Delicate Strands

By C. Lloyd

Although having lived in Virginia for the majority of her twenty one years, Miss Vivienne Whitford will never consider herself a Southernernot while slavery is still in existence. Determined to free her best friend from the vile institution, the independent Vivienne believes that she has finally hit upon the perfect plan. And it concerns her very little that she will have to use Mr. Andrew Bentley to accomplish her aim; for who is the man that she cannot persuade as she chooses?
Traveling north to Pennsylvania under the guise of furthering her relationship with the enterprising Andrew, Vivienne commences her beneficent mission with the enslaved Abigail by her side. During her two-week stay in his locale of Farnsworth Run, however, Vivienne learns that the young Mr. Bentley is a very dangerous man with whom to trifle, as she begins to suspect his involvement in the disappearance of a woman from the nearby Seneca settlement. When Viviennes concerned report to the local sheriff goes unheeded, she decides that her only option is to return home as planned, thus escaping the calculating and malevolent Andrew.
And this she had every intention of doinghad it not been for Joseph.
Six weeks into her wilderness escapade, Miss Whitford is no longer certain of anything beyond the fact that she can never return to her former life . . . not after what she has done. But where will she go if Joseph will not let her stay?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491840825

Book preview

Chapter 1

(May 3, 1859)

It was not without trepidation that Vivienne readied herself to descend the staircase, as this would prove to be the final test in a battle long fought. If she could screen her emotions in the presence of her mother and stepfather this last time, then she believed that the victory would be hers. She fervently hoped that her parents would attribute the intensified brightness in her green eyes and the heightened color in her pale skin to excitement of a more romantic origin, remembering that she had not seen Andrew in several months. And beyond that circumstance, the journey that the young belle was embarking upon was unlike anything in her past. Or possibly Mr. and Mrs. Fielding would simply be too tired to notice, Vivienne reasoned, as it was barely six o’clock, hardly the customary hour of awakening for their respectably affluent class.

It was of little matter what her family members concluded so long as no one tried to stop her, Vivienne thought determinedly, as her hand glided along the smoothly finished oak banister. Abigail, she knew, would already be occupying the entrance hall, having finished her own preparations only moments ago, carrying an even larger parcel of angst. In spite of the fact that the multiple trunks had an hour earlier been loaded and strapped upon the carriage, Vivienne could not deny that she and her companion were at this moment still burdened with baggage heavy but unable to be seen.

Good morning, Mother, Vivienne cheerily greeted as she placed her first foot on the marble landing. Father, she said, smiling in acknowledgment of his presence, as she pulled on her second black kidskin glove.

Abigail waited silently beside the closed double oak doors while Briggs, one of the elderly house slaves, stood ready to render any further assistance needed in the departure.

Your sisters were so sorry not to have been here this morning, her mother regretfully drawled in a Virginian accent acquired only in recent years. But you did choose a rather impossible hour for their presence, she chided, adjusting the tie to her rose colored silk wrapper. In this manner, the mistress of the great house achieved not only a defense of her other daughters’ completely expected lack of presence, but also a mild scold for her own person being forced to arise at daybreak by her middle daughter’s travel plans.

Satisfied that her mother was sufficiently dulled by her disagreeably early arousal, Vivienne replied with meager patience, Yes, mother. We exchanged our adieus at dinner the evening before last. And really, it’s not as if I will be gone forever. This is just a little holiday adventure for Abigail and myself, in which expedition I’m sure that my sisters have very little interest. They clearly disapprove of my traveling north in any case. Then with a merry lilt to her voice, she added the reassurance, I’ll be back before the first snowflake falls, carefully using the singular pronoun in this last statement.

I should certainly hope so! her mother gasped. We’re still waiting for the roses to bloom. John, did you hear that? It’ll be at least six months until the first snow falls. She’s talking about being away for six months! Did you discuss this without my consent?

No, no, Rebekah, John Fielding soothed. She’s just making sure that you’re awake before she leaves. Now, Vivienne, go easy on your mother this morning. She hasn’t had a bit of coffee.

