Ye Olde Brick Tavern

By Jean Maxellon Nash

Ye Olde Brick Tavern is a romantic novel with a historical background that takes place in a rural town west of Boston. The story takes place at a time in American history when the country cried out for a better life and economic changes. The coming railroad, which was needed to make the change, became a threat to the area where people feared their established way of life would be destroyed. High demands for hay would not longer be needed. Horse sales would quickly decline, making life insecure.
Years earlier, taverns were built along the highways to receive weary travelers who came to expect restful sanctuary and meals after long journeys. These taverns were important as an only means of communication between the townspeople and the outside world. The taverns were a central force in the rural areas where life existed around them. Intimate relationships grew and talks of poverty and personal struggles took precedence. In this time of economic struggle of the 1840's, drinking became rampant, arguments on the coming railroad excited everyone and they were constant wherever men gathered. On many occasions, fights broke out. Farmer-fought farmer for allowing property to be taken by the railroad that was needed for laying down tracks across their farmlands and where trains could pass through to the next town. The human emotions of love-hate-envy prevail.
Ye Olde Brick Tavern is a host to many different characters, each with his own hardships and problems. Jane, a young woman, whose husband is lost at sea, is left to struggle in order to survive. Hungry, tired, and penniless, she finds refuge when an ailing uncle asks for help in running his tavern. Needing a place to live, after being forced out of her husbands family house, Jane welcomes the opportunity to go there. The heavy demands of running another persons business become burdensome. Jane also cares for her recently orphaned nieces, Elizabeth and Kate. They discover living with their aunt difficult following the death of their parents. Forced to live a different life style, they found it bothersome. As they see how burdened their aunt is, they try easing her work load in the taverns kitchen. To please the girls, Jane gives them false hopes of a better life.
Jacob, in his early thirties, a determined man with apparent means and a suspicious, aristocratic air, pursues Jane with his romantic ideas and needs. With constant hope for her husbands return, she turns him away repeatedly.
A native American, named Broken Wing (Bro), a permanent tavern resident, with a deep attachment for the property, sees and hears most of what goes on at the inn. He says little, fearing threats of being forced out.
Several other characters lend color to the story. The troublesome neighbor, Ronus, who becomes enmeshed into the lives of some tavern people, adds to Janes problems. And Robert, a quiet man, also adds to the heavy work load, but he needs a place to live while teaching at a nearby school and is welcome to stay.
More burdens fall upon the tavern as railroad workers lay track closer to the road house, needing food and service. Neighbors, in hopes of learning more news on the railroads progress and news of other towns, frequent the tavern more often. Although these people add to the volume of work, their visits help increase the bars income.
As the nieces become more independent, wanting to return to their former life style, Jane once again gives them false hopes to quiet them. Luckily, Elizabeth finds a neighborhood friend and life goes on somewhat smoother.
Jacob returns home after a long stay in the wilds. Jane turns to him with his long awaited love, and blindly accepts him as her admirer. Was this man right for her? Could he have become involved with another woman while waiting for Jane to change her mind?
As lives change from events taking place at the tavern, it causes Jane many heartbreaks. The railroad veers north to anoth

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 29, 2006
• ISBN: 9781469119175

Jean Maxellon Nash

Jean Nash grew up in a small farming town in northern Connecticut, prior to moving to Central Massachusetts as a bride. She enjoyed writing as a hobby and slowly developed into novel writing. In her spare time, she studied English composition and enrolled in a novel and script writing course with Famous Writers of Westport, Connecticut. For many years she wrote lengthy reports from notes taken during surveillance for her late husband’s detective business. In addition, she wrote articles for an area weekly newspaper, and newsletters for the local historical society. The author has three children who occupy much of her time. She is working on her next novel.

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Copyright © 2006 by Jean Maxellon Nash.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Credits for photo taken on cover by W. Edward Nash, Jr with permission from Irene and Robert Connor, owners of tavern.

Railroad and it’s progress true, Squirrels true, Names and events connected to characters fictional.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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Dedication:

This book is dedicated to my late husband, Wallace E. Nash and to my son, W. Edward Nash, jr. for their constant encouragement and support.

