Getting to the heart of the matter

The schoolmistress let Joesephine stay inside while the others lolled under the redwoods and sat in the tall grass. She had been stunned into her own silence from her exchange with the girl. She decided that afternoon to make a trip to Jo's house and have a word with her parents. Esther had always liked Josephine's folks--they were kind and open-minded, and always listened to her suggestions.

Esther arrived at the Ayer's farm that Saturday, while Sarah was in the yard watering the garden and tending to the first green shoots of what might be peas. Sarah was bent over the tiny starts when she heard the sound of a single horse shuffling slowly up their dirt road. She stood erect and stretched out of habit--waiting to see who might be calling--hoping it wasn't another set of neighbors come to offer false consolations and baskets of food. When Esther's mottled mare came above the horizon, she felt relief, then tensed at the thought that this might be worse than a bunch of nosy neighbors.

Esther saw Sarah watching her approach, she waved and nickered for her horse to quicken her steps. Sarah waved too, then began walking toward her. Esther met Sarah at the gate to the house and dismounted her mare.

"Hello, Sarah, " she said with more gravity than usual.

"Hi Esther, how are you?" Sarah asked.

"I'm worried about Josephine," she blurted out before she even took a moment to hedge her concerns with small talk.

"Well, Esther...I think I know what you are getting at," she sighed, "let's go inside and have some lemonade--you can leave your girl here." Sarah stroked the horse's nose briefly, then turned toward the house.

Conversation in the Parlor

Pappy and Miss Porter were sitting in the headmistress's well-appointed parlor, having tea when Molly and Clarissa returned from their tour with Regina. The two tour guides excused themselves with curtseys and left the trio alone.

Miss Porter gave her newest student a warm smile and patted the settee next to her, inviting Regina to join her. "I hope you enjoyed your first look at the campus. We've been lucky enough to have 20 acres donated by the Wells family and the church. As time goes by we'll expand with new buildings - an art studio, for one - but for now, we have classrooms, dorms, a dining hall, a state-of-the-art kitchen, a chapel, and a gymnasium."

"Sounds like everything you need," Pappy said. He'd been watching Regina's face while Miss Porter spoke, hoping he was doing the right thing. Now that they were in California, he was having second thoughts. Regina had been right when she spoke on the train. If he left her here at Miss Porter's, chances were good he would never see her again. Was he doing the right thing?

"Mr. Reynolds, Colonel," Miss Porter corrected herself. "You're doing the very best thing for Regina. From what I've read of her in your letters and from meeting her, I'm sure she will thrive in our environment. Our graduates are well educated, well-spoken, and well-mannered. You've already given Regina a fine start in life. Miss Porter's School will just add the finishing touches. And she'll have the company of girls from 12 to eighteen as classmates. Some of our students stay on as instructors if they're needed. Our harp teacher, Miss Eller, graduated with our first class."

Miss Porter halted for a moment to let it all sink in. "Regina, you've had a lot to absorb in the last few days. Do you have any questions?"

Regina took a deep breath and considered the question. Questions? She did have questions, but nothing Miss Porter could answer. She wanted to know why her parents had died. Why Gran had to die. Why her Pappy was pawning her off on total strangers on the other side of the country.

"Can I see my room now? I'd like Pappy to see it too, before..." her voice trailed off.

Miss Porter spoke right up. "Certainly, my dear. Let's go now. If you're through with your tea, Colonel?"

Regina Arrives in California

Regina had never been more than 15 miles from home before. She and Pappy had spent two days in Louisville shopping for clothes and luggage for her trip before heading out to board the train to California. Although she protested that Pappy was spending too much of his hard-earned money, her grandfather insisted. He would not have his only granddaughter arriving in California looking like some unsophisticated country bumpkin. It was a long trip but the whole thing was a blur for Regina.

She missed her Gran, she missed her home, she even missed feeding the chickens and weeding the vegetable patch. She stared out at the landscape that blurred with her tears, wishing she were anywhere else. For his part, Pappy let her sit in silence, in part because he understood and was grieving too but partly because he simply didn't know how to explain he was doing this for her own good.

"Pappy?" Regina had asked one night as he tucked her in to her bed in their sleeping car. "I'll never see you again, will I?" Her dark eyes were large and unblinking as she watched his face for a reaction.

"Hush, child," he replied sadly, kissing her forehead. But he couldn't answer her question. "Time to sleep. We'll be there tomorrow and you need your rest."

