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Corinth Georgia, August 1875
“Please, Mr. Sadler. I’ll lower my prices.” Rosalia Gillette stood on Mr. Sadler’s porch, her baby niece, Faye, balanced on her hip. The old man sighed, his breath rattling in his chest.
“Miss Gillette, I’m not a fool. You can’t afford to lower your prices any more than I can afford to pay them.” He gave Rosalia a smile, trying to ease her desperation. It didn’t work. “You’ve still got a few customers left.”
“Just tell me one thing, Mr. Sadler,” Rosalia looked the old man square in the eye. “Is this because of Mrs. Townsend?”
Mrs. Townsend had come from Atlanta, bearing sewing machines and prices cheaper than anyone had ever seen. She’d also taken just about every customer Rosalia had.
Mr. Sadler nodded, turning away. He closed his door, leaving Rosalia with her niece and less than fifty cents in her pocket. This would have been fine were it not for the fact that she needed six dollars in rent by Friday.
“I’m sorry, Joannah,” she whispered. When Rosalia’s sister had died in childbirth, she’d promised to care for Faye. That promise became all the more important when Budd Gambler, Faye’s idiot father, left town without so much as a goodbye.
Rosalia remembered the moment Faye had truly become her responsibility. She’d been trying to visit her brother-in-law and help with the baby, but when she knocked on the door, he didn’t answer. After a while, Faye started screaming for all she was worth.
Finally, Rosalia had walked into the house, worried something had happened. No sign of Budd. He’d taken his clothes, all the food, and everything of value. Well, everything except for a little blond baby with the most startlingly blue eyes anyone had ever seen.
When she saw Rosalia’s face, Faye’s cries reduced to heartbreaking whimpers. Rosalia’s face scrunched up when the smell of a diaper in desperate need of changing hit her. That day, she took the baby to her boarding room in town, taking a little cradle and a few baby gowns with them. It was strange to think there was ever a time when Faye was anything but hers.
“You know, Faye,” she said, walking towards the boarding house. “You look just like your mama. She had golden curls, just like you. Bright blue eyes to cure the deepest sorrow.”
It hurt to remember her sister. They’d always been so different, Rosalia and Joannah. Though Joannah had been three years older, Rosalia had always taken care of her. When they were children, it was Rosalia who’d help with chores and such, while Joannah floated past her, singing a song too cheerful for the younger girl to follow.
They even looked different. Rosalia had flat, brown hair that puffed up when it got humid. Her eyes were the color of mud and snow bleeding together.
“Don’t worry, love,” Rosalia said when they reached the boarding house. She kissed Faye’s head. “I’ll find a way. We just have to keep praying, keep hoping.”
That night, as Faye slept peacefully, Rosalia sat at the edge of their bed, spine rigid. She’d been praying for the past hour, hoping for a different answer than the one she’d been given. It was futile, she knew, to deny the truth of an answered prayer, but the idea of what she had didn’t appeal to her in any sense.
She glared at the newspaper advertisement clutched in her hands. It was put out by a man named Tobias Ladlemeyer. He owned a small horse ranch in Texas and said he was in need of a wife.
This was the answer to Rosalia’s prayers. She could feel it in the swift beating of her heart. Finally, after letting out a groan of frustration, she snatched a paper and pencil. As she wrote the letter, she knew already that Mr. Ladlemeyer would reply.
“I hope you’re sure of this, God. Because I’m not.”
