Chapter One

Cassandra Brown stood in front of the classroom, a ruler clutched firmly in her hand as she pointed to the chalkboard. Her blond hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense bun, and those piercing blue eyes scanned the room with an air of authority that kept even the most rambunctious of children in their wooden seats. The lines of multiplication tables were neat, her handwriting clear and precise on the board.

"Remember, class," Cassandra said, her voice steady and calm, "multiplication is simply repeated addition. It's not some wicked beast lurking under your beds."

One of the boys, Tommy, with freckles scattered across his nose like splattered paint, squirmed in his seat. "But Miss Brown," he piped up, "what if it is a beast, and it gobbles up all my numbers?"

The corners of Cassandra's mouth twitched ever so slightly. A moment of silence hung in the air as the children awaited her response.

"Then, Tommy," she replied, delivering the words with a deadpan delivery only a few adults might appreciate, "you shall tame it with your pencil, and ride it straight through to arithmetic victory."

A few soft chuckles bubbled through the classroom, and even Cassandra allowed the ghost of a smile to cross her face before she resumed her serious teacher's mask.

"Any other heroic quests you'd like to embark on, or can we proceed to conquer division?" she asked, though the twinkle in her eye betrayed her stern facade.

Cassandra closed the classroom door behind her, the echo of her students' laughter still lingering in the hall. She walked toward the foundling home's office, where she knew Mrs. Agatha Jackson would be buried in paperwork yet always available for a chat.

"Mrs. Jackson?" Cassandra called softly as she knocked on the open door.

"Come in, dear," Mrs. Jackson responded without looking up, her spectacles perched on the tip of her nose.

Cassandra eased into the room, taking a seat across from the woman who had been both mentor and mother figure to her. "I've been thinking," she started, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her blouse.

"About?" Mrs. Jackson glanced up, her eyes warm and inviting.

"Teaching. It's just not...fulfilling anymore." The words tumbled out of Cassandra, her usually stoic demeanor softened by the confession.

Mrs. Jackson set her pen down and folded her hands atop the desk. "You have a heart full of dreams, Cassie. What is it that you're yearning for?"

Cassandra took a deep breath. "I want to sew, Mrs. Jackson. I want to create beautiful things. Dresses that make women feel like they are worth every penny they spend. I want to own my own dressmaking business."

"Ah," Mrs. Jackson said with a knowing smile. "I always saw how your face lit up when you worked on those costumes for the children's play. You have a magical touch with fabric and thread."

"It's the one thing that truly brings me joy," Cassandra admitted.

"Then chase that joy, my dear," Mrs. Jackson encouraged. "Why, this town could use a touch of your beauty. And who knows? Maybe your future holds more than just dresses."

Cassandra nodded, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. "Maybe it does, Mrs. Jackson. Maybe it does."

THE CHALK SCREECHEDacross the blackboard as Cassandra underlined the word ‘Perseverance' with a little more force than necessary. Turning to face her young audience, she caught sight of Tommy Higgins, ink pot in hand, poised to pour it over Martha's neatly plaited hair.

"Tommy Higgins!" Cassandra's voice cut through the classroom. "What do you think you're doing?"

The boy froze, guilty eyes wide and blinking. "Uh...just holdin' it, Miss Brown."

"Then I suggest you hold it over your own paper," she said, her tone brooking no argument as a few snickers erupted from his classmates.

Cassandra exhaled slowly as he reluctantly set the ink pot down. She adored the artistry of sewing, the gentle weave of fabric between her fingers, not the chaotic unpredictability of children.

After school, she sought refuge in Mrs. Jackson's office. Mrs. Jackson was cradling little Samuel, one of the foundling home's newest additions, while sorting through donations.

"Trouble with Tommy again?" Mrs. Jackson asked without looking up, her voice tender yet filled with mirth.

"Predictable as the sunrise," Cassandra sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "I swear that boy is testing me."

"Children are our most honest critics—and our toughest challenges," Mrs. Jackson said, rocking Samuel gently. "You handle him far better than you think."

"Perhaps." Cassandra smiled weakly, her heart warmed by the maternal figure before her.

"Come here, Cassie," Mrs. Jackson beckoned, patting the chair beside her.

