Prologue

Sebring, Florida 1867

Rosa’s heart raced as she paced the small, dimly lit room, beads of sweat forming on her brow. The air was thick with tension and the scent of burning candle wax. Alice, her dearest friend, writhed in pain upon the small four-poster bed as she struggled through the final stages of labor. Rosa swallowed hard, fear gripping her chest, but determination shone in her deep brown eyes. She would not let her friend face this ordeal alone, nor would she reveal just how truly terrified she was.

“Rosa, come here,” Alice gasped between contractions. Her voice was weak, yet it carried a note of calmness, belying the pain that tore through her body.

Rosa rushed to her side, taking Alice’s hand in her own, feeling her friend’s strength even in her moment of vulnerability. “I’m here, Alice.” She gently stroked a sweat-soaked strand of blonde hair from Alice’s face. “What can I do?”

“Distract me from the pain.”

“Ummm…” Rosa fumbled around for a memory to share, her mind muddled from the stress of the dangers of childbirth. “Remember when we first met in the inn’s kitchen?” Rosa asked. “You saved my hide that day, and you’ve been my rock ever since.” Her lips curved as her mind drifted back to that fateful day.

She had been wandering the streets of Rosewood, penniless and desperate, when she saw the ‘Help Wanted’ sign in the window of the local inn. Despite her lack of experience, she mustered the courage to walk in and ask for a job. The inn’s owner, Mr. Fredrick, was skeptical of her abilities, but Rosa had convinced him to give her a shot.

She had very little experience running a kitchen, and it showed almost immediately. The kitchen was a whirlwind of activity, pots clanging, and the heat from the stove making her dizzy. Rosa tried her best, but her inexperience quickly led to disaster. She misread a recipe and added salt instead of sugar to a pie, the stew burned, and she accidentally dropped a whole sack of flour on the floor, creating a white cloud that settled everywhere. And there was no other kitchen staff to help her.

Amid this chaos, Alice had walked into the kitchen demanding dinner, but then she saw Rosa, covered in flour and on the verge of tears, struggling to salvage the evening meal. Alice quickly recognized that Rosa was in over her head and took pity on her. With a calm and commanding presence, Alice took control. She sent Rosa to fetch more ingredients while she managed to salvage what she could from the ruined dishes.

“Quickly, Rosa, get me some more potatoes and onions from the pantry,” Alice had instructed, her voice steady and reassuring. Rosa, grateful for the direction, had scrambled to comply.

As Rosa returned with the vegetables, she watched in awe as Alice moved deftly around the kitchen, her hands a blur as she chopped, stirred, and seasoned with practiced ease. Within minutes, the kitchen was back in order, and the enticing aroma of a properly cooked meal began to fill the air.

“Why are you helping me?” Rosa had asked, her voice trembling with relief and gratitude.

Alice paused momentarily, looking at Rosa with kind, understanding eyes. “Because I see a bit of myself in you. I was once a scared, inexperienced girl, too. Everyone deserves a chance.”

Together, they managed to get the evening’s meal out on time, much to Mr. Fredrick’s satisfaction. From that day forward, Alice took Rosa under her wing, teaching her the ropes and helping her become a competent cook. Rosa had found not just a mentor but a friend and confidante in Alice.

Rosa’s smile grew as she recalled the incident. “You saved me that day, Alice. I was so close to being thrown out on the street again.”

Alice squeezed her hand weakly. “You were worth saving, Rosa. You always have been.”

Tears welled in Rosa’s eyes as she looked at her friend. “I owe you so much. More than I can ever repay.”

“Nonsense.” Alice shook her head in between labored pains. “We saved each other.”

Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away. Now was not the time for Rosa to get emotional. She needed to be strong for Alice.

“Soon, your little one will be here, and we’ll have even more memories to share with… Well, we need to have some names ready, don’t ya think? Have you thought of any?”

Alice shook her head, her breaths coming in short gasps. “What should we name the baby?”

“Something strong and beautiful, just like its mother,” Rosa suggested, her voice wavering with emotion. “How about… Elijah for a boy, or Kira for a girl?”

“Those are lovely,” Alice agreed, her face lighting up despite her pain. “Oh, God, Rosa…” She winced, clutching Rosa’s hand tighter as a wave of fresh contractions gripped her. Her face contorted in agony, and tears welled up in her eyes, but she tried to remain focused on Rosa. “Thank you… for… being here,” she gasped, her voice trembling with exertion.

“Of course, Alice,” Rosa replied, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as Alice’s body tensed again, and she cried out in pain. The sound, raw and primal, seemed to tear through her very soul.

Rosa was terrified for her friend but knew she couldn’t show it. “I’ll always be here for you and your little one, no matter what,” she whispered as she stood by her side.

As Alice’s contractions grew closer together, Rosa’s heart was heavy with fear and worry. She had heard stories of how childbirth could be deadly, and Alice didn’t look good. Her friend’s face was pale and clammy, her body drenched in sweat, and with each contraction and scream, it seemed to drain more life from her.

But they didn’t have time to fetch a doctor, even if they could afford one. Rosa felt helpless, clutching Alice’s hand tighter, trying to offer comfort while her mind raced with dread at the possibility of losing her friend. She’d already lost her mother and father; she couldn’t lose Alice, too.

