Chapter 1
Gordon’s Bay, Pennsylvania
The rain rattled on the roof of the train station. Heather Barnaby tried to hold back the flood of tears that was pressing against the corners of her eyes. She so badly wanted things to stay the same. Losing Mr. and Mrs. Miller would break her heart.
Of course, it was impossible for them to stay in the tiny town of Gordon’s Bay on Lake Erie. Even Heather herself wasn’t staying. She had to go, and so did they.
It was the thought that they would no longer be there that made the cracking open of her world seem so vivid in her mind and hollow in her heart. Heather loved her adoptive parents very much, and the move felt too much like losing them for her to be happy.
She wanted them to stay put like figures in a tintype picture.
Never moving, never changing, always right where you left them.
She knew that just because there would be miles between them physically didn’t mean they would love her any less or that she would suddenly stop being their daughter.
Still, the worry niggled at her. Since the death of her birth parents, Heather wasn’t terribly at home with change.
But wasn’t one constant of life that it would always be in a state of flux? Heather was certain she had read that somewhere.
So perhaps the only place where things could stay even vaguely the same was in her memory.
When she felt that she was spinning out of control, starting to lose her hope and her spirit, she could close her eyes and remember.
Then she would always see Mr. and Mrs. Miller as she had seen them for years.
Mr. Miller, behind the counter, measuring a gentleman for a new suit, and Mrs. Miller, showing off the lace selection to a young woman about to get married.
Those images would always be with Heather and remind her of the happiest times in her life.
God, please bless them and keep them safe, she prayed.
“You’ll be sure to wear a hat, won’t you? That Texan sun is apparently a real scorcher,” Mrs. Miller said, straightening Heather’s jacket collar. She held her handkerchief in one hand and sniffed daintily. “I’m going to miss you so.”
“I’m going to miss you too,” Heather admitted, tearing up again.
“Don’t either of you start crying, or we’ll never make it onto the train,” Mr. Miller said, but his eyes were shining with unshed tears too.
“Oh, don’t pretend this isn’t a sad day for you too,” his wife admonished him. “She’s our daughter, Henry, and we’re leaving.”
“I know. Did you think I forgot or something?” he asked and opened his arms. “Come on, Heather. One last hug before we go.”
Throwing her arms around Mr. Miller, Heather hugged him hard.
“I love you,” she said. “Please write to me. I’m going to write to you every week.”
“I hope so. I want to know all about this mystery town that your young man is from,” Mrs. Miller said with a sly wink.
That wasn’t entirely accurate. Mark wasn’t from Unity originally, but this wasn’t the time to argue semantics.
After releasing Mr. Miller, Heather turned to the woman who had been her adoptive mother for over ten years. “Thank you so much for everything,” she said, hugging the plump older woman tight. “I’m so glad you took me in when Ma and Pa died.”
“As though we would have let you go to that horrible asylum,” Mrs. Miller said with a snort as she wrapped her arms around Heather.
They stood like that, just holding each other for a while until Mr. Miller gently touched their arms. “We have to go. The train is about to pull out of the station. Take care, Heather.” He kissed her forehead.
“You too. Say hi to Theresa for me,” Heather called as Mrs. Miller let go of her and they walked away.
Heather watched them run, hand in hand, to the train and climb aboard. For a moment they disappeared as they closed their compartment’s door. It felt so final, as though that was it; she would never see them again.
Then their cheery faces appeared in the window and Heather raised her hand and waved, trying desperately not to cry. However, the tears ran down her cheeks anyway, despite her best efforts.
With a chugging sound and a belch of steam, the Millers’ train began to roll out of the station.
That was when it really hit her. There would be the odd letter, maybe a telegram or two, definitely something for birthdays and Christmas, but she was unlikely to ever see these people again.
Mrs. Miller with her kind blue eyes and Mr. Miller with his impish grin.
They had been so kind, taking her in and raising her alongside their own daughter without ever making Heather feel less or like she didn’t belong.
They had enveloped her into their lives completely, and she was the self-assured young woman she was because of them.
