The Female of the Species

By J. Bennett-Smith

Cincinnati, 1884. At a young age, Rachel Haufmann, the headstrong daughter of a riverboat magnate, learns the hard way that life isn’t fair, particularly if you’re born female. Her father exiles the man she loves. She comes to resent the boundaries that society places on her gender. Then a charismatic riverboat pilot teaches her the unwelcome lesson that, as a woman of means, she is little more than prey to ambitious men. Rachel flees to England with no intention of ever coming back. But five years later, when her father is murdered, the embittered Rachel returns to Cincinnati to confront those she left behind and to wrestle with the emotionally scarred woman she has become.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9781669857433

J. Bennett-Smith

A native of Pennsylvania, Joan now lives in Tepoztlán, Mexico with her husband Bill and their three cats. She devotes her time to teaching the Bible, painting and writing. A graduate of Moore College of Art in Philadelphia, she holds BFAs in Advertising Design and Sculpture. Before turning to writing, she enjoyed an active career in advertising, marketing communications and copywriting.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Y es, I’ll sleep well tonight, August reflected as he rode through the chill of the early spring night. As the cold, damp air penetrated his wool overcoat, August shivered, but no sense of foreboding accompanied the shutter.

A high-pitched chirp of spring peepers accompanied the clop of his horse’s hooves, and the screech of a barn owl punctuated their rhythm. The nocturnal music masked the sound of a twig snapping on the darkened road ahead, just on the other side of a small wooden bridge.

After many months of self-doubt, second guessing and arduous negotiations, August was at last embarking on a course of action. Tomorrow he would meet with his lawyer to have the final contract crafted. And the following day he would make a new will.

Lordy, I’m looking forward to a nice shot of bourbon tonight, old boy, he said to the old gray as a long sigh escaped from deep inside him.

August lived a little over five miles from downtown Cincinnati. Usually the trip on horseback from office to home took less than an hour if he push the horse into a trot for an extended period of time. But now, in the dark, with the roads soggy from spring thaw and early rains, he knew he would never make it in under an hour and a half. Besides, he was just too tired to sit a trot for any length of time. He would relax and let his mount set the pace. The horse had made the trip so often that August knew he didn’t even have to direct him. As soon as his substantial weight had settled into the saddle, the old dapple had turned and started walking toward home, first down the cobbled Cincinnati streets, past long-closed businesses, and then through the expanding residential areas springing up along the river, and finally down the darkened river road.

About a mile before the turn off for his house, the road dipped down into a small valley and crossed a narrow bridge over one of the thousands of tributaries that flowed into the Ohio River as it meandered its way from Pittsburgh to the Mississippi River. As shod hooves drummed the weathered planking of the bridge, their staccato rhythm echoed up the creek bed. August smiled as the noise awakens comfortable, old memories. Just up from the bridge was a swimming hole. Many a lazy summer Sunday afternoon had been spent their picnicking on these grassy banks with his wife and young daughter. He recalled once again just such an afternoon with bittersweet amusement. He had decided to teach his daughter to swim. Although in violation of his rules, the precocious Rachel spent so much time either on the banks of the river or at the docks that he had thought it in her best interest to be able to swim. However, when August announced his intentions to his daughter, rather than the excited reply he expected, he heard, Oh, Papa. I’ve known how to swim for years. Danny taught me, said with a ‘you should have known that’ casualness.

Danny. For Rachel everything seemed to revolve around Danny. Even the estrangement that now existed between father and daughter.

Well, that will be set right also.

As horse and rider crossed the bridge, August was too absorbed in his reflections to hear the rustling of the brush at the side of the road. But the old dapple gray wasn’t. He came to an abrupt halt, startling his rider.

Thick clouds veiled what little light the sliver of a moon afforded, so August sat quietly. After a few moments of silence, he pressed his calves against the horse’s warm flanks, urging him homeward again. However, the usually calm and responsive horse balked, snorting in protest.

The brush crackled again. This time August heard it.

