CHAPTER ONE (Late April 1865)

            A cloud of dust at the far end of the street caught her attention and Serenity watched two somberly dressed young men alight from the public stage and make their way inside the general store.  Accustomed to the plain, dark clothing of her Quaker neighbors, Serenity felt little interest in the two men until they left the general store and walked toward her papa’s shop.

            She couldn’t say for certain how she knew the two men weren’t Quakers.  Perhaps it was their hats.  Though black, they were taller and had narrower brims than those worn by the Friends.  They weren’t soldiers making their way back home either---they were too well dressed for that.  It had only been a few weeks since Papa had brought home a newspaper announcing that General Lee had surrendered to the Union’s General Grant at a place called Appomattox, and already the village had seen a steady flow of ragged, half-starved soldiers drifting down its main street on their way back to wherever they called home.

            She considered slipping through the door that separated the family’s living quarters from the store to satisfy her curiosity about the strangers, but she couldn’t leave her task.  Her arms ached, but she continued to raise and lower them in the age-old rhythm required to turn cream to butter.  Two loaves of bread were cooling on a wire rack in front of the window.  The butter was a surprise for Papa.  She’d traded a bucket of apples from last autumn’s crop for the cream. 

            The murmur of male voices coming from the store continued as she finished churning.  So Papa’s still conversing with the two strangers, Serenity mused.  Perhaps they’ll make a purchase that will raise Papa’s spirits.  Business had been poor during the war.  Few people had been able to afford the fine things displayed on Papa’s shelves.  Fortunately for her and Papa, he had put away a comfortable sum before the war, and by being frugal, they had managed.

            She considered placing her ear next to the door, but she considered herself much too grown up to indulge in such childish behavior.  Instead, she set the table in the dining room the way her mother had taught her when she was a little girl.  The simple ritual, as it always did, brought back a flood of memories.  A little more than five years had passed since that awful night before the war when Mamma was murdered, but time hadn’t eased the ache in Serenity’s heart–nor the one in Papa’s.  He’d grown thin, his hair had turned gray, his shoulders slouched, and he seldom laughed.  Often she caught him standing in the doorway, staring off toward the west with an expression of great longing on his face.  Serenity had changed too during those years, from a carefree child to a somber woman.

            “Serenity?”  The door opened between the house and the store, and Papa stepped inside the long room adjoining the kitchen that served as parlor at one end and dining room at the other.  “Set two more places at the table.  We have guests tonight.”  There was a light in his eyes she hadn’t seen for a long time.

            Cutlery dropped from Serenity’s hands to clatter against the plate she’d already set at Papa’s place.  She’d been right.  There was something unusual about the strangers.

            “Yes, Papa,” she managed, then watched him disappear back inside the store.  She couldn’t remember more than a handful of times in her entire life when Papa had invited guests to dine with them.  A neighboring Quaker farmer had sat stiffly at the table with Papa on rare occasions, and twice the two former slaves, Timothy and Caleb, had traveled from upper New York to pay their respects at Mamma’s grave.  Papa had insisted they share their table, though the black men were clearly uncomfortable doing so. 

            Serenity hadn’t been pleased by Caleb’s and Timothy’s visits.  She’d caught glimpses of them several times before Mamma’s death, but she’d  never been in the same room with them until the night they’d come in carrying her mother’s body.  She suspected they knew more about the man who shot her mother than they let on.  Papa said her suspicions were nonsense, but she’d still worried when Timothy had come alone just before joining the 8th Calvary in Philadelphia and Papa had treated him as though he were family, spending hours walking and conversing with him.

            Serenity gathered up the plates she’d already set on the table and replaced them with the four matching plates Mamma had called her “company dishes.”  This was only the second time Serenity had used them.  She frowned, recalling the time six months past when Bernard Tolson and his son, Percival, had arrived at their door just as she and Papa were preparing to eat their evening meal.  Papa had politely invited the Tolsons to join them, and she’d rushed to reset the table.  Their visitors had gorged themselves, leaving greasy fingerprints on Mamma’s tablecloth and an astonishing amount of food and debris under the table.  To her dismay, Percy had somehow managed to steadily move his chair closer to hers until he brushed against her each time he lifted his fork to his thick lips.  She’d been so busy trying to avoid him without making a scene, she hadn’t listened to Mr. Tolson’s conversation with Papa, but she’d noticed that Papa had been distracted and annoyed all evening after the Tolsons’ departure.

            Tonight wouldn’t be like that.  Papa had invited the strangers to eat with them and was pleased by their acceptance, so they surely had much better manners than the Tolsons.  Serenity felt a small shiver of excitement at the prospect of sitting at the table with two young gentlemen.  Had she prepared enough food?  Would the gentlemen be disappointed to discover their supper consisted of one fat hen, dumplings, and root vegetables?   She was glad Papa had accepted the hen in trade for the plain gold wedding band that had sat in his display case since his last trip to New York before the war.  Papa had laughed when he told her the ragged soldier who purchased it had probably caught some farmer’s runaway chicken and counted it an answer to prayer as he contemplated returning to his sweetheart with a wedding ring.

