LIZZY: Through Tragedy She Found Triumph

By Jim Wetton

Millie Elizabeth Monroe McKeever was fondly known to family and friends as Lizzy.
She grew up during the trials and tribulations of a divided America during the 1860s. She was thrown into adulthood with the tragic loss of her mother and was transformed into a woman destined to carry a torch, from the Underground Railroad to women’s suffrage.
Always one to take on any quest, Lizzy found the words written by her great-grandmother nearly sixty years earlier, deep in a cedar chest. Those words ignited a drive in her that transcended into the lives of generations to come.
Presidents would come and go. Heroes would have their day. Speeches and declarations would be made across the nation. But Lizzy’s journey would be more personal, with a passion for country and family. The costs mounted to the point of breaking, but she did not bend.
Lizzy gave all she could, and some would argue she gave too much. But to Lizzy, nothing was too much compared to fulfilling the promise made to her great-grandmother. Her word meant everything to Lizzy, and in the end, it was her word that would change history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Jul 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781642375015

Jim Wetton

Jim Wetton has studied leadership both through extensive educational studies and hands on leadership development throughout his forty years of experience in the retail food industry. He holds a master’s in counseling psychology and a leadership certificate from USC. Through life’s challenges, his faith increased, and he found by the grace of God where his true road was paved. It brought both a sense of peace and purpose. With his trust in the Lord, he was able to turn his physical disabilities into endless hope. Jim’s goal for this book is to serve others by sharing how leadership and walking with Christ make the impossible a reality through prayer and the simplicity of faith. Jim is married to the light of his life, Darlene. He is blessed with his children, Melanie and Dustin, and Dustin’s wife, Nikki. He has three grandchildren, Sophia, Taylor, and Tristan.

Book preview

I

A TORCH FOR HANNAH

CHAPTER ONE

A Family Revelation

1881

It was dark and damp and smelled of mold. What inspired her to open the cedar chest in the first place was beyond her, especially so soon after the services. Nevertheless, there she sat, the top of the chest open, a mass of papers scattered about. She held tightly to an old book in one hand and a tear-soaked handkerchief in the other.

The morning had been icy cold and frosty white with snow. It had taken the groundskeepers longer than expected due to the hardness of the frozen ground, but what she had dreaded had finally come and now, thankfully, it was behind her. She had not looked forward to the funeral because she knew she’d fall apart. It was something loved ones did, she had endlessly told herself. She remembered the hole in the ground, the large redwood box sitting on a pair of poles anchored to two long leather straps that were caked in mud. She could still see the family name engraved in the top of the dark reddish sarcophagus but what she cherished the most was the memory of the three red roses that she had placed on the top of the casket.

Now, just a few hours since laying her father in his final resting spot, she was looking through another large box of her own. This wooden box was made of cedar and it held what most people would call important papers, yet she wondered why, with him now dead and buried, the papers meant nothing. To her it was a collection of a life now gone. Still, something captivated her. A name. A woman’s name. She stared at its cover. A voice rang out yet no one was with her. You’re hearing things, girl. This thing doesn’t talk . . . or does it? she snickered.

For Millie Elizabeth Monroe McKeever, it was a book that she’d found deep within the depths of the cedar chest that intrigued her to carry on with her search. Its owner’s name had been etched on the front:

HANNAH

Lizzy had never heard much of her great-grandmother. Her father rarely spoke of her. Maybe it was because she was a woman or maybe it was because her father only spoke of his grandfather and Lizzy’s great-grandfather, Jacob Monroe. It may not have been the time or place to speak of women. In most cases, they were considered inferior, the nurturing ones, the caregivers. It was a man’s world then and it is a man’s world now. Lizzy’s thoughts of all the what-ifs only enraged her about the times she lived in. She knew it; didn’t agree with it, but knew it. That’s what captivated her about the book she now held firmly and by the first sentence she read:

Who really wrote the Constitution? A woman did.

She paused in shock and lovingly remembered the old portrait of her great-grandfather secured firmly above her mantel. It was just one of the two gifts given to her by her father; the other one was the cedar chest she now sat next to. She could smell the chest’s aroma of sweet cedar overshadowed by the dull scent of mold and mothballs. Lizzy thought back to the days of old. Over a hundred years to the day, according to the words she’d just read from her great-grandmother Hannah. To the best of her knowledge, the words from her great-grandmother were written sometime between the late 1700s to the 1820s.

