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Shelterwood

A Novel

Author Lisa Wingate On Tour
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“Wingate’s stellar latest (after Before We Were Yours) explores a centuries-long legacy of missing child cases. . . . Her portrayal of the region’s history, culture, and landscape enthralls. Wingate is at the top of her game.”—Publishers Weekly, starred review

From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Before We Were Yours comes a sweeping novel inspired by the untold history of women pioneers who fought to protect children caught in the storm of land barons hungry for power and oil wealth.


Oklahoma, 1909. Eleven-year-old Olive Augusta Radley knows that her stepfather doesn’t have good intentions toward the two Choctaw girls boarded in their home as wards. When the older girl disappears, Ollie flees to the woods, taking six-year-old Nessa with her. Together they begin a perilous journey to the remote Winding Stair Mountains, the notorious territory of outlaws, treasure hunters, and desperate men. Along the way, Ollie and Nessa form an unlikely band with others like themselves, struggling to stay one step ahead of those who seek to exploit them . . . or worse.

Oklahoma, 1990. Law enforcement ranger Valerie Boren-Odell arrives at newly minted Horsethief Trail National Park seeking a quiet place to balance a career and single parenthood. But no sooner has Valerie reported for duty than she’s faced with local controversy over the park’s opening, a teenage hiker gone missing from one of the trails, and the long-hidden burial site of three children unearthed in a cave. Val’s quest for the truth wins an ally among the neighboring Choctaw Tribal Police but soon collides with old secrets and the tragic and deadly history of the land itself.

In this emotional and enveloping novel, Lisa Wingate traces the story of children abandoned by the law and the battle to see justice done. Amid times of deep conflict over who owns the land and its riches, Ollie and Val traverse the rugged and beautiful terrain, each leaving behind one life in search of another.
Chapter 1

Valerie Boren-Odell, Talihina, Oklahoma, 1990

When our ancestors first came to southeastern Oklahoma one of the first things they set their eyes on were the beautiful, forested Winding Stair Mountains. They are our Plymouth Rock, our Mississippi River, our Rocky Mountains, our Pacific Ocean. —Ron Glenn, Winding Stair Mountain Wilderness bill, S. 2571, congressional hearing, 1988.

Dear Val,

Why mince words? Dreams are wonderful things, but a single mother needs to be practical. Please tell me it isn’t too late for you to return to your job at the Arch in St. Louis?

Have you lost your mind? Talihina, Oklahoma? I can’t even find it on the map without putting on my glasses. No wonder you didn’t tell us ahead of time. Kenneth has been around asking about you, by the way. You know he thought you two were becoming more than just friends. I understand grief, my dear, but you can’t cling to it forever, and let’s face it, if you remarried, you wouldn’t have all these financial struggles. If you don’t call Kenneth to iron things out, I’m telling him where I sent this postcard to.

Put Charlie in the car and drive home. I know you have always been a free spirit, but it’s time to grow up.

—Gram

I read the postcard for the third time since grabbing it from the mail on my way to work, then survey the breathtaking valley below Emerald Vista turnout and try to decide how much trouble I’m in. My grandmother taught high school English for more than a half century. She does not end sentences with prepositions.

. . . where I sent this postcard to.

She is in a mood. This note is meant to tear me up a bit, and it does. To unsettle me slightly, and it does that, too.

I am in the backwoods of southeastern Oklahoma, where after a rain, the morning shadows linger long and deep, and the mountains exhale mist so thick it seems to have weight. The countryside exudes the eerie, forgotten feel of a place where a woman and a seven-year-old boy could simply vanish and no one would ever know.

A puff of wind slides by, unsettling the folder I pulled from my day pack to extract the postcard. A mockup brochure and a half dozen high-end paper samples tumble to the pavement and slide away like fallen leaves. I should chase them down, but instead, I stand frozen. My mind drifts all the way to Talihina, where a cheery yellow house offers the only acceptable daycare willing to watch over a boy whose mom’s new job will sometimes entail rotating days off and working odd hours.

Just go get him, I tell myself. Pick him up and pack everything back into the car and go. This is crazy. All of this is crazy.

