That night, I wrote postcards to Harriet, Miss Ambrose, Mr. Pickwick, Ole Mr. Thompson, the Coopers, and now the Witherspoons with my update:
I made it safely to Boston by train and am staying with my new friends, the McCarthy family, in their boarding house. And, I found Grandfather Silas! I’ll be staying here to get to know him for awhile. I’ll keep you posted. Love, Emeline
As I wrote each of these postcards I thought about the recipients.
I missed them terribly, not that I have any regrets. On the contrary, this trip has been exciting on many levels: physically, emotionally, and, yes, spiritually. I’m glad I fulfilled my promise to Pa. And, I’m looking forward to reading to and talking with Grandfather Silas. While Boston is a mecca filled with modern advances as well as historic interest, I miss the sky. I miss the openness of the country. And, I miss my friends. In my journal, I wrote:
Tuesday evening, May 13, 1890
Dear Lord, thank you for bringing me this far and leading me to Grandfather Silas. It seems clear to me that what I need to do now is finish out my month with the McCarthys and establish a relationship with Grandfather Silas through daily visits and then return to Indianapolis. I’m so happy that he remembered Pa, finally, through the pocket watch. Please help him remember me tomorrow. And, please show me a way to finance my trip west. Amen.
With a deep breath of satisfaction, I lay the journal on the nightstand and opened my Bible to read Matthew 8. My eyes grew heavy and my mind fuzzy. I lay the Book on the journal, snuggled up in the quilt, and slept.
Wednesday morning, I washed, dressed in my light blue dress, and went down for breakfast around eight o’clock. I enjoyed a small bowl of oatmeal with raisins, milk, and some fresh grapes. Mrs. McCarthy was doing some laundry outside with Mallory, so I joined them for a moment. “Good morning!”
“Good morning, Emeline. How are you today?” Mrs. McCarthy asked.
“Good morning,” said Mallory.
“Fine, thank you. I have a question for you.”
Taking the clothespin out of her mouth to hang up a towel, she said, “What’s that?”
“I was wondering if you need any help with laundry - or even if others that live here might pay me a little to do their laundry? I’ve decided after my month is up, I will return to Indianapolis, and I’ll need to earn money for the trip somehow. What do you think?”
“Yaw, I think that’s a good idea, Emeline. I would certainly enjoy a little time off to do other things, and I know the residents would be open to the idea too. You’ll have to ask them, though,” Mrs. McCarthy said.
“I still want to get to know Grandfather Silas and morning is the best time for his visits. But my afternoons will be free. Can you save any laundry for me to do then?”
“Mama, that would give you and me time to do some sewing or reading,” Mallory said, smiling.
“Certainly, there’s a pile of sheets that need washing. You can take down the towels, fold them neatly, and then wash and hang up the sheets for me. Thank you, Emeline.”
“Do you think I’ll earn enough to pay for a train ticket to Indianapolis by mid-June?”
“I should think so, but you know, you might ask your grandfather too. He may be able to help. But it’s commendable that you’re trying to do it yourself.” She snapped the towel in the air and pinned the corners to the line.
“One more question: May I borrow, just for each day I visit Grandfather, one of the books from your library to read to him? I promise to bring it back every day. I know this is contrary to your rule of the books staying in the room, though. I don’t want to disrespect you.”
“Thank you for your polite request, and since it’s for a good cause, I will allow it. Only one book at a time, though. I know you’ll take good care of it. Which book did you have in mind?”
“I noticed you have The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. That’s the book I was reading to Pa the night before…” My voice trailed off.
“I understand. Of course you may.”
“Oh, thank you, Mrs. McCarthy. Well, I’d better be going. I’ll see you later for supper. Bye, Mallory.”
“Good bye,” said Mallory.
“Have a good time,” said Mrs. McCarthy.
On my way out, I pulled that title from the bookshelf in the parlor and tucked it under my arm. Stepping down to the sidewalk, I skipped over to the O’Connor Lithography building and arrived in just a few minutes.
Inside the front door, I waited for Uncle Trevor. As usual, he managed the work on the floor, spouting off directions to one person and another. After a few minutes, he reached me. “How are you today, Uncle Trevor?”
