NOVEMBER 3, 1886
"Please," she said. "Please, come back for me."
The tears flowed from her bloodshot eyes, coating her cheeks in a glistening flood of pain, desire, and last-minute hope.
"Please…come back for me…."
"Well, where is she?" she exclaimed.
Standing on the front porch of the large mansion, looking back at the house's front door, was a woman in a white dress that trailed behind her on the ground. She carried a matching parasol in one hand and a purse in the other.
"Newbourne!" she called.
A tall, lanky man dressed in a black suit walked from inside the house and approached her on the porch. "Yes, Mrs. Cohen?"
"Newbourne, I insist! Go up there and tell her to come down now! I don't care how you do it—drag her down if you must. Just get her down here immediately! We will miss the train."
Newbourne turned his head as if to look past all four stories of the big, white mansion. He could almost see the young teenage girl standing where he had last left her: in front of her bay window, looking out into the setting sun. A look of pity crossed his face. He turned his head back to the lady in front of him.
"Ma'am," he began softly, "I believe she was still packing."
"Newbourne, I do not care," snapped Mrs. Cohen. "Go and pack for her if you must. We will not dwell in this country a second longer—especially this part of the country!"
Newbourne lowered his head in submission to his master's wife. "Yes, Mrs. Cohen."
He turned around and walked back inside the house. He proceeded up the first flight of stairs from the foyer to the second story. He took a left at the top of the stairs and made his way down the long hallway towards a spiral, metal staircase corkscrewing its way to the third and fourth stories. Newbourne passed the third story and continued to the fourth, a heavy burden weighing significantly on his heart the farther he went. He came to a slow stop as he took the final step and looked directly before him.
The fourth story was a small room with wooden floors, floral wallpaper, and a pane glass window on both walls to his left and right. Under the window to his left was a small wooden table with a glass vase containing only water. Under the window to his right was a loveseat. Directly in front of him was a white door. He stared at it for several seconds. His breathing became heavy, and his heart sank deeper.
"Be strong, John," he told himself. "Be strong for her. She will probably need you."
He walked over to the white door and gave three knocks. Then, after hearing no response for several seconds, he slowly opened the door.
Inside the room was a bed, its headboard flush against the left wall with an organza canopy suspended from the ceiling above. Opposite its footboard, on the right side of the room, was a desk with a large mirror stationed on top.
A bay window looking into the west was to the right of the bed. There stood a young woman gazing out into the setting sun. Her tear-covered cheeks sparkled in the light of the early evening. The color of her blue dress mixed with the blood-red sun shining upon her.
Newbourne fixed his eyes on her, and his heart sank even faster as he did. "Miss Cohen?"
The young girl did not respond.
He walked around the bed and stood behind her. "Miss Cohen, I'm afraid it's time…."
"He will come for me, Newbourne," she said. "He told me that he would. I have to be here to wait for him."
Newbourne placed his hand on her shoulder. "And I do not doubt that he has tried with all his might, Miss Cohen, but he has not come in time. It's too late now."
The young Miss Cohen turned around and faced Newbourne. It was not until then that he saw the depth of her pain, the brokenness, and the fragility of her heart. Newbourne's heart had stopped sinking and finally hit the pit of his anguish.
"Newbourne," she cried, "I cannot leave him!"
She wrapped her arms around the tall man and buried her head in his chest. "I cannot leave him! I cannot! I cannot!"
Newbourne put aside his position as this girl's butler and slowly wrapped his arms around her, holding her like she was his daughter. "I know, Dear One. I know."
He could not help the tears that began to swell up in his eyes. "But you know that he was only thinking of you when he brought you back to us?"
"I did not want to come back! I wanted to be with him. He said that he would try to come back for me. Why hasn't he come?"
Oh, how I wish he would return for you, Dear One! The last thing I wanted was for this to happen to you. He placed his hand on the back of her head. "Dear One, no matter how hard we try—"
"Newbourne," echoed Mrs. Cohen's voice from downstairs, "you tell that ungrateful girl that we are leaving now, with or without her luggage!"
Newbourne looked over and saw two suitcases on the bed with stacks of clothes scattered all over the comforter. "We are almost done, Ma'am! May we have five more minutes to finish the last of the young Miss Cohen's packing?"
"Hurry it up now! Not a second longer!"
With his hand, Newbourne motioned Miss Cohen's head back to where he could look into her red, teary eyes. "Ma'am, it's time. We must be off."
The young girl placed her palms on Newbourne's chest. "Newbourne, wait! There is something that I must do! Please, I need your help."
"Anything, Ma'am."
She wiped her tears with her sleeve. "Please, finish my packing for me. There is something that I need to write."
Newbourne bowed his head with a smile on his face. "I am at your service, My Lady."
He walked over to the bed and began to fold the scattered clothes and place them individually in her suitcases. Now and then, he would look up to see how she was doing. She was over at her desk writing a one-page letter. He could hear her trying and failing to hold back her crying. Pain shot through his heart every time he heard a teardrop fall from her face and land on the paper in front of her.
She took a match, a stick of red wax, and an envelope from inside the desk's top drawer. She folded the letter and placed it inside the envelope. Striking the match, she put its flame against the wax, dripping its liquid on the lip of the envelope. Next, she grabbed a metal signet from the top of her desk and placed it against the hot wax on the letter, sealing it closed.
She reopened the top drawer and gazed inside one last time before setting the letter inside and closing it.
On top of her desk was a small jewelry box. She opened it and pulled out a small key. Placing it into the top drawer, she locked it up and set the key back inside the jewelry box.
"Miss Cohen," said Newbourne, "your suitcases are packed and ready to go."