I’m sorry, Mother. I was only teasing, Vivienne said apologetically, thankful to her stepfather for his repair on this occasion.

Scuse me, sir, but we got to be goin’, Briggs interrupted with a very slight authority. Miss Vivienne gonna miss her train.

Yes, Briggs, I believe you are right, Mr. Fielding answered as he checked his pocket watch. You girls had best be seated in the carriage. Vivienne, give your mother a kiss, and be off with you, he directed with gruff affection.

Vivienne obeyed, not without genuine feeling, for she really would miss her mother. In fact, if she did not believe so strongly in her purpose, this departure from Solitude would not be taking place today. Feeling somewhat unsure of herself at the present moment, the young lady added a warm embrace, in which she lingered ever so slightly. As she did so, a quick glance around the entry hall was made, an internal urge motivating her to capture a memory—of the way the early sunlight was just awakening a glimmer on the varnished oak staircase, of the intricacy of the plaster magnolia motif decorating the crown molding, and lastly of the sheen of the deep gold velvet fabric perfectly complementing the mahogany carvings on the cushioned settee. Analyzing these aspects from a surreal perspective, as if she had never really noticed the details in spite of having passed through the room daily, Vivienne met her own reflection in the gilded mirror opposite the spot upon which she currently stood, reality reminding her of her true purpose this morning.

Thus corrected, she released her mother and adjusted the ivory-trimmed emerald green traveling bonnet upon her deliberately formed golden curls and then stepped up on tiptoe to kiss her stepfather on the cheek. The door was opened, and over the freshly swept threshold the deceitful daughter trod, well aware that each movement away from the center of her home further sealed her course. If success was this time attained, Vivienne’s return to Solitude may not be as pleasant as her departure.

Mrs. Fielding remained within the shelter of the house as Mr. Fielding accompanied the twosome to the carriage parked under the pillared portico, issuing final instructions to Abigail on watching out for Miss Vivienne in their travels.

You both are in possession of good sense. See to it that you use it on every occasion. We’ll be awaiting word of your arrival in Farnsworth Run.

Thank you sir, we will send word as soon as possible, Vivienne replied as good-naturedly as she possibly could in her heightened state of anxiety, arranging her skirts as she settled upon the seat. Do take care of yourself and mother.

Vivienne finished her plea with a genuine smile, as Mr. Fielding tapped the carriage with his hand, signaling Briggs to depart. The old man glanced over his shoulder, nodded respectfully to his master, and urged the horses forward.

An uncharacteristic silence permeated the closed carriage like heavy August humidity, although in reality it was early May. The air was crystal clear and cool outside, as spring was still only hinting at a presence. Winter had been long this year, but the morning’s plentiful sunshine rendered it a hopeful day in terms of season. The optimism inside the carriage, though, had nothing to do with a cycle set in place by God, but rather the intended overthrow of one instituted by the greed and viciousness of men.

Tobacco planter John Fielding was not, in his stepdaughter’s opinion, an overly greedy man, and not at all a vicious one. He was simply tainted by the society in which he had been educated. Having been raised in the South, he saw slavery as an indispensable arrangement in which he, as a wealthy landowner’s heir, had a right to benefit. This was not in the marketing of slaves, but rather in the possession of such, currently amounting to forty two imprisoned souls. Abigail Rider was one such unfortunate soul. As her closest and dearest friend, Vivienne was determined to become Abigail’s emancipator, thus reducing her stepfather’s head count by one.

The two girls, despite their vast difference in situation, had been raised as constant companions from the time that Vivienne’s mother Rebekah had married John Fielding. Pitying the little slave girl who had just lost her own mother to a fatal fever, John had allowed his new stepdaughter her choice of companion based on a very clear partiality observable almost from the moment of her arrival, anxious to gain Vivienne’s approval in her late father’s stead.

Vivienne’s real father, Edward Whitford, had died as a result of a boating accident when the girl was just six years old. Vivienne’s older sister Charlotte had been eight and her younger sister Eliza had just reached her fourth birthday at the time of his very premature passing. The happy marriage between the three girls’ natural parents had been one based on love, without extensive material considerations, but it couldn’t be said that the young Mrs. Whitford was ever anything less than comfortable.

