The Hunt:

We came from scattered homesteads and quiet fields, carrying a fragile ember of hope, a deep thirst for the enlightenment that promised a different dawn for our people. The journey itself was a testament, leading us to this prairie town, to the new walls of a school raised by the unwavering faith of a church mission from the North. Its very name, we learned, was a tribute—a whisper of gratitude to a generous, unseen woman from far away, whose kindness had reached beyond her own lifetime to touch and uplift ours.

Our first haven of learning, which had stood briefly in a larger city to the south, had been tragically turned to ash and sorrow. But the vision for our enlightenment, though tested by fire, was not consumed; instead, the unwavering idea of our education was carried here, to West Point, and new beginnings took root as the fresh century turned its face. Here, young women like myself, daughters of those who had known generations of hardship, found a sanctuary dedicated to nurturing our minds and spirits.

Our days were a tapestry woven with diligent study, shared purpose, and the quiet hum of newfound possibilities. We learned of letters and sums, of graceful stewardship and moral fortitude, all intended to prepare us to carry a beacon of knowledge and service back to our own communities. This place, bearing the name of its distant patron with profound respect, was far more than just a school; it was a crucible for transformation, a promise etched onto the landscape, a wellspring from which future generations would draw enlightenment and strength.