Daisy dropped into bed that night, exhausted and happy. She had enjoyed the company of Helena and Bennett, and had been glad they kept their public displays of affection to a minimum. If she had to guess, she would say Helena had spoken to Bennett before the concert about Daisy’s sorry lack of a love life and suggested that maybe they shouldn’t flaunt their relationship.
Whether Helena had said something or not, Daisy was glad of it. She woke up Saturday morning feeling refreshed and ready to work, which was good because she spent every minute for the rest of the weekend working and was able to hand Mark John the files containing her completed assignments first thing Monday morning.
Mark John told her she had done a “nice job,” which was high praise coming from him. She was glad when he suggested she get back to work on the articles about women’s history she had set aside over two weeks previously. Before he could change his mind she took her laptop and tote bag and headed for the Library of Congress. This visit she took her time wandering through the Great Hall of the magnificent Jefferson Building, admiring the artwork, the friezes, the mosaics on the ceilings, the floors, and the walls. Everywhere she turned she saw a sight more magnificent than the last. The murmuring of the tourists in the gallery subsided to a mere hush in her ears as she wandered around, trying to take it all in. She had seen the Great Hall before, of course, but it had been a long while since she had taken the time to enjoy it. She had worked so hard for Mark John over the past two weeks, she figured she deserved an hour-long break to sightsee in the library. She even stood in line to go up the stairs to the observation room where people without research passes could see into the Main Reading Room. She couldn’t decide if she liked the view from above better than the view from the ground—they were both incredible.
When she had seen as much as her senses could handle for one day, she went back into the cool silence of the Main Reading Room to get back to work on the women’s history research. She sat well away from any other people so she wouldn’t bother them by typing on her laptop, then spent the rest of the day happily immersed in books, articles, and online resources for her research. It was toward the end of the afternoon when she checked the clock and thought for the first time that day about taking a look at the library’s dime novel collection. She hadn’t gotten a chance to read any more of the novel about Widower Sheppard, and she intended to get back into it that evening after work. She first checked the Library of Congress website to learn more about their dime novel collection and then went to the Rare Book Reading Room to inquire about them for herself.
It so happened that the librarian who greeted Daisy when she went to the Rare Book Reading Room was studying the library’s dime novel collection. She was fascinated by Daisy’s tale of the book Brian had lent her, and was excited to hear that Brian was planning to donate it to the library. With just a short time left before the library closed, the librarian offered to get one of the dime novels so Daisy could take a look at it. Daisy wanted to compare a dime novel from 1910, the year of the book she had at home, to one of the older editions.
When the librarian brought the book out, Daisy was mesmerized. She asked the librarian to turn the pages for her so she could take pictures with her cell phone, and the librarian kindly obliged. One of the things Daisy found most interesting about the dime novel was the advertising printed inside. It told the modern-day anthropologist what readers had been interested in learning at the turn of the twentieth century. Mostly the advertisements consisted of books and song lyrics. There were ads for books about managing pets and children, in that order, about making canoes, and about debating. There were ads for learning magic, playing cards, and becoming one’s own doctor. Daisy was enthralled. She made a note of the librarian’s name and promised to visit again soon.
Visiting the Rare Book Reading Room had rekindled Daisy’s interest in getting back to the book Brian had lent her. She looked forward to spending the evening in her apartment with a glass of wine, her white gloves, and the story of the Widower Sheppard.
Following the death of the elderly Mrs. Sheppard, her sons and daughters eventually found more prosperous jobs. Unfortunately, one of the three sons moved far enough away, to the State of Maine, that he never did see his brothers or sisters again during his life on earth. Another son, our Young Sheppard, moved south, to the capital city of the United States. He had heard there were jobs for carpenters in the growing city and he went to make his mark. Sadly, his young wife perished on the trip, having been trampled by a horse who had been spooked. Our Young Sheppard had thus become a widower for the first time.
Young Sheppard mourned the death of his poor wife, naturally. But the time came when he chanced to meet another lovely young woman, one whose father owned a large number of buildings in the federal capital and who was quite wealthy. Of course Young Sheppard had known wealth growing up and he impressed the young woman’s father with his knowledge of the pursuits of the affluent, such as racing, boating, and travel abroad. The father took a keen interest in Sheppard and eventually became the proud father-in-law of the young man. It was not long before Sheppard was the valuable assistant of his father-in-law and was prospering beyond what he had dared to hope following the imprisonment of his own father.
When the grandchildren were born the wife’s mother and father could barely contain their glee. They showered the young children with love, with gifts, and with delightful experiences, such as riding along the Potomac River, vacationing in the mountains of Virginia, and visiting the seaside. You see, dear reader, the children’s grandparents had never expected to be blessed with grandchildren and were grateful to be given by God the opportunity to shower love on their own grandchildren.
Thus it was with great sadness that the grandparents said good-bye to their daughter, their son-in-law, and their two beloved grandchildren when the time came for the small family of four to move west to take advantage of the building boom that was occurring with the westward expansion of the United States.
Mrs. Sheppard missed her parents dreadfully in the months after the family’s departure from Washington, and though Mr. Sheppard tried his hand at farming, was exceedingly successful, and did his best to provide them with all the comforts of wealth and security, it was never enough for poor Mrs. Sheppard. She was lonely and despondent, even with the love of her children, and she eventually fell into an illness that only a return to her parents could cure.
When the children were still very young, Mrs. Sheppard disappeared one night, never to be heard from again. Though Mr. Sheppard assured the children their mother had returned to the bosom of her own family, he was not able to contact her or discern her whereabouts. Mr. Sheppard received letters from his wife’s parents, meant for their daughter, which indicated they had no idea their daughter was missing and in fact believed she was still with her young family in the western territories of the United States. Mr. Sheppard promised the children he would do everything he could to locate his wife, but in the end he was forced to admit that she had probably died on the arduous trip east. The children were inconsolable.
Mr. Sheppard and his children could not stay in the town where they had settled, given the sadness that permeated every corner of their home. So again, Mr. Sheppard, who would end up changing the family’s surname within a short time, uprooted the children and began the trek further west. He did not know where he was going, only that he would stop when he came to a town that needed a carpenter and where he could farm and raise his children in peace.
After what seemed like an endless trek over miles of undulating prairie, the small family with a new surname arrived in the Nebraska Territory (we, however, dear reader, shall at least temporarily continue to refer to them as the Sheppards).
Here Daisy stopped, a little surprised that her nighttime reading was again taking her to Nebraska. She lay awake for a long time, wondering how Mrs. Sheppard could have left her children and her husband behind to return to Washington and the comfort of her own family’s home. How could any mother do such a thing? It was almost beyond comprehension. But how badly must she have missed her parents to leave like that? It was heartbreaking to think about the millions of people who left cities in the east to make a better life for themselves out west over the course of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. So many of those families never saw their loved ones again. The mails were slow and unreliable, and often families moved again and again before their correspondence could catch up with them. But the book said letters were arriving for Mrs. Sheppard from her parents. How sad, Daisy thought. The Sheppard children would never know what happened to their mother. She wondered why Mister Sheppard had changed the family’s name and whether mail from his wife’s parents would continue to reach them.
Daisy flung her arm over her eyes so she wouldn’t see the lamplight from the street outside reflected on her bedroom wall. That’s the problem with me, she thought. I get too caught up in the stories I read. I can’t research all of them. And the story about Widower Sheppard is merely fiction.