by Zina Abbott
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Virginia’s Vocation
Lockets & Lace
Book 19
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By Zina Abbott
Copyright © 2019 All rights reserved by Robyn Echols writing as Zina Abbott
All rights reserved.
Dedication
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This book is dedicated to
This book is dedicated to Tana M. who stuck to her vocational path she set for herself by the time she graduated from high school, including the planned interlude to serve a mission for her church in a Spanish-speaking nation.
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Acknowledgements
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This book is part of a multi-author series sponsored by the authors who write for the Sweet Americana Sweethearts blog. My appreciation and thanks go to those other authors who helped develop the Lockets & Lace series of books.
A special thank you goes to
Linda Carroll-Bradd of Lustre Editing for proof-reading this manuscript,
and to
The wonderful cover design is by Evelyne Labelle of Carpe Librum Book Design. Thank you, Evelyne.
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Disclaimer
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All the characters described in this story are fictional. They are not based on any real persons, past or present. Any resemblance to real persons, living or deceased, is coincidental and unintended.
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Chapter 1
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Bonner Springs, Kansas Territory – May, 1858
H er arms folded, Virginia Atwell reluctantly agreed with her brother that the outfitter’s store possessed a civilized appearance. Her gaze scanned the shelves on which were neatly stacked a variety of goods. Although some appeared to appeal more to adventurers and the various native tribes she had heard still lived close by rather than farmers, she spotted a nice selection of supplies her family might like to buy if they planned to travel west.
Virginia spun on the balls of her boots to look out the wavy, but otherwise clear glass panels of the front windows. Without thinking, her steps took her to the shelves in front, on top of which the owner had laid out a display that could be seen through the window panes as long as the shutters stayed open. With one hand, she reached up and fingered the oval gold locket with the floral design she had inherited from her late mother as her gaze gravitated towards an embroidered leather pouch with an eye-catching geometric design in bright colors.
“You’re interested in the lady’s possibles bag, are you? It’s made by one of the local Kaw craftswomen.”
Virginia turned to face the middle-aged store owner with the startling gray eyes. Wearing his dark hair tied back in a queue and attired in buckskin breeches with a white linen shirt covered by a leather vest, to Virginia, he dressed like a throwback to an earlier era. “Local Kaw? Aren’t they an Indian tribe? I thought they were sent to live on a reservation some distance away.” She watched the man as his eye twitched and wondered what she had said that prompted his reaction.
“That they have. When I was a lad, this whole country around here was theirs. Several years ago, they sold much of their land and went to the reservation by Council Grove, west of Topeka. I still keep in contact with them and sell many of the goods their women make.”
“Oh. I wondered. My brothers were here a couple of years ago when they first started looking for new farm land in Kansas Territory. They said they talked to someone who was from one of the tribes that used to be here. The Indian man warned them it was dangerous if we went too far west, because different tribes who roamed there have not agreed to live on reservations. Kansas Territory seems so unsettled. I guess…” Virginia’s stomach threatened to tighten in knots, just as it often did at the thought of moving to the untamed frontier the men in her family had selected for their new home. She swallowed. “I guess my brothers have looked into Salina and decided enough people have moved there it would be a fairly safe place for their farms. They particularly like the soil and the availability of water. They have chosen three lots along the Smokey Hill River to the east of Salina.”
Virginia felt like shrinking within herself as the store owner studied her.
“I take it you do not favor the move.”
Virginia turned her gaze towards her feet and shook her head. “Unfortunately, women do not have much of a say in matters like this, even though we must face the same danger the men are so eager to risk.”
Why did she bare her soul to this stranger, she wondered? If her brothers knew, they both would chastise her thoroughly. They would once again subject her to the counsel she had heard multiple times. She should leave decisions of that nature up to the men. They were the ones responsible for seeing to the safety and welfare of the entire family. So on and so forth.
Virginia refused to express just how unhappy she felt over being relegated to the task of accompanying the men. Not only did she not wish to leave Boonville, Missouri which was relatively civilized compared to the Kansas Territory frontier, but being forced to stay away from home for at least a couple of months interfered with her own vocation—one none of her family knew about because she had never told them. She knew they would not approve on the grounds it simply was not something women did.
Once again, as she thought about the situation, Virginia expressed the annoyance she felt by tightening her lips. It frustrated her to no end that people regarded the manner in which she chose to share her talents with others to be an unladylike occupation. Her family and those with whom they associated in Boonville expected her to conform to the normal expectations for women. No doubt this man carried the same beliefs regarding the place of women, so she knew it would be fruitless to tell him of her dismay and disappointments. She looked up to study the man’s expression as he responded. She suspected he chose his words with care.
