Page 62 of If the Boot Fits

Samantha blew out a breath. “I wish it would hurry.”

“I know it doesn’t make it any easier, but the Lord’s timing is always best. You must trust in that. In him.” Aunt Regina hung her bonnet on the hall tree, then hooked her arm through Samantha’s elbow and drew her toward the stairs with a wink. “Come with me. I’ve been saving something, and I think today might be just the time to give it to you.”

A touch of giddiness awoke in Samantha’s tedium-numbed chest. “What is it?”

Aunt Regina chuckled. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

Samantha groaned in dramatic fashion before dissolving into giggles.

The two ascended the stairs arm in arm, then Aunt Regina steered them toward her bedroom. Once inside, she dropped Samantha’s arm and crossed to the cedar chest standing at the end of the bed. She set aside the dresser scarf that had been draped over the top and opened the lid. Samantha peered over her aunt’s shoulder to find a collection of keepsakes inside. A handful of photographs in frames, a scrap of lace peeking out from a brown paper wrapping that hinted at a wedding dress, and a beautiful quilt in shades of blue calico. Aunt Regina slid her hand beneath the quilt and withdrew a slender book. She lowered the lid on the chest, then turned around and sat on it. She scooted over and patted the place beside her. Samantha joined her on the makeshift bench.

“I found this among your mother’s things after she passed.” Aunt Regina stroked the cover. When she pivoted to face Samantha, her expression turned serious, almost . . . troubled. “Your mother’s diary.”

Samantha inhaled a shaky breath, all playfulness forgotten.

Her aunt gripped both sides of the book as if afraid it would leap off her lap. “I debated whether or not I should give this to you. They are your mother’s private thoughts. Not intended to be seen by others. They might be a tad . . . unvarnished.”

“You haven’t read it?”

Aunt Regina shook her head. “Victoria was always so fastidious about the way she presented herself to others. Everything had to be pristine. Wrinkles pressed, hair done, smile in place. She would want to be remembered as the charming hostess, dutiful wife, and devoted mother she strove to be, so I choose to honor her by thinking of her as such. But a woman so concerned with perfection has no one with whom to share her vulnerabilities and weaknesses. Such a woman might only feel safe exposing such flaws in private. Perhaps in a journal. Hopefully, also in prayer.”

Aunt Regina moved the book to Samantha’s lap yet kept a hand pressed to the cover. “I know you have many questions about your mother, and this book might provide some of the answers you seek. But it might also reveal a side of her that you never saw. One riddled with imperfections.” She glanced up from the book and met Samantha’s gaze. “Some of the things you read might hurt, Sam. You need to be prepared for that. But never doubt that your mother loved you. All of you. You. Your father. Clint. The three of you were her world. So I ask that if you read this, you do so with a spirit of grace.”

Slowly, Aunt Regina’s hand lifted from the cover of the book. Samantha’s belly swirled with an unsettling mixture of fear and anticipation. She remembered her mother through a child’s eyes. What would it be like to get to know her woman-to-woman? What would she think of the lady Samantha had grown into? Would she be disappointed that her daughter hadn’t married a wealthy son of Boston, or would she see worth in the path Samantha had chosen for herself? Her fingers trembled as she traced the embossed lettering that spelled out Journal on the red leather cover.

“Thank you for this.” Clutching the book in one hand, Samantha twisted and wrapped her arms around her aunt in a warm embrace.

Aunt Regina held her tightly for a long minute. “I love you, darling girl.” When her aunt finally relaxed her hold, Samantha was surprised to find moisture glistening in the older woman’s eyes. “I wish I could wave a magic wand and make all your troubles disappear.”

“You’ve taken me in, plied me with sweets, and given me access to your library. My troubles might not have disappeared, but you’ve done a great job of hiding them. I’m so grateful for everything you and Uncle Obadiah have done for me.”

Her aunt smiled and patted Samantha’s knee. “Well, that’s what family is for.” She tapped the spine of the journal as she rose to her feet. “I’m sure this will keep you occupied for some time, but try to pace yourself. No need to read it all in one day.”

Yet once Samantha started, she found it impossible to put the book down. Back in the parlor, she curled up in her uncle’s favorite wingback chair and turned page after page. Samantha’s absorption made her impervious to the torture of the mantel clock’s sluggish ticking. Time churned by utterly unnoticed.

Chronicles of everyday household business were mixed with more personal reflections, but a handful of entries jumped off the page to grab Samantha’s heart in a viselike grip.

September 2, 1868

My bleeding started this morning. Another month with no baby. Why has God cursed me? For four years, Eli and I have tried to no avail. He says he is not angry or disappointed in me, but I cannot believe him. I have one job, to give him sons, and I have failed. When we were to marry, he promised to give me the security and standing I craved along with his heart, his protection, and his undying loyalty. I vowed to be his partner in all things, to love him, respect him, and stand by his side. To give him sons, so that the Dearing legacy we were building could be passed on to future generations.

Every month that passes with no child eats away at my soul. Eli’s hard work is bringing his plans to fruition. He bought a spread of land that will make an excellent ranch. He’s building me the house of my dreams, and what am I building for him? Nothing! I am barren, just like my oh-so-pious sister. Regina warned me that her inability to conceive might affect me as well, but I refused to believe it. God would not be so cruel. He might have wanted her to be childless so she would have more time to do his work, but what would be gained by my infertility? Nothing! Am I to be a millstone around Eli’s neck, dragging his legacy into an early grave? Please, God, have mercy. For Eli’s sake, if not for mine. Give us a child.

March 9, 1869

We moved into the house today. It’s magnificent! A house to rival that of any cattleman in the state. It will take a few years to fully furnish it, but my mind spins with the possibilities. A large dining room for hosting dinners, a ballroom for entertaining prestigious guests. Might the governor grace my home someday? I can see him here now. Kissing my hand, complimenting me on my fine home, praising Eli for all he’s achieved. I think Eli worries over my bouts with low spirits. I try to hide my growing melancholia from him, but he sees past my false cheer. I think that’s why he let me name the ranch. I tried to refuse the honor—the responsibility—but he insisted. So I chose to name our new home the Three Cedars. It pays tribute to the cluster of stately trees that shade our home, but to me they symbolize my greatest wish, that our family of two will soon expand to three. It will happen. It has to happen. I cannot fail him.

October 12, 1869

I am with child! My prayers have finally been answered. Dr. Abbott confirmed the pregnancy today. Our son will be born late next spring. Eli is so excited he can scarcely sit still. He’s been strutting around the ranch like a rooster all afternoon. Duke threatened to throw him in the pond the men have been excavating for my water garden if he doesn’t quit crowing. All I can do is laugh. My joy is too large to contain.

February 23, 1870

Eli has settled on a name. Samuel. I can think of nothing better. How well I relate to Hannah and her struggle with infertility. When her time finally came to bear her son, she called him Samuel because she had asked him of the Lord. Just as I have done. And just as the biblical Eli mentored Samuel to become the greatest judge in Israel’s history, my own Eli will guide our son to greatness. I have no doubt. God has turned my mourning into dancing, and all is well.

May 11, 1870

The Lord has failed me! I’ve birthed a girl. Is there no justice in this world? Am I to be a constant disappointment to my husband? A failure in his eyes? Have I endured the disgrace of years of barrenness only to increase my disgrace by bearing a child of no value?