“God is watching over us, Alice,” Rosa murmured, her voice breaking under the weight of her concern. “He will guide you through this pain, just like He has guided us through all our trials.”

Alice’s eyes, glassy with tears and exhaustion, flickered toward Rosa. Her lips trembled as she attempted a smile. “Thank you, Rosa… for everything.”

Rosa’s heart ached at the sight of Alice’s fragile state. She brushed a damp strand of hair away from Alice’s face and offered a smile of her own. “You are stronger than you know, my friend. You have been through so much yet still shine with love and faith.”

“Rosa… I don’t know if I can do this,” Alice whispered, her voice barely audible over the thunderous pounding in Rosa’s ears.

“Of course you can, Alice,” Rosa replied earnestly, her grip on Alice’s hand tightening. “We’ve faced hardships before, and we’ll face them again, together. Just breathe and trust that God will carry us through this storm.”

As the hours dragged on, Alice’s condition worsened. Her face grew paler, her breathing more labored. Despite Rosa’s constant encouragement and prayers, an oppressive sense of dread settled over the room, suffocating all hope.

“Rosa…” Alice gasped, her eyes wide and fearful. “Please, promise me… you’ll take care of my baby…”

“Shh, Alice,” Rosa said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Focus on your strength now. We’ll talk about everything later. But right now, I need you to push. We need to deliver your baby.”

Alice nodded, her face resolute. She took one final deep breath and pushed with all her might. With one last guttural cry, the baby was born—a baby girl.

But Rosa didn’t have time to share in the joy and wonder of what she had just witnessed. Alice’s body had gone limp, her eyes straight ahead, unblinking. Rosa’s heart stopped, and the room fell silent, save for the soft cries of the newborn child. Rosa stared at her friend’s lifeless form, her heart shattering into a million pieces.

She clutched the newborn to her chest, hot tears streaming down her face as she grieved for her best and only friend in the world. Her heart ached with a pain that threatened to consume her, but she knew she had to be strong—for herself and for the innocent life now entrusted to her care.

“God, please…” Rosa prayed, her voice barely a whisper, as she cradled Alice’s baby to her chest. “Give me the strength to honor my promise and guide me through this darkness.”

Chapter One

Rosa stepped into the late afternoon sun, her shadow stretching long and thin across the dusty streets of Rosewood. Baby Kira nestled close to her chest, wrapped securely in a threadbare shawl. A worn bag lay heavy on her shoulder, weighed down by their meager belongings and the gravity of grief that clung to her like a shroud.

It had only been two days since Alice had passed away giving birth to Kira, but it felt like it had just happened. The pain of losing her best and only friend in the world was still raw.

Mr. Frederick, the inn owner, had been so heartless, so unwilling to lend assistance in her time of need. She recalled appealing to him for the baby’s sake and his cold dismissal.

“Miss Doyle, you know the rules—no rent money, no room. Baby or no baby.” His voice had been harsh and devoid of sympathy.

“Please, sir, I just need a bit more time to find someone to watch the baby. Then, I can work double shifts—” Rosa had pleaded, the desperation evident in her tone.

“Rules are rules. Pay up or pack up,” he’d retorted, shutting the door in her face—and her pleas.

The memories stung as sharply as they did then, and Rosa’s grip on Kira tightened. She glanced back one last time at the small inn that had been her home for the last two years, then squared her shoulders and set off in search of shelter.

Kira cooed softly, innocent eyes peering up at Rosa, whose deep brown gaze returned nothing but love and worry. “Someone must have room for you, my precious Kira,” Rosa said, brushing a kiss atop the baby’s blonde head. The softness of Kira’s hair beneath her lips was a reminder of the innocence she fought so fiercely to protect.

“Please, Lord, guide my steps,” she prayed as she walked, her eyes scanning the streets for any sign of refuge.

The streets were bustling with people, horses, and wagons, but Rosa felt utterly alone in the midst of them all. As she made her way through town, she approached several boarding houses and inns, each conversation echoing the ones before.

“Sorry, miss, but we’ve no room for a woman with a babe,” said one stern-faced proprietor, barely looking up from his newspaper.

“Can’t have a baby crying at all hours, disturbin’ the other guests,” another grumbled, slamming the door in Rosa’s face.

Her heart grew heavier with each rejection, and exhaustion began to seep into her bones. Her feet ached, her throat parched, but she would not—could not—yield. For within her arms, she carried more than Alice’s legacy; she bore the promise of a life that deserved to be cherished, free of the sins and sorrows of the world that had birthed it.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Rosa found herself near the outskirts of town by the orphanage. She pressed forward, hoping they would at least have room for baby Kira.

Rosa’s knuckles rapped gently against the weathered wood of the orphanage door, her heart drumming a nervous beat within her chest. The door creaked open, revealing a stern-faced woman with graying hair pulled back in a tight bun.