“It is true Salina is on the western edge of the territory America has opened up for settling. It used to be part of the traditional bison hunting grounds of the Kaw. Unfortunately, the Cheyenne also claim that same land, which is far to the west from where the Smokey Hills, Saline, and Solomon Rivers join and continue to where we are now. The open prairie available to the buffalo is smaller than it used to be. The Cheyenne have been giving the Kaw people trouble in recent years when they meet up to hunt among the same herds. The Kiowa and Arapaho have been known to go through that land, too. However, as long as Salina continues to grow, and if the local farmers band together and put up a united front to any danger, you and your family should be all right moving there.”
Virginia turned to look at the far wall of the building. “My brothers say the same. I wish I could feel more convinced.” Virginia’s gaze next followed his finger as he pointed at the bag.
“I hear many of the tribes, like the Iroquois up north, make beaded bags that are very popular with the society ladies back east. Most of my customers are headed west and prefer more practical things. However, it does not hurt to mix beauty with what is practical. I know the woman who made this. She does good work. This is not only attractive but will serve you well for years.”
Virginia once again fingered the locket below her neck as she studied the bag more closely. Its simple lines and well-crafted design did appeal to her. “I’m not sure what I would use it for. The things I need to keep handy stay in a pocket.”
Virginia watched the man shrug as he ran his fingers over the stitching holding the shoulder-length strap to the twelve-inches-square pouch with its rounded edges on the bottom and the decorated flap that covered n
early the entire front.
“It may be that you have no need for such an item. The mountain men who, a generation ago, used to come through here on their way west considered them a necessity. They used them to hold anything they might need for the day, whether it be powder and shot, a knife too small to wear on a belt, fire-starter supplies, maybe a tea brick, dried jerky or hardtack, and a tin cup. If they got caught out in the open away from their camp where they kept most of their supplies, they usually had enough in their possibles bag to allow them to survive overnight. But, then, if I understand correctly, Mr. Palmer and the Mr. Atwells intend to have your homes built before bringing the rest of the families over next spring.”
Virginia looked away, and she knew her apprehensive feelings filtered through to her voice. “Yes. They are working on the houses now. It will take a few years for all three homes to be completed, but they plan to have at least a kitchen and main room for each home built before snow arrives this fall. We are on our way to take a load of lumber from Kansas City to the property.”
“You’ll be going with them, will you?”
“Yes. Both my sisters-in-law are busy with their children and Mrs. Palmer, my one brother’s mother-in-law, has not been feeling well. It was decided I would come to cook for the men and help with other tasks.”
Sidney, the younger of Virginia’s two brothers, rushed over to her. With a tendency to be easily excitable, his face bore that dismayed expression Virginia recognized only too well.
“I just finished talking to the old man who works here. He said the army bridge that crosses the Republican River just west of Fort Riley washed out this past March. We’re going to have a time of it getting these wagons across, even with the water level lower than a few months ago.”
Virginia watched her other brother, Jefferson, his head shaking, walk up and join the group. With his tendency to be level-headed and not as easily panicked like Sidney, Virginia understood her mother’s decision to have him be named her guardian. It had nothing to do with him being the oldest son.
“You didn’t stay long enough to hear the whole conversation, Sidney. Some enterprising family built a ferry next to where the bridge used to be. We’ll have to pay, but we can get over. If we lose a few supplies, Mr. Jackson said, as of May, there is now a general store in Salina. The important thing we don’t lose is any of the lumber—or any of us, of course.”
Wide-eyed, Virginia stared at each of her brothers in turn as her stomach churned with a renewed apprehension. Crossing a broad, choppy river on a rickety ferry loaded with animals that might misstep and a wagon that might slide did not appeal to her in the least. Yet, as usual, she had no say in the matter. She must endure and hope she did not fall overboard and drown.
Virginia reached for the possibles bag the storekeeper had shown her and turned to hand it to Jefferson. “Brother, I wish you to add this to your order. It will be for me. I have my big scissors, but I also want a small knife to carry inside the bag.” She ignored the confused and resistant expression on her oldest brother’s face as her determined gaze stayed focused on him.
“Whatever for, Virginia? This is not a time to purchase fripperies.”
Her anger rising, Virginia responded with a snap to her voice. “This may be beautifully decorated, Jefferson, but it is practical. I will be in camp, often by myself. It will be helpful to be able to keep a few small items handy. I’ll put my mending kit in there, along with matches and…and a few other things that tend to get lost or dumped in the dirt when the three of you men start tossing things around looking for a tool, or whatever it is you need.”
At the sound of his sigh, Virginia turned towards Sidney in time to catch the end of his eye roll.
“Just get it for her, Jefferson. If not, the whole time we are building the houses, she will continually remind us how much easier it would be to find things if she could keep them all by her side in that pouch.”
Virginia smiled and nodded her head in gratitude as Jefferson accepted the leather bag and turned to add it to the supplies he had stacked on the counter. “Thank you, Brother. I’ll let you help me pick out the knife. I will also need a supply of jerky and hardtack wrapped in a small oiled cloth to put in there…ah…just in case someone gets hungry while we are traveling.”
