by Janette Oke
“April 4, 1839. Turner Lawrence III asked my papa for permission to call—and was wholeheartedly accepted. I am so thankful. I can scarcely believe my good fortune. (Papa says I am not to use that term. It is not good fortune for one of God’s children—it is the grace of God.)
“July 19, 1839. We are leaving for Charleston as we do each summer, but this year I hate to go. I have enjoyed getting to know Turner. Our conversations have shown me that we are of one heart and mind. He, too, deplores the ownership of slaves. He says if he had any say in the matter, he would free his. His father still runs the plantation, though. Turner lost his mother to the swamp fever when he was only eight. How sad for a child to be raised without a mother. He does love his nurse. She is a big woman, with love for all God’s children. I can understand why Turner feels the way he does about her.
“December 8, 1839. Papa has agreed to a spring wedding. I am so happy. I never knew that one’s heart could be so full.
“May 10, 1840. Today is my wedding day. Papa sent to Spain for the lace for my gown, and Mama had it sewn in Charleston. It is the most elegant thing I have ever seen. It is ivory satin, overlaid with this gorgeous lace. The sleeves are full and puffed, nipped in with soft satin bows, with slender long cuffs buttoned underneath and reaching to each wrist. The skirts are full at the back with yards of bustle. The bodice is fitted with the lace gently sculpturing the natural lines. The neckline is high and simple and will show off the new sapphire and diamond pendant that Papa has given me. Someday I will pass this beautiful dress on to my daughter to wear at her own wedding. I can almost see her walking down the aisle.”
Laramie stirred restlessly in his chair. In his mind he was seeing Ariana in that same lovely gown, walking the aisle of the little church to join him at the altar. It was all he could do to continue reading.
“Mama is sure that all of Charleston will rave about the gown and the wedding, and I have a secret feeling that is important to Mama. I certainly would be ungrateful if I did not appreciate all that Papa and Mama are doing for us—but I would have been quite happy to just marry my Turner. He is so wonderful. This promises to be the beginning of a wonderful life. We have prayed together, many times, asking God to bless our union—to make us truly one in Him.
“Papa’s gift to me was a new family Bible. He was so sweet as he gave it to me. ‘Every home must have a Bible,’ he said. ‘A home cannot be safely built on any other foundation—no matter how much love is shared by the homeowners.’ He also flipped to the pages for records and advised me to be diligent in keeping my posting up to date. I promised him that I would.
“August 15, 1840. I am a wife. I still find it hard to believe. After a wonderful trip abroad we settled into life at Roseberne plantation. Turner’s father has informed me that I am the full mistress of the manor now. I am thankful that Mama took her teaching duties seriously and I know how to go about the task. Nevertheless, I am still a bit nervous. Turner is wonderfully reassuring.
“December 2, 1853. Today was a very difficult and sad day. Father Lawrence passed away suddenly last evening. The doctor said it was his heart. Turner feels it deeply. Though he has not always agreed with his father, he loved him dearly. I’m not sure what the future holds for us now.
“September 5, 1854. It has been decided. Turner is selling Roseberne. He cannot bear the thought of owning slaves—yet the plantation could never be run without them. It is an untenable situation. However, he refused to sell the slaves along with the property but granted them full freedom and gave them each an amount of cash to get established elsewhere. It was a sad time. We all cried together. I struggled with the decision. I do not like slavery either, but I could not but fear for our future. Turner is confident. We are to move. He has picked St. Louis. He does not like the unrest that is sweeping the South. He is afraid there will be war. He tried to talk to Papa and Ethan about it, but they both are adamant in their resolve to stay as they are. I feel so mixed up and confused—but Turner constantly reminds me that God will lead us.
“June 6, 1855. We are well settled in St. Louis. It is a fine little city, though it cannot compare in any way to Charleston. I miss the plantation life and I dearly miss my family. Sometimes I wonder if we have done the right thing. But rumors keep circulating. Turner is sure it will end in war. I pray that he is wrong.
“I had hoped to be a mother long before now, but that has not been. Turner keeps reminding me that God can still answer our prayers. It seems that each year that passes just breaks my heart a little bit more. It is hard to be patient.
“February 3, 1860. I cannot believe it. I am to be a mother. I had almost given up. At age thirty-seven it seemed that motherhood had passed me by. (I will be thirty-eight by the time our little one joins us.) I can only bow my head and my heart and thank God.
“August 10, 1860. The miracle has actually happened. I am a mother. What joy I feel! Our son arrived at ten o’clock this morning. I cried as I held him. He is beautiful. I think he will be a big man, like his father. But Turner insists he will have my eyes. He has only just arrived—and yet I would gladly give my life for him. God has been so good.
“January 2, 1861. Christmas was so special this year. Little Burke has given us the true meaning for all of life, but the thought filling my heart was that of the great love of God the Father. How could He love me enough to give His Son? It is a love I cannot comprehend as I look at my own precious baby boy. To love enough to die for him—yes—a thousand times, yes. But to love enough to send him to die—I never could love that purely—that strongly. What a magnificent love is the Love of God! I pray that God will keep my boy safe—protected and in His care—always.”
