Elizabeth's Journey: The Sequel to Misty Creek

By John W Vander Velden

Love came to Elizabeth as thief—unexpected, unsought—and she feels for Matthew in ways she has never experienced before. But Elizabeth knows that love, true and deep, demands its price. Her heart is shattered the day she abandons Matthew as he stands alone along the dusty roadside with questions in his eyes. She prays he will one day

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing Group
• Release date: Nov 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781641115346

Book preview

Part 1

Unexpected Possibilities

Chapter 1

The sun shone on a bright spring day, but Elizabeth didn’t notice. She sat alone in a half filled rail car as it rumbled and rattled eastward. Trains would take her to Columbus, Ohio. Elizabeth was going home. The voices of those that shared the space scarcely registered above noise that surrounded her. Having traveled on trains before, she found the swaying of the car and the chunk, chunk, chunk of wheels over the rails expected sensations. The stale air mixed with the cigar smoke from the man five rows forward did not trouble her, for her mind was filled with thoughts and memories, expectations unrealized and disappointments never anticipated. Elizabeth was going home, but had no real idea what her future held.

Seeing the others that shared the car, she shook her head at the thought of how so many would leave Thimble this week. Elizabeth wondered if a similar number had rumbled into the town at the rail’s end the evening before. It seemed that people came and people went. But as she considered the tired old men, and others in their prime, she knew none were driven by the reasons that propelled her.

Alone in her thoughts, Elizabeth considered the reasons she had gone west. The heartbreak that had brought her. The reasons for her return to Ohio were very different. Or were they? As she looked about the rail car she wondered how many had come to Kansas only to be driven back in less than a year. Certainly others, like she, had abandoned—something.

Leaning into the worn leather that covered her seat, Elizabeth eyed a family seated near the front of the coach. A man, a woman, his wife she felt certain, and five children all under the age of twelve sat in three rows. Had they come to visit some relation, or had they sought a new life, like she had, only to surrender and return to some sanctuary or other? But Elizabeth had not surrendered. No, she had made the choice to return to Ohio with no plans of returning. Even though members of the school board begged her to return in September, she could not. Only Rev. Benjamin Smith knew the real reason for her departure, a very private reason. Elizabeth drew a breath as she shook her head to herself. She considered those reasons noble in the least, a choice that was best. Love lost sent her west, and love found chased her back east. And the sacrifice love demanded meant that a new life in Misty Creek would not be hers—could not be hers.

The train rumbled on, the sound reminded her of a wagon ride taken just yesterday. When they had crossed the saddle, she was amazed. The dried up dusty land she had crossed months before was unrecognizable. The prairie was green and vibrant. Wildflowers could be found at nearly every glance. It reminded her once again of first impressions. They were not always accurate.

The sound of the train’s whistle brought her back to the present. The second blast caused her to move her eyes to the dirty window of the dusty rail car. The open land of the prairie rushed passed. As they roared on, a lone man stood with his hands deep in his pockets at a cross road. The sight of him took her mind back to Matthew Sonnefelt, standing along the road just the morning before. Elizabeth shook her head at the thought of Matthew on his crutch walking nearly two miles to reach that point knowing she would be passing.

Elizabeth blinked, the man along the rail was now well behind them. Matthew was left behind as well. Dwelling upon the man, the tall man, would do no good, but the image of him standing at the roadside waiting to say goodbye to her was a powerful image indeed.

How long they had rattled on when they reached the first stop Elizabeth didn’t care to consider. Baxter was a larger place than Thimble, but no one, not even those who lived there, would call it big. Like Thimble she saw unpainted structures of weathered wood, just more of them. From the rail car she could not determine what the buildings were, and in truth it didn’t really matter. Baxter was just the first stop, there would be many others.

Some of the passengers had been on their feet before the train came to its stop. They seemed in a hurry to depart. The family Elizabeth had observed before left after the others. The Mr. and Mrs. herded their children between them, forward and out.

Elizabeth pressed her head against the window, straining her eyes forward for one last glimpse of the brood that moved with surprising quickness. They were gone.

The day progressed, they stopped in each small hamlet and town. Passengers got off. Passengers got on. Elizabeth paid little attention to the flux of strangers that came and went. At times the car nearly deserted, and others only a few seats remained unoccupied. There seemed a mechanicalness to the process, a process she had witnessed before.

