Hannah's Dream Read online

  Copyright©2013A.L Jambor

  ISBN: 978-0-9896685-5-2

  Woofie Publications

  All Rights Reserved

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and scenes are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely unintentional.

  The replication, uploading and distribution of this book on the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please only purchase authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  Cover design by Amy Jambor

  Photo credits

  [email protected] & Hot Damn Designs dba The Killion Group

  Other books by A.L. Jambor

  But the Children Survived

  Pello Island Cassia

  Darius Pello Island 2

  Antonia Pello Island 3

  Love's Destiny Pello Island 4

  Kevin Chandler and The Case of the Missing Dogs

  The Body in the Bungalow, a Divine Detective Agency Mystery Short

  As Amy Jambor

  Margaret's Choice The Tresterian Chronicles Book 1

  Writing as Lenore Butler

  Mary's Heart

  For my grandmother, Dorothy,

  the original strawberry blonde

  Chapter 1

  New Beach, New Jersey, 1892

  The town of New Beach was nestled on the New Jersey shore just a few miles south of Long Branch. The little beach town's residents had no interest in the tourist trade and had even rejected the addition of a train stop so they could keep their peaceful shoreline just as it was.

  Twelve-year-old Hannah Dawes loved living by the ocean. On Saturday mornings, she would get up early and run to the beach, where Johnny Liberty would be waiting, and together they would build sand castles, collect seashells, or chase seagulls. Johnny had two tin pails, which his grandmother from Philadelphia had given him for his birthday six years ago. They were rusty and battered, but he didn't care. He also didn't mind lending his extra pail to Hannah because she was his friend, and he felt tender toward her.

  She liked Johnny, too. He was two years older than Hannah, and she liked the way his dark brown hair waved just a little, and how his brown eyes sparkled when she got close to him. Hannah thought he had a nice face, the kind of face a girl could trust, and she often told her mother she would like to marry Johnny Liberty one day, but she would never say this to Johnny.

  Johnny liked Hannah Dawes' strawberry blond hair. Hannah wasn't the prettiest girl in school, but she had a sweet face. Her brown eyes were round and her small nose turned up at the end. But he liked her best when she smiled the way she did as she walked toward him the first thing every Saturday morning. She had been meeting Johnny ever since she turned ten and her mother let her come to the beach alone.

  They lived next door to each other on Maple Street. Johnny saw her for the first time when she was two and her mother brought her outside for some air. He was fascinated by the small girl and watched her toddle around the yard. When she fell, he ran to help her up, and their mothers smiled.

  "He's such a little gentleman," said Marian Dawes.

  "Yes, that he is," said Sophie Liberty.

  As the years went by, Johnny remained protective toward her, and would often take on the boys who teased her about her red hair. They quickly learned to leave her alone. As she grew older, Hannah became bolder and would deal with the bullies herself, but Johnny still kept his eye on her.

  By the time they began meeting on the beach on Saturdays, Johnny was completely smitten with her, but he, too, kept his feelings to himself. They had been friends so long that he wasn't sure Hannah would take him seriously. She often teased the other boys at school with her sharp tongue, and he didn't relish being the object of one of her barbs.

  So as he watched her approach, his heart began to beat faster and he smiled. She smiled, too, and blushed, which only reddened her cheeks, giving her a nice, rosy glow.

  "What took you so long?" he asked.

  "My mother made me sit at the table and eat my breakfast. She wouldn't let me take my toast," Hannah said. "She says a lady doesn't eat on the street."

  He laughed, for he always ate apples as he walked to school.

  "That's what you get for being a girl."

  "You be quiet, Johnny Liberty," she said. "I couldn't help that, and you know it."

  He handed her a pail and they began to walk to the beach. It was the first weekend in May, and the sky over the ocean was a deep blue. There were few clouds in the sky, and after a hard winter, people were coming to the beach to bask in the sun. People walked along the shore, and children stuck their feet in the water, only to run from the freezing temperature of the Atlantic Ocean.

  "I wish we could be here alone," Hannah said.

  "Why?" Johnny asked. "I like seeing people."

  "Because I want to make a big castle, and the little kids always knock them down."

  "They just want to have some fun. You can always build it again."

  "But I don't want to!"

  She punched Johnny on the arm and he howled.

  "Why'd you do that?" he said as he rubbed his arm.

  "Because you're so mean."

  She walked ahead of him, quickening her pace to put distance between them. Johnny sighed. She had been acting so strangely for the past few months, and he never knew what would arouse her anger. She used to laugh and tease him, but now she got angry and hit him. Then she would be sullen and not speak to him at all.

  Hannah chose a spot as far away from the others on the beach as she could find and began to smooth the sand for her castle. When Johnny caught up to her, he began to take off his shoes so he could get his feet wet, and Hannah clucked her tongue.

  "What?" he said.

  "Must you take off your shoes?"

  "I want to get water to make the castle."

