When it came down to figuring out the timeline for my novels, I wanted to show the progression in paleontology over the years. Book one showed the beginning of the Great Dinosaur Rush era. Women were also fascinated with paleontology, but it wasn’t seemly for a woman to dig in the dirt back then. Anna—the main character of The Secrets Beneath—spent her life sketching all the finds at her father’s digs, jumping in to save his find when his health fails.

Set in Stone brings us to the height of the Bone Wars. We’re going to journey with Martha Jankowski, who dreams of becoming a full-fledged paleontologist with her name on a display at a museum.

Thank you for joining me as we travel once again through history to the bone quarries.

Until next time,

Kimberley

Go forth into nature and see what she has to show thee. Enter the silent wood and lose thyself in thoughts unthought before. Let fancy construct worlds unknown—fairy worlds of the mind. All this is wonderful, but the wonder is of thyself the mystery of the mind and that matter can arrange itself, know to perceive, to perceive other forms, other arrangements of matter and then to think beyond, to construct a new world of its own yet of fragments of the old.

~Earl Douglass—Saturday, January 28, 1888

Contents

Cover

Endorsements

Half Title Page

Books by Kimberley Woodhouse

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Dear Reader

Epigraph

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

Epilogue

Note from the Author

Acknowledgments

Read on for an excerpt from The Heart’s Choice

About the Author

Back Ads

Back Cover

One

It is hard to establish a philosophy that is optimistic and yet will fit with the terrors of this world.

~Earl Douglass

1872 • COLORADO TERRITORY

Martha! Step away from the ridge.

At Father’s deep voice booming behind her, Martha startled and backed away from the edge of the mesa. Two strong arms wrapped around her small frame and swept her to safety. Father shifted her around to see him, his eyes dark and serious.

You must listen to me, Martha. If I am to teach you to dig, there are rules to follow. We need to keep you and the workers safe. Understand?

She nodded, her fingers picking at the light cotton collar of Father’s work shirt. Tears threatened to fall, and she could feel her bottom lip trembling. I’m sorry. The thought of falling into the great chasm below them was almost as bad as hearing the fear in her father’s voice. Everything inside her shook.

You’re safe, not to worry. He nodded and set her down next to him, holding her small hand in his. Now. I have a surprise for you.

A surprise? All the turmoil stopped as she hopped from one foot to the other. What is it? I want to see! Father’s surprises were the best.

He chuckled as he led her down a small packed-dirt path. You will, my dear. Are you ready to see the bones we discovered?

Martha nodded as visions of long tails, ferocious teeth, and giant feet filled her imagination. "Is it a Mega . . . Miglo . . . Megalosaurus—she forced the big word out slowly—like Mr. Owen talked about?"

No. And to my knowledge, those have only been found in England. Father squeezed her hand, his brown eyes warmed by the sunlight. We are not quite sure what we’ve found. But that is part of the fun. Digging for bones gives us the chance to learn about the animals that roamed the earth thousands of years ago.

They rounded a corner down into the valley, where the excavation was taking place. The sharp sound of metal on metal echoed off the rocks. Red dirt swirled in thick clouds over some men as they dumped large wheelbarrows of dirt into a pile. Several wagons sat in the center, covered with tarps.

What are those wagons?

He glanced over to where Martha pointed. Ah. Those are our transport wagons. The smaller bones we find on any dig are carefully placed first in crates and then in those wagons. The bones are covered so the sun does not dry out or damage them. Once the crates are full, they are transported to the nearest train station, where they are then shipped to the museum that purchased them. However . . . Father turned them away from the bustling men to a smaller, quieter area. This is where I am working. And this is where your surprise is.

Martha clapped her hands, a wide smile on her face. Today was her favorite day. Her father wasn’t around much because he was often away on trips. But this dig had kept him close to home. To watch him dig and find bones in the ground was a treat far greater than hearing the stories when he came home. This was real—not just in her imagination.