Rebekah Whitford was not left monetarily destitute at her beloved husband’s death, but a sense of desperation could not be denied. This, of course, was not surprising in a world where a woman’s provision for herself cannot easily be separated from the attachment of her person to a man. By the time the young widow met John Fielding, she was tired—and lonely. Having three daughters to rear, she had come to believe that the best way to assure success for them was to provide the advantage of monetary security by one means or another. John Fielding was Rebekah’s first offer of such, and she had no intention of passing him up, even if he did hold slaves. Slavery could come and go, in her opinion, but Virginia land—that was constant.

The pangs of conscience that Rebekah suffered from the knowledge that she would be disappointing her beloved Edward were a small penance in comparison to the satisfaction experienced when she saw her growing daughters sheltered, dressed, and physically sustained with what money could buy. Rationalization told her that the servants in the North were not always so well compensated as the slaves that were held by her new household, as John Fielding was very kind to his compliant slaves. Besides, she reasoned, none of her Northern friends seemed to object to happy visits to Solitude, the Fieldings’ 25-room Virginia plantation home, all the while being assisted by the household’s slaves. While Rebekah did not disrespect her first husband’s principles, life’s unexpected coils had a way of forcing its survivors to make concessions here and there, by her way of thinking.

Lacking the word concession in her vocabulary, Vivienne’s recollection of her real father was slim but specific, as could be expected of any child whose last contact had been made at age six. Although she could not have put it into words at the time, she now remembered him as a principled man, a teacher by profession, and one who would never hold another human in bondage. Shortly before his death, a precocious Vivienne had asked him why the children of servants could not attend his school. Edward had assured his inquisitive young daughter that if ever he was in direction of a school, all children would be welcome—not just the ones who had a suitable skin color or accent. He firmly believed that everyone had a right to learn and work toward prospering, and Vivienne could sense the depth of his ideals even if she could not fully grasp the wording at the time.

Even at such a tender age, Vivienne knew that her mother was aware of and outwardly in agreement with her father’s lofty beliefs. So, in her union with the slave-holding John Fielding, Rebekah Whitford had failed to continue the education of fair-mindedness that her first husband by word and example had begun in his daughters. While loyally trying not to judge her surviving parent for her choices, Vivienne could never rebuild the maternal respect lost upon her mother’s remarriage to a slave-holding Southerner. A young girl admittedly may not understand the pressures of raising three daughters as a widow, but neither could the virtuous Vivienne approve of discarding the values that fundamentally must be upheld in order to be true to oneself.

To further add to family discord, Vivienne’s two brothers-in-law were at the present time also holding slaves on their own Virginia properties. This circumstance (heartily disapproved by Vivienne), along with the adoption of increasingly dissimilar life philosophies as the years passed, resulted in many sisterly squabbles and a gradual emotional distancing of the three Whitford girls. The elder Charlotte had taken to the life of privilege immediately upon her mother’s remarriage, with no difficulty in ordering others about. A personal servant was just what she had been lacking all of her ten years, and she had no intention of releasing a single body from her service as she grew into the mistress of her own husband’s plantation. The younger Eliza had not the disposition to bark orders, but neither did she possess the fortitude to question the morality of an issue so thoroughly woven into the only society that she had ever known. She could sympathize with Vivienne’s deeper feelings, but she granted herself absolution based on temperament, merely deferring to her husband in all matters.

Vivienne, unlike her younger sister, did question—publicly—and often. While she tried to do so with a measure of tact, it was often to the annoyance and embarrassment of her family members. Eight years in the North, coupled with an inherent sensitivity to inequality, were more than she (or anyone else) could overcome. Limitless reprimands could not stop her, nor could she bring herself to believe that alteration of her outspokenness was at all warranted.

She was not some type of radical abolitionist, in her own opinion. Not believing that she could single-handedly rout the world or the society in which she lived, Vivienne intended only to change this one circumstance—for now. She was simply trying to be fair. Freedom is fair, she argued with her guilty conscience.

