Emily's Story

By Miriam Ilgenfritz

Dear Hannah,
You will never believe my news. After almost despairing of finding the right man
(perhaps I was too particular, as some said), I am getting married. No, I can't say I was
too particular because otherwise I would already be married to William, which is its own
tale, and never have met Jacob…

Emily DeGroot thrives on secret letters to and from her runaway sister Hannah who left her affluent
home in New York, married a hessian mercenary, and lives in the wilds of Pennsylvania in 1798.
Emily's Story, the sequel to Letters to Emily, chronicles the same year from Emily's perspective. Emily
faces an entirely different set of challenges: yellow fever, a long harsh winter, and the perfect suitor
whom she does not love.
Will Emily's circumstances grow her from a spoiled wealthy young girl to a resilient and independent
woman…or will the tests that life throws at her crush her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Miriam Ilgenfritz
• Release date: Jun 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223596127

Book preview

Prologue

(Fall 1798)

Dear Hannah,

You will never believe my news. After almost despairing of finding the right man, (perhaps I was too particular as some said) I am getting married. No, I can’t say I was too particular, because otherwise, I would be already married to William—which is its own tale—and have never met Jacob. It’s a long story, and I will take time to write it all down for you, but Father has determined to come for a visit, and I want you to have this note when he arrives.

The wedding is set for early spring. I don’t know if there will be any way you can come, but I do know whether you are here or there, you will share my joy. I am so longing to be both a mother and a wife, and I can see now that all my helping Mother and Father was simply training for my new role.

I feel I could ramble on and on, extolling all the virtues of my man, but you would just laugh and perhaps reflect back on how you acted when Georg was courting you.

Remember how you would lie in bed at night and recount every little thing he had done when you were with him? And about those many times you would sneak out to meet him at a dance and I would cover for you?

My courtship has not been nearly as exciting as that, but I have no complaints. I’m just so in love. Write and tell me how excited you are, and send it with Father whenever he returns.

Much love,

Emily

Hannah clasped the letter to her breast and smiled. Oh, Emily would be such a good wife. She was happy for her. She did wonder what had happened to William, but he had been in Emily’s life for years and never seemed any closer to marrying her. Now, Emily had found the right man. She was so happy for her, she felt silly.

Chapter 1

Emily flounced through the front door, swishing her long skirts with anger. Her lower lip protruded and she fairly radiated anger. Mother, Mother, where are you?

Hilda, the indentured servant came to the kitchen door. Your Mother is not home yet, she said softly. What’s the matter?

Their plump, motherly servant had been part of the household for as long as Emily could remember and had often dealt with her volatile moods.

No, I have to see her. Emily swept her skirts briskly, removing imaginary dirt and flinging her bonnet on a nearby table.

All right. Hilda shook her gray head. But I don’t know when she’ll be back.

Emily threw her long hair over her shoulder and ran up the long stairway to disappear into her room. She made it just before her father roared through the front door. Hilda had already heard his loud steps on the porch and made her way back to the kitchen.

By the time Mr. DeGroot was fully inside, the front room was empty and peaceful.

Emily? Emily, are you home?

Emily heard his shout from behind her closed door. She smoothed her skirt, drew a deep breath and opened it.

I’m upstairs Father, she called, all traces of her anger wiped away. She descended in what she hoped was a ladylike manner and stood quietly at the foot of the stairs.

Young lady, I have something to say to you. His bristling eyebrows and tight mouth let Emily know he was especially unhappy with her.

Although Emily knew exactly what was coming, she pretended ignorance.

William has asked permission to call on you.

William! He was not the dashing lover Emily had pictured while growing up. She opened her mouth to comment but her father cut her off.

Not only that, but I have heard rumors that you were seen at barn dances. That will end right now. No daughter of mine is going to a barn dance. I will not have that problem here again.

He smoothed his hair, brushed his coat and calmed somewhat. I gave William my permission. It’s high time you took up with a respectable young man. Your sister’s been married quite some time—all your sisters—and here you sit, under my roof, mooning over the perfect gentleman. Well, William is he.

Emily listened without further comment, although inside, she was seething. Still, Father’s bark was usually worse than his bite. She could even understand some of his anger. She and her sister, Hannah had been known to sneak out to the local barn dances. It was there that Hannah had met Georg, a German mercenary turned colonist.

Hannah and Georg had gotten married against her father’s wishes, although Emily herself thought Georg just the right match for her sister. She had never disclosed that information to her father, and she didn’t plan to now.

Still, the result was her father’s current desire to find a proper husband. While Emily was younger than Hannah, she was now of an age that was considered old by most of her peers.

William though, well he was nice enough, just boring. Maybe she should give him a chance. It wasn’t as if other men had been asking about her or she even had her eyes on anyone else. She finally glanced up demurely, gave Father her best submissive look, and replied quietly, All right Father. If he wants to come and sit in the parlor with me, I will give it a try.

You’ll do more than that, young lady. Her Father bristled. He hated being manipulated, and he was never quite sure if Emily was as submissive as she seemed, or if it was a show. There was nothing else he could do right now than accept her acquiescence.

