Dreams and Nightmares Read online

  Dreams and Nightmares

  The Martha Whittaker Story

  Shirley A. Roe

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, places and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Actual places and historical references have been used only in order to place the location and timeline. Any interaction of the fictitious characters in these places or these actual events is pure fantasy.

  This book can be purchased at:

  www.theebooksale.com

  Contact the author at:

  [email protected]

  ISBN: 978-1-906806-57-6

  Publisher: TheEbookSale Publishings

  Limerick, Ireland

  ©Shirley A. Roe, 2008

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my family: Jim, James, Kelly and Laura for whom I am eternally grateful.

  A special note to Haley, Shyanne, Erik, Zack, John and Angela: “Never stop believing in magic.”

  There is in every true woman's heart a spark of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the broad daylight of prosperity; but which kindles up, and beams and blazes in the dark hour of adversity. Washington Irving (1783-1859, American Writer)

  Contents

  Chapter One - Graystone Manor

  Chapter Two - Sea Voyage

  Chapter Three - Dirt, dust and Conestoga Wagons

  Chapter Four - Fort Laramie and the Wyoming Territory

  Chapter Five - Back in London

  Chapter Six - The Invitation

  Chapter Seven - The Search Begins

  Chapter Eight - Winter sets in

  Chapter Nine - Delayed in St. Louis

  Chapter Ten - Spring at Last

  Chapter Eleven - The Search Continues

  Chapter Twelve- Martha and Jeremy meet

  Chapter Thirteen - Jeremy and Jebediah

  Chapter Fourteen - Decisions to Make

  Chapter Fifteen - Back to St. Louis

  Chapter Sixteen - St. Louis

  Chapter Seventeen - London ... some surprising news

  Chapter Eighteen - The family settles in

  Chapter Nineteen - The Nuptials

  Chapter Twenty - Abraham and Bo

  Chapter Twenty - one - The Christmas Dance

  Chapter Twenty - two - Martha and John

  Chapter Twenty - three - One year later

  Chapter Twenty - four - The child is born

  Chapter Twenty - five - Six years Later

  Chapter Twenty - six - Isaac and Annabelle

  Chapter One - Graystone Manor

  A gentle dusting of snow settled on her purple cape as Martha's carriage approached the manor house. She adjusted the wool tartan blanket around her legs, feeling quite warm in spite of the late night chill. The horses’ hooves made a steady clopping sound as they contacted the frozen ground. The air was crisp and cold.

  “Going to be a cold night, Miss,” stuttered Clyde, the hunched wrinkled coachman, snowflakes alighting on his hat and shoulders. “Reminds me of the night you and that young scallywag, Austin Wells took off when you was twelve to spy on the folks at that fancy ball.”

  “Oh Clyde, I'd almost forgotten that night. There we were, peeking in the windows listening to the wonderful music, totally lost in our own enjoyment. It was a cold, snowy night just like this but Austin and I hardly noticed. Father was very upset, however it was worth the punishment.” Martha smiled as her thoughts returned to that night long ago. The entire staff had been out searching for her and Austin. They sat transfixed by the music, the dancing and the beautifully clad guests attending the Gala event of the year. She and Austin had been on many exciting adventures together as children, many of them ending with stern punishment.

  “Your father has had quite the time with you Miss, but he always seems to get his way in the end.” Clyde gently reined the two large horses in the desired direction. The hot air from their nostrils created a misty fog around their proud equine heads; a blanket of snow covered their dappled backs.

  “Yes, he always does but I certainly put up a good fight, don't I Clyde?” Martha, grinning impishly, reached up and caught several white fluffy snowflakes in her gloved hand.

  “Yes, you sure do Miss, you surely do. Ah, here we are.” The carriage slowed in front of the large and stately house. The imposing front of a solid stone mansion with three stories bearing twenty shuttered windows, greeted the carriage as it came to rest. The soft amber glow from the windows promised a warm and cheery welcome.

