The silvery bells on the flower shop door tinkled merrily behind her as Audrey stepped out into the St. Louis sunshine. She frowned, pulling the door hard behind her. It shut with a satisfying thud.

All around her, wagons clattered, merchants called, horses snorted at their drivers urging them on. It was a brilliant day in the bustling midwestern metropolis. Audrey hadn’t been to many cities before, never outside her allotted areas to shop, and definitely never unaccompanied. The excitement prickled Audrey’s skin. There was an exhilaration in the air, a whisper of promise and possibility, of freedom—something she’d dreamt of all her life, but never acted upon, not until today.

Her father had kept her secluded either in her mansion or finishing schools. He did not want the pretentiousness of society to hinder her heart. Her father wanted her to believe in goodness. However, twelve years was quite a long time to dream about freedom from the cooped-up comfort of a finishing school, or to see the pretentiousness her father tried so hard to protect her from. And sure as sunshine, Audrey wasn’t about to spend the next eighteen years cooped up in her aunt’s stuffy parlor with her horrendous cousin. Perish the thought, she shivered.

For almost a decade, Audrey lived under the malicious rule of her aunt. Nothing she did was ever good enough; from the way she styled her hair to embroidery. While Audrey, in her youth, craved the attention of Georgiana, the only mother-figure she’d known, it was not to come. Growing older taught her a valuable lesson – for so many people, money spoke louder than a voice. And all Georgiana wanted was her father’s wealth... at whatever cost.

Now that she was of age, she was summoned to her aunt’s estate here in St. Louis to draw up wedding plans to marry her odious cousin Thomas. Audrey’s stomach roiled. Being unattached, wealthy, and a woman made any choices she had complicated. There was always someone to tell her no or dictate her path.

Audrey adjusted her skirts. Not any more, she thought. I will not be a peon any longer. Like Jane Eyre, I shall make my own decisions. My aunt shall not control me.

Aunt Georgiana was comparable to the dastardly characters in old folklore – cold, calculated, and callous. The most atrocious part of Georgiana was her infatuation with Audrey marrying her son, Thomas. Good Lord above, there was no way she would marry him.

A sneaky smile crept across her lips. What was that penny novel about, again, Audrey pondered, wasn’t the girl kidnapped? Audrey’s green eyes brightened. Brilliant!

Audrey stood patiently. A stage coach rumbled by. She weaved her way across the street to her waiting carriage. She fiddled with the ends of her braided brown hair. Her aunt’s gentle carriage driver waited by the door, bowler hat in hand. When he stepped forward, grinning eagerly and eyes alight, she almost regretted her sudden inspiration, but not quite.

“Rafe, I’ve just been to the flower shop and have ordered a delicious arrangement of dahlias for my aunt. Could you please load it in the carriage when it is finished?”

“Yes, Miz Audrey.” The wrinkled older man bowed his head in respect.

“Thank you. You may wait inside the shop, please. It shan’t be long, not more than one hour at most, the lady said.” When Rafe’s face fell, Audrey hurriedly continued, “Plus the shopkeeper has a nice tea set out. It looked delicious. Thank you, Rafe. You are always so dear and kind.”

Rafe grinned, ducking his head. “Aw, thank you, Miz Audrey.”

“I am sorry about the wait. I do hope it’s no trouble.”

He flashed a smile. “No trouble at all. I’ll just enjoy me some of those little cookies Susan is famous for.”

“I shall be in the next store over on the right, Rafe,” she said pointing.

“Yes, Miz Audrey.”

She wandered over to the lead horse, a beautiful chestnut gelding with a white star on his forehead, and patted his neck for a moment. When she peeked back over her shoulder, Rafe disappeared into the flower shop.

The noise of the city intensified around her. She calmly gathered her skirts in one hand and used the other to jump into the driver’s seat. She clambered on, slipping and tripping over her taffeta skirts. With the reins in hand, she threw the brake.

Audrey clucked her tongue the way she’d often done with her horse at school. “Come on now,” she encouraged, mimicking Rafe’s speech, and giving the reins a slap. “Nice and easy like.”

The horses’ ears flicked back and forth, taking a couple of hesitant steps. Audrey grinned triumphantly. With firm hands, she guided the horses into the dusty street, hoping to meld into traffic unnoticed. Audrey pulled her bonnet lower to prevent the sun from blinding her or others recognizing her.

No wonder most wear darker colors. The dust is ridiculous, she thought, peeking over her shoulder. The horses whinnied, picking up the pace with her not paying attention. Audrey smiled. Most would call what she was doing insane. Audrey considered it survival.

Getting away from the fiscal pulls of society and the entrapment of it all weighed heavily on her mind. She didn’t want to be bound to high society, to the balls and galas, or the double toned meanings of statements. Or her aunt’s verbal abuse constantly reminding her how dimwitted and worthless she is.

Audrey cocked her head to the side. “I can make it absolutely dramatic,” she announced to the horses.

The animals snorted a reply.

“I believe it’s a wonderful idea, thank you.” She grinned amused with herself.

Goose pimples prickled her skin. Her stomach churned with equal amounts excitement, and uneasiness. Her plan was bold, even for her.

Goodness, Audrey thought, turn right by the large buildings. All right, here we go.

“Let’s turn,” Audrey whispered to the horses. “Nice and easy, please.”

She navigated her way down the lane following it back going past several other streets. Audrey bit her lip, glancing around her. No one paid her any mind. She let out the breath she was holding. Audrey’s smile grew wider than the streets of Philadelphia. An old wooden warehouse stood abandoned on the corner. Rocks and weeds surrounded the exterior of the building. Audrey made for it, slapping the reins on the backs of the animals. The horses shook their heads, manes tossing. Audrey guided them around the back.

The nervousness that roiled in her body, dissipated. The saccharine appeal of freedom was within her grasp.

“Whoa!” she hollered.

In her hurry, the parasol slipped from her hand and fell beneath the carriage wheel with a crunch. Oh no, Audrey thought a moment. Wait... It’s perfect!

Audrey threw the brake. With a less than graceful leap, Audrey stumbled out of the carriage, landing on her feet. She caught herself with a triumphant gleam in her eye. Shaking out her skirts, she gazed around for a brick, a rock, anything hard.

“Ah, here we are,” she announced to the horses.

Hefting a rock in her delicately gloved hand, she threw it against the carriage window. Cracks spread across the window like a spider web. She tried again, putting her weight against it this time. Krish! The window shattered.

“It’s all right,” she cooed to the startled horses.

