September 25, 1871 We passed through Sullivan under a sky that wept without rain. Just a dull, steady mist that blurred the world into a...

September 24, 1871 The hills grow narrower. The light feels… off. Even the sun, when it appears, has taken on a tarnished hue, like brass...

September 23, 1871 We paused at a rural depot near Bonne Terre just before sunset. No one disembarked but me. I told Ma I needed air. The...

September 23, 1871 The train cuts through Missouri like a blade, and still the landscape refuses to bleed. The trees stand too still. The...

Journal Entry – September 20, 1871 I have not thought of that night in years—the night I stood at the edge of the black wood, invited...