Page 1 of Shoshone Sun

Chapter One: Shattered Promises

- Somerset near Bath, 1866 -

“It’s unbearable—truly unbearable!” Peter Jacobs exclaimed, his voice breaking as he spoke to his wife who sat by the fireside cradling their infant son.

The small farm cottage was modest but warm, filled with the comforting smell of wood smoke and baking bread. Flickering flames from the hearth on one wall cast dancing shadows over the uneven worn oak floors, thick grey stone walls, and exposed wooden beams, illuminating the simple furnishings—a sturdy new table hand-crafted by Peter, several stuffed chairs covered in colorful hand-stitched quilts, and a wooden mantle above the open hearth was decorated with cherished trinkets: ceramic jugs and pots, a brass clock, pressed flowers in a simple wooden frame, and a few faded family photographs.

“I know,” whispered Susan. Still a young woman, vibrant and strong, she emanated a warmth that filled the room. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tidy bun, though a few rebellious strands framed her face. She wore a simple dress made of cotton, its deep blue fabric contrasting with delicate white lace at the collar. As she looked at Peter, her expressive brown eyes shimmered with empathy.

“You’re an angel, Susan Jacobs,” he declared, looking up at her as she rose to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Her fingers were calloused from hard work, but they offered him solace.

“Thank you, but it’s you who is our angel,” she said, hugging her infant tighter to her bosom.

“And so is she,” he added quietly, glancing at his sister-in-law, Jane Ashton, whose back was turned to them. Jane, in her early twenties, had a delicate frame and fair skin, but her posture now sagged under the weight of her heartbreak. Her blonde hair fell in loose waves, and she wore a faded green dress, the fabric soft but worn thin at the elbows and hem.

“In some ways, she has more to bear than we do,” Susan agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s a cruel shame for a girl to give her heart to a man, believing they will marry, only to discover he is to wed another.”

“It surely is!” Peter emphasized, his frustration boiling over. “It’s one more unbearable blow to our family.”

Susan shook her head regretfully. “I do believe that Fred Rowland is an honest man,” she said, her tone steady. “I can’t believe this was his choice; it must have come from his father, James.”

“James Rowland, the very same scoundrel who is kicking us off our hard-earned land and forcing our family out of our home!” Peter’s voice rose, a mix of anger and despair.

A tear slipped from Susan’s eye. She hated James Rowland with all her heart. Peter had built this farm up from the shambles it had been when the three of them took it over, slaving from sun up to sun down to make it what it had become today, five years later. The large barn stood proudly across the way, filled with milk cows, a dozen pigs, and a handful of goats. She had helped her husband as best she could, as had Jane, both women working their fingers to the bone.

“We will be forced to leave this place very soon,” Peter said, his frustration and pain evident. “James won’t allow us to stay even a week longer. I’m ashamed to say that I got down on my knees and begged him to allow us to remain here, demeaning myself, but no such luck. You know as well as I that I’ve poured my heart and soul into this farm, as have you and Jane. Without our back-breaking labor, it wouldn’t be what it is today. And now, he’s turning us out.” He felt utterly defeated, his spirit sagging.

Susan moved closer, rubbing the back of his neck gently. “God will guide us where we need to go,” she assured him.

Peter patted her hand, now resting on his shoulder. “You’re right. I wish I could see the world as you do, Susan.”

Just then, Jane turned to face them, her expression an ashy shade.

Had her sister heard what they’d been talking about, Susan wondered. She felt like crying for her sister. The betrayal and heartache must be wrenching.

Indeed, Jane’s eyes brimmed with tears, but she was fighting hard to hold them back.

The baby begun to fuss and Jane quickly crossed the room to him, taking him from her sister’s arms. She had been hoping for the birth of a little one of her own a year or two after she and Fred Rowland were to be wed barely a month from today. A sob escaped her. That was all in the past now. There would be no wedding for her and no child. Fred’s father was forcing him to marry the daughter of a local landowner. Now that his farm was flourishing, he realized his son could do better than marrying a tenant farmer’s sister-in-law.

“Let me take Petey,” Jane said to Susan. “I’ll try to soothe him. You two go ahead and discuss what we will do now. And don’t worry about me. I’m sure I can find work as a housemaid somewhere. It may just take some time.”

After Jane left the farmhouse, Susan said, “I feel that all is lost. That you, me, my sister, and Petey are basically being thrown out on the street with nothing.”

Peter reached out a hand to comfort his wife, stroking her cheek. “It’s all right, love. I can go back to work in the London paper mills. I’d hoped to give you and our son a better life than that, but it just hasn’t worked out.” A sob shook through his broad shoulders.

Susan thought back to the rundown little flat where they’d been living when they’d first wed. It had been a small, one-room apartment on the upper floor of a cramped apartment building, accessible only by a narrow staircase that creaked with age. The walls were paper thin, allowing noise from neighboring flats to seep through. A single narrow window provided slight light, overlooking a narrow, cobblestone street outside. The flat had been furnished with a simple wooden bed, a rickety table, and two stools. A small fireplace occupied one corner, its mantle adorned with nothing but their wedding photograph and a tin lantern. It had been livable at the time, but now they had a baby! Susan did not want to go back to that life! But they had no choice. Promises had been broken, and someone else held all the power.

She moved to the cottage window and looked outside at Jane who had seated herself, the baby in arm, on the garden swing that Peter had hung from the branches of a huge oak tree. All around Jane were colorful flowers that had grown from the bulbs that the sisters had planted last fall—patches of red, orange, and purple. The forsythia too was in bloom, forming a bright yellow hedge dividing the cottage yard from the barnyard. When Susan cast her eyes further to the horizon, she saw dozens of bright white specks that were the sheep in the spring-green fields.

She sighed. Could she really give all this up and go back to city life without her heart breaking in two?

She turned away from the window to face Peter and said the words she’d never expected to say: “Perhaps we should consider your uncle’s offer and go to America.”

Peter smiled for the first time since he had been told that they were being kicked out. “America?” he echoed, his voice tinged with a mixture of hope and disbelief. “You really think we could—”

“I mean, right now it looks like our best option,” Susan said, her heart pounding at the thought. “It could be a new beginning, a chance to start fresh. Your uncle has built a life there; he wouldn’t have invited us if he didn’t think we could succeed there as well.”

Peter’s expression shifted from uncertainty to contemplation. “But what about England? What about everything we’ve built here? Our home, our farm—”

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