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It's now 1865, and our once large, happy family of six has been reduced to three.
My beloved son, Andrew, was lost on the battlefield, leaving his wife and child alone.
My eldest son, James, deserted the army rather than fight for the Confederates. He fled to Utah, and it is likely he perished in the long journey through the mountains.
My father died at the age of 70 in his sleep, yet another one of my family to join the dead. My husband had already passed years ago in a freak bear accident.
All who are left are my youngest son, Charles, and my "adopted" son who is a black man, Demetrius
Times have been difficult without having the dear members of our family around. But we will restrengthen ourselves as a family and learn how to live without them. For the sake of all of us and our taverns. We must.
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