Ivy stood and walked over to Josie’s bed. As she sat beside her, Josie took the girl’s hands. “I know this is so hard for you. I lost my Ma, too.”
Ivy’s eyes widened. “You did?”
Josie nodded, consumed with memories. She could see her mother’s face clear as day, thinking back to the days they had together. She remembered her smile and sweet voice. Mama was everything Josie wanted to be. She was a tough woman, hardly ever shedding a tear.
When Josie’s three brothers died, her mother grieved in a way that Josie had never known possible. Instead of staying at home, wearing black and locking herself away, her mother dedicated her time to caring for the wounded and sick, pouring her heart into helping others. Josie had been right there beside her, assisting in the hospitals, doing everything they could to help the men make it back to their families since Zane, Trellis, and Oliver never would.
Then scarlet fever struck, and it spread throughBelle Valléelike wildfire. Josie had been lucky, not having the worst case, but it didn’t spare anyone else. Many of their slaves never saw freedom, succumbing to the terrible disease. Josie remembered how she nursed them until their last breaths, but in the end, it hadn’t been enough to save them.
“My Ma died when I was sixteen. It still feels like yesterday.”
“Do you miss her?”
Josie nodded. “Yes, but I remember she’s still here with me, just like your ma is here with you.”
“How?”
Josie smiled softly and pressed her hand against the child’s beating heart. “In here. Your ma’s memory will always be with you. Then when you leave this world, you will be reunited with her again. It will be in Heaven.”
Ivy’s thin pink lips curled in one corner. “I can’t wait.”
“Me too.”
Ivy scooted closer to Josie and laid her head on her chest. “I’m sorry, Josie. I’m sorry I was so rude. I . . . I didn’t mean it.”
Josie kissed Ivy’s forehead. “I know you didn’t. I’m never going to replace your ma, but I want to help and care for you. I love you and your siblings, Ivy.”
Ivy met her gaze. “You aren’t going to leave us too, right?”
Ivy’s question pierced Josie’s heart. She couldn’t lie to the child. She had yet to speak with Travis; it had been hours, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was likely thinking of ways to be rid of her—just as Marcus had before his fall. The thought tightened in her chest like a vise. Surely he wouldn’t, but anger could make a man do anything.
Before Josie could answer, Aunt Polly opened the door, carrying a tray of tea. She glanced over at Ivy, who was snuggled up against Josie, and a soft smile crossed her lips.
“It’s nice to see you’re both keeping each other company,” Aunt Polly said gently. “How are you feeling, Josie?”
“Fine, thank you.”
Aunt Polly set the tray down and extended a hand to Ivy. “Come, come child. I need you and the other mites to get ready for bed while I check on Josie.”
Ivy jumped off the bed and headed for the door. “Bye, Josie. I hope you feel better soon.”
The hairs on Josie’s neck stood as Aunt Polly shut the door behind her. The woman crossed her arms and stared at the floor. The silence caused bumps to rise on Josie’s arms, especiallywhen she couldn’t see Aunt Polly’s face. Was it wearing worry? Disappointment? Hatred?
“I assume you know,” Josie said, her nails digging into her arm.
Aunt Polly nodded and stepped closer. She settled on the mattress, clasping her hands in front of her. “I do, and I can see from your standpoint why you did it.”
“What does Travis think?”
Aunt Polly sighed. “He’s been tending to the crops all day. I thought it best for him to be alone.”
Josie envisioned the man slicing through the wheat, imagining he was striking her. He probably was planning her punishment, just as Marcus would have done for betrayal and lies. How would Travis make her suffer? Would he beat her? Lock her in her room? Starve her? Or worse, send her home?
“Tell me about the father,” Aunt Polly said.
Josie closed her eyes, seeing Marcus suffocating her with his hands latched around her throat, blocking every airway. She wouldn’t tell him about the baby—not for anything. Marcus falling down the stairs was nothing shorter than a miracle—one Josie would pay for eventually. She couldn’t tell Aunt Polly or Travis the truth, but she could say part of it.
“He’s dead . . . He was my husband.”