If Mr. and Mrs. Fielding had been apprised of the plan that Vivienne had concocted, they would have been shocked and disappointed to the extreme. And they would find out soon. She struggled with her culpability as the carriage jostled toward the station, forcing a smile whenever her eyes met Abigail’s.

Knowing full well that John Fielding had kindly made a home for her as a fatherless girl, Vivienne justly also admitted to herself that her stepfather had bestowed upon her all of the guidance that he was capable of granting any child. He had provided for her education. Not even to be mentioned were the ample opportunities for financially advantageous marriage presented through his connections as an elected representative to the Virginia State House. Vivienne had willingly accepted and even enjoyed the privileged life that he had offered, and now she was about to betray him.

Shifting upon the leather upholstered bench seat, these initial musings of guilt made Vivienne’s anger flare. After all, she thought in irritation, if John had behaved as a decent Christian and given Abigail her freedom as Vivienne had repeatedly requested, none of this would be necessary. Instead, he had promised to award Abigail as a wedding present when Vivienne married. But that event would likely never occur, she silently doubted in disgust.

Noticing her friend’s unsuccessfully concealed discomfiture, Abigail ended the silence.

You are sure about this? she questioned once more, as the carriage traveled along toward the station. Having observed her mistress’s poorly masked facial expressions signifying a wide variety of emotions for more than half of the required distance, the young slave felt that she must voice her concerns a final time.

I swear, if you try to change my mind again, I’ll make Briggs stop so I can ride the rest of the way on the roof! Vivienne vowed with exasperated humor.

Laughing comfortably at her friend’s usual high-handed manner, Abigail continued, I don’t have to go now. You don’t have to ruin your relationship with your family. They have been good to you—and good to me.

Pursing her rosy lips in brief reflection, Vivienne started her reply in her mind but modified the scathing wording significantly by the time it reached her lips. "It is not good to hold someone in bondage. You deserve better, and I aim to do my part to make sure you get it," she replied.

You are my best friend, and I appreciate your efforts. But to do it this way, you will be the only one to suffer the blame, Abigail sincerely objected with a recurring worry.

Dismissing this unnecessary sentiment, the pale girl continued definitively with a tilt to her well-adorned head, As I’ve said before, it is the perfect plan. None of the others can be implicated in any way, so there can be no punishment. I carried you off, without the knowledge of any other person. What say have you?

But when you return to Solitude—

I won’t return to Solitude right away, Vivienne interrupted as she adjusted her right glove button and then smoothed the folds of her emerald green traveling dress. I’ve decided that I will stop at the house in Willow Grove until the dust settles, she enlightened with a previously unrevealed twist as she fingered one of the mother of pearl buttons on her bodice. I will remain there until I receive word from you confirming that you are initially settled.

Digesting this, Abigail gazed out of the window at the flourishing greenery rapidly filling in the diminishing barren spaces of winter.

Just as you are concerned about my future happiness, I am concerned about yours, she finally offered with open emotion.

It has been my dream to have you free since we were ten years old. Help me fulfill my dream if you wish me to be happy, Vivienne genuinely pleaded with her hand stretched out on her friend’s knee.

The pretty young slave nodded with a smile and a tear glistening in each dark brown eye. Well, then, was all the reply she could manage.

Very well, then, Vivienne corrected her, mirroring her friend’s deep affection with a smile that could be heard.

The quiet resumed as both girls reflected thoughtfully on the interests of the other, listening only to the wheels turning on the gravel scattered roadway.

Vivienne had silently vowed that Abigail would have her freedom by the time the slave girl was 22, regardless of her own marital status. She could not bring herself to marry anyone that she already knew simply to free her friend, and she honestly wondered who could depend upon a husband to follow through on such a plan as Mr. Fielding had proposed. Her prospective groom would no doubt see some profit for himself and wish to keep this generous gift of an additional slave. And it would be considered his right. Besides that, Vivienne knew that she could never consent to marry a man who held slaves, and in her mind there was little likelihood that she would encounter any other variety of male in the near future.

