LIZZY Read online

  She first spotted her oldest boy, William. She had named him after her brother and her grandfather: William Fester McKeever. He had just turned fourteen and was by far the closest to his own grandfather. William had first found Jed on the morning he died and the boy was still filled with grief. The young man had long, brown, wavy hair that curled up at his collar. His bright blue eyes roared loud with fire, but his heart was as kind as a lamb. If anyone would ever ask William who Jed’s favorite grandchild was, he would be the first to say it was him. He spoke with a crackle in his voice at times and his features were beginning to fill in. The older he got the more he resembled his father, Martin.

  Lizzy’s husband, Martin McKeever, sat next to William with one hand on a railing and the other on the boy’s back. Lizzy could only guess what they were talking about, but she knew it was probably about her father.

  Oh, he did love you so, Papa.

  Martin and Lizzy had been married since ’66 and although they had always considered Wheeling, West Virginia their home, they had moved to Charleston in 1870 when the states’ capital had been relocated. Martin, a political activist, had been elected to Congress in November 1868 and when the state capital moved from Wheeling to Charleston, so did the family. Lizzy followed her husband and endured five years in the hustle and bustle of the big city, but was overjoyed the night when Martin informed her that the capital was being moved back to Wheeling. Although she’d only been in Charleston for a short time, to her it felt like an eternity.

  Martin’s hair had completely greyed though it was still thick and full of the same curls that she’d fallen in love with two decades before. He’d often blamed the change of hair color on his work and never over his worry for his children, though he teased them about it endlessly.

  Lizzy smiled and looked down at the flicker of the dimly lit candle. She readjusted her position so she could get a better view of her family below. The window had fogged from her breath and she wiped the glass with her handkerchief to see better. Down to the far side of the porch, she could barely make out her second child. He was wrapped in a blanket and perched on the porch railing, half under the roof and half in the rain. She smiled to herself as she watched him. Yep, that’s just what you’d be doing, James, always the martyr.

  James Daniel was Lizzy’s baby, though he was the second of four. She knew she coddled him, much to Martin’s disdain, but she didn’t care. “You’re going to make a sissy out of him, Lizzy,” he’d say. She snickered at the thought of her husband’s constant ridicule. The boy was eleven and she knew he couldn’t be babied much longer. James had fair skin, light sandy-blond hair and straight as a rod. With deep brown eyes, he had a small nose and his ears were always hidden under the length of his hair. He wasn’t nearly as outgoing as his older brother but carried the same gentleness.

  Lizzy smiled at the vision below her. She loved her three men and a sense of loss overcame her to know that her own father would never see her two boys grow up. You were so good to all of them, Papa, so good.

  Lizzy was startled by a loud knock on the door. “Momma, momma! You in there? The sound of Lizzy’s third child brought her back to the scene around her. The candle had gone out; it was now nearly pitch dark in the room except for the dim light from outside the window pane. She looked over at the door and could see the light from underneath.

  “Is she in there, Mary?”

  The second voice brought out a slight chuckle from Lizzy. It was a laugh she dearly needed.

  “Girls, it’s all right; you can come in,” Lizzy announced. “I do hope, though, that you brought a light up with you! It’s darker than the darkest night in here, so I’m going to need your help.”

  The click of the doorknob was loud, followed by the creak of the door as it slowly opened. First the light of a candle, then followed by two sets of eyes, each set opened wide.

  “Go on, you heard her! She needs our help, Mary! Go or get out of my way!”

  “Nellie!”

  “Girls, girls, girls . . . !” Lizzy exclaimed. “No need to fight now; just open the door and come in.”

  Mary Elizabeth was the first to come in. Despite the lack of enough light, Lizzy could see that her new pink and blue dress was dripping wet and her hair, once tightly pinned to her head was now drooping down below her shoulders. Lizzy shook her head and sighed. She could only remember how beautiful she was with her long, dark brown hair pinned up and filled with an array of bows and ribbons. Her deep brown eyes were now wide and still adjusting to the change of light.