Hours passed and the numbing effect of travel overcame her. Sitting through yet another stop, a loud voice from beyond the coach caught her attention. She looked through the pane at the platform, crowded with those getting off and others that intended to replace them. She saw a man of average height, she would guess, certainly not as tall as Matthew, dressed in soiled work clothes. He appeared in his late twenties, his face crimson as he stood shouting at a frail looking young woman with a child. The man’s arms were flailing while the woman looked downward, the child standing at her side with her arms wrapped tightly about the woman.

Elizabeth could not make out the words he spewed, but suspected the language might include words the woman would not choose for the child to hear. The loud man swung his arms a final time, turned, and strode off, quickly blending into the disembarking passengers. Elizabeth stared transfixed. The woman stood frozen for some moments, her eyes staring in the direction the loud man had gone.

When a blast from the whistle indicated that the train was preparing to leave, the woman and girl disappeared from view, only to reappear a moment later at the rail coach’s front door.

Elizabeth watched as the woman stood at the very front of the car, her eyes moving about, as if searching for a seat within the space. With a jolt the train began its forward motion, sending the unprepared woman stumbling two steps in Elizabeth’s direction. A quick grip of a seatback was all that prevented her from tumbling in the aisle. She managed to maintain her balance while her right hand continued to hold the girl’s hand secure.

She wore a very plain dress of light gray without any adornment, and moved down the aisles, coaxing her daughter whom she had slid in front of her. Upon her approach, Elizabeth smiled and patted the cushion to her left.

As the girl of perhaps five slid next to Elizabeth, the woman, whose face was drained of color and showed no emotion, leaned close to whisper, Thank you, to Elizabeth as the train gained speed.

Elizabeth looked down at the child sitting by her side, clothed in a dress that appeared made of the same fabric as the woman’s. There is no need for gratitude. I would like a bit of company. Which was not exactly true.

And what is your name? Elizabeth asked the little girl with dark, straight hair.

The girl looked up at her mother with dark eyes set in a face so like her mother, a face so pale she seemed empty or lost, but the child did not answer. My daughter’s name is Amy, and mine is Clare Johnson. Elizabeth looked into Clare’s eyes, dark like the child’s. Clare gave Elizabeth a weak smile with trembling lips. We’re going to her grandmother’s in Missouri. The woman drew a breath as if attempting to inflate herself. Are you traveling far?

Yes, I’m going home…to Ohio. Elizabeth moved her hand to smooth a fold in her dress. Let me introduce myself. I’m Elizabeth Beck.

But you came west? Clare asked then. For a visit perhaps?

No, Elizabeth said as her eyes flowed down to Amy, leaning tightly against her mother. I came to teach.

Oh.

I taught in Misty Creek, Kansas.

I have never heard of it.

Elizabeth chuckled. Few have.

And now that the school has closed for the summer, you’re going home. Clare looked down at her daughter. You must be excited.

Elizabeth turned toward the window. Yes, I am. There was no enthusiasm in her words. But you are going home, too.

Clare looked upward. To Wilber’s family. Wilber was my husband, is my husband.

Elizabeth didn’t dare ask.

Her eyes studied Amy as she sat tight against her mother, the curve of her nose, the shape of her ears, the fear in her eyes. Elizabeth sighed as her mind went to others. The children, the dear children, were they not the reason she had gone to Misty Creek? Well, part of the reason in any case. She closed her eyes a moment and saw her classroom, the space in the building that served as both the valley’s church and school. Saw the faces, not always clean faces, but the young faces of children who she had gotten to know. Elizabeth saw hands raised in response to her questions, and difficult-to-read scrawl on papers she had graded. She smiled at the thought of how she had led them in their studies and perhaps had a small part in leading them in their lives.

Yes, Elizabeth was a teacher, would always be a teacher. Her students filled the void that would otherwise swallow her. She raised her chin. Teaching was her life, and it would be her whole life. Certainly there were positions she could fill in Ohio. Why Mr. Edward Lindon, school superintendent of Pleasant Township School had told her as much. As Elizabeth studied the features of Amy, she decided she would write Mr. Lindon when she arrived home.

Elizabeth would teach again. She was certain that she would.

She noticed that Amy clutched a rag doll tightly. Does your doll have a name?

Amy held the doll out only the slightest bit as if she feared it be stolen from her. The girl blinked. She’s Amy, like me.

Amy’s a very pretty name.