Who’s there? he demanded, his authoritative voice screening a growing uneasiness. He heard the moist ground in front of him sucking soft footsteps and picked out the vague outline of a person emerging like an apparition from the twisted undergrowth. As he was reaching beneath this coat for his pistol, the clouds parted briefly and the moon, looking like a discarded fingernail clipping, cast a pale silvery light, a light so gossamer that the road, the brush and the unexpected stranger seemed ethereal.

Good heavens, you scared me! What are you doing here? You almost took what little life I have left from fear of you!

You should have talked to me, August, the ghost-like form replied in a voice like a whisper.

Of course we need to talk, but not here. Come up to the house with me. Join me for a drink, August replied with impatience.

It’s too late for that, was the sharp retort. August I know what you’ve got planned. I can’t let you do it. You’ll not cheat me out of what you promised! The voice was calm but determined.

If you really knew what I had planned, you’d embrace it whole-souled. Stop this nonsense and let’s go have a drink for old times sake.

The figure stepped closer and could now be seen clearly, but it took several seconds for August to realize that a gun was leveled at him.

Good Lord! Put that damned thing away before you hurt someone! he said with mounting irritation. It was all too ludicrous. August couldn’t possibly take the gun seriously. He dismounted and walked towards the ghostly form. Now, give me that right now, he demanded, holding out his hand for the gun.

Yes, August, I’ll give it to you, the person agreed nervously, softly. Too complying.

August Haufmann smiled with relief. Another problem solved. Another disaster avoided. It had been that kind of a day. The smile faded, however, as he fixed his eye on the unexpected visitor and saw no smile returned. Too late he felt the panic that comes with impending death. Time stood still as he watched the ghostly figure squeeze the trigger and heard the hammer release. He saw the small explosion of light at the end of the barrel. But he never heard the report shatter the night.

His last thought was regret. Not about his death, or that his plans would go unfulfilled. But that he and his daughter Rachel had never fully reconciled since their fight over Danny those long years before.

CHAPTER 2

M etal against metal. It reminded Rachel of her relationship with her father.

Metal against metal. The muffled, steady rhythm of the train wheels on endless tracks and the gentle rocking of the coach should have been enough to lull the exhausted woman to sleep. But instead, she rested her temple against the cold window glass and stared out at the misty Pennsylvania landscape, awash in spring blossoms and new green foliage. The chill of the window felt good on her throbbing head. The train’s vibration provided a gentle massage. But relaxation was impossible.

She hadn’t had a relaxed moment since she received the cable that her father had been killed, the apparent victim of a late-night robbery only a mile from home.

Rachel didn’t cry when she read the bad news, but she felt as if something had died inside her. She merely sat in her modest Cambridge lodgings staring at the cracking plaster and its blistered wallpaper for over an hour, as she now stared at the passing landscape. Then she had methodically packed her bags, left a note for her landlady, took a train to London, and then another to Southampton to catch the first steamer to New York. She didn’t say goodbye to anyone. Nor did she tell her professors that she wouldn’t be finishing the Easter term. It didn’t matter, she wouldn’t be missed. Women weren’t a very popular commodity at Cambridge, where they were begrudgingly allowed to attend but were never granted a degree.

Before leaving England, Rachel’s one courtesy had been to send a wire to her cousin Simon and his wife Charlotte, who has graciously taken in the angry young girl when her father had sent her to them some five years before. They had championed her cause and persuaded August to allow his prodigal daughter to attend Cambridge. This proved to be the first tiny thaw in the icy relationship that existed between father and daughter. During the three years that Rachel had studied there, correspondence between them had increased and inroads were made towards resolving their differences. But not fast enough, however. Her father was dead. There would be no more healing now.

The Atlantic crossing have been miserable. Fog, relentless damp and chill, and unending rain served to accentuate Rachel’s despair. Now she felt as if the misty landscape beyond the train’s window was fighting to break its way into the coach so it too could envelop her.

She would be glad when she finally arrived in Cincinnati and could at last face the reality of her father’s death. Until she could visit his grave and talk to people who actually saw him dead, she couldn’t quite believe the reality of it. August Haufmann, the man who had always been so stalwart and rock-like, dead? It was too unbelievable.