Also to:

Priscilla and Robert Brennan and Tiffany Ciprotti; Douglas Nash;

Peter Maxellon; and Jack Nash.

The year was 1844, and spring came early to Boston. The snow was mostly gone from the city streets; however, out in the country, it was still visible, but the roads were fit for travel by stagecoach that March.

Jane Spencer, who had already turned twenty-seven, stood cold and frail as she briefly looked out the window of her poorly heated home. The disappearance of a loved one was always difficult to bear. Each morning, she looked out the front window, hoping one day her husband would return home, but John was never heard from again. Instead, she saw the constable and his men turning the corner, heading in her direction. In her mind, they resembled a small herd of charging buffalo. Just then, she realized the bank had finally taken action regarding her long overdue mortgage payments. She hoped they would have waited a little longer, but since they did not, she now realized financial help was too late in coming. She quickly bolted the door and then stood back, waiting for their arrival.

Finally, an alarming knock came to the door, causing her to stiffen and hesitate to answer. Then, the dreadful knock came again; this time, it seemed louder and rang throughout the cold rooms. When her violin rattled and shook against the wall close by, she decided then to answer. Perhaps if she frightened the men, they would soon go away. Before unlocking the door, she quickly grabbed the fireplace poker and stood before the men bravely. With the iron held firmly in her hand, she, unafraid, stared straight at the men.

The constable quickly glanced at the poker, and knowing trouble was ahead, he swallowed hard and then removed his hat slowly. Begging your pardon, madam, he said in a smooth Irish tone. I take it you are Mrs. Spencer?

She stood firmly, staring at the fearless men, but said nothing.

This is the Spencer residence, is it not?

Yes, it is, she said. What is it you want?

The constable cleared his throat. I’m sorry, madam, but we have orders to evict you. He then started moving up the stairs. Now, if you’ll kindly step aside, we’d like to enter and begin our work.

Just one moment. I’ll not have you coming into my house just like that!

Please step aside, Mrs. Spencer, we have work to do.

I’ll not have you coming in, she demanded. This is still my house. Do you understand? This is MY house.

Not anymore, he said, moving toward her.

When she saw he would not listen, she blocked the door by lifting the poker. Don’t you dare come closer!

Now, now, Mrs. Spencer, there’s no need for that. Just try to control yourself and let us through. We shan’t be long.

I said you’re not to come in. Go away! All of you! She turned and slammed the door shut.

Hmm, the constable said when she bolted the door. He blinked several times, thought for a moment, and then started pushing against the door with his knee. Mrs. Spencer, please open this door. If you don’t let us in, I must go to the station for help. He paused, listened. I’m warning you. The entire station will come down on you, so open this door. He paused again and listened. Mrs. Spencer? Do you hear me? We are within our rights to take this property now, so do what’s right and let us in.

Later, when the men started packing her things, Jane stepped outside for a breath of air. Feeling very much broken in spirit, she stood in front of the house with heavy heart and finally let the tears fall. She now realized that she had no place to stay. Although she felt complete helplessness, she stood firm in her belief that the eviction, brought on by poverty and the absence of her husband, had nothing to do with what she had done or had not done. The family must understand that reasoning. With that in mind, she felt somewhat relieved and looked down the cobblestone street at the line of houses that seemed sad in the cold morning sun.

As she stood looking beyond, she remembered how, on many occasions, she stood there fantasizing about life in that distant and better section of Boston; but today, she did not care. She knew that in this life, you either had money and lived comfortably or you did not and struggled miserably. She also knew her chances for an improved life were slim, but she vowed to help her two orphaned nieces find their happiness in spite of the odds against them. Yes, life was unfair, especially to those in situations such as hers. Sighing deeply, she again turned to face the Spencer house she had now lost, the very house built by her husband’s family generations ago. She now shuddered to think of the shame she would have to face once word was out about the eviction.

Current political issues on women’s independence did not interest her. She already was independent. It came hard, forced on her by circumstance. She thought, If John had only held a job, any job, all this could have been avoided.

