Prologue
January 1866
Charlotte POV
Taking a walk by the seashore this morning brings about a happy feeling in my soul. Looking out over the water, I can see forever. Or at least it seems like it. There is no end to the water. It goes on and on. I watch as the waves rise and fall, lapping quietly against my feet. This is bliss.
As I watch the water glide over the sand to my feet, I realize that my hand is not empty. I am holding the hand of another. A strong hand, with long narrow fingers. A hand that I can tell embodies strength. My eyes slide from the hand up the lean but muscled arm which is attached to a shirtless torso that is drool worthy. While not overly muscular, the torso is firm and lean. A torso that is no stranger to hard work.
I feel my smile widen on my face as I take in the form before me. I lick my lips as desire consumes me. I can feel my cheeks deepen with a blush as my eyes lift to meet the same brown eyes that I dream about so often. My dream man is not much taller than I am and I can gaze into his eyes without the need to tilt my head back too much. His eyes are shining with love and I watch as desire pools in them.
“I love you,” I whisper, before his lips crash against mine.
The desire and passion between us threaten to consume me and I am barely able to keep the fire at bay. Our tongues are entwined and my hands roam his chest and arms, as I learn the curves and flat places of his gorgeous body. I am breathless when we finally break our kiss and I rest my head on his chest, trying to steady my racing heart.
“Char,” he murmurs to me. “I love you so much.”
I lean my head back and look into his eyes and I see pain instead of the love I was expecting to find. I tilt my head and squint at him in confusion. What was going on? Why did he look like he was in pain?
Before I could speak, he was ripped my embrace. I screamed for him and tried to reach him, but I was not able to touch him. He was being dragged into the sea, away from me. The monster’s arms looked like tentacles, similar to an octopus. One tentacle was wrapped around his forehead like a bandana. The other tentacle was reaching into his chest, as if attacking his heart.
“Let him go!” I cried out to the monster. But it refused to stop dragging him into the sea.
As the sea began to pound the shore in angry waves, I cried out to my love, “Please don’t leave me! I need you!”
“I don’t want to but, I am powerless to stop myself. Something is pulling me from you. Don’t let it take me from you. You must fight. Fight for our love,” he cries, his voice carrying over the crashing of the sea.
I bolted upright in bed, my breath coming out in gasps. It was dream. I had been dreaming of this brown eyed stranger for as long as I could remember. Most of the time, the dreams were sweet. I would dream about a life with him. In my dreams, he was the owner of a fleet of merchant ships. He enjoyed sailing the seas, but in my dreams, I was his true passion.
I had been dreaming of him more often over the past few months. The dreams were becoming more distraught. I settled back into my bed and offered a quiet prayer up to God to protect this man. Who was he to me? Why did I keep dreaming of him? I had always assumed he was just a figment of my imagination, but now I wasn’t so sure. This one had felt so real. If this man was real, what was happening to him? Was he in trouble now? Or was this danger still to come in the unknown future?
1845Matilda Sheffield POVIt’s been five years since my William died and I miss him more every day. He was a handsome man with curly blonde hair that fell into his eyes. He tried so hard to tame his hair but no matter what he did, it refused to stay in place. One of my most favorite things to do was to tousle his hair as I walked past him. He would pause in his work and glance up at me, his pale blue eyes shining with love.We had been married just three years when influenza swept through the town. My William was determined to help as many as he could. He didn’t have a medical degree, but he knew a little something about sickness. He was the second oldest of eight children with a widowed mother. His older brother had married and was living in Bartonville with his wife.At the age of seventeen, he became an orphan when his mother passed a
1850Charlotte POV (age 8)Today was going to be a good day, I could feel it. I don’t know how I knew, but I just did. Like so many things. I knew when it would rain and when it would freeze for the first time each year. I knew when another kid would be moving into the house with us. I’ve learned to keep it to myself though.I remember a couple years ago when I was six, I had told Mama Sheffield that a little boy was going to need her help. I told her that the sheriff would be bringing him to the house that day. I cried as I told her the boy had a black mark on his face and he was very hungry. She hugged me tightly and told me not to worry, that she would take care of any little child who needed her help.Later that day, the sheriff showed up with a boy a couple years old than me in his arms. The boy was hurting so badly that he couldn&rs
