Prologue

March 1864

Abigail POV

I was exhausted. It was late and I needed to find shelter for the night. I continued to walk down the ever-darkening streets of St. Louis. It has to be here somewhere, I thought to myself. The nice man at the livery had shared with me about an orphanage and boarding house that took in young ladies who found themselves in desperate situations. I continued along the street for several more minutes and sighed in relief when I finally saw the house I had been searching for.

“St. Louis Boarding House & Orphanage for Lost Souls” read the sign at the front gate. Well, in some ways, I am an orphan. And I’m definitely a lost soul, of sorts, I mused to myself as I reached out and opened the gate. I walked through the gate and latched it behind me. Then I made my way to the front door and knocked.

I could hear movement from within and I straightened my shoulders and stood as tall as I could. It was difficult with my small frame; I was barely five feet four inches. As I placed a smile on my face, the door opened and I was greeted by a tall, lithe woman who was most likely in her late forties or early fifties.

“Yes, may I help you,” came her soft voice. She sounded sweet and I hoped that her disposition was as sweet.

“Yes, Ma’am. I was told that I could come here and ask for a room. I am willing to work to cover any costs that I might incur,” I replied, my voice shaking from worry that she would turn me away.

“Certainly. Come in for a chat,” she replied as she ushered me inside. Once inside and the door bolted once again, she led me into the parlor. From what I could tell, the house was rather large. She pointed to a settee and I moved to sit there, while she left the room. She returned a few moments later, carrying a tea tray. She set the tray on a table near the settee and poured us each a cup of tea. Then she sat opposite me in a high back overstuffed chair.

“I am Mrs. Sheffield. I own this establishment. Please tell me about yourself while we enjoy a cup of tea. Then I will determine your fate,” she smiled at me with a twinkle in her eye.

“Mrs. Sheffield, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Abigail LaCroix and I am seventeen years old. I will turn eighteen in two months. I left home when my father….my father…,” I began to sob, unable to continue.

“It’s alright dear. Take a breath and when you are ready, begin again. This time, tell me everything that led up to your arrival on my doorstep.”

Her voice and her kind eyes, helped to calm me down and I began again.

“Just after Christmas my father summoned me to his office…” I began, my mind going back to the events that changed my life.

Flashback to December 27, 1863

I walked into Father’s business office at the docks. My father owned a fleet of merchant ships that sailed from New Orleans to many of the islands in the Caribbean Sea. Places like Jamaica and the Antilles. Father had summoned me to his office for a meeting. From the time I could read, write, and do sums, I dreamt of taking over my father’s business when I came of age. Now, nearing my eighteenth birthday, I was hopeful that he had decided to bring me on as his apprentice. While a woman business owner was not typically done, it wasn’t forbidden.

“You sent for me, Father.” I said as I entered his office.

My father was seated at his large oak desk, with papers strewn all around. Father was a tall man; I obviously did not gain any height from him. He had sandy blonde hair and green eyes. Father looked up from his work and smiled at me. He motioned for me to take a seat in one of the chairs seated across from him in front of his desk.

I took a seat and placed my hands in my lap and crossed my ankles as I had been taught was proper since I could walk.

“Yes, Abigail. I have great news for you!” he began excitedly, as he clapped his hands together. “I have procured for you a husband. Following your birthday in May, you will be married the first weekend in June.”

My mouth dropped open in shock! This meeting wasn’t about me taking over the business at all! Why? Why marriage?

Father continued, “yes, this is a good business arrangement. It will be advantageous for both parties. And you will have a husband who will take over the responsibility of your excessive tastes.”

Excessive tastes? What was he talking about? I never asked for money for anything! Father was always showering Mother and I with gifts and items that were found during the shipping trips to the Caribbean. But I NEVER asked for anything. I finally decided that I needed to speak up, “But Father, what about the company? I thought that you would teach me to run it by your side.” I was on the verge of tears but I held them at bay, knowing that if I cried, Father would see it as weakness and would never allow me to take over.

He scoffed, “You! A woman! Running my business! NEVER! The only good thing for you to do is to marry well. And the marriage must benefit me.”

“Father,” I began, “what about love?”

“Love matters not. Your place is to be a picture of perfection for your husband and nothing more. You will be his property, love is trivial and fleeting,” Father emphatically stated as he slammed his hand down on the table. “Now, enough! Your chosen husband will be arriving any moment and you will not defy me. Do you understand!”

I couldn’t speak, for fear of his reaction! I didn’t want to marry some stranger. All I could do in that moment was nod, so I did.  

A few moments later, a knock sounded on the door and it opened without waiting for Father’s permission. I turned and looked at the door and saw my father’s business partner, Mr. Rossi, striding into the office. I gasped; it couldn’t be! Father wouldn’t! As I looked between my father and Mr. Rossi, I realized it was true. My father wanted me to marry his business partner.

