Prologue

Sheffield Township, Pennsylvania, Christmas Eve 1864

The biting chill of the winter air seeped through the cracks in the old orphanage walls, but inside, the dimly lit room felt warm, almost cozy, with the flickering glow of the fireplace casting soft shadows on the wooden floor. Louisa’s fingers, stained with paint, trembled slightly as she handed the small canvas to Alice.

“Do you like it?” Louisa asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She searched Alice’s face for a reaction, hoping to see a flicker of joy in her friend’s eyes.

Alice took the painting with gentle hands, her eyes widening as she traced the delicate brushstrokes. “Lou, it’s beautiful,” she breathed. “It’s the church in the valley.”

Louisa nodded, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

Alice looked at the painting again, her gaze lingering on the soft hues of the winter sky that Louisa had carefully mixed to match the fading twilight outside. The little church stood alone in a blanket of fresh snow, its roof dusted white, and the surrounding pine trees bowed under the weight of the season. Through the small windows, the faintest hint of light glowed, promising warmth within.

“I’ve always thought it was the prettiest place in town, even if it is only a small thing,” Louisa continued, her voice filled with a wistful longing. “Tonight, with all that snow… I don’t know, it just seemed more beautiful.”

Alice’s eyes misted as she held the painting close, almost as if she could step into the scene itself. “You have a gift, Louisa. You see the beauty in things most people overlook.”

Louisa’s cheeks warmed under the compliment, though she wasn’t sure it was entirely true.

“Maybe I just see what I wish was there,” she admitted softly. “I imagine the church filled with people, happy families all gathered together for Christmas. Not like here…”

Alice reached out and took Louisa’s hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “But we have each other.” Her soft voice was quiet with determination. “And that’s something.”

The words brought a lump to Louisa’s throat, but she forced herself to smile, nodding in agreement.

“Yes, we do,” she whispered.

Alice had been Louisa’s anchor in the stormy seas of orphanage life, the one constant in a world that had always felt unpredictable and unforgiving. They had grown up together, sharing whispered secrets late at night, dreams of a better future, and the inevitable heartaches that came with living in a place like this. While others had come and gone, adopted or sent away, Louisa and Alice had remained, their bond solidified by the years of shared experience.

Where Louisa’s features were dark and subtle, Alice’s were bright and delicate, a contrast that had always drawn comments from the other girls. Louisa had long, wavy brown hair that she often kept tied back, though a few rebellious strands would inevitably escape, framing her face in soft curls. Her eyes were a deep, dark hazel, flecked with gold and green, like the autumn leaves she loved to paint. There was a quiet strength in her gaze, a resolve born from years of taking care of herself and those she cared about.

The crackle of the fire was the only sound in the room. Louisa let her eyes drift to the frost-covered window, where the stars twinkled like distant lanterns in the night sky. The snow smoothed over the rough edges of the landscape, making the world appear softer, gentler.

“Do you think we’ll ever leave this place?” Alice asked suddenly, her voice breaking the stillness.

Louisa’s heart tightened. It was a question they had both pondered many times, especially as they grew older and the hope of adoption faded like a distant memory.

“Someday,” she said, though she wasn’t sure if she believed it herself. “We’ll have our own homes, with Christmas trees and warm fires, and families who love us.”

Alice nodded, though she didn’t say anything more and Louisa felt a pang of sadness as she looked at her friend, knowing how much they both longed for a home, for a family. They all did. But the years had passed, and now, at eighteen, the prospect seemed further away than ever.

Louisa reached over and gave Alice’s hand one last squeeze before letting go.

“Whatever happens, Alice, we’ll always have each other. And who knows? Maybe this Christmas, something will change.”

Alice looked at her, hope flickering in her eyes. “Maybe,” she echoed, a small smile forming on her lips.

Just then, they were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching, heavy and deliberate. She looked up just as the door creaked open, revealing the stern figure of Miss Agatha Brown, the orphanage’s matron.

Miss Brown was a tall, imposing woman, her back always ramrod straight as if the weight of her responsibilities had been absorbed into her very bones. Her graying hair was pulled back into a severe bun, not a strand out of place, and her sharp blue eyes had a way of cutting through the pretense of manners or mischief with a single glance. She always wore a plain, dark woolen dress, buttoned up to the neck, with only a thin white collar to break the monotony. There was an air of unyielding discipline about her, and whenever she entered a room the very walls of the orphanage stood at attention.