Father and daughter had always fought, both being too strong-willed to live peaceably under the same roof for any length of time. But the genuine love they had for each other always triumphed and peace would reign again. At least it did until they reached an impasse Rachel had never expected — over Dan Buckley.

She smiled softly, thinking once again about Danny, the only thought that had brought an infrequent smile to her face since the news of her father’s death. It was a sad smile, bittersweet. She wondered what it would be like to see him again, as she soon would. Is he still as handsome as she remembers and would he still have the same fireworks-like effect on her?

And she wondered if he would be angry that she had never answered his letters.

Danny was working for Haufmann Shipping Lines now. He had been for almost a year after graduating from the University of Pennsylvania with a degree in business — a degree her father had paid for. Rachel thought it ironic that her father had sent the poor boy next door off to college but had to be coerced and cajoled before he would pay for his own daughter to attend Cambridge.

But then again, she was a girl.

And that was the other bone of contention that had developed between father and daughter. Danny wasn’t the cause of that one. Jared Matthews was.

He had awakened in Rachel the righteous indignation felt by intelligent females in a man’s world.

And it was Matthews who caused the indignant Rachel to vow never to allow herself to be among the exploited. In that respect, as much as she loathed the man, she had to admit that he had done her a great service.

August Haufmann had been the first man Rachel had loved who had hurt her. Danny had been the second. Jared Matthews, the third and last.

She was seventeen when the fabric of her life had been irreparably torn. In the course of two and a half months her entire view of the world had turned upside down. A safe and secure life had begun to unravel like a big ball of yarn tossed about by mischievous kittens.

It started with Danny.

CHAPTER 3

August 1879

T he synchronized cacophony of the cicadas was almost deafening, as they were every clear August night. That was good. The noise would help mask any she created.

Seventeen-year-old Rachael waited patiently until she heard her father’s steps in the hallway, heading toward his bedroom. She was grateful that he retired early and fell asleep easily, making sneaking out of the house so much easier. She read her book, Jane Eyre, for several minutes. It was very romantic. And Rachel found that odd. It hadn’t impressed her as such the first time she read it, when she was twelve.

Thinking enough time had elapsed, she laid her book aside, extinguished her lamp, and crept to the bedroom door. She opened it a crack and checked to see if any light still spilled from beneath her father’s door. None.

Rachel peeled off her nightgown. In the dark, she felt for twine that was hooked on a nail in the back of her bed’s headboard. Gently, slowly, as noiselessly as possible, she pulled up the bundle attached to the twine’s end. Laying the bundle on her bed, she undid the string and shook out the tightly packed clothes. She pulled on the trousers and shirt and stuffed her long strawberry blonde hair under a cloth cap. Then, she looped a pair of sturdy shoes around her neck by their laces. She would put them on when she was away from the house. Lastly she plumped up a few pillows under the blankets, pulling the bed clothes high over them.

The double-hung bedroom window was already opened, natural enough for a hot August night. Racial slid out of the window and grabbed a large branch of the cicada-laden oak tree, a branch that had grown conveniently closer over the years.

That’s right, my good friends. Make lots of noise for me, she whispered as she swung herself into the tree. She recalled how terrified she had been the first time she had done that. But that was years ago. She was an expert now.

On bare feet she scrambled down the tree and dropped to the damp grass. Stepping with care as not to alert the dogs, she crept around the corner of the house. There, she paused to put on her shoes before racing down to the river bluff.

After several hundred yards, she left the road and ran across a wide expanse of lawn to a thicket at the top of the bluff. In among the brambles she found a narrow path. But before negotiating it, Rachel stooped and lit a lantern that waited for her. Keeping the flame low, she crested the bluff and crept down the dimly-lit trail to the entrance of a small cave.

I was afraid you weren’t coming tonight, a jovial voice greeted her as she entered.

I thought Papa would never go to bed! Sorry I’m late, Rachel replied with equal good nature in her unusually husky voice, a voice that since her childhood had always mildly surprised people who didn’t know her.

Once inside the cave, Rachel extinguished her lantern and crossed to where Danny sat. His lantern sent red highlights dancing over his thick tassel of copper hair. His eyes sparkled with humor. And for the first time, Rachel noticed how blue they were. And beautiful. Why hadn’t I ever noticed that before? she wondered.

