New Beginnings Spring 20 Book Box Set

by Hope Sinclair

  “And what should I do, Mother?” Amelia asked. Her tone wasn’t challenging, but desperate. She’d been asking God the same question in her prayers for some time.

  “You’ve got to do something, my child,” Mrs. Johnson answered.

  “I’m going to wait,” Amelia responded. “I’m going to wait until I receive word from Carson. I’m going to wait—”

  “You can’t just wait, Amelia,” Mrs. Johnson interrupted. “You’ve got to take action… It’s been six months since the war ended, and you haven’t gotten any communications from, or about, Carson. It’s time that you move on. You’re 23 years old, and you can’t keep waiting around on a man you might never hear from again. You must face reality. Carson could be dead. Or, he could be severely disabled, beyond function. Or, maybe he—”

  “Maybe he was captured and held prisoner,” Amelia blurted out. “Maybe he met someone else, or fell for a farm girl who gave him refuge. Maybe he realized he didn’t love me after all, and just decided that we shouldn’t be married… Or, perhaps my letters got lost in the mail and never even reached him and he thinks the same of me… Who knows?”

  Amelia burst into tears and dropped the potato she was holding.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Johnson said softly. She set her potato and knife down on the counter, then wrapped her arms around her daughter. “Every day you wait,” she whispered lovingly, “you wonder. And wondering brings pain—and you don’t deserve to suffer.”

  Mrs. Johnson pulled away from her daughter and walked over to the far cupboard. She pulled out a large clay jar and carefully removed the lid from it. Then, she reached her hand inside and extracted a small bundle of some sort.

  “Come sit with me,” she said as she approached the kitchen table. She sat down and put the bundle in front of her. Amelia did as she’d been told and sat down with her mother.

  “This was to be your wedding gift,” Mrs. Johnson said, nodding toward the bundle. “It’s not much, but I figured it was the thought that mattered.” She pushed the bundle across the table. “Go on, open it,” she added. “I want you to have it.”

  Amelia reached out and pulled the bundle toward her. She turned back the cheese cloth that wrapped it and, much to her surprise, saw a small stack of money.

  “Oh, Mother,” Amelia gasped. “I can’t take this. What ever would I do with it?”

  “Take action,” Mrs. Johnson replied. “Use it to buy the peace of mind you need, so that you don’t have to wait, wonder, and suffer any more… I’m not one for counting, but I think there’s more than enough there to pay for train fare out to Texas, something to live off once you’re there and, should you need it, a return fare to come home.

  “Take it, and go find out what happened to Carson. I give you my blessing, and I pray all goes well.”

  Amelia burst into tears again. But this time, her tears were tears of joy. For months, she’d wanted to go to Texas to get answers, but she never thought her mother would allow her to do such a thing. And now, without her even asking, her mother had given her blessing, and the money to fund her way. She was incredibly moved.

  “Thank you,” Amelia said, though she was otherwise speechless. Her mother looked at her and smiled.

  “You’re quite welcome, daughter of mine.” she said.

  TWO

  Four days later, Amelia boarded the train in Camden, bound for Alton, Texas. She’d traveled by train once before, nearly a decade ago, when she and her mother left Maryland after her father died. So she was no stranger to the trials and tribulations of riding the rails.

  But familiar as she was, it didn’t make her time on the train any less trying. The conditions in the car were poor, and even though she was only confined to it for a few days of travel, her stay in it was bothersome and exhausting. Plus, she had the added stress of what she was doing weighing on her mind the whole while. She was, after all, on a very sensitive quest. She was on her way to determine whether her beloved fiancé had died, become disabled, or left her.

  As it was, Amelia really was the type of girl who wore her heart on her sleeve and it was easy for others to “read” her. Just like Mr. Jenkins was always able to sense her excitement and her mother was able to sense when she was upset, the young woman who sat beside her on the train was able to sense her disquiet.