There’s so much I want to know and now I have no one to ask.

An oncoming storm soon darkened the sky and made it difficult for Lizzy to read. She held a burning candle up close as she turned to the next page; what she read made her heart skip. With her hands shaking, she caressed the pages as if they were fine silk. The only sound in the room was the pitting of raindrops on the roof and the slight crackle from the candle.

She blinked hard to focus and began to read.

To my dearest Great-Granddaughters: It is my dearest hope that you are reading this. We have never met, yet it is my desire that through this diary you will come to not only know me as your great-grandmother, but me as a woman. I am still grieving a woman who was so very dear to me, a woman that you will no doubt read about in your history books. Abigail Adams was not only a mentor and a leader of women, she was a friend. She took me in when I was alone. She nurtured me when I had no one else. But, most importantly, she taught me that women have a place in society beyond knitting and cooking for our menfolk. She taught me that we, as women, have a voice of reason and when spoken wisely, we also have a voice in the business and welfare of our great nation. Though she passed a few years ago, I write to you today because of my own preparation for my upcoming visitors. I should rather say a reunion of sorts.

Yes, some men are arriving soon, the very men who will go down in your same history books as the men who bore this country of ours. Yet, I know of one, James Madison, who would attest to the fact that I, Hannah Adams Monroe, had sole responsibility and foreknowledge regarding the conception and organizational fortitude about how our nation’s Constitution was truly written. Thomas Jefferson, another one of our esteemed visitors will also admit that it was my own inspiration that helped him draft the original Declaration of Independence.

Though, my beautiful daughters of the Monroe family, I don’t want you to dwell on society’s inability to give acknowledgement where acknowledgement is due. What I want you to do and the quest I want you to make in your life is to never give up on the ideals, the values, and the moral aptitude that can only come from the voice and resilience of women.

Abigail Adams tried her best to bring about the rights of all women to vote. I write this now in the year 1820 to tell you that it has yet to happen. God forgive us all if it still has not happened by the time you are old enough to read this. I implore you that if that is true, and if women are still considered second class to the male race, then I not only request, but I expect my daughters of the Monroe family to carry on Abigail Adams’ flight and bring about the recognition and respect that is far overdue.

I will return to you once our guests have left. Between you and me, it will be fun to see them all again, but I’m not expecting much in the way of change. They and I are far too old now to make much of a difference. No, my wonderful daughters, that is something I will expect from you.

Lizzy closed the book slowly and rubbed the cover with the palm of her hand. She looked up to the window just to her left and narrowed her eyes in thought. Papa, why didn’t you tell me more? She was your grandmother, for Christ’s sake! She slowly placed her hand across the aged old leather of the cover and closed her eyes. She thought of the family she had, the father that loved her so and now, the family that depended on her to continue on.

The book, securely in her hands, attracted her like a magnet. Its words, now absorbed, were the compass pointing to where her destiny lay. These words from her ancestor had sent a distinct message that this book contained information more personal than she’d ever thought imaginable. As she sat there, hearing the familiar sounds of family in the house, she could also feel the deep drawn sounds of voices from heaven:

This book is written for you and only you!

* * * *

The sounds of children laughing broke Lizzy from her thoughts. She stood, lifted the lid to the cedar chest and placed the book back in, then closed the top with a click of the latch.

Frozen in her thoughts, she glided across the room and over to the window. Through the rain-splattered glass, Lizzy looked down at her family, all nestled under the cover of the back porch. Thoughts were spinning in her mind from what she’d just discovered. Her great-grandmother’s words were almost audible, as though they had actually been spoken. She shook her head and blinked hard to make out the faces that, on any other given day, would have been all too familiar to her.

She first spotted her oldest boy, William. She had named him after her brother and her grandfather: William Fester McKeever. He had just turned fourteen and was by far the closest to his own grandfather. William had first found Jed on the morning he died and the boy was still filled with grief. The young man had long, brown, wavy hair that curled up at his collar. His bright blue eyes roared loud with fire, but his heart was as kind as a lamb. If anyone would ever ask William who Jed’s favorite grandchild was, he would be the first to say it was him. He spoke with a crackle in his voice at times and his features were beginning to fill in. The older he got the more he resembled his father, Martin.