Rachel sat across from him, and removing her cap, shook out her tangled mane.

I think you’ve got it! Danny announced. Now, just look real coy out of the corner of your eye the next time you do that, and you’ll have it down. Just like Pamela!

Rachel burst out laughing. No, no, no, she corrected emphatically. First, I have to get my hair arranged perfectly. She purred out the word per-r-r-fectly. Then I just flip it back over my shoulder, while batting my eyes three or four times and looking to see if anyone is watching. She mimed the scene as she described it. It was Danny’s turn to laugh.

Danny and Rachel had been meeting in the cave for years. In the past, the cave had been a special meeting place, reserved for the most unique occasions. To lay plans for their first raid on Isaac Edwards’ apple orchard. Or to drink the first bottle of wine they had stolen. But lately they had to meet here more often. Danny was working full-time for her father on the docks during the day and had chores to do for his widowed mother in the evenings. When he did get time from his busy schedule to visit Rachel, her father seemed to find more chores for him to do, or insistently joined in their conversations. Rachel loved her father, but she was very jealous of her time with Danny. So, to spend some private time together, they began meeting in the cave once a week.

Before her father had hired him as a dockworker, Danny had done odd jobs at the Haufmann estate. In fact, he had worked for the Huafmanns as long as Rachel could remember. As a little boy, he had helped the cook in the kitchen. As a young adolescent he had mucked stalls. At one time, before Rachel’s mother died, he was even assigned to mind young Rachel who was a year his junior. So, Rachel and Danny had grown up with each other. And they had become closer than brother and sister.

Her mother had always been ill. Rachel had heard the stories about how her parents had remained childless for years, her mother always suffering from one malady or another. Rachel’s birth had come as a big surprise, when her parents were well into their forties.

For a few years after Rachel’s birth, her mother seemed to recover. But when the young girl was about four, Mrs. Haufmann’s health again began to deteriorate. She died when Rachel was eight. During her long years of illness, Rachel was raised mostly by the housekeeper, Flo, a wizened, Negro woman with an infectious laugh. But her constant companion had been Danny.

When she was a child, no one seemed concerned about the relationship between Rachel and Danny. Her mother was too sick to care; her father too busy with business and an ailing wife to notice. So it was Danny who had taught her to ride — astride, of course, even bareback — at five. She learned to swim at six. She could successfully arm wrestle any boy her age. And she was constantly reproved by Flo for having dirt under her nails. By the time her mother died, little was left to distinguish Rachel as a girl except for her long strawberry hair. And that she took to stuffing up under a hat so no one would notice her gender. She dressed in trousers and swung from trees — because Danny did. And she was gloriously happy.

But the carefree good times came to an end when she and Danny were picked up by the railroad police. They had, on a dare, jumped onto an outward-bound freight train that didn’t stop until it reached Columbus. When August Haufmann got the telegram to come and get his prodigal daughter and her friend at the Columbus police station, it was the death knell of her innocent childhood. She was thirteen at the time.

August, as if for the first time noticing that he had sired a daughter, not a son, burnt Rachel’s trousers, flannel shirt and cap, and had confined her to dresses. He hired a governess to attempt to impart to her some feminine attributes. But worst of all, he limited Danny’s visits to evenings when the two friends could do their studies together.

So they had begun meeting in the cave.

Excellent, Danny exclaimed in response to Rachel’s Pamela imitation. "Now, all you have to do is grow large breasts and keep your fingernails clean, and you too can be a Princess.

Alas, these are hopeless. I fear, she replied laughing.

Danny’s reference to breasts would have likely shocked any polite society. But not Rachel. Growing up inseparably had long since ended any of the delicate sensibilities that generally existed between the genders. Danny had been with Rachel when she got her first period. They had just dismounted from their horses and Rachel had left a trail of blood behind. Not having a mother to enlighten Rachel in advance, she was shocked and terrified. Danny, equally as upset, spirited the girl home to his mother and begged for her to call a doctor. The embarrassed Mrs. Buckley found that the only way to calm both friends was to explain to them, quite uncomfortably, what was happening. Since that day, there wasn’t much Danny and Rachel couldn’t discuss.