Instead, I pull a slow breath. The morning air is thicker, greener, and warmer than I’m accustomed to in May. It smells of summer. Summer, and earth, and damp stone, and shortleaf pines. Different from St. Louis in a way that whispers something so compelling my heart quickens.

The yearning for wild spaces is as much a part of me as my father’s gray-green eyes and thick auburn hair. He fostered that passion in me even before a stint in Vietnam quietly severed my parents’ ten-year marriage and made the backcountry the only place he was at peace. Knowing him at all after that meant spending time in the woods, so as often as she could, my grandmother drove me from the Kansas City burbs to the Shawnee National Forest, where her only surviving son guided hikes and raft trips. Gram made those journeys seem like a gift rather than a burden, so I saw them that way, too.

I thought she, if anybody, would understand this job transfer from Gateway Arches in St. Louis to the newly minted Horsethief Trail National Park in Oklahoma’s Winding Stair Mountains. But now I wonder if she sees history repeating itself—another thirty-year-old parent running from pain instead of dealing with it. Another helpless kid caught in the tailwind.

Is this relocation a reckless escape attempt or a smart career move? The position here is a GS-9 level job. At Arches, developing programs and exhibits, shuffling tourists around patches of grass and concrete, I was doing what amounted to grade-level 5 tasks, which was all I could handle when Charlie was three and suddenly without a father. I didn’t have the mental space to care about career advancement. But it’s time now. This is my chance to step back into park law enforcement. I never thought I’d get the position at the new Winding Stair unit, and I still don’t know why I did. But here I am.

It isn’t selfish, I assure myself. It’s necessary. If Joel were here, he’d tell you to go for it.

Just the thought fills me with a bittersweet mix of warmth and longing. I wish he could share this stunning morning view. Joel liked nothing better than a mountain he hadn’t yet climbed. Nothing.

“Hey . . . your stuff!” The voice seems remote at first. “Hey, Ranger, you dropped your papers.”

I come back to earth and Emerald Vista overlook, where suddenly I’m not alone. From the path to a nearby campground, a spindly adolescent girl sprints across the pavement, snatching up my runaway brochure sample on the fly. She’s eleven, maybe twelve. A few years older than Charlie. Wiry with long, dark hair.

Clutching the folder to my chest, I gather the pieces still at my feet. When I straighten, the girl is on her way over with the rest of the escaped papers in hand. She’s dressed in raggedy cutoffs and a washed-out T-shirt that reads antlers bearcats baseball. I search my memory for where Antlers is located. Someplace farther south along the Kiamichi River. I’ve seen it on the map.

“Here ya go, Ranger,” she says with a childlike admiration that reminds me I’m wearing my Class A Field uniform for the first time since the move. My start at the new unit has been frustratingly slow, my daily assignments for the past two weeks alternating between familiarizing myself with park trails and facilities, performing menial office tasks, and stocking brochure pockets on shiny new notice boards. I donned the uniform, gear-laden duty belt, and Smokey Bear hat today to make a point. I’m ready to do the job I came here for. But once again I find myself tasked with the same busywork.

The girl draws back upon getting a full frontal look at me. “Hey, you’re a girl ranger!” She blinks as if a UFO has landed. One of the advantages of being tall—I can almost pass for one of the guys, but the guys at the station have been quick to remind me that I’m not. A female law enforcement ranger wasn’t something they’d imagined here at Horsethief Trail.

But this little girl likes it, and so I immediately like her. “That’s cool,” she says.

“Thanks.” I recover the paper samples, spreading them like a deck of cards. “Got a favorite? I’m working on print materials for the park’s official opening ceremonies.” More busywork from my new supervisor, Chief Ranger Arrington. You know, give you some time to get up to speed. He came just short of patting me on the head when he said it.

“Looks like the park’s already open,” the girl observes. “The church field trip bus just pulled right on into the campground down yonder after some kid upchucked all over the place. Nobody’s camped down there, but the gate’s not locked or stuff.”

