Prologue

Silverleaf, North Carolina, 1870

Warm, happy chatter emanated from the kitchen. The smell of herbs and roast chicken filled the air, savory and mouth-watering. Someone told a joke, and someone else laughed, but the words drifted past Rachel Foster’s ears. She barely heard them.

She stood outside the kitchen, her back pressed to the wall in the hallway as though allowing it to hold her upright. As she so often did, Rachel felt older than her twenty-four years. The exhaustion of constant labor had worked its way through her body. She was thinner than she ought to be—the strings of her apron wound all the way around her body, crossing in the back and tying again in the front. Her hands were dried and cracked from too much use. A few wisps of her chestnut hair had begun to spill free from the orderly bun she had tied it back in this morning before leaving her bedroom. She’d had no time since that moment to return to her room and fix her appearance.

That was probably going to cause trouble.

One of the voices rose louder than the others. Rough and masculine. Commanding. “We need more iced tea! Rachel! Get in here!”

Rachel drew a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and pushed her way back through the kitchen door.

Her stepfather, Nathan, was leaning back in his chair and watching her expectantly, his hands resting on his rotund belly. A scowl crossed his ruddy face at the sight of her. “You shouldn’t let the glasses go empty on Jennifer’s eighteenth birthday,” he snapped. “Surely we’ve raised you better than that.”

All sorts of responses would have been satisfying to give. Rachel wanted to tell him that he hadn’t actually raised her at all. She wanted to tell him that the people who had brought her up had never taught her that her role in life was to pour drinks for her own family, or that she ought to succumb to anyone snapping at her as if she was nothing more than an unpaid servant.

She also wanted to grab the pitcher, set it down in front of him, untie the brown apron he made her wear, throw it on the floor, and walk out of this house once and for all.

But she couldn’t. Not without a plan. Not without somewhere else to go. If she left this house today, Nathan would never permit her to come back, and it was more likely than not she would find herself out on the street.

Rachel steeled herself and walked over to the table.

It was full of delicious food—food she had spent the morning preparing. In addition to the herbed chicken, there were buttery vegetables and mashed potatoes with gravy. She had managed to sneak a little bit of each of those dishes for herself, but there had been no hope of taking a taste of the chicken. Nathan would have noticed if so much as a single bite of that was missing.

The pitcher of iced tea sat in the middle of the table. Nathan could have reached out and picked it up if he had wanted to. Not that he would ever deign to do anything for himself. His eyes fixed on her mother, Sandra, as she lifted the pitcher and poured some into his glass.

Rachel’s mother looked much older than her forty-one years. Her hair had gone gray and her face was lined with worry. She had been a beauty once, but her years of marriage to Nathan Foster had sucked the beauty from her face. Now she just looked tired and broken.

Rachel carried the pitcher of tea around the table and poured some in her mother’s glass, taking a moment to rest a hand on her shoulder.

There were so few opportunities for the two of them to talk. And even when those opportunities did arise, Sandra seemed incapable of making the most of them. She had lost the ability to speak in front of her husband, it seemed. The light inside her had gone out. She kept her head down as Rachel filled her glass and didn’t respond to her daughter’s touch. It was as if she didn’t even realize Rachel was there.

“That’s enough,” Nathan said brusquely. “She doesn’t need any more, Rachel. And you should be filling Jennifer’s glass, since she’s the one celebrating her birthday.”

“That’s right,” Rachel’s stepsister spoke up, sitting up straight in her chair. She shook back her limp, dark blonde hair, picked up her glass, which was still three-quarters full, and held it out to Rachel. “You should have served me first, Rachel.”

Rachel knew perfectly well that if she had served Jennifer first, Nathan would have objected to the fact that he hadn’t been first. There was simply no way to make these people happy. She poured a little more iced tea into Jennifer’s glass.

Jennifer frowned. “There’s not enough ice,” she said. “You gave your mother all the ice.”

“If I had put any more ice in your glass, it would have spilled over,” Rachel pointed out.

“Don’t argue,” Nathan told her. He picked up a chicken bone from his plate and began to nibble the meat off it. “Just fix it.”

Rachel took Jennifer’s glass to the sink and poured out a bit of the tea. Using a spoon, she carefully fished out a few ice cubes from the pitcher and placed them in the glass. Then she returned it to Jennifer, who narrowed her beady eyes at it and nodded.

“We’re going to want the cake served in fifteen minutes,” Nathan told her. “You can come back then.”

She heard the dismissal, but she lingered. “Nathan—I wondered if I might take a piece of cake for myself and Edith to share?”