With a heavy heart, she brushed off an outside chair, and looking off into the distance, she readjusted her heavy gray shawl and then finally sat down. With her head bent low, she glanced at her golden wedding band, sighing. And to bring out the luster of the ring, she rubbed it over her faded street dress. With the straggly ends of her blonde hair blowing about in the morning breeze, there was no doubt in the constable’s mind that the troubled woman looked extremely destitute. While she sat thinking and twisting her loose ring around her finger, she had no idea just how much pain she was to endure in the near future.

After sitting outside for nearly an hour, she took on a more aggressive attitude and decided to fight for survival. Determined to do something, ladylike or not, she approached the constable as he stood jotting notes into his little black book. Upon examining him carefully, she felt that under the rough exterior, there seemed a gentle man in his early forties. Talking to him should pose no problem.

Why, Jane asked, can’t you wait for the money another month? I’ve written a letter to England two months ago, asking for the mortgage payments. I’m sure I’ll hear from someone soon. She stopped talking when she saw the constable was ignoring her. It angered her more seeing him continue writing in his book while she waited for his answer. As each box of her things passed by him, she noticed he jotted down the items the men carried before piling them onto the wagon out front. She wanted to snatch the book from him, letting him know these were her things, not his.

Finally, before closing his book, the constable put a finger between the pages to hold his place. He cleared his throat, and only then did he take the time to see what she wanted. Still not speaking, he pulled up on his chin to release the tightness of his collar, then he explained in his smooth Irish tone, My dear, Mrs. Spencer, I have told you time and time again, it is not I who’s evicting you. It is the bank. As you can see, I am only doing my job.

Yes, yes, Constable, but…

No buts, my dear. If the bank says you must go, then it’s my duty to see that you do go. The creditors need their money to stay in business. You know that. If you don’t pay your bill, you’ll have to go. It’s that simple. Do you understand, Mrs. Spencer?

I still think this is all wrong. This is my house you are taking from me. Where will I live?

Don’t let’s start, woman, he angered. You know the rules.

Jane stood shaking. She knew he was right, but what could she do? All right, all right. Where are you taking my things?

That’s better, he said, pausing. Right now, they’re going into storage at the old dock-side warehouse. When you find a place to stay, come see me and I’ll make further arrangements.

Just then, a knock came to the frame of the opened front door. A young postman, in his late twenties, stood in the doorway. Mrs. Spencer?

Thinking it may be another rental inquiry, she blurted out impatiently, Yes, what is it?

I have an urgent letter for you from Lancaster.

Oh? Jane said, overjoyed. I told you I’d receive an answer from abroad. Now, stop all this packing and return my things at once.

That’s Lancaster, Massachusetts, madam, the young man interrupted. Not Lancaster abroad.

Massachusetts? Jane said abruptly. She snatched the wax-sealed letter from him and studied the address carefully as he craned his neck looking about. She then watched as he stepped up for a better look inside.

Young man, what do you think you’re doing? She saw he still could not control his curiosity. Not able to take more, she spoke again. That will be all, thank you.

My sister is looking for a place. I wonder…

No, no, Jane said, ushering him out the door. This place is not for rent or for inspection. Now, please go about your business before there’s trouble.

Then, it’s for sale? he asked, stumbling out.

The mere thought of someone else living in the house bothered her more than she imagined it would. If you have no further business here, please do as I say and go. She turned quickly and walked away from him.

He finally took her advice, tipped his hat, and quickly disappeared around the corner. His extreme interest in the place only made her feel worse losing it. She sighed, glancing at the unopened letter he delivered. Probably more distressing news, she mumbled. It seems misery loves to follow me around these days. She again walked out into the front yard, looked about, and sat down to read the letter. At first she held it in her lap and stared at it. Knowing she should open it, she fanned herself impatiently and muttered, No doubt he’s coming to Boston on business again. Won’t he be surprised when he finds I lost the family home? Now he has no place to stay for the night when he comes to Boston.

After opening the letter and reading its content carefully, she called out, Oh, Constable? May I see you for a moment?