On her twenty-first birthday, Vivienne had privately declared herself unmarriageable. All familial attempts (and there were many) at settling such a union had failed. But why should Abigail suffer? Her freedom would be of little value when she was 65, Vivienne logically reasoned. She needed it while she was still young enough to make a life for herself. Abigail was already 20 years old and had proven herself to be the truest of friends, in Vivienne’s judgment at least. She had more than earned the freedom that was already her birthright, and Vivienne was determined that she would have it now.

Vivienne’s marital challenges aside, Abigail had three times thus far been in great danger of being coerced into a marriage of her own. Only Vivienne’s fiery opposition had extracted her friend from being shackled to more than one hard-working but less than educated field hand, with the eventual purpose of the production of additional slaves. Less than a year ago, Vivienne had unhappily been forced to acknowledge her own limitations in the exertion of influence over her stepfather, nearly failing in her endeavors. If it had not been for the propitious circumstance of the young laborer’s decided preference for another young woman of the household being made known to Mr. Fielding by Briggs (who was granted many liberties by his master), Abigail’s fate would’ve been sealed.

Immediately upon reflection of this development, Vivienne marveled that Abigail had been permitted to reach such an advanced age unfettered. She could only wonder why the extreme danger had not occurred to her sooner. The thought of her friend being relegated to one of the tiny cabin quarters, with a passel of children to be raised in servitude themselves, was beyond bearing to Vivienne. Escape was imperative, before too many ties could be made to deem it impossible.

It was not so easy, though. Mr. Fielding would not accept money in exchange for her good friend’s freedom. There had been other, less extensive failed plans. It was not acceptable for young ladies to travel on a whim without their families, Vivienne had been told, making it obvious that an impromptu trip would not suffice. Duration and distance—these were the essentials of a successful flight. And northward, of course.

Today’s currently unfolding plan had taken more than six months of clandestine preparation, beginning only with a fleeting thought speeding through Vivienne’s overactive mind. And if it weren’t for Mr. Andrew Bentley—never had a man been of more use to her, she thought in satisfaction.

This past summer, the well-bred and enterprising young man had moved from his native city of Trenton, New Jersey to Farnsworth Run, a small town in northern Pennsylvania, on an assignment with the Pennsylvania Railroad. The spring prior to this relocation, Andrew had attempted some type of flirtation with Vivienne while visiting neighbors in her northern region of Virginia. At first, she had responded to his suit, somewhat enamored with this ambitious Northerner. With his grandiose plans to travel west following the railroad, he intended to have a hand in creating cities as fine as the East had ever seen. And, of course, there would be no slavery. It was all very exciting—for the two weeks that he had stayed. After his departure, though, the infatuation waned—at least on her part. Vivienne had all but determined that he was not for her many months ago.

But then again, why be hasty? Vivienne had never completely curtailed their correspondence, and Andrew had been willing to faithfully, if not frequently, continue to share his liberating ideas via this avenue.

Now, the two idealistic young people could exchange more thoughts in Farnsworth Run, where Andrew had just completed the construction of what was described in his last letter as a considerably impressive home. Although not having traveled west yet, Vivienne assumed that he certainly must be keeping himself busy with his current railroad assignment of expanding the line toward Pittsburgh. Maybe seeing what he had accomplished at the impressive age of only 27 would cause Vivienne to fall madly in love with him and wish to join him in whatever endeavor he was currently engaged. And if Abigail didn’t happen to return with her… ah, there was the crux of the matter.

Still, Vivienne was not at all sure that this farce of a trip to further her interests with a prospective husband was going to be enjoyable. Nor had she at all recovered from the shock that her parents had agreed to it. Although she had used these past months to falsely demonstrate an increasing attachment to her distant correspondent, it truly wasn’t a proper journey—and even the free-thinking Miss Whitford knew it.

But then again, she reminded herself happily, the desperation to marry off a liberated spinster of a daughter can cause a parent to lose their head. How fortunate for Abigail, thought Vivienne with a slowly increasing smile.