With no reason to hold back anymore, Heather stopped fighting her sadness and sobbed into her handkerchief for a moment. A chapter of their lives was coming to an end, and she felt that it was worth a tear or two, but not more because there was also something new coming.
When her sobs were done, she dabbed at her eyes with her lace-trimmed handkerchief and then took a deep breath. Yes, it was scary, stepping out into something new, but Heather had done it before, and she could do it again. God would guide her.
Heather’s train would be leaving from the other side of the station, and she had to hurry to get there, or she would miss it entirely.
Which would be a disaster since she had handed her luggage in to be loaded on the train when she arrived at the station.
She had a lot of luggage. Well, she could hardly start her new life as a haberdasher without everything she had stuffed into three large wooden crates.
Along with her steamer trunk and valise, she wasn’t traveling light.
With one last look down the track after the Millers’ train, she hurried off to find hers.
It was sitting on the tracks like a long centipede. People were scuttling around it like little ants, loading and unloading things. Some folks were already boarding the train, disappearing into their compartments like the Millers had.
Heather would have to hurry.
Her compartment was near the front, being one of the cheaper ones. Pulling her ticket from her pocket, she read the numbers on the doors to find the right one. She looked up the length of the train toward the engine. The luggage carriage was up that way.
She could see it from where she was, and it looked as though some men were offloading a wooden crate. It was hard to be sure, but it looked suspiciously like one of hers. She had asked them to paint “Fragile” in red paint on the side of her crates to make certain they were handled with care.
That crate had the same marking.
Oh, but that was ridiculous. She had paid the extra fee for the crates to be transported. They couldn’t just remove her things, could they?
A little voice told her to go and investigate.
Abandoning the search for her compartment, she headed up the train to the luggage carriage. As she approached she became more and more certain that the crates being offloaded were hers.
There was a man with a red face and a clipboard standing nearby. He had the look of an official about him. Beside him stood a man in a good suit with neatly combed hair. He had businessman written all over him.
Heather was used to such men since they often visited the haberdashery that Mr. and Mrs. Miller had run for over forty years. Mr. Miller was an excellent tailor, and men had come from far and wide for him to fit them for suits.
One of the crates was right in front of the men. Heather walked up and inspected the label. Just as she had suspected from afar, it was hers.
“Excuse me,” she said as politely as she could manage. “Could you tell me why my things are being offloaded when they should be on the train?”
The man with the clipboard frowned and looked over at the man in the suit.
“What do you mean? I got a note saying these crates should come off,” the clipboard holder said. “We’re expecting another eight large crates for this gentleman, and we can’t fit them all.”
Heather was lost for a moment. “But I paid to have my crates transported to Texas along with me. Why should my things be removed just because this man has too much luggage?”
The suit-wearing man considered her coolly. “My employer also paid for his crates to be shipped.” He spoke in a clipped, terse manner.
Heather turned to the man with the clipboard. “I don’t understand why his money is better than mine. I demand to speak to someone in charge right now!”
The clipboard holder looked uncomfortable. “Look, lady, I can’t just?—”
“Oh really?” she asked, her hands gravitating to her hips. “And I suppose that if I were a man, you would jump to help me, wouldn’t you? You would rush off to your office and find your supervisor, wouldn’t you? Yes, you would. Well, no one is going anywhere until I speak to someone in charge.”
The clipboard holder sighed. “Look, it’s no big problem. Even if your crates don’t leave today, you’ll have them in a week. They’ll be on the next train out to Texas.” His tone was pleading.
“Great, then this gentleman can wait for his things to be shipped in a week,” Heather said pointedly.
“Look here!” the suited man snapped, turning to her with anger burning in his pale green eyes. He took a step closer and loomed over her. “My employer is not going to—” the man said in a harsh voice, but was suddenly cut off by the arrival of another man.
This one was tall, in his fifties, with black hair that was liberally salted with gray. He had a neat mustache and bright green eyes that fixed on Heather with surprise.
She felt her mouth fall open as she recognized the person standing in front of her as a man the Millers had introduced her to. Someone she’d come to view as an extension of her adopted family.
“Uncle Alex?”