The constable glanced over and closed his book. He then told the men to take the full load to storage and return for more. After looking about, he appeared in the doorway. We should be finished here in about two hours, Mrs. Spencer.

That’s not why I called. The letter I received is from Uncle Silas who lives up country. It states he’s been ill and needs help in running his tavern.

The constable thought for a moment. Then, you’ll be going there, I presume?

I’m afraid I have no other choice.

He nodded his head in agreement, stepped down, and slowly walked toward her. He then stood erect, swayed back and forth with his book and hands behind him. I would venture to say that the letter came just in the nick of time. Looks like someone up there is watching over you.

I think not, she said, giving him an unpleasant look. She slowly tore the return address from outside the folded letter. There’s still the chance I’ll get the money from England, and if I do, I’ll write you immediately. She then handed him the paper. I’ll be staying at this address for a spell.

The constable folded the torn piece of paper and carefully placed it between the pages of his book. Things haven’t been going too good for you lately, have they, Mrs. Spencer?

She shook her head meaning no.

He sighed and then tried to comfort her. Perhaps this move to Lancaster is for the best, my dear.

Truthfully, I don’t know, she said, looking off into the distance. I just don’t know.

I must say, it’s against policy to become involved with these cases, but I’m curious to know about your situation. Do you have family? he asked gently.

None here. Not long ago, my only sister and her husband burned to death in their small New Hampshire home. A chimney fire took them in their sleep. I have no brothers.

What about your mother and father? Could they help?

They too are dead.

That’s too bad, he said, in almost a whisper. At this point, he was a little reluctant to go on.

Luckily, I have my sister’s two girls. Without them, I think I’d go mad. They were with me at the time of the fire. Their parents planned on coming to Boston for Christmas. We were so happy awaiting their arrival… She swallowed hard to release the tightness in her throat and then continued bravely, But they… they never came. The tragedy was dreadful news to the girls and me.

Yes, I’m sure it was. Where might the girls be now?

They’re with a friend. She would want us to move in, but not having extra sleeping space, I’m sure her husband wouldn’t be that willing.

That’s understandable, the constable said. It’s not good to depend on friends entirely. You’ll lose them quickly that way.

Perhaps so, she said, sighing. My last hope was England, but even that failed me. I guess luck just wasn’t to be. Now you’re putting me out.

Not me, my dear. You still had taxes to pay.

Oh, yes, on top of everything else.

May I ask where Mr. Spencer might be?

I can’t say.

The constable stared at her, wondering what she meant by that remark. He then asked carefully, I take it you’re not living together?

She looked away. That’s right. My troubles started when my husband went hunting for a job.

How is that?

He ran into a school chum who boasted about his work for hours. He told John how well he had done financially while working as a seaman for a local company. John was then twenty-five, and liking what he heard, he joined the company as a deck hand. Before I knew it, he was packed and sailed the following week.

I see, what happened then?

From what I understand, John’s ship sailed toward one of the islands in the Pacific to collect fruits and spices and other trade items to bring back to New England.

Was this fruit for processing candied products?

Yes, all expensive cargo.

I see, the constable said, stepping up closer. I know the place and the job. How long has he been gone?

It’s been three years now. John figured the trip would be a good venture financially.

Yes, I can see where it would be, he said, pushing back his hat and scratching his head in wonder. I know it’s a bit indelicate to ask, but what have you done with the money? Surely he must have given you a small purse for expenses.

Yes, he did, but it’s all gone. I used it up long ago.

There’s nothing left? Nothing at all?

Nothing. It all went on living expenses.

I see, the constable said, then backed off a bit.

She glanced at him. It was evident he thought she squandered the money stupidly. I’m now living on what I earn sewing.

He moved toward her again and then sat down in an adjacent chair. What about your husband’s earnings? If you don’t mind my asking. Surely that is enough to pay the mortgage.

I never received any.

Nothing? he said, staring in wonder. Why not?

Because he never sent any.

Tsk, tsk, the constable said. Why is that?

I don’t know. Perhaps he’s dead. It seems they got caught in a heavy storm one night somewhere in the Pacific. I guess once it hit the area, they became disoriented. I don’t know the full story, but I do know no one has heard from John since his ship foundered. Later, hoping to reach land, the crew boarded several lifeboats and scattered in various directions.

