Chapter One
ROLLINGS WOODS, TENNESSEE— Late Summer 1870
Harlan Lee had been in the ground less than twenty-four hours before the landowner came knocking.
Clutching the patched-together black skirts a neighbor had sold her for the price of a hen, Catherine, his widow, opened the door to her fate.
“You’ve got a week,” the man said before spitting a stream of tobacco juice into Catherine’s meager front garden.
“Please, Mr. Bennett. I need more time. I have no family nearby.” Surely he would understand. It would take time for a letter to reach the only family she had, receive a letter in return, and then arrange to move her belongings.
Mr. Bennett eyed her with barely disguised contempt. “Two weeks. That’s all. I’ve got a fellow wanting to move in here, a hardworking sort.”
Unlike Harlan. He didn’t need to say to the words. And by the set of his jaw, it was clear he’d give her no more time.
“All right,” she said, trying to keep the tremble from her voice.
He nodded once and then narrowed his eyes. “You’re better off.” Then he gave another curt nod and strode away.
Catherine leaned against the doorframe, watching his retreat. She wanted to believe him, but it was nearly impossible right now. As terrible a husband as Harlan had been, at least she’d had a home and protection when he’d been alive. Now she had . . . nothing. That quick, guilty sense of relief she’d felt upon hearing of his death had been quickly squelched when she realized she had no means of support.
Catherine shut the door, blotting out the cheerful sunlight and shutting in the still, humid air. She didn’t notice the stifling heat as she sat at her old, scarred kitchen table in the one-room house. Pushing back a curl that refused to remain pinned, the fears began to overtake her. What was she to do?
Another knock came at the door, this one softer and less insistent. Feeling as if she were lifting the weight of all her worries, Catherine pressed herself up from the chair and returned to the door.
“Are you all right?” Beth Hopkins, Catherine’s nearest neighbor and closest friend, stood just outside, a basket in hand. “I saw that awful Mr. Bennett leave here.”
Catherine swallowed, but the worry remained. “He gave me two weeks to pack everything and find somewhere else to live.”
Beth’s face went from one of surprise to anger to determination in a matter of seconds. She gently pushed Catherine aside and entered the house. Setting the basket on the table, she pulled out the chair Catherine had recently vacated. “Sit,” she said. “We’ll figure this out.”
Grateful to have at least one person looking out for her, Catherine shut the door and did as Beth said. The entire town of Rollings Woods knew that Harlan hadn’t been the best husband, but only Beth knew the extent to which Catherine had silently suffered through his drinking, inability to keep up with the farm work, and the demons that still haunted him from the war. As much as she’d hoped for children, she sometimes wondered if the losses she’d suffered in carrying any to birth were for the best.
“Are your aunt and uncle a possibility?” Beth began unpacking the basket as she spoke. Catherine looked in wonder at all her friend had brought, but she shouldn’t have been surprised. Beth had been like a sister to her from the moment they’d first met at church five years prior. They both loved to sing, and had spent many a moment together practicing the hymns and other beloved melodies. Catherine had never really allowed anyone to hear her sing, only Beth.
Catherine thought a moment, and then shook her head. “They’ve so much responsibility. I don’t dare impose.” The last she’d heard from Aunt Mary, her mother’s youngest and only living sibling, they were barely hanging on to their own farm with seven children dependent on them for survival. “And Mama is still living with that family who took her in.”
Beth pressed her lips together, clearly thinking as she placed a freshly-baked loaf of bread, a jar of preserves, and several other items in Catherine’s cupboards. “Is there anyone else to whom you could write?”
“I have no other family.” Catherine’s voice cracked and she fought to keep her emotions under control. She’d hardly cried since Harlan had passed, and then only to mourn the boy he’d been—the one she’d fallen in love with years ago, before the war. She refused to cry more now, although Beth would certainly understand.
Beth shut the last cupboard door and turned to face Catherine. “How I wish I had more to give.”
Catherine gave her friend a grateful smile. “You’ve done so much already.” She could hardly expect Beth to invite her to sleep on the floor of their equally small home that already housed six people.
Beth’s face lit up, and Catherine perched on the edge of her chair, ready to hear any feasible idea she had. “Have you spoken with Pastor Jeffreys? Or Mrs. Jeffreys? They may know of somewhere you could go.”
“I did.” Catherine’s shoulders slumped. “Aside from becoming a mail-order bride to some lonesome man out West, they had no other suggestions.”
Beth swept into the chair across from Catherine. “And you wouldn’t consider that idea?”
“A mail-order bride? Of course not. Could you imagine marrying some fellow you’d never met? I’d likely find myself wed to another Harlan.”
“With a home and food and perhaps the possibility of children,” Beth added. “Although, yes, I can see how awkward it might be. However, it’s unlikely the man would be prone to drinking or visiting certain sorts of women if it’s something that’s arranged through the church, wouldn’t you think?”
Catherine looked down at her hands as she thought. What Beth had said made sense. And wasn’t she just thinking that while being married to Harlan had been joyless, she was at least thankful for the security it brought?
What if therewasa possibility she could marry a better man and have a home and all she needed? She wouldn’t need to love him. In fact, it would be much better for her heart if she didn’t. He wouldn’t have the opportunity to break it, as Harlan had.