The girl nodded. Daddy named her.

He named you as well. Clare’s voice was soft and far away.

As time passed, Amy fell asleep on her mother’s lap. For a time neither Clare nor Elizabeth spoke.

When Elizabeth considered the Johnson’s that shared the seat, the image of a man shouting frantically at their departure troubled her. How different her boarding in Thimble some hours before had been. Ben was the first person she had met from Misty Creek, so it was suitable that he would be the last face she would ever see of all those she had come to know in the valley. Elizabeth had hugged the man that had become such a dear friend.

Ben once more begged her to reconsider. Won’t you return to us? he pleaded.

Elizabeth smiled as she succeeded in holding her tears at bay.

But it was the thing he said last that haunted her now. Matthew is no common man. I believe you know that, but you may not know just how uncommon he is. And you are indeed a woman of the rarest kind. We will miss you always. And the last thing I must say, though you would not wish to hear, you deserve happiness. God wishes you true happiness…complete happiness, and I hope you will find it one day.

The time passed and Elizabeth tried to speak of lighter things. Slowly the color returned to Clare’s face, but after the child awoke, she sat silent, stroking her doll’s hair. It was evening when both she and Clare would change trains. Though Elizabeth had not yet gone half of her journey east, the Johnsons had but a short ride south ahead of them.

Standing on the platform preparing for their farewells, Clare spoke. Wilber’s not a bad man, Elizabeth. It’s just…well…he follows his brother Chester too much. The woman glanced around as if someone might be watching. They came to New Hampshire, Wilber and Chester. That’s where I met them.

Is that your home?

Clare nodded. Noldon, like your Misty Creek, it’s a place no one has ever heard of, but it was home. We were married and happy I thought, but Chester had some wild scheme, and Wilber tagged along dragging me west. The woman’s eyes were wide and she seemed to be looking at something only she could see. Wilber had promised me, he promised me over and over, that we would be rich. Elizabeth I don’t need to be rich.

What happened, Clare?

With a sigh, Clare said, Not everyone finds their dreams in the west, Elizabeth. Some fall on their faces. Chester cheated Wilber and everyone else, and my husband was left to face the consequences. We lost everything. But what was worse was how Wilber became so angry and then mean. He didn’t come home for days at a time. It was just Amy and me. I sewed for the ladies of Marshallville, made a few cents here and there and put them in a jar. Potato sacks, Elizabeth, these dresses Amy and I are wearing are potato sacks I dyed. That was the last straw. Clare blinked back the tears and stiffened her lips while Elizabeth’s mouth hung open. Mrs. Johnson said she would take us in.

And your husband? Elizabeth asked.

I hope he follows, but… Clare turned to face Elizabeth. I just can’t live like this anymore, it’s not fair to Amy.

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around this woman that had in just a few hours become a friend. Safe travels, she whispered into Clare’s ear.

Clare stood straight, lifted her chin only slightly. Thank you, Elizabeth.

Elizabeth tilted her head. For what?

Sometimes a body just has to have someone to listen to them. You’re a kind soul, someone that cares.

As the call came for Elizabeth’s train, she crouched down, taking her finger and gently raising Amy’s chin so they could look eye to eye. Good bye, Amy.

The child blinked but, clinging to her mother, said nothing.

Elizabeth turned and moved toward her train. As she began to climb the steps she stopped an instant. She turned to her right, looking east she guessed. Home was waiting there. Then, looking over her other shoulder, she wondered about all those she was leaving behind. Her heart ached as she wondered why leaving that pearl of a place was so difficult, as she yearned for a reason to take a different train and return to Misty Creek.

The ride was long and the train rumbled on as day became night, she felt more confused than at any time in her life. Elizabeth dozed in the dark car, and when at last the long night had ended, she knew she was nearly home. The day broke bright and clear as they roared through farmland with green pastures and plowed cropland. Here the land rolled a bit and painted houses were common. They stopped a great many times, most brief stops, in each town they passed.

At each stop, passengers left their seats and pressed down the narrow aisle, the weariness from travel visible in their eyes. Most moved with considerate attention to fellow riders, but there were, at each stop, one or two brash men that seemed in such a hurry that they brushed others aside in their haste. One man with a brown leather jacket draped over his left arm shoved a woman and her three children aside, without sharing a single word for his behavior. The woman stood blinking with her mouth gaping while another man helped her gather her handbag. One man’s impatience offered another the opportunity to assist. The contrast of one person’s actions to another always surprised Elizabeth, and she hoped if the situation arose she would more resemble the latter than the former.