Obediently, Regina rolled over, hugged herself tightly and willed herself to sleep. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

*****

Miss Porter's was a relatively new school providing a quality education for upper class girls along with the necessary classes to allow them to participate in polite society. The school had been funded and built with old money and Episcopal church backing on several acres in the heart of the central California coast. The teachers were young, educated women and a few old professors, the school's priest* was a tall, thin man with a kindly face and his wife was just as thin with masses of raven curls. Regina and Pappy had traveled via another train down the coast to Miss Porter's. Upon their arrival, they were met by Miss Porter herself, two of the older students.

"Regina, dear," Miss Porter said with a warm smile, "Molly and Clarissa will show you around. Classes have already begun for the term, but I'm sure you can catch up quickly. If you need extra tutoring, just ask your instructors. Molly, dear, will you and Clarissa please show out newest student around. I'd like a word with her grandfather."

When the girls were out of earshot, Miss Porter took the old man by the arm, leading him toward her office. "We have some paperwork to fill out. And don't worry, Mr. Reynolds, Regina will do quite well, I'm certain of it."

Silence

"And fifty percent is a ratio of..." Josephine could barely concentrate on the day's lesson, it was the first completely cloudless day in weeks. The sun shone high in bright white circle of light against the deep blue sky. She was at once pleased that she chose her seat by the window back in fall, even when the dreary grey outside seemed so sad and bleak. Now she fancied the window melting into air, and the walls of the schoolhouse shrinking into tiny planks so the whole class was sitting outside in the glory of spring. She felt lifted and wondered at her levity for a moment.

It was when she realized she hadn't thought of Mitch that day that Josephine almost burst into sobs. Her guilt squeezed her throat like a vise--choking hot tears from her eyes and leaving her face red and flushed.

The school mistress caught sight of Jo by her window seat, as she wiped her face. She had been keeping an eye on the poor girl since hearing about her brother. "Alright, everyone, I think we might stop here and go out for a spell, be back by the bell please."

Josephine turned so that her face was toward the window and away from the others rushing to the door. She didn't hear the soft steps of the schoolmistress but felt a warm hand graze her shoulder.

"Josephine, dear, I want you to know--I understand what you're going through," she paused a moment, trying to discern the younger girl's feelings, "and if you need to talk to someone, or if you want me to give your mother some lessons for you at home..." she trailed off as Josephine turned to meet her face fully. The schoolmistress made a small start, Josephine's eyes looked steely and utterly cold. The tears from moments before had vanished and her stare was not blank, but devoid of the spark always present in the young girl.

The State of the Ayers'

It had been two weeks since Mitchell died, and the family was still in shock. Malcolm and Sarah tried to keep the backbone of their remaining children's lives steady and strong by continuing daily activities as usual--but also trying to offer hints at distractions--an extra trip to town, a longer afternoon meal--anything to lighten their minds. Mitchell was such a loss to both Grant and Jo, he was between them so staunchly, he could negotiate any problem or difference with such ease and love. He always knew how to coax a smile from his little sister, or break the stern scowl habitually on Grant's face.

Sarah knew this was particularly difficult for Malcolm--as he was the middle child in his family too. Malcolm and Mitch often played cards on nights when neither could sleep--they found solace in the shared burden of the middleman, the go-between. Malcolm would never have admitted it, but he favored Mitchell and had hoped to leave the family's affairs to his keeping. Grant was set on making his name in the grandness due south, in San Francisco, and as far as Josephine and her future, Malcolm simply wanted her to grow into more of a lady. Mitchell would have been his answer to everything he hadn't accomplished--Mitch was just like him, and could learn from his mistakes and would listen to him. Now he was gone, and any hope Malcolm had of vicariously escaping his choices had foundered with his beloved son.

Josephine saw through the thin veil barely masking her father's anguish--she knew father had liked Mitch best--even if Grant didn't notice, or care--and she always tried to be the son she knew he wanted instead of a girl. She made a point of being active with her brothers, not fussing with dolls or begging mother to help stitch rosebuds into her socks. She would try to read the books Grant and Mitch brought home, she would ask about the new things happening in the "world." A world that for her, had just shrunk to swirling black thoughts of Mitchell. With him gone, Jo had no bridge to Grant, and she had lost the brother closest to her.

