Sterling's Way (Lawmen & Outlaws) by Sarita Leone Read Free Book Online Page B

was nothing newsy or cheerful in the words. Even her penmanship was poor, something that writing on her lap in a cramped coach rumbling along a rutted track was impossible to avoid. But the object hadn’t been to produce a tidbit of charming correspondence. Kristen had only wanted to allay her mother’s fears, and hoped the note had been successful in that regard.
    Now that she had reached Brown’s Point, it seemed fitting that she compose a proper letter to Mother. She had no intention of giving away her whereabouts. There had to be a way to post the piece of mail without doing so.
    Her room held the most essential furnishings. A bed, chest of drawers, night table, oil lamp and chamber pot, all sturdy and somewhat shabby. The only item out of character in the no-nonsense décor was a ladies’ writing desk tucked under the lowest part of the sloped ceiling. It sat beside a small, round window which looked out onto Main Street and was Kristen’s favorite spot in the room.
    She sat at the desk and pulled out a sheet of stationary. The grade wasn’t as fine as the vellum she used at home, but it would serve its purpose. A deft twist of the wrist opened the half-full jar of blue ink she’d brought with her. Then, she lifted her favorite pen and held it above the jar for a moment while she composed the opening words in her mind.
    Finally, she dipped the pen and began to write.
    Dear Mother,
    It is with a light heart that I open this letter. I hope it is received with an equally cheerful, and loving, heart. Firstly, let me assure you I am fine. I have reached my destination and while I am still uncertain whether or not I will remain where I now find myself, I am, at least for the time being, happy. I plan to remain here for the foreseeable future or until an event or person causes me to change location.
    I apologize for any worry I caused you and Father. I know I have done so, so please do not try to spare my feelings by denying the fact. I did not attempt to spare yours when I ran off, did I? I deserve no better treatment, Mother, nor do I ask for it now.
    What I do hope to receive, with all my heart and soul, is some measure of understanding. I did what I felt obligated to do. I could not, and still will not, do what Father demanded. While I realize his proposed plan might, to some, seem perfectly ordinary, it felt like anything but ordinary to me. The thought of doing what he wanted was like wearing a noose around my neck, tightening and squeezing every breath and bit of life right out of me. I could not bear the thought, and I pray you take my feelings on the matter into consideration when you judge my actions.
    I know you will judge me, Mother. It is something we all do, whether or not we care to own up to it. I myself am guilty of the practice. I have been judgmental in the past, have formed opinions without facts and formulated ideas about people without truly trying to see beyond the obvious. While you and Father taught me better than to think myself above those who served our household, I never before had the opportunity to get to know people—especially women—who come from circumstances wholly dissimilar to my own. I have been surrounded—insulated, if you will—by those whose prospects and situations were nearly identical to my own. That is not the case anymore. Here I have become acquainted with women who do what they must to survive. Lest you jump to conclusions, and think I am in cahoots with women of loose moral values, let me tell you that is not the case. I am simply saying I have learned, and continue to learn, that life in Boston isn’t the only life for me and that even reduced circumstances and prospects are far more palatable to being swept into a match I am vehemently opposed to making.
    Don’t get me wrong. There is nothing wrong with the man Father chose for me—at least nothing I am aware of. He is intelligent, and kind, and will make some other woman a fine husband. But I will choose my own