It was early afternoon when the train left behind the gently rolling land of central Ohio. Land she knew so well, its green pastures with scattered cattle or horses munching on the spring grass. On occasion she had seen a farmer on his sulky plow, rolling over the dark chocolate soil for the season’s crop, working urgently beneath overcast sky. The sight of the man working his farm made her heart ache for the valley left behind and the life that could never be hers.

Now the open spaces had been overrun, houses upon houses the first signs. But they, too, were replaced by large brick factories and warehouses rowed along the tracks. They seemed drabber than the buildings she remembered. As Elizabeth stared out the window the cloudy sky grew darker. Surely rain would soon leak from the overburdened atmosphere. Perhaps, she thought, a downpour would wash the factories clean.

Elizabeth wondered if those same clouds had released some of their precious cargo on the lands far to the west. She shook her head, doubting the event as she thought of the folks at Handcock’s Bluff and a small struggling settlement called Paradise. Even as Elizabeth stared out the window, Rachael Levendoski’s face came to mind. A friend met only once, yet bound to her in ways Elizabeth could not explain.

As they left the factories and warehouses behind, the more familiar sights came into view. Elizabeth could see the city spread before her, the grand buildings of downtown Columbus laid out like man made mountains ahead. She was home, or would soon be. Months ago she had left this city, now she was returning.

Elizabeth needed a place to begin again, and Columbus would be that place.

Chapter 2

Nearing three o’clock they at last pulled into the station, Elizabeth’s destination, Columbus. Her sister Catherine and husband Richard Kendall were on the platform waiting. The sight of her younger sister lifted her spirits. How could anyone feel sad near the bubbly woman four years her junior, dressed in a gay dress of pale green, waving her gloved hand even before Elizabeth had stepped off the train?

Elizabeth pushed through the mass of bodies on the railway platform, always keeping her eyes upon Catherine. She paid little attention to the man in a steel gray suit who stood by Catherine’s side. The man, much more reserved than his wife, smiled as Elizabeth approached the pair.

Elizabeth, Elizabeth, you’re home at last, said the familiar voice of her sister, long unheard.

Elizabeth hugged her sister tightly. Oh, Catherine, I am. But look at you, she said as she held her sister at arm’s length. You haven’t changed. And Richard, don’t you look the professional? So dapper.

He held out his hand, but Elizabeth brushed it aside gathering the young banker into her embrace.

You might not think I changed, sister, but it is plain to see you have.

Elizabeth thought about her sister’s comment only an instant. Changed perhaps, but not nearly as much as you imagine.

No?

No!

I think you are hiding something, Catherine said coyly with laughing eyes. But Elizabeth, you are truly home at last.

You certainly knew I was due, you are here.

Yes…I knew you said you were coming…but. Catherine’s face flushed a faint pink.

The left corner of Elizabeth’s lips turned up as she looked carefully at her sister. There was no reason I wouldn’t.

Oh…that is indeed sad. She chuckled.

They stood chattering as if they had not seen one another for years when at last Richard said, I’ll see to your things.

You must tell me everything, Catherine said, her words quick, driven by her excitement.

Now, sister, I have written all in my letters.

All? her younger sister asked.

Yes, all, Elizabeth said with just the hint of teasing to her voice.

Catherine looked at her critically, tilted her head slightly. Perhaps, she said, but I don’t believe you.

Would I lie? Elizabeth asked as they began walking through the crowds toward the waiting cab.

Not lie exactly… came the sly words from her sister, but you might not share the truth in its entirety.

Elizabeth forced a slight smile, turned to look the direction Richard had gone, grateful that Catherine did not question her further.

On the ride home Elizabeth heard much news, especially about her niece and nephew. How Michael was walking and Julie chattered unceasingly. Catherine also told how concerned they had all been with Elizabeth off to the wilderness. Did you see any Indians? her sister suddenly asked.

No, sister, it was nothing like you might imagine. I told you so. Didn’t you read my letters?

Yes, of course. Over and over again, but there seemed more, as if you were hiding something from us.

