Dreams & Secrets

By DuannaLee Petersen

1870 Sacramento, California
Villainous manipulations disrupt MaryJo's family, throwing both factions into chaos for eighteen years. The reality of MaryJo's dream reunion with her father was problematic, secrets were required to protect them all. His life as a widower was legally fraudulent and his new family must be protected. MaryJo could marry her stepbrother to keep both the secret and her father. Would they be happy? That appeared to be the only option. How would it affect the rest of the family?

• Language: English
• Publisher: DuannaLee Petersen
• Release date: Jul 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310800139

DuannaLee Petersen

DuannaLee Petersen (pronounced DOO-ahna-Lee) AKA DuannaLee Petersen-Griffin and DuannaLee Post, Dee to friends and family, was born at home in the rural Mother Lode Country of California's Sierra Nevada range. Her own love-at-first-sight romance with a brief engagement and long-term marriage (twice) was the inspiration for some of her novels. Dee feels most at home in the rural Mother Lode gold-rush country of the Sierra Nevada mountain range in California. She delights in being a mother of two and grandmother of three. An adventurous spirit, descended on all eight lines from pioneering great-grandparents who emigrated from Europe, she has herself twice moved to distant states without a job or a home lined up in order to carve out a new life. Besides her family, Dee's interests lie in family history, church service, outdoor and water-oriented family activities, creative writing, portrait painting, various types of needle-work, reading, and animals (having a small horse ranch for about a decade). She's a NAUI scuba diver and ARRL amateur (ham) radio operator. She served on Sheriff’s Search and Rescue teams in California and in Washington and as an officer of a historical commission in Texas. A retired business professional and corporate officer, Dee now finds time to persue writing novels. She is affiliated with Brazos Writers and several internet writers groups. Dee now lives in South Dakota with her husband.

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Dreams

&

Secrets

DuannaLee Petersen-Griffin

Copyright

© 2011 Dreams & Secrets by Duanna Lee Petersen

All rights reserved.

This book is a fictional creation. Characters, names, incidents and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any historical persons, names, places, organizations, events, and locations are fictionally used with creative license. Similarity to actual people or events is natural and coincidental.

Dreams & Secrets

DuannaLee Petersen-Griffin

PART 1 Surprise!

PART 2 New Beginnings

PART 3 Good from Bad

PART 4 No More Secrets

PART 5 Happy Endings?

Historical References

Front Street, Sacramento, California

Chrysopolis ferryboat

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/13/Chrysopolis_%28steamboat%29_01.jpeg

DREAMS & SECRETS

PART ONE

Surprise!

CHAPTER 1

Sacramento, California

March 20, 1870

MaryJo stood in the shadows at twilight near the riverfront at the Sacramento River wharf, watching the people depart from the charming Chrysopolis dual-paddlewheel riverboat. She had learned that he would be returning from San Francisco on this steamer today. It had been a taxing day and she was fatigued. How she hated waiting!

She held the beautifully crafted leather case containing the only daguerreotype photograph of her parents, taken when they were newlyweds. She rubbed her fingers over the embossed leather cover with tenderness, thinking of the day her mother gave it to her to remember them by. She wondered, with her thoughts rambling as she waited.

If this man is my father, Charles Jonathan Jones, has he changed much? Will I be able to recognize him at all from this picture, among this crowd of people? I've never seen him, except for this old tintype. He was so young then, when they married. But he's dead, isn't he? If he is alive, then he doesn't even know he has a daughter.

I remember every word Mother told me all about their life together when she gave me the photograph as she lay dying. Why had she gotten sick? Mother had always helped the doctor and had never gotten ill herself. Why this time?

Loneliness hit her hard once more. Why was she taken away when I need her so? MaryJo had one letter from her father to her mother. It was the only one her mother had ever received, left behind for her when he left that sad day in August 1852. She knew it by heart.

My Dearest Josie,

I will miss you so much, my sweet wife, my love, my life. I know that in your condition, you will be safer here waiting for me than with me as I try to make a home for us―our home. Mother Molly will take care of you, with your father watching over you, keeping you and our unborn child protected. I promise I will get established quickly, build a house, and send for you in a few months.

I promise to write to you every week. I will miss you every minute. I wish I could bring you with me now, but it would not be safe for you. I cannot bear this separation any easier than you can, my precious wife. All my love forever―

Your loving husband,

CJ

There were no other letters, ever. Mother thought he was dead. Had he abandoned them? Mother always wore her wedding ring, which she had given to MaryJo with the photograph. She told MaryJo that you only get married once in this life, so he must have died or he would be there with them. She loved him so. She made MaryJo love him too, telling her wondrous stories of their brief life together. Tears came to MaryJo’s eyes as she longed for a love of her own, like her mother had.

