Nothing was familiar. What happened? I was in another place; not on earth. There was no pain. Everything was bright white and light. Beautiful music was everywhere. There was an indescribable and overwhelming feeling of love that enveloped my mind and heart. “Am I dead? Is this Heaven? Oh, Jesus, if I’m dead, please take me.” I felt as if I were rising up, up, and up - almost flying. And I saw a hand and white-robed arm reaching down.
As suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone; melted away. I was jostling around in the back of a wagon. My belongings were there too. And Dakota was looking at me from behind the wagon. “What’s happening?”
In the dark, a woman in a pretty, cotton calico dress sat next to me. “Shh. You’ll be alright. You’ve been hurt.” She adjusted a bandage on my forehead. “Samuel and I found you on our property. We’re taking you to our house where we’ll take good care of you.”
Unable to control them, tears fell down my cheeks. I had lost that beautiful, miraculous moment and had returned to earth. The impact of such a moving experience is difficult to describe; almost unbelievable, yet it was real. Never before have I felt anything like that in my life.
“She’s had a shock, Samuel. She’ll be alright,” the woman said.
“Good. Here we are, home again,” he said.
Reining in my emotions, I asked, “Please, may I know your names?”
“I’m Clara and our driver is my husband, Samuel Witherspoon. Welcome to our home. What is your name?”
I had to think. “Oh, my name is…,” I paused, trying to remember it. “Oh, yes, my name is Emeline. Emeline O’Connor.”
The horse and cart had stopped. Samuel reached over the side of the cart and lifted me up in his strong arms. I winced with pain.
“I’ll open the door, Samuel.” Clara had stepped out of the cart and was headed up the path to a beautiful porch with an elaborate wood railing.
She opened the oak door, also decorative, and we entered the house. Samuel placed me on a single bed in a small room off what I supposed was a parlor or greeting area. “Oh,” I said, my head pounding. “Thank you, Mr. Witherspoon.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll be back after I take care of things outside.”
Clara drew up a chair by my bedside. On her lap she held a box with antiseptic and medications in it. She also had a soft cloth, a sponge, some clean water in a pan, and strips of cloth bandages. “I don’t know exactly what happened to you, but from the looks of it, someone tried to strangle you and your head must have hit a rock or something. There are bruises on your neck and a nasty gash on your forehead. Do you remember anything, Emeline O’Connor?”
“I’m traveling to Boston and I was just getting ready to go to bed in my tent. My horse, Dakota, made some noise and I went to investigate. Two men were there. I asked them to leave, but they wouldn’t. The last thing I remember was that the taller of the two hid behind Dakota to shield himself from view and then lunged over to me and grabbed my neck.” Then I shared the miracle of my visit to heaven with her.
“Oh, my goodness!” Clara took off the soiled bandages and wiped my forehead with an antiseptic soap and a sponge. “You might have been killed! It sounds like you had a peek at heaven.” She patted the wound with a soft towel, put something greasy called Vaseline on it, and taped a cloth bandage over the top. “There now, that cut should heal nicely.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Witherspoon.”
“You’re welcome. You get some rest now. I’ll check on you in the morning. Good night, Emeline.”
“Good night.”
The feather pillow was soft under my head and the down coverlet wrapped around my body keeping me toasty warm. My head ached, but it didn’t hurt as badly as it had last night. The smell of roasted coffee beans wafted over me as I took in my surroundings. My room was simply furnished: a single bed; a chair; a small table in the corner with a bowl, washcloth, towel and a pitcher of water; and a rack with hooks on the back of the door. What I did notice was the woodwork around the doors and windows. They were surrounded by wide grooved planks of honey-colored wood, which had grooves on them, and in the corners were beautiful, ornate carved pieces.
“Good morning, Emeline. Did you sleep well?” Clara came in with a change of clothes for me. “I found this dress in your pack. Would you like to wear it today?” It was my rosebud dress with the sage sash! I remembered the last time I wore it I was with Miss Ambrose.
“Yes, ma’am, thank you.”
“Are you able to change or will you need help?” She also gave me my bag with my hairbrush and ties, soap, toothbrush, and toothpaste.
“I can manage.”
“Good. Come on out when you’re ready.” She smiled and closed the door behind her.
I took advantage of this opportunity to brush my teeth and wash myself, except for my hair which didn’t need it yet. As I gingerly brushed my hair, I was careful not to hit my forehead or push too hard. Then I dressed. I smoothed the gathers on my skirt, tied the sash around my waist, and pulled my hair back with the matching hair scarf. I laid my soiled clothes in a pile behind the door, and came into the separate kitchen and dining area.