The young lady stood up and closed the jewelry box. Then, turning around, she saw Newbourne standing close to her bedroom door, holding a suitcase in each hand. "Newbourne, you will oversee the final details of the house before returning home with us, will you not?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Your father has instructed me to oversee the estate's security before rejoining you and your parents overseas."
"I need to request something of you."
"Yes, Miss Cohen."
The young lady pointed to the top drawer of her desk. "The contents inside of that drawer are of high value. Therefore, no one is to open it. The consequences are too high."
"May I ask why not take whatever it is with you, Dear One, should such material be of such a high value?"
Miss Cohen looked at the drawer. "No. It belongs here. It was written here, and here it must stay."
"Yes, Ma'am. Anything else?"
Miss Cohen looked back into Newbourne's eyes and walked over to him. "Yes. Lock down my room, Newbourne. Lock it down, and make sure no one touches it. Make a notice for any of my relatives who should try to obtain or inherit the estate not to touch this room. No one must come in."
"No one, Ma'am?"
The young lady looked back at the drawer. "Well…I expect someone to come in here someday, but I predict it will not be anytime soon. However, it will be the right person—of that, I am certain."
"Newbourne," screamed Mrs. Cohen from downstairs again, "five minutes are up! No more time. You both come down this instant!"
"We are on our way now, Ma'am," Newbourne called back.
Miss Cohen walked out of the room with her head down. Newbourne followed her, carrying her luggage. They walked down the spiral staircase to the second story, where they found Mrs. Cohen waiting at the bottom step.
"Honestly, Rose," snapped Mrs. Cohen, "after I have given you so much mercy and grace—after all I have done for you to preserve your honor in society!—the least I would expect from you in return would be a sense of integrity."
Miss Cohen lowered her eyes to the floor.
"Rose, look at me," demanded Mrs. Cohen.
The young girl kept her attention on the green carpet of the hall.
Mrs. Cohen slipped her fingers underneath her daughter's chin and raised her head. She glared down her nose at the girl. "Rose Annemarie Cohen, someday you will learn to behave like a woman. But, for now, you might start by trying to get rid of all those boorish ideas of living another life and embrace the life that has been carefully prepared and destined for you since you were a child."
Rose looked back into her mother's piercing eyes. "Don't worry, Mother. After everything you have done against my chance of another life, I'm sure I will do my best to enjoy the only life I have left."
Mrs. Cohen pinched her daughter's chin between her fingers. "It's only because of me that you have another life to go to, young lady. So, you watch your tongue while you still have room to speak."
She released her daughter's face. "Now go out to the carriage."
Rose lowered her head again, passed her mother, and quietly walked to the stairs that led to the foyer while Newbourne followed behind her. She quickly reached the bottom floor and walked out the front door onto the white, wooden porch. The smell of autumn trees splashed against her face. Suddenly, the reality of what was happening began to hit her. This would be the last time she would ever step out of this house. Tears started to form in her eyes again, but she quickly wiped them off with her sleeve. The sound of horses nickering reached her ears. She shook her head, fell out of her daze, and noticed a stagecoach waiting in front of the house.
"My chariot comes to whisk me away…" she said softly through her quivering lips.
She made her way down the stairs of the front porch and walked to the stage. Upon reaching it, the driver hopped down and opened the door for her.
"Thank you," she whispered as she climbed inside.
The driver climbed to the top of the carriage and returned to his seat. Newbourne passed up the two suitcases from the ground, which the driver took and strapped down with the rest of the luggage.
"Out of our way, Newbourne," came Mrs. Cohen's impatient demand from behind.
Newbourne turned around and saw Mrs. Cohen and her husband, a tall man with broad shoulders and a strong chin dressed in a grey suit, standing behind him. Newbourne obliged and stepped aside, allowing Mrs. Cohen to enter the carriage.
"Come along, Jeffery," she sang to her husband as she stepped inside.
Mr. Cohen entered the carriage, and Newbourne closed the door behind him.
"Thank you, Newbourne," he said as he sat down.
Mr. Cohen then stuck his head out of the carriage window. "Newbourne, I trust you to leave everything in good order. Should we ever need the estate for future use, I shall want it to be in as good condition as when we left it today. So ensure everything is locked up and tidied before you and the rest of the servants return home."
"Yes, Master Cohen," said Newbourne, bowing his head, "I shall take care of all the paperwork concerning the restrictions of the estate at the courthouse today."
Jeffery Cohen reached his hand out of the carriage and shook Newbourne's hand firmly. "You are a good man, Newbourne. I would never trust another."
"Thank you, sir," replied Newbourne.
Mr. Cohen pulled his head back into the carriage. "Driver, we are ready!"
Rose quickly looked at Newbourne from her window. "Newbourne, you haven't forgotten what I asked you to do for me?"
Newbourne smiled and bowed his head to the young Miss Cohen. "I remember, My Lady, and will proceed with the instructions that you have given me."
Rose smiled at him and gave one last look at the large, white mansion before the carriage took off down the long gravel driveway.
She leaned back into her seat and tightly closed her eyes, sending more tears down her face. My dear reader, please find me. Please, read about my life and all that took place. Please, remember me… I want to be remembered.
He ran as fast as he could. His moccasins were caked in mud from the ground and covered in dry, dead grass. His red and black striped wool poncho trailed in the wind. His long black hair whipped through the air as he picked up his pace. His buckskin pants and loincloth were covered in blood. In his right hand, he carried seven roses, and in his left, he held a dagger. The tall grass of the meadow wrapped around his thighs and ankles as he plowed through the field. He stopped at the top of a hill and saw the white mansion in the distance.
"Please still be there, my Rose," he said, panting hard.
He charged down the hill towards the house. "Please be there!"