She quickly dried her tears to clear her sight as she looked over the slowly disembarking passengers.

MaryJo’s mother had died just last year, in the coldest winter she could remember. Perhaps her mother’s death made it colder for her. MaryJo had taken a job at the new boardinghouse in Auburn where they had been residing. There she saw a newspaper, The Sacramento Daily Union, left behind in a vacated room. Someone had encircled an advertisement and written on it See Charles J. Jones at 10:00 o’clock Thursday morning.

On seeing the paper, her breath had caught as she stood frozen, unable to believe her eyes. She ran her fingers over the writing and pondered it. That was her father’s name and he had headed to the city of Sacramento. Could it be he was still alive? No, it was probably just a coincidence; it was a very common name, but was it possible? Could it be him, really be him? She felt an internal urging to find out, with Sacramento being so close to Auburn, just about thirty-five miles. She knew she had to see for herself. What if he is?

Could he be so close? Had he always been so close at Jones Shipping & Freight? Why was this newspaper left behind when a guest departed? Could he really, truly be alive? She must go there to find out! Would that be as pointless as a wild-goose chase at the fair? Then her heart felt heavy as she realized that her father might not want her. Maybe he had left them. The letter of love, had he meant it? Maybe he had been seduced by another woman? No, could that be? That would be so heartbreaking, but she had to find out.

So there she stood, waiting to see if this man could be her father. . .and if he was, then what? Would he accept her? Or would she always be alone? So many questions. She shivered, wondering if it was from a chill or trepidation.

As the people departing the riverboat passed by, she thought of her mother’s description of him: Handsome, kind, confident, respected, gentle, thoughtful, generous, godly, soft spoken but commanding.

When one man crossed the plankway to the dock, she could not deny the likeness to the tintype photograph; it was the same man, her father. He was not quite as slender, but he looked the same, a handsome man still. Her eyes teared up. Now what? What should she do?

She decided to follow him along the cobbled street. What should she do? She could not very well walk up to him and say, Hello, Father! now, could she? Would he stop by his office this late or go straight home? He outdistanced her as she could not keep up with his long strides. Suddenly aware of her foolishness as the crowd thinned, a woman walking alone around Sutter’s Embarcadero would be easy prey for the depraved. She hoped her simple hat and cloak would be obscurant. This bustling city was intimidating, being the state capital and so much larger than the city of Auburn.

Fear gripped her as she saw men noticing her. This huge city was still in its rough-and-tumble times. She must think of her safety first. She knew where he worked, for she had stopped by there earlier today and found out he would be returning from a business trip to San Francisco on the Chrysopolis this very evening. Without delay, she must rent a room here and get off the streets. Rough looking men were watching her, making the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Was it too late? Would anyone follow her? She offered a quick prayer for protection. She quickened her step to get closer to the couple ahead of her so it would seem likely that she was with them, even mouthing a soundless comment in their direction to imply a communication, silent words as if talking to them. It seemed to help. She followed them into the Orleans Hotel, not hesitating to also secure a room for herself. Tomorrow she would meet him somehow.

Lord, help me through this. You know his heart and mine. You know my dreams, my desire for family. Please direct my path and words, and give me understanding.

She tossed and turned. Why couldn’t she sleep? Fear? Excitement? How should she tell him? Would he believe her? Accept her? Throw her out? Should she be angry? All she could think about was why did he leave her wonderful mother? Well, maybe she would decide to be very angry when she found out what happened eighteen years ago!

It was still too early for a lady to go anywhere, even in California. She sat by the hotel window overlooking the street activity below. The Orleans Hotel faced Front Street area like a sentinel. She had overheard that the hotel was on the decline, outdone by newer upscale hotels. Could that be true? She doubted it. Granted, the Whittier-Fuller Paint Co. was on the first floor, with the hotel's entrance door outside to a staircase leading up from the tiny hotel lobby. Nevertheless, the hotel was right by the Wells Fargo building where travelers disembarked the stages. That was too convenient to overlook. Tis probably only gossip.

Then she saw him, her father in all likelihood. She craned her neck for a better view and watched closely to see where he went. He stepped into the B. F. Hastings & Co. store just past Wells Fargo. She rushed to finish dressing, primped, and hurried down to the boardwalk. She walked with as much dignity as she could. Trembling from overwhelming anxiety, she prayed for calmness. She hurried toward the corner of Front & L, where the Hastings store stood. Upon reaching the Adams & Co. store just as a man exited the door, she tripped on a warped board and lunged into the gentleman's solid form. It was he! She could not, would not, have planned that. Was God helping her? She felt flushed with embarrassment.