“Will the lady be doing any work where she will need some heavy leather gloves? I have a nice selection for smaller hands. They are very popular among the women who are heading to Oregon or California.”
Virginia turned to the shopkeeper still standing close by. She tamped down her smile at the thought that, although she considered him very pleasant for a frontiersman, and quite helpful, he remained ever the salesman. She turned back to face Jefferson. “That would be a good idea, especially for driving the team or hauling fuel. My wool knit gloves are warm, but not up to rugged treatment. Besides, I already warned you I will never touch animal excrement with my bare hands or my clothing, no matter how dry the said excrement. I’m still not sure about using the buffalo chips, as everyone calls them, for cooking.” She smiled at the sight of Jefferson exchanging a knowing look with the shopkeeper. He then turned to face her while shaking his head in resignation.
“All right. Go try on a few pairs to see which fit best. Just be aware, we will expect you to put those gloves to good use.”
Of course. Virginia could not help the disgruntled direction of her thoughts. Anything to further the achievement of your goals for the future. Mine count for nothing to anyone but me. If you even knew mine, you would laugh them into the ground.
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Chapter 2
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Oberlin, Ohio – June, 1858
A very Wilson dropped his valise on the floor of the second-story bedroom in the boarding house that would be his new home for the foreseeable future. He tugged at his charcoal gray suit, which fit well on his trim frame while he glanced around. The room, with its blue and brown wallpaper, was prevented from looking too feminine by the dark wood chair rail and trim around the windows. The chest of drawers, writing desk, and wooden chair with their straight lines also added to the feel of a man’s room. He did not intend to live there for too many years, but it would do until he knew he wished to make permanent his new position at this particular college. Besides, having his meals and basic housekeeping provided, instead of him having to take care of those tasks, appealed to him.
Even though Avery had been hired as a new professor of English literature and grammar at Oberlin College, he had not been able to save much from his previous job instructing rowdy boys at the all-male secondary seminary. Feeling more like a disciplinarian than a teacher while he was there, he happily resigned from that job when offered the position at the college. Of course, Oberlin was not his first choice of colleges to work for since it accepted female students—a waste of instructional time as far as he was concerned—but he treated it like a stepping stone in the right direction. His Presbyterian minister from home in Indiana had been instrumental in providing him with a glowing reference to this institution which had been established by two Presbyterian ministers in the 1830s.
Raking his fingers through his brown hair he recently cut short, Avery wondered if the other upstairs rooms were decorated in a similar fashion. It would make sense, since Mrs. Drusilla Chilton, his mid-fifties landlady, made it clear all upstairs rooms housed male boarders. Which begged the question in Avery’s mind—did she take in female boarders? He hoped not, but one never knew.
Mrs. Chilton seemed to Avery to be a fair woman. She only charged him for half of the month of June plus a damages deposit. Considering her strict rules regarding no smoking of tobacco or partaking of spirits in private rooms, he wondered what damages she thought might occur.
The stifling heat in the room reminded Avery the problem with second floor rooms was they were miserably hot in the height of summer. He removed his coat and pushed the curtains aside to shove the window open. As he lo
oked down, he realized the circular burn scars on the windowsill where some rebellious past tenant had smoked his cigars next to the window then used the sill to tamp them out answered his question regarding damages. A quick survey of the room as he crossed to open the second window on the wall positioned at a right angle to the other to create a cross breeze told him his living quarters, although small, was adequate. The fact he did not share a larger room with another renter compensated for the cramped conditions.
After putting his clothes in the provided chest at the foot of his bed, he checked his pocket watch. He still had some time before he needed to go down to the dining room for supper, which, he had been informed, was served promptly at six-thirty. He placed his latest paperwork on his desk and pulled out the wooden desk chair. As he settled on the hard unpadded seat, he felt grateful for the firm, solid construction of the one place in his room, other than his bed, where he could sit while he worked. On the desktop, stacked neatly was the bundle of paperwork that had consumed his thoughts during the entire trip to Oberlin. Within the next week, he needed to look over his grammar text and review his class lesson plan. Tonight, he chose to once again read his personal correspondence—as personal as the rejection letter he picked up from the post office just before he left Indiana could be.
Avery gritted his teeth in annoyance as he read the comments that detailed the reasons for the rejection. “Too stuffy.” “Unintelligible to the average reader.” “Lacks conviction.” As he studied the words he had seen in one form or another on past rejection letters, it was all he could do to keep from throwing the page across the room. If it had been cold enough to fire up the wood stove located in the corner, he might have been tempted to burn it. What were these publishers trying to say—the masses were too ignorant to understand a higher level of communication and too indifferent about being educated to a higher plane of understanding?