  “Mary’s getting the floor all wet, Momma, and it’s getting all over me, too.”

  Lizzy laughed and gestured them both to come closer to her. Lizzy’s fourth child, Nellie Abigail followed her older sister into the room but stayed clear, not wanting to get wet. Nellie was seven and though she felt much older, was two years younger than Mary. Though the youngest of all the children, Nellie thought of herself as the oldest and frequently gave the orders. Much to her frustration, rarely were any of them followed.

  Nellie had golden blond hair and deep blue eyes. Her physique had been a concern, both to Lizzy and to Martin. After several visits from the town’s doctor, they were convinced that the child was just going to be thin and small and there was nothing either of them should worry about. Her complexion was fair but her temper fierce and the more Lizzy watched her mature, the more she thought she’d turn out . . . just like her.

  “Come here, girls,” Lizzy requested with her arms stretched out. “Your momma needs a big hug and she doesn’t care if it’s a wet or a dry one.”

  “Why are you up here in the dark, Momma?” Mary asked.

  “She’s not in the dark, Mary; I have a candle right here in my hand.”

  Lizzy laughed at the sight of Mary’s reaction to Nellie’s logic.

  “Now listen, girls,” Lizzy began. “First: Mary, you need to go get dried off before you catch a cold or worse. Second: Nellie, I need you to go downstairs and tell your papa that I’ll be down shortly and to start getting the boys ready to go home.”

  “You mean we aren’t staying in Grandpa’s house tonight?” Mary asked.

  “No, not tonight. Momma would just like some quiet time up here and then we’d best go back to our own home. We can come back tomorrow to gather more of what your grandpa left for us?”

  Both of the girls looked at their mother, not sure of her meaning. Not giving it much more thought, they turned to leave. They tilted their heads, curled up their lips and then turned to each other.

  “I’ll race you downstairs!” Nellie yelled out as she dashed for the door, her hand held tight to the candle which was the only light they had.

  “Nellie, wait . . . you have the . . . !”

  “It’s fine, dear; just walk slowly and I’ll be right down.”

  Lizzy watched Mary walk to the doorway and stop. She turned around and though Lizzy could only see her silhouette, it was the words that sent a dagger into her heart.

  “Momma . . . I’m sure going to miss Grandpa.”

  “Me too, my dear, me too,” was all Lizzy could say.

  She listened to Mary Elizabeth’s footsteps as she descended down the wooden staircase. She folded her arms around herself and tugged in hard. Her heart ached as she wept.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A Time to Reflect

  1881

  Is there anything I can bring you to brighten up that solemn look on your face?”

  Lizzy looked up at the voice coming from the doorway and forced a fake smile. The rain was steady and had been throughout the night. She was draped in an oversized wool blanket with her hands clutched tight to a steamy cup of coffee, its sweet aroma filling the porch.

  “No, I think I’m all right,” Lizzy replied with a gentle smile. “Just thinking.”

  “I’ve sent the boys on errands and I’m about to take Mary and Nellie to the mercantile to help me with your list,” Martin said calmly, though his worried look spoke volumes. “You take all the
time you need today, you hear?” he directed as he followed Lizzy’s gaze into some unknown spot deep beyond the end of their property. He grimaced, not knowing exactly what to do or if he should even attempt to say anything at all.

  “It’s still hard to swallow, you know?” he muttered awkwardly, still searching for what Lizzy was looking at. “I know at least it is for me.”

  He felt foolish right after he’d spoken. He looked at Lizzy’s face for any sign of acknowledgement. She continued with her blank stare and didn’t respond.

  He sighed with sadness and turned to leave. As he approached the doorway, he stopped and gripped the doorframe. He turned his head to the side and said quietly, “You will tell me if there is anything I can do for you, won’t you?”

  Lizzy heard his voice, but his words were lost in the fog that filled her mind. She nodded incoherently while keeping her eyes glued to the outskirts of her yard. She heard his footsteps fade and soon it was only the pitter of the rain hitting the roof of her porch that lulled her into the lonesome trance that she fell tearfully into.