Late Summer 1858 Charlotte POV (age 16) Over the last eight years, my intuition has been helpful to Mama Sheffield and the orphanage. We have seen children come and go from all walks of life. Some joined us young and grew up at the boarding house and then left when they were old enough to find jobs. Some of them bonded and fell in love, like Susan and Julian. They were very close in age and had become friends while growing up here. But the older they got; it became more apparent that they were more than friends. Julian took a job at the mercantile on the north side of town and began saving his money. When he felt that he had enough money, he bought a little house and then proposed to Susan, who had stayed on at the orphanage, helping Mary with all of the younger children. Julian and Susan still stop by every now and then to see Mama Sheffield. They have three boys of their own and seem to be very happy. Mr. Sylvestre Pratt comes by several times each month and helps with the lawn a
May 1861 Charlotte POV (age 19) A few months after Hannah arrived home, the opportunity came for a new adventure here at the orphanage. We had just arrived home from Sunday services, all fifteen of us. We never missed a Sunday. Mrs. Sheffield felt it was important to bring us up right. So, every Sunday, Mrs. Sheffield, Mary, the orphans, Hannah, and I would walk to the church. The church was large and held so many people that it was hard to hear much of the preaching, unless you were sitting in the front. That’s why we always sat on the front row. Well, actually it was because the little ones knew they were being watched and they were compelled to be good. I remember feeling the same way when I was younger, I wanted to repay Mrs. Sheffield for all of the love she had shown to me, and so I tried very hard to be good and to sit still during services. The little ones at the orphanage today were no different. But the sermon that day had caught my attention. The reverend had talked abou
Christmas 1863Charlotte POVThe war rages on with battles and skirmishes up and down the eastern part of the nation. Earlier this year, one of the bloodiest battles to date happened in Pennsylvania. The small, previously unknown town of Gettysburg, was host to a long and exhausting, three-day battle. Early reports held the death toll at nearly 40,000; but the final tally reported that over 50,000 men perished during those three days.Even still, the war continues, with no end in sight. Many are saying that the Battle at Gettysburg was the turning point, but I don’t believe the end is in sight. We can only hope and pray that it ends sooner rather than later. Too many men have died at the hands of their brothers and even more sons have killed their fathers. Another year is set to end with countless mothers and wives mourning their dead. 
St. Louis 1865Charlotte POVIt was January of last year, when Mary Jane graced the boarding house with her presence. Mary Jane and her mother arrived and I had to wonder, at first, if they were in the right place. Mary Jane’s mother owns a brothel in Dallas, Texas. As Hannah, Emily, and I sat with Mrs. Sheffield in the parlor, Mary Jane’s mother, Kate, explained the reason for their arrival.“I have watched as MJ as grown up and while she is well suited to care for her husband’s…um…how to say this politely,” Kate began, pausing as if to find the correct words. “Yes, that’s right. She can handle caring for his private needs, but her abilities to run a household are sorely lacking. MJ and I have spoken and we both agree that it is time that she learn how to run a household.”Then she leaned
April 1866 Cole POV Three weeks ago, I was headed for New Orleans. The stage was a few hours away from my destination and I began to make a list of all of the things I would say at my meeting. I had a meeting with Mr. LaCroix and his business partner, Mr. Rossi. Unfortunately, for them, they had no idea I was coming. The two of them had been a pain in my ass for the better part of the last five years. They continue to fire upon my ships that sail into the port of New Orleans, many times destroying my cargo. If the cargo wasn’t lost it was stolen by them. They had been relentless. I was forced to send half of my ships to Mobile, Alabama to keep at least half of my cargo in tack. I refused to succumb to their treachery. Sailing into New Orleans was better for my business, and I didn’t see any reason why both shipping companies couldn’t use the same p
Charlotte POVWhen Abigail left us last fall to travel to Indian Territory, I was worried, especially after I kept having the same dream over and over again. It wasn’t until we received her letter, that I understood the cause for my worry. It seems that my dreams were once again correct, although they were so very vague this time. Her father had in fact found her, with the help of one of the soldiers that had traveled with her to Indian Territory. She was only in her father’s clutches for a little over two days when she was found by her now good friend, Wohali. Wohali is the son of the Cherokee chief and a trust friend of her husband, Henry.I breathed a sigh of relief and the worry seeped out of my soul as I read about her journey to be with Henry. I could tell she was happy based on the details of her letter. Her letter had arrived just before Christmas, so we were awaiting another letter from