The horses snorted, lunging against the carriage ties. She murmured assurances to the spooked creatures. Audrey stealthily pulled out a knife from beneath her skirts. She’d spent the last few hours sharpening it in the solitude of her room. She hefted its weight in her right hand while reaching for the carriage door handle with the other.

The carriage door opened easily. Glass crunched under her boots as she stepped inside. She gripped her knife just as she imagined pirates on the open sea must do, and slashed the seats. She laughed a little imagining herself to be aboard Hawkins’ Hispaniola.

“No more uncomfortable seats,” she panted, slicing the cushions. “No dreary, confining rides to Aunt Coldaire’s! No more Thomas’s foul-smelling breath on my neck!” Audrey grinned, pulled her arm back for one final blow. “And no more anyone telling me how I should be!”

Audrey wrenched the knife out of the cushion, and was rewarded with a most satisfying rip. Stuffing from the seats exploded out, floating in tufts she swatted away from her face. The carriage looked like three cats with their tails on fire had clawed their way out.

It looks marvelous. No one will suspect, Audrey beamed, pulling off a lace glove, considering her pale pink palm and the winking edge of her sharpened knife. Could she do it?

Audrey pursed her lips. Much too over the top. A lock of hair will have to do.

She pulled out a lock from her braid and cut it off, leaving the strands behind for evidence of her certain distress. Now anyone finding her carriage would be forced to believe she’d been taken in some desperate manner, perhaps by some hooligan. Then she’d be free to do as she pleased. She giggled a little. That’s how it worked in the novels she’d read. Why wouldn’t it work for her?

Stepping down from the carriage, Audrey wondered if she could leave any final touches. She did have a ruby bracelet she cared very little for, despite the obvious cost of the jewelry. A small token of my enduring affection, her debonair cousin said in the oily way of his, his cold fingers clasping it around her wrist. She gagged on her own spittle, her skin crawling at the thought.

“All for the cause,” she said aloud. She yanked it off, dropping it onto the cobblestones, and ground it gleefully under her boot. Good riddance!

Turning to the horses, she loosed them both from their traces and gave the brown mare a slap. With a squeal, the horse headed onto the road, presumably toward her stable home. Audrey kept her hand on the chestnut’s halter. Audrey spoke soothingly to him stroking his neck. She cut the reins into something manageable and mounted in an easy leap. Riding bareback was most frowned upon, however, Audrey never cared, enjoying the sense of freedom and the bit of rebellion that came with the act. She arranged her skirts then urged the gelding forward. He began to trot, getting the nervousness of earlier out of his system.

Off in the distance, a train whistle blew, echoing down the street she was leaving behind. Audrey paused. The horse beneath her shuddering with the same excitement. Audrey smiled; her animal’s ears perked in the same direction. The gelding whinnied.

“Splendid!” Audrey exclaimed, galloping toward freedom.

The setting sun painted the countryside in pinked hues, warming the green rolling hills in a golden glow that contrasted with the deep blue sky. The effect was heartwarming and entirely lost on Georgiana Coldaire. Face bathed in the sun’s final rays, she stood in the open doorway of her vast mansion home clutching a handkerchief in her fist while working on her sniffles, not that the man in front of her could tell they were fake. The sheriff walked down the long white gravel drive, passing beneath the shadows of precisely shaped magnolia trees. He untied his waiting horse and turned to give her a final reassuring wave. Georgiana gently dabbed her eyes, raising her handkerchief. The sheriff tipped his hat, and took off down the drive back to St. Louis.

Even before the hoofbeats retreated, Georgiana tossed the lace cloth behind her and entered her parlor, sitting down in a chair with a laugh. It was almost too perfect. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought her niece would simply disappear. Grow ill and die maybe—tuberculosis was still happily common these days among the young people—but to go out one day and never return? For such a stroke of luck, one could thank Providence. If one believed so.

Georgiana smiled, leaning back comfortably in the chair. She rang the bell on the table.

Ruth entered the room. The red-headed maid dipped a curtsey. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Get me Thomas immediately.”

Ruth hesitated. “With all due respect, ma’am, Master Thomas is not here.”

Georgiana spun around. Her eyes narrowed with tight lips. “What part of ‘get me Thomas immediately’ did not penetrate your head, girl? I do not care where my son is, get him to me!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ruth dipped a curtsey and bolted way.

“Insolent girl!” Georgiana grumbled. In a louder voice, “Able, are you there?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The butler, a balding dark-skinned man, gave a slight bow.

“Get me a pen and paper. I need to send an urgent telegram to my brother’s lawyer.”

Georgiana straightened herself in the chair, awaiting Able’s return. She wondered who took the brat and where she was. Hopefully dead, although it did not matter. The sheriff was a bumbling idiot who could not handle much past the drunken bums in the streets. After being attacked in her own carriage, Audrey was good as dead.

Georgiana seethed under her breath. “Time to take what is rightfully mine.”

That bubbly, ditz of a girl inherited everything after her father died while she was forced to live on the stipends he provided previous to his tragic passing. Everything, every estate he owned, and hotel, should have been hers. Audrey hadn’t the cunning or the smarts for managing so much wealth. Audrey’s romantic putz of a head was much to in the clouds, or in a book. Now, her Thomas. He was another story. When he pulled his own head out of the gambling tables, he was cunning and wily. No matter, she would run it all now, as it should have been long ago.

Georgiana’s eyes narrowed. It was MY idea to begin hotels. It was my idea to rise up from poverty and rise I have. Georgiana hissed under her breath. My brother borrowed money from my husband to start up his business. It is only fitting I get my investment back, tenfold.

The door to the parlor opened. She looked over her shoulder. Able strode forth with her requirements on a silver tray. Georgiana scribbled a telegram to Wilfred Darrow, instructing Able to send straight away. Able left, handing off the telegram to another servant.

I should send a thank you note to whoever disposed of the wretch, Georgiana mused.

On the other side of the parlor, the door burst open. Thomas ran in, his eyes wild, searching for the woman who was no longer here. Georgiana rolled her eyes. Thomas’s love for theatre took a turn for the ludicrous dramatics.

“Mother, I just got back. What seems to be the matter?” Thomas asked trying to catch his breath.

Georgiana motioned for Thomas to sit. “Most grievous news, my dearest son. It seems your marriage is to be postponed. Audrey has gotten herself murdered.”

“Indeed, what grievous news.” Thomas turned his back on his mother and ran his hands through his hair. “I was looking forward to the nuptials,” he said turning around with a malicious upward quirk of his lips.

