Hortencia was a woman of means, though her modest garments would not give that fact away. She wore the garb of a woman who worked as a domestic, the fabrics that were severe gray did little to hide her beauty though. It was a sturdy, serviceable shoe that touched the ground after moving from it's perch upon the step that led her from the train car. She moved with a quiet grace as she stepped toward her meager display of belongings. What she had come back to this god forsaken place for would hopefully change the course of a storm that had been brewing for nearly two decades.

She lifted her covered basket and her carpetbag, booted feet barely scuffing the ground as she made her way toward the place where she would wait for transit to the small cottage she had purchased on the outskirts of town. She easily tired but she would not let the world see her as frail. She did not have much time to wait before she set her plans in motion. She wanted to see the woman that was made from the child she had birthed so long ago. She wanted to break the silence of the secret that ate at her soul for longer than she could recall.

Her former lover would probably not care for the fact that she was about to darken the doorstep to his expansive manse with it's manicured lawns and pretentiously decorated rooms, and she would return the bundle of bank notes she'd taken so long to replace. It hadn't been worth the silence, hadn't been worth the many sleepless nights that plagued her in the wake of giving up her own child.

The young looking woman clutched at her cane as she moved toward the infamous bench where Pearl and Joe met, not knowing that her daughter's history had become part of the object in question. Once she was settled in, she set her belongings down... Her carpetbag rested in her lap and her basket was set next to her. From there, she would wait.