She skipped along beside him, kicking up dust around her sturdy work boots. Another gift from Father. They were thicker and plainer than the shiny patent leather shoes Mother made her wear. But they were comfortable and didn’t pinch her feet.

He slipped his jacket off and draped it on a nearby boulder. Then picked up a large wooden box with a big handle and put it on a small table. Martha peeked over the edge of the box as he pulled out several tools. A pointy triangle, a big hammer, a magnifying glass, a brush with stiff bristles, a skinny metal pole with a pointy end, and a flat metal rod with a round bottom were laid out on the small wooden table beside the boulder.

She pressed into his side. Do you use all of these?

I do, every day. Let me tell you what they are. Father picked up the pointy pole and the metal rod with the flat edge. These two tools are called chisels. They work in different ways. The flat edge can help break up rocks that are tucked along a bone without damaging it. The pointed chisel helps break up stones in areas that a flat chisel can’t get into. You use them by tapping the hammer on the flat bottom of each tool. But you must be careful not to hit too hard or you risk damaging the bone. He set them down and picked up the brush. This clears away dirt and debris so you can better see where you are working. He held the brush out to Martha. She took it and almost dropped it. It was heavier than it looked. The worn wooden handle was too big for her hands. She ran her fingers over the soft end of the stiff bristles, sending dust swirling around her fingers.

She sneezed.

Father smiled at her and took the brush from her, then picked up the magnifying glass. Holding it in front of his face, he crossed his eyes. She let out a loud giggle. His eyes were large and funny looking behind the glass. He handed it to her. Now, let’s see what fun we can have with this. He knelt in the dirt and motioned for her to join him. Hold the glass over this hole here and tell me what you see.

Crouching down, she held the glass over the dirt and peered at the red clay. Father, look! She giggled. Tiny ants scurried over pebbles and disappeared into small holes. Bits of silver glinted from several rocks. She pulled the glass away and blinked. Everything she saw looked so small again.

That magnifying glass helps me see little details in bones and rocks. He guided her hand back over the sparkling rocks. You see that shiny substance?

She nodded.

That’s called marcasite. It shows up in many rocks here at the dig. When someone finds it in big chunks, it can be worth a lot of money. Maybe today we will find a small chunk to save for good luck. He took the magnifying glass from her and stood. Oh, how she loved the sound of his voice. At home, it was his excitement as he told her the stories of his digs. But here? His love for the work colored every word he said. He was such a smart man—probably the smartest man to ever live. She smiled just thinking about it. One day, she wanted to be as smart as him and dig beside him. Wouldn’t that be grand?

A moment later he was by her side again with a small cloth roll. A bit of twine wrapped around it in a simple bow. Now. It’s time for your surprise.

Martha took the roll from her father and pulled on one of the strings. The bow unraveled and she tugged it off the cloth, then unwrapped the roll on a boulder. Oh! There, tucked in small pockets, were the same kind of tools he had just shown her! But instead of being too big, they were just right for her hands. She pulled out the flat-headed chisel and clutched it in her hand. It wasn’t heavy like Father’s, but light and easy to hold. There was a small brush, hammer, pointed chisel, and . . .

Martha pulled on the dark brown handle sticking out of the last pocket. Her very own magnifying glass!

Thank you! she squealed. With careful movements she tucked the magnifying glass back in its pocket then threw her arms around his shoulders. Thank you, thank you!

His laughter rumbled in his chest. You are welcome, my dear girl. You are a big six-year-old now. These tools aren’t just for show. How would you like to help me dig a little today? We might even find a treasure to take home to your mother.

Martha nodded against his shoulder, basking in the warmth of his hug. Let’s try to find some marc . . . I don’t remember the name.

Marcasite.

That’s it. It’s so pretty and shiny, I know Mother would love it.

He pulled back and brushed her dark hair away from her face. You are right. She would love something pretty and shiny. He let her go and turned to the large rocks where treasures hid. Well, Martha Jankowski, are you ready to work on your first dinosaur dig?

