1864 Boston, Massachusetts
The ink smeared, leaving Cynthia's name a blurred mess at the end of her letter. Hoping to dry the remainder of the ink, she pinched her lips together and blew across the page. Looking around her bedroom, she would miss the cozy warmth her lace and floral surroundings provided her. This didn't stop her from wanting to embark on this adventure. Tucking away her most treasured items, her newly purchased journal, little blue bottle of ink, a few quill pens and several cedar pencils, she took one last long look at her large oak armoire and lace curtains.
Skirts rustling as she hurried down the red carpet of her family home's stairwell, she quickly dropped the letter on the dining room table and ran out the door to the little black carriage and her future. Pulling out her new journal from her lightly packed satchel, she found the wrinkled paper with her destination and handed it over to the carriage driver. He eyed the document and peaked at her from the corner of his eye; one eyebrow raised, shrugged and encouraged the horses to move.