            The sound of an opening door alerted her that Papa was returning with their guests.  She watched them file into the room and noted that though the strangers were better dressed than the returning soldiers, their trousers and shoes showed signs of much use.  They appeared to be no more than twenty-five years of age.  One of the men was tall with a thick thatch of yellow hair.  The other was shorter, though still above average in height, with straight brown hair parted in the center and combed to each side.  Perpetual mischief seemed to sparkle in the second man’s eyes, and she felt inclined to respond to his warm smile. 

            “Serenity, dear.”  Papa bustled forward to make introductions.  “These young men are recently come from Denmark.  They traveled some distance out of their way to inquire about your mother.  This one---” he indicated the taller, more fair young man--- “Mr. James Holme,s was acquainted with your mother.  This other gentleman is his friend and companion, Edward Benson.”

            “How do you do, Miss Caswell?” the first man offered.  “It was kind of you to offer us dinner tonight.”

            “Pleased to meet you, miss.” the other man said with a slight bow.

            “How do you do?” Serenity attempted to play the gracious hostess in spite of feeling flustered by their warm greetings.

            “We received instruction a short time ago that your father might be able to tell us something of Hannah Waterton,” the first young man said.  “I was deeply saddened to learn of her demise.”  There was a look of sorrow in his eyes.   

            Serenity’s smile disappeared and she drew back, welcoming the solid wood of the table that separated her from the two men.  By the time she was five years old, she’d known not to speak of her mother to strangers and that her mother’s sudden and frequent disappearances had something to do with the soft taps on the back door that came late at night.  She’d known, too, that because of her mother, she wasn’t quite welcome in the Quaker community nor at the village school where the sons and daughters of other merchants and businessmen were sent to be educated.  But the war was over and President Lincoln had freed the slaves, so why were these men looking for Mamma now?  Could it be because she was a Mormon?  What did it matter anyway?  Mamma was dead.

            “My mother died shortly before the war began,” she said in a stilted voice.            She glanced toward her father, silently begging him for help.  He merely smiled encouragement.

             “I can’t believe I’ve actually found Sister Hannah’s daughter.”  There was excitement in the blond young man’s voice.  She nodded her head in hesitant acknowledgment, causing her long sable curls to bounce. She blinked to clear away unexpected moisture from her eyes.  She wasn’t accustomed to speaking of her mother or of hearing Mamma’s name spoken aloud.  Unbidden tears threatened to fall.

            “I’m sorry.”  Realization seemed to sink in and there was regret in his eyes.  “She was a good woman and my family owes her much.  My mother, especially, will be sad to hear of her death.  But she will also be thrilled to learn of her daughter.”

            “How did you know my mother?”  Serenity knew little of her mother’s life before marrying Papa, other than that she was a Mormon and that her family had gone west to the Rocky Mountains without her.  If Papa knew more of her past, he never spoke of it to Serenity.

            “Our mothers were friends in Nauvoo, Illinois, twenty years ago.  Your grandparents were comfortably situated, but my mother was a poor widow with two small children.  Miss Hannah secretly left gifts of vegetables from her family’s garden on our doorstep that summer and fall.  We owe our lives to her generosity.  When she left, we missed her and her kindness greatly.”

            “Come, won’t you sit down.”  Not knowing how to respond to the young man’s frank admiration of her mother, Serenity gestured toward the table and the several chairs gathered around it. Her father seconded the invitation.  She hoped Mr. Holmes would tell her more about Mamma.   Serenity still missed her mother and often thought that if she knew more about her, she might be better able to come to terms with her tragic death.

            When the men were seated, she hurried to the kitchen to serve the meal she had prepared.  She carried the steaming platters and bowls to the table and took care to place the freshly churned butter before her father before accepting the chair the shorter young man held for her.  She was about to begin passing the platter of chicken when Papa spoke up.

            “Do you wish to say grace before we proceed?” He directed the question to Mr. Holmes.

            “I would be honored.”  The young man bowed his head and spoke a simple prayer, causing Serenity a brief moment of remorse.  Mamma had always prayed before meals, but she and Papa had let the practice drop during those first grief-filled days following her death and had never resumed it.

            Once plates were filled and the first bites sampled, Serenity voiced the first of the questions crowding through her mind, “Did I understand Papa to say you’ve come from across the ocean, all the way from Denmark?”

            Again it was the blond man who spoke first. “We’re both from Salt Lake City in the Utah Territory, where we’ve lived since we were young children.   We’ve been away preaching the Gospel in Denmark and are now on our way home.”

            “You’re Mormon preachers?”  Serenity asked.

            “Not exactly,” Mr. Benson answered her.  “Most Mormon men accept a call to preach the gospel for a few years, then they return to their families and professions.  We’ve completed our missions and are now preparing to resume the plans for our futures made before we journeyed to Denmark.  Fortunately for me, Elder Holmes had a promise to keep, which brought us here.”  His smile seemed to hint that the good fortune he alluded to was more than a plate heaped with chicken and dumplings.