“Opening ceremonies aren’t for a week and a half yet, but, yes, the facilities are already available to the public.” The park is an eclectic combination of WPA-era recreational areas built over fifty years ago and fifteen million dollars in additions and upgrades funded by the congressional designation of Horsethief Trail National Park.

“My grandma told me they were making all kinds of new trails and stuff up here,” the girl chatters. “She said she’d take me to see everything.”

“Great idea. It’s a beautiful time of year.”

“Except she can’t right now.” A hopeful look slides toward my patrol vehicle. “But somebody might take me around, since I’m stuck for the summer. In stupid Talihina. Where I don’t got any friends.”

She’s laying it on thick, but I nod sympathetically anyway. “I bet we’ll be hosting summer opportunities for kids, once we’re fully staffed here.” Visitor programs aren’t in my purview, but the cultural and historical features of the region include ancient earthen mounds left behind by prehistoric Caddo-Mississippian cultures, Viking rune stones that are either genuine or forged depending on whom you ask, French and Spanish treasure legends, rumors of hidden outlaw loot, Civil War sites, the 1830s-era military road, and the Horsethief Trail, by which stolen animals were moved between Kansas and Texas back in the day. “These mountains have a lot of history.”

“Yeah, my grandma knows all that stuff. She’s been around here since, like, forever.”

“Interesting.” Grandma might be a good person to meet, as I’m trying to acquaint myself with my new neighborhood.
“A seamlessly crafted tale of tragedy, resilience, and triumph, this powerful novel needs to go to the top of your list. Lisa Wingate once again gives poignant voice to the ‘lost’ children of American history.”—Lisa Scottoline, author of Eternal and Loyalty

Shelterwood is an instant American classic and a diamond in the crown of Lisa Wingate’s canon of atmospheric and emotional novels. The story of Ollie and Nessa is a page-turner.”—Adriana Trigiani, author of The Good Left Undone

“A complex and fascinating tapestry woven with threads of history, mystery, and menace that proves yet again that there is no finer storyteller at work today than Lisa Wingate.”—William Kent Krueger, author of The River We Remember

“I barely put Shelterwood down as my new favorite heroine, Ranger Valerie, uncovered the chilling story of children displaced by land barons. This book has it all—two fabulous heroines, a little-known true story, and a setting to die for.”—Martha Hall Kelly, author of Lilac Girls and The Golden Doves

“Wingate’s best book yet! Shelterwood explores crucial societal issues against the nail-biting backdrop of early-twentieth-century Oklahoma, where the struggle for land and oil threatens lives. . . . A spellbinding and important tale.”—Marie Benedict, author of The Mystery of Mrs. Christie and The Personal Librarian

“Riveting and powerful! Wingate brings to life the shocking tale of greed and little girls forced to save themselves. I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough. I doubt I will ever forget this story.”—Vanessa Miller, author of The American Queen

“Wingate’s signature talent for deeply realized characters, awe-inspiring prose, and page-turning mystery has never been more manifest. This captivating story will absorb your mind and heart and won’t let go.”—Patti Callahan Henry, author of The Secret Book of Flora Lea

“Lisa Wingate works her signature magic in creating strong, smart, and willful children who survive at any cost. Shelterwood is as heartwarming as it is mysterious and utterly absorbing.”—Sadeqa Johnson, author of The House of Eve

“Wingate’s stellar latest explores a centuries-long legacy of missing child cases. . . . Wingate’s insightful depiction of her young characters’ vulnerability and resourcefulness enriches the intricate plotting, and her portrayal of the region’s history, culture, and landscape enthralls. Wingate is at the top of her game.”Publishers Weekly (starred review)
© Wyatt McSpadden
Lisa Wingate is the author of the #1 New York Times bestseller Before We Were Yours, which has sold more than three million copies and been translated into over forty languages worldwide. The co-author, with Judy Christie, of the nonfiction book Before and After, Wingate is a Goodreads Choice Award winner, an Oklahoma Book Award finalist, and a Southern Book Prize winner. She was named a 2023 Distinguished Alumni of Oklahoma State University. She lives with her husband in Texas and Colorado. View titles by Lisa Wingate

About

“Wingate’s stellar latest (after Before We Were Yours) explores a centuries-long legacy of missing child cases. . . . Her portrayal of the region’s history, culture, and landscape enthralls. Wingate is at the top of her game.”—Publishers Weekly, starred review

From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Before We Were Yours comes a sweeping novel inspired by the untold history of women pioneers who fought to protect children caught in the storm of land barons hungry for power and oil wealth.