Cassandra sat, watching as Mrs. Jackson deftly switched Samuel to her other arm. There was an effortless grace to her nurturing.

"Remember when you used to help me with the little ones' clothes? You've always had that special touch," Mrs. Jackson reminisced, a twinkle in her eye.

"Helping you was different," Cassandra admitted. "It was about creating, not corralling."

"Yet, here you are, still part of this big, noisy family." Mrs. Jackson's smile was knowing.

"Because of you," Cassandra confessed. "You gave me a place in this world."

"And you've given so much back. Don't forget that," Mrs. Jackson said softly, reaching out to squeeze Cassandra's hand.

"Thank you, Mrs. Jackson," Cassandra murmured.

"Especially then," Mrs. Jackson nodded. "Because I know, deep down, you will always carry a piece of this place with you, in the beauty you create and in the strength you show every single day."

"Thank you, Mrs. Jackson," Cassandra said, her voice thick with emotion. "For believing in me, for everything."

"Always, my dear," the matron replied, her expression earnest. "Speaking of futures," Mrs. Jackson said. "There's something I've been meaning to mention to you, Cassandra. There's a matchmaking dance next month. In Texas."

"Texas?" Cassandra echoed, caught off guard.

"Yes," Mrs. Jackson continued. "It's a grand affair, designed to unite like-minded souls. I think you'll be able to find a bachelor there who will feel the same as you do about child-rearing."

"Really?" The idea sparked an unexpected flicker of interest in Cassandra.

"Truly." Mrs. Jackson's eyes twinkled behind her spectacles. "I've been talking with Mrs. Elizabeth Tandy, and she's created this dance just for any of my girls who want to be married. It means a long train ride, and there's no guarantee you'll find someone, but I think it's worth the risk."

"Someone who understands..." Cassandra mulled over the words. The possibility of meeting a partner who shared her vision for life was an intriguing one. Perhaps this dance held more promise than just a night of frivolous entertainment.

"Think on it, dear," Mrs. Jackson said softly, giving Cassandra a reassuring pat on the shoulder before she moved away to tend to her other duties.

Cassandra watched her go, the seed of possibility planted firmly in her mind. Could Texas hold the key to her future? A partner, a dressmaking shop, a life built on shared goals rather than shared offspring. Maybe, just maybe, it was worth considering.

CASSANDRA SAT AT HERmodest wooden desk as she wished she were home working on her beloved sewing machine. It had been her first purchase with her teaching money, and it was still her prized possession. The children's voices had dwindled to a chorus of whispers and rustling papers as they focused on their arithmetic. Her gaze, however, lingered not on the sums and figures chalked onto the blackboard, but out the window.

"Miss Brown?" A small voice pulled her back to the present. "Is Texas far?"

"Quite a journey from here," she replied, her eyes reflecting a daydreamer's glint. "But sometimes the furthest paths lead to the finest destinations."

"Like in your stories?" another piped up, eager for one of Miss Brown's tales.

"Exactly like in my stories." Cassandra allowed herself a small smile, then promptly directed the class back to their studies.

Later, as the children filed out with a jumble of farewells, Cassandra found herself alone with her thoughts once more. Mrs. Jackson's mention of the dance had stirred a curiosity within her that refused to be quieted. A gathering where no one expected you to dote on children? Where men didn't equate a wife's worth with her willingness to mother?

"An interesting notion, isn't it?" she mused aloud, tracing the delicate patterns of her lace collar. She pictured a man who wouldn't mind her absence from the kitchen, so long as she could create the intricate gowns that danced in her imagination.

"Miss Brown?" A voice broke her reverie. It was Mrs. Jenkins, the mother of one of Cassandra's star pupils.

"Mrs. Jenkins," Cassandra greeted her. "I was just pondering my future." She dropped her voice a bit, having long considered Mrs. Jenkins a good friend. "There will be a matchmaking dance in Texas, and I'm considering attending, and perhaps finding a man to marry."

"Are you seriously considering it?" Mrs. Jenkins asked, eyebrows raised ever so slightly above her round spectacles.

"Considering? Perhaps." Cassandra folded her hands atop her desk. "I might just find someone who shares my taste for life without the...added noise of children."

Mrs. Jenkins chuckled. "Well, if anyone can find a needle in a haystack, it's you, Cassandra."

"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.