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Emily Wyeth was born into privilege and affluent part of New York City. She was the youngest daughter born to a wealthy Englishman who was as heavy handed and as ruthless with his family as he was in business. After her eldest sister Elizabeth ran away with an Irishman, her father, Arthur, became increasingly watchful of his remaining children, To the point where the only place young Emily found refuge was at the nearby church. The church should have been the one place Emily was safe from the ever changing world around her. Although the newly appointed preacher was married, that didn't stop him from having an eye for young girls. Emily caught his fancy in particular with her petite frame, sweet heartshape face, long chestnut hair paired with emerald green eyes. Over a short amount of time he gained her favor, then he claimed her heart. The fifteen year old Emily didn't understand what was happening with the changes in her body but the Preacher being a father of five already recognized it right away. He knew about the ruthless manor in which Arthur, her father had conducted his affairs and heard stories about his rivals disappearing from their homes. The thought that he had seduced and impregnated the youngest daughter of such a man made his blood run ice cold. He convinced Emily she would add further scandal and bring unbearable shame to her mother and fathers reputation if anyone at all knew she was unmarried and pregnant. That they would disown her and send her to a convent back in England if they found out what she a done. If that was to happen their baby would be taken away from her immediately after birth and they would never see each other again. He told her that she should leave a note for her father that she was joining her sister & brother-in-law out in the west. In reality, she would travel by train to his brothers in Missouri where he would meet up with her shortly. They would wed before she got heavy with child and be together as a family away from her father's rule. Emily was heartbroken, as she believed in her heart he was right, that her father would disown her. Her naïve love for the preacher was so pure that with a tear in her eye, Emily left the note for her parents on the bureau in her father's office, took a small wad of bills he kept hidden in the back of one of the bureau drawers and slipped out of her home before anyone woke. She met the Preacher at the train station where he gave her a kiss on the forehead, her ticket for the train, a note with the address she is to go to in St Joseph and a thick wax sealed envelope to only be opened by his brother. Then Emily boarded the train heading west with a swollen belly, a single suitcase with her most prized possessions and a small purse full of coin the Preacher had given her, which he had stolen from the church offerings. The train ride was long but Emily was fascinated by the cities with peculiar names she had only heard her father and his business associates talk about. She watched out the window in wonder as the countryside changed from lush green forests, mountains and rolling hills to the open golden plains. It seemed as if she could see for miles and miles across the flat land. Though she rode in a beautifully appointed car with plush velvet seats that converted into a snug sleeping berth, the constant motion of the train kept her nauseous for the duration of her travels. As Emily exited the station in Kansas City she was weary and exhausted but managed to find the stagecoach that would take her the rest of the way to St. Joseph. She prayed the coach would get to their destination before the setting sun slipped below the horizon. he stagecoach meandered north along a well worn path eventually pulling up to the address she had given the coachmen. The trip had taken longer than she had hoped and it was now dusk. Emily was so nervous, her hands were trembling. Before her was a small white church with an overly large cemetery touting several fresh graves. The coachmen pointed to a little structure in between the church and the cemetery and told her the man she was looking for would be in there. Emily made her way along the worn path to a building with a makeshift sign reading "Undertaker". Her small, fragile hand knocked on the worn and scarred door, which was answered abruptly by an oddly familiar silhouette. Emily was speechless as her eyes fell on a man that looked identical to the Preacher she had left in New York with the exception of a red burn mark that spanned from ear to ear under his jaw line and his rough, unshaven appearance. She had wondered how she would recognize the preacher's family but he'd assured her she would. She knew immediately it was his brother whom she had been sent to stay with until the time of her beloved's arrival. Still unable to talk she handed him the envelope which he immediately shoved inside of his suit as he ushered her into the cramped quarters. Without any warmth he introduced himself as Alford Mathews, the St Joseph preacher and recently appointed Undertaker. Her tired and heavy eyes scanned the over crowded room. She noticed to the right a small partially enclosed nook that housed an unmade bed with a holy cross over the headboard and bookshelves holding several books lining