  “It is cold indeed Clyde and I'm glad to be home. You know I have lived in this house all of my eighteen years and I never fail to be impressed at the sight of it. Good night, Clyde.”

  “Good night, Miss.”

  Martha bundled herself into her cape as the carriage stopped at the steps leading to the solid oak double doors. Slowly, she ascended the stairs taking in the beauty of the ice sparkling like jewels on the trees and the soft white snowflakes blanketing the manicured lawns. Graystone Manor, a majestic home built by Martha's grandfather William McGuire fifty years before. The house and grounds had been maintained much the same as her grandmother, Anna had designed them so many years ago. Large hedges of Holly and Rhododendron lined the drive and majestic trees were spotted throughout the formal gardens. The ice and snow transformed the gardens into a magical, bejeweled world that Martha viewed with childlike appreciation.

  Entering the enormous hallway, she deposited her snowy cape and bonnet on the mahogany bench. She shook her long, thick chestnut hair causing tiny droplets of water to fly in every direction, then immediately smoothed her long locks as she stared at her reflection in the gilded mirror. Moving silently with soft ladylike steps, her floor length gown brushed the polished wooden floors as she walked. As she reached the arch to the great room, loud voices could be heard from the study at the end of the hallway. She paused and listened, resting her hand on the polished dark mahogany trim as she cocked her head towards the study.

  Martha recognized her father's raised voice and as past experience dictated, decided to go straight to her room. Martha's father, John McGuire was a well-respected and successful businessman. At the moment, he was obviously in a heated argument with one of his business associates. She knew that it was best not to interrupt; she had simply wanted to say good night. As she proceeded up the grand staircase she overheard her father say that the money would be available in a fortnight and that he would make the other arrangements as soon as possible. Martha thought he sounded strained and wondered, Who is he talking to?

  “Money, other arrangements? Odd.” she spoke aloud while quietly opening the door to her bedchamber.

  Martha loved this room. The soft, burgundy velvet chaise, the delicate French lace curtains and her huge canopy bed made a striking impression, that always reminded her of her mother. Lillian McGuire passed away when Martha was twelve. Burgundy had been her mother's favorite color and the room had not been changed in all these years. She automatically picked up her mother's crystal perfume decanter, removing the lid and sniffing deeply. The scent of summer roses filled her nostrils. How she missed her mother and her wonderful sense of humor. Martha could almost hear her tinkling laughter as she envisioned her smiling face. Perpetually happy was the way Martha remembered her. Her eyes moved to the portrait of her mother that hung over her bed. Her father had argued long and hard about moving it from the great room to its present location above her bed. That was one argument Martha had won and the portrait was her most valued possession. People that had known her mother said that she looked very much like her, with her round face, chestnut hair and deep, sky blue eyes. Her stubbor
n nature and tall stature apparently came from John McGuire. Her father had been very good to her and gave her anything she wanted: excellent tutors, piano lessons and beautiful clothes. There was even a full stable of horses, although she was never fond of riding and could remember several heated arguments with her father about her lack of interest. Father loved the hunt and the horses but Martha had no inclination to learn to jump or any interest in animals of any kind. Yes, her Father was good to her, but her need for her mother was intense. How her mother would have loved discussing the upcoming Gala ball, the guests and the beautiful gowns they would wear. It was the time of her life when she had many questions of love and desire that only a mother could answer. She appreciated dear Emma, who did her best but it just wasn't the same.

  After hanging her clothes carefully in the near to overflowing wardrobe and washing her face, she climbed into bed. Clothes were foremost in Martha's mind at the moment. She was looking forward to tomorrow when she would be fitted for her new gown for the upcoming spring Gala. She fell asleep with visions of designer gowns dancing in her head.