She had never really cried much, and only felt a slow stream of tears seep from her eyes at the
wake. Jo thought a man wouldn't cry--and even though Grant and Malcolm wore glassy eyes the day Mitchell was lain in the earth--neither cried. So she slept. And went to school. And kept silent. Josephine was silent for two weeks and it was only now that Sarah was beginning to think she might do something about it.

Pappy's Plan

Maeve Mackenzie left and, shortly thereafter, so did the rest of the mourners. Pappy and Regina cleared the plates and glasses that were scattered all over the parlor and kitchen and washed up in silence. Regina wanted to say something about the conversation between Pappy and Maeve. But she had no idea how to bring it up without letting on that she'd been eavesdropping. For his part, her grandfather was thinking no further than the empty bed that awaited him upstairs.

The last glass was stowed away in the cupboard and the plates were dried and stacked. The tables had been wiped clean and the floor dry mopped one last time. Regina didn't want to stop working. At least as long as she was cleaning and mopping, she didn't have to think. She didn't have to feel. She didn't have to wonder what lay ahead.

Once in bed, Regina lay awake long into the night, listening to the sounds of the birds in the trees and the summer insects. Sleep finally overtook her, and then her dreams were dark and disturbing. She awoke before dawn in tangled sheets and drenched in sweat. She sat bolt upright and realized she'd been crying. And then she remembered that Gran was gone.

~*~*~*~

Pappy had sat her down after breakfast as she was clearing the table and about to start in cleaning up as Gran would have done if she were still with them. He held her hands as he explained that she was to pack and tomorrow they'd leave, making the long trip by train to California. The new railroad had been built and went from the East Coast and the world Regina knew and loved, all the way across the country to the golden state of California.

Gran and Pappy had known men who'd ventured out West to that place, before it had become a state, to try their hand at getting rich. Stories abounded of gold nuggets lying about, waiting to be picked up. Some had abandoned families and children, wives and homes to attain wealth. Most promised to send for their families, or to return and build large homes and buy great tracts of land. No one did. Some died on the journey, victim to illness, injury, weather or criminals. Some simply disappeared into the life in the great expanses of California. And a very few others returned, penniless and broken by their experiences.

But that had been before Regina's parents had married, before she'd been born. But somehow, in Regina's mind, California was a dangerous place, a land of Indians and immigrants, a wild land barely tamed. Pappy laughed softly when she'd expressed her fears and explained that it was a large place and while some of that might be true in remote parts of California, she was going to a wonderful new school, just for young ladies where she would receive a good education. What he didn't say was that he hoped it would give her the skills and knowledge she would need to find her own way in the world. He knew there was little chance he would to see her graduate.

After the Funeral

Regina finally escaped the crowd of friends, neighbors and people she didn't think she'd ever seen before and slipped out to the large porch that wrapped around the small clapboard home she shared with her grandparents.

'Just Pappy now, though,' she reminded herself sadly.

The rain was still coming down in a slow steady drizzle, wetting the whole world with its own tears. At least that's what Regina, in her odd state of mind thought in a flight of fancy. She sank down, slipping to a seat on the damp porch, clutching her knees to her chest and sighing heavily.

The windows to the house were open to allow the breeze to enter and cool the atmosphere that was currently being overheated by far too many bodies for the small space. Regina could hear snatches of conversation and, occasionally, bits of songs being played on her Gran's old spinet. Gran had had a gift for the instrument, coaxing the most lovely tunes from the old wooden instrument. Pappy had told Regina once that the spinet had been brought from England on a boat over 100 years earlier, but he was fond of telling tall tales and she didn't know if she should believe him or not.

"You possibly can't hope to raise her alone, John. It wouldn't be fair to either one of you."

"I know. I've made some inquiries, Maeve. Don't you worry about us. I know how to take care of my Regina."

From her seat outside, Regina knew she couldn't be seen. She breathed shallow breaths, hoping to hear more. She was 14, almost 15 and she didn't really need that much more raising. Gran had taught her so many things in the past two years. Why didn't Pappy think it wouldn't be fair. She could stay and take care of him. After all, she was a good cook -- even Pappy said so. And he could take care of the few horses and the livestock. They could both till the small garden and, with the help of neighbors and a few hired men, they could still make sure the hemp was harvested and processed.

"Don't wait too long, John," the insistent woman continued. "The girl will get false notions in her head and..." Maeve MacKenzie's voice fell so low that Regina couldn't hear what followed. But as soon as she heard her grandfather's roar, she knew it hadn't been complimentary. Regina sat frozen, waiting and listening.