Oklahoma, 1909. Eleven-year-old Olive Augusta Radley knows that her stepfather doesn’t have good intentions toward the two Choctaw girls boarded in their home as wards. When the older girl disappears, Ollie flees to the woods, taking six-year-old Nessa with her. Together they begin a perilous journey to the remote Winding Stair Mountains, the notorious territory of outlaws, treasure hunters, and desperate men. Along the way, Ollie and Nessa form an unlikely band with others like themselves, struggling to stay one step ahead of those who seek to exploit them . . . or worse.

Oklahoma, 1990. Law enforcement ranger Valerie Boren-Odell arrives at newly minted Horsethief Trail National Park seeking a quiet place to balance a career and single parenthood. But no sooner has Valerie reported for duty than she’s faced with local controversy over the park’s opening, a teenage hiker gone missing from one of the trails, and the long-hidden burial site of three children unearthed in a cave. Val’s quest for the truth wins an ally among the neighboring Choctaw Tribal Police but soon collides with old secrets and the tragic and deadly history of the land itself.

In this emotional and enveloping novel, Lisa Wingate traces the story of children abandoned by the law and the battle to see justice done. Amid times of deep conflict over who owns the land and its riches, Ollie and Val traverse the rugged and beautiful terrain, each leaving behind one life in search of another.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Valerie Boren-Odell, Talihina, Oklahoma, 1990

When our ancestors first came to southeastern Oklahoma one of the first things they set their eyes on were the beautiful, forested Winding Stair Mountains. They are our Plymouth Rock, our Mississippi River, our Rocky Mountains, our Pacific Ocean. —Ron Glenn, Winding Stair Mountain Wilderness bill, S. 2571, congressional hearing, 1988.

Dear Val,

Why mince words? Dreams are wonderful things, but a single mother needs to be practical. Please tell me it isn’t too late for you to return to your job at the Arch in St. Louis?

Have you lost your mind? Talihina, Oklahoma? I can’t even find it on the map without putting on my glasses. No wonder you didn’t tell us ahead of time. Kenneth has been around asking about you, by the way. You know he thought you two were becoming more than just friends. I understand grief, my dear, but you can’t cling to it forever, and let’s face it, if you remarried, you wouldn’t have all these financial struggles. If you don’t call Kenneth to iron things out, I’m telling him where I sent this postcard to.

Put Charlie in the car and drive home. I know you have always been a free spirit, but it’s time to grow up.

—Gram

I read the postcard for the third time since grabbing it from the mail on my way to work, then survey the breathtaking valley below Emerald Vista turnout and try to decide how much trouble I’m in. My grandmother taught high school English for more than a half century. She does not end sentences with prepositions.

. . . where I sent this postcard to.

She is in a mood. This note is meant to tear me up a bit, and it does. To unsettle me slightly, and it does that, too.

I am in the backwoods of southeastern Oklahoma, where after a rain, the morning shadows linger long and deep, and the mountains exhale mist so thick it seems to have weight. The countryside exudes the eerie, forgotten feel of a place where a woman and a seven-year-old boy could simply vanish and no one would ever know.

A puff of wind slides by, unsettling the folder I pulled from my day pack to extract the postcard. A mockup brochure and a half dozen high-end paper samples tumble to the pavement and slide away like fallen leaves. I should chase them down, but instead, I stand frozen. My mind drifts all the way to Talihina, where a cheery yellow house offers the only acceptable daycare willing to watch over a boy whose mom’s new job will sometimes entail rotating days off and working odd hours.

Just go get him, I tell myself. Pick him up and pack everything back into the car and go. This is crazy. All of this is crazy.