  The next morning Martha entered the dining room after stopping at the mirror to smooth her hair into place. Her father was seated in his usual chair at the head of the long dining table. Emma the cook, large and rotund, served the tea and greeted Martha with a wide grin. Her gray eyes twinkled at the sight of this impetuous young woman. Emma was as close to a mother as anyone could be to Martha, but she was still a servant, and certain lines could not be crossed. Often, more through sheer boredom than a genuine desire to help or learn, Martha would wander into the warm, cheery kitchen and watch Emma bake the delicious pastries and cakes that she was famous for in Northumberland. Many of the aristocratic ladies of the town would vie for the right to borrow Emma when a large gathering was planned. Although parties, ball gowns and afternoon teas were the prime interests in Martha's life, Emma persisted in tutoring her in the duties of a mistress of the manor. In spite of herself, Martha could produce a decent pie and did learn the basics of running a household. Emma told her she would soon be able to perform her duties as Mistress of the house and govern the staff with some degree of authority and skill. Martha did not relish the idea of doing anything so mundane.

  “Good morning Father, you are looking well this morning.” She placed a kiss upon his cheek and thought to herself that his gray hair and slim build made him a very handsome man in spite of his 60 years. Martha inhaled deeply; the delicious, sweet scent of apples and cinnamon filled the room. “Good morning Emma, I see you have made my favorite apple muffins.” Martha pecked the cook's chubby red cheek before taking her seat.

  The dining room was large and many portraits of the McGuire ancestors decorated the walls. The portrait of John McGuire, recently finished, hung over the fireplace; replacing the relocated portrait of Lillian. The dining table held many happy memories of the days when Lillian McGuire had hosted her elegant dinner parties, seating as many as twenty guests. The silver tea service glistened thanks to Emma's loving hands. Emma always made sure the table was set with fine bone china and silver cutlery. Crystal water goblets sparkled in the morning sun.

  “Martha good, I have something very important to discuss with you this morning,” John replied looking very somber. He stopped eating and placed his fork and knife on the table. Emma, noticing the seriousness of John McGuire's expression, finished serving and left the room. Not being as intuitive as Emma, the immature Martha did not notice her father's somber mood and chattered incessantly.

  “Oh, I hope the invitation has arrived for the Gala ball. I'm so looking forward to it. As a matter of fact, Charles Worth is arriving today for a final fitting. I just love his gowns and I know mine will be the loveliest at the ball. I have chosen a deep burgundy taffeta that I know Mother would have loved.” Martha chattered as she lifted her delicate china teacup, the warm scent of tea and lemons filling her nostrils. She broke a section from her apple muffin with her other hand. “I only wish Austin were here to escort me, he is my best friend in all the world.”

  “There will be no Gala ball for you this year Martha, you are to be married to Jebediah Whittaker in a fortnight.” John raised his voice, interrupting Martha in mid sentence.

  “Father, you are joking. But what kind of a silly thought has entered your head. I have no intention of marrying anyone right now. Besides Jebediah Whittaker has three children and is much too old for me.” Martha stopped sipping her tea and stared over the rim of the cup at her father in disbelief. As an afterthought she added, “Plus he is a pompous ass!”

  “Martha, do not use that stable language in this house and I'm not joking. You are eighteen years old and he has requested your hand in marriage. I have given my word and you will do as I say.” Angered by her reaction, John McGuire slammed his fist on the table sending the cutlery flying in all directions. Water flowed down the side of the teetering crystal goblet.

  “No. I won't do it, I won't. I will go to the Ball and I'll not marry anyone.” Martha screeched at her father, bounding from her chair. She ran from the room as her mother's fine china teacup hit the floor, shattering into a dozen pieces.