Saturday night, he asked to come by. He’ll have dinner with us and then you two can visit. You will learn to like him.

He turned on his heel and left abruptly, forgetting that he had come home for lunch. Emily was not going to remind him.

She pulled the curtains aside and watched him stride down the front stairs and along the street, heading back to his mercantile. Then she bounded into the kitchen.

Hilda, were you listening in? She grabbed the back of the closest chair and spun it around. Conflict always made her twitchy. "Of course, you were. And now I am to have yet another suitor. Do you think there are any good men left since so many have headed west?"

She bubbled on as Hilda smiled, crossing her arms across her plump middle while Emily rambled on. Finally, she got a minute to put in a word.

No wonder you were so fired up when you came in. Your Father is just looking out for your best interests. Hilda smiled again as Emily frowned at her. She loved Emily like a daughter.

Well, I’m not interested in William. He’s been chasing after me for ever so long, sitting by me at corn shuckings, and even following me to barn dances. He probably told Father that’s where he saw me.

Emily twirled her blond curls around her finger as she sat and looked at Hilda. The servant always had good advice.

I think you should give him chance.

Hilda worked as she talked, filing a pan with a flaky crust that would soon be full of apples and cinnamon.

Emily was fascinated by the way she pinched the dough without even looking to make a decorative edge that traced around the pan. Her father loved apple pie. He would be in a good mood when he returned and smelled the rich odor of cinnamon and honey.

You are in your mid-twenties, Hilda said, brushing her floury hands off on her apron. People are talking. Don’t you want a family?

Only with the right man, Hilda. You know that.

Hilda chuckled. "Honey, you know my love died on the ship, or I wouldn’t be here working for your mother, but I didn’t get to wait for the right man to come along. My father picked him for me, and then he became the right man. Why should you be different?"

Emily bit her tongue in thought. She couldn’t answer that—yet. But she fully intended to figure it out before she had to marry William.

Hilda, can I help you cook?

No, you cannot. Your father told me that I am to cook, and you are to learn to be a lady.

I’m tired of being a lady, Emily said impulsively. I should learn to cook because I might not have a servant. Then we’d starve.

William is as rich as your father, Miss Emily. Nothing to worry about there.

I’m tired of being a lady and I am tired of hearing about William.

Hilda put her hands on her hips and prepared to launch into yet another speech about the roles of servants and merchants’ daughters. Emily stared right back. She had always been headstrong and opinionated. Hilda loved this about her, but she dared not show it too openly, lest Mr. DeGroot chastise her.

Emily jumped off the stool.

I am going to go write to Hannah. It’s her turn to write me, but maybe she’s too busy.

Hilda shook her head and smiled as Emily left the kitchen. That young woman was so full of sass. She’d give any man a hard time.

She shook her head again and left all thoughts of Emily behind as she poked the fire, added wood, and placed the pie carefully inside. She better pay attention to her meal, or it would burn.

Meanwhile, Emily returned to her room and found her best quill. If only Hannah hadn’t moved so far when she decided to run off and get married.

Emily wondered if the clock she had given Hannah had survived the trip. Was it still chiming, reminding Hannah of her trapped little sister? Would it tell of her boring marriage prospect being the only adventure on her horizon?

Emily pulled open her desk drawer. No paper. She didn’t have time now to go buy some. Mother would be home soon, and they would go into the front room and work on embroidery—practicing to be a lady.

She chewed on the quill and thought. Daddy had paper in his desk. No one was home but Hilda, and she wouldn’t report borrowing paper. She cracked her door open. No one in sight. Even though her father had left without his lunch, she doubted he’d be back before dinner. Still, one never knew. Since Emily was tiny, she had been ingrained in the knowledge that Daddy’s desk was off limits. She tiptoed quickly down and pulled out his top drawer in the front room and was rewarded her with several pieces of paper. Tomorrow, she would go buy some and replace what she had just taken.

She picked up the quill again, but now her thoughts of what to write had unraveled.

Emily threw down her quill and flopped onto the bed. Her life was so uneventful. She stared at the ceiling.

If she looked just right, she could see pictures in the lumpy white plaster. She had lain here and stared at the ceiling so many times, she had it memorized. There was a whole story up here. Before she could think through the tale about how the plaster looked like a horse, another lump resembled a woman, and a swirl that surely had to be a wolf, she grew so relaxed, she fell asleep. Her mother found her there an hour later.

Her mother, Greta DeGroot, was a tall, distinguished merchant’s wife. Her family, as well as her husband’s had settled in New York back when it was New Amsterdam.

Emily was her youngest child, and often drove her mother to despair. She was so frivolous at times. The DeGroot family had given all the children much, but with Emily being the youngest, she had been the recipient of her parents’ wealth and good business dealings. In the end, perhaps she had been spoiled. At least she hadn’t run off as Hannah had.

Greta carried with her the latest letter from her daughter, full of adventures and trials of living on the edge of the wilderness in Pennsylvania. It seemed each year, or two, there was a new little Zartman to write about.

