My world became one of silence when I was six years old.

Where others would hear the creak of the swaying wood or the pounding of the horses who were pulling the stagecoach, I heard nothing at all. Whenever the other passengers—five others in this coach— attempted to have some kind of conversation, their mouths would open wide and they would lift their chins, to raise their voices above the din.

There was little to occupy me beyond watching my fellow travelers, so I could recognize the signs of them just short of yelling at each other. I was fortunate enough to have a seat on the side, making the skinny man next to me was the only one I could not see clearly even though I knew he contributed to the conversation by how the four others would look toward him.

I didn't always know how to read the body language of everyone around me; there were so many nuances to a person's facial expression. In fact, I wasn't as good as some of my former schoolmates and I knew I would never be an expert at it. Most of the time it was a matter of guesswork.

Still, after many hours together, I could have a better grasp for how those around me spoke.

With the others occupied with their thoughts, I turned my gaze to the window next to me, I stared at the passing scenery. In ten years, my deafness was a daily struggle. It set me apart from the majority of the world and made everyone treat me as different.

Though the event that took my hearing will always stick out in my mind, many of the details are forever fuzzy in my mind. Fever will do that to a person's memory, I suppose.

At the time, Father was fighting in the War Between the States and he had been gone for two years. It hadn't been easy with him away. Simon, three years older than me, stocked the shelves of the family's store and did whatever odd jobs he could find to help out, while Mother did needlework to fill the gap Father's absence caused in our income.

The fever struck us without warning. I have a slight recollection of being ill, of hearing wheezing and coughing nearby whenever I managed to fight my way out of the blackness that seemed determined to consume me. Strange nightmares haunted my sleep. And then, when I woke up, everything was silent.

It took several moments for me to recognize that something was not as it should be. I'm not entirely certain what it was that made me realize I couldn't hear a thing—was it seeing the door swinging open but no corresponding squeak of the hinges?— but I do remember how I reacted. I had screamed. My throat had vibrated with the action and I didn't hear a single note.

And it wasn't Mother who flew to my side to comfort me, it was Aunt Ruth. Because, as I would learn later, my mother and baby James had died that morning.

As quickly as that, our family of five was cut down to three. With Father gone, Simon and I had to stay with Aunt Ruth and her husband. Grief stricken and panicked over the sudden loss of one of my main senses, I unequivocally label the time as the worst period of my life made even worse when my father did return, injured from a battle.

These memories never failed to bring tears to my eyes, especially given what happened next. I shook my head, pushing away the feeling of being unwanted that followed me wherever I went. How I wished for something to occupy my mind! Though I had a novel on my lap, it was difficult to read in the moving stage, and so there was little else to occupy my mind besides the event that had sent me west.

The stagecoach gave a sudden jolt, and the passenger next to me squished me against the side of the coach. If I had been in the middle, I had no doubt I would have had elbows in both of my sides. As it was, it seemed to take the man longer than necessary to give me back what little bit of room I was entitled to.

As far as inappropriate advances, it was rather light compared to some I had faced since my journey had begun. The first part of my travels, where there had been rails for train, I had been accompanied by a chaperon, Mrs. Jimson. That imposing lady reached Buffalo, NY, decided she'd had enough of traveling, and returned to Springfield.

With nowhere to go but onward, I had forced myself to continue on alone. Each new train connection had left my funds a little lighter. I could only hope that I had enough to get me all the way to Montana.

Across from me, the heavyset man mopped the sweat from his brow and said, "...mistake to come...this way." His gaze then shifted to the man beside me and nodded as though he was agreeing with something said; the response he gave was: "Business. What else?" He glanced at me as he spoke those words.

No doubt the sight of a young woman making a journey alone was strange enough. The fact that I was deaf made it even more unbelievable.

Even if I could have explained how it had happened, I don't think I would have. It would have involved putting into words what I had been through and faced every day, much less what had forced me to go west. As I thought about it, tears welled up in my eyes and I brushed at them. The only other woman in the stagecoach, however, spotted me, and she reached over from where she was seated in the middle on the opposite side of the coach. She patted my knee in what was meant to be comforting.

At the same time, the stage began to slow down. We had reached the next station and we had barely stopped before one of the passengers opened the door. He made a gesture for me to disembark first, which I was more than happy to do.

It never took long for my legs and just about every muscle in my body to ache. It was a relief to stand upright and to move around some. To my left, two men were already at work removing the harnesses from the horses.

We would only have a short time to relieve ourselves, eat a meal, and stretch our legs before the stagecoach would continue on its way, with or without us. Unsure where to go, I waited until someone else began to walk towards the station as they would have heard the directions the driver would have called out as soon as we stopped.

The woman went in a different direction, away from the main building. I assumed she was going to the outhouse, and as that was where I wished to go first, I followed her. Also, it was preferable to being alone with all the men.

Fortunately, there were two outhouses so I didn't have to wait. When I stepped back out, I discovered the skinny passenger who had been beside me right there. The sly smile on his face sent a shiver down my spine. I took a step to the side to go around him.