"My granddaughter is not like your girls. She's got far too much sense in her head to go running after the first fair-haired lad who hands her a flower and a sweet word!" She heard Pappy drawing a deep breath and knew he was calming himself.

"And now, Maeve, I'll thank you to collect your things and leave. I need my privacy. After all," he said, "I just lost my wife." As if the woman was too stupid to remember the funeral and burial of just a few hours ago. And perhaps she was, Regina thought.

A bit of Josephine's history

Josephine Ayers was born on a lovely farm, just outside Eureka, California, the only daughter to Malcolm and Sarah Ayers. Her parent's had some money, from their parents who had scrimped and scrounged every coin and stretched each meal to last for three. Josephine had been raised with two older brothers, Grant and Mitchell.

There were two years between the boys and three between Mitchell and Josephine--Grant being the eldest. Josephine was smallish, with dark, molasses hair and clear blue eyes. Grant and Mitchell had that same deep-colored hair and hazel eyes. The boys might have been twins, they were so similar in stature and mannerism--both tall and broad shouldered, adept at sports and hefting the heavy bales of alfalfa on the farm.

They played well together, alternately teasing and watching out for each other. Jo liked trying to keep pace with her big brothers, whether it was climbing the massive oaks on their land or catching tree frogs. Grant and Mitchell never treated Jo like a sissy or like she was weak, but instead gave her a sense of independence and strength, as they knew she would one day need careful attention when the neighbor boys came calling. Josephine's life seemed idyllic and charmed, and for the most part, it was.

On a summer fishing trip, Grant and Mitchell having no luck with their flies, decided to take refuge from the searing sun in the cold water. Mitchell and Grant were taking turns dunking each other while Jo and their parent's laughed from the shore. The cold water and sun must have caused Mitchell to falter--he dipped below the water's surface. Mitchell drowned in the Trinity River.

A Bit of Regina's History

The neighbors filled the small home. They'd brought casseroles and plates of food, jars of preserves and even half a wheel of cheese. It didn't matter. Regina knew it would never last long enough, would never be enough to keep them through the winter. Now that her beloved Gran was dead, her Pappy was all she had left. And she was his only living family.

The burial service had been short. No one wanted to stand too long in the drizzle and cold wind. Tall, gangly Regina would have stood there all day if she could only have heard her Gran's voice one last time. Gran had been her rock, her comfort after her parents had died of smallpox two years earlier. Pappy always blamed their sickness on the trip they'd taken to New Orleans. "A damnable town, full of sinners and liquor mongers. Don't know why they had to go."

Gran would always shush him, especially when Regina was around and listening. Gran had never wanted her only living grandchild to have anything other than a positive image of her parents. Gran had loved her son with a love that would have forgiven him anything, but Pappy had never been the forgiving sort. Pappy hadn't thought the raven-haired girl his boy had married was nowhere near good enough for his family. After all, her folk were just Kentucky Hill people and generally regarded as uneducated hicks.

His granddaughter was another story. The night Regina was born, Pappy had lit off some fireworks he'd bought from a passing peddler. Most of the sparklers had fizzled dismally, but a few had shot into the heavens and exploded with a starburst of light and beauty. In her grandfather's eyes, Regina was the most beautiful, most intelligent child ever. It was a wonderfully accepting and loving place to visit.

Until Regina's parents had died suddenly within two weeks of one another. Gran had been at their home, a scant half mile away, caring for the patients. The doctor from the next town had warned her that the patients had smallpox and she and Regina were likely to be infected too if they didn't leave. She sent Regina off to stay with her grandfather but Gran refused to leave her beloved son and his sick wife. Gran, a neighbor lady and even occasionally the doctor cared for Darnell and Joanna until the disease claimed them. Then, tired and bone-weary, Gran returned to her own home and began the job of raising her granddaughter, something she'd never planned on.

'And now Gran is gone,' Regina thought, tears welling in her brown eyes. 'I miss her so much.'

Begin at the Beginning

This is a work of fiction, written by the two of us. It is set after the time of the California Gold Rush and the completion of the Transcontinental Railroad. The Civil War is over, the country is recovering, the West still beckons and the country is growing economically as well as politically. It's an interesting time.

Neither of us has ever done this kind of tandem writing before, nor do we have much experience in novel writing. With those caveats, we invite you to read and enjoy!