“Fine, fine. And you?”
“I’m fine.”
“You were the talk of the day yesterday. Your grandfather was happy to meet you, as he will be again today, I’m sure. In fact, he’s ready now. Do you remember how to get up to the third floor?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Excellent. I’ll get back to work. Have a good morning.”
I climbed the two staircases up to the top floor and crossed over the main room to his bedroom.
“Good morning, Grandfather.”
Silas set down the newspaper and looked at me. “Good morning. Who are you again? You look familiar.”
Oh, dear. “I’m your granddaughter, Emeline. We met yesterday, remember?”
“I don’t remember much from one day to the next. About all I remember are memories from way back, which is fine for me, but frustrates other people like Miss Perkins and me son, Trevor. I can see it in their faces; like yours now.”
I smiled, “I’m sorry. We can start over. May I sit near you?”
“Sure.”
“Yesterday morning I was here and you didn’t know me, which I knew you wouldn’t, but I thought you’d remember my pa, Tavis, your son. Do you remember him now?”
“Tavis, aye, me oldest son. He married a young woman and moved west.”
“Right, you remember! I showed you this pocket watch.” I took it from my pocket and let him hold it.
“Me father gave me this.” He opened the back to look at the inscription again.
I reminded him, “Your father gave that to you. You gave it to your son, Tavis, and he gave it to me, his only child.”
“Dat makes you me granddaughter!”
“Yes, Emeline. My name is Emeline.”
“Emeline. Such a pretty name. Please remind me, why are you here?”
Patience. I must have some. “Your son, my pa, Tavis, died recently and on his deathbed, he made me promise that I would come see you because being with family is important.”
“Tavis passed away?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. Would you like to talk about Tavis? I would love to hear your stories about him.”
“He was a good son, always a little different from the rest of us though. He had big dreams that his mother and I didn’t understand. But we were set in our ways, and he was young and inspired by the hope of something bigger and better than life here in Boston. I always knew he didn’t like working in the shop like Trevor did. Too many details for him. Too much precision. Too many rules.”
“I understand. What else?”
“He was in his element whenever we left the city to go hunting, horseback riding, or camping overnight. He loved it there. His eyes widened. He smiled more. We didn’t do it too often, but the idea of leaving town for the country excited him. He loved the ocean too. It’s just down the street, you know.”
“Really? I would love to see the ocean. I haven’t seen it yet. May I take you there?”
“I think we could manage. We do have a fierce steam elevator in the building, so I wouldn’t have to use the stairs.”
“An elevator?” Something else new.
“Miss Perkins!” he shouted toward his doorway.
She appeared, “Yes, sir.”
“Ahh, thank you. Miss Perkins, me granddaughter and I want to go see the ocean. Will you help us outside?”
“Certainly, and I’ll accompany you but stay a safe distance away so you can visit privately.”
“Aye. Let’s go. Getting outside might be grand.”
Soon, we were on the sidewalk. All we needed to do was roll Grandfather’s wheelchair about three blocks to the end of a street, and there it was! An endless view of water and sky, except for a small island and a few sailboats. Way in the distance, past a rocky island, I saw a large steamship with three stacks for the escaping steam. “Is that an island, Grandfather?”
“Aye. That’s Fort Independence. It was built there when I was a boy. The fort is in the shape of a pentagon; it has five equal sides with a pretty interesting history. It’s still manned today.”
Flocks of white birds flew overhead, screeching, and sometimes diving into the water. “What kind of birds are those?”
“Seagulls. They love to catch and eat fish and other seafood that washes ashore.”
“Grandfather, do you mind if I go up to the water?”
“Aye, crack on. I’ll stay here.” He smiled as he watched me run to the ocean.
The water crashed in waves against the shore. Parts of the shore were rocky, and parts were sandy. I took the sandy route and picked up a few seashells on the way. I put them in my pocket for a memory, set my shoes aside, and walked into the shallow waves. The cool salt water and wet sand felt delightful on my bare feet. I stood, arms outstretched, eyes closed, felt the ocean breeze, and smelled the salty air. I listened to the waves wash rhythmically over my feet and legs, and to the seagulls in the air. I loved the open space of water and air and breathed in as much of it as I could.