Before I could take a step forward, he'd grabbed my arm. "Let's have some fun," he said. His face was uncomfortably close to mine, making his words all too easy to read on his lips. The smell of his putrid breath made me gag, and I tried to jerk away from him.

Around others, I was treated with deference and respect, even when they discovered I was deaf. It was how ladies were treated in the west. This man wasn't the first who had tried to have 'fun' by confronting me away from other people, however. He would discover, however, that just because I couldn't hear did not mean I was not able to defend myself.

As it happened, this particular time, I did not have to. The other woman stepped out of the outhouse and proceeded to smack the man with her reticule, yelling at him if her body language was anything to go by.

The man released me and was quick to hurry away. Grateful for her help, I turned to the woman. I brought my fingers up to my lips and then moved them out, mouthing the words at the same time so she would be sure to understand me. 'Thank you.'

"We women...stick together, especially...west," she said with a broad smile. She looped her arm around mine and pulled me towards the main building.

It felt good to have someone on my side, at least for the moment.

¤¤¤¤

Aunt Ruth's head was tilted at an unnatural angle and her eyes stared at nothing.

With a start, I woke up. Everyone else was still asleep, the swaying of the coach not bothering them, or they had grown accustomed to the movement. Breathing out, I leaned my head back, trying not to cry.

When the coach had restarted, Skinny man's place in the conveyance had been moved to the opposite bench and the friendly woman—who introduced herself as Ruby Reynolds—was beside me. No one made mention of this change.

As it became darker, one by one everyone had fallen asleep, myself included. A nightmare of Aunt Ruth's death had woken me, while everyone else slumbered on. At least, no one would see the tears in my eyes.

Would I ever be able to think of what had happened without losing my composure? Did I even want to be so jaded to life? After two months, I didn't think it would ever happen.

Though I was tired, I was not able to get any more sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the same thing. Instead of torturing myself, I stared out at the dark, knowing every mile brought me closer to my father.

It wouldn't be easy for me to become part of the family, this I knew very well. After all, three years previous, my father had sent a letter to inform me that he had remarried. So I had a stepmother to learn about while I became reacquainted with my older brother and father.

Leaving me in Springfield with Aunt Ruth must have made the most sense at the time, but ten long years had made for creating a major divide in our family. Yes, I received a letter from Father every few months, but I felt no real connection to him. His life had taken a different course than mine.

Perhaps being in the same household would bring about a reconciliation between us. Or would my deafness make things worse than ever?

Uneasy thoughts about what the future would hold for me went round and round my head for most of the night.

It was mid-morning when the stage arrived in a small town. It was time for the last change to a different stagecoach line, and I parted company with Miss Ruby Reynolds who was continuing on. She handed me a card and made sure I understood if I ever was in need, I could come to her and she would set me up.

Given that her particular kind of work would ruin me forever, I wasn't keen on taking her up on the offer but thanked her just the same. In any event, I was only a week away from reaching the small town where Father and Simon lived. What need would I have for a job?

My carpet bag in one hand and my slate in the other, I hurried to the stage office. It took about five minutes, which was fast compared to some clerks I'd had to deal with in the past, but I managed to get the information I needed. The stage I needed would not be leave until noon the next day, meaning I needed a place to stay that night.

The clerk was kind enough to point me in the direction of the hotel and called over a young man to carry my trunk to the building. As ever, I tried to walk with confidence and kept a sharp watch on everyone I passed. Most men would tip their hat and I graciously nodded in return.

A dollar got me my own room for the night and I was more than grateful to have some time to myself, although my dwindling funds concerned me. Though there was no time to send clothing to someone to launder, I was able to spot clean my traveling dress and let it air out.

Dressed in only my underclothes, I stretched out on the bed. My mind, with little else to occupy it, went back to when Aunt Ruth had died. Some of the details about that day still bothered me.

With a sigh, I closed my eyes to take advantage of the time I had to sleep. The events of May were never far off from my mind even though I knew there was nothing I could do about them now. I could only hope that I had done all I could at the time, but I did wonder whether I would ever be certain.

¤¤¤¤

The lumps in the bed did not keep me from getting several hours of sleep, though I was achy when I woke up. The room had become stuffy as I had kept the window shut to keep out the dust.

I stretched as I stood up. I stepped to the tiny mirror to check my appearance. There were dark circles under my brown eyes, though not as bad as the last time I'd looked in a mirror. My freckles had come out in full force since I'd begun my travels, which made me wrinkle my nose in distaste. Mussed from my nap, my blonde hair frizzed around my face.

In short, the miles I had traveled had written lines of exhaustion on my face.

Shaking my head, I did what I could to bring my hair back into control. What I needed, and wasn't going to get until I reached my father's house, was a long soak in a bath. Instead I used the pitcher of water and used a rag to remove as much of the dust and sweat from my skin.

For a moment I debated whether I should put on my blue traveling dress, but then I opened my trunk to pull out a lighter green gown to wear for the rest of the day. It was slightly wrinkled from its time in the trunk, but it was nice to out something different on. I made quick work of putting my boots on and then I felt ready to face the dining room.