Did the captain survive?

Yes. He was in a boat that landed safely. Later, when they looked for survivors, the natives told them the other boats must have landed on other islands. They never saw any newcomers.

Well then, he must be alive.

I don’t know. They search whenever possible, but they still haven’t found him or the men who went with him. My only hope is he didn’t meet with one of those cannibal tribes. That’s all I can say.

I see, the constable said, finally understanding the situation. I’m hoping you will hear from him soon.

Yes, Jane said. I hope so too. Information coming is very slow. There aren’t that many ships plying the routes in that region. It’s really up to John to get himself home. She paused momentarily. That is, if he really has a mind to come home.

It’s possible he did not fully understand the risks involved when he took the job; otherwise, I doubt that he’d have gone.

True, she said. However, I heard some rumors. I don’t know how reliable they are. It seems that a man thought John may still be alive and living with one of those naked island women and doesn’t care to return home.

The constable chuckled. I doubt that that is the case. We are talking about a grown man, not a boy.

Then, another sailor thought John might be in jail. I doubt that also.

Why do you suppose he thought your husband might be in jail?

I don’t know. It’s difficult being a woman. They don’t tell me everything, and I myself can’t do much without money.

Yes, I understand that, but these rumors can’t be true, he said. They sound like a passel of stories. Someone must know where he is.

I should think so. On their last trip of searching, another man said he heard my husband did die in the storm, so, who am I to believe? All I know is I’m alone and hurting quite badly.

Yes, it’s most unfortunate. I would think he is alive somewhere and is working his passage home.

It would be good to think so. Not hearing from him in three years makes one think it’s rather doubtful. I pray he’ll soon come home.

The constable sat tapping his fingers on his knee. On occasion, he looked off into space, thinking.

I’ve inquired all that I can, she said. There’s nothing else I can do but wait. You do understand my situation now, do you not?

Yes, I’m afraid I do. ‘Tis a pity. I can see why it’s not easy for you.

He knew he should be careful not to say anything further. They both sat quietly. There was a long pause before either one spoke.

I still think leaving Boston and going to Lancaster will be a good turn for you, he said. The Lord watches over those who do for others.

She sat, stuffing the letter into her pocket. I hope you’re right. I really have no other choice but to go there. She sighed as she looked about. I’ve lived in this house since John and I got married. I fear what he’ll say once he finds out the house was lost. It’s the only home he’s ever known. It won’t be easy.

No, it won’t, but be thankful you have an uncle Silas with a place for you to stay now.

Yes, I suppose so. It’ll give me time to think about what I have to do.

Is his tavern a popular place?

No. It’s far off in the woods. There’s nothing there but miles and miles of wilderness. If it were not that I was so sorely in need of a place to stay, I certainly would not go there. One can go mad from loneliness in those parts. I assure you.

It can’t be that bad, not if his uncle continues to live there.

Jane smiled. That’s because he’s never lived anywhere else. She adjusted her shawl. God only knows how the girls will take this move. She glanced at the house again. I was content living here and getting the little money I earned from sewing. It kept us fed. Now, I won’t even have that.

With a little time, your luck will change. It’s bound to. The constable stopped talking when he looked up and saw the storage men had returned with the horse and wagon. Well, he said standing up, time to go back to work.

Jane also stood up. I must go to the ticket office and see about passage on tomorrow’s stage. I should be back before you’re through.

He tipped his hat, smiling kindly. Fine, Mrs. Spencer. I’ll be looking for you.

The next day, Jane was surprised to see her two nieces excited to make the journey to Lancaster. She expected to hear all kinds of protests. Luckily, there were none. Elizabeth and Kate dressed early and were holding their heavy traveling cloaks and matching muffs long before Jane was ready.

