The Twelfth Child (Serendipity #1)(27)

On a Monday morning shortly before school was to close for the summer, Miss Troy tapped Abigail on the shoulder and motioned her into the storage room. “I’ve good news,” the teacher said.

“Good news?” Abigail asked.

“Yes. I’ve written to someone about your situation; a woman who was once my teacher. Her name is Miss Ida Jean Meredith; she’s a fine woman, intelligent and kind. She no longer teaches because she’s retired; but, she still writes poetry. Anyway, I told her of your abilities and explained the problem. I asked if she could see her way clear to possibly employ the services of a remarkable young lady such as you.”

“Employ?” Abigail repeated her eyes big as squirrel holes in a hollow oak.

“Yes. I suggested you would make a most suitable companion and assistant. I was direct about the fact that you had not yet learned to use a typewriting machine but assured her that you were a quick learner and would certainly be able to master such a task in no time.”

Abigail’s heart was pounding so vigorously you could see the movement beneath the bosom of her dress. She let out a whoosh of air and left her mouth hanging open.

“For a while I was concerned that I had received no answer; but, yesterday this letter came.” Judith Troy reached into her pocket and took out a pale pink envelope. She handed the letter to Abigail, “Why don’t you read it,” she suggested.

Abigail took the letter in her trembling hands and with her first look at the looping slant of Ida Jean Meredith’s handwriting, she knew that this woman must be the finest on the face of the earth. She read the words, Miss Meredith had written:

Dear Judith,



I would be most delighted to take on your young student. This offer comes at a most opportune time for I am currently working on my fourth volume of poetry and have been seriously contemplating the need for an assistant.



These days, my step has slowed a bit, so I would also welcome a youthful companion to accompany me around town. Rest assured, the girl will be well cared for and most comfortable as I have readied the small bedroom overlooking the rose garden. Hopefully your young protégé will enjoy theatre and the ballet as you once did.



I am enclosing a train ticket for the girl’s travel from Lynchburg to Richmond. Please advise when she will be arriving and I will have Frederick meet her at the station.



As always, I remain your devoted friend.



Ida Jean Meredith



There were tears in Abigail’s eyes but she was smiling. “Does this mean—?”

“Yes,” Judith Troy answered before the girl had completed the question. “This means that you have been invited to Richmond to work with Miss Meredith.”

“You won’t tell Papa?”

“It’s not my business to tell. If you have anyone you want to tell, then you’re free to do so.” Miss Troy smiled, almost exactly the same way Livonia did when she was up to some sort of mischief. “But, if I were you, I wouldn’t say a word to your father.”

That night Abigail slept as she had not slept in years. There was no sound of crows, just songbirds chirping away like it was the middle of summer.



On the final day of the school year, when almost anyone in Blackburn Country would have sworn that Abigail Anne and her brother would be sitting at their desks, Will hitched the wagon to Whisper and rode off in the direction of Lynchburg. Abigail Anne was sitting beside him and two suitcases rattled around in the back of the wagon.

“You sure you want to do this?” the boy asked his sister.

She nodded.

“You’re gonna keep in touch with me, right?”

“Of course, I am,” she said. “Just don’t tell Pa, where I’ve gone. He’s so crazy to have me marry Henry Keller, he might decide to come down to Richmond and shoot poor Miss Meredith in the heart.”

“I’m not gonna say a thing,” Will answered, “But, when you write be sure to send the letter to Rebecca; she’ll see that I get it.”

“I will.”

“You got your train ticket and the money?”

Abigail tugged open the drawstring and took another look inside her purse. “It’s right here,” she said and held up a pink envelope. The smile on her face faded as she took out a second envelope, a plain white one. “This here’s a letter for Henry,” she handed the envelope to Will. “Please make sure he gets it.”

“Okay,” Will said and slipped the envelope into his pocket.

When they arrived at the Lynchburg Station, Will took both suitcases from the wagon and carried them to the platform; his face was as pinched up as a prune. “I wish you wouldn’t do this,” he said, “A woman alone in Richmond…”

“I won’t be alone; I’ll be living with Miss Meredith.” Abigail had taken on the glow of a woman in love. “Judging by the letter, I just know, she’s a wonderful person. She’s planning to take me to the theatre and the ballet; imagine me at the ballet!” Abigail twirled around and her cotton skirt billowed in the breeze.

“There’s still a lot to be wary of in the city,” Will said, shaking his head. “Trouble comes out of nowhere—things such as you never even dreamt of.”

“Sure, like turning on all those electric lights or making your way to a toilet that’s inside the house,” she teased.