The Princess. They were mocking Rachel’s number-one nemesis, Pamela Petersen, also known as Pamela Perfect or just The Princess. Her father owned a shipping line that was Haufmann Lines’ chief competition.

Pamela was everything Rachel could never be. Petite, feminine, and overly indulged by her doting parents. She dressed perfectly, moved perfectly, spoke perfectly and, of course, tossed her hair and batted her large doe eyes perfectly. She was three years older than Rachel and had just announced her engagement to a riverboat pilot who worked for Petersen Shipping.

That had surprised Rachel. She thought that The Princess would do better than that. At least a duke or an earl. She wondered how a mere pilot would be able to afford her, and speculated that he probably wouldn’t be a mere pilot for long.

Danny laughed at Rachel’s self-deprecating remark. But all of a sudden Rachel didn’t think it was funny anymore.

Danny, seriously. Do you think I’ll ever have a good figure?"

Danny sat back and scrutinized his friend’s chest. Hard to tell under that shirt. But you don’t look too bad when you’re decked out in your corset and dress. I think there’s hope, he stated optimistically. But I doubt they’ll rival Pamela’s. Pamela did have an ample chest. And she flaunted it like everything else she had.

Normally, Rachel would have laughed. But tonight’s comparisons between her and Pamela were making her uncomfortable. She found herself hating the fact that Danny had noticed Pamela’s breasts.

Oh, and I suppose the next thing you’ll be comparing is her waistline to mine. Then her eyelashes to mine!

Whoa, what’s your problem tonight? Sounds as if you’re jealous!

I am not!

Sure sounds like it to me.

"Don’t be ridiculous! Me, jealous of her?

Well, she is pretty.

Sure. So are China dolls. But I sure wouldn’t want to spend much time talking to one.

Well, who said I would?

You did.

No, I said she is pretty. Rae, enough of this. We haven’t seen each other for a week. Let’s not ruin it by fighting. Danny reached out and gave Rachel a small punch to the shoulder. She smacked his hand away.

Oh, you want to fight, do you? Come on, I’ll fight you. Danny provoked, a good-natured smile still on his lips. But Rachel didn’t respond in her usual fashion…by fighting back. So he tried tactic number two. It always worked when his friend was in a sullen mood. He began tickling her.

At first Rachel just pushed him away, wishing to cling to her bad mood a little longer. But she hated being tickled. She started to retaliate. It usually went that way. Soon, she knew, they would be rolling on the floor of the cave in ribald laughter.

Only a year ago, Rachel stood a fifty-fifty chance of beating Danny during a wrestling match. But in the course of the last twenty-four months, things had changed. Now, Danny stood a good four inches taller than her and out-weighed her by at least fifty pounds. His shoulders had grown broad from his work on the docks. He could now overpower her easily and Rachel found it infuriating. His tickling, rather than dismissing her sullen mood as it usually did, triggered an unidentified frustration within her. As soon as Danny had her pinned on the floor of the cave, tears began to well up in her blue eyes.

Hey, what’s this all about? You’re not turning into a poor loser, are you? He asked as he lay half on top of the defeated Rachel. The flickering lamp reflected in the tear that rolled down Rachel’s cheek. Danny wiped it away and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers.

Rachel, her body tense with anger and frustration, wouldn’t look at him.

Rachel, talk to me. What’s wrong? Danny asked as his hand turned her head to look at him.

Rachel raised her eyes to look at him and caught her breath. His turquoise eyes gleamed, and she saw that they were filled with tenderness and love. A shock of copper hair hung rakishly across his forehead. Try as she could, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. The look on his face mirrored the astonishment in her’s.

When she saw his face bend closer to hers, she held her breath and closed her eyes.

The kiss was brief, tentative. And when their lips parted, they stared at each other in total amazement, surprised that it had taken them so long to realize how they felt about each other.

A second kiss followed. Any hesitancy was gone. Rachel’s arms went around Danny’s back and she pulled him to her possessively. He pressed his lips to hers and stroked her long, wavy hair.