“Indeed.” Georgiana matched his countenance.

He took a seat and pulled out his pipe. Georgiana’s lip curled. He struck a match and sucked on his pipe until the flame caught. “I suppose arrangements must be made,” he said. “A funeral and all.”

“Quite.”

“And then, what of her fortune?”

“You mean, our family fortune?”

Thomas inclined his head.

“I suppose it must be passed on to the family, all fortunes must when one passes over to the Golden Shore.”

There were times when even poetry and religion spoke to Madame Coldaire’s heart. Tonight, was one of those moments. She was in a good mood. Georgiana leaned back in her cushioned seat. A small smile toyed at the edges of her lips. “Dear Audrey. Such a sweet, kind child she was. I am sure nothing would make her happier than to know her fortune passed on to her loving aunt and most attentive cousin. I have sent a note to summon Wilfred Darrow here. Once the lawyer arrives, he shall get all the proper paperwork in order, and dear Audrey’s fortune shall be ours.”

Thomas clasped his hands together, leaning back in the chair, crossing his legs and exhaling luxuriously, a content grin forming, “Splendid, Mother.”

Eugene strolled down the cobblestone streets of Philadelphia, his hands in his coat pockets. His broad brimmed hat tipped downward, shading his tanned face from the hot late summer sun. He paused to let a lorry rumble by. Glancing down the busy street, he found what he was looking for. A crowd of bystanders gathered about a salesman like curious flies bumbling around a honeypot.

Poor fellows falling for the same scandal I had once, Eugene thought, adjusting the hat on his brown head.

He glanced down at the crumpled paper in his hands while casually glancing over his shoulders, checking to see if anyone matched the rough sketch on the paper. The fellow was a wanted man for conning, robbery and groping a woman. The tip he received from his errand boy was well worth the few hours on foot, tracking him down to get here. Luckily the man hadn’t left Philadelphia, just changed streets, and he was standing in the middle of the gathered crowd.

That’s him, Eugene surmised, tucking the note and sketch away. After this, I need to get back to the station, and finalize the case. He paused for a while, looking on at the scene below. The man was building momentum, gaining curious onlookers and potential cons by the moment. A man strolled by with his lady on his arm. Eugene watched the lady lay her head on the man’s shoulder when they paused to listen. I don’t want to do this forever, Eugene decided. I would like a home with a wife. Someone who will lean on me like that.

Eugene put his hands back in his pockets, internally shaking his head at the thought and turning his focus back to the wanted man. He grumbled at the thought of returning to the station. He wasn’t quite a police officer or a detective. He was a Pinkerton, a free-lance, under respected, underpaid private investigator for officials who deemed themselves too busy to investigate certain cases.

Eugene rolled his eyes. He worked long and hard to get to where he was unlike the upper class with money and mansions being handed to them. To rise from the slums of New York to a free-lance investigator was more than what his family thought capable, God rest their souls. And he thrived in the field he’d chosen, earning money from the aristocrats themselves.

The man on the street corner’s voice boomed off the brick buildings. He hollered at the gathered crowd about his miracle soaps. Allegedly, they could clean all surfaces and cure all manner of ills. The delightful scents, the full lather, the guaranteed efficaciousness of this marvelous soap—the salesman’s handlebar mustache trembled in rapture over his soap as he proclaimed all its wonderful benefits.

Eugene joined the mass near the front, wanting to laugh at the man’s mustache. He rolled his broad shoulders back, taking in the scene. He was within arm’s reach of the man’s open suitcase displaying a neatly stacked pyramid of soap, each bar wrapped in brown paper.

The peddler clapped his hands then spreading them wide, “Now, my fine fellows, for only one dollar, you can buy yourself a genuine miracle. You’ve heard what it has done for me, now try it for yourself—”

“Imagine paying one whole dollar for a single bar of soap,” the stout housewife next to Eugene muttered to her companion. “I could buy three cases of it with the money.”

“But if it can clean all that he says, isn’t it worth the expense?” her friend asked.

“Bollocks to that. To hear him speak of it, his miracle soap cleans stains out of lace, rust off of pots, and leprosy out of skin! Let’s go. We’ve wasted enough time on this foolishness.”

As they turned to leave, the women caught the salesman’s eye. “But that’s not all,” he went on, his excitement tipping him up on his toes like a marionette on strings. “In honor of my dear old mum’s birthday, which happens to be today, I have hidden a ten-dollar bill within one of these five lucky soaps. Here, sir—try one!”

The housewife stopped to watch the salesman toss a bar of soap to a bystander. Catching it, the man ripped open the paper and crowed with delight, holding up the bill. The crowd buzzed with excitement.

“Two twenty-dollar bills are hidden somewhere in this pile,” the peddler said, gesturing to his pyramid. “And, in one lucky, lucky bar of soap, I have hidden… a one-hundred-dollar bill.” His eyes went heavenward. “All for my dear old mum!”

The honey had been set, and the crowd caught. They swarmed the peddler, all reaching for the purses and pockets to fish out coins, each wanting a bar of soap for themselves. They pushed and shoved their way forward to the man’s open suitcase.

To Eugene, the charade went on long enough. “All right, show’s over,” he hollered, stepping forward.

The peddler grinned broadly, placing his hands on his hips in a way that made Eugene wonder if there was a pistol hiding beneath his coat. “Ah, good sir, there is more than enough to go around, I assure you.”

Eugene nodded. “I am certain there is; however, I am afraid I must call out your ploy.”

The man chuckled, taking two dollars from a nearby woman and handed her a couple of bars. “I am afraid, good sir, I do not understand what you mean.”

Eugene’s light cinnamon brown eyes narrowed. “I apologize for the confusion. Your soap selling is a hoax, a con, a ruse. Are any of those terms able to resolve your confusion?”

Two men from the crowd moved toward the front; one, the man who found money in his soap package, the other one of the big men who watched the crowd from the back, Eugene noted. Money-package Man rolled up his sleeves while the other’s hands clenched into fists.

The swindler laughed uncomfortably. “Now, now, ladies and gentlemen, this man is simply angry he has not won any money! I assure you, there is money inside these marvelously crafted bars of soap.”

Eugene spun around and faced the crowd. “Please return to your business. This man is a crook. If you will all check your purchases now, you will find there is no money in the packaging.”

