by Sharon Drane
Chapter 4
Galveston – November 1865
Amelia was hot, sweating in her black dress and widow’s veil in the unyielding sun of the Texas coast. She strode out of the Wilcox Shipping Office. She had booked passage for herself, Dougie, and Mariah to New Orleans. The tickets were purchased with the diamond brooch that Clayton had given her for their first anniversary. It no longer had any meaning for her, if it ever had. It was just a symbol of the empty promises and withheld truth that marked their marriage. Nothing had meaning now except survival. She had no time for emotions. Fiercely determined to protect her child, she would do whatever it took to keep him safe and healthy.
The only thing of value she had left was her grandmother’s ruby ring. She swore that would be the last thing she sold. Amelia told herself it wouldn’t matter if she sold the ring, anyway. She could no longer wear it. Near-starvation had left her too thin. Her finger was so small the ring easily slipped off. Besides, she had long ago accepted that her life was to be one of loss and disappointment.
Faithful Tully waited for her with his buckboard and his old worn-out horse. He helped her into the wagon.
“Did everything go all right, Miz Wilcox?” he asked.
She smiled beneath her veil. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Tully. We’ll be leaving in two days for New Orleans.”
He flexed the reins and the mare jolted forward. “I hear New Orleans is crawling with Yankees now. You’d best be careful. You got family there?”
“My late husband’s mother lives there. I’m certain she’ll take us in. After all, Dougie is her grandchild.” She watched the scenery for a moment. “It has to be better in New Orleans. They must have more supplies, more access to food, now that the Union army is in charge and the blockade is over.”
“What will you do if things are bad there?”
“Then we’ll go on to St. Louis where my sister lives. I know she’d welcome us.”
She patted his arm. “Thank you, Mr. Tully, for all you’ve done. We would never have survived without your generosity.”
“You’re welcome, Ma’am. Mr. Wilcox was a mighty good man. He did a lot for me. I couldn’t let his wife and son starve when things got so rough.” He glanced at her. “It was a shame, him dying like that.”
They pulled up to her once grand home. “Yes, it was.” She did not wait for assistance. She jumped down out of the wagon, anxious to end the conversation. She did not want to voice her opinion of her late husband, did not want to think about him. “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Tully.”
“I’ll come back day after tomorrow to take you all to the docks.” He waved and drove down the drive.
Amelia turned to look at her house. The years had faded the bright paint, just as they had wilted her hopes. The flower garden had died from lack of care. What the heat did not kill, the salt water in the wind did. It looked forlorn and tired, just like she did. Her mirror showed her an older woman these days. The image stunned Amelia with its faded hair and dull eyes, the life and youth bled out of her.
As she entered the house, she ignored the lack of furniture and the ever-present dust. She had sold most of her fancy wedding gifts and clothes to pay for Clayton’s funeral and burial. It cost dearly to bury one of Yellow Jack’s victims, but it was the least she could do for Clayton, no matter how she felt. Most of the fatalities were burned together, their ashes then covered in the communal pit. She could not bear to do that to Dougie’s father.
Piece by piece, Amelia sold or traded the furniture to the blockade runners to pay for their food and other necessities. Now there was nothing left in the house but their beds and three chairs sitting atop neglected floors bare of carpets. The Yankees took almost everything from her by preventing the shipment of food and medicine to Galveston. Her family suffered like everyone else on the blockaded island.
Privately, she felt her soul had disappeared bit by bit as well, betrayed by the love she was taught to expect. Left a burned out shell of a woman, she was incapable of love for anyone but her son.
Amelia sighed and went upstairs to her bedroom. She hung up her hat on the hook behind the door. One glance in her mirror showed her hair was still in place beneath the homemade black snood she wore.
Dougie’s giggles floated up to her open window. Leaning out, she saw him run around the backyard under Mariah’s patient supervision. Amelia smiled as she watched her lively young son scamper with such energy. She had worried so much that he would starve, but he thrived.
She walked away from the window. It was time to tell them the good news. Day after tomorrow, they’d leave this empty house with all its sad memories. It was time for change.
Time to begin again and this time, I’ll be in control of my own destiny. No more depending on some man to take care of me or my son. No more believing in love which does not exist. I cannot depend on anyone else. They have all let me down. I will walk this world alone for the rest of my days.