Mr. Rossi moved to stand at my side and reached out, and taking my hand, he helped me to rise from the chair. He moved to the other chair that was next to mine and sat down, pulling me into his lap.

Mr. Rossi sniffed my hair and I tried not to flinch, the man was vile. He was tall like my father, but he was lankier in his build than father was. His hair was already beginning to gray and he had already lost quite a bit on top. What hair remained was greasy and stringy.

“Giuseppe, you didn’t tell me that your daughter was so well endowed. At seventeen, I expected her to still be somewhat flat. But this girl….no, not a girl, a woman. This woman will do well for me. She fits perfectly in my lap and her breasts are full and round,” he stated, looking at father as they both laughed.

I squirmed and pulled out of his lap and glared at my father, who didn’t flinch at the inappropriateness of Mr. Rossi’s actions or his words. I shifted my gaze to Mr. Rossi and said, “Mr. Rossi, while my father may have promised that you could wed me, please remember, we are not wed yet. And you will keep your hands to yourself. I do not appreciate being mauled by a man such as yourself,” turning to my father, I told him, “Father, I will see you at home. I am done with this meeting.”

I hurried from the room, ignoring my father’s shouts for me to return to his office, and I returned home as fast as I was able. Once I reached our house, I called for my mother and found her in the parlor. When I told her what Father had done, she smiled and said, “Abigail, it’s for the best. Mr. Rossi is well off and will take care of you. You really have no choice. The matter has been settled.”

“Ugh!” I stomped my feet and then fled the room. She would be no help. Antonia LaCroix was a meek, simp of a woman, who never stood up to my father. I’m not sure why I expected anything different from my mother today.

End of flashback

“I overheard Father telling Mother, later that evening, that Pietro, Mr. Rossi, was not pleased with my actions. Well, what did they expect? The man practically raped me with my father in the room!” I continued to rant to Mrs. Sheffield, who up until now, had not said a word.

“Hmph.” Mrs. Sheffield muttered under her breath. The look on her face said she agreed with me. She continued to remain silent, but nodded at me to continue.

I took a deep breath and continued, “I decided that my only choice was to flee. The next morning, I went into my father’s home office and took fifty dollars from his desk. I realize that stealing is a sin, but I felt that I had no choice. He and mother were going to be gone that evening to a charity event and I knew that it would be my only chance to escape. Early in the afternoon, I told my mother that I was going for a walk and would return well before dark. I quickly made my way to the train depot, gave a false name and procured a ticket to Memphis. I returned home and gathered two dresses and some underthings, placed them in my satchel, as well as a few toilette items I knew I would need. I hid my satchel on the far side of my bed, where no one would see it. Father came home at his usual time. He and mother left shortly after that. I waited only about fifteen minutes and then I hastily made my way to the depot. The train was set to leave at seven o’clock and I didn’t want to miss it.”

I paused and took a sip of my tea, before continuing, “I didn’t seem to be bothered for the most part. From Memphis, I kept moving. Sometimes by train, sometimes by foot or stagecoach. I was even able to travel with a family for a few weeks. Always going in a different direction and changing my name each time. I don’t want my father to find me. A week ago, I was in Chicago, but I couldn’t find any long-term lodging. A passerby mentioned your boarding house and I made a quick decision to come here. I just arrived in town earlier today and made my way here. I have run out of funds and I am not sure what I will do if you turn me away.”

I paused again and waited for Mrs. Sheffield to say something. She seemed to be considering all that I had said. I was about to say more to plead my case when a voice to my left said, “Mrs. Sheffield, we have to help her. When I came here, you said your purpose was to help unfortunate young ladies who find themselves in peculiar situations. What her father tried to do is awful!”

I turned to look at the owner of the voice and saw a young woman who appeared to be my age, hovering in the doorway of the parlor with her hands on hips. She had lovely long hair, that was hanging down her back and was the color of fire. It was a beautiful mix of red and orange. She was tall and slender, and from my seat it appeared that her eyes were a lovely shade of green.

“Hannah, how many times do I need to tell you? It is not polite to eavesdrop!” Mrs. Sheffield scolded the girl.

“My apologizes, but I was just heading to my room for the evening and I heard voices. I stopped to see who was here, because we don’t normally have visitors this late in the evening,” Hannah explained. She smiled at me and crossed the room with her hand outstretched in greeting, “I’m Hannah. It’s a pleasure to meet you. If you stay, I would love to show you around.”

I took Hannah’s hand in an offer of friendship, nodded my head, and said, “That sounds lovely.” Then I turned to Mrs. Sheffield with a pleading look.