  She thought of the hours she used to sit with her father on their many porches and in the countless towns she’d grown up in. Though she appreciated everything her husband was trying to do for her, she knew he was right. She needed time.

  She looked back up to where Martin had just been. She breathed in deep at the sight of the empty doorway. He’s hurting just as much . . . shouldn’t ignore him like that. Her face tightened up at the thought of hurting her husband.

  Still looking out to the river below, she could hear Martin talking to her daughters, something about giving her some time. Soon, Lizzy could also hear the creaking of the buggy as it turned onto their street and headed towards town.

  “Oh, Martin . . . why is it so hard?” she muttered softly to no one listening. “There are so many questions, Papa, so many what-ifs.”

  Lizzy’s eyes welled up with tears. She tried to picture him sitting next to her.

  I still can’t believe he’s gone.

  Lizzy pulled her feet up and tucked them underneath her. She took a sip from her steamy cup, pulled up on her quilt and settled back in her wooden rocker. Her eyes were glazed at the rain pouring down as her mind began to wander back in time.

  She thought of her days in Independence and a much-needed smile appeared.

  Papa you were the talk of the town, that’s for sure. You and Grandpa Fez, the Mercantile, the Docks and oh, so many boats. Remember the house and the porch . . . oh, the porch, and so many times with. . . .

  Lizzy began to cry. She’d done so much crying since Jed had died that she didn’t know if she had any more tears left.

  Momma. . . .

  The thought of her mother, Abigail, brought a whole new heartache to her. How long has it been? She tried in vain to remember. Twenty-four? No, twenty-eight years. Oh, dear Lord.

  She still remembered how, at age nine, she was forced into womanhood.

  And I’d do it all again, Papa. I’d do it all again. She sniffed in hard and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Her mind raced. You needed me then and I just hope to God that I was a help to you.

  Thoughts of those days brought a bittersweet smile to her face. She knew how much she had given up after that fateful day; how she was thrust into caring for her little brother and in some ways, taking care of her father as well.

  I’d do it all over again, Papa. I hope you know that. I’d do it all again.

  “Johnny Russell.” The words just fell from her lips and were followed by a low sigh as she slowly shook her head in thought. Where are you, boy?

  Her jaw tightened. She bit down on her lower lip at the thought of where her little brother may have ended up. The last anyone had heard, he’d rushed off to find his older brother, Micah.

  What were you thinking? Lizzy shook her head slowly and sniffed.

  The more she thought, the angrier she became. How were you going to find him, Johnny Russell; how in the hell were you going to find him?

  Lizzy felt herself fill with an anger that she’d thought was long past. God, how you hurt Papa, little brother; you hurt him so much.

  Lizzy’s older brother, Micah, had gone west with the railroad soon after coming home from the war. It was his return in ’66 that brought a renewed sense of life into her father. The more Lizzy thought of it, she realized it had brought a renewed spirit into their entire family. Unfortunately, she thought, it was short lived. Four years after returning to Wheeling, Micah joined Pacific Union and headed west.

  That blasted telegram . . . Oh God, how it hurt you so to read it; didn’t it, Papa? I can still remember it as if you were reading it right now:

  WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR SON, MICAH MONROE, WAS KILLED ON THE HILLS OF LITTLE BIG HORN IN THE DAKOTA TERRITORY. HE FOUGHT AND DIED BRAVELY ALONG WITH THE 7TH CAVALRY OF THE UNITED STATES ARMY UNDER THE LEADERSHIP OF GENERAL GEORGE ARMSTRONG CUSTER. OUR DEEPEST CONDOLENCES. YOUR COUNTRY WILL ALWAYS BE GRATEFUL FOR YOUR LOSS.

  Our loss indeed. Dear God, what were you thinking, Micah?

  Lizzy took a sip and scowled at the coolness of her once-hot cup of coffee. She thought about getting up to refill the cup, but decided against it. She pulled her other hand out from under her quilt to adjust her hair that had fallen out of her clip. She rubbed her cheeks and patted the back of her hair.