“Good morning, Emeline,” said Samuel. “How are you feeling today?”
“So much better, thank you. I slept like a rock in that comfy bed.” I took my seat across from him at the heavy trestle table. It was already set with white plates, flatware, and red cloth napkins.
“Emeline, would you like a cup of coffee?”
“I usually drink water or tea, but I’ll try some. It smells delicious.”
“Here you go.” She set a cup of coffee on a saucer in front of me.
I took a sip. “Mmm. Such full flavor, it tastes good. I like it.”
Clara was frying a mix of diced potatoes, onion, and bacon. The room was full of good smells.
“I put all of your belongings in the parlor last night. After breakfast, we’ll take inventory,” Samuel said.
I nodded and smiled, wrapping my hands around the warm coffee cup, my eyes meeting his.
“Here we are.” Clara brought over two bowls for us: one with the potatoes and the other with scrambled eggs. She refilled our cups and took her place at the table.
“Thank you Clara,” Samuel said as he passed around the food. Once we all had filled our plates, he prayed.
“Dear God, thank you for all you have done, are doing, and will do in our lives. And, thank you for leading us to Emeline. We pray for the speedy healing of her wounds. Bless this good food to our nourishment. Amen.”
“Amen,” I said. The food tasted so good. “This breakfast is amazing, Mrs. Witherspoon. I thank you.” When we had finished eating, I helped her clean up before we went into the parlor.
There on the floor was everything I had packed with me with one exception. “They took the money from my rucksack: the better part of twenty dollars and all the coin I had! But, everything else seems to be here. And my horse is here. Did they take his saddle?”
“No. I put it in the barn with your horse. He’s enjoying hay and oats with ours.”
“That’s good. I’m surprised they didn’t take Dakota and the saddle too.” I didn’t say anything yet about my money belt, which I was still wearing. I’ll have to figure how long that money will last. “Thank you for taking care of Dakota.”
“Surely. Happy to do it. We’d love for you to stay awhile, till you’re ready to leave. Will you share your story with us? We’d like to know more about how you came to be here.”
“It’s a long story. Shall we sit?”
Samuel filled a cushioned armchair while Clara rocked her rocking chair. I sat on a cushioned stool they called an ottoman. I shared all that had happened since Pa’s death, which took some time. Afterward, I asked, “You have a beautiful home. How did you come to be here?”
Samuel began, “My grandparents came from Scotland to America a long time ago. They were skilled woodworkers, and I continue doing their work today.”
Clara said, “Samuel is very well-known in Indianapolis for his decorative wood trim. His work is found around the doors and windows, balusters for railings, fancy wooden staircases, custom lathed posts, and gingerbread trim for porches, gables, and the like.”
“Boy! That’s impressive. What a thrill to continue in your family’s tradition.”
“I do enjoy it and take a great deal of pride in my work. And we make a good living doing it. With all the hardwood lumber in Indiana, its a perfect location. Anyway, I met Clara, here, at a fall festival dance about ten years ago.”
“We fell in love immediately,” she laughed. “And we were married the next year.”
I didn’t see any children, so I thought it best not to ask about that. “That’s nice.”
“Would you like a tour of the shop?” Samuel asked.
“Really? Yes, please.”
We walked out onto the porch, down a couple of steps, and over to a huge barn-like building. Stacks of hardwood boards and smaller sticks were at one end inside the building. It smelled of oak and maple; warm and lovely.
“This is my workbench where I design decorative gingerbread trimmings. Also, I do flatwork carving and special molding.” Under the workbench was a large wooden box with several drawers. He opened them. “These are my chisels and knives; all different sizes. I have another case like this next to the lathe.”
“You have quite a lot of them,” I said. “They look very sharp.”
“They have to be.” Pointing to another shelf, he said, “Then there’s my plane to make the wood even and smooth. Some planes are specially made for different styles of molding. Next to it is my adjustable ruler, square, and level. They’re indispensable for trueing up the lumber.” He picked up a tool with two arms with points on the ends and spread them apart and back together again. “This is a compass. I can measure angles and make circles with this. For bigger circles, I have this scribe tool.”
“I was wondering how those circles were so perfect. I saw them in the corners of the trim in your house.”
He held up another tool with a funny shape. “This is a drill bit auger for drilling holes. And, of course I have plenty of saws.” He pointed to them hanging on one wall. “I love working with all of these hand tools, but this is my newest machine. It’s called a wood lathe. See, it has three different speeds; you simply change the belt from the small to the medium or large wheel. The large wheel is the slowest. The stick of wood goes between these two points and is held fast.”
“Could you show me how it works?”