The murmurs in the crowd went from disappointment and confusion to outrage. People opened their packets and found nothing but bars of waxy tallow. Some left, but others started demanding their money back. The con artist turned to Eugene, his mustache twitching in rage. Two more men approached from either side, their expressions matching the darkness of their ring leader’s. The tallest of them stood on his left. Eugene lowered his head, waiting for the fist he knew was seconds away.

The hustler wasn’t done. “I have just two bars left and one must have the hundred-dollar bill,” he announced, holding up the packaged soap. “Who wants it? Let’s start the bidding at ten dollars!”

“Run along, people,” Eugene returned, lifting his head to be heard.

Furious, the crook slammed his suitcase closed, shaking the rickety tripod beneath it. “I’ve had enough of you! Get ‘em, boys!”

The big man, Fist Man, reached Eugene right at that moment, taking a swing at him. Eugene ducked from the heavy-handed throw, coming up with a right hook to the gut. With a whoof, the man doubled over. Eugene finished him with a kick to the face. The man to Eugene’s right grabbed the collar of his shirt and swung. The blow landed on Eugene’s jaw.

Pain radiated through his head. Eugene planted his feet and swung back, hitting the other con man on the right temple, dropping him like a stone. Police whistles sounded from the distance. Eugene spun around and ran ten steps, grabbing the ringleader before he’d a chance to flee. The panicked man took a less than accurate swing with his suitcase and the case slammed feebly against Eugene’s shoulder, popping open and spilling the last two soap bars on the cobblestones. Eugene threw him in a headlock as he awaited the officers rushing toward him.

“Nice work, Turner,” Officer Hudson of the Philadelphia police said with a smile.

Eugene shook his hand. “Thank you, John. The tip I received proved well worth my time. Thank you for arriving quickly.”

John gave a tight smile. “Think nothing of it. Always a pleasure working with you, Eugene.”

“Mr. Turner! Mr. Turner!”

Eugene pivoted to the voice. One of his errand boys rushed toward him waving a yellow paper in his small hands. Eugene strode to him, bending down to his level as the boy approached. The boy stopped, staggering forward, out of breath.

“What’s the matter, Sean?” Eugene asked.

The boy huffed, catching his breath. “A telegram, sir. Just came in from Mr. Darrow.”

Eugene plucked the message from the boy’s hand and read the urgent telegram. He shoved the yellow slip of paper in his coat pocket.

“Good work, Sean,” he praised, handing the boy a packet of black licorice and five cents. “That will be all for the day. Run along.”

Eugene peered behind him at the officers dragging the reluctant con artists to the paddy wagon. His pocket watch declared it was just past two o’clock. Should give me enough time to catch the next train to Saint Louis.

The train shrieked, chugging to a halt at the St. Louis station. Eugene pulled out his pocket watch. He was to meet Darrow at the Coldaire estate at one o’clock. It was already twelve thirty. He grimaced, not liking the possibility of being late.

After disembarking, Eugene hailed a Hansom cab and directed the driver to the Coldaire estate. Settling back into the leather seat, Eugene opened his briefcase, reviewing the report he’d picked up from the local sheriff once again. According to the report, Audrey Whitman died from multiple stab wounds. However, the body of the young woman was yet to be found and there was no blood at the scene. The report went on to detail the destruction of the carriage, the victim’s personal items, and the team of horses being cut loose. Ms. Whitman’s benefactors, Georgiana Coldaire and her son Thomas, desired to close the case, claiming the death, and subsequent scandal too painful for their small family to endure. Evidently, it was enough for this sheriff to call the case closed.

Eugene rolled his eyes. How shoddy can an officer of the law get? No body, no blood, no ransom note. No one disappears, for goodness sakes, especially a wealthy young heiress. More than likely, she ran off with a fellow, or perhaps from someone in particular.

Eugene pulled out the telegram from Wilfred Darrow. He’d the pleasure of working for Darrow previously on a case involving stolen horses. Eugene sighed, raking his fingers through his warm brown hair. Come to St. Louis forthwith. You shall be investigating a disappearance, Eugene read thinking about Darrow’s slight English accent that dissipated with his immigration to America. Clearly, Darrow believed otherwise also.

Seeing the good lawyer would be beneficial. Darrow might have something for him to help the case. Eugene hoped as much. Missing persons cases were not his favorite.

After this, home to Philadelphia, Eugene sighed with anticipation. Buy a home and find a wife. He chuckled to himself. And not necessarily in that order.

He stuffed the papers back in his briefcase, slamming the lid shut. He gazed out the open Hansom cab, to the rows of manicured hedges and trees leading up to the mansion. Wilfred Darrow waited for him outside, underneath the white marble pillars. The old lawyer dabbed his forehead with a kerchief.

In a few quick strides, Eugene mounted the stairs and shook Darrow’s hand.

“Darrow. How goes it with you?” Eugene asked.

Darrow’s eyes narrowed, glancing at the open double doors behind him. “Decent enough. Thank you for coming, Eugene. Let’s handle this now.” His tone and glance at the doors set Eugene on the alert.

Stone-faced, Darrow led the way into the mansion. The butler, a balding man with a benign but keen expression, led them to the parlor, where Mrs. Coldaire sat in a chair looking distraught. She held the posture of a queen in full mourning, her elegantly coiffed coal-black hair streaked with silver, her voluminous black skirts emphasizing one of the smallest waists Eugene had ever seen on an older lady. It couldn’t be comfortable. She clutched a kerchief in her right hand, sniffling intermittently and dabbing occasionally at her clear, calculating, dry green eyes. Thomas, her son, stood smoking a pipe by the window, looking handsome, bored, and listless.

Eugene sighed inwardly. Typical aristocrat.

“Thank you, gentlemen, for coming to my humble abode on such short notice,” Madam Coldaire said. “These are such trying times for the family, and yet we must stir ourselves up to move forward. Much is yet to be done without poor, dear Audrey.”

Darrow’s lips pressed in a thin line. “Indeed,” he said.

“Able,” she snapped at the butler. Eugene perked a brow at her momentarily forgotten grief. Mrs. Coldaire pointed a shaky hand at a mirror, “throw the shawl over the hallway mirror. I can’t stand to see a mirror when there’s been a death in the house.” She collapsed into her chair as if suddenly overwhelmed. Eugene suppressed the smirk and eye roll that wanted to come out at the woman’s dramatics.

“Please, have a seat,” Thomas instructed. “My mother has been sorely vexed. She’s waited these past few days for any word about dearest Audrey. Sadly, no one’s turned up anything.”

“Absolutely nothing, Mrs. Coldaire?” Eugene asked.

