Say it with a letter

Mr. Dalton was a wealthy man, known to see opportunities where others saw only disaster. All over America towns, small cities arose. That’s when he had gotten the idea that he would do exactly the same thing. This town he had in mind - Miradero, named after his first and only love Marcina - had been a long time coming, still it hit Anabelle like a ton of bricks the day her father; Mr. Dalton had told her they were moving. A fresh breeze blew through the open window the train. The speaker crackled disturbing Anabelle’s thoughts, she looked up at it as if it were on of the telegraphs back home. All those modern technologies were gone now, they didn’t have those privileges at the frontier. Her father had already warned her that the only company she would be having for the next 12 months would be workers, cattle’s and a few horses. “Next stop Miradero. The train terminates here!” Said the speaker. Mr. Dalton gazed out the window, Anabelle sighed heavily resting her head in her hands. He had grown up at the frontier, that was until he moved to the city to get an education, what he hadn’t known was that he would come to find something far more valuable than an education; love. Marcina was working at the local library, she wasn’t much for the city life, but for the love of her life she would do just about anything. It wasn’t long after they got married that she got pregnant and had the most wonderful baby girl, ocean blue eyes, skin tone was as white as the first frost and her hair which would grow to become honey colored, light as a feather and soft as silk. Anabelle grew up loved by many, admired by even more. Though she was only 16 many young lads had already been pursuing Mr. Dalton for her hand, he had turned down every single one of them. He had told them it wasn’t his decision to make, that they were asking the wrong person for her hand in marriage, they would have to ask the possible bride herself; Anabelle, but Anabelle wasn’t in any rush to get married and turned down every lad that tried to court her. Now she was leaving the city and possibly any chance to find a suitable husband when that time came. The train moved at a steady pace, it had been at least an hour since the last train stop. Eventually she got so bored that she got up and left the cabin. Mr. Dalton was caught up in an article and didn’t take notice of her leaving. Out in the hall she folded her hands nicely behind her back and continued forward just like her aunt had taught her, she had gone on and on about how it was required for young girls to be properly educated on the art of finesse. She paced back and forth a few times, to the front past the cabins and to the back where the luggage was laid out. The horn blew, announcing that the next stop was approaching, she turned around on her heel to go back to their cabin, when something caught her attention out of her right eye. It was blurry from the dust being swirled up from the movement, in the cloud of dust, these magnificent creatures that seemed like they belonged in a fairytale emerged. Anabelle recognized them from the paintings back home, she had often laid on the floor as a child, staring up at them. And although she had never imagined those horses in the painting to be real, to be free, wild. Unlike the horses in the city, always tied up, a dead look in their eyes. She blinked a few times in awe over the sight before her, shortly after the train took a turn in the opposite direction. Anabelle rummaged through her luggage searching for her small hand mirror, she finally found it in one of the side pockets, she glanced at her own reflection. ‘Acceptable’ she thought to herself. On the way back to the cabin she thought of the horses back home, the only horses she had ever known were the carriage horses on the streets and the noble ladies’ horses with their sidesaddles. From time to time her father would take her to see the local horse race. It was a new sport that had recently come to America, it was exciting to watch the horses compete against each other. Mr. Dalton liked betting money on which horse was the fastest, he rarely won anything and always laughed it off as bad luck. Anabelle was sure it was because he didn’t like to lose. Mr. Dalton had encouraged her only to pack a few fine dresses and practical clothes for the rest, she hadn’t understood the importance of his words before she got off the train in Miradero. Not a single café or shop in sight. The town consisted of just enough houses for the workers to live in a bar or two and what would probably become a ranch someday, but for now it was somewhat of a building with a field filled with horses outside. A carriage driver offered her a hand down the steps from the platform, ‘at least someone in this god forsaken town has manners’ she thought to herself. The driver took their luggage and placed it in the back of the carriage. The streets of Miradero were almost lifeless, it was late in the afternoon and music along with laughter were coming in waves from one of the bars. Anabelle guessed it was already knocking-off-time. She didn’t realize how late it had become, although it did make sense, they had been traveling for most of the day, cooped up in that train. It was a quiet ride from the train station to their new house, Anabelle was reluctant to think of it as home, she already had a home, this was merely a house for them stay at. Anabelle and her father rarely shared any deep heartfelt conversations and even a long day as this in a train as small as theirs, only small talk had occurred every once in a while. The carriage stopped at the foot off the hill, well not technically a hill, more of a large bump at the end of the road. When the horse stopped moving, Anabelle stood up and glanced back the way they had come, she could see the small town, the train station and the railroads leading out if Miradero. “You won’t see anything miss,” he respectfully told her, she sent him a warning look, she was on the edge and didn’t need nor want anyone telling her anything. In the front yard of the house were big tree, from the ground it looked like it was touching heaven. Determinedly she leaped from the carriage and walked over to the roots of the tree, she didn’t know what kind of tree it was, only that it was now her tree. She remembered how she had climbed trees when she was younger, her dresses ribbed to pieces, all in the effort to get to the top first. Though she was the last girl in her class who learned the manners required for a young lady, she always won when competing against the boys. The driver shook his head, a small chuckle escaped his left as he drove away. Anabelle didn’t pay him any interest she had more important matters in hand. She took of her shoes and stood there barefooted for a moment, before she took a good grip around the first branch and pulled herself up. She was a little disappointed when she did reach the top and there indeed were not a staircase to heaven, just a big black sky of nothing but a million sparkling stars. Anabelle had never seen a full night sky like this, there was always some building or statue in the way of the complete picture. She laid in her tree for some time, tried counting the stars like she had so often read about. It was quiet, not quiet like when the city finally goes to sleep, not quiet like when the rain clears up and you feel the first sunbeams against the skin. She missed those kinds of quiets very much in this moment. She was thrown out of her train of thoughts when a few half-drunk workers started making their way home, just to wake up to yet another day of hard work. She forced her gaze away from the night sky and leapt down from the tree, one branch at a time until her feet were firmly planted in the dirt. She had yet to step inside of the house, inside the door on her left were a simple hanger for coats, and a wooden box for shoes. She could hear her father rummaging around in the kitchen, she stepped around the corner and found him holding a pot in one hand and a glass milk bottle in the other ‘some of the workers must have been polite enough to drop it off before our arrival’ Anabelle thought to herself. She went around the kitchen isle and sent him a hand gesture to hand it over, she gave it to her without a second thought. Anabelle lit the fire and placed the pot on a grating over the sparks, she felt with her hand just above the steel bottom of the pot to feel when it was hot enough, then she poured the milk into it and stirred in it for a few minutes, all the while neither her nor her father saying a word to each other. She poured the warm milk into two glasses before finally turning around to look at her father. He for once didn’t have an article to hide behind. She pushed one glass across the aisle to him, without letting go of his eyes.