Kate, the oldest niece, had soft brown eyes, eyes that said much more than words could say. The teenager was patient and very obedient to her aunt Jane. Her facial features, so prevalent in her father’s side of the family, showed strength and determination. Now that Kate was almost seventeen, her aunt Jane discovered she particularly enjoyed taking care of her appearance, especially her long brown hair that she brushed often. Her quiet, ladylike manner often brought out her most obvious characteristic, that of deep thinkers. She seldom let anyone know what was on her mind. As far back as Jane could remember, Kate always dreamed of becoming a teacher. Jane found it difficult to reprimand the girl, although Kate seldom needed reprimanding.

Since Elizabeth, the six-year-old, towheaded, brown-eyed niece, was not wearing her gaiter boots, Jane helped put them on to protect the child’s feet from cold. The child was a little toughie and usually quite outspoken, but Jane found she bruised easily emotionally.

With a heavy heart, Jane finally put her hooded cape on over her heavy dark brown street dress that matched her eyes. Finding it difficult to say a good-bye to Boston and to her friend, she sighed deeply as she examined her own shoes and gaiters. Finally, she said very little in parting.

Although the early days of March were getting warmer, the nights were still raw and cold. The trip through the city by stagecoach seemed very long. Jane and her two nieces finally reached the long stretch of Great Road that led them out of the city to points west, and in their case, Lancaster. Now, being the only passengers aboard the stage, they relaxed.

That morning, as Jane and the girls rode through the quiet Massachusetts countryside, they saw the long gray stone walls that stood cold and silent, pushing through the lingering snow. They pointed out property lines so well respected by all New Englanders. The sight was a refreshing change from the long rows of closely built houses in the city.

After some time passed, Elizabeth started wondering. Aunt Jane, are we almost there?

Jane smiled. No, dear. We’ve hardly begun our trip. She dug into her bag and pulled out a book. Here, take this and study your letters. It will help the time go by faster.

Elizabeth sighed taking the book and then stood quietly for a moment. Aunt Jane? Will someone be there for me to play with at Uncle Silas’s?

Jane thought momentarily as she tied the strings from the child’s dark crimson cloak. You have us, don’t you?

Yes, but I want some children to play with.

Don’t bother about that now, Elizabeth. We’ll see when we get there.

Still bumping along in their coach, Kate looked out the window now and then, hoping to see the much sought-after Lexington sign, but it was long in coming. Finally, they reached the town line.

Help me gather these things, Jane said. We’re almost at our first stop.

Kate studied the bundle of books sitting beside Jane. Also, there was a box with a surveying transit inside. She recalled that when they left Boston, Jane agreed to deliver the articles for her friend’s husband. Although delivery of the goods was an imposition, she realized Jane felt she owed him the favor for allowing them to stay there during the eviction.

Waiting for the stage to stop, Jane put on her soft leather gloves, given her by the girls’ mother before the house fire. They were a gift she treasured very much. She caressed them and sat thinking about her late sister momentarily and then about her sister’s in-laws, whom she disliked. As they rode swiftly along Lexington Green, she relaxed knowing they had finished the first leg of their journey.

With delivery of the articles made, they soon were back on the road heading for Concord. About an hour later, the coach rounded the last bend in the road before entering Concord Common. On their left was Wright’s Tavern where British soldiers gathered at the time of the Revolution. Now, a group of well-dressed gentlemen stood around the building, talking. As the stage was approaching the stop, the horses slowed down to a trot and glided beneath the bare, stately elms. Also, standing around in small groups were passengers carrying travel bags. Others stood in front of the busy Concord stage stop, located at the far end of the common facing the green.

When the coach finally came to a stop, Jane and the two girls gathered their baggage and stiffly entered the crowded building. The girls quickly looked for a place to refresh themselves.

The stage stop was warm inside and smelled of oak logs burning in large fireplaces. In the dining room, located in back of the building, a delicious aroma came from the kitchen. The smell of fried bacon, biscuits, pancakes, roasting meats, vegetables, and other foods floated in the air as maids served hungry travelers.

In the long narrow hallway, a handsome, well-dressed gentleman in his early thirties stood leaning against the passage wall, reading a newspaper to bide his time. He wore a black waistcoat suit and held a high-collared black traveling cloak over his arm. His off-white shirt and matching stock, worn beneath his light blue vest, almost sparkled with newness.