While Greta longed to see her daughter, she had no desire to load up in a wagon to go visit her daughter.

She removed her elaborate, feather-bedecked bonnet and placed it on the hall table before heading upstairs. She stopped in her room to put the letter in a safe place, choosing not to give it to Emily. She would likely be in her room, writing another letter to Hannah.

Even though they were far apart in miles, the two had remained close in spirit and wrote as often as possible. This wasn’t much, considering how difficult it was for a letter to get from New York to Pennsylvania. Sure, Benjamin Franklin had set up a postal system but it wasn’t designed for wilderness delivery.

Greta knocked briskly and then entered the room.

Emily! she exclaimed, seeing her youngest child flat on her back in bed. Briefly, she remembered the reports she had heard of a summer fever in the city. Are you ill?

Emily’s eyes flew open and she jumped up guiltily. No one slept in the middle of a workday.

No, Mother. I fell asleep. She straightened her hair and tried to flatten the wrinkles out of her rumpled dress. I’m sorry.

Greta ignored the opportunity to lecture about her laziness and chose instead to start a new conversation. I just saw your father?

Oh.

Emily knew what came next: all the virtues of William would be extolled for her. Her mother had been planning to pair the two together for a long time. Now that he’d made his move and asked to call on her, he would be discussed at every available opportunity. I know all about it, Mother.

Mother had a mental list of qualities to look for in a suitor. Emily had heard it all before. She tried to head off the recitation that was coming.

Father stopped by here before lunch and told me.

Greta frowned. I wanted to tell you. Deciding it didn’t matter, she shrugged. He’ll be coming for dinner Saturday. What should I serve? Do you know his favorites?

"Mother, you aren’t being courted by William. Have Hilda make whatever you want."

Greta frowned. Young lady, you are too old to be so particular. I don’t know what you have against William. Every time I mention his name, you react negatively. He is a fine young man, and I expect you to give him a fair chance.

I will, I promised Daddy, Emily said, suddenly submissive. She clasped her hands and looked at the floor. I really will try.

There’s nothing else to do right now anyway. May as well try. Maybe I’ll find a way to escape.

Greta smiled. Maybe Emily would finally be reasonable. Come along then. We have some sewing to do.

Emily sighed and plastered a grin onto her face. She could sew, but not cook. She could read—proper material of course—but not be picky about the men.

It did seem she was surrounded by rules, but then so was every other young woman she knew, so why should she be so restless?

She followed her mother down the hall to the sewing room. Light streamed in from the many windows, making it the perfect room for sewing.

She collected her embroidery and sat on the nearest chair, determined to finish yet another pillowcase for her bride’s chest.

Chapter 2

Saturday arrived with unbelievable speed. Emily awoke with a dull sense of dread. It was unexplained only until the events of the day ahead crowded her mind.

William was coming.

As rebellious as she felt about the whole matter, she had promised to give the relationship a try. Maybe this would turn out to be the right direction for her.

She did try to be a lady of her word. Those deceptions she had been involved in, sneaking off to barn dances and even helping her sister elope, were events where she had not given her word. She just hadn’t discussed them with anyone. That way, there would be no temptation to lie.

Tonight, she determined to be on her best behavior, not to tease William when he acted awkward or shy, and in general to be a proper lady. She would make her parents proud of her. Maybe then they would see she could make her own choices. That way, if she later felt William was not the one, they would be more respectful of her choice. Maybe…

She knew her Mother would be scurrying around today, making everything perfect. Emily stretched and yawned. She ought to get up and help. Yes, she would get up and help. That would show her mother she was growing up—actually, she reflected, she was already grown-up.

If people already considered her to be an old maid, then she was grown. They couldn’t have it both ways. And it surely wasn’t her fault that her parents had spoiled her. But maybe it was time to act her age.

Tossing these thoughts around made her hungry. She slipped out of her nightgown, dressed quickly, and flitted down the stairs. Hilda would have a tasty breakfast ready for her. And coffee, there would be coffee today—she had seen Father bringing some of the expensive beverage home just last evening. Emily’s favorite morning drink was coffee. She imagined the smell of the beans and her the sensation of her fingers curling around the mug.

As she entered the kitchen, she was puzzled by the lack of tempting smells. Hilda was only just tying her apron around her stout waist.

My, aren’t you up early? Hilda beamed at her.

Emily was momentarily confused, before she realized that she had never even consulted the clock in the front room. She was up early, and everyone would hear about it and assume it was because she couldn’t wait until tonight.

She frowned and then tossed her head, sending her combed curls flying So, I am ready to help. What should I do? She would ignore the teasing and keep on her best behavior.

Well, your Mama has invited Molly and the whole family, so we have extra cooking to do. And your Mama also said, you can help cook today. That should cheer you up. I think she wants that young man to think you can cook. Hilda laughed her hearty laugh and tied an apron around Emily’s slim waist. You can peel potatoes awhile, and I’ll fix us a nice breakfast.

Emily groaned. "I can’t believe Mother invited Molly. The children will whine, and her husband