Oh, I am so sorry. Please forgive me, she proclaimed with sincerity, being both surprised and humiliated. She had fallen into his arms!

No, no, young lady, no need to apologize. His eyes locked upon her, with awe. Are you all right? Have you hurt yourself? He spoke with true concern and gentleness. Let me help you regain your, uh, bearings.

You mean my composure, do you not? She blushed, demurely. She was so embarrassed. What a first impression! She wanted to run and hide, but she was anchored where she stood as if her feet were made of lead. She would be poised and stay, savoring this closeness with dignity.

Really, miss, are you all right? I should have been paying better attention. Please forgive me. Is there something I can do to assist you? He was struck by her resemblance to his deceased wife.

Sir, the collision spared me a very unladylike fall face-first onto the boardwalk. I thank you. If anything, I owe you, not the other way around.

She caught him staring at her. Does he see my resemblance to Mother?

He then chuckled, That would have been a sight to behold! Have you had your breakfast? Please, let me treat you to breakfast. Over there. It is quite public. That is where I am headed. Please join me, unless of course, you do not have the time. I understand that you may not.

How sweet. He is offering me an easy way out if I want to take it, she thought. But I cannot miss this opportunity to get to know him! Glad that social proprieties were more lax in the West, she replied, Yes, sir, I would be delighted to dine with you, over there. She indicated the same small restaurant across the way on K Street near Second.

Let me introduce myself. I am Charles Jones. And what is your name if I may be so bold, miss? Then he proffered his bent arm for the stroll toward the restaurant.

My name is MaryJo Jones, sir.

Well, how about that! We are both Joneses! It is a small world. Yes, yes, I know it is a common surname. I have met many other Joneses. You would not know, but my first wife was called Jo by her family, or Josie by me. She looked a lot like you, God rest her soul.

Oh, how she wished she could call him Father and hug him. She passed on? I am sorry, sir.

Well, yes. But it has been nearly two decades now. I still miss her. She was a lovely woman, very special. Well, here we are. Shall we sit over here, near the window?

She nodded, appreciating the propriety of the window seating. Does he think Mother died, or does he just tell people that? She pondered that, finally deciding: I will not tell him who I am yet.

The waitress brought them water and took their orders for ham, eggs, and potatoes.

Did you and Josie have children? She asked innocently, all the while thinking, Father, I am your daughter! But she needed to learn more and find the right moment, the right way.

No, sadly not. We wanted children, but we were newlyweds. She was with child when she passed on. His eyes showed true sadness.

I am so sorry. That must have been disheartening. I wonder, how did she die? This, she wanted to hear.

I am not exactly sure, an illness of some kind. I had acquired a decent amount of gold, through mining. I had gone away to establish a business, find the right land and build a home. It was time. She was in no condition to go with me, so I had her stay with her folks, just for awhile, of course. I was going to bring her and the baby with me when the house was ready. It was a difficult decision, but we were in danger of losing everything. We had agreed that after a week, her father would make comments that I had left with the gold to get established in San Francisco, an untruth for their safety. I wrote to her every week, but never got letters from her. Then, one letter was returned to me with DECEASED" written on it. I wrote to her parents several times, but received no reply. So I wrote to the postmaster and asked for information. I got a brief note back from an acquaintance at the post office. He said that my wife had taken ill and died right after I left, and that her grieving parents had moved out of state.

How odd. She wanted to know the name of that scoundrel, this acquaintance at the post office. The current postmaster, Robert Bawdry, a horrid man, had been trying to woo her mother for years, and even herself more recently. Had he orchestrated this to make her mother available to himself? She hoped he would continue so she would learn more. You say you learned it from an acquaintance at the post office? Not from a family member or a close friend? How strange and very sad.

Well, I guess Bawdry was a bit more than a mere acquaintance, but I would never call him a friend. He was an old classmate, so he knew us both before we came to California. Josie had even wondered if he had followed us to Auburn after arriving in San Francisco. I admit, I wondered about that as well. He was a strange fellow. But I am surprised that her parents did not write to me. We were family after all. If they had moved, I would think the letters would have been forwarded to them. I almost rode up there to see for myself, but my heart ached so, and it would not bring her back to life. I was heartbroken and despondent for quite some time. I had no will to live. I quickly sold the land and the half-built house. I really cannot remember that first year at all.