Mrs. Coldaire put a hand to her head. “Indeed. The sheriff dropped off the wrecked carriage this morning for you to inspect.”

“Mrs. Coldaire, was there a note for ransom or any letters left behind?”

Georgiana shook her head, sniffling, and patting her dry eyes. Thomas relayed there wasn’t anything unusual or out of place. Georgiana looked away, putting a hand against her mouth, staring blankly out the window. Thomas pulled on his pipe. Soon a stream of smoke billowed up in lazy waves.

Eugene struggled to remain passive. His fingers strummed on the arm of the chair. Overly dramatic aunt and a distant, dandy cousin, Eugene thought. Clearly, they do not miss her at all.

A tight line formed on Eugene’s lips. He’d not seen so distantly shocking reactions to a death of a person deemed ‘beloved by all’. Eugene took a side glance toward Wilfred Darrow whose keen hawk-like gaze hadn’t changed during their entire interaction.

Clearly not buying it either, Eugene surmised.

“With her father’s untimely death when she was naught but twelve, we took her in and cared for her. We developed a fondness for each other,” Thomas sighed, shaking his head. Georgiana patted his hand. Woefully, Thomas continued, “Audrey and I decided to marry this fall. She left her finishing school to come here and plan the event with me and my mother. She,” Thomas sighed again, shaking his head, “never made it here.” Georgiana roused herself up long enough to attest to her delight in seeing her most favorite niece at last.

Eugene consulted his book of notes. Locking eyes with Georgiana, he asked, “she is your only niece, is she not?”

Mrs. Coldaire dabbed her eyes. “Quite right, my only niece and the best in all the world!”

Thomas, shifted from foot to foot, giving his pipe another pull.

“Dear Audrey was very excited for the wedding,” Georgiana continued, sniffling. “Of course, being such a young lady, she left all the arrangements in my hands—the seamstresses, flowers, invitations and all. Such an expense. I suppose it must all be returned now since the dear child is gone. I shall never get over the heartbreak of it all.”

Thomas exhaled smoke through his nostrils in twin streams. “Do not worry, Mother. We will honor her memory forever,” his voice hitching at the end.

Eugene glanced to the floor for a moment. By all that is Holy, I’ve never seen such… a theatre.

Georgiana tapped a black-gloved finger to her lips, momentarily lost in thought. “But what shall become of the estate and all of the holdings? My brother’s hotels won’t run themselves. Shouldn’t it all pass to us to take care of? After all, we are the sole family she had.”

Wilfred Darrow cleared his throat. “Has left, madam. Let us not be hasty. Without a body or any confirmation of her death, we must assume Miss Whitman remains alive. Therefore, there can be no legal change of ownership, and the estate and financial holdings remain in my care. It is why I hired Eugene Turner,” Darrow stated, motioning to Eugene, “a Pinkerton, widely respected in his field. He’s a highly trained professional and shall investigate the murder or disappearance of Audrey forthwith. Meanwhile, I will return to my work, for you are right. The hotels won’t run themselves.” Darrow rose. “And so, Eugene, I leave you to it. Good day, Madam Coldaire. Thomas.”

Eugene walked over to Darrow and shook his hand. “I will find her.”

“See that you do,” Darrow said, and the butler saw him out.

Eugene turned to face the two Coldaire’s. “I should like to see Audrey’s room and the carriage.”

Georgiana nodded. “Thomas, show him the carriage.”

“Yes, Mother. Eugene, if you’d please.”

Eugene followed Thomas out of the room, wondering at the true state of the carriage. Thomas led Eugene on a meandering path through the back of the house. Eugene couldn’t help but note how empty the place was. Aside from Able, he caught sight of two other servants, and the halls seemed oddly bare. Large squares of dark-colored paint marred the walls, wooden stands stood empty without vases, and the kitchen was a wreck of hastily constructed meals with no cook to oversee them. Outside, the grounds certainly did not have enough hands to maintain such a large property.

Thomas grunted, the barn doors creaking open. “Blast this infernal building!” Thomas huffed. “Perspiration will certainly ruin my new suit!”

The corner of Eugene’s lip twitched. As the dandy continued his complaints, Eugene resisted the urge to check the time. He was quickly losing patience with this man and this case. He did not like searching for missing persons. They were either found, well off and hiding, or dead. In the present case, Audrey was wealthier than Spain or England which could leave her in either situation.

She had to have been abducted, Eugene surmised. More than likely taken west where her ties to society would be far and few between.

Thomas’s whining about his suit gave way to boasts about how the ladies flocked to him. However, the man supposedly devoted his soul to his poor cousin, and no woman could ever come close to her in beauty. And now, here he was, left bereft without his beloved.

“I am telling you, Pinkerton, Audrey is dead,” Thomas continued. “You can even ask Rafe.”

Eugene whirled around. “Rafe?”

Thomas sighed irritably. “The carriage driver. The last person to see Audrey.”

Eugene made a mental note to speak to the man soon. Eugene sized up the wrecked carriage. Its slashed leather reins were the first item to catch his attention. Eugene picked up a leather strap, inspecting the cut. The straps were cut with a downward slash at an angle, and evidently the person sawed through the leather a bit.

Eugene scrutinized the leather, either the knife wasn’t sharp or their wrists were weak. Perhaps a bit of both.

He moved around to the right side of the carriage. The glass was smashed out of the windows, but for what purpose? None he could discern seeing the door lock intact and easily unlatched.

“See?” Thomas said, stroking his ridiculous mustache. “It is as the sheriff said. My poor cousin is lost to us forever.”

Eugene ignored his voice like the buzzing of a gnat and turned his interest to the inside of the carriage. His shoes crunched on glass as he stepped inside. Someone had taken a knife to the carriage seat. It was completely destroyed along with the cushion of the backrest. Stuffing from inside littered the carriage floor. The person, or persons, who made these vigorous stabbing and slash marks was in a hurry; the slashes seemed random and for no particular reason.

A great deal of energy went into making a scene like this, Eugene thought.

However, he couldn’t detect any sign of blood. The only damage received was to the carriage itself. There may have been a struggle, although with the randomness of the slash marks, I’d imagine she would’ve been hit by the knife at some point. With the lack of blood on the carriage material and no sign of a body, he could now assume the girl was, most likely, alive. Something more is going on than a simple kidnapping.

“I should like to see her room, if I may,” Eugene announced.