  “You must be traveling for some sad reason,” the other girl said out of the blue, after they’d sat beside each other for several hours, in silence. Amelia was a bit shocked to have the girl address her directly, and she was embarrassed by her conclusion.

  “I’m not sure,” Amelia said, trying to regain her composure.

  “You’re not sure why you’re traveling?” the other girl inquired. She tried to hold back her chuckle, but a little giggle leaked out.

  “It’s not that simple,” Amelia replied.

  “Most things aren’t,” the girl smiled. She sighed and shook her head, then introduced herself properly. “My name’s Molly,” she said. “And I’m traveling for a good reason. I’ve been communicating with a man in Arizona, and I’m going there to marry him. He’s a bit older than me and is a widower—and in marrying him, I’ll also become mother to his young daughter.”

  As confused and as uncertain as Amelia was, she couldn’t help but feel happy for Molly. “That’s wonderful,” she told her.

  Molly giggled again. “Ah, so you can smile,” she poked playfully. “This whole time I’ve sat next to you, you’ve had such a down, worried look on your face. It’s nice to see that you still have some joy in you.”

  Amelia shifted in her sear a little. She wasn’t necessarily shy, but she was somewhat soft-spoken and reserved. She’d never “opened up” to a complete stranger before. But even though it was novel, she felt compelled to do it now. Something inside of her told her that talking about things might make her feel better—or, at least distract her from her racing thoughts.

  “You’re right,” Amelia began. “I am worried—and I don’t smile all that often anymore. But at one point in my life, I was a very happy girl. And like you, I’d been communicating with a man and was supposed to leave home to go marry him. We were in love and we wanted to start a family.”

  Molly’s eyes widened and sparkled, and her jaw dropped slightly. She was intrigued, and surprised.

  “His name’s Carson. Carson Porter,” Amelia went on. “We met four years ago, through a mail-order bride periodical, and we wrote back and forth to each other for several months. We got to know each other very well and fell head over heels for each other.

  “When Carson proposed to me, of course I accepted, and we started planning for the start of our life together. But then… then…”

  Amelia trailed off and turned to glance out the window. She wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t let herself.

  “The ugliness that was going on in this country got even uglier,” she picked up. “Carson joined the war, to fight as a field soldier. Before he went off, he sent me a letter informing me of his plans and postponing our marriage. He said we’d be wed once he was back from battle.

  “I received two letters from him during the war, and given that I wasn’t expecting any from him at that time, I was very grateful for them. But the second was sent almost a year ago now, and the war ended some six months ago—and still, I haven’t received word from Carson. I don’t know… I… I don’t know…”

  Amelia started trailing off and stuttering, and Molly completed her sentence for her. “You don’t know what became of him,” she said.

  Amelia shrugged her shoulders lamentingly. “I don’t know whether he’s dead or alive,” she said, “or with some other woman… Though, I honestly doubt he’d abandon me without some explanation. He’s a man of strong character, a soldier. He wouldn’t just leave me lingering. He’s too noble… which leads me to think… he… he’s probably…”

  Again, Amelia started trailing off and stuttering, and Molly completed her sentence for her. “You think he’s probably dead,” she said.


  Amelia nodded. She couldn’t control herself anymore, and the tears she’d held back started slowly flowing. “Yes,” she replied. “I’m afraid he’s dead… I’m afraid he died in the war, and left me a widow before we were even married.”

  Molly was moved to tears, and she moved closer to Amelia. “For both of your sakes, I hope he is still alive,” she said sweetly. “But if he isn’t—if he’s dead—at least you know he died loving you and fighting for his country.”

  Amelia nodded. Molly’s remark was very reassuring, though it wasn’t entirely accurate. In saying that Carson had died “fighting for his country,” Molly had assumed that he fought for the Union, when, in fact, he fought for the Confederacy.

  Politics had never mattered that much to Amelia, and she wasn’t going to let the Civil War tear her personal life apart like it’d torn the country apart. She was in love with a Confederate soldier. That was that.