Her stepfather stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“Well, it’s just that Edith’s birthday was last week,” Rachel said. Her heart fluttered with nerves as she watched the muscle in her stepfather’s jaw work. “I wasn’t able to do anything for her to help her celebrate the occasion.”

“Why would you need to help her celebrate?” Nathan sneered.

“You know she’s…” Rachel hesitated and glanced at her mother. “She’s a good friend to me,” she finished lamely. She could hardly point out that Edith was a mother figure right in front of her true mother, even though Sandra probably wouldn’t say a word. “And this is a very large cake—more than the three of you will be able to finish, I’m sure.”

“So you want me to give a piece of my daughter’s cake to a maid?” Nathan’s eyebrows were so high that it had made his eyes go shockingly wide. The whites showed above and below the black color of them.

“To two maids,” Jennifer bit out, sneering at Rachel. “Tell her no, Father. That’s my cake.”

Rachel drew in a breath and did her best to keep calm. “It would only be a very small piece,” she said. “Just enough for a couple of bites apiece—a little celebration.”

“You don’t need to be celebrating.” Her stepfather turned away from her, tossing his chicken bone, which had now been stripped bare, down onto his plate. “You have plenty to occupy yourselves, the both of you. If you have so much spare time, why don’t you put it to good use and get that infestation of ants out of the attic?”

Rachel looked at her mother.

Sandra still hadn’t reacted. She was staring down at the plate in front of her, acting as if she hadn’t heard a word of the conversation.

It left Rachel feeling empty. Gutted.

There had been a time when her mother would have stood up for her. She would have taken Rachel’s side, told Nathan to give her some cake, and if he had still said no, she would have insisted on sharing her own piece with Rachel. But that wasn’t the way things were anymore. Sometime over the years since she had married Nathan, Sandra had disappeared into herself. She had lost the ability to speak up.

Rachel was on her own.

She let herself back out into the hall and found Edith waiting for her. The older woman, in her mid-forties, short, and slightly plump, wore the same brown apron Rachel did. Unlike Rachel, her soft gray hair had not escaped its bun. Also unlike Rachel, she was paid a wage for her services in the house.

Now she wiped her hands on her apron and fixed Rachel with her warm brown eyes. “I heard raised voices,” she said. “Was there some sort of dust-up?”

Rachel felt heat rise to her cheeks. “I asked for a piece of cake,” she admitted.

“Oh, Rachel, you didn’t.”

“We baked that cake,” Rachel said fiercely, keeping her voice low. “We ought to be allowed to eat a piece.”

“Honey, you know that isn’t how it works, though.” Edith put her arm around Rachel. “I know why it troubles you. This is your family. They ought to treat you as one of them, and not like you’re a hired hand. But to that man in there, you’re nothing more than a maid, just like me. You can’t be asking him for cake. Suppose I make you some cake later?”

“No, Edith,” Rachel said, stepping out of Edith’s embrace. She couldn’t possibly tell her friend that the purpose of her request had been to celebrate Edith’s birthday. “I was being foolish. You’re right. But it would be more foolish still to take ingredients from the pantry to make a cake for ourselves. We can’t do that.”

“You’re right,” Edith chuckled. “But I do have some things of my own. I’ve used some of my savings to buy some flour and sugar. Just a little bit, but we could make a small cake and enjoy it together. What do you say? Later tonight, when the family is all in bed?”

Rachel hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want to use up your flour and sugar.”

“Honey, there’s no point in having those things if you don’t have someone to share them with.”

“Rachel!” Jennifer’s sharp voice rang out. “We’re ready for our cake! Get back in here!”

Edith held her at arm’s length and gave her a sad smile. “You’d better go,” she said softly. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

Rachel nodded, sighed, and went back into the kitchen.

***

Three hours later, after the rest of the family had gone to sleep, Rachel and Edith sat at the same table where Jennifer had celebrated her birthday.

The sweet smell of their cake rose from the oven. It was small—much smaller than Jennifer’s had been. There was really only enough for a few bites each. Rachel glanced with longing at Jennifer’s cake, which sat on the counter unfinished. But she was sure that her stepsister would notice if any of it was gone in the morning, especially after Rachel had asked for a piece. No doubt she had measured it.

They hadn’t been able to set a timer for the cake. If anyone woke up and found them here, there might be trouble. So every few minutes, Rachel sniffed the air, trying to determine whether the cake might be burning. Edith had a great nose for baking, but Rachel couldn’t help feeling nervous about it.