Lizzy’s husband, Martin McKeever, sat next to William with one hand on a railing and the other on the boy’s back. Lizzy could only guess what they were talking about, but she knew it was probably about her father.

Oh, he did love you so, Papa.

Martin and Lizzy had been married since ’66 and although they had always considered Wheeling, West Virginia their home, they had moved to Charleston in 1870 when the states’ capital had been relocated. Martin, a political activist, had been elected to Congress in November 1868 and when the state capital moved from Wheeling to Charleston, so did the family. Lizzy followed her husband and endured five years in the hustle and bustle of the big city, but was overjoyed the night when Martin informed her that the capital was being moved back to Wheeling. Although she’d only been in Charleston for a short time, to her it felt like an eternity.

Martin’s hair had completely greyed though it was still thick and full of the same curls that she’d fallen in love with two decades before. He’d often blamed the change of hair color on his work and never over his worry for his children, though he teased them about it endlessly.

Lizzy smiled and looked down at the flicker of the dimly lit candle. She readjusted her position so she could get a better view of her family below. The window had fogged from her breath and she wiped the glass with her handkerchief to see better. Down to the far side of the porch, she could barely make out her second child. He was wrapped in a blanket and perched on the porch railing, half under the roof and half in the rain. She smiled to herself as she watched him. Yep, that’s just what you’d be doing, James, always the martyr.

James Daniel was Lizzy’s baby, though he was the second of four. She knew she coddled him, much to Martin’s disdain, but she didn’t care. You’re going to make a sissy out of him, Lizzy, he’d say. She snickered at the thought of her husband’s constant ridicule. The boy was eleven and she knew he couldn’t be babied much longer. James had fair skin, light sandy-blond hair and straight as a rod. With deep brown eyes, he had a small nose and his ears were always hidden under the length of his hair. He wasn’t nearly as outgoing as his older brother but carried the same gentleness.

Lizzy smiled at the vision below her. She loved her three men and a sense of loss overcame her to know that her own father would never see her two boys grow up. You were so good to all of them, Papa, so good.

Lizzy was startled by a loud knock on the door. "Momma, momma! You in there? The sound of Lizzy’s third child brought her back to the scene around her. The candle had gone out; it was now nearly pitch dark in the room except for the dim light from outside the window pane. She looked over at the door and could see the light from underneath.

Is she in there, Mary?

The second voice brought out a slight chuckle from Lizzy. It was a laugh she dearly needed.

Girls, it’s all right; you can come in, Lizzy announced. I do hope, though, that you brought a light up with you! It’s darker than the darkest night in here, so I’m going to need your help.

The click of the doorknob was loud, followed by the creak of the door as it slowly opened. First the light of a candle, then followed by two sets of eyes, each set opened wide.

Go on, you heard her! She needs our help, Mary! Go or get out of my way!

Nellie!

Girls, girls, girls . . . ! Lizzy exclaimed. No need to fight now; just open the door and come in.

Mary Elizabeth was the first to come in. Despite the lack of enough light, Lizzy could see that her new pink and blue dress was dripping wet and her hair, once tightly pinned to her head was now drooping down below her shoulders. Lizzy shook her head and sighed. She could only remember how beautiful she was with her long, dark brown hair pinned up and filled with an array of bows and ribbons. Her deep brown eyes were now wide and still adjusting to the change of light.

Mary’s getting the floor all wet, Momma, and it’s getting all over me, too.

Lizzy laughed and gestured them both to come closer to her. Lizzy’s fourth child, Nellie Abigail followed her older sister into the room but stayed clear, not wanting to get wet. Nellie was seven and though she felt much older, was two years younger than Mary. Though the youngest of all the children, Nellie thought of herself as the oldest and frequently gave the orders. Much to her frustration, rarely were any of them followed.

Nellie had golden blond hair and deep blue eyes. Her physique had been a concern, both to Lizzy and to Martin. After several visits from the town’s doctor, they were convinced that the child was just going to be thin and small and there was nothing either of them should worry about. Her complexion was fair but her temper fierce and the more Lizzy watched her mature, the more she thought she’d turn out . . . just like her.