“Sure.” He pulled up a stool, placed his right foot on the peddle underneath and the stick of wood turned. He placed a chisel on the wood in a spot as it turned. The wood came off all around! As he moved it in and out, and up and down the length, he created a beautifully shaped piece. “It takes a steady hand and a plan to be able to repeat the same design over and again.”
“Fascinating! It’s no wonder you love doing this. You’re quite the artisan.” One more tool stood in the corner near the back door of the shop. It had two huge wheels and a little saw blade between them. A metal table was in the center. “What is that?”
“Oh, I almost forgot, that is my band saw. I use it to cut out the gingerbread pieces.”
“I’d love to watch you do that sometime.”
“Yes, if you’re still here when I get my next order, you certainly may. Let’s get back to the house. Clara will be looking for you.”
Clara was watching us from the front porch. As she saw us coming, she asked, “How did you like the shop, Emeline?”
“It was wonderful.” I smiled and looked at Samuel. “I hope you know how talented your husband is.”
She smiled. “Yes, I know. Let’s you and I chat while Mr. Witherspoon gets some work done today. He’s got to finish an order of balusters before Monday. It’s a good thing he has an apprentice, Jonathan. He’ll be over later today.”
“Call me when supper’s ready, Clara,” Samuel said as he strode back to the shop.
“I will. Be careful, Samuel.”
“Is this Wednesday?” I had lost track of time.
“Yes, it is,” Clara said.
“I need to do my devotional. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
I lifted my rucksack up from the parlor floor and ambled into the small room. I opened the Bible to Matthew 5:8.
“Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.”
I wrote:
Wednesday, March 26, 1890
“Dear Heavenly Father, I think I visited heaven last night. I want to be moral, upright, and pure in my life and someday come back to You. Thank you for letting me experience Your love. I love you, too. Amen.”
I closed my journal and Bible and looked for Clara. She was in the kitchen now, peeling potatoes and carrots. “May I help?”
“Yes, have a seat. I’ll get you another peeler.”
We chatted as we peeled. A whole chicken with onions was braising on the stove and filled the air with its aroma. I was grateful that this loving couple had found me and taken care of me.
The next morning, I woke and read Matthew 5:9.
“Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.”
I wrote:
Thursday, March 27, 1890
“Thank you, Lord, for all you do for us. Bless the Witherspoons and let me be a blessing to them. Amen.”
After my morning routine of washing, I found a pretty olive green calico dress, a deep yellow scarf, and a matching yellow sash hanging on the back of the door for me. It had a note pinned to it: ‘Let’s wash up your clothes today.’ Clara must have put that there. Even though it was a little loose, the sash gathered it around me nicely. “How kind!” There were even pockets in the side seams. I put a quarter in one of them from my money belt.
It was after seven o’clock and Samuel was already in the shop. The medicine box sat on the table next to some scissors and cotton balls. “Good morning, Emeline. That dress looks pretty on you. Let’s change that dressing first.” She pulled off yesterday’s dressing, which didn’t stick because of the vaseline, and cleaned it off again. “Actually, you’re healing pretty quickly. I think one more day with a bandage and then we can leave it open to the air tomorrow. How do you feel today?”
“I feel fine. No more headache. Thank you for everything. I love this dress; the green goes with my hazel eyes.”
“The yellow really sets off your dark brown hair too. Would you like some breakfast? We’ve already eaten, but I can fix you some oatmeal if you like.”
“Oatmeal would hit the spot. Thank you.”
As I ate the prepared hot cereal, we talked over immediate and future plans.
“So, Emeline, let’s chat about your plans.”
“As soon as my head heals, I must continue on to Boston, although I’m becoming quite nervous about riding Dakota the whole way alone after what happened. It seems the farther east I go the more people there are.”
“Yes, and it will become quite crowded in some places, you’ll find. Especially in big cities like Philadelphia, New York, and Boston.”
“I’ve lost over half of the money I started out with. And, I’ve spent some too. I don’t expect I should need much more than what I have if I just ride Dakota, but…”
“Have you thought of riding the train?”
“What would I do with Dakota? Could he go with me?”
“He could, I suppose, on the right train, but it would cost more. Dakota could stay here with us until you can send for him.”
“That’s a good idea. But how much is the train?”
“I don’t rightly know, but we can find out at the station in Indianapolis.”
“I’d still be alone on the train. How safe is it?”
“Pretty safe, most likely, but anything can happen anywhere in this world. It must be safer than traveling alone. Maybe you could send a letter to your grandfather and he could come here to ride with you?”
“I haven’t written to anyone since I left! I promised Miss Ambrose and Ole Mr. Thompson I would too. And, I haven’t written to my grandfather. I don’t know his address.”