the walls. Closest to her was a small dining table with a steaming hot cup of coffee, a pen with inkwell and documents in a small pile. A single chair was pushed back and she figured that was where he was sitting before she arrived. Next to the table was a potbelly stove that was heating a pot of water. There was what looked like a family picture in a dimly lit corner over a wash stand with a full pitcher of water. She wanted to go investigate the photo but decided to wait for a better opportunity. To the left of her was a blood stained table with an empty drain bucket under a hole at one end. The purpose of the table made her shudder and she was grateful it was empty. Towards the back of the room was a few different size coffins but the two that caught her eye were the ones that appeared to be getting prepared for their eternal occupants. One was about her size and the other could fit an infant. Her hand immediately went to her stomach as she thought of the baby inside. The coroner gazed upon this waif of a girl wondering why she was knocking on his door after dark fall. He motioned at the chair for her to have a seat and rest. As she moved towards the chair he noticed her hand on her abdomen and saw her condition. Unsure as to why he suddenly got an uneasy feeling about this, he pulled the envelope out and noticed the familiar wax seal which is when his stomach sank. What has his brother done this time? They had shared the womb, looks, upbringing and shared professions, but that was where the similarities ended. His brother had always had both of their shares of troubles and woes especially where gambling and women were concerned. His brothers wife was not unattractive woman but from what his mother had recently written had become increasingly dependent on her daily dose of opium and becoming emotionally unstable when she missed her dose. Still, he wondered if she knew about her husband's constant philandering. He was instantly sure this young girl was carrying another one of his brothers bastards. He let out a deep sigh as he opened the envelop to discover three hundred dollars and a letter addressed to him. "My Dear Brother It has indeed been a while since I have written you directly and for that I offer my sincerest apologies. Mother says you are doing well in the west. She gushes at how your church has continued to grow in numbers. She has expressed concerns of your health with the recent cholera outbreaks in that region, but I have assured her you will be fine. She also informed me due to unfortunate events, you have recently become the undertaker. There is no easy or polite way to ask this. I am asking for you to please dispose of my skeletons so they will never resurface. In exchange I will not tell our dear mother about the atrocities you yourself have committed. Speaking of, how are your injuries healing? You know it would break Mother's heart and quite possibly kill her considering the fragile state she has been in since father's passing last year. Here is some money for a single casket, a plot and your trouble. No need for a headstone, the names don't matter. Your brother, Edwin He crumpled up the letter in a fit of rage then then threw it into the fire watching as the letter caught and burn to ashes. His glare then shifted to this woman child whose eyes had closed and fallen asleep in his chair. His rage continued to grow at the thought of how his brother could disregard her and his actions when he himself found it his place in the world to protect the meek and innocent. Thinking to the "Atrocities" his brother referred to further stoked his rage. His brother suggestion that killing a white man in the middle of rapping a young Indian girl made him question what was left of his brothers integrity if any at all. The wounds he bore were from an attempted hanging by so called vigilantes in retaliation for the derelict he shot. In his eye that wasn't an atrocity, it was defending the weak from the wicked. Which thankfully were the sentiments of the Sheriff as well. Justice had been served when the vigilantes were apprehended and thrown in jail for the attempted murder of the preacher. They had also been convicted of a few other crimes and hung a few weeks later. Deep in though and without realizing it, his left began tracing the angry burns the rope had left on his throat. His eyes shifted to the unfinished workload on the table. He had twelve new interments this week that needed headstones. With a heavy sigh he remembered he was expecting the mother and child belonging to the two closer caskets in the morning. That would bring it to fourteen townsfolk they lost this week alone. Though he wasn't prone to drink, it had been one hell of a week. He retrieved a dusty jug of whiskey from under the nearby counter and took a long swig to ease his troubled mind. One swig turned into two, then three. He stopped counting when he stumbled to his bed and slipped into a drunken oblivion.
The Encounter of Ba'cho & Miss Dee This is the story entailing the beginning of @Wulf character Ba'cho and my character Miss Dee as they find themselves thrown together in this uninhabitable world as young adults. Please visit the pages below to view their journey up to, and continuing beyond. For Dee's Story click here: For Ba'cho Story click here: CHAPTER 1