Come here, girls, Lizzy requested with her arms stretched out. Your momma needs a big hug and she doesn’t care if it’s a wet or a dry one.

Why are you up here in the dark, Momma? Mary asked.

She’s not in the dark, Mary; I have a candle right here in my hand.

Lizzy laughed at the sight of Mary’s reaction to Nellie’s logic.

Now listen, girls, Lizzy began. First: Mary, you need to go get dried off before you catch a cold or worse. Second: Nellie, I need you to go downstairs and tell your papa that I’ll be down shortly and to start getting the boys ready to go home.

You mean we aren’t staying in Grandpa’s house tonight? Mary asked.

No, not tonight. Momma would just like some quiet time up here and then we’d best go back to our own home. We can come back tomorrow to gather more of what your grandpa left for us?

Both of the girls looked at their mother, not sure of her meaning. Not giving it much more thought, they turned to leave. They tilted their heads, curled up their lips and then turned to each other.

I’ll race you downstairs! Nellie yelled out as she dashed for the door, her hand held tight to the candle which was the only light they had.

Nellie, wait . . . you have the . . . !

It’s fine, dear; just walk slowly and I’ll be right down.

Lizzy watched Mary walk to the doorway and stop. She turned around and though Lizzy could only see her silhouette, it was the words that sent a dagger into her heart.

Momma . . . I’m sure going to miss Grandpa.

Me too, my dear, me too, was all Lizzy could say.

She listened to Mary Elizabeth’s footsteps as she descended down the wooden staircase. She folded her arms around herself and tugged in hard. Her heart ached as she wept.

CHAPTER TWO

A Time to Reflect

1881

Is there anything I can bring you to brighten up that solemn look on your face?"

Lizzy looked up at the voice coming from the doorway and forced a fake smile. The rain was steady and had been throughout the night. She was draped in an oversized wool blanket with her hands clutched tight to a steamy cup of coffee, its sweet aroma filling the porch.

No, I think I’m all right, Lizzy replied with a gentle smile. Just thinking.

I’ve sent the boys on errands and I’m about to take Mary and Nellie to the mercantile to help me with your list, Martin said calmly, though his worried look spoke volumes. You take all the time you need today, you hear? he directed as he followed Lizzy’s gaze into some unknown spot deep beyond the end of their property. He grimaced, not knowing exactly what to do or if he should even attempt to say anything at all.

It’s still hard to swallow, you know? he muttered awkwardly, still searching for what Lizzy was looking at. I know at least it is for me.

He felt foolish right after he’d spoken. He looked at Lizzy’s face for any sign of acknowledgement. She continued with her blank stare and didn’t respond.

He sighed with sadness and turned to leave. As he approached the doorway, he stopped and gripped the doorframe. He turned his head to the side and said quietly, You will tell me if there is anything I can do for you, won’t you?

Lizzy heard his voice, but his words were lost in the fog that filled her mind. She nodded incoherently while keeping her eyes glued to the outskirts of her yard. She heard his footsteps fade and soon it was only the pitter of the rain hitting the roof of her porch that lulled her into the lonesome trance that she fell tearfully into.

She thought of the hours she used to sit with her father on their many porches and in the countless towns she’d grown up in. Though she appreciated everything her husband was trying to do for her, she knew he was right. She needed time.

She looked back up to where Martin had just been. She breathed in deep at the sight of the empty doorway. He’s hurting just as much . . . shouldn’t ignore him like that. Her face tightened up at the thought of hurting her husband.

Still looking out to the river below, she could hear Martin talking to her daughters, something about giving her some time. Soon, Lizzy could also hear the creaking of the buggy as it turned onto their street and headed towards town.

Oh, Martin . . . why is it so hard? she muttered softly to no one listening. There are so many questions, Papa, so many what-ifs.

Lizzy’s eyes welled up with tears. She tried to picture him sitting next to her.

I still can’t believe he’s gone.

Lizzy pulled her feet up and tucked them underneath her. She took a sip from her steamy cup, pulled up on her quilt and settled back in her wooden rocker. Her eyes were glazed at the rain pouring down as her mind began to wander back in time.