  But there was no need to explain that to Molly. The Union had won the war, and they were traveling on a train that had originated in the east. It was best to keep her lips sealed and appreciate Molly’s sentiment. If Carson died in the war, no matter his allegiance, he died fighting for something he believed in.

  In any event, regardless of Molly’s inaccurate assumption, her words comforted Amelia, and she tucked them away in her mind. As the train made its way into Texas, the two women continued to learn about each other and offer their best wishes and words of wisdom.

  By the time the train arrived at the station in Alton, Amelia was feeling more peaceful and content than she’d felt in a long time. She felt blessed for having some of her anxieties eased, and she thanked God for giving her such a wonderful travel companion—and for giving her a moment of quiet before the storm.

  THREE

  The moment she stepped off of the train, Amelia’s heart started racing. She was alone and in an unfamiliar place, and she was uncertain as to where to go and disappointed as to where her journey would ultimately take her.

  This is it, she told herself. I’m here, and the answers to all my questions are just around the corner.

  Amelia’s first order of business was to get her bearings and find her way from the train station to the settlement of Silver Crest. After eyeing the platform curiously for a few moments, she eventually saw what looked to be carriages and wagons available “for hire” at the far end, and she eagerly walked toward them. When she asked the first driver she met if she could commission a ride to Silver Crest, he was going to turn her down, as he didn’t want to drive a single, unaccompanied young woman. But when a middle-aged couple and their teenaged daughter requested a ride to Blue Valley, the settlement just beyond Silver Crest, he let Amelia join them on his wagon (for a fee, of course).

  The wagon ride from the train station to Silver Crest was uneventful. The couple and their daughter were worn out from their travels, and they barely even talked to each other, let alone to Amelia. And as for Amelia, she was so rattled that, had she talked to them, she wouldn’t have been able to talk straight. She was getting closer and closer to the truth, and emotion overcame her. She didn’t even have it in her to take in the beauty of her new surroundings. The landscape of Texas was noticeably different than that of Arkansas, but she couldn’t see it.

  After an hour on the road, the driver dropped Amelia outside of the settlement of Silver Crest, and she made her way to the address she had memorized by heart. The Porter homestead was the third off of the main road, and Amelia arrived in front of it just as the sun began to set on the horizon. She could see light emanating from the place—but that alone didn’t tell her much, as Carson was still living with his parents when he joined the war.

  As Amelia approached the front porch, she prepared herself for the numerous possibilities that could follow. But of course, she could never fully prepare herself for what came next.

  She rapped on the door once, then waited. Then she rapped again, and waited. She rapped a third time—and still, there was no answer.

  It wasn’t until she rapped a fourth time that someone came to the door. It was an older man, perhaps in his 60s. He looked much older than he actually was, however, as he was unkempt and slow-moving.

  “Yes?” he asked, arching his eyebrows. He gestured his head toward a sign posted on his door, which Amelia hadn’t previously noticed. “NO BUSINESS OR CALLERS,” it read.

  Amelia felt very embarrassed. But she’d come too far to give up now.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said as politely as possible, “but my name is Amelia Johnson. Carson and I—”

  “Carson’s dead,” Mr. Porter interrupted. His words were so sharp, so cold and they hit Amelia right in the heart. She felt as if she were about to keel over. Her head was spinning. Her worst fear had been confirmed.

  Mr. Porter turned to shut the door and go back into the recesses of his house, but Amelia caught his attention just before he could. “I’m Carson’s fiancé,” she interjected. Her voice was loud and firm, but not rude or offensive. “We were engaged, and were to be married when he returned home from the war. Surely he told you about me.”

  Mr. Porter’s back had been facing Amelia and his feet had been in motion. But as soon as she spoke up, he stopped dead in his tracks and turned back to face her. “Amelia?” he said, arching his eyebrow again. “Amelia Johnson?” He reached his hand up and scratched his head, then he brought his hand to the door. “You’re the one who’s been sending all those letters, aren’t you?” Mr. Porter asked.