            “Miss Caswell, before I left for Denmark, I promised your uncle, Reliance Waterton, that upon my return I would try to find his sister, as I would be passing through Pennsylvania,” Mr. Homes explained.  Turning to her father, he added.  “He told me he had written numerous times to acquaintances in the village where he and his sister lived when they were children, but his letters were always returned unopened.  He believed it was because when his family left the Quaker faith to become Mormons, the village elders ordered their congregation to shun them.  It was Reliance’s hope that I might find a way to trace his sister, since I had devoted several years to the  study of law before accepting a calling from the Lord to preach the gospel.”

            Serenity’s hand shook, almost spilling the contents of her fork.  She’d had no idea her mother’s family had been shunned by the Quakers.  She was aware that most people in their community, both Quakers and Protestants, disapproved of Mormons, and she had assumed that bias accounted for her and her mother’s limited acceptance among them.  Hannah’s return to Pennsylvania must have presented quite a dilemma to the Friends who worked in the cause for which Mamma gave her life.

            “I have an uncle?”  That aspect of James Holmes’s message gradually sank into Serenity’s mind, giving rise to eager excitement.  For the last five years she’d longed for more family than just herself and Papa, and now she had many questions about her mother’s family.  Papa had told her long ago that he was an orphan and that he’d never met his wife’s family, who had moved west without her.  He’d been reluctant to discuss the matter further, leaving her curiosity unsatisfied.

            Mr. Holmes appeared amused by her question.  “Not only do you have an uncle, but you also have at least fourteen Waterton cousins, the oldest of whom is a man a little older than myself, then an even dozen females, followed by a small boy who was an infant when I left for Denmark.  There may be more cousins by now.  Your mother had but one brother, and he is a stalwart in his community in Utah and in the Church.  He has a farm some miles south of Salt Lake City where he raises onions and potatoes.”

            “Goodness!  Please tell me my cousins’ names and all you know of them.”  Her hand fluttered to the neckline of her plain, worsted gown.

            “I remember Miss Hannah brought Andrew, her brother’s oldest child, to my birthday party when I turned four . . .” 

            James seemed happy to oblige her with tales of her cousins, whom he seemed to know well.  She laughed and was delighted to learn of their exploits.

            “And do Mamma’s parents live near Uncle Reliance?” she asked at length.  “I remember Mamma spoke of my grandparents with longing a few times.”

            “I’m sorry to be the one to inform you that they died before reaching Zion.  Your grandfather was ill before they left Nauvoo.  They both contracted a fever on the journey to Winter Quarters and succumbed to their illnesses during that first difficult winter.  Reliance feared Hannah had met the same fate, as he never heard from her after her departure from Nauvoo.”

            At this, Papa entered the conversation.  “You speak as if she left the Mormon settlement before her family did.  It was my understanding that her family left without her, leaving her to fare for herself.”

            “No, Hannah left first.”  James appeared uneasy and looked around as though assuring himself no one could overhear his words.  “She left Nauvoo four or five months before her family started west.  She was strongly opposed to slavery, and when she discovered a black child being whipped on the property where my family lived, she and my mother took steps to protect the boy.  When the slave owner threatened to separate the child’s family, she made arrangements for the family to run away and she left with them.  She told my mother she was taking them to Canada and that she meant to settle among the Quakers in Pennsylvania to work for the abolitionist cause once the family was safe.”

            Charles Caswell cleared his throat.  “My wife was deeply committed to abolishing slavery.”  Serenity glanced at her father.  She suspected the conversation was difficult for the private man she knew her papa to be. She suspected a more mature woman would graciously change the subject, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so.  She’d yearned to know more of her mother for such a long time, and now it was no longer a crime to support the emancipation of slaves.  After another quick glance at her father, she voiced the question that troubled her.

            “I always wondered where she got the money to bring that family so far and help them begin a business of their own.” Her fingers played over the carved sides of the table, and she avoided looking at the two young men or Papa.  She didn’t want them to know her suspicions that two members of the family Mamma had helped run away from Nauvoo---the two colored men who’d brought Mamma’s body home after she’d been shot, had stolen a valuable topaz ring from her and had possibly first taken the topaz from their master in Nauvoo. 

            “Hannah had some money of her own.  A dear lady, whom I called grandmother gave the slave family  her small savings, and my mother had a large topaz gem she tried to give to them.  They refused it, fearing that if they were caught with it in their possession, they would be hung as thieves.  When they wouldn’t accept the stone, Mamma gave it to Hannah to help them get started in their new life.” 

            Serenity’s eyes opened wide.  James Holmes knew about the topaz!  Then another thought hit her.  She hesitated, then as if she couldn’t help herself, she continued in jerky phrases.  “Papa said he bought the topaz . . .  from someone who was helping . . . escaped slaves reach Canada.  He never said it was Mamma who brought it to him.”