Stew, biscuits, and coffee was my meal, the day's specialty. As I sipped the bitter liquid, my mind went back to the fateful day when I had taken coffee to the doctor and policemen who had come to determine how Aunt Ruth had died.

I'd just finished my last bite of stew, which was one of the more tasty meals I'd had since Chicago, when someone sat across from me. The tall, brown haired man offered a charming smile and leaned his elbows against the table.

"What...pretty girl like you...alone?"

It was not the first time some cowboy tried to charm me while I ate alone. Maybe if I had my hearing and could talk properly I could have sent them all on their way with a flea in their ear. Then again, if I could hear, it wasn't likely I would even be in this position at all.

Offering what I hoped was a polite but disinterested smile, I stood up to pay my bill. The last thing I wanted to do was give any indication of encouragement as men didn't seem to need it to persist in flirting with me.

The man caught my wrist as I tried to walk past. Annoyed, I tried to break free. "Let go!" I said, without really meaning to.

His expression became puzzled just as every other person's face did whenever I spoke. Since I couldn't hear, I was aware my voice pitch was unusually high whenever I used my voice. Or that's what Aunt Ruth had always told me.

"...wrong with you?" the cowboy asked.

It was a question put to me many times over the years and after my time at school, it only annoyed me further. "Nothing." Using his surprise to my advantage, I managed to wrench away from him and I continued on my way.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man shadow me as I paid for my meal. I suppose a young woman on her own was seen as good as a soiled dove and fair game for any man to take advantage of. It wasn't a fair situation as I had no choice in the matter.

The man seemed determined to follow me, so I definitely didn't want to show him where my room was. On the other hand, I was in no mood to go exploring in a strange town.

How I wished I was in Springfield or back at school where I at least knew people who would help me.

Here in the west, until I reached my family, I was on my own.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped outside and walk along the boardwalk. It was mid-afternoon so there were many people out and about. I hoped that would be enough to discourage my shadow and he would leave me alone.

As I started across the space between two buildings, an arm came around my waist and I was pulled into the alley. A hand over my mouth kept me from crying out. The scent of alcohol filled my nose as I breathed in. I kicked back, the heel of my boot striking what I assumed was my captor's ankle. As hard as I could, I slammed my elbow back and connected with the man's ribcage.

The grip around my waist loosened so I spun around. As I had suspected, it was the man who had followed me from the dining room. I was close enough that I knew my next course of action in an instant. I brought my knee up with as much force as I could.

Shock appearing on his face, the man let go of me and fell to his knees.

It wasn't the first time I'd resorted to such a dirty tactic to dissuade a persistent man. One of my fellow students had been helpful enough to teach not only me, but all the young ladies at school, how to defend ourselves against someone who wanted to take advantage of us.

We had to be wary of such things. As deaf women, it would be easier for such things to occur, and sadly, they did happen. Some of the younger girls, as soon as they could express themselves, had hair raising stories that made me angry at the world.

I'd not yet had an opportunity to use the knife I had hidden in my boot. Aunt Ruth, actually, had been the one to show me that trick when she'd had a long, serious talk about how important it was for a girl to protect her virtue from unscrupulous men.

It had made me more confident as I journeyed to the Montana territory.

Leaving my attacker on the ground, I hurried back to the street. Nothing seemed to have changed, and no one seemed to have noticed a young woman being pulled into an alley. Raising my chin, I turned my steps back towards the hotel and didn't stop walking until I was there.

When I reached my room and securely locked the door behind me, my hands started to shake. I sat on the edge of the bed before my knees gave way. The adrenaline that had surged through my veins was gone, leaving my shaky and exhausted.

'I want to go home,' was all I could think. But where was home? The school in Hartford? Or Aunt Ruth's house in Springfield?

To be honest, after two months, I just wasn't as sure as I'd once been. Maybe I would find it in Montana.

¤¤¤¤

A night of sleep in a bed put me into a better mood, which I needed given that I was once again faced with being in a stagecoach for hours on end. Though I found myself traveling with only five other men, I was fortunate one of them was older and seemed kind in a fatherly way. He put a stop to one of the other passengers interest in me when he saw how uncomfortable I was.

Thus, my journey continued in as peaceful a manner as was possible. The scenery that we passed became more interesting, and I spent most of my time watching the trees and rocks rush past. It was almost unbearably hot in the coach, though outside the air was more mild.

The weather had changed so much since I left Springfield. It had been early spring with flowers blooming. I hadn't known what to expect once I left Massachusetts and hadn't been prepared for the heat that hit during several portions of my journey.

I thought back to my last days in Springfield. Taking a deep breath, I pulled myself from my memories and focused once again on the scenery. At the same time, I felt the coach jolt as it increased speed. The bouncing increased as I saw the other passengers suddenly become panicked.

What was happening?

The fingers of my right hand gripped the padded seat and my left clutched at the side of the coach. I dared to glance out the window and regretted it immediately. Keeping pace beside the coach with ease were several horse and riders with handkerchiefs covering the lower half of their faces.

Stagecoach robbers!

~~~~~

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