Thomas gave an impatient jerk of his head. “If you must. I don’t quite see what good it will do, seeing it is plain the girl was attacked, quite violently, and now is gone. It’s not like Mother to give up hope, the woman’s a stubborn old bird, but even she can tell the situation’s hopeless. What more do you need to see, to know, dear Audrey, is woefully dead?”

“It is for me to decide in the course of my investigation,” Eugene said pointedly. “I shall find your beloved cousin dead or alive. If dead, I shall return with the body. And, if this is the case, as you assume, in a few days her body shall be quite odorous and the pungency of her remains will, without question, affect the quality of your attire. Observing how enamored you are with Miss. Whitman, it should not be a hindrance though. If anything, having a type of closure will be a relief.”

Thomas blinked. “This way, if you will,” he harrumphed, turning on his heel.

Eugene curbed the smirk twitching on the edges of his lips. Thomas led him back toward the Coldaire Estate. A man approached from a side path, his dusty bowler hat in his caramel hands. Thomas sighed again, seemingly more irritated at the delay.

“‘Evenin’. I’m Rafe the driver,” the man said, sticking out his hand.

Eugene took it. “Pleasure. Eugene Turner, Pinkerton. I hear you can you tell me what happened?”

Rafe nodded. “We stopped in St. Louis. Miz Audrey asked to stop at a flower shop and ordered a passel of flowers for Madam Coldaire.”

Eugene whipped out his notepad and scribbled it down. “Flowers?”

“Yep. Dahlias, Miz Audrey said. Said the arrangement would take an hour to put together. Wanted me to wait for ‘em while they’re being made.”

“What else happened?”

“So’s, I went into the store like she asked me to, while she went next door to shop.”

“What else?”

Rafe sniffed, dabbing at his eyes. “Weren’t but a few minutes I was in the shop waitin’ when I happened to look out the window for the carriage and she was gone. She plum vanished, carriage, horses, and all.”

“You didn’t hear anything from inside the store—no shouts or sounds of a scuffle?”

“No, sir, nuthin’.”

“Can you tell me what she was wearing?”

Rafe nodded. “A blue dress… fluffy like. The color of the sky with white frilly trimmin’.”

“Anything you can tell me about how she seemed to you that day? Anything out of the ordinary about her mannerism?”

“How she seemed to me?” Rafe scratched his head. “Nuthin’ I can reckon. She was right pert like usual, chattin’ up a storm. Happy, I’d say. But she’s always seemed happy to me. She’s one of the sunshiniest ladies I’ve ever met. Sure, hope nuthin’ bad’s happened to her. You’ll find her soon, won’t you?”

Eugene put his notebook away and shook the man’s hand. “With your help, and Lord willing, I will. Thank you for this information, Rafe. This helps me immensely.”

The older man nodded and scooted off. Thomas pulled out an ivory snuff box and gave himself a delicate pinch. “He’s a good servant,” he said as Rafe disappeared into the stables. “I hope he wakes up to reality soon. Otherwise he’ll be crushed at her funeral and useless that day.”

Comments like his reminded Eugene why he preferred to stick with men who knew how to work for a living, and not gentlemen pampered until they were no longer gentle, nor men.

Which is why I stick to middle class, still gentlemen, not swayed by currency, and not so poor off to be desolate and depressed, Eugene thought.

“Shall we?” Eugene asked, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice.

Thomas led him through the oaken doors of the Coldaire Estate. The man turned to the right, going up a circling tower of stairs.

“We gave my dear cousin a room to herself to do whatever her fancy. She would paint, press flowers, that sort of thing. It is as you see.” Thomas stopped at the door and pulled out his pipe. Eugene scowled at the door, seeing the locking mechanism from the outside instead of in. He walked around the other side of the door. No scratch marks or markings. Eugene left the thought alone for the moment, circling about the room. Thomas dumped the sooty tobacco from his pipe out in the porcelain water basin near Audrey’s easel. Then he took to packing the pipe with fresh tobacco.

The Devil’s weed, as Ma would say, Eugene thought, walking over to the painting easel near the window.

A lonely dahlia was in the middle, painted orange in a blue vase. Embroidery sat on the cushioned chair, a needle and thread lying neatly on top. Eugene picked it up, reading the red-stitched words ‘Charity Never Faileth’ in the crisp white cotton.

“Where is her bedroom?” Eugene asked, setting the embroidery down.

“Over there on the left. Said something about wanting to overlook the gardens out in back.” Thomas had his pipe lit and seemed to be trying to make perfect rings of smoke. His face gaped like a gasping fish’s as the cloudy rings looped up toward the ceiling.

Let’s get this over with, Eugene thought. The sooner I’m out of here, the better.

Opening the door, Eugene found the room surprisingly small to be the home of an heiress. The door also locked on the outside.

Spying Eugene examine the lock closer, along with the surprise on his face at the size of the room, Thomas shrugged and said, “Old home you know, but Audrey insisted on this room.”

On the left was a humble bookcase. Two rows on the bottom, both filled with books. Trinkets and porcelain dolls sat on the top two rows. Underneath the white paned window stood the bed, covered in a pink quilt embroidered with flowers. On the bed was her diary.

Eugene went straight for it. He opened it seeing delicately pressed violets on the first several pages. He flipped through several more, seeing sketches of couples strolling down a sidewalk in brick-lined streets.

My Dearest Friend,

How I long to have an adventure of some kind. I feel like little Jane Eyre in Miss Bronte’s book, only before she left her finishing school and met her mysterious Mister Rochester, and then found herself the courage to leave his mansion and go off on her own to see what she could take on in the world. She made her own path. I desire the same and—oh! I find myself rambling. But what else can one do on a bright, golden day with no one to talk to but an empty page?

There was no signature of her on this particular page. Eugene closed the diary and stuck it in his coat pocket for further reading. Perhaps there would be some clue here about what happened to Miss Whitman. He took another look around, his eyes passing over the fanciful dolls and books with flower stems poking out of them. Nothing there of interest. Opening the desk, he found a few letters from friends back East—finishing school acquaintances, most like. All letters in neat, flourishing penmanship, all addressed to girls at a ladies’ school in Massachusetts. So, unless her kidnapper was related to one of these acquaintances, here was another dead end. Still, Eugene made a pile of the papers and addresses, slipping them in his briefcase.

Eugene walked out of the door, closing it softly behind him. Thomas leaned against the hallway wall in a haze of smoke.

“So, you have seen her room and the carriage,” Thomas remarked. “Anything else you care to inspect or are we done here?”