Elizabeth answered thoughtfully. Misty Creek is not so different than…well, Ohio. It is a bit warmer perhaps, it rains less often, but when it rains, oh, how it rains. No, I don’t think I intended to hide any of my experiences. No, I am certain I did not. But there had been things she had not wanted her sister to know. Matthew’s face came to her mind. Oh, if Catherine knew all of it, how she would tease, and Elizabeth’s heart was not healed sufficiently to deal with flippant school-girl comments. Not that Catherine would be intentionally cruel, but there were times she could be simply annoying. No, Elizabeth had not told of her love of Matthew, or the reason she had left that love behind.

How sad, Catherine said as she looked into Elizabeth’s eyes, as if they might betray the teacher. It has been so dull here and I was hoping for tales of romance and such to liven things this summer.

You with two children and a need for exhilaration! Elizabeth exclaimed. I would have thought Michael and Julie would have been sufficient excitement for anyone.

They all laughed. Catherine pulled her sister close. It’s good to have you home again. Father is so relieved.

Catherine chattered about the latest social events while they rolled down the smooth streets in the horse drawn cab. Elizabeth’s eyes scanned the buildings that stood one against the other. Shops with their sparkling windows. How different the brick front of Hanover’s Department Store looked than the weathered wood of Peabody’s Mercantile. She wondered what the ladies of Misty Creek would think of the block after block of three story buildings lined up to offer anything a person’s heart could desire. But the wall of buildings, grand and beautiful as they were, seemed to suffocate her. Such a contrast to the open country that had surrounded her those months just past. And the prairie, with its sheer expanse, an expanse beyond the imagination of those that now walked these streets, tugged strangely at her heart.

She observed the men in their three piece suits who walked briskly along the sidewalk. Each, she was certain, urgently bound for some matter of business or other. And women in fancy dresses of greens and blues, moving with leisurely steps, stopping to glance at the shops displays. One woman strode more swiftly with her daughter, a child of perhaps seven clutching her left hand as the woman in a pale blue dress with what Elizabeth felt were a bit too many frills. The woman carried a rectangular parcel wrapped in brown paper beneath her right arm as she hurried along.

The street itself was a busy space shared by a few loaded fargo wagons, some with barrels others with crates bound by ropes, and carriages of many types. There were cabs like the one she rode in and fine open carriages much like the one owned by William Clark Senior. The horses, carriages, wagons, and all the people showed a throbbing energy. A city alive.

Elizabeth took in the sights and wondered why any of this seemed unusual. Just a year before she too had wandered Front Street and its shops, likely blending into those that wandered there now and given it no thought. These shops and these people had been her world, but she had seen a different world. Her mind wondered how Abner and Alberta might fit into the surroundings of downtown Columbus. Elizabeth shook her head. Those she had come to know and love in Misty Creek would find Columbus an alien place. Her eyes swept across the wide street filled with people, a paved canyon between the tall brick buildings on either side, and her heart realized there was something missing. Someone far away.

They went along quietly for a time. Finally Elizabeth asked, Have you heard from Rachael and Jameson?

Elizabeth noticed how tension seemed to grow, and though it seemed much longer, only a few seconds passed before Richard became bold enough to say. They’ve come back to Columbus. He’s set up practice across town. Struggling as new practices do, but I hear as of late things are better for them.

Elizabeth suddenly felt very alone. Even here in the crowded cab with her sister at her side. She felt certain that Richard and Catherine noticed the change. Catherine tried to make light of the matter, but just couldn’t, it seemed, find the words.

I’m happy for them. Elizabeth said at last, though she was not certain she meant it. The thought of Rachael and Jameson, the two of them together. Thoughts of broken promises. Thoughts of betrayal and her own pain and disappointments filled her mind.

They left the vibrant downtown behind. Over the next several blocks the cab moved on, turning one way then the other. At last the cab turned down a wide quiet boulevard lined with tall trees that gave Elm Street its name. The houses there certainly were not as grand as could be found in the city, but no one would consider them modest homes. Most were stone buildings of limestone or brick in a variety of shades, with broad open porches across the full width of their fronts. They were all set back from the street by what seemed a mutually agreed distance. A sufficient space for manicured yards and gardens of blooming plants. Many residences stood locked behind fences of wrought iron with their spikes pointed toward the sky, or white lines of pickets that offered a more cheery greeting.

There was a quiet coolness beneath the trees that stood on both side of the street, and Elizabeth gazed out as the cab made its way. The sight of a young couple that strode calmly in the late May afternoon, hand in hand, tugged at her heart. There were only a few others out. Ahead Elizabeth could see the red brick two-story house at 643 Elm, and she knew she was home.