The two women had taken off their aprons, their work finished for the day. The aprons now lay on the table beside them. Both women had a plate in front of them with a few leftover scraps of chicken and a small pile of vegetables—the potatoes had been finished by the family, so there wasn’t any of that left.

“We should have kept one potato back for ourselves,” Rachel sighed.

“It would have been dishonest,” Edith chided. “No matter how bad things get, honey, we don’t steal. Remember what it says in Philippians? And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of His glory in Christ Jesus. We don’t need to take from anyone else. God will make sure we have everything we need.”

“I know,” Rachel agreed. “You raised me right, Edith.”

“Someone had to do it, after that mother of yours stopped paying attention,” Edith said darkly. “Bad enough that your stepfather forced you to work as a maid in your own home, but the way your mother just knuckled under for him…well, all I can say is that if I had a daughter of my own, I’d never allow her to be treated that way by any husband of mine.”

Rachel hung her head. “I can’t help but forgive her,” she said. “I know she’s just frightened. But I know that God would want me to give her grace.”

“You’re right, of course,” Edith said warmly, reaching across the table to rest a hand on top of Rachel’s. “You’re a very forgiving young woman, Rachel, a very godly woman, and that’s a strength you have. But you must also take care of yourself.”

From deep within the house, the floor creaked.

Both Rachel and Edith froze at the sound of footsteps. Rachel’s heart pounded madly. Was someone coming to the kitchen? Had their conversation awoken a member of the family?

Edith was usually the calm one, but right now her jaw was clenched and her eyes were wide. Rachel’s anxiety spiked. Her breathing came faster.

But the footsteps weren’t coming any closer, and after a moment, they stopped altogether. Both women breathed audible sighs of relief. Whoever had been up must have gone back to bed.

Edith rose to her feet and crossed to the oven, walking lightly on the balls of her feet to ensure she didn’t disturb the rest of the house. She grabbed the oven mitt, reached in, and pulled out the cake, setting it on the counter to cool. It was perfectly brown, better even than Jennifer’s had been, and Rachel knew that was because Edith had taken extra care and put extra love into this one. She had timed it down to the second to make sure it would come out perfectly.

She placed it in the center of the table. “We ought to wait for it to cool.”

“Oh, but it smells so good…” Rachel picked up the fork she had set out for herself when they had come in. “Go on, Edith. You should have the first bite.”

Edith settled back into her chair. She was smiling. “You always were a little impatient,” she said fondly. “But you’ve had a hard day of work, and you’ve earned a little treat. All right, now, Rachel.” Edith picked up a bite of cake and ferried it to her mouth. “I’ll wait to hear what you think of it.”

“You’ll never compliment your own cooking, will you?” Rachel teased, reaching for a bite of her own.

The cake was hot and sweet, sweeter than anything Rachel had eaten in weeks. She closed her eyes and savored it, breathing in deeply to help her really appreciate the flavor. Of course, they’d had nothing special to enhance it—no fruit, no special flavorings. It was just sugar and flour, and not very much of it at that. In the wake of the war, such things were still scarce, and especially for a woman like Edith who was unmarried and worked for maid’s wages. But, as she always did, Edith had made the most of what God had provided. “Oh, Edith…you’ve outdone yourself. This is really wonderful.”

“I’m so pleased you like it,” Edith said. “You deserve it, Rachel. You deserve to have good things. I hope you remember that. Just because your stepfather doesn’t seem to realize it doesn’t mean that you should ever forget.”

Rachel’s heart warmed at the sentiment. “I just hope I won’t have to spend the rest of my life as his servant.”

“You won’t,” Edith said firmly. “I’m sure of that. God has a bigger plan for you, Rachel.” She closed her eyes and quoted, “Surely there is a future, and your hope will not be cut off.”

“Proverbs?” Rachel asked.

Edith smiled. “Very good.”

“Your faith is so strong,” Rachel said admiringly. “You have a verse for everything. I hope mine is as strong as yours if I am ever really tested.”

“You’ve been plenty tested in your life,” Edith assured her. “More than I had at your age. To lose your place in your family is no easy matter, Rachel. But good things await you. One day you will get to them. You simply have to stay strong until that day arrives.”

Rachel nodded and set her fork down, having finished her tiny portion of cake. She was sure that Edith was right. Edith was always right when it came to things like this. She was a wonderful mother figure, and with her, Rachel did feel as though she was still loved by someone. Edith was her true family, now that her blood had abandoned her.

God, make me strong in faith, just like Edith, she prayed. Give me the patience and trust to believe that one day my life will change for the better…and to wait for that day to come. And I promise that until that moment arrives, I will keep my trust in you.