“He doesn’t even know you’re coming?”
“No. He actually has never met me. Pa told me to take his gun for proof of who I am. You see there were initials carved… Oh, no! I don’t remember seeing his gun in my belongings in the parlor.” I scrambled to my feet and ran to the parlor to check. “No gun.”
Sensing panic, Clara asked, “Do you have anything else of your Pa’s?”
“Yes, I have his knife and Bible.”
“Look in the front of the Bible. People often put their family tree information there.”
I hurried to the bedroom and opened the Bible to the first pages. “Yes! There is my name. And, there are the names of my parents, his parents and grandparents, and Ma’s parents and grandparents too.”
“Perfect. Then the Bible will be your proof.”
Relieved, I said, “May we take the cart into Indianapolis? I need to check the price of a train ticket and get a few two-cent postcards.”
“We can check with the library to see if they have any references for people living in Boston.”
“Yes. I have no idea where my grandfather lives - or even the name of his lithography company. All I know is his name: Silas O’Connor.”
“Alright, let’s get the horse and cart ready.” She moved the pot of chicken to the side of the stove. “This will hold warm until we return.”
“I can help, Mrs. Witherspoon! Show me the tack room.” The horse barn had a separate tack room where bridles and bits hung on the wall, saddles straddled narrow benches, and a few blankets were stacked on a table. Currycombs and other necessities lay on a shelf. Next to Dakota, was a handsome chestnut quarter horse with a flaxen mane and tail and a white blaze down the front of his face. “He’s gorgeous! What’s your horse’s name?”
Clara picked a bridle and approached the horse, letting him know she was there by touching his flank, and I picked up the top saddle blanket and followed. “His name is Applejack. He utterly adores apples.”
“So does Dakota.”
Once Applejack was hitched to the buggy, we were on our way. When we arrived in town, our first stop was the train station. Arched windows graced all the walls and the train’s tracks ran right through the middle of the station. Clara waited with the cart while I went inside. At the ticket counter, I asked, “How much is a one-way ticket to Boston?”
The ticket master answered, “For one person, first class is $100, second class is $70, and third class is $30.”
“How long is the trip?” I asked.
“About one full twenty-four-hour day plus six hours, miss.”
“Boy, that’s fast!”
He smiled, “Yes, miss. Steam engines are changing the world. It would be faster if we didn’t stop at several towns along the way for passengers and to fill up with water. When are you planning to go? We have a train leaving every day but Sunday.”
“I’m not sure yet. Thank you for the pricing.”
“You’re welcome.”
I shared the information with Clara. “So I’ll need more money just for the train ride, and I probably will need some to live on until I locate my grandfather.”
“We’ll tell Mr. Witherspoon. Maybe you can help out in the shop and earn some money. I’m sure he’d love to help.”
My eyes lit up at the prospect of working on the wood lathe. “Oh, I do hope so.”
“Let’s go to the library and ask if they have any records of people or businesses in Boston.”
“Alright.”
The library was even bigger than the train station. It had banks of rectangular windows all around the second story, and arched windows all around the main floor. There were even smaller windows for a basement level underground! Inside were tremendous darkly stained, wooden bookcases filled with books of all kinds. I advanced to the front desk. “Would you have any information about where people live in other cities, like Boston? Or, even businesses?”
“I’m sorry, miss. We have that kind of information for Indianapolis, but not other cities. Can I help with anything else?”
I noticed there were postcards for sale on the desk, each with a picture of the library on it. “I’d like five of those please.”
“That will be ten cents.”
I pulled a quarter from my side pocket and tucked away the change. “Thank you.” I slipped the postcards in the other side pocket and tiptoed over to Clara who was browsing the titles in the fiction section.
“All set?”
“Yes, ma’am. I found the postcards here, but no information on where Grandfather Silas might live.” We returned home to talk to Samuel.
That afternoon, we did my laundry and hung my clothes up to dry. Then we finished the supper of chicken, potatoes, and carrots. We each enjoyed a healthy portion, which included a chunk of wheat bread.
In the evening, we sat in the parlor, visited about my plans, and discussed the possibility of my helping in the shop. Samuel was excited to give me a lesson the very next day!
I still had decisions to make. Thoughts swirled through my head as I lay in bed. Sleep eluded me. Do I continue on to Boston alone on the train? Do I continue to Boston riding Dakota? Or, should I stay here with the Witherspoons? Or, return home? If I take the train to Boston, what will happen to Dakota? Will I ever see him again? I can’t ask Pa; I have to decide for myself. What do I really want?