Chapter 3

They arrived at the house that was her parents, where the two sisters and their brother had grown. It seemed larger somehow—and smaller. She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around it, the same yet different.

Marion and Theodore Beck, Elizabeth’s parents, stood at the door. Elizabeth would have dashed straightaway to them if Catherine and Richard were not there. For Catherine looped an arm around hers and forcefully, it seemed to Elizabeth, maintained a dignified pace as the sisters paraded up the walk. Elizabeth would have dragged her little sister, but repeated yanks, subtle to others perhaps, but quite obvious to her, returned her to the decorum Catherine, it seemed, felt necessary for the moment. It felt an eternity to cover the short distance from the street to the porch.

Her mother was wearing a soft yellow dress, which reminded her of the one she had hurriedly changed into along the trail what seemed a lifetime ago. Her father, in his navy blue suit, blistering white shirt, and coal black tie looked, as always – formal – strictly business. How few times had Elizabeth seen him dressed differently? It was Father, the man she knew and loved.

But as Elizabeth approached, she noticed a change. The wrinkles at the corners of her mother’s eyes seemed deeper. The gray hair of her father’s temples had spread, peppering the whole of his scalp. The sight caused her to catch her breath as she moved to Marion’s waiting arms.

Mother, she said as they embraced, I’m home.

Tears flowed down Marion’s cheek. Yes, Elizabeth, you are home. Her mother drew her tight, whispering in her ear. We have missed you so. You have been away an eternity.

It was not that long, Elizabeth said with a smile. Only eight months.

Eight very long months, came Theodore’s deep voice, which she knew so well.

She looked into the face of the man that had been a rock in her life, a source of sound advice and strength that had never failed. Her tears flowed as she traded one parent’s arms for the other. Has it really seemed so long?

Yes, Beth.

At the sound of her father’s pet name for her, Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat with the thought of the only other man that had ever called her Beth—Matthew. Blinking to gather her composure, Elizabeth felt her father’s arm strong and solid as he held her. I wrote when I could.

We cherished each letter, Marion responded.

Do we intend to stand the remainder of the day upon the stoop, or shall we go inside as civilized people? Catherine asked.

Elizabeth turned and once again wrapped her arm around her sister. Oh, Catherine, I have missed you so.

You’re home, you’re really home, Marion said, smiling.

Yes, Mother, I’m back.

Theodore looked on with a broad smile and eyes that glistened. Our daughter is back where she belongs. She has returned from her adventure.

Elizabeth thought about the words her father said, wondering where exactly she did belong.

Will we be standing at the door all day? Catherine asked. If we are, we should in the least step aside and allow the cabby to pass. If my sister hasn’t changed too substantially, I am certain her trunk is far too heavy for the poor man to carry indefinitely.

As they began to enter, Elizabeth hugged her father, the familiar scent of his cologne blending with the faint touch of tobacco made her want to hold him tighter. The house itself had changed less in her absence than her parents. As her eyes flowed about the interior, every detail seemed just where she remembered. The doilies perfectly centered on the tables, roses in the vase that stood on the dining room table. The newspaper neatly folded beside her father’s chair. She loved the way the sunlight spilled through the white lace curtains, and the familiar ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. It was home—and somehow it was not.

Elizabeth felt very tired. The trip had been long. The distance traveled far. Elizabeth’s mother looked into her weary eyes, tilted her head slightly and said, You must get some rest, dear. We will talk later.

She was home, in a room that always been her room, where everything was precisely as it was the day she left, and yet it felt different. She felt certain the difference was due to her weariness. Laying upon her bed, she expected sleep to come, a sweet sleep to her weary soul. But it did not at first. Her mind raced about the trip. Thoughts came to her about Jameson and Rachael. Thoughts about coming home and finding that coming home was not what she expected. Yes, the rooms and their contents were all as she remembered, but she felt different. Elizabeth looked about the room. This grand brick house had been her home, and she had expected it would be her home upon her arrival, but Elizabeth felt more like visitor than a person coming back to their home. Elizabeth wondered where she truly belonged. It was the trip, the long rail ride, she was certain, that fueled these thoughts. At last she closed her eyes again and her mind carried her back to Misty Creek, and at last her thoughts came to Matthew Sonnefelt—a tall man. And somehow in the midst of all those feelings of confusion she did fall into a deep sleep.