The weight of his body felt good, and she felt any previous tension drain from her.

But then he was gone. He seemed to lift magically, without any effort on his part. She heard a loud grown and opened her eyes to see Danny sprawled on the cave’s floor. His face displayed surprise, embarrassment and panic all at once. Before Rachel could discern what had happened, she heard her father’s booming voice.

What the hell do you think you’re doing? It was a question not meant to be answered. Don’t you ever touch my daughter again! I forbid it! Do you hear me? I forbid it!

August Haufmann had spoken. Neither Danny or Rachel dared to argue with him.

August stooped and grabbed the prone Rachel’s hand, dragging her to her feet. I’ll deal with you later, young man, he bellowed as he pulled his daughter from the cave. On the way up the path and across the sprawling lawn, he said not another word. Not even when Rachel pleaded with him.

He continued dragging her up the front steps of the house, through the foyer and up the stairs to her bedroom. Reaching her bedroom door, he pushed his distraught daughter into her chamber and stood glaring at her.

Papa, please listen to…

I’ll not hear a word from you! Now take off those clothes, August demanded, his breath labored from his exertions. He exited without another word, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

Rachel hurried to obey her father, not wishing to incur further wrath. Quickly she slipped into her nightgown and sat on the edge of the bed waiting. He would be back.

Moments later her door burst open, and August stormed past the frightened girl with a hammer and nails in hand. He shoved the bottom pain of her window down so hard the glass cracked. He then proceeded to nail it shut. On his way out of Rachel’s soon, he grabbed the pile of boys clothes she had abandoned at the foot of her bed.

Papa, please, she begged as he stormed from the room. Papa, I love him!

August froze the doorway and turned to his daughter. His face was stone.

Don’t you ever say that again. I forbid you to love him! Do you hear me? I forbid it!

But, Papa…

Rachel, we will have no more discussions about this. Ever.

Rachel had never seen her father so furious. She sat on the bed speechless, mouth agape. August turned and stormed from the room. She heard the key turn in the lock and his heavy steps retreat to his bedroom. Her first brush with love was over.

CHAPTER 4

R achel was confined to her room the next day. Following that, she was forbidden to leave the house until further notice. Her father’s only concession was to allow her to take in the fresh air and sunshine from the wide front porch that ran the length of their home’s rambling first floor.

As much as she was tempted to run to Danny’s home, less than a mile away, Rachel knew it would do no good to defy her father. That would only make things worse. Many a time, over the years, she had stood up and fought for what she wanted or what she believed was right. Every once in awhile, she would win. But, instinctively, she knew this time was different. Never had her father been so adamant. She begrudgingly submitted to his authority and hoped that his rage would soon blow over and her life, and her love, would continue where it had left off. But in the meantime, she waited in misery through awkward meals with her father where conversation was terse, and long, restless nights in a steamy bedroom where only one window now opened, a window not near any accommodating branches.

When Danny made no attempt to contact her, she could only assume that he had seen compliance as the wisest course also. But her reasoning did little to dispel her anxiety and loneliness.

Slowly, the sultry August evenings gave way to cooler September mornings. From their home’s wide veranda, Rachel watched as farmers harvested their corn crop and the leaves on the trees showed their first tints of yellow and red. Confined to that porch, she paced like a caged tiger. For two weeks there had been no word from Danny and only sparse, abrupt conversations with her father, with no truce in sight, no reconciliation made, no compromises offered. On the distant Ohio, she could see the riverboats, trailed by dark plumage of smoke, winding their way up and down the river, laboring with flats of coal, or rafts of lumber. More often than not, she could identify the boats by their distinctive whistles as they blew warnings or greetings to each other. And of course, with each boat she recognized, thoughts of Danny came flooding back to her, recollections of the many afternoons they sat on the banks and watched the riverboats pass. He would quiz her about the whistles, and soon she knew the sound of every boat in Haufmann Lines and Petersen Shipping, as well as most of the ones from the other boats that passed through Cincinnati on a regular basis.