  "But your feet are disgusting."

  "Then don't look at them."

  Johnny stomped off toward the water, leaving her alone. She wanted to cry, but she knew he'd tease her if she did. She never used to cry, but now that she had "become a woman," as her mother put it, she was completely at the mercy of her feelings. Tears would come when she least expected them, and she hated having to wipe them away before anyone saw them. She tried to be as carefree as she had been before the changes had come to her body, but it seemed as though no matter how much she tried to be lighthearted, she felt angry and frustrated.

  Johnny got the worst of it for he had a way of irritating her more than anyone else. She'd never noticed it before, but now everything he did made her mad. When she saw him that morning, she was so happy, as his face was so handsome. Why couldn't she just let him be? She still liked him and wanted nothing more than to be his friend. What was wrong with her?

  She saw him coming toward her with a pail full of water and smiled. He looked at her and approached her cautiously, unsure of what she would say next.

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  He hadn't been expecting that and was pleasantly surprised.

  "It's all right," he said.

  He put the pail down and picked up the other one.

  "I'll get you more water," he said.

  She watched him walk away and felt better. She was glad she had apologized.

  She poured some of the water into the sand to make a base for her castle. She then put some sand into the water so she could mold it with her hands. Hannah pulled the wet sand out by the handfu
l, added dry, and worked it until she had a round base for the first tower. She had a small stick she carried in her pocket. She had been using it since the beginning of April, and it was the best she'd ever had. She had a talent for sculpture, and people would often stop to look at her castles and marvel over the details of her design.

  When Johnny returned with the second pail of water, she was on her stomach, carving out the brick at the base of her castle.

  "I don't know if I want to make a castle today," he said.

  "Why?" she asked.

  "Because yours are always so good."

  She blushed and smiled.

  "I like yours," she said.

  He looked at her to see if she was teasing him. Her long, wavy hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but some of it had come loose and it blew wildly in the wind. It reminded him of a fancy painting of Venus he had seen in a museum in Philadelphia by an artist named Sandro Botticelli. He wanted to touch it, but he knew she wouldn't like that, so he kept his hands to himself.

  "Do you have enough water?" he asked.

  She was focusing on her tower and simply nodded her head. He sat on the sand and watched her carving an intricate pattern in the side of her tower, and wished he could do the same. He began to fill a pail with wet sand, but when he turned it over, it stood for a second before collapsing in a heap.

  "I think I'll get more water," he said, got up, and headed toward the shore.

  She blushed and smiled.

  "I like yours," she said.

  He looked at her to see if she was teasing him. Her long, wavy hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but some of it had come loose and it blew wildly in the wind. It reminded him of a fancy painting of Venus he had seen in a museum in Philadelphia by an artist named Sandro Botticelli. He wanted to touch it, but he knew she wouldn't like that, so he kept his hands to himself.

  "Do you have enough water?" he asked.

  She was focusing on her tower and simply nodded her head. He sat on the sand and watched her carving an intricate pattern in the side of her tower, and wished he could do the same. He began to fill a pail with wet sand, but when he turned it over, it stood for a second before collapsing in a heap.

  "I think I'll get more water," he said, got up, and headed toward the shore.

  Chapter 2

  Marian Dawes pulled the old tin box out of the bottom drawer of the armoire. Inside the box were Marian's treasures -- little things she'd accumulated over the years that meant something to her; secret things she kept only for herself. There was a lock of Hannah's hair tied with a pink ribbon, a small ring her mother had given her when she was a child, her first silk fan, and a book of poems her father gave her on her twelfth birthday. But at the bottom of the box, under all her other treasures, was something priceless.

  It was a picture of a handsome, young man in a military uniform. He wasn't smiling, and his eyes looked off into the future. At the time, she thought she would be included in his future. She pulled the picture out of the box and held it in her hand.

  His name was Evan Morgan and he was a lieutenant in the 4th Cavalry. When Marian met him, he was a dashing soldier of 28 years and she was swept off her feet by his gallantry. He was visiting his aunt and was spending the summer in Philadelphia, where he met and wooed shy, sixteen-year-old Marian Hughes with flowers and handwritten sonnets. She fell in love with Evan and believed he loved her, too.

  When Evan was called away to Texas, he vowed to write to her. She received a letter from Texas three weeks after his departure and again he vowed his undying love, calling her the only woman he had ever truly cared for. Marian pressed the letter to her breast and cried with longing for him. She then added it to her treasure box along with his picture.

  Marian wrote to him faithfully and posted one letter every week. When she didn't hear from him for several weeks her mother told her not to fret, that he was deep in Indian territory, and that a military man has greater responsibilities than ordinary men. She took her mother's words to heart and gave him the benefit of the doubt, but when several months passed without a word she began to question his sincerity. She never stopped loving him, though, and every night before falling asleep she would remove the picture and gaze into his eyes.