Instead, I pull a slow breath. The morning air is thicker, greener, and warmer than I’m accustomed to in May. It smells of summer. Summer, and earth, and damp stone, and shortleaf pines. Different from St. Louis in a way that whispers something so compelling my heart quickens.

The yearning for wild spaces is as much a part of me as my father’s gray-green eyes and thick auburn hair. He fostered that passion in me even before a stint in Vietnam quietly severed my parents’ ten-year marriage and made the backcountry the only place he was at peace. Knowing him at all after that meant spending time in the woods, so as often as she could, my grandmother drove me from the Kansas City burbs to the Shawnee National Forest, where her only surviving son guided hikes and raft trips. Gram made those journeys seem like a gift rather than a burden, so I saw them that way, too.

I thought she, if anybody, would understand this job transfer from Gateway Arches in St. Louis to the newly minted Horsethief Trail National Park in Oklahoma’s Winding Stair Mountains. But now I wonder if she sees history repeating itself—another thirty-year-old parent running from pain instead of dealing with it. Another helpless kid caught in the tailwind.

Is this relocation a reckless escape attempt or a smart career move? The position here is a GS-9 level job. At Arches, developing programs and exhibits, shuffling tourists around patches of grass and concrete, I was doing what amounted to grade-level 5 tasks, which was all I could handle when Charlie was three and suddenly without a father. I didn’t have the mental space to care about career advancement. But it’s time now. This is my chance to step back into park law enforcement. I never thought I’d get the position at the new Winding Stair unit, and I still don’t know why I did. But here I am.

It isn’t selfish, I assure myself. It’s necessary. If Joel were here, he’d tell you to go for it.

Just the thought fills me with a bittersweet mix of warmth and longing. I wish he could share this stunning morning view. Joel liked nothing better than a mountain he hadn’t yet climbed. Nothing.

“Hey . . . your stuff!” The voice seems remote at first. “Hey, Ranger, you dropped your papers.”

I come back to earth and Emerald Vista overlook, where suddenly I’m not alone. From the path to a nearby campground, a spindly adolescent girl sprints across the pavement, snatching up my runaway brochure sample on the fly. She’s eleven, maybe twelve. A few years older than Charlie. Wiry with long, dark hair.

Clutching the folder to my chest, I gather the pieces still at my feet. When I straighten, the girl is on her way over with the rest of the escaped papers in hand. She’s dressed in raggedy cutoffs and a washed-out T-shirt that reads antlers bearcats baseball. I search my memory for where Antlers is located. Someplace farther south along the Kiamichi River. I’ve seen it on the map.

“Here ya go, Ranger,” she says with a childlike admiration that reminds me I’m wearing my Class A Field uniform for the first time since the move. My start at the new unit has been frustratingly slow, my daily assignments for the past two weeks alternating between familiarizing myself with park trails and facilities, performing menial office tasks, and stocking brochure pockets on shiny new notice boards. I donned the uniform, gear-laden duty belt, and Smokey Bear hat today to make a point. I’m ready to do the job I came here for. But once again I find myself tasked with the same busywork.

The girl draws back upon getting a full frontal look at me. “Hey, you’re a girl ranger!” She blinks as if a UFO has landed. One of the advantages of being tall—I can almost pass for one of the guys, but the guys at the station have been quick to remind me that I’m not. A female law enforcement ranger wasn’t something they’d imagined here at Horsethief Trail.

But this little girl likes it, and so I immediately like her. “That’s cool,” she says.

“Thanks.” I recover the paper samples, spreading them like a deck of cards. “Got a favorite? I’m working on print materials for the park’s official opening ceremonies.” More busywork from my new supervisor, Chief Ranger Arrington. You know, give you some time to get up to speed. He came just short of patting me on the head when he said it.

“Looks like the park’s already open,” the girl observes. “The church field trip bus just pulled right on into the campground down yonder after some kid upchucked all over the place. Nobody’s camped down there, but the gate’s not locked or stuff.”