Jane thought he looked like someone special because of his expensive clothes. She also noticed his neatly combed auburn hair that reflected hints of red highlights. Instantly, she found it a pleasure to look at the man.

Walking closer to the ticket window for a look at the time, she thought his warm gray eyes were friendly as he glanced in her direction. She also noticed that, for some reason, her appearance suddenly stirred him enough that it distracted him from his reading.

As she stood in front of him, he stared at her strangely and reached out as if to touch her, then he suddenly realized what he was doing and pulled his hand back. Apparently, the experience took him by surprise, and he nevertheless returned to his paper absentmindedly.

After receiving the time, Jane stepped back to the wall where the gentleman stood and then waited for the girls’ return. Standing there, she noticed the stranger watching her every move. She soon felt she should put some distance between them, and she quickly pushed further down the hall, but it made no difference. He still studied her from time to time, making her feel very uncomfortable. She saw it did not matter to him whether or not he was discreet. When their eyes met, he nodded and went back to his newspaper.

The cold air from the door opening and closing became too much. She had to push back again. Determined now to ignore the man, she returned to the ticket area where other travelers sat on the hall settee. She decided to set her bags down and stood beside them. While she waited, a woman got up and slowly walked outside. Since there were others waiting, who were there long before her arrival, she hesitated to sit down. She waited to see if anyone else would occupy the vacancy.

Being a gentleman, the man nodded and gestured for her to sit down.

As she sat there, she sensed him studying her. In time, she felt more uneasy. Who is he? she wondered. Was it that strange seeing a woman traveling unescorted? Was he just playing at love?

Enough time had passed for Jane to wonder what was keeping the girls. She glanced up one side of the hall and down the other but saw neither girl. After a time of waiting, she picked up her bags. Looking straight ahead, she walked away slowly. As she passed, the stranger pushed closer to the wall, giving her more room. She saw he smiled as he nodded again but said nothing. This bothered her, not so much that he was rude, but that he did not make himself known. She thought to herself, Many other women were about, attractively well-dressed women; why not choose one of them and not someone who looked so drab in old, faded street clothes?

Much to her relief, the two girls were approaching further down the hall. When they arrived, Jane suggested buying a hot drink. According to the ticket, they still had time before the stage departed.

All three entered the smoke-filled dining room where a large number of people sat eating. The mixture of clinking glasses, clatter of dinnerware, joyous conversation, and hearty laughter surrounded them. Jane quickly looked about the room for an empty table and then found one not far from the entrance. She looked up and gasped when she saw the stranger standing at the doorway. The muscles in her arms tightened; her heart raced. She now realized there was trouble ahead.

A plump young waitress, about Kate’s age, came to their table soon after they sat down. She apologized for the untidy table then quickly cleared it before setting down the silverware. She then walked over to where Jane sat. After taking their order of hot chocolate and coffee, she went into the kitchen.

The girls, continuing with their conversation of Lexington and Concord, paid no attention to what went on around them. When the waitress returned, Jane noticed biscuits, bowls of soup, and a large travel basket of treats accompanied her order. There must be a mistake, Jane said quickly. I ordered coffee and two hot chocolates.

Yes, I know, madam. The gentleman at the door ordered the additional items. He already paid for everything. Aren’t you the lucky one?

Jane quickly realized the truth and the dangers of women traveling without a male companion. She sat quietly, not turning to see who paid for her order. She knew. Instead of thanking him with a nod, she just sat frightened and not able to move.

After ignoring him for some time, she slowly looked up and saw he definitely was the man from the hall. She saw he was talking to the clerk from the ticket office, who was also looking in her direction. She quickly thought, This is strange, very strange. What does he want from me?

Since the girls sat occupied with their conversation on history, she said nothing to them about the situation and sipped her coffee in deep thought.

