war is imminent. I fear that if this happens, he will be foolish enough to enlist.
That fear was not mentioned again as Sarah spoke only of the children, saying that young Will was the brightest in his class and Abigail more beautiful every day. In August of 1862, on a tear-stained page, she wrote of how William had enlisted in the Union Army and would be commanding a regiment to keep the rebels out of Pennsylvania.
I begged and pleaded, but he is unrelenting in his decision.
After only a few pages, Eliza came to one written in a hand so shaky it was barely legible.
My heart is broken, Sarah wrote, for I have lost my precious daughter to influenza. If William were here, he might have brought the doctor in time but he was away fighting this blasted war.
The hour grew late, and tears filled Eliza’s eyes but still she was compelled to see the story through to its end. The first light of morning was on the horizon when she finished the last tearstained page that told of William’s death at Gettysburg.
I have come to believe this wretched place is cursed. As soon as I can find a ship to carry us, I will take my son and return to England. I will carry only the clothes we wear, for I want no further reminders of this place.
Eliza carried the sadness of Sarah’s story in her heart for several days. When Dewey asked if he might give Margaret Rose the doll they’d found in the trunk, she nodded.
“The family who left those things has gone back to their home in England,” she said. “They won’t be returning.”
She made no mention of the war or the deaths that had occurred.
Once Eliza had given her approval, the children carried down all of the boxes from the attic and unearthed more clothes and such treasures as glass marbles, wooden blocks, and cloth dolls. In the basement they discovered a rocking horse in need of repair and a wagon big enough to carry both Nellie and Virgil.
Using the sewing box she found in an upstairs closet, Eliza altered the clothing they’d taken from the trunk. That Christmas, every one of the children had a new outfit. When they attended Sunday services at the church in the square, Eliza could not have been more proud of her family. At first, she’d feared the sorrow Sarah Alice Bligh left behind was part of the house and would be forever woven into the clothes, but it had proven otherwise. This home that Sarah thought wretched was a blessing to Eliza.
Martin’s Dilemma
THE HAPPINESS MARTIN ENJOYED IN Altoona took a sharp turn the day Eliza arrived. Martha Mae was unrelenting in her belief that he should have stood up to Edward Wolff and said no when Wolff ordered him to bring Eliza and the children to Pennsylvania. She called him a spineless dog and refused to allow him in her bed.
He, in turn, blamed her for the problem.
“If you hadn’t insisted we get married, I wouldn’t be in this fix,” he said.
“Me?” she screamed and heaved a vase at his head. “You’re the one! You told me there was no need for a divorce.”
“I never said that! You heard what you wanted to hear.”
Martin thought that locating Eliza in a town 80 miles north of Altoona would have been enough to appease Martha Mae, but it wasn’t. Even the slightest mention of Eliza, the kids, or the town of Barrettsville set her off, and she’d fly into a rampage that lasted for hours. When he’d had more than enough of listening, he’d say something about regretting that he’d ever met her. Then he’d have to duck to avoid being hit by whatever she’d thrown.
On the day Eliza arrived, he made no mention of it to Martha Mae. He left home early, met the train, brought them to the house, made a quick turnaround, and arrived home at his normal time. He expected Martha Mae to be ready to go dinner, but she was stretched out on the sofa in her bathrobe with a pillow beneath her head.
“Why aren’t you dressed?”
“I’m not going.”
“Not going? Why?”
She pulled the pillow from beneath her head, heaved it across the room, and came at him with her fists flying.
“Because you’re a liar and a cheat! Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
Martin took hold of her wrists and tried to keep her slapping hands at bay.