“Opening ceremonies aren’t for a week and a half yet, but, yes, the facilities are already available to the public.” The park is an eclectic combination of WPA-era recreational areas built over fifty years ago and fifteen million dollars in additions and upgrades funded by the congressional designation of Horsethief Trail National Park.

“My grandma told me they were making all kinds of new trails and stuff up here,” the girl chatters. “She said she’d take me to see everything.”

“Great idea. It’s a beautiful time of year.”

“Except she can’t right now.” A hopeful look slides toward my patrol vehicle. “But somebody might take me around, since I’m stuck for the summer. In stupid Talihina. Where I don’t got any friends.”

She’s laying it on thick, but I nod sympathetically anyway. “I bet we’ll be hosting summer opportunities for kids, once we’re fully staffed here.” Visitor programs aren’t in my purview, but the cultural and historical features of the region include ancient earthen mounds left behind by prehistoric Caddo-Mississippian cultures, Viking rune stones that are either genuine or forged depending on whom you ask, French and Spanish treasure legends, rumors of hidden outlaw loot, Civil War sites, the 1830s-era military road, and the Horsethief Trail, by which stolen animals were moved between Kansas and Texas back in the day. “These mountains have a lot of history.”

“Yeah, my grandma knows all that stuff. She’s been around here since, like, forever.”

“Interesting.” Grandma might be a good person to meet, as I’m trying to acquaint myself with my new neighborhood.

Reviews

“A seamlessly crafted tale of tragedy, resilience, and triumph, this powerful novel needs to go to the top of your list. Lisa Wingate once again gives poignant voice to the ‘lost’ children of American history.”—Lisa Scottoline, author of Eternal and Loyalty

Shelterwood is an instant American classic and a diamond in the crown of Lisa Wingate’s canon of atmospheric and emotional novels. The story of Ollie and Nessa is a page-turner.”—Adriana Trigiani, author of The Good Left Undone

“A complex and fascinating tapestry woven with threads of history, mystery, and menace that proves yet again that there is no finer storyteller at work today than Lisa Wingate.”—William Kent Krueger, author of The River We Remember

“I barely put Shelterwood down as my new favorite heroine, Ranger Valerie, uncovered the chilling story of children displaced by land barons. This book has it all—two fabulous heroines, a little-known true story, and a setting to die for.”—Martha Hall Kelly, author of Lilac Girls and The Golden Doves

“Wingate’s best book yet! Shelterwood explores crucial societal issues against the nail-biting backdrop of early-twentieth-century Oklahoma, where the struggle for land and oil threatens lives. . . . A spellbinding and important tale.”—Marie Benedict, author of The Mystery of Mrs. Christie and The Personal Librarian

“Riveting and powerful! Wingate brings to life the shocking tale of greed and little girls forced to save themselves. I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough. I doubt I will ever forget this story.”—Vanessa Miller, author of The American Queen

“Wingate’s signature talent for deeply realized characters, awe-inspiring prose, and page-turning mystery has never been more manifest. This captivating story will absorb your mind and heart and won’t let go.”—Patti Callahan Henry, author of The Secret Book of Flora Lea

“Lisa Wingate works her signature magic in creating strong, smart, and willful children who survive at any cost. Shelterwood is as heartwarming as it is mysterious and utterly absorbing.”—Sadeqa Johnson, author of The House of Eve

“Wingate’s stellar latest explores a centuries-long legacy of missing child cases. . . . Wingate’s insightful depiction of her young characters’ vulnerability and resourcefulness enriches the intricate plotting, and her portrayal of the region’s history, culture, and landscape enthralls. Wingate is at the top of her game.”Publishers Weekly (starred review)

Author

© Wyatt McSpadden
Lisa Wingate is the author of the #1 New York Times bestseller Before We Were Yours, which has sold more than three million copies and been translated into over forty languages worldwide. The co-author, with Judy Christie, of the nonfiction book Before and After, Wingate is a Goodreads Choice Award winner, an Oklahoma Book Award finalist, and a Southern Book Prize winner. She was named a 2023 Distinguished Alumni of Oklahoma State University. She lives with her husband in Texas and Colorado. View titles by Lisa Wingate