“Well. I was just about to offer you a place here, when we were so rudely interrupted,” she responded as Hannah and I both squealed in delight. “Hannah, please show Miss Abigail to her room for the night. Abigail, tomorrow, we will go over the rules and see what we can do about keeping you hidden for the time being.”

I nodded and rose from my seat. I was so excited that I couldn’t contain my joy, so I leaned over and gave Mrs. Sheffield a hug. She gently patted my back and when I pulled away, I caught just a hint of a smile that she quickly tried to hide. Then I turned to Hannah and said, “Lead the way.”

I couldn’t contain my joy. I had a place to hide.

May 1864

Henry POV

Finally! St. Louis! I thought to myself. It had been a long ride from Virginia. Following the Battle of Gettysburg last summer, my company and I were moved south and fought in several small skirmishes through the fall. Fortunately, we didn’t see much action during that time. We spent the harsh winter months at Brandy Station. I received new orders for myself and a small group of soldiers, called a unit. My unit and I were given three months to make our way deep into Indian Territory. It seems that the Indians are not adjusting to their new homes. Not that I can blame them, I wouldn’t want to be uprooted either.

My unit and I left Virginia just a little over six weeks ago. We were detouring north to St. Louis so that I could visit the aunt of my 1^st Lieutenant, Matthew Sheffield. His aunt ran a boarding house here in St. Louis and Matthew had asked me to stop in and let her know that he was doing okay. He had recently been promoted and given his own duty station. He would soon be reporting to Indian Territory as well. I just didn’t know how soon.

I made my way to the south side of town, where the majority of homes were located. I had left instructions for the men to bed down for the evening. I would return to meet them after I met with Matthew’s Aunt Matilda. I rode quietly through town, enjoying the cool of the afternoon. My horse, Slingshot, was as ready as I was to rest for the day. Slingshot was a palomino with a golden coat covering his entire body. Except his front left hoof had a short sock and his face had a long white stripe that settled between his eyes and ran from his ears to his muzzle. I had named him that because he would take off like a shot at any noise when he was younger. Having been with me through some of the worst battles I had ever seen, gun and cannon fire didn’t spook him anymore.

Once I had reached my destination, I dismounted and tied Slingshot to the fence that circled the house. A three story, white house, with a wraparound porch that someone had screened off with mesh to help control the bugs. Next to the house was a smaller building, similar in design but not as large. I knew from Matthew that his aunt had purchased that home as additional living quarters for the orphans and young ladies who resided with her. I made my way up to the front door and briskly rapped on the door.

“I’ll get it,” I heard muffled through the door. About that time, the door was swung wide open and my eyes fell on a lovely young woman who couldn’t have been more than eighteen. I was stunned by her beauty. She was a petite lass, at least six inches shorter than myself. Not that I was tall, standing at just over six feet. But I thought that her height was just right. She had long blond hair that fell in soft waves around her face and cobalt blue eyes that I wanted to drown in. I quickly averted my eyes, cleared my throat, and croaked out, “Is Mrs. Matilda Sheffield at home?”

The young lady giggled, “Matilda? Is that her name? She refuses to tell us, she says that knowing her name would be too informal,” she giggled again and I thought that it sounded like chimes tinkling in the wind. “Yes, she is here. Please do come in. Whom should I say is calling for her?”

“My name is Captain Heinrich Spertzel. I am friend of her nephew Matthew,” I respond as formally as I could. It was a wonder I could even speak in the presence of her beauty.

She led me to the parlor and I took a seat in one of the straight back chairs I found in the room. I didn’t have to wait long when I was greeted by an older woman who I assumed, by the way she quickly entered the room, was Matthew’s aunt.

“Abigail has informed me that you know my nephew, Matthew. What news do you have of him? I haven’t heard anything from him since the letter I received from him following the Battle of Gettysburg,” she hurriedly spoke as she breezed into the room.

I rose to meet her and offered her a slight bow in greeting, “Mrs. Sheffield, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Captain Heinrich Spertzel. You may call me Henry. I served with Matthew. Please have a seat and we can chat.”

We both sat and I shared with her the details of our adventures following Gettysburg. She had many questions and I answered all of them to the best of my ability. The afternoon slipped away and it was nearly time for me to leave, but I had to ask about the young woman she called Abigail.

“Mrs. Sheffield, if I may be so bold as to ask about the young lady who greeted me at the door. Does she have a beau?” I inquired.

Mrs. Sheffield smirked at me and said, “Not yet. She has just turned eighteen and while staying here, she is learning the finer points of running a home. Her name is Abigail and she has not had a pleasant time of it lately,” she said and then grew quiet, as if pondering Abigail’s current state of affairs.

“May I ask what happened to her?”

“No, I am sorry but that is a story that only she can share. I do not break the confidences of my charges,” she replied quietly, then continued, “would you like a formal introduction?”

I smiled and nodded, “Yes. I would like that very much.”