Chapter 2

All of the pent-up enthusiasm of the anticipated emancipation journey had both ladies riding high for the first day of travel. In spite of the crush of travelers when changing trains in the city stations, the typical delays due to the unpredictability of the occasional rail defection, or even a wandering herd of cows obstructing their path, Vivienne and Abigail continued through the second day still buoyant. By the third day, however, the landscape became less impressive, the settling coal dust unacceptable, the topics of conversation redundant, and their fellow travelers more an annoyance than a point of interest. The nightly inn accommodations by this time also fell intolerably short, along with the purchased picnic lunches from the less than stellar kitchens of such establishments.

Still, the two had an unswerving purpose, and a little discomfort and boredom would not dissuade them even if they must be permitted to voice their dissatisfaction. In general, it was Vivienne’s voice that initiated the complaints, only to be seconded by Abigail. The conspirators would see it through, though, always believing that the true purpose of their expedition was eventually to be accomplished. It was not until the fourth and final day of travel that anything of substantial interest occurred to again raise their ebbing morale.

Although she generally preferred to project herself as unaffected by material privilege, Vivienne could not completely conceal her excitement as she entered the pleasure car that Andrew had unexpectedly arranged for the last leg of her transportation. She had enjoyed much of what her stepfather’s money could buy, but John Fielding had never had occasion to travel as an aspiring railroad tycoon. Really, no one had had such an opportunity, as this vehicle was a novel concept altogether. This newly constructed pilot car was being delivered to Erie in order to provide a more comfortable return trip southeast for a certain Mr. Westcott, a prominent Pennsylvania Railroad official. He had spent recent years overseeing railroad expansion throughout the state and was to give his opinion as to the comfort and practicality of this innovative railroad hotel room of sorts. Now ready to begin his return trip to Philadelphia from his second home on Lake Erie, the completed project was being summoned. Andrew was apparently on very good terms with this Mr. Westcott, and so it was determined that Vivienne would be permitted to travel in this unprecedented comfort, but only for a short stint.

Her eyes were aglow with delight as she and Abigail entered their temporary but luxurious vehicle. One can imagine the praise that exuded from the impressionable pair as they inspected the interior.

The first room was found to be somewhat like a parlor, boasting windows draped with a rich mossy green velvet, trimmed with golden tassels. Oak paneling shone like sunlight, giving the narrow room a more spacious feel. There was a small settee beside two ornately carved parlor chairs, exhibiting cushions of the same shade of velvet as the window coverings, with a square game table resting between the two chairs. A very functional desk was built into the wall creating a partition to the next room. Most of the wooden floor was covered by an expensive looking carpet, blending colors of green, gold, and cream. At the right extremity of the room, a narrow hallway beckoned further exploration.

I must admit that my opinion of Andrew is rapidly improving, Vivienne offered enthusiastically as she gazed about the oblong room.

Abigail raised an eyebrow, apparently not yet convinced.

Well, now, he even left us a method of protecting ourselves from any unsavory creatures, Vivienne added as she lifted the lid of a narrow bench-like seat near the hallway entrance. Here is a sporting rifle so that we may ward off any predators that we come across, she said with mock severity. Just like Andrew to think of everything—such a gentleman, perfect husband material, she said with a hopeless sigh which met no response.

The two ladies passed single file down the hallway, stopping at the doorway of the first bedroom. There was a bed positioned directly below the window. The color scheme was similar to the first room, but the fabrics were more practical. The bedding looked and felt (because everything had to be examined also by touch) to be of cotton, dyed to match the velvet of the parlor. The throw pillows and curtains were intricately embroidered with wreaths of gold colored thread. To the left of the door was a stand with a wash basin. Opposite that, there was what appeared to be a small corner seat, serving as an indoor privy when the cushion was lifted. A small table attached to the wall with a mirror above it provided a vanity.

What more could a person desire? Vivienne asked rhetorically as she strove to take it all in.

Further investigation revealed another bedroom, this one more simply decorated. No doubt the servant’s quarters, the justice-seeking Vivienne thought with annoyance. But, she had to concede that though more plain, it was very nicely done in a shade of tan that was suitable for a male or female attendant. Aside from the elaborate decoration and the size of the bed, the room possessed all of the amenities of the state bedroom. The smaller bed in this room was also situated below a window, above which there was what appeared to be a decorative storage compartment. Upon examination, it was revealed to be a concealed upper berth.

