Chapter two, continued

The door opened on my second knock. I had forgotten how tall she was. She was nearly as tall as Father with a raw-boned pioneer look about her. She looked as if she should have been loading her husband’s flintlock during an Indian attack in Kentucky a hundred years ago.

I had also forgotten how young she was. Her face was clear and unlined and the brown hair tied gracelessly on top of her head was without gray. I did a quick calculation. Aunt Rachel was three years younger than Mother, so she would be thirty-three this year. In my mind, I had made her short, old, and gray, but she was none of those things.

There was a moment of confusion on her face, too, then she smiled and said, “Matthew and Sarah?” I nodded.

She reached out immediately for Sarah’s hand and Sarah curtseyed. Rachel laughed and said, “None of that! Come in; come in.” She ushered us into a hallway that ran the length of the house, saying, “I got a telegram from your father, but it was very short. He said a letter would follow to explain everything, but you seem to have beaten it here, so you will have to tell me what is going on.”

How do you put the changes that have torn your life apart into a few words for a stranger? Rachel saw my distress, and said, “Well, never mind. You can tell me later. How long do you plan to stay?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe a long time.”

Her face suddenly became serious. She nodded and said, “Lincoln’s election, of course. Thomas would see it as a danger. But if he acted this quickly, things must be even worse than I thought.”

“He sees it as a great danger, Ma’m.”

For a moment she had a far-away look in her eye. Then she was all practicality again, asking us how we had come so quickly and where we had slept last night. When she found out that we had slept on the train and had had no breakfast, she started to herd us into the kitchen for some food. I interrupted to say, “I need to get Sarah’s luggage in first.”

“I wondered if you were traveling with just one carpetbag,” she said. “Why don’t you fetch her things in while we start something to eat.”

I hesitated, embarrassed, and then said, “Do you have a wheelbarrow or a cart?”

“Yes. Why?”

I pointed out the front door. She leaned past me and saw the pile of trunks making a small, tumbled mountain at the crossroads. I was cringing inwardly, waiting for her scorn, for I knew that she was a plain woman. 

Instead of making a comment about the pile of trunks, she put her hand on my shoulder and said, “How much of that is yours?”

“It is all hers.”

“You are traveling with one valise and she has all that. You have not been raised together, have you?”

“No, Ma’m.”

She squeezed my shoulder and laughed. It was a sound full of compassion and understanding, and there was surprising strength in her hand. In that moment, she won my heart.