  Amelia nodded. “Yes,” she answered. “I kept writing in the hopes that he, or someone else, would reply.”

  “Hmm,” Mr. Porter hummed. Amelia couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was something a little “off” about him.

  “And when no one did,” Amelia went on, “I decided to come here, from Arkansas, and find out what happened.”

  “Well then,” Mr. Porter said with a sigh, “if you came all the way from Arkansas…” He stepped back and held the door open, and Amelia warily walked in.

  FOUR

  “You’ll have to forgive me,” Mrs. Porter said apologetically. She reached out and put her hand on top of her husband’s and rubbed it gently. “Edward here has become a bit absentminded and unstable over the past several months,” she went on. “And I take my duty to mind him very seriously, but wouldn’t you know it! Just when I go out to make sure the back gate’s locked up, someone comes knocking at the front… I hope his behavior didn’t unnerve you.”

  “No, not at all,” Amelia replied. “He was very considerate.”

  Mrs. Johnson rolled her eyes and smiled. “Thanks for saying so,” she said. “And thanks for being so patient with Edward, and with me, regarding this situation.”

  Amelia and Mr. and Mrs. Porter were seated at the Porter’s dining room table, with a pot of tea and small plate of biscuits in front of them. When Amelia told the matron who she was, Mrs. Porter’s response was to run off to the kitchen. She claimed she wanted to prepare a snack for her guest. And indeed, she did prepare one, crying the whole while.

  “I’m sorry I never wrote to you to inform you of Carson’s passing,” Mrs. Porter said as she poured tea into her husband’s cup. “But as you can see, I’ve had my hands full. I’ve had to take on a good deal of added responsibility since Edward lost his senses, and I’ve had a lot of practical matters to take care of—not to mention, I’ve been dealing with my own grief.

  “I haven’t had much free time recently, and what free time I have had, I didn’t want to spend penning such a dismal letter… I guess I just didn’t want to write down the words ‘Carson is dead,’ as if, maybe, if I didn’t write them, they wouldn’t be true.”

  Amelia could see the suffering in Mrs. Porter’s eyes and hear it in her voice, and she could relate to it, as well as to the way Mrs. Porter wanted to deny, or avoid, the sad truths that were right in front of her.

  “But the fact is, those words are true,” Mrs. Porter went on. “Carson was killed
in battle during the war. He was shot and died in a trench.”

  Mrs. Porter bowed her head, and Mr. Porter started shaking his. He stood up and walked away from the table to the window. “It’s getting dark out, Isabelle,” he said, peering out past the curtain nervously. “It’s getting dark… and cold.”

  “Come now, Edward,” Mrs. Porter said, standing up from the table and walking over to her husband. “I’ll get you your tonic.” She looked at Amelia and added, “I’ll be right back, dear.”

  Amelia watched as Carson’s parents left the dining room and headed down the hallway, then she turned her attention to her surroundings. For the first time since coming in, she looked at the place like a newcomer would. She was in a nice room in a quaint home, which, at some point had probably been quite lovely before it became neglected and, like Mr. Porter, unkempt.

  This is the house that Carson lived in, she thought to herself. This is where he grew up, where he penned his letters to me.

  A wave of warmth rushed over Amelia’s body. She thought of all the letters she and Carson had exchanged and of the connection that had developed between them. She was grateful for it all, even though it was now over. At least she got to experience something with him, and at least she had been able to give him some love in his life, and in his heart, before he died. Like Molly’d said back on the train, at least he’d died loving her.

  “He’s settled in for the night now,” Mrs. Porter said, reentering the room. Amelia had been lost in thought, and Mrs. Porter caught her off guard. But Amelia didn’t show her surprise and, instead, smiled and nodded at her host.

  Mrs. Porter sat down across from Amelia. She took hold of the teapot and poured herself a cup of tea.

  “The war was very rough on our family,” she explained, adding a spoonful of sugar to her cup. “It took a lot from us, including my husband’s mind and spirit.”