Turning around, I waved, and Grandfather waved back. Miss Perkins was picking wildflowers nearby. I ran to collect my shoes, and stood by his side as I brushed the sand from my feet and put my shoes back on. “Thank you, Grandfather. I love the ocean. Don’t you?”
“Aye. I used to enjoy contemplating on the shore during late afternoons. It’s a nice place for that. Or reading. Tavis and I used to go over there about a mile or so to fish. He was a good fisherman. We could eat fish every night in those days. Usually, it was striped bass.” We strolled back to the shop, chatting along the way.
Every morning afterward I met with Grandfather and enjoyed his stories as much as he enjoyed mine. We even found time to read all of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, which he and I relished. The end of the month was in sight, and Grandfather understood my desire to return to Indianapolis after all I shared about it. He surprised me by offering to pay for my railroad ticket! I earned enough anyway from doing laundry in the afternoons, so this was quite a bonus. I couldn’t wait to see Dakota, the Witherspoons, and Jonathan again. Grandfather Silas, Penny, and the ocean were glorious distractions in Boston, but, ah, I missed them.
It was nearly mid-June and planning the trip home was done. Grandfather Silas paid for my train ticket: first class! I would enjoy the Pullman cars where the seats were cushioned and everyone had a bunk they could sleep in. And, he included meals.
My clothes were clean and I was packed. Tomorrow, I would be traveling once again. Today, I made my rounds, first to Grandfather, whom I thanked, kissed, and promised I would write. Then, on to the Zuckermans to say good-bye to Penny, Mr. Zuckerman, and James. Finally, after dinner, I said good-bye and gave thanks to the residents and especially to the McCarthy family for helping me.
Clothed in my borrowed nightgown, I leaned against the headboard of my bed, pulled my knees up, and read from Matthew 7:24-25:
“Therefore whosoever heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, which built his house upon a rock:
And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not: for it was founded upon a rock.”
Wednesday evening, June 11, 1890
Thank you, Father in heaven, for being my rock. I treasure your words more than anything for I know all blessings come from you. Bless Grandfather Silas, Uncle Trevor, Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy, and Mallory, and all the kind and generous friends I’ve made during this journey. Please protect me on this return trip and may I be a blessing to the Witherspoon family as we live and work together. In the name of Jesus, amen.
After the night’s sleep, restless from anticipation, I hurried to get ready for the day and made sure everything was packed. I hung the nightgown and robe on the back of the bedroom door, and descended downstairs holding my rucksack under my arm. I dropped it in the parlor, spooned some raisin-oatmeal into a bowl, and sat at the table to eat with Mallory and Mrs. McCarthy.
“Have a glass of milk, Emeline.” Mrs. McCarthy poured milk into a glass from a pitcher on the table.
“Thank you. I will miss you all, and the modern conveniences of Boston, but I promise to write.”
“And we’ll write back,” said Mallory.
“Good,” I said as I gulped the milk down. Where’s Mr. McCarthy?”
“Getting Penny and the carriage ready for your trip to the depot.” Mallory smiled.
And then it was time. With my rucksack on my back, I stood on the steps outside and looked up and down the street at the tall brick buildings, the cobblestone road, memorizing the features, smells, and sounds. Penny clip-clopped around the corner and Mr. McCarthy pulled her up next to me and said, “Whoa! Good morning, Emeline. Ready?” He hopped down to help me into the front seat.
“Yes, sir!” We were on our way.
Mr. McCarthy dropped me off at the depot. I knew exactly where to go and what to do by now. I gave him a big hug. “I’m so glad I met you on the train earlier. I truly appreciate everything you and your family have done for me this last month. I’ll write soon.”
“It was our pleasure. Good-bye, Emeline. Be safe,” he said with a wave of his hand.
My train was waiting for its passengers to board: departure in twenty minutes. I approached the train, showed the conductor my ticket, and he motioned for me to go to the front of the train— to the first car, as I was traveling first class. I gave that conductor my ticket, which he punched and returned. Offering me his arm for balance, I boarded the car.