She thought of her days in Independence and a much-needed smile appeared.

Papa you were the talk of the town, that’s for sure. You and Grandpa Fez, the Mercantile, the Docks and oh, so many boats. Remember the house and the porch . . . oh, the porch, and so many times with. . . .

Lizzy began to cry. She’d done so much crying since Jed had died that she didn’t know if she had any more tears left.

Momma. . . .

The thought of her mother, Abigail, brought a whole new heartache to her. How long has it been? She tried in vain to remember. Twenty-four? No, twenty-eight years. Oh, dear Lord.

She still remembered how, at age nine, she was forced into womanhood.

And I’d do it all again, Papa. I’d do it all again. She sniffed in hard and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Her mind raced. You needed me then and I just hope to God that I was a help to you.

Thoughts of those days brought a bittersweet smile to her face. She knew how much she had given up after that fateful day; how she was thrust into caring for her little brother and in some ways, taking care of her father as well.

I’d do it all over again, Papa. I hope you know that. I’d do it all again.

Johnny Russell. The words just fell from her lips and were followed by a low sigh as she slowly shook her head in thought. Where are you, boy?

Her jaw tightened. She bit down on her lower lip at the thought of where her little brother may have ended up. The last anyone had heard, he’d rushed off to find his older brother, Micah.

What were you thinking? Lizzy shook her head slowly and sniffed.

The more she thought, the angrier she became. How were you going to find him, Johnny Russell; how in the hell were you going to find him?

Lizzy felt herself fill with an anger that she’d thought was long past. God, how you hurt Papa, little brother; you hurt him so much.

Lizzy’s older brother, Micah, had gone west with the railroad soon after coming home from the war. It was his return in ’66 that brought a renewed sense of life into her father. The more Lizzy thought of it, she realized it had brought a renewed spirit into their entire family. Unfortunately, she thought, it was short lived. Four years after returning to Wheeling, Micah joined Pacific Union and headed west.

That blasted telegram . . . Oh God, how it hurt you so to read it; didn’t it, Papa? I can still remember it as if you were reading it right now:

WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR SON, MICAH MONROE, WAS KILLED ON THE HILLS OF LITTLE BIG HORN IN THE DAKOTA TERRITORY. HE FOUGHT AND DIED BRAVELY ALONG WITH THE 7TH CAVALRY OF THE UNITED STATES ARMY UNDER THE LEADERSHIP OF GENERAL GEORGE ARMSTRONG CUSTER. OUR DEEPEST CONDOLENCES. YOUR COUNTRY WILL ALWAYS BE GRATEFUL FOR YOUR LOSS.

Our loss indeed. Dear God, what were you thinking, Micah?

Lizzy took a sip and scowled at the coolness of her once-hot cup of coffee. She thought about getting up to refill the cup, but decided against it. She pulled her other hand out from under her quilt to adjust her hair that had fallen out of her clip. She rubbed her cheeks and patted the back of her hair.

Oh God, I must look a sight. . . .

She tucked her one hand back under the quilt while the other held firm to the cold cup of coffee. She looked down at it and sniffed again before looking back out at the rain.

The railroad was bad enough, Micah. Why in heaven’s name did you move on after just a few years on the railroad? Were you kicked off? Did you leave on your own accord?

Lizzy paused. Her mind raced with a thousand questions, all of which she knew she’d have no answers.

What in God’s name made you decide to join up with the 7th Calvary? She remembered how he’d told her so many horrific stories of the war and how much he hated it. After all you’d gone through during the war, why would you ever want to join up and fight again? That, my dear brother, is something you’ll have to answer to me someday, you hear?

She shook her head and frowned as she took another sip. She frowned again, forgetting that her cup had gone cold.

And then there’s Johnny Russell . . . only our dear Lord knows if he’s still alive.

Johnny Russell had left soon after Jed received the telegram telling him that Micah had joined the Calvary.

It was the evening of Johnny Russell’s twenty-first birthday. Lizzy groaned out loud at the thought of that event.

Oh, my Lord . . . Papa was surely fit to be tied, and that’s an understatement to be sure. But Johnny Russell’s mind was made up and nothing Papa could do or say was ever going to change his mind.