  “Oh God, I must look a sight. . . .”

  She tucked her one hand back under the quilt while the other held firm to the cold cup of coffee. She looked down at it and sniffed again before looking back out at the rain.

  The railroad was bad enough, Micah. Why in heaven’s name did you move on after just a few years on the railroad? Were you kicked off? Did you leave on your own accord?

  Lizzy paused. Her mind raced with a thousand questions, all of which she knew she’d have no answers.

  What in God’s name made you decide to join up with the 7th Calvary? She remembered how he’d told her so many horrific stories of the war and how much he hated it. After all you’d gone through during the war, why would you ever want to join up and fight again? That, my dear brother, is something you’ll have to answer to me someday, you hear?

  She shook her head and frowned as she took another sip. She frowned again, forgetting that her cup had gone cold.

  And then there’s Johnny Russell . . . only our dear Lord knows if he’s still alive.

  Johnny Russell had left soon after Jed received the telegram telling him that Micah had joined the Calvary.

  It was the evening of Johnny Russell’s twenty-first birthday. Lizzy groaned out loud at the thought of that event.

  Oh, my Lord . . . Papa was surely fit to be tied, and that’s an understatement to be sure. But Johnny Russell’s mind was made up and nothing Papa could do or say was ever going to change his mind.

  Lizzy thought back at the conversation she’d overheard. She remembered how her heart broke at her father’s voice cracking with grief in his feeble attempt to keep Johnny Russell from leaving. She understood it so much more now than back in ’74. Now, she too had children and the thought of any of them leaving brought a pain to her chest.

  She jumped at a bolt of lightning, then waited to see how long until she’d hear the thunder. It brought back the memory of that very night when Johnny Russell left her father’s home.

  It was raining then, too.

  Oh, Papa . . . I had my children to attend to. I had no idea he was walking out the way he did. If I would have known I would have. . . .

  She scowled and rapidly shook her head.

  Would have what? Ignored my children? Stood in front of Johnny Russell? For God’s sake, Lizzy, he was a grown man back then; he had a mind of his own and he was set on finding his only living brother. How can you blame him? How can I blame him now? I just wish I knew what has become of him; it’s been seven years.

  Lizzy sent correspondence of Jed’s death and of his funeral arrangements to the Calvary. She knew it meant nothing to them, but she did it
in hopes that the news would find its way to Johnny Russell; if, in fact, he too had joined up with the 7th. To Lizzy’s knowledge, Johnny Russell’s name had never appeared on any casualty list for the battle at Little Big Horn, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. If he had found his brother, he’d be right by his side . . . and, yes, that meant to the bitter end.

  She pulled her cup to her lips, but stopped short, reminding herself that it was cold. Her gaze turned back to the yard and to the Ohio, far in the distance. Her thoughts of family were soothing to a degree, but they also sent a pain through her that she thought was long suppressed.

  Thunder crackled. Rain pounded down on the roof above her head. She felt alone. She knew she had a family of four children and a loving husband, but still, tonight, she felt alone.

  If Johnny Russell is gone, and now Papa is gone, then I am the only one left. The thought brought a lump to her throat and she could feel the tears flowing down her cheek.

  “Oh, Papa!!”

  She put the coffee cup on the railing and leaned forward from her rocker. The rain was thick and loud. She could see a river of water below rushing by and could hear its crushing sound against the rocks.

  She breathed in deep and felt the crispness of rain around her. A small black bird swooped down and landed on the porch railing just a few feet from where she was sitting. Lizzy watched it shake its head to clear the wetness from its face. They looked at each other and Lizzy felt as if the bird were trying to tell her something, something that she desperately needed to hear.

  “Hey, little one . . . are you my little messenger?”

  The bird, with its feathers soaked, shook its head again, turned to the left and then to the right and just before taking off, it looked right at Lizzy. It blinked twice and then paused and blinked once more before taking flight.