  A year went by and she had a dream wherein she saw him lying in the desert with an arrow in his chest. Marian began to believe he must have been killed and as more time passed, she accepted it as the only explanation for his lack of communication. She contemplated visiting his aunt to verify his death, but her mother discouraged her.

  "It will seem too forward of you," she said. "After all, you aren't engaged to the man."

  So Marian, believing the love of her life was gone forever, agreed to an arranged marriage. Randall Dawes was the handsome son of a Philadelphia banker. His father had died and had left Randall the Atlantic City Trust, a small bank his father had established in the tourist town, but he wouldn't own the bank until he married.

  His father had just assumed Randall would marry within his class and didn't specify whom Randall should marry. Randall had a proclivity for fallen women and had no interest in marriage, but he did want the Atlantic City Trust. He knew Harmon Hughes. They had met at Randall's club when they were introduced by a mutual acquaintance. Harmon was looking for a husband for his daughter, Marian, who would soon turn eighteen, and Randall was looking for a large dowry. He didn't care about Marian's pedigree. He didn't plan to have children with her.

  Randall's mother was aghast when she heard about the impending nuptials and refused to attend the wedding. She considered the Hughes family nouveau riche. In a show of solidarity, none of her friends attended the wedding either, leaving Randall's side of the church peppered with his college chums. Marian was too naïve to understand the reason for the slight, but her mother and father did. Her mother wanted to call off the wedding, but her father wanted the association with the Dawes family and refused.

  Marian's wedding night was lackluster and the lovemaking perfunctory. Randall performed his duty and, much to his chagrin, within nine months of their wedding night, Marian produced Hannah. He barely disguised his disappointment over Hannah's gender, and as the pretense of his marriage wore thin, Randall chose to stay in Atlantic City during the week, arriving home on Friday evenings in a hired carriage, which would return on Sunday afternoon and take him to the Red Bank train station. From there he would take a train to Atlantic City.

  One day, shortly after Hannah's tenth birthday, Marian had answered her front door and found an officer from the Atlantic City Police Department standing on her porch. His face was grim, and he told her they had found the body of her husband lying in the alley that ran next to his apartment building. He had been stabbed. They hadn't captured the perpetrator, but he vowed they would not give up until the fiend was found and hanged. He left Marian, whose shock caused her to collapse on the floor, alone with Becky, her housekeeper, and Hannah, who had heard the news while standing at the top of the stairs. Hannah was not greatly affected by the news of her father's death as she barely knew him, but Becky smiled inwardly, knowing this was the best thing that could have happened to Marian.

  Marian, however, had mixed feelings regarding her husband's untimely demise. Randall was a wealthy man and as such was sought after by local businessmen, whose wives would invite Marian to their luncheons and other social functions. Her acceptance by these well-to-do people carried over to her young daughter, who would benefit from their acquaintance when she matured. Though Marian had long ago stopped caring for Randall in any fashion, he still had value where Hannah was concerned, and without him, Hannah's choice of husband might be limited, and thus her future.

  When Randall's will was read two weeks later, she learned that he had left his stock shares and other financial holdings to Marian. They were considerable and their lawyer, Mr. Newton Moss, Esquire, assured her she had been well provided for.

  Every month Marian would receive a check in the amount of $100, which she dutifully deposi
ted in the bank. Since Randall had rarely visited their home in New Beach, this was the only variable in her routine. Mr. Moss would pay all the household accounts, and for all intents and purposes, it was as though Randall had never died.

  As time went by, Becky, always a kind and wise confidante, began to eat dinner with Marian and Hannah. Marian came to regard her more as a friend than as a servant, and Hannah called her Aunt Becky. Becky stopped wearing a uniform, and instead wore everyday clothing that Marian had given her as a gift. She still maintained the household, though, leaving Marian with leisure time she found hard to fill.

  The years passed quickly as Hannah grew, and as Marian had feared, her own social calendar was empty. The women of New Beach did not want a pretty young widow at their tables, and even treated Marian with cool indifference if they saw her in the dry goods store or in the park. Marian learned when the ladies would be out and made a conscious effort to avoid shopping during the hours of the day they would most likely be about. She had been lonely before Randall's death; now the isolation from society was causing her to feel sad. She once again stared at the picture.

  "What happened to you, Evan?" she asked the solemn young officer in the photo.

  She kissed it gently before replacing it in the box and put the box in the drawer. The room, which had for so long been a sanctuary, had lately felt more like a jail, and as she stood up, she adjusted her clothing and headed out the door to see what Becky was preparing for supper.

  Chapter 3

  As they walked home from the beach that afternoon, Johnny kept talking about how wonderful her castle looked, how people on the beach kept stopping to look at it and talking about it. He then casually mentioned that he thought she should ask her mother to buy her some modeling clay so she could keep her creations.

  She narrowed her eyes and was about to tell him to mind his own business, but she stopped herself. She really wanted to control her outbursts, and he had no idea why she didn't want to ask for modeling clay.