Laramie felt his eyes dampening. His mother was speaking of him. How he wished he could have known her. How he longed to feel the beat of her mother-heart.
The next page was not dated. The usual even script looked hurried, agitated.
“It is as we feared. Our beloved country is at war. North against South. Brother against brother. Ethan has gone. Mama says it was his duty. I don’t understand about duty that would lead a man to fight his own countrymen. My heart is grieved. I am glad I didn’t have a son earlier. He, too, might need to fight. Little Burke is still safe in his cradle. I pray that the day may never come when he has to use a gun to save his own life.
“October 14, 1861. Turner has decided we will move farther west. He is afraid that the effects of the war will even touch St. Louis. I pray that he is wrong but I have not argued. I am willing to go wherever he sees as best. Little Burke is my only thought. My only joy. He is growing so quickly. Turner was right. He does have my eyes.
“November 18, 1861. Turner has located a group of people who are planning to move west. He is making arrangements for us to join the train. I went with him to one of the meetings. He insisted. He did not want me to feel pressured into going farther west if I was against it. I was favorably impressed. They seem to be a kind, God-fearing group of people. The wagon master and his trail riders seem to be competent. I will feel quite safe in their company.
“November 26, 1861. We had another meeting of the people from the train. I met the sweetest young woman. Her name is Morgan Oliver. She and the man she plans to marry will be joining the train next spring as well. She is so anxious to marry her Preston that she reminds me of myself several years ago when I was all starry-eyed about my Turner. But she does not have a mother to help her with her wedding plans as I did. She would like to be married on Christmas Eve. I have told her that I would help in any way I can.
“December 25, 1861. What a lovely wedding we attended last evening. There was only a small gathering in the local church. The guests were mostly the people of the wagon train who are busy preparing for the spring trip to the West. Morgan married her Preston Whitehall. She was a radiant bride. I was glad that I had thought to offer her the use of my gown. I am sure my future daughter will not mind that we shared the dress with another. Morgan is such a sweet little thing. I am l
ooking forward to having her on the train for those long, tiring days of travel.
“March 4, 1862. The war still rages. News is not good. Mama tries to keep us posted—but each letter that makes it through breaks our hearts a little more. I fear for the safety of my family. Turner was right. I am so thankful we have left so that Burke might be kept safe. Each time I look at him my heart swells with love.
“March 6, 1862. Morgan came by today with some delightful news. She is expecting a baby. We are both praying that our trip might go well and that we will have arrived and become settled before the little one is born. What a delight it would be if it is a boy. It would be wonderful to have a playmate for Burke. True—Burke would be two years older, but two years will not seem like much in years to come. I am praying daily for Morgan. I feel I am uniquely sharing her joy.
“June 4, 1862. Next week we begin our long trek west. Our days will be filled with all of the last-minute purchases, sales, packing, and planning. Turner has secured two sturdy wagons and an additional driver so that I can take some of my treasured possessions with me. He says that there is no need for me to feel I have forsaken civilization. He wants his son to grow up to have the social graces of a southern gentleman even though we have been forced to leave the South.
“I suffered a deep disappointment yesterday. The doctor has confirmed that I will not be able to have another child. I wept well into the evening, even though Turner tried to sweetly comfort me. Then I looked at Burke. I chastised myself. God has already blessed me much beyond what I have deserved.”
I don’t understand, mused Laramie. How could that be? What about Ariana? Laramie turned his eyes back to the book in his hands and read on. The doctor must have been proven wrong.
“August 16, 1862. We have been on the trail for what seems forever. Sometimes I wonder how much more I will be able to stand. I was not prepared for this. It has been much more difficult than I would have guessed. Bad weather has kept us from making the progress we had hoped. I worry for Morgan. She is due in September, but the trip has been hard for her. I fear that the rumbling wagons might bring the baby earlier than it is supposed to come. Each day I include her in my petitions. It seems that we keep God so busy with our many prayers. I am glad He is able.
“August 29, 1862. Morgan’s baby arrived last night. She is a good two weeks early, and though she is small she is wiry and seems strong. Thanks to God. Morgan is so excited. I know the feeling. I felt the same way when Burke arrived.
“September 17, 1862. We had hoped to have reached our ‘Promised Land’ by now, but more bad weather has delayed us. However, Turner assures me we are getting close. I am concerned about Morgan. She does not seem to be getting back her strength as quickly as she should. A dear woman who lost her husband in a horrid drowning at a river crossing, Mrs. Millard, is helping her. We are constantly reminded that we are in Indian country, but our wagon master assures us we have little cause to worry. I keep reminding myself of the verse that I have carried with me, ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart.’ Sometimes that is all I have to cling to. I am not afraid for myself. I just pray that Burke will be kept from the evil of the world. He is all that matters. I pray each day that God will protect him.
“September 26, 1862. Morgan was up today but she is still weak. I pray that God will give her strength. We have decided to meet each day, in the time that we have left together, to pray for our babies. Their safety. Their futures. But most of all, that God will keep their hearts open to His voice and protect them from the sinful ways of the world. The West seems so frighteningly crude to me that I sometimes fear for my son. But God kept the young Moses. Surely I can trust Him with my precious Burke.