“Heather?” he asked. “What are you doing here, my girl?”
“I’m moving to Texas!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
He laughed. “I’m heading that way on business. My goodness, what a coincidence.”
“Yes, it is.” Heather looked Uncle Alex up and down. “You’re looking good.”
“Well, it’s hard not to in a Miller suit,” Uncle Alex confessed. He ran his hands over the fine linen. “I see they’ve finally gone to Minnesota.”
“Missouri,” Heather corrected them. “They left this morning.”
“No! I was hoping to see them before they left,” Uncle Alex said. “Oh well, I’ll have to go to Missouri to get my suits made now.”
“Or you could always come to me,” Heather said. “Mr. Miller taught me well.”
“I’ll bet he did,” Uncle Alex said. Then, turning his attention to the clipboard holder and the other man, he continued. “What’s the problem here, Jefferson?”
“Sir, she’s complaining because we have to remove her crates to fit yours onto the train,” Jefferson whined.
“Ah,” Uncle Alex said with a nod. “I see now why Heather looks so flustered. My goodness, let’s see if we can sort this out.”
Jefferson nodded, appearing smug. The clipboard holder looked worried.
“What are the options?” Uncle Alex asked.
Heather stood beside him as the clipboard holder explained about the added weight of the crates and how there was a limit to how much the engine could pull. He showed Uncle Alex something on his clipboard, and Uncle Alex nodded.
“I take it that your crates hold everything you need to start your new life in Texas?” Uncle Alex asked, turning to Heather. “Mr. Miller was rather proud of you for taking on the torch for him and Mrs. Miller.”
“It’s everything from the old store,” Heather confirmed. “All the fabric, the buttons, the lace, the ribbons. Everything I could fit into three crates.”
Uncle Alex nodded. “Well, I can hardly expect you to be a tailor and then deny you the means to do the work, now can I? Take three of my crates off the train and load hers back on. Those three can be sent to me on the next train. Would that work for everyone?”
“Sir, you said it was imperative that those crates reach Texas as soon as possible,” Jefferson said, stepping forward and speaking in a lower voice.
Uncle Alex scowled. “Yes, I did, Jefferson. But since you failed to account properly for the weight, you will now have to wait. You will be traveling with the crates on the next train.”
“But, sir!” Jefferson protested.
Uncle Alex gave him a look that turned Heather’s blood cold. She’d never before seen the kind, older gentleman look so vicious.
A moment later, he turned to her and smiled. Offering her his arm, he said, “Now that we have that sorted out, come with me. Let’s get you safely on board the train. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee in the dining car. How does that sound?”
“That’s very kind of you, Uncle Alex,” Heather said, taking his arm. She was still shaken by the tone he had used with his employee, but he was being perfectly gentlemanly with her, and it would be rude to refuse.
Perhaps seeing something in her expression, he said, “Don’t worry about Jefferson.
I only spoke so harshly to him to remind him that, in business, mistakes cost time and money.
It’s an important lesson for a young and talented man to learn.
There won’t be any hard feelings between us.
” He leaned closer to her, and she could smell cherry tobacco on his clothes.
“So, where are you headed to in Texas, Heather? I don’t think that Mr. Miller ever told me,” Uncle Alex said as he led her down the train toward the compartments.
“I’m going to San Antonio,” she said. “I’ve met someone.”
“My goodness! Little Heather has met a man,” Uncle Alex cried. “How wonderful. The Millers must be overjoyed.”
“They are. They read his letters and also think he’s a good match for me.”
Uncle Alex beamed. “You’ll have to let me meet him.”
“Yes, that would be lovely,” Heather agreed. “So, you’re expanding your business to Texas?”
“Well, you know me; I can’t help but try to conquer the world,” he said, laughing. “The business world, that is.”
They reached a door that Uncle Alex pulled open, allowing her to step inside. He knew his way around the train and led her to the dining car, where they took seats at a table by one of the large windows.
They ordered coffee from a white-coated young man, and while they waited, they watched the train pull out of the station.
What had started as a sad and potentially lonely day had brightened considerably. Heather was glad to have a friend on the journey.