Still puzzled by the odd experience, she wondered why a man with his apparent class would not make himself known. If he did not know her, why would he want to bother with a married woman with two children? Especially with two children. Was he looking for a loose woman? Jane shuddered to think so. If he continued annoying her or make an attempt to board their stage, she decided she would file a complaint against him for suspicious behavior. Thus far, she managed to stay composed throughout her eviction, but the sudden appearance of the man was more than she could handle in one day. She again glanced up at the entrance. This time, he was not there. Much relieved, she quickly scanned the room with the hope he was not in another area.

Satisfied that he had finally left the premises, various explanations came to her mind. Perhaps he had at one time seen her with John and could not remember where, or perhaps he mistook her for someone else. Yes, she thought, the latter was more likely. Maybe the ticket clerk could help identify him, she reasoned. Yes, perhaps he could. With that in mind, she dismissed the whole incident and tried relaxing.

The clock on the wall had ticked away. It was nearly time for boarding the stage. Jane’s heart raced. She hoped she would not meet the stranger outside the room. They walked back to the settee where she first stood waiting for the girls. The man was not there. Good. She now decided he had definitely gone from the area altogether. Quite satisfied with the outcome, she was now ready to leave and reached into her pocket for her gloves. She discovered one was missing and quickly searched her things again. I must have dropped one of my gloves in the dining room, Kate. Would you kindly see if it’s in there?

During Kate’s absence, Jane made inquiries at the ticket office regarding the stranger. For some reason, the cashier was not obliging to give her the information she wanted. Hmm, she said to herself. Since he would not volunteer anything about the man, perhaps he would give her last-minute instructions pertaining to their passage.

The cashier was very busy at the time but did check her tickets and told her the stage was about to depart for points west. Just look for the Albany coach, he said. The driver will let you off at the Mulpus House for your Lancaster connection. When asked if the trip was long, the man said, No, it’s about twenty-five miles from here.

Kate returned from the dining room, and when she told Jane the glove was not there, the cashier studied them. As they rushed out the door, he watched them carefully, jotted down some notes, and later tended to another customer.

While boarding the stage, Jane looked about the common carefully but did not see the stranger. He must have taken another stage, she reasoned. For the first time since she ran across him, she felt great relief.

The air was cooler now than it was when they first arrived. Although the afternoon sun was still a good distance from the horizon, it would already be much lower when they arrived at the Mulpus stop. She hoped they could make it to Lancaster before total darkness set in. What mattered most at the moment was that the stranger was nowhere in sight. She finally sat back relaxing completely.

Not long after leaving Concord, they came to a fork in the road. A sign pointed the way toward Fruitlands. Right then, Jane remembered reading about the experimental community run by the transcendentalist Bronson Alcott and quickly became familiar with the area. When all was quiet and a little time had passed, she glanced out the window and saw they were now entering the towns near Lancaster. When she saw Wachusett Mountain looming in the distance, she recalled Uncle Silas telling her and John stories of long ago when warring Indians gathered at its base, preparing for local attacks.

After more time spent on recollections, Jane noticed Elizabeth held up quite well throughout the trip, but now, the child was tiring. She gathered Elizabeth’s long blonde hair and tied it with a soft pink ribbon to keep it out of the child’s eyes. Elizabeth’s eyes now opened and closed repeatedly, but she would not give in to nap. It was clear to Jane that the child was stubborn and did not want to miss anything en route.

Later, Elizabeth moved around and started complaining. Aunt Jane, all the time you and Kate were talking, I never bothered you. I don’t think you really answered my question. Are there any children for me to play with at Uncle Silas’s?

Kate smiled as she looked at Jane.

Jane sighed. She looked at Elizabeth and knew she should give the child a straight answer. You must remember I’ve never been to Lancaster. I know very little about the place other than what I’ve already told you. Uncle Silas never said much about the place. He was Uncle John’s relative and visited with us whenever he came to Boston on business. What else can I say?

Expecting a better answer, Elizabeth stood wide-eyed staring at her aunt Jane in a somewhat defiant manner. Well, did he say if there were children or not?

Since the child’s tiredness was evident, Jane smiled and did not pick up on her tone. If she were the child’s natural mother, she would have reprimanded her, but since she was not, Jane dropped the correction. No, Jane said, he never told me.

Jane then looked away and opened the travel basket sitting beside her. "There really was no need