“Louisa,” Miss Brown began, her voice clipped and efficient, as though she had no time for the frivolities of Christmas Eve. “Mr. Jonathan Blackwood is here to see you.”

Louisa’s heart dropped into her stomach at the mention of his name, and her fingers tightened around the edge of the wooden bench she sat on. She felt Alice’s eyes on her, filled with concern, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet them. Not now. Not when the mere mention of him sent a wave of anxiety coursing through her veins.

“Now?” Louisa asked, her voice barely audible.

“Yes, now,” Miss Brown replied. “He’s waiting in the parlor.”

Louisa swallowed hard, forcing herself to nod. She couldn’t refuse to see him, and she knew it. If she did, he would only return, just as he had done so many times before. Mr. Jonathan Blackwood wasn’t a man who easily accepted no for an answer. He was persistent, always coming back, always seeking her out, despite her every attempt to avoid him.

“Now Louisa,” Miss Brown repeated. “It’s rude to keep him waiting.”

Louisa pushed herself up from the bench, though her legs felt like they might give out beneath her.

With a final glance at Alice, Louisa turned and followed Miss Brown out of the room. Each step down the dimly lit hallway felt heavier than the last, her breath shallow as she tried to steady herself. She knew what was waiting for her in the parlor, and the dread of it twisted her stomach into knots.

As they approached the parlor, Louisa felt the walls closing in around her, the warmth of the fire in the distance now a world away. Miss Brown paused just outside the door, turning to Louisa with a look that could have been mistaken for sympathy, if it weren’t for the coldness in her eyes.

“Remember your manners, Louisa,” she said.

“Yes, Miss Brown,” Louisa replied automatically.

The matron opened the door and stepped aside, allowing Louisa to enter. She hesitated only for a moment, then walked in, her heart pounding in her chest.

There, standing by the window, was Mr. Jonathan Blackwood. Even his name sounded too grand for the confines of the old orphanage. He was a tall man in his late thirties, with a thick mane of dark hair that framed his angular face. His eyes were a striking shade of green, sharp and calculating, like a predator who always knew where his prey was hiding. His clothes were expensive, tailored to perfection, a sign of the wealth and power he carried with him wherever he went. But it wasn’t his appearance that unnerved Louisa. It was the way he looked at her, as though she were something he owned, something he had already claimed for himself.

He turned as she entered, a smile spreading across his lips—a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Louisa,” he said, his voice smooth and confident, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Louisa forced herself to meet his gaze, though every instinct screamed at her to look away. “Mr. Blackwood,” she said, dipping into a small, polite curtsy as she had been taught.

He moved closer, his presence filling the room, making it feel smaller, more suffocating. “Merry Christmas,” he said as he handed her a small package.

“Thank you,” Louisa said, taking from him.

As she looked down at the present in her hands, her mind went back to the first time they had met. It had been nearly a year ago, on a stormy autumn day. Mr. Blackwood had arrived at the orphanage unannounced, his dark coat slick with rain, his boots muddy from the road. Louisa had been in the hallway, mopping the floors, when he had walked in with Miss Brown at his side. The moment he saw her, his eyes had locked onto hers, and she remembered the strange sensation that had rippled through her—a mixture of curiosity and fear.

“Who is she?” he had asked, his voice smooth but commanding.

“Louisa Harper,” Miss Brown had said. “Louisa? Come here for a moment, please.”

Abandoning her work, Louisa had walked over to them, her head bent, and Mr. Blackwood had smiled then, a strange glimmer in his eyes. From that moment on, he had taken a keen interest in her. His visits became more frequent, each time bringing gifts—candy and chocolate, a fine piece of lace. Louisa had been flattered at first, charmed by the attention. But as the months passed, her unease grew. There was something about Mr. Blackwood that set her on edge, something in the way he looked at her, spoke to her, that made her feel as though she was being slowly wrapped in invisible chains.

Now, as he stood before her, those chains felt tighter than ever.

“Louisa,” Mr. Blackwood said, his voice breaking through her thoughts. He reached out and took her hand in his, his touch cool and firm. “I’ve come tonight with a proposal.”

She blinked, her heart skipping a beat. “A proposal?”

“Yes,” he said, his smile widening. “I wish to marry you, Louisa.”