Eugene thanked him for his time and assured the gentleman he’d let himself out. His footsteps echoed hollowly as he left the empty Coldaire Estate. He needed to speak with Darrow.

Audrey glanced out the window, smiling, tucking some unruly hairs behind her ear. Her hands lay neatly in her lap. Her eyes roamed the passing landscape. Acres and acres of green land were set before her. Herds of horses and bison stampeding held her attention. Audrey could not help but smile. This was the adventure she always dreamt of.

She closed her eyes. The sun filtered through the small glass window, striking her face. The smile that brushed her lips could not be removed. Audrey inhaled deeply, relishing the smell of the wild instead of the perfumed rooms she was accustomed to. She loved the freedom she felt seep into her bones. She loved the thrill of watching the wild horses gallop close to the train, how independent they were.

I could positively never tire of such a sight!

Her entire life was routine, schedules and parties. Her life was education, classes, learning many languages to define her as accomplished. But the life she wanted was not the one she lived. Audrey wanted romance. Audrey wanted someone to love her for all she was, not for the money her father accumulated.

Audrey sighed. She wondered what her mother would have said to all she was doing. But she shall never know. Her mother died when she was a child. She wondered if her father would scold her for what she was doing now. But again, she was to never hear his voice again.

I miss them, she thought. I miss what could have been.

Audrey opened her eyes when she heard the car door open. Jack, the conductor, came by, helping a woman move her belongings; suitcases in each hand and under his arms. The woman’s son sat next to the window. His small face immediately pressed against the glass. The woman thanked Jack for the new accommodations and took a seat beside her son.

“Mother!” the boy shouted, “look at the size of that buffalo! Do you think the Indians rode them too?”

“William!” the mother scolded. “Hush your voice. And no, I do not believe the Indians rode bison. Far too ornery.”

Audrey snickered.

The woman turned to her with a smile. Audrey stuck out her hand. “Hello, my dear lady. My name is Audrey. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The woman grinned, shaking her hand. “My name is Pearl. It is a pleasure to meet you as well. This is my son, William.”

The little boy spun around. “Hello, ma’am.”

“This is such a beautiful day; do you not agree?” Audrey said.

“Yes, I do,” Pearl replied. “We have been on a train for a few days now. I cannot wait until we are done.”

Audrey’s eyes went wide. “You do not like the train? I believe it is rather charming.”

Pearl laughed softly. “Not when you are on it for several days non-stop.”

“Well, it would be rather discomforting, I suppose.”

“Is this your first time on a train?”

Audrey smiled sheepishly. “No, it is not. All the other rides I have taken were a rather quick affair. This is my first trip lasting longer than a few hours.”

“We are headed to Oregon!” William blurted.

Audrey smiled. “How wonderful! What kind of adventure are you going to take first, young sir?”

William clambered over his mother. He licked his lips and smiled, revealing several missing teeth. “I wanna get me a big ol’ black bear and mount him on my bedroom wall.”

Audrey gasped. “Sounds ferocious. However, will you take on such a beast?”

“My Pa is gonna get me a big rifle to take ‘em down.”

“Where are you headed Audrey?”

Audrey fiddled with her hands. “Denver. I am heading to my new job. I got hired as a teacher.”

Audrey was rather surprised with herself. She’d never lied before and grimaced slightly. It came out easier than she expected it to. She glanced out the window momentarily, taking a deep breath.

I can do this, she reminded herself.

William groaned. Pearl pinched her son, calling his actions rude. Audrey smiled at the boy. She too, loathed school at some point in her life. It had to be around the time she was learning Greek after finishing French. Audrey shuddered. She will more than likely never use Greek for the rest of her life but now it was crammed into her head, taking up space.

“Are you cold, Audrey?” Pearl asked.

Audrey laughed softly. “No, I am not. I shuddered at the thought of seeing a bear.”

Pearl chuckled. “I shudder at the thought myself. My husband Bryan went to Oregon to be a fur trapper. Now that he is settled out west, we sold our home in Ohio to join him.”

“That sounds absolutely exciting!” Audrey exclaimed.

The car door opened again. Audrey glanced behind her, seeing Jack return with a cart. He strolled up with a smile.

“Good afternoon, fine ladies and little gentleman, care for some refreshments?” Jack asked.

William whined for some licorice. Pearl scolded him and told Jack no. Audrey took several coins out of her purse and purchased some licorice and other candies. Jack left with a smile. William stared at her with wide eyes.

“Oh goodness,” Audrey exclaimed. “I am sorely afraid I have purchased too many sweets. William, could you be a dear and help me eat these?”

Pearl smirked, giving her a nod. William looked to his mother who nodded.

“You have to be a sweet, well-behaved boy for your mother.”

William raised his right hand. “I do so swear.”

Audrey hid a smile, handing him all the black licorice as it was her least favorite. Just thinking about the awful taste made her shudder.

“Thank you, Miss Audrey. Say, if you are my teacher, instead of letter grades, how about pieces of candy?”

Audrey laughed. “I will consider the request, William.”

“Oh good. I am sure you would get a lot more kids to pay attention that way.”

Audrey made a face and nodded. “Oh yes,” she stated in a firmer voice. “Very astute reasoning there, my dear boy.”

“Where did ya get that necklace?”

Audrey smiled as she touched it. “It was my mothers. Inside is a picture of her and my father on their wedding day. It is all I have left of her.”

Pearl put a hand to her heart. “I am so sorry for you, Dear.”

Audrey smiled wanly, “It is all right. It was a long time ago.”

Pearl spoke of her husband and their family. Most of hers were back in Ohio while his were in Michigan. Pearl spoke of them for quite some time. Audrey had no idea how much family she had. The only people she knew of were Georgiana and Thomas Coldaire, her father’s sister and nephew. After hours of listening to Pearl talk about her family, Audrey wanted a family like Pearl’s someday.

The train whistle blew loudly, garnering their attention. Audrey beamed as Jack announced they were now in Kansas City. Audrey felt her insides tingle with excitement.

“Audrey, you must dine with us tonight,” Pearl insisted.

Audrey reached out and shook Pearl’s hand. “I would be absolutely delighted. Thank you for the invitation.”

“We are headed to the Silver Spoon, a dining hotel.”

“Sounds wonderful. I shall seek accommodations there myself.”

Jack ushered them off the train, standing on the wooden platform to help them down. Audrey’s smile covered her jittery insides.