One oppressively-humid afternoon, well into the third week of her confinement, Rachel drifted off to sleep in one of the porch’s wicker rockers. That didn’t surprise her as she hadn’t slept well since being caught in the cave. She was awakened by her father’s heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs, too late to retreat to her rooms as she usually did when she saw his carriage approach up the drive. She was now caught in a situation where she might be forced to converse with him. Conversations at dinner were difficult enough. She didn’t seek out or welcome any additional ones.

August strode across the porch to where Rachel sat slumped in the chair. His heavy steps sounded ominous as they echoed on the raised wooden flooring.

Rachel, you don’t look well, August’s robust voice said with a note of concern as his bulk of a figure loomed over her prone figure. Rachel kept her sleep-laden eyes on the freshly-painted wood of the porch’s deck, unwilling to meet her father’s eye. Nervously, she played with the lace cuff of her blouse.

I’m fine, Father, she replied unconvincingly.

That may be so. Nonetheless, I think it’s about time you got out of the house and got some sun and fresh air.

Really? Her voice brightened a little, and she looked up at her father expectantly.

Yes. You may leave the house tomorrow.

Rachel swallowed the lump in her throat, afraid to ask more but knowing she had to.

And is my journeying to be restricted? She waited, expecting the blow.

No more so than it has been in the past. If you intend to go into the city, I expect Timothy or Flo to accompany you.

May I go to all my other usual places? she again queried with suspicion.

I see no reason why not, August replied matter-of-factly.

Before the stern August could discern what was happening, Rachel was out of her chair and had wrapped her arms around her father’s neck in a bear hug. Forcefully she kissed his cheek, now dotted with the stubble of an early evening beard.

Oh, Papa, thank you! I just knew you would see this isn’t so bad! I just knew you’d start to see things my way! Thank you! Thank you! she cried with more animation than anyone had seen in her in weeks.

Rachel released her grasp on her father’s neck, spun and ran for the door of the house. August followed his jubilant daughter into the oak-paneled foyer of the expansive Haufmann house.

Rachel…

Oh, Papa, what should I wear? she asked as she headed for the wide, winding stairway to the second floor. My blue dress! Yes, definitely she replied to her own question as she sprang up the steps.

Rachel…

She paused, as if in response to her father’s call. No. The green. Danny would prefer the green, she stated emphatically.

Rachel!

She turned to look at August, as if hearing him for the first time.

Yes, Papa? she answered with distraction.

Rachel, Danny’s gone.

Rachel just stood, halfway up the stairs, a hand poised on the banister, staring at her father blankly.

What? What did you say? she asked absently.

I said Danny is gone. I don’t want you going over to the Buckley’s just to get disappointed. Because Danny isn’t there.

What do you mean he’s gone? He wouldn’t go anywhere without telling me. You must mean he’s just out of town for a day or two. That’s all right. I’ll wait. I’ll just go over tomorrow and ask Mrs. Buckley when he’ll be home, Rachel replied, trying to convince herself more than anyone.

August walked up the stairs to where his confused daughter stood. He took her limp hand in his to comfort her.

No, Rachel, he said gently. But the big and gruff August Haufmann was not good at gentle. More at home in a taproom or a boardroom than a drawing room, August hadn’t had a totally relaxed moment with young Rachel since he discovered that she had developed breasts. Danny’s gone for good. It’s for the best. Believe me, child.

Rachel pulled her hand from her father’s and anger blazed across face.

Where? Where is he? Where have you sent him? What have you done?

Rachel, please, honey. Calm down. August reached for his daughter again, but she pulled away.

How dare you tell me to calm down. How dare you get my hopes up! Why didn’t you just come and tell me he was gone? No! Instead you tell me I’m free to go as I please. What did you think I would do? You knew I would go to him!

Rachel, I was wrong to handle it that way. I’m sorry. But…

And you’re wrong about Danny and me too!

No! Now it was August’s turn to get mad. I told you I would hear no more talk about that. You should have known I wasn’t going to change my mind, he said adamantly.

You prejudiced, mean old man! You hate him because he’s poor. Have you forgotten? Rachel’s face was flushed with anger.