I won’t give up.

Chapter One

Silverleaf, North Carolina, 1871

“Rachel! Make sure the study is swept out! There are ashes all over the floor, and I don’t want to come home to a messy house!”

While Nathan Foster’s voice was loud in volume, he didn’t sound angry. It was closer to dispassionate. He yelled at Rachel the way a man might yell at an errant dog, as though he could shock it into behaving. Not as though his emotions had truly been stirred.

Rachel, who had been tending to the fire in the living room, rose to her feet and reached up to straighten her hair, murmuring a soft prayer to God to grant her patience before turning around. Nathan was standing in the doorway, dressed in trousers she had ironed and a button-down shirt. Today was the day of the Silverleaf Spring Fair. There would be music and dancing and socializing into the evening, and he wanted to make a good impression on his neighbors.

She didn’t bother telling him that the only reason there was ash all over his study was that he smoked cigarettes in there and didn’t use an ashtray. It was the truth, but he would only have snapped at her. “I’ll sweep it out,” she agreed.

“Good.” He turned and started to walk out of the room.

Rachel stared down at the worn carpet, doing her best to look cowed. She knew Nathan liked her best when he believed she was intimidated. “Nathan…I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh, and what might that be?”

“Can we sit down?”

He stared at her. “You want us to sit down and talk? What, like you’re a business associate of mine? You’re lucky I let you use the furniture at all.”

Rachel glanced around at the furniture in the room. All of it was older than she was. That would have been charming if the pieces had been heirlooms, perhaps crafted by someone in the family, but that wasn’t the case. They hadn’t belonged to the Fosters for long. They had all been purchased or found secondhand, not because Nathan couldn’t afford anything nicer, but because he didn’t want to spend money on things that would benefit anyone other than himself. So the living room was furnished with a chair whose stuffing was poking out, a garish orange settee, and a rocking chair so uneven that it didn’t even rock back and forth properly.

“All right,” Rachel told her stepfather. “We can talk while standing.” She drew a breath. “I’d like to go to the fair today.”

“You want to go to the Spring Fair?” He snorted, looking her up and down. “You’re not fit for society. Do you even have any appropriate clothes?”

I would if you had ever bought me anything suitable. She choked down the bitter response. It wouldn’t help her case to be negative like that, and anyway, that wasn’t the kind of person Rachel wanted to be. She forced softness and patience into her tone. “I could borrow something from Jennifer.” Her stepsister’s clothes would be a little short on her, but thanks to the fact that Jennifer was spoiled and given everything she wanted to eat, there was no risk they would be too tight. Rachel would be able to fit into them.

Nathan was right that what she was wearing at the moment wasn’t at all suitable. Rachel hadn’t had new clothes in two years, and although her size hadn’t changed in that time, her dresses had become worn and frayed. They had never been especially nice to begin with—plain beige shifts that hung on her like sacks. This one was no different. Even the material was unpleasant—a cheap muslin that Nathan had only paid for because she needed to wear something.

Now he was shaking his head. “You’re not going out in public like that,” he said. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and twirled it in his fingers as though debating lighting it. Rachel simmered. She was going to have enough sweeping to do in his study without him getting ash all over the living room to boot. “And you’re not going to wear anything of Jennifer’s either. How would it look to have you prancing around town in Jennifer’s dress? She would never be able to wear that dress again, because everyone would remember having seen it on you. Absolutely not.”

Rachel bit her lip. It was far too much to suggest that one of Jennifer’s dresses—even an old one—simply be given to her to keep. Her stepfather would never agree to that.

“What if I can find something to wear?” she asked. “If there’s something in my own closet that I can dress up enough to make it respectable…then would you allow me to go?”

Nathan rolled his eyes. Thankfully, he pocketed the cigarette—he must have decided he wasn’t going to be here long enough to smoke it. “Sure,” he said dryly. “If you can come up with a suitable dress by this afternoon, you can wear it to the fair. But it had better really be suitable—no showing up in some old rag like what you’re wearing right now. If you do that, I’ll drag you right back home.”

Rachel’s heart raced. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Was she really going to get the chance to attend the fair? “No, it will be appropriate,” she promised him.

“And one other thing,” Nathan said, taking a step into the room and pointing a finger squarely in Rachel’s face. “You had better finish all your chores first. Not just sweeping out the study. I want the kitchen scrubbed top to bottom so that it sparkles. I want the button sewn back on that shirt of mine that I gave you last night. I want the garden tended to. All of it. If you don’t get everything done then you don’t have time to waste at a fair, and I won’t have you spending your day there. Is that understood?”