I made it, she thought. I am Jane Eyre. I can “blaze my own trail” as I have heard some others say. Audrey took a deep breath, taking in the bustling town. First thing, I need a room and to get refreshed. Second, I need to purchase a ticket for Denver. Audrey beamed at a woman and her husband in a wagon. I can do this.

People smiled. Men tipped their hat to her. Audrey followed Pearl as she seemed to know the way.

Today was the beginning of a grand adventure, made more perfect with new friends.

Audrey settled into her room. It was small and quaint, with a metal framed bed under the window. A small dresser was to her left. A wash basin sat on top with a cracked standing mirror. The floor hadn’t been swept in a while; dust bunnies accumulated in the corner.

Audrey inhaled deeply. The room she had was cheap enough, leaving her with a substantial sum left in her coin purse. Audrey glanced at the small wall clock, announcing the time as fifteen to five. Her stomach rumbled. She checked her mouse brown hair in the mirror. Pulling at her skin, she checked her green eyes for bags and pinched her cheeks for some color. After quickly washing her face with cold water, she felt refreshed. The dust and grime from riding the train came off on the towel.

With a smile in the mirror, she turned on her heel and exited. She strode down the long hallway and the stairs, turning to the left where she entered a different world, abruptly departing the rugged pioneer entering into the fanciful taste of the east coast. It stunned her for a moment. She wasn’t expecting such a change. If she were honest with herself, she was a bit disappointed. She was leaving all this opulence behind simply to find it at the hotel she chose to stay at.

She stood back for a moment, pushing aside her disappointment and looking about the room for her newly acquainted friends to dine with. Audrey spied them over to the right. She walked over with a pep in her step. Audrey sat on the outside chair next to the walkway. The little boy sat across from her, drinking his water with a spoon.

“William,” Pearl scolded, “do not slurp.”

“Sorry Mama.”

A waitress came over, bringing Audrey some water. The waitress leaned over Audrey with a quick “excuse me,” handing Pearl a newspaper.

Audrey took a sip of water, slurping it like William, winking at him from above her spoon. The boy laughed.

Audrey whispered, “It is amusing,” she chuckled.

William leaned over, whispering back, “I know.”

The waitress came back taking their order. After she left, Pearl began reading the paper aloud softly, but only the little tidbits Pearl found interesting like scandals - especially the Soapy Smith ones. Audrey added her amusement as she giggled and asked Pearl to have the paper when she was finished. William sat, listening enraptured to his mother. Pearl told him about what the sheriff had been doing according to the stories in the paper. The boy’s eyes lit up, going wide as the sheriff single handedly took out three wanted criminals with a gun firing shoot-out.

“Mama, I want to be a sheriff,” William stated.

Pearl smiled lovingly down at her son. “I thought you wanted to be a trapper like your Pa?”

William shook his head. “Naw, well… sorta. I wanna catch bad guys too. Maybe I can be both.”

“Listen to his speech,” Pearl said with a wink. “You are in the presence of a teacher and you talk like you are uneducated.”

“Oh Mama,” William gave a lopsided grin. “That’s what school is for.”

Audrey laced her fingers, putting them in her lap. She straightened her back, gazing at young William, “Well, in my classroom, you will speak and write correctly. It is not ‘wanna’ it is ‘I would like to’ and it is not ‘sorta’ it is ‘sort of’.”

“Well, my Pa doesn’t care,” William retorted.

“Your father may not care, but being a respectable sheriff will make a difference. Sheriff’s duties include writing papers, talking publicly, attending courts and meetings. There is a lot of etiquette to being a sheriff.”

William looked at her dejectedly, then turned to his mother. “I will speak proper from now on, Mother.”

Pearl winked at her.

Their food was served in a flourish of people. At least four different people came out bringing all the food they’d ordered. Pearl picked up the paper again, reading the front of the paper this time. Pearl gasped. Audrey took a sip of wine.

“Oh Audrey!” Pearl exclaimed. “There is a kidnapped heiress out of St. Louis.”

Audrey spit out her wine barely catching it in her cloth napkin. “Come again?” Audrey asked, coughing and dabbing her lips. William laughed.

“William!” Pearl scolded again. “Eighteen-year-old Audrey Whitman has been kidnapped. A reward offered for any information about her whereabouts. Oh, how awfully tragic. Her poor family. And how incredible, you share the name.”

Audrey peered out the window, sipping her wine. “Indeed,” she commented. “However, my last name is Lucas and not Whitman.” And how fortunate for me they didn’t put a description in the paper.

Pearl folded the paper exasperatedly, “Well, enough of that dreary news. Let’s eat.”

Audrey picked at her food, I am going to have to be more cautious.

Audrey bid Pearl and William a good sleep, promising to be on the next train with them. Little did they know, she had no intentions of being there. Audrey felt horrible for lying.

She stopped by the front desk to inquire about assistance with finding a dress shop. However, the line was long, so Audrey left. Pearl and William passed in front of her, nodding and waving to her as they went to their own chamber. Audrey gave a smile although, she felt it forced.

I cannot even imagine Jane Eyre lying, she is much too forthright for such a devious thing, Audrey thought. And yet… Mine is unfortunately necessary. Audrey tucked her brown hair behind her ear. I do not want to go back to St. Louis. It may be a bit dramatic, but I truly think I may die if I have to marry Thomas.

She stumbled up the stairs to her bedroom. She walked past three closed doors with interesting sounds coming out of the third one. She made a face. Goodness, Audrey thought, I wonder what Ms. Eyre would have to say. Audrey pondered a moment. I suppose something along the lines of ‘I would always rather be happy than dignified’. Audrey pressed the back of her hand to her smiling lips.

She opened her chamber room, shutting it gently behind her. The noises from next door thankfully muffled. She let out a deep breath. A lantern lit the top of the wardrobe. Audrey stopped in front of the mirror, wondering how she could change her look. Carefully, she took the pins out of her hair, letting it fall past her shoulders in ringlets. She looked down at her blue taffeta dress, comparing it to the simple yellow one Pearl wore.

“I need new clothing,” she said to herself.

Audrey braided her hair back off her face, wondering if other people wore their hair like she was. She turned toward the bed, sitting on the edge. Audrey sighed deeply, hanging her head.

I miss the ease of home, my bedroom and the like, Audrey thought. But I do not miss being told what to do, whom I ought to speak with or write letters to. I do not miss my aunt or my cousin who have never uttered a kind word to me and who made me feel like a prisoner. In the Bible – When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. Audrey raised her head, staring defiantly at the door. I love my freedom, my ability to choose. I love this adventure.