“Please don’t take her, Lord,” he pleaded under his breath, his eyes never leaving her for a second. “We need her. I need her. I can’t raise a child on my own. He needs his mother.”
***
The sun had long since set. Thomas had accidentally fallen asleep, his body giving in to the demands of exhaustion, only to be awoken in the early hours of the morning by his wife’s violent fits knocking over the glass of water next to her bed.
Her body jerked as he leaped to her side and grasped her hand. “Please stay with me, he begged, trying to hold her still.
Thomas quickly reached for the smallest bottle next to the bed, knocking the others over in the process. The doctor had said it would ease the fits. He struggled to steady her head as he spilled half of the liquid onto the pillows, leaving trails of sticky brown liquid.
His father came rushing into the room, his grey hair tousled and messy from bed. “What’s happening? Is it Mary?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep. “Oh Lord, no.” he gasped as he took in the scene. He rushed to his son’s aid and tried to hold her limbs. But it was too late.
She gave a final jerk as her breathing eased and her eyes stared blankly ahead. “No, it can’t be.” Thomas’ honey brown eyes pleaded desperately as he sought his father’s for help.
Arthur Stratton gently picked up her wrist and felt for a pulse. When he couldn’t feel one he gently closed her eyes, pain etched into his face.
Thomas fell back onto the pillows and stared down at his wife lying limp against his chest, his beautiful, darling wife. Her eyes had sunk into their sockets and her cheeks were hollow.
“She is at peace now.” His father laid a rough hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “She’s with God.”
“You speak of God”, he said in a monotone, shifting himself off the bed and gently laying his wife on the pillows as Robbie began to howl in his crib down the hall.
“What kind of God would do this?” he asked and walked to the door. “What kind of loving God would leave a child without his mother and a man without his wife?” He paused as he reached the door. “Never speak to me of God again. He does not exist in this house.” He ripped the embroidered cloth off the wall and threw it at his father’s feet.
Thomas watched as his father knelt and retrieved the torn verse without saying a word.
He knew that his father’s heart was breaking too, but he could not bring himself to offer any form of comfort.
Robbie lay crying in his crib, screaming for a mother who would never again come to him as the sun rose over the ranch.
Chapter One
Wilmington, Delaware 1870
Present-day
Rosaline Berry stood in the center of the town hall stage, her hands in front of her, one clasping the other. She held her head high as Mrs. Voss had instructed her, but the glare from the gas lamps was making her nervous and hot.
“All the singers carry themselves with dignity and grace. I expect the same from you.” Mrs. Voss’ words echoed in her mind as the restless crowd stared at her and sniggered. All the farm owners from the surrounding area had come out to hear her sing, gawking at her while dressed in their finest evening attire.
She was an oddity, nothing more than a kitchen maid that could sing. Her heart was beating in her throat.
She had never sung in front of more than a handful of people. Indeed, this would be the first time she had ever sung outside the confines of the Voss’ farm.
The fabric of her new bustle was itchy and irritating. She had never owned a fancy dress in her life before now, let alone one that was fitted specifically for her.
Even when her parents were alive she had worn nothing but hand-me-downs, but she had been happy back then. While they had never had much in the way of possessions, she had all the love in the world.
The fabric of her new dress rustled as she swayed lightly on the stage, working up the courage to begin, trying her best to remember the words of the new song Mr. Voss had ordered her to sing.
Her dress was a stunning green, a color that Mrs. Voss had chosen, in no small part, to bring out her eyes. She remembered her one-sided conversation with the seamstress as she had fitted her dress: “It’s such a pity you are nothing but a hireling. With your stunning complexion and eyes, you would have made a beautiful lady.” She clucked her tongue. “Lord knows why he would give a creature as lowly as you such pretty features,” she continued as she took her measurements. “Such a waste if you ask me.”
Rosaline knew she was beautiful, she had been told often enough. Her eyes were a stunning shade of jade. She had delicate features, flawless skin, and auburn hair that hung down to her waist. She had spent most of her life trying not to stand out, yet here she was. On stage, in front of a crowd, ready to sing. Singing was something she enjoyed with all her heart and soul, but it was not something she felt she should be ordered to do at the drop of a hat.
For a split second, she wished she was back in the scullery scrubbing pots or cleaning floors. Anything was better than standing in front of all these people being judged. In her mind, she played back the events that had led to this point.
Rosaline Berry had been working for the Voss family since she was ten years old.
Her parents had succumbed to cholera, and she had nowhere else to go when the orphanage had handed her over to Mr. And Mrs. Voss. as a maid.