Lizzy thought back at the conversation she’d overheard. She remembered how her heart broke at her father’s voice cracking with grief in his feeble attempt to keep Johnny Russell from leaving. She understood it so much more now than back in ’74. Now, she too had children and the thought of any of them leaving brought a pain to her chest.

She jumped at a bolt of lightning, then waited to see how long until she’d hear the thunder. It brought back the memory of that very night when Johnny Russell left her father’s home.

It was raining then, too.

Oh, Papa . . . I had my children to attend to. I had no idea he was walking out the way he did. If I would have known I would have. . . .

She scowled and rapidly shook her head.

Would have what? Ignored my children? Stood in front of Johnny Russell? For God’s sake, Lizzy, he was a grown man back then; he had a mind of his own and he was set on finding his only living brother. How can you blame him? How can I blame him now? I just wish I knew what has become of him; it’s been seven years.

Lizzy sent correspondence of Jed’s death and of his funeral arrangements to the Calvary. She knew it meant nothing to them, but she did it in hopes that the news would find its way to Johnny Russell; if, in fact, he too had joined up with the 7th. To Lizzy’s knowledge, Johnny Russell’s name had never appeared on any casualty list for the battle at Little Big Horn, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. If he had found his brother, he’d be right by his side . . . and, yes, that meant to the bitter end.

She pulled her cup to her lips, but stopped short, reminding herself that it was cold. Her gaze turned back to the yard and to the Ohio, far in the distance. Her thoughts of family were soothing to a degree, but they also sent a pain through her that she thought was long suppressed.

Thunder crackled. Rain pounded down on the roof above her head. She felt alone. She knew she had a family of four children and a loving husband, but still, tonight, she felt alone.

If Johnny Russell is gone, and now Papa is gone, then I am the only one left. The thought brought a lump to her throat and she could feel the tears flowing down her cheek.

Oh, Papa!!

She put the coffee cup on the railing and leaned forward from her rocker. The rain was thick and loud. She could see a river of water below rushing by and could hear its crushing sound against the rocks.

She breathed in deep and felt the crispness of rain around her. A small black bird swooped down and landed on the porch railing just a few feet from where she was sitting. Lizzy watched it shake its head to clear the wetness from its face. They looked at each other and Lizzy felt as if the bird were trying to tell her something, something that she desperately needed to hear.

Hey, little one . . . are you my little messenger?

The bird, with its feathers soaked, shook its head again, turned to the left and then to the right and just before taking off, it looked right at Lizzy. It blinked twice and then paused and blinked once more before taking flight.

Lizzy watched it navigate up and through the rain. Soon it was out of sight and Lizzy relaxed back into her rocker.

Messenger, huh? The thought humored her but the mere possibility of this odd form of divine intervention brought a swarm of thoughts into her already crowded mind.

Now what, Papa?

She thought of her own mortality. Her life with Martin. Her four children and how they compared with the siblings she grew up with.

Micah, who had recently consumed her thoughts, died far too soon after finally reuniting with his estranged family only to lose it fighting a battle that Lizzy still couldn’t understand.

And then there was her Johnny Russell. Gone or merely traveling to find where he belonged. The mystery escaped her, but she could only hang on to the hope that someday, somewhere, her long lost little brother would reappear just as Micah did in ’66.

Yes, Lizzy, it could happen. It happened then and it could happen again.

Lizzy’s face lit up and a smile appeared. She thought back on her younger years and of her family growing up.

Momma’s been gone for a while now and . . . and now Papa’s gone too. Lizzy felt her chest tighten.

It’s up to you now, Lizzy. Another bolt of lightning, followed by a thunderous boom that jarred her from her chair. She looked up to the sky and shook her head in defiance. You’d better get your act together, ’cause your family’s going to need you, girl.

Lizzy settled back into her chair. Another bolt of lightning flashed followed by the rumble of thunder, but this time it was farther to the east. Lizzy thought about the look she had seen in Martin’s eyes. It was a scared look, a look of concern and helplessness.

I need to show him that I’m going to be OK. That we are going to be OK. The Monroe family and our own little, well not so little, family are going to be just fine.

The thought of the size of her family made her laugh.