Louisa’s breath caught in her throat, and she instinctively pulled her hand back, though she knew it was a futile gesture. The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Marry him? The idea was as shocking as it was terrifying. She swallowed hard, her mind racing. This was not what she had imagined for herself. Louisa had dreamed of leaving the orphanage, yes, of finding a home, maybe even love. But this? This felt like stepping into a storm without knowing which way the wind would blow.

Miss Brown, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Mr. Blackwood is offering you a future, Louisa,” she told her, her tone firm, almost businesslike. “A chance to leave this place and start a new life. It’s a generous offer, one you’d be wise to consider.”

She looked at the matron, seeing now the true intention behind her words. Miss Brown wasn’t just encouraging her; she was pushing her. She had always been practical, and with the orphanage so full, she needed to make room for new arrivals. Louisa, at eighteen, was no longer a priority, no longer the responsibility of the orphanage. This marriage, this proposal, was a way to be rid of her quickly and cleanly.

Louisa glanced at Mr. Blackwood again, her stomach twisted in knots. She did not want to marry him, but what other choice did she have? Alone in the world, with no money, no family, and no prospects, how could she refuse the one chance she had at a stable future?

As her mind raced, Louisa was painfully aware of Mr. Blackwood, waiting, his patience thinly veiled.

“I can see you may wish for some time to consider my proposal,” he said, his tone clipped. “I shall come back tomorrow for your answer.”

With that Mr. Blackwood turned and left the room leaving Louisa and Miss Brown alone. The matron rounded on her, her mouth set into a hard line.

“I’ve known you your whole life, Louisa,” she said. “And I must say I never thought you were a fool.”

Louisa opened her mouth and then closed it again as her cheeks burned.

“Do you truly believe you are in a position to refuse Mr. Blackwood?”

“I just don’t understand why,” Louisa said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why would a man like Jonathan Blackwood, wealthy and influential, want to marry someone like me? I am just an orphan, with no family, no dowry, nothing to offer.”

Miss Brown’s gaze hardened, and she sighed, as if the answer should have been obvious.

“Mr. Blackwood is a man of means, Louisa, but he is also a man of a certain age. He is looking for a young wife, someone who can give him children, continue his legacy. You are eighteen now, of childbearing age, and you are healthy and strong. That is enough for him.”

Louisa swallowed hard, the matron’s words sending a chill down her spine.

Miss Brown’s expression softened slightly, though there was still a hint of impatience in her eyes.

“Mr. Blackwood has taken an interest in you, Louisa,” she said. “He sees potential in you, perhaps more than you see in yourself. You’re bright and you have a certain grace about you that he finds appealing. And you are of the age where you can be shaped, molded, into being a desirable wife for him. He is offering you a future, one that you would be wise to accept.”

A knot formed in her stomach, the matron’s words weighing heavily on her heart. Shaped, molded—like a piece of clay in his hands, to be formed into whatever suited his needs.

“When Mr. Blackwood comes tomorrow I would strongly advise you to accept his proposal,” Miss Brown said.

Louisa nodded, though her heart remained heavy with uncertainty.

“You may take your leave now.”

As she left the parlor, her mind was a swirl of conflicting emotions. Could she really agree to marry a man she barely knew, a man who made her uneasy. Yet what other choice did she have? This was her chance to leave the orphanage behind, to start a new life.

But as she walked down the hallway, her steps slow, Louisa couldn’t shake the feeling that she was walking into a future that would demand more from her than she was prepared to give.

Chapter One

Sheffield Township, Pennsylvania, 1870

Louisa’s hands trembled as she wiped the table for what felt like the hundredth time, her eyes darting around the room, searching for anything out of place. The fire in the hearth crackled weakly, the wood nearly spent, but she didn’t dare leave it untended. Jonathan would be home soon, and she knew all too well how he would react if the house wasn’t in perfect order.

She could already hear his voice in her head, sharp and cutting, full of the bitterness that had grown like a dark cloud over their lives. Her heart pounded in her chest as she smoothed her apron and checked the floor for dust. It was clean—she had made sure of that hours ago—but still, she couldn’t shake the anxiety gnawing at her insides.

Six years had passed since the day she had agreed to marry Jonathan Blackwood. Six years since she had left the orphanage behind, hoping for a fresh start, for something better than the uncertainty that had hung over her life like a shadow. In the beginning, it had seemed like she might have found some semblance of certainty.

