“Especially if that haystack is filled with eligible bachelors,” Cassandra quipped, her dry humor surfacing effortlessly.
“Then you’ll go?”
Cassandra stood, smoothing her skirt with a steady hand. “Yes. I will attend this dance. If there is a chance to meet a man who values my dreams as much as I do—someone who would support my venture into dressmaking rather than question it—then I owe it to myself to take it.” She shook her head. “And if I don’t find a man, I can always get another position as a teacher there.”
“Brave girl,” Mrs. Jenkins said, nodding approvingly. “I hope you find the man you’re looking for, and are able to start a dressmaking shop as well. I think we should all follow our dreams.”
“Or at the very least, inspiration for new designs,” Cassandra added.
With a heart buoyed by the prospect of fulfilling her ambitions and finding companionship on her own terms, Cassandra began to plan her journey. Texas awaited, and with it, the promise of a future tailored to her most cherished dreams.
Cassandra’s fingers danced along the seam of her travel bag, tracing the careful stitches she’d placed there herself. Beside her was her sister, Deborah, with whom she’d been raised in the foundling home. There were other orphans scattered about the train, nine in total, and they traveled with Mrs. Jackson and Elizabeth Tandy, who would both help to facilitate the matches.
The rhythmic chug of the train matched her heartbeat—an eager tempo that spoke of new beginnings and ventures yet to unfold. She peered out the window at the changing landscape, each mile carrying her farther from Massachusetts and closer to the wide-open spaces of Texas.
“Never thought I’d be doing this,” she murmured to Deborah, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her excitement was a living thing, coiled tight within her chest, ready to spring forth with every puff of steam that propelled the locomotive onward.
Deborah nodded. “It seems like such a foreign idea, and yet, here we are.”
The train whistle blew, a forlorn cry that somehow meshed with the thrill of anticipation in Cassandra’s veins. She imagined the dance, the swirl of skirts and polite nods of introduction. Her dream felt tangible now, almost within reach—a shop of her own, where the hum of her sewing machine would fill the space instead of children’s voices.
Her machine was packed in the baggage car, and it was the only thing that she had of value. She couldn’t bear to leave it behind.
“Last stop, ma’am,” called the conductor as he passed through the car.
“Thank you,” Cassandra replied, clutching her ticket like a talisman. Her legs were stiff from sitting, but they carried her off the train with purpose. The platform was abuzz with chatter and the clatter of luggage, but Cassandra walked through it all as if in a dream. She found someone to fetch her sewing machine, and then with four of her sisters, she climbed into the back of a wagon driven by Alice Dailey, the sister of Elizabeth Tandy.