I know you’d be happy hearing that, Papa. But, yes, we are going to be just fine. You just watch.

The rain began to simmer. She could still hear the rushing waters of the Ohio but the stillness of the air made her think. She thought about the little bird who had just recently flown away. Lizzy lowered her head and sniffed in hard. She wiped her nose and looked for the little bird again.

I sure look forward to learning more about your grandmother, Papa. And, yes, I am mad at you for rarely talking about her. But, Papa, I think she has a plan for me and for my girls. You just wait, Papa . . . you just wait.

Lizzy stood up, her quilt dropping to the porch floor. She walked to the porch railing and looked up. She smiled up at the sunshine peeking through the clouds and thought again of the family that she grew up with and the family she now was blessed with . . . and the woman she still wanted to learn about. She thought of the diary now resting on her night stand upstairs with the name HANNAH written on it.

Yes, Papa, I’m going to get to know your grandmother a whole lot better . . . I promise you that!

She felt an urge to go upstairs and retrieve the diary. A renewed spirit filled her as she walked swiftly towards the back door. As she opened the door, she stopped and looked back at the yard. To her amusement, the little bird had returned.

Lizzy smiled and spoke directly to the bird. I love you, Papa; you sleep well now, you hear?

CHAPTER THREE

Moving On

1881

I’ve been grieving because I’ve lost my father, but you seem to be doing exactly the same thing, yet, without the loss of anyone!"

Lizzy’s voice was to the point, frank and crisp. Martin looked at her over his wired rim glasses and smirked the best he could. The noise from the outer room was loud, yet the two were quite used to it. Lizzy and Martin’s children never ceased to amaze them with their ability to make enough noise to interrupt the deepest of conversations.

William Fester McKeever! Martin yelled.

William! Martin yelled once more, noting that his first attempt had fallen on deaf ears.

Yes, Papa, the fourteen-year-old laughed.

William, will you do your mother and father the favor of your presence, unless, of course, your brother and sisters can’t separate themselves from you for just a few moments. We’d like a word, if you please.

Lizzy giggled softly when she heard William whisper something to the other children.

Yes sir, Papa, uh, be right there, William yelled out. Come on, Nellie; give me back my shoe . . . now!

Lizzy smiled, listening to William’s struggles with her youngest. She sat back and watched Martin straighten as he prepared himself for what he needed to tell his oldest son. The scene in front of her brought with it the warm and comforting feelings of family. She had long ago realized that she’d always love and miss her father, just as she had lived through the loss of her mother back in ’53. The only difference was now she had her own family to brighten up her spirits and at this very moment they were doing a great job at it.

I, I’m sorry Papa, William stammered as he rushed into the room, nearly tripping over the stool Martin had rested his feet on. It’s just, well, it’s just that Nellie hid my shoe and wouldn’t let me find it. I’m telling you, Papa, if she was a boy, well I. . . .

You would do no such thing, young man! Lizzy interrupted loudly as she leaned forward. I’ll have none of that talk in this house; you hear me, young man?

I’m sorry, Momma; it’s just, well. . . .

Son, your mother’s made her point, now just abide by it, Martin said sternly.

William lowered his head and turned to walk away.

Hold on a minute, son, Martin began. Please, sit down.

William sat across from his father in an old family chair. The material on the back of the chair had been crocheted with a large white M. No one could remember who’d done all the fine work, but it was the oldest piece of furniture they owned, other than Great-grandpa’s portrait and the old musket that hung above the mantel in the living room.

Lizzy relaxed while William fidgeted in the elaborate chair. She was enjoying her cup of coffee as she watched her two men. The parlor was octagon in shape with two doorways, one leading towards the kitchen and one to the hallway and the stairs to the upper level. It was Lizzy and Martin’s favorite sitting room, dark and cozy and equipped with a large fireplace, which was empty on this July night.

Martin began slowly. Son, you know that when I’m gone, you are the man of the house, right?

Lizzy felt a sense of pride as she watched her son nod and puff out his chest with an abundance of confidence.

Well, I’ll be needing you to do just that.

Are you leaving again, Papa? William asked. Back to Washington, D.C. again?

Martin nodded in response. "That’s my job, son, and that’s why I need