“We are soon to come to the parting of our ways. The Whitehalls plan to head south, while Turner has decided that we will travel north. I was so disappointed I wept for most of the day. I tried not to let Turner know—but I fear he guessed. I have made a decision. I will give Morgan the wedding dress.”
Laramie’s heart quickened and he hurried on.
“September 27, 1862. I bundled up my beautiful gown and took it to Morgan today. This is the last night that we are to be together. Tomorrow we are to go our separate ways. She was so touched when I made my little presentation that she wept and I wept right along with her. I had already shed tears alone. It seemed that I was giving away not just a dress, but my memories and my future hopes and dreams. However, I am not sorry. I will never have a daughter to wear it, and little Ariana seems almost like a daughter to me. I know that someday she will make a beautiful bride.”
Laramie, breathing heavily, read the passage again. Ariana. Ariana was Morgan’s baby. Morgan’s daughter. She was not his sister. Could it be? Was the book telling the truth? He turned back anxiously to the little diary.
“I was disappointed to discover that one of the cuffs was missing. At first I was mystified and then I remembered that I had noticed one of the tiny buttons was loose. I laid the cuff aside until I could fix it. I can’t recall where I put it unless it is in my little chest in my trunk.
“Later. I found the cuff. It was in the small chest that holds my ‘treasures’—including this diary—between my recording days. (I haven’t been as faithful as Papa would have liked, but I do see this little book as something very precious—even though I don’t fully understand what gives it such value.) I fixed the button, so I’ll be able to deliver the cuff to Morgan in the morning before she leaves.”
There were only empty pages following the notation. He looked back at the last date entered.
Morning had never come for his mother. At sunrise the Indians had attacked.
Laramie felt physically sick. His mother—his dear mother—she who had loved him and wrapped him securely in her daily prayers—had not lived to see another day. He could not even think of it. And Ariana—she had lost her mother, too. Morgan. Morgan Whitehall. They both had been left orphans—Ariana hidden by the widowed lady whom she lovingly called her second mama.
Laramie stirred from his reverie.
Ariana. Ariana needs to know.
His thoughts moved from the horror of the wagon massacre to the fact that Ariana was not his sister. They had two different mothers—women joined only by friendship and the sharing of a beautiful wedding gown. It was a miracle. A little miracle. No, a great big, wondrous miracle. The secret compartment of the little chest had held a treasure far more precious than confederate money. It held the key to the secret of his past. Of Ariana’s past.
He shoved the book into his pocket and began to pack a saddlebag. He could not wait to get to Ariana. Could not wait to share the knowledge the little book held. They were free. They were not bound by kinship. They were not brother and sister. They were free to join in marriage. They were free to love each other as husband and wife.
Ariana stood with one hand on the window ledge and looked out at the young squirrels frisking about on the grass in the backyard. They looked so playful, so filled with energy. In spite of her still-heavy heart, she could not hide a smile.
“Ariana,” her mother called from the front of the house. “You have a caller.” Her voice sounded excited. Ariana wondered about it as she turned from the window and let the curtain fall back into place.
She walked down the hall to the parlor expecting to see one of her Sunday school class members or perhaps, she thought, with a quickening of her pulse, the school board chairman. Maybe they had found they could use her in the local school after all. She did hope that it wasn’t Bernard Dikerson. He had been making a nuisance of himself ever since her return.
But it was a tall young man who stood there, hat in hand. Ariana could not have mistaken his identity, even though his face was shadowed.
“Laramie!” she gasped.
Her head began to spin. He had said he would be back when they could accept the brother-sister relationship. If he had worked it through, he was much ahead of her, she decided. She still was not ready to see him as the brother she had never k
nown.
He stepped forward and reached for her hand, but Ariana drew it back. She wasn’t prepared for this. She wasn’t. She cast a look over her shoulder, willing her mother to interfere, to support her in some way. Her mother was nowhere to be seen. Ariana felt a moment of panic.
He did not try to reach for her again, though his eyes showed—what?
“I found something,” he said, pulling the small book from his pocket. “I thought I would explode before reaching you. I traveled first to your uncle’s. I—”
Ariana let her gaze look out the window. His buckskin and a pack animal stood tethered to the hitching rail, and by their side stood the little roan pony. Yes, he had been up to her uncle’s. Tears began to form in her eyes. She turned back to him. But she still couldn’t comprehend what he was saying.
“It’s all in here,” he began, his voice full of excitement as he tapped the small book he still held in his hand. “It’s—”
He stopped and looked at her longingly.
Ariana slowly shook her head. “You said you wouldn’t come until—” She stopped and licked her lips. “I’m sorry,” she continued in a shaky voice. “I…I’m not ready…”
He moved forward then and placed his hands on her arms. “You don’t need to be,” he hurried to say. “This book. It gives the whole story. We are not brother and sister. Our parents—two totally different families.”
Ariana drew back and looked at him with wide, startled eyes. She could not speak.
“Honest!” he continued. “Our mothers—our families—were not the same. It’s all in here.”