Rachel, don’t you dare speak to me that way. I’m still your father, and you are not too old to be put over my knee or have your mouth washed out with soap! August fumed. This has nothing to do with Danny being poor.

Liar! She hissed at him, her face only inches from his.

Before the proud August knew what he was doing, he smacked his irate daughter across the face with the back of his hand. As her eyes filled with tears, she turned and ran up the remaining stairs to her bedroom.

Rachel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, child! August called after her. The only reply he got was the slam of her bedroom door behind her.

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Shortly after dawn broke over the valley, the exhausted girl sat in her room watching from the window until August’s carriage drove down the long driveway and disappeared over the rise of the hill. Then she left her room, never bothering to arrange her disheveled appearance or change her clothes.

Rachel exited the house by the front door and walked briskly in the direction of the Buckley’s modest farm. As she crossed the wide expanse of lawn, the hem of her wrinkled dress grew damp from the morning dew. With determination, she descended a well-worn path that led to the western edge of their lawn, down through a thicket of blackberries, into a wooded valley and emerged at the edge of the cornfield. The corn had recently been harvested so Rachel cut directly across the field, pausing several times to remove the hem of her dress from the corn stubble that entangled it. Soon her hem was littered with dirt and bits of corn husk that clung to its damp edges. On the far side of the field, she jumped a narrow creek and then ran up a small incline to the Buckley’s white-washed, three-room house. Sarah Buckley was in the front yard hanging out laundry.

Sarah was only in her early fifties, but she looked nearer to sixty. Anyone could tell that she had once been a handsome woman, with fine high cheekbones, a long graceful neck, and large blue eyes. But a hard life of raising a fatherless boy on a small dirt farm hadn’t contributed to preserving her looks. Her face now bore wrinkles beyond her years, and her back was stooped by years of hard labor.

Danny’s father, so the story went, was a na’r-do-well. The entire town was surprised and her parents in shock when Sarah, the prim and proper daughter of a minister, had eloped with the gregarious drifter. For some years after Buckley had married the once beautiful Sarah, he had tried to settle down. They bought the small farm on which Sarah and Danny now eked out an existence. But Dan Buckley senior soon grew discontented with hard farm labor. He began disappearing for longer and longer stretches of time, taking jobs on keelboats or steamers, in the West Virginia mines or the Pittsburgh mills. But he always returned to Sarah, with presents or cash in hand. And Sarah always welcomed him back. Then one day he left and was never heard from again. The rumor was that he had signed on as a roustabout on a riverboat and was killed in a brawl in a saloon in Natchez-under-the-Hill. Mrs. Buckley was pregnant with Danny at the time. So the boy grew up never knowing his father.

Mrs. Buckley turned to watch Rachel as she ran up the embankment. She showed no surprise at her approach.

Where is he, Mrs. Buckley? Rachel asked directly with a note of desperation in her voice. She didn’t bother to greet the older woman, but she would have been amazed if she was accused of being rude. She was simply in single-minded pursuit of information.

Sarah looked at the young woman and sighed. She dropped a sheet back into the laundry basket put the clothes pins back in her apron pocket.

Oh Rachel. Child, look at you. She eyed the young woman with concern. You’re a mess.

Oh, Mrs. Buckley, please. I don’t need a lecture about my appearance. I know I’m a mess. Where is he, Mrs. Buckley?

The older woman took Rachel by the arm and let her into the modest house. It was immaculately kept, though plain. Starched white lace curtains graced the windows, and a bowl of fresh wild flowers stood on the plain oak table.

Sit. I’ll bring us coffee, and we’ll talk. Her voice was kind but carried authority.

The exhausted Rachel complied wordlessly. She slumped down into a worn kitchen chair and supported her weary head in her hands. Presently, Sarah poured steaming coffee into two chipped, blue delft cups perched on matching chipped saucers. Sarah, with concern in her eyes, then seated herself across the table from Rachel and reached over and took one of the girl’s hands.

Danny’s gone away Rachel.

I know! But where? Rachel sighed in frustration.

He’s gone to school. College.

College? What college? Rachel asked in wonder. In her wildest imagination she would