It would be perfect for hide and seek, but I don’t suppose many children will be riding in this car, Abigail suggested, reminded of the many juvenile entertainments that she and Vivienne had enjoyed in times past.

The next little room was much like a large storage closet, where Vivienne’s trunks had already been placed. And finally, the very last stop on their exploration took them into a tiny kitchen, complete with a wood stove and a few lightly stocked cupboards for food and dish storage.

One could travel the country in this thing! Perhaps we shall never wish to go home, Vivienne remarked at the conclusion of their self-guided tour.

I wasn’t planning on it, anyway, Abigail reminded her.

Both girls laughed, feeling greatly encouraged by their unexpected pampering.

In light of the foregoing, the final morning of travel passed more quickly than anticipated; however, shortly after noon Vivienne and Abigail encountered a disagreeable snag. They were in the midst of a scheduled stop at an insignificant little town in southern New York State, less than a half day’s ride short of Farnsworth Run, which did indeed seem to threaten their steady progress.

I do believe that we should be moving by now, Abigail mused over her embroidery. I wonder why there is a delay.

Vivienne needed no further prodding. She had been pacing the car silently for some ten minutes already, which had not escaped Abigail’s notice.

I believe that I will take a peek, the nervous walker responded quickly. Would you care to accompany me? She requested Abigail’s presence this time, being more aware of the dictates of society while in unfamiliar territory.

Well, yes. I think I’d like a little more fresh forest air, Abigail replied as one who was play acting the role of an aristocratic lady. I believe it must be exceptionally good for our health.

They both let a little giggle escape and stepped out of the door.

The delay seemed to be centered around what was happening at the ticket window, a few cars down. The girls observed the station attendant addressing a handful of people.

Seeing that the engineer also was standing nearby, Vivienne logically concluded that if he wasn’t on the train it surely wouldn’t be going anywhere. It was safe to go investigate, she judged, so down the steps they went.

They can ride on this train, in one of the box cars, but nowhere else, the station attendant announced to the little mob, as two women stepped from the lone passenger car, escorted by a porter.

We don’t want no Indians on our train. Don’t you have some ponies to ride? jeered one uncouth looking man in the group.

Vivienne glared at him as she weaved her way through the few customers, attempting to see the women more clearly. As she got closer, she surmised that they were indeed Indian, both attired in plain black dresses. The older of the two wore a veil over her face, no doubt so as not to draw attention to her skin tone, Vivienne could easily imagine. The younger of the two was very obviously expecting a child.

Vivienne could not help but feel outraged. What a humiliation to be ordered off of a train in front of all of these people! And to ride in a box car in her delicate condition—unthinkable! How were these women to arrive at any destination without the use of public transportation?

Acting mostly on her anger, and somewhat on her pity, Vivienne stepped forward. She positioned herself directly in front of the station attendant, with her back to the rest.

Excuse me, sir, but I would like to inquire as to the reason for transfer in the case of these women.

The little crowd was silent as she finished her words. Vivienne was at this moment wishing for a veil herself as she felt her face flush, realizing that all eyes were upon her.

Understanding that he was being called upon for a defense by the clearly wealthy young woman, the man replied, There’s too much discomfort for our other paying customers, miss. We’re just taking care of the safety of our passengers, he added with reassurance.

I highly doubt that anyone is in fear of these women, sir. It is ludicrous to believe that they have any intention of attacking my own person or any of your other passengers today, Vivienne assured him almost mockingly, focusing on the situation rather than her discomfort.

The attendant was clearly taken aback.

Control your sarcasm, she warned herself. How she hoped she was not about to incite a riot! Surely there were some sensible people in this group, Vivienne thought optimistically.

Probably not, but you just can’t ignore the concerns of your paying customers, the attendant justified, placing his thumbs in his vest pockets.

Who does she think she is? Vivienne heard a voice question from the crowd. She ignored it to the best of her ability.

"But aren’t these two of your