The first year had been filled with all the things she had never known—fine clothes, a beautiful home, and a husband who provided for her every need. She had lived in a grand house on the edge of town, where the rooms were filled with light and warmth, and the servants saw to her every request. Jonathan had given her everything, but in return, she had found herself increasingly isolated and lonely. He was often away on business, and when he was home, there was a distance between them that she couldn’t bridge, no matter how hard she tried. He was cordial, but never warm; generous, but never affectionate. He had treated her like a prized possession rather than a partner, and though she had longed for his love, it never came.

Louisa had consoled herself with the thought that things would change in time. She had convinced herself that as they grew more comfortable with one another, he would soften, that perhaps one day he would see her as more than just a young girl he had taken in. But as the months turned into years, that hope had slowly faded, replaced by a cold reality she hadn’t been prepared for.

The turning point had come two years into their marriage. Jonathan had invested heavily in a new railroad venture, certain that it would bring them untold wealth and secure their future for years to come. But the deal had gone sour, the company collapsing under the weight of mismanagement and corruption.

The grand house was sold, the servants dismissed, and they had moved to this small, rundown house on the outskirts of town. They had lost everything—their home, their money, and with it, Jonathan’s pride.

Louisa walked over to the stove and picked up the wooden spoon, stirring the watery soup slowly as her mind drifted back again.

In the blink of an eye Jonathan had changed. His sharp, calculating gaze that had once measured everything with cold precision became clouded with bitterness and frustration. The lines on his face, once mere shadows, deepened into harsh grooves etched by anger and regret. He turned more and more to drink, a way to numb the pain of a world that had slipped through his fingers.

In the months following the financial ruin, Louisa had learned to brace herself for his insults, to expect them like clockwork, but that didn’t make them hurt any less.

“Your paintings are childish distractions,” he’d said the first time he’d really torn into her work, his voice dripping with disdain. “You think this will save us? You think this is worth anything?”

“You’re nothing,” he would hiss, his face twisted in anger, eyes glinting with bitterness. “Just a useless, empty-headed girl who’s never done a day’s work in her life.”

She had learned to brace herself for his anger, to read the warning signs in the way he moved, the way his voice would tighten when he spoke. But there had been a time, a moment she could never forget, when she hadn’t seen it coming—when the lines had been crossed, and everything had changed.

He had been drunk, as he so often was in those days. Louisa could smell the sharp, bitter scent of whiskey on his breath as he staggered into the room, his eyes glazed and unfocused. The air between them was thick with tension, and Louisa knew that nothing she said would calm him, but she tried anyway, her voice soft and steady as she pleaded for him to sit down, to rest, to let go of whatever anger was eating away at him.

“Jonathan, please.” Her voice had been gentle, reaching out to touch his arm. “You’re upset, I know. But we can talk about this—”

But her words were like sparks thrown onto dry kindling. Jonathan’s face twisted, his expression darkening as he jerked away from her touch. “Talk?” he spat, his voice slurred and laced with venom. “What do you know about anything, Louisa? You just sit here and watch while everything falls apart!”

The room seemed to shrink around them, the walls closing in as Jonathan’s fury intensified. Louisa took a step back, trying to keep her voice calm, but there was a tremble in it that she couldn’t hide. “I’m trying to help,” she said, her words fragile and tentative. “We can figure this out together—”

And then, in a flash, he moved. His hand lashed out, faster than she could have anticipated, and she felt the sharp, stinging impact of his palm across her face. The force of the blow sent her reeling, her head snapping to the side as the room tilted around her. Louisa stumbled, catching herself on the edge of the table, her breath hitching as the pain bloomed across her cheek.

But it wasn’t the physical pain that stole her breath—it was the shock, the betrayal, the sickening realization that this man, the one she had once looked to for protection, had just struck her. She stared at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving, her hand hovering near her throbbing cheek as if she could somehow undo what had just happened.

Jonathan stood there, swaying slightly, his eyes cold and unfeeling. For a moment, they locked eyes, and Louisa saw something in his gaze that terrified her—a bitter, unrepentant anger that dared her to challenge him. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. The words caught in her throat, and all she could do was lower her gaze, her heart pounding as she silently endured the rest of his tirade.

