Dejected, she limped into her small room, which had formerly belonged to a maidservant, and closed the door behind her. Her father’s portrait stood on the nightstand, the only sight of familiarity and joy. Trembling, she hugged it to herself then fell on the bed and wept.
“I miss you, Papa.” Sobs choked her for a long time while her arm and leg throbbed in pain. She sniffed and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Shivering in her chemise, she pulled the covers around her for warmth.
Her father’s handsome, serious face looked back at her from the photo. “I wish you were here.” Loneliness swept over her in a thick wave of nausea. She stared at her father through blurred vision, trying to imagine what he might say, trying to hear his voice. The Lord is with you. You’re not alone.
If that were true, Anna should be able to feel His presence. She tried to feel God. To feel His closeness. Nothing but the cold draft sighing beneath her door swept over her cheeks and made her shiver.
Why was He so far away?
Not daring to give in to her fear, she wiped her eyes and then scooted up on her elbow, but painful tingles shot through her arm, so she decided to sit up. She kissed her papa’s portrait.
“Tell me a story, Papa. Tell me about the Indians, just like you used to do.” She’d hoped to meet some Indians when they went to Denver City.
With that, an idea struck, and she slid off the bed. Underneath, still packed in her carpetbag, she found the book her father had read before his death. She kept it hidden from her uncle, for he had said it was shameful to read books. She brushed against the jewelry box and Bible that once belonged to her mother. She kept those hidden too.
Anna sighed at seeing the purse of paste jewelry Mariska had given to her. Uncle Horace had released her nanny as soon as they’d arrived, and since then, they’d lost contact. She had likely found work somewhere far away. If only Anna could go somewhere far away too.
She pushed the jewelry box and Bible back farther into the carpetbag and grabbed the book, The Last of the Mohicans. Though her father had read it, he refused to read it to her, saying she was too young.
She climbed back onto her small bed, picked up her father’s picture, and laid the book on her lap. Tenderly, she brushed her fingers across his face. How she missed his blue eyes and warm laughter.
“I wish you were here so you could read to me.” She loved losing herself in the sound of his voice, and right now, it was the only way she could escape her life. Hmm . . . she could simply read the story and imagine him reading it to her.
Drained by her tears, Anna hugged the photo. If only she could leave this place. She didn’t know how, but she knew where—Denver City. That’s where home was supposed to be. Perhaps God would find a way to take her there? He could take her away, far away from New York where nobody wanted her. She would be gone, no longer a burden to anyone.
Yes. He would rescue her.
Please save me, Lord. Take me away from here. Far away.
~*~
New York
May 1870
“It will never happen again,” Anna whispered to herself in the looking glass. After six long years, her uncle had beaten her for the last time. She winced from the pain in her arm where he had punched her the day before. All because she had returned late from the market. He might be growing suspicious of her so-called visits to the marketplace. But the last sewing project had to be turned in, the money she’d earned was now stashed away, and after several letters of correspondence, a teaching job awaited her. Amazing how much one could accomplish on her daily visits to the market.
She turned and pulled her carpetbag out from under the bed.
At sixteen, she had fulfilled her promise to her father and completed her education. Had the tutor not been ordered by the judge to come to the house for her lessons, she would never have gotten any schooling. Her uncle had been set against it. But the school had been paid, and since she couldn’t go to them, they came to her. Thank the good Lord for that.
Now was her chance to leave. Her uncle was away on business for the day, the other maid was gone, and the only one left in the house was the butler who never paid her any mind. She packed the few things she owned into her carpetbag and turned to the bureau.
She smoothed her hand over the surface of her mother’s jewelry box—she’d have to leave it behind. Anna’s mother had died giving birth to her. All she had left were her mother’s gems, given to her at the time of her father’s death, her mother’s English Bible, a few pictures, and what little money she had managed to save these past years from sewing in secret. The jewels were sewn into her bodice. It had been a tedious task, but at least thieves wouldn’t find them.
Anna stashed the fake jewelry her former nanny had given her into a small pouch, pulled the drawstring closed, and put it in her carpetbag. They might come in handy if she were to run into thieves. She’d heard too many stories about the dangers of traveling west. Grabbing her things, she hurried to the front hall.
One last look in the mirror revealed her blond braids stylishly looped, and she pinned her hat neatly in place. Her traveling dress, the only one she had time to make, suited her. Its sage color set off her green eyes, and the bustle was slight so as to provide comfort for traveling.
As she pulled her cloak on over her shoulders, she noticed a gathering of dust along the small shelf below the mirror. She smiled to herself. Never again would she have to slave for her uncle and put up with his beatings. Let him find someone else to dust and clean his house.
Carpetbag in one hand, gloves in the other, Anna van Stralen stepped outside the front door. She strode down the walkway with her chin held high. The entire world was open to her. Freedom and dreams waited to be realized.
The great frontier, her new home—Denver City.
Chapter Two
The New York Grand Central Depot swarmed with people, and after a long wait, Anna’s turn at the counter had finally come.
“One ticket to Denver City, please,” Anna said to the man behind the window.
The man pointed to a map on the wall next to him. “The Transcontinental Railroad can only get you as far as Cheyenne, in Wyoming Territory. The rails to Denver City aren’t completed yet.” He raised an eyebrow as if to question what a young lady was doing traveling alone to the Western Territories.
“Isn’t there a stagecoach from Cheyenne to Denver City?”
“Yes, but you’ll have to buy your ticket there.”
“That’ll be fine.” She had hoped the tracks from Cheyenne would have been completed by now.
“First class or second?”
“Second.”
She swallowed hard. It would take close to one third of her savings to get there, but that’s what part of the money was for, and she’d still have enough to buy some material for new dresses when she got to Denver City. All she had now was what she wore.
The less luggage the better. Besides, all she could have brought were maid’s clothes, and she wanted no memories of her old, miserable life. She handed the man behind the window her cash.
“Your last change of trains will be in Chicago,” the man said.
“Thank you.” She accepted her change.
After wading through people, soot, and noise, Anna finally made it to the hotel car on the train where a porter set her carpetbag on the board above the sofa. She turned and sat.
Through the window the conductor blew his whistle. “Aaallll aaaboooard!”