She stood and straightened the canvas smock that covered her brown dress. Yes, sir. She rolled her tools back up and held them close to her chest. Her heart pounded hard, and her smile grew so big that her cheeks pinched.

This really was her favorite day ever!

1872, TWO WEEKS LATER • OUTSIDE DENVER CITY, COLORADO TERRITORY

The light dimmed in the man’s eyes as the pool of red around him grew.

Such a shame that he had to die. He’d been rather nice to look at. When his mouth was closed.

She tilted her head. Her gaze swept him from head to toe. The odd way his crumpled form was situated on the ground was rather . . . pathetic.

She stared for a while longer and then bowed her head. How long to wait? The scent of blood and death would soon draw wild animals and birds, which was just fine. They could finish the job. The man would disappear and be out of her life forever.

Still. Death deserved respect. She gave the man what he refused to give her the last few months of his life: a moment of silence. That was surely sufficient. It was more than he deserved. All his threats about exposing her plans to Marsh. His pitiful attempt to sabotage her.

What a fool to underestimate her passion and drive.

But then, they all did. Her father’s associates. Her society friends. She was beloved for her beauty. A delicate ornament on some businessman’s arm. They all acted like a woman couldn’t be beautiful and clever.

The joke was on them.

With her left hand, she laid a four-button, white kid glove on his chest.

A hawk screamed, and she jumped. Pressing the same hand to her heart, she glanced at the sky. The sun slanted toward the Rocky Mountains.

Oh dear. She’d wasted too much time.

If she thought about taking his life, it made her head hurt. And he wasn’t worth wasting a headache on. He didn’t deserve . . . life.

With her back straight and her chin high, she turned on her heel and faced the magnificent mountains. Nothing but beauty and a fresh future ahead, one that would be in her complete control from now on. She inhaled a quick breath and allowed a smile to stretch across her face.

Now. Things could finally get back to the way they should be. After all, no one would even know he was gone. She had made sure of that.

But the weight in her right hand brought her attention down. The knife dripped blood onto the rocky soil. Her clothes were stained too. Reaching for the handle of her reticule with her clean hand, she forced herself to release her ironclad grip on the knife’s leather handle. The weapon clattered to the ground.

Where was that rag? It had to be in there somewhere. After a few moments of digging with her untarnished hand, she pulled out the rag she’d torn from one of his old shirts. She swiped the cloth back and forth over the blood and dirt caking her right hand until no blood remained. Pressing the cloth between her clean and dirty palms, she rubbed until all reminders of the man—and what she’d done to him—were absent from her skin and the knife.

She tucked the rag-wrapped blade into her reticule and walked back over to her horse. In her saddlebags, she had a change of clothes. A glance around in all directions confirmed there wasn’t another soul for miles. The tumbleweed-covered gulley was wide and desolate.

She changed into clean garments, then retrieved the matches from her bag. Gathering the soiled clothes and rag together, she tossed them on the parched ground. The match crackled as it ignited, and she threw it on the pile. She lit another one and threw it on the other side. In seconds, the flames licked up every corner of the pile and she watched it burn until a mound of black and gray ashes remained.

She took her canteen and poured a bit of water on them. They disintegrated into the dirt in a tiny sizzle and puff.

There.

It was done.

All was right with the world once again.

1872, THREE MONTHS LATER • DENVER CITY,

COLORADO TERRITORY

What time is it, Nurse McGee?

The older woman glanced at the large grandfather clock in the corner of the sitting room. It is two in the afternoon, Miss Martha. Asking me the time won’t make it go any faster.

Martha sighed and leaned back into the stiff back of the settee. Her legs swung back and forth, swirling the white ruffles of her dress up in the air. Waiting was boring. Dressing like a proper girl was boring. She missed the dirt and going to Father’s dig site. Looking at pretty rocks and finding old bones was better than learning how to sit right.