Just then, Louisa was pulled from her thoughts by the distant sound of hooves on the dirt road outside. Jonathan was coming. She put down the spoon and quickly wiped her hands on her apron, her hands brushing against the curve of her growing stomach. She hurried to the front door, peeking out to see his figure approaching on horseback, his posture rigid, his expression grim. The sight of him sent a shiver down her spine, and she forced herself to stand straight, preparing for the inevitable.

The door creaked as he entered, the cool evening air sweeping in with him. He shut it behind him with more force than necessary, the sharp sound echoing in the small space. Louisa kept her eyes down, waiting for him to speak first.

“Is supper ready?” Jonathan’s voice was low, gruff, his mood as dark as she had expected.

“Yes,” Louisa replied quickly, her voice soft. “I’ve kept it warm for you.”

He didn’t respond, just nodded curtly as he removed his coat and hung it on the peg by the door. Louisa hurried to the stove, where she had kept the stew simmering, and began ladling it into bowls. They did not tremble as much as they used to. She had dropped too many things and learned how to keep steady while being quick. She set the table, careful to place everything just so, the way she knew he liked it. When she finally dared to glance up at him, she saw the lines of weariness etched deep into his face, his dark hair now streaked with gray.

They ate in silence. Louisa kept her eyes on her food, trying to eat, though the tension in the room made it difficult to swallow. She could sense his frustration, his anger simmering just below the surface, ready to boil over at the slightest provocation.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than she expected, almost too quiet. “I got news today,” he said, his eyes fixed on the bowl in front of him.

Louisa’s heart skipped a beat, her hand trembling slightly as she set her spoon down. “What kind of news?”

He didn’t answer right away, just stared at the table, his jaw clenched. When he finally looked at her, his eyes were cold, devoid of any warmth or kindness.

“The bank foreclosed on the last property I had left,” he said bitterly. “There’s nothing left, Louisa. Nothing.”

She swallowed hard, her throat dry.

“So that’s it then, we’re stuck here,” he said, his temper flaring. “This house is all we have now. And you’d better get used to it, because we’re not going anywhere.”

Louisa flinched at the harshness in his tone, her stomach twisting with fear. She knew better than to argue, better than to question him when he was like this. But the reality of their situation was sinking in, and with it came a wave of despair that she struggled to keep at bay.

“Jonathan, I—” she began, but he cut her off with a sharp glare.

“Just stay out of my way,” he growled, pushing his chair back from the table and standing abruptly. “I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need your help. Just… leave me be.”

As the door slammed shut behind Jonathan, Louisa remained seated at the table, her body rigid as she tried to contain the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. The cabin was silent now, save for the faint crackle of the dying fire and the distant howl of the wind outside. She stared down at her hands, only now trembling, and knew she couldn’t stay there, frozen in fear and despair.

Slowly, she pushed her chair back and stood, her gaze drifting to the small corner of the room where she kept her painting supplies. The sight of the familiar brushes, paints, and canvases brought a flicker of comfort, a small light in the darkness that surrounded her. She had always found solace in her art, even as a child at the orphanage. It was the one thing that was truly hers, a way to express the feelings she couldn’t put into words, to escape the harsh reality of her life if only for a little while.

With a shaky breath, Louisa walked over to the corner and picked up a canvas, her fingers tracing the edges as she carried it to the small table near the window. The light was fading fast, the last rays of the sun disappearing behind the horizon, but she didn’t care. She would paint by candlelight if she had to. Anything to drown out the lingering tension from her encounter with Jonathan.

She lit a small candle and placed it on the table. Sitting down, she carefully selected her brushes and opened a tin of paint, the familiar smell of oil and turpentine soothing her frayed nerves. The world outside faded away as she dipped her brush into the paint and began to work, her hand moving with practiced ease.

As the hours slipped by, Louisa lost herself in the rhythm of the brushstrokes, the colors blending and swirling on the canvas. She painted a scene from memory—a field of wildflowers under a bright, open sky, a place she had visited as a child on a rare outing from the orphanage. She focused on every detail, the delicate petals, the sway of the grasses in the wind, the endless expanse of blue above. It was a world far removed from the one she lived in now, a world where she could breathe freely, where she felt safe and whole.

The quiet moments were a balm to her soul, allowing her to forget, if only for a while, the harshness of her reality. But the peace was short-lived.