Page 7 of Shoshone Sun

“This is lovely,” Susan said, her eyes wide with appreciation.

Jane felt a swell of gratitude for Paul and Mary’s kind welcome. As they settled at the table, Mary served up steaming bowls of stew chuck full of beef, carrots, and potatoes with thick slices of freshly baked bread lathered in butter. Laughter filled the air, and for a moment, Jane allowed herself to forget her troubles, rejoicing in the warmth of their new beginnings.

After dinner, Paul showed them around the property. “I’ve cleared a few dozen acres for crops, and we have a barn for livestock,” he explained. “It’s a work in progress, but it’s ours.”

Jane walked alongside Susan, taking in the sights. The land stretched out before them, a mix of fields and trees, promising adventure and the chance for a fresh start. But as she wandered, the weight of her past pressed down on her. She had come so far, yet Fred Rowland’s memory clung to her like a shadow.

“What do you think?” Susan asked, breaking Jane’s reverie.

“It’s beautiful,” Jane replied, forcing a smile. “It feels… hopeful.”

As they reached the barn, Paul shared stories of his livestock, and Jane marveled at his passion. Yet, a bittersweet pang settled in her chest, reminding her of the life she had left behind—the dreams she once held dear.

Later that evening, after the family had settled in, Mary led Jane to a small room up the stairs from the main living area. “This will be yours,” she said, opening the door to reveal a cozy space filled with soft light. A simple bed decorated with a patchwork quilt occupied one corner, while a small window overlooked the garden.

“It’s lovely,” Jane said, her voice tinged with surprise.

Mary smiled warmly. “I hope it feels like home soon.”

As Jane stepped inside, she felt a rush of emotions. The room was adorned with handmade touches—framed pictures, a small bookshelf filled with well-worn volumes, and fresh flowers in a vase on the bedside table. Yet, the charm of the room could not quiet the ache in her heart.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she took a deep breath, trying to absorb her new reality. It was a fresh start, but the memory of Fred lingered like a ghost. She could still picture his face—the way his eyes sparkled when he spoke of their future, the laughter they shared in the meadows back home. He had promised her the world, and she had believed in his dreams. But those dreams had crumbled, leaving her standing alone on the cliff of a new life.

She wiped away a stray tear, determined not to surrender to sorrow. “This is a new beginning,” she whispered to herself. “You will make a life here, Jane. You must.”

The room felt foreign, yet it was filled with possibilities. As the sun set outside, casting a warm glow across the walls, Jane tried to envision what her life could become. She would learn to farm this new land, tend to its animals, and build a future without the weight of her past.

With each passing moment, her resolve set. She would not allow herself to be defined by loss. She would find joy in the small things—growing vegetables in the garden, sharing laughter around the table, and forging new friendships with those around her.

As she finally lay down to sleep, the sounds of the homestead enveloped her—a gentle breeze rustling through the trees, the distant call of night creatures, and the soft murmur of the others in their rooms. In the stillness, she felt a flicker of hope ignite within her.

“I will create a new life,” she vowed silently. “For myself and for my sister and her family.”

And with that thought, she closed her eyes, ready to embrace whatever tomorrow might bring.

Chapter Five: Buildin a New Life

- Paul Jacobs Homestead, 1866

Eighty miles west of Fort Laramie -

The morning sun peeked over the horizon, casting golden rays across the sprawling fields that surrounded Paul’s homestead. Peter awoke to the gentle sound of chickens clucking outside, a reminder of the new life he and his family had embarked upon. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stepped outside.

After washing up at the well, Peter made his way to the kitchen, where Mary was already bustling about. The scent of fresh bread wafted through the air, mingling with the aroma of coffee brewing over the fireplace. “Good morning, Mary,” he said, a smile spreading across his face.

“Morning, Peter! I’ve made extra for you. You’ll need your strength today.” She placed a generous portion of bread and butter on the table, along with boiled eggs, and a steaming bowl of porridge.

“Thank you,” he replied, digging in.

As he ate, he thought about the day ahead. Paul had promised to take him to a piece of land nearby that could be claimed for his own—a plot where they could start fresh. The prospect filled him with a mix of excitement and fear. He was eager to carve out a life for his family, yet the horror of the task weighed heavily on his shoulders.

After breakfast, Peter put on his boots and met Paul outside, where the horses were saddled and ready. “Are you ready for this, Peter?” Paul asked, his eyes sparkling with encouragement.

Peter squinted at the two large black beasts. Although he had driven horses in England, he had never actually sat upon one’s back and ridden it. But, how hard could it be?

“Um, I’ve never ridden a horse,” he said. “Back home, only the upper-class rode.”

Paul laughed. “I was in the same situation as you when I arrived here. But don’t worry, it will be easy. These boys are gentle giants, not wild mustangs.” Then he gave his nephew some instructions on the art of horsemanship, finishing with, “Ready now?”

---