It was dark when her mother sat on the bed and woke her. Elizabeth looked at her mother and wondered what now lay in store. Suddenly it occurred to her. Her whole life had been planned, but now nothing. All the plans gone, blown away like dried leaves on an autumn wind. And she began to cry. Her mother held her there in the dark. Her mother rocked her, no more than a child, her mother’s child. Marion did not ask and the words that Elizabeth allowed to slip out between sobs were only bits and pieces, mere syllables, incoherent sounds of pain and disappointments—and fear.

Now, now, dear it will be alright. You’re home, came her mother’s soothing words.

Yes, she was home, and yet somehow she was not—or it was not. It felt so confusing. Finally she said through her tears, I love him. I didn’t want to, but I love him. It is wrong, but I love him….

Her mother rocked her slowly as she asked, Love who, dear?

Matthew. Elizabeth felt a sudden release with mentioning the name.

The miller, Mr. Sonnefelt? Marion asked.

Elizabeth nodded firmly.

Why, I thought you didn’t like the man.

At first I loathed him…truly loathed him…but…but…

But now you love him?

Yes, mama, Elizabeth said, choking back tears.

And does this miller, this Mr. Sonnefelt, love you?

I’m certain he does.

Then what is the matter, child?

It’s wrong…so wrong… Elizabeth said as she wailed.

Wrong? Marion asked. Why is it wrong? The man isn’t married is he?

Elizabeth shook her head. No, he isn’t wrong. I am.

She felt her mother holding her close. Calm yourself, dear, and tell me all.

So Elizabeth told her mother the whole of it. Well almost the whole of it. She purposely omitted anything to do with Simns. Of all that man had done to close the school, the stalking, and threats, and how Simns had made good on those threats. For she feared telling of the dangers she had faced would cause undue alarm. But Elizabeth told of the kindness Matthew had shown time and time again.

He has only been helpful, and yet I tore into him at every occasion. He reminded me so of Alexander, and every inch of Matthew was masculine. I hated that. Elizabeth turned her head upward. The things that had happened to me…of Jameson’s betrayal…all the rest, I may tell myself that I alone am to blame, but I saw men as the cause of all my pain. Matthew became the focus of my anger…my hate. And yet, all the while he bore my blows without spite. In the dimness she looked into her mother face. How could I not have fallen for the man? When he was injured. When I pushed aside my prejudicial hate of him, simply because he was a man, then I came to understand my real feelings for him.

Elizabeth drew a breath and waited, but her mother remained still, only the gentle squeeze of her shoulder revealed Marion had heard.

Mother, he came so close. Elizabeth swallowed.

Close dear….

So close to dying.

Oh, my. Marion’s eyes flew open.

I sat with him, praying, hoping. When we came to the very edge, the line between the dead and living, I made the promise.

To who dear? Matthew?

Elizabeth shook her head slightly, and with as strong a voice as she could muster, which wasn’t strong at all, no more than a whisper, she said, To God. She looked downward. I promised never to marry, if only… The tears flowed down her cheeks spilling onto her mother’s lap. If only He allowed Matthew to live.

The room became silent. Only the muffled sounds from the floor below. Voices speaking words unrecognizable, a world that continued, unaware of Elizabeth’s turmoil, unaware of her mother’s loving touch.

My, my, my, Marion said when Elizabeth’s sobbing slowed. It seems Catherine was right when she said more had occurred than you had told us. She turned Elizabeth so they could look eye to eye. And you have not told this man?

I couldn’t…don’t you see…because of the promise.

Her mother shook her head. What kind of minister told you that you were bound by such a thing? No minister of any caliber I would say.

Ben, that is Pastor Smith, said that God would not bind me to that promise. But I feel that I am bound. Bound by my own words.

Now, now, now, her mother said as they rocked once more. With time things will seem clearer. You must get something to eat and some rest. Perhaps in the morning you will feel better. Marion wiped her daughter’s eyes with her kerchief, and smiled. Come now take a bit of water and cool your eyes. When you are ready we will have our supper. Marion rose and moved toward the door. We will talk on this matter further. Everything will be fine…trust me, dear. You’re home. Everything will be fine.

Yes, she was home. Yes, Matthew would recover. But Simns remained a threat to Matthew and others that lived in the valley. Elizabeth feared for the tall man of Misty Creek. No, everything was not