Mother’s parents. Yes, he would have written to them. Grandmother and Grandfather loved Charles as their own son. They were both alive back then. MaryJo then wondered if Robert Bawdry had pulled out all the letters to and from her father. Was he that despicable? She knew for herself what a loathsome man he was. Wasn’t he the one, Mother had told her, who had said he had heard that Father had died in an accident? Mother said Bawdry had pursued her for years in school, and even after she married Father, until he realized she was with child sometime after her father had left. Bawdry then said he did not want that Jones kid―until last year when he decided he desired MaryJo as a woman, on the side as a doxy, his mistress. A horrid man. She remembered Mother had said he had married Henrietta Babcock and deserved that, like a noose around his neck. She smiled at that. Henrietta Babcock was just punishment, indeed. Truthfully, Mother was very loving and bore no hatred except perhaps for this one man, so she did not dislike Henrietta for she had a no nonsense approach to life that would surely make Bawdry miserable. A false witness shall not go unpunished, and he that speaketh lies shall not escape. How fitting.

Oh, forgive me, Mr. Jones. I have been much too forward to ask you about such personal things. We have only just met!

There is nothing to forgive, Miss Jones. He smiled. In fact, it does my heart good to remember my Josie. When I married again, I worried that my new wife might be jealous of her memory so I refrained from discussing my first wife. I would never want to cause her any pain. I love and admire my wife, and we have five wonderful sons.

I have brothers and a stepmother! After a calming breath, she responded, Well, sir, I have observed that some women are prone to jealousy because they are somewhat insecure. Perhaps because she felt like she would be compared to her and could never measure up. Perhaps the memories of first loves make some women feel they are only second best, not being the first passionate love. She now realized that his wife might despise her, as more than just a memory, as a personal threat to her security.

You may be right. You are wise beyond your years, young lady.

The waitress brought their food. They sat in relative silence while they finished their meal. Both seemed deep in thought. She found him gazing at her, thoughtfully. Finally he said, You remind me so much of my Josie. Your creamy skin, golden hair, snowy blue eyes―quite unusual, you know, like Jack Frost added ice around the centers. Tell me about your family.

Tell him.

Now? Her heart raced. Well, I am an only child. My mother passed away just last year, my grandparents are also gone, and I was told my father died before I was born. I have a photograph of my parents. Would you care to see it?

Yes, indeed,

As she pulled the case from her handbag, she noticed his eyes staring at the leather case. It was a common enough case at the time, or so she assumed. She handed it to him. As he opened it, he sighed, Oh, God! It sounded like a prayer of thanks and what? Grief? She feared he might die right then and there from the shock. She held her breath. He looked up at her. You are my daughter? You are my daughter. She did not die? Oh, my Josie. And he wept. She reached out and held his hand. He squeezed it gently.

Just as he regained his composure, a handsome gentleman softly rapped on the window startling them both. MaryJo pulled her hand back and then froze at the sight of him. Her heart raced. She quickly tried to breathe slowly, but being such a contradiction it wasn’t working.

My stepson, David. He motioned him to come in and join them. MaryJo, please do not tell him yet. Let me, later.

MaryJo’s heart was pounding. Was it anticipation? For David, a stranger? She felt oddly excited with a sense of recognition, but that could not be. She forced herself to breathe slowly to calm herself.

Hello, Father. And who is this beautiful lady? The one whose hand you were just holding.

David, I’d like you to meet MaryJo Jones. I just ran into her at the mercantile―literally ran into her. Can you believe that? She graciously agreed to join me for breakfast. Have you eaten, Son?

Yes, I have, but I will sit with you if I may. I was actually looking for you. We have a problem with one of the accounts and I need to discuss it with you, but not here.

Certainly, David. I will go directly to the office. Miss Jones, I did not ask, do you live in town?

I just arrived yesterday. I am staying in the hotel across the street.

David then asked, Miss Jones, were you in Jones Shipping & Freight yesterday afternoon? I thought I caught a glimpse of you at the front counter. Oh, she had caught his eye all right, with her beauty and grace, and had left him breathless! She had intrigued him then, and today they meet. He had felt an excitement of heart he had never felt before. A woman had never affected him quite like that, just as she did now.

Oh, no, now what? She MUST be honest, the Lord would expect that of her, but what would Father think of her? She replied as calmly as possible, Yes, I was there. I was looking for a Mr. Jones, but he was not in. Then, looking at her father, she asked, Are you that same Charles Jones?

I am indeed, he smiled lovingly, as if delighted she was looking for him. If you are new here, were you there looking for work? We do have a position open that you might be interested in, but David should tell you about it. I would be pleased to have you take it.

David thought, What is he up to? He was holding her hand, why? Now he's offering her employment? Is he trying to find me a wife? Since when has he become a matchmaker? But she is lovely, an excellent choice. What am I thinking? A wife? For me? Why is she so captivating? Does she affect Charles the same way she affects me?

Well, then, shall we go down to the office to discuss it.

Charles agreed, Yes, David, a grand idea. As he stood up and came alongside MaryJo, he slipped the photograph case into her hand and whispered, "Do not lose