Chapter 3: Storms, Goodbyes, and a Son’s Cry

Thunder rolled over the fields as Daniel stuffed his few belongings into a battered carpetbag. Rain battered the windows. He hesitated at the door, breath caught in his throat. But fear won out. He left the room in darkness, boots muffled on the stair runner, and vanished into the storm before dawn. Sarah woke to find his bed empty. Her heart shattered as she realized he was gone for good—gone for good, no matter how hard she wished otherwise.

Not long after, the maid—pregnant and unmarried—gave birth to her son, unwanted by the world but fiercely loved by his mother. She struggled to raise him alone, every day a new trial.

Sarah labored alone in the tiny attic room. Her mother wrung her hands, whispering prayers. The birth was hard, the baby small and silent at first. Then he let out a thin, determined wail, and Sarah wept with relief, clutching her son to her chest. The servants whispered behind her back, but Agnes stood guard, shielding her daughter from the worst of it. Nights were long and cold. Sarah scraped by on odd jobs and charity from Mrs. Langley, who never spoke Daniel’s name again.

The little boy who arrived was frail and sickly, his needs wearing down Sarah’s strength and her meager savings. Still, she poured every bit of hope into him. With what little she had, she named her son Benjamin—still a Wheeler, for now. When Jonathan Reed—a descendant of another founding family—came to the estate, Sarah found herself drawn to him, hoping maybe, just maybe, she could save enough for her son’s milk and a better future.

Ben was a tiny thing, with pale hair and big, solemn eyes. He coughed through winter, and Sarah often skipped supper so he could have an extra spoonful of milk. She named him Benjamin, after that line in the Good Book: “Beloved of the Lord.” When Jonathan Reed arrived to audit the estate’s books, he noticed Sarah’s quiet strength and the fierce way she watched over Ben. He started bringing little gifts—a jar of preserves, a pair of warm mittens for Ben—and before long, a gentle affection grew between them. Sarah clung to the hope that, with Jonathan’s help, Ben might have a better life.

Before she knew it, Ben was two. Spring rolled into fall in a blur of chores and tiny joys. Ben learned to toddle on wobbly legs, his laughter echoing through the halls. Sarah watched him chase butterflies in the garden, her heart swelling with pride and worry. The world outside Maple Heights shifted with each season, but inside, the rhythm of work and hope held steady, like the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the front hall. Some nights, Sarah would pause on the stairs, watching Ben sleep, and whisper a prayer for a kinder world.

Just as Ben was starting to toddle around, all wide-eyed and stumbling, a crowd of visitors showed up at Maple Heights one afternoon.

Carriages lined the drive, wheels splattered with mud from the spring rains. Servants bustled everywhere, polishing silver, laying out extra place settings. The air buzzed with excitement—and nerves—as guests from Springfield and beyond arrived for the annual garden party. Ben, clutching a battered toy horse, stared wide-eyed at the parade of strangers, their laughter and perfume swirling through the house.

Among them was a young man everyone treated with extra care. After a polite excuse, he drew Emily Wheeler—Ben’s long-haired aunt—aside for a private conversation.

The young man—none other than Governor Whitmore himself—was courteous to all, but his gaze lingered on Emily Wheeler, whose singing had charmed the guests all afternoon. After a polite word, he and Emily slipped out onto the shaded veranda, away from the crowd. Their voices drifted through the open window, low and urgent, and when they returned, Emily’s cheeks were flushed, her smile bright as sunlight. The servants exchanged knowing glances, but no one dared say a word.

A year later, word spread: Aunt Emily was expecting the governor’s child, and the Wheelers’ fortunes turned right around. Samuel and Jacob—Ben’s uncles—were soon hired on at the governor’s mansion. Ruth, Ben’s older aunt, married George Garrison, the head coachman and a respected official in the state’s transportation department. And Sarah, at last, officially married Jonathan Reed and became the well-off lady of the house.

The news swept through Maple Heights like wildfire. Suddenly, the Wheelers weren’t just servants—they were kin to the most powerful man in Illinois. Samuel and Jacob packed their bags for Springfield, donning crisp uniforms and learning the governor’s household ways. Ruth, ever practical, married George Garrison in a small church ceremony that half the county attended. Sarah, after years of scraping by, finally accepted Jonathan Reed’s proposal. Her heart felt lighter, knowing Ben would have a real chance. The family’s fortunes rose with the spring floodwaters, and for the first time, the Wheelers walked with their heads high.

After that, Aunt Emily had three daughters and a son, her favor in Springfield rising ever higher. Ten years later, she moved into the grand Whitmore Hall and officially became the First Lady of Illinois. It felt like a dream.

Emily blossomed in her new life, her children filling Whitmore Hall with laughter and music. She hosted elegant teas and charity balls, her portrait soon hanging in the statehouse beside her husband’s. Letters from Springfield spoke of her wit and kindness, and her sisters visited often, marveling at the splendor. But Emily never forgot where she came from. She always made sure her family was cared for, sending gifts and invitations for every holiday—no matter how grand her new life became.