Enough of that, miss. If your mother saw you acting like this, she’d be upset for sure. Her nurse came over and smoothed Martha’s dress back over her knees. With deft fingers she tightened the pale pink bows around the curly pigtails draped over Martha’s shoulders. Back straight. There’s a good girl. Looking pretty like a fine miss. Won’t that make your mother and father happy?

Martha nodded. What time are they coming?

Nurse sat down next to her. Two thirty. Only twenty more minutes. How about we read to pass the time?

No, thank you. Can I sit by the window and watch for them? I’ll sit very still like a good girl and not kick my legs. She folded her hands under her chin. Please?

Nurse McGee studied her for a moment, green eyes narrowed as if she were searching for any trace of a lie in her face. Martha made her eyes wide and innocent.

All right. You may. But the first sign of kicking and it’s back in the chair. And when you hear the carriage, you come sit right back in this chair like your mother wants.

Martha jumped out of the chair and threw her arms around Nurse’s waist. Thank you! She skipped to the chair by the big picture window, ignoring the reprimanding cough. She hadn’t promised not to skip. She sat in the chair, adjusting the ruffles over her knees, and folded her hands in her lap. The large trees in the front yard hid the activity of the street from view. But there were still plenty of things to see.

Two monarch butterflies danced in and out of the delicate purple blooms of wisteria just outside the window. A small hare bounded across the grass, pausing only to sniff a patch of white columbines. A squirrel darted up the maple tree—the one Mother insisted on planting so she could have a color other than yellow in the fall—and then disappeared into its large green leaves. Soon those leaves would turn the most beautiful shade of red. A color Martha adored.

The clopping of hooves drew her attention away from the animals in the front yard. Her parents’ large black coach pulled up to the wrought iron gate. The coats of the black Clydesdale horses gleamed in the afternoon sun. Maybe if she was a good girl, and Mother was happy with her manners, Nurse would take her to the stables later to feed the horses carrots and sugar cubes.

She slid from the chair and raced back to the couch. They’re here! They’re here!

Miss Martha! Lower your voice, child. They probably heard you all the way in Wyoming Territory, her nurse hissed, fussing over her dress and hair once more. If Mrs. Jankowski saw you like that, I’d be fired for sure. With one final look, Nurse McGee nodded. She made her way to the small chair in the corner of the room and picked up her embroidery hoop.

Muffled voices filtered through the partially open drawing room door. Martha resisted the urge to peek. Mother was constantly telling her that ladies didn’t listen in on the conversations of others. She was determined to be proper today. Make her parents proud. The door swung open, and she stood, her trembling fingers pressing into the folds of her dress.

Mother entered the room, the train of her dark blue traveling gown swishing over the carpet. She approached, and Martha stared.

Mother was smiling!

Hello, my dear. How pretty you look today. That pink in your hair is lovely. She sat down on the couch and patted the cushion. Your father will come to tea in a moment. Sit for now.

Yes, ma’am. Martha swallowed. You look lovely today as well. Her mother loved compliments. Martha gave her mother a small smile, careful not to show her teeth. A lady never showed her teeth. She sat on the edge of the couch, keeping her back straight. Did you have a nice journey?

Mother’s smile grew, and she took Martha’s hand. These are very nice manners, my dear daughter. I am proud of you.

The words warmed Martha almost as much as Mother’s hand holding hers. Nurse has been helping me be proper every day since you left.

I can see that. You have done well. Now—Mother shifted and brought her face close to Martha’s—I have something to tell you that might be upsetting. But I need you to be a brave girl.

She nodded, the words making her insides quiver. Stiffening, she pinched her lips together and chanted in her mind Be brave, be brave over and over. Mother’s breath smelled of mint, and Martha could see the small mark above Mother’s lip that she tried to hide with powder.

Martha’s heartbeat felt like a drum she once saw played in a parade. Boom. Boom. Boom. I will try.

Good. Now your father is home, but he has had an accident. A very bad one. Mother licked her lips and looked down at their joined hands. "He does not look the same, and