  She avoided her father for the rest of the day. Martha convinced herself that he would change his mind. She would argue with him until he gave in. The tutor arrived for her piano lessons but her mind was elsewhere. She was angry that her father had cancelled her fitting with Charles Worth, who was becoming a very famous designer in England and it was difficult to reschedule. She played the piano mechanically, an angry pout on her face. Her fingers pounded the keys, taking her anger out on the ivory black and whites. I won't do it, I won't. Sensing her distraction and realizing he was wasting his time, the tutor packed up his things and left. Relieved to be rid of him, Martha stacked up her music sheets and returned them to the cabinet next to the piano. She paused in front of the hall mirror, primping and patting her soft hair into place before attempting to return to her room unnoticed. Ascending the staircase, she found herself face to face with her father. Martha immediately launched into her rehearsed debate but John McGuire was having none of it. “Martha, this time there will be no discussion. You will marry Jebediah Whittaker and that is that.” He continued down the stairs leaving her staring after him in shocked silence.

  Later that night, cheeks stained with tears, a fearful Martha plotted to leave the house in the middle of the night and run off to Aunt Phoebe's in London. She had given a note for Phoebe to Clyde who was traveling to London in the next few days. Lying on her bed, the soft velvet of the duvet offering no comfort, Martha stared at the portrait begging her mother for guidance. She had to think, she must plan to leave in the next few days. The very thought of marrying anyone at this wonderful time of parties and grand balls was one thing but Jebediah Whittaker, well that was out of the question. Having attended several operas and gala balls, always escorted by handsome young gentlemen, her future was just beginning. Even her dear childhood friend, Austin Wells, escorted her on visits home from college and life was blossoming for her. Jebediah Whittaker was more than ten years her senior, with thinning dark hair, deep-set eyes and a long pointy nose on his gaunt face. Her impression of the scowling widower, on the few occasions they had been in the same company was that he was abrupt and a loner. Martha paced the room; frustrated and angry she threw her silver hand mirror against the wall, where it shattered into hundreds of pieces.

  Shocked at her own unladylike behavior, she settled on the bed. Even in this time of crisis, years of tutoring and instruction won out. She struggled to regain the air of sophistication and refinement that she had been taught. She hugged the pillow to her ample breast, long legs tight to her body and rocked on the bed in frustration. What could her father be thinking? Clyde's remark echoed in her head “Your father has had quite the time with you Miss, but he always seems to get his way in the end.” She mustn't let him win this time, she must think of something. She didn't want to marry anyone, let alone such an unappealing stranger. The
fact that he had three children made matters even worse. Imagine me with someone else's three children, preposterous! She scoffed at the thought, knowing she was fond of neither children nor animals.

  Martha's head was spinning with dread and thoughts of escape when hours later, she finally fell asleep. She tossed and turned on her damp pillow. She dreamt that she was running and running, a menacing, faceless figure in close pursuit. The faster she ran, the closer the dark figure followed. Terrified she ran on, her feet felt like lead; fear filled her very soul. Her body thrashed on the bed, blankets scattering with each anxious, frightened movement. The dark, nightmarish figure growing ever closer descending like death itself. She screamed, calling to her mother to help her; but to no avail, in her heart she knew there was no escape.

  Chapter Two - Sea Voyage

  How naive Martha must have been, plotting to steal away to Aunt Phoebe in the night. Did she really think that her father would not discover her plans and force her to marry Jebediah?

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together in the presence of God, to join this man and woman in holy matrimony.” The somber elderly reverend slowly spoke the words that she dreaded to hear. She saw the bible shaking slightly in his wrinkled hands as she stared at the floor. Oh God, don't let this be happening. Let this be a nightmare that I will wake up from. Her hands clasped tightly in front of her, she squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself to wake up.

  The marriage took place in the great room of Graystone with only four sullen people, John McGuire, Martha's determined father, Emma the cook, the smirking widower, Jebediah Whittaker and a very angry Martha. In spite of all her tantrums, all of her tears, Martha became Mrs. Jebediah Whittaker on that fateful day. After the wedding vows were complete, a greatly distressed Martha ran up to her room where she promptly locked the door and remained until the next day. Jebediah returned to his home, seemingly undisturbed by his new wife's obvious rejection.