You can’t imagine the difference between first and third class. This car was like a living room, or parlor, on rails. Ornate ceilings with artwork and lamps accented the length of the car. The curved part of the car near the ceiling had more art, half-circles with paintings, fancy wood trim like the Witherspoons made, and then, underneath that, long doors with embossed artwork on their faces. These were the “bunks” you pull down and sleep on if you want to. Finally, there were the train windows, which were adorned with fancy curtains, and the plush seats that looked like they could seat two. Each seat had diamond, button-tuck upholstery at the top for your head and extravagant decorations embroidered into the lower back. The seat cushion was thick.
Other passengers were dressed like the car: stylish and fancy. I found my way to an empty seat and found I could put my rucksack underneath the seat easily. The conductor came by to make sure all the luggage was put under the seats securely. And then, he made an announcement:
“Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for selecting the Pullman car for your trip today. We will be traveling west, making several stops until we reach San Francisco, California. If you’re going the whole distance, we will be there in about a week. Let me show you how to lower the bunks for sleeping. You simply stand up from your seat and pull down on the handle like this.” He demonstrated. “Against the wall, you’ll see a netting that you will remove and attach to the outside of your mattress to prevent you from falling off. We have ladders to assist with your ascent.”
He continued. “If you are traveling alone, you won’t need this.You can simply turn the bottom of your chair over, back to front, on the hidden hinge. Legs will swing out and lock in place to support it. Do the same with the chair opposite you, and you’ll have a lovely bed. That’s why we only book one person or one couple for every two chairs.”
“Finally, we will serve three meals each day in the dining car behind us. You’ll cross between the cars through this door. Meals are served for one hour at eight o’clock in the morning, one o’clock, and six o’clock in the evening. Don’t be late! There are two small bathrooms: one at the front of this car, and one at the end of the dining car. Knock first before entering, please. I’ll be on board if you have any needs. Enjoy your trip!”
“Well, I never...,” I said to myself. This was going to be so different from my first trip, which I thought was wonderful. I enjoyed this extravagance and knew I would remember it always.
One and one-half days later, I reached the depot in Indianapolis. I stepped off the car, thanked the conductor, and looked around for the Witherspoons.
“Emeline!” Mr. Witherspoon raised his hand and ran toward me. Then he gave me a big bear hug. “Welcome home.”
My eyes began to water from emotion. “It’s great to be here.”
At the house, Mrs. Witherspoon rushed out to give me a hug and help me in the house with my things. “We’ve missed you dreadfully, Emeline.”
Not to be left out, Jonathan sprinted from the wood shop, his long legs covering the distance in seconds. Smiling broadly, he too gave me a long hug and a kiss on the forehead. “I’ve missed you, kid.”
Oh, my! My cheeks flushed. “I’ve missed you too, Jonathan. I can’t wait to work together in the shop again.” Secretly, I wanted more, but I kept that to myself.
Last, but not least, I scampered over to the fence rail and whistled for Dakota. He galloped over to meet me and whinnied with delight. My hands held his head and my face touched his velvet nose. “It’s going to be alright now, Dakota. I’m home, boy.”
Elated, I shared the story of my amazing journey with Jonathan and the Witherspoons that first night. As soon as I bought some stationary, I wrote letters, long ones, to everyone in Kearney, especially to Mr. Pickwick about the farm. I asked him to make a deal with the Coopers so they could pay it off a little at a time over many years to finally own the property. Someday I might visit, but my new home was in Indianapolis.
My blissful life continued at the Witherspoons. I learned more about the art of decorative wood carving and became quite proficient at it. Dakota and I rode together whenever we could, even if only to run errands. Seasons moved like a song through the year: spring planting, and picnics; summer fresh fruits, vegetables, and swimming; fall harvest, preservation, and hayrides; winter reading, writing, sewing, baking, and bonfires. And, like a chorus, we found time for each other in the evenings and on weekends. Jonathan and I became close friends, even though he was a little older. He helped me with all the activities of the year, when he was available, and could always make me laugh.
One day, as I hung the wash on the clothesline, I recalled doing the same thing in Kearney with Ma and at the McCarthys. Strange how such a simple activity could stimulate memories of other people, places, and times. It made me happy to consider myself part of this new family. A family made, not by blood, but of kindness and generosity.
The End