“Please, ma’am,” Rosa began, her voice barely above a whisper as she cradled Kira close, “I’ve nowhere else to turn. Could you find it in your heart to—”

“Miss, we’re full to brimmin’,” the matron interrupted, her eyes betraying not an ounce of the sympathy Rosa so desperately sought. “War’s left too many children without kin. I can’t squeeze another soul into these walls.”

“Surely, there’s just a corner—a small space for her?” Rosa’s eyes implored, glancing down at Kira’s peaceful face.

“Can’t do nothin’ for ya.” The matron’s voice was resolute, the finality echoing in the hollow of Rosa’s hopes.

Rosa’s heart sank at the words, her shoulders drooping under the weight of her grief and despair. She nodded slowly, holding back the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. With that, the matron shut the door, leaving her standing in a silence punctuated only by the distant cries of children.

Turning away from the closed door, Rosa felt the sting of tears threatening to spill. She walked on, the weight of each step magnified by the heaviness in her heart.

“Lord, I’m tired, and I don’t know where else to turn,” Rosa whispered, her tears threatening to spill over once more. “I need Your guidance now more than ever.”

As she wandered the darkening streets to the next town over, Rosa fought the growing sense of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm her. Each rejection, each closed door, echoed in her mind like a cruel refrain. Her grip tightened on baby Kira, who had fallen asleep again against her chest, and the worn bag that held their few possessions.

“Lord, please show me the way,” Rosa prayed silently, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. “I don’t know what to do.”

As if in answer to her prayer, a spark of determination ignited within Rosa’s weary soul. There had to be a place for Kira, a place where love and kindness prevailed over circumstance and prejudice. Rosa would find it, no matter how far she must go.

As she walked on, she entered the wealthier part of Rosewood. Here, the houses were further and further apart. These estates were for the very wealthy. An idea sprang to mind: surely, one of these estates could use a nursemaid or governess or something!

“What do I have to lose at this point?” she murmured. The sun would be setting soon, and then what would she and Kira do?

Gathering her nerve, she marched up the walk to the next estate. Rosa’s knuckles rapped timidly against the thick, varnished oak door of the Cunningham estate, the sound echoing hollow in her ears. She adjusted Kira in her arms, the baby’s warm breath puffing softly against her neck.

“May I help you?” The butler’s voice was crisp, his posture stiffening as he took in Rosa’s disheveled appearance.

“Sir, I beg a moment of your kindness,” Rosa began, her voice barely above a whisper. “My name is Rosa Doyle, and this is Kira. We find ourselves in dire need—”

“Miss Doyle,” he interrupted with a courteous yet distant tone, “the Cunninghams are not in the habit of adopting strays.”

“Please, she’s but an innocent child,” Rosa implored, desperation seeping into her words. “All we ask for is shelter and a chance for a better life for her.”

“Madam,” the butler said, his eyes softening just a touch, “the war has left many in unfortunate circumstances. The Cunninghams have already extended their charity to the limits. I am truly sorry.” With that, he closed the door gently but firmly.

The rebuff hung heavily in the air as Rosa turned away, her heart sinking further with each step off the grand estate’s porch. She leaned against the wall of the gate to the main drive and shut her eyes.

“Lord,” she whispered, “Give me the strength to keep going. Guide me to safety and refuge. I pray this in Jesus’ name, amen.”

Rosa trekked on. For how long she walked, she did not know. But then, a rustle of leaves startled her; she froze, heart pounding. But it was only a rabbit dashing across the lawn, its white tail disappearing in the bramble. Rosa exhaled slowly, allowing a small smile to creep across her face.

When she surveyed her surroundings, the rock wall led to an imposing wrought iron gate with the words ‘Cunningham’ scrawled in intricate scrollwork across the front. The lawn looked like it had seen better days, with weeds clawing through the cracks of the once-immaculate pathways. Further ahead, the mansion loomed, an imposing silhouette against the darkening sky.

“Could this be our salvation, Kira?” Rosa whispered, her voice barely audible above the rustling of leaves. “Could we find shelter within those walls?”

As she made to walk down the path to the house, her gaze caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Confederate soldiers, their gray uniforms a stark contrast to the white-washed porch, stood huddled off to the side, peering into the windows.

Rosa watched, her pulse quickening as they shuffled about. She clutched Kira closer, searching the tree line for any sign of escape should they be spotted. But the soldiers seemed preoccupied, their attention fixed on the manor.

Rosa slid along the estate’s perimeter, seeking the anonymity of its neglected gardens. If she could just get inside, perhaps they could hide until the soldiers moved on.

Her heart hammered against her ribcage as she approached the cluster of soldiers milling about the entrance. She clutched baby Kira closer, the infant swaddled in a patchwork blanket that did little to ward off the evening chill.

“Stop there,” a gruff voice called out, halting Rosa’s tentative steps. A soldier stepped forward, his uniform stained and tattered, evidence of countless battles etched into the fabric.

“Please, sirs,” Rosa began, her voice a tremulous whisper that grew steadier with each word. “I mean no harm. I am the widow of Mr. Cunningham, the owner of this estate. He… he perished in the war, God rest his soul, and I’ve returned to find solace in our home.”

It wasn’t difficult for Rosa to let a bit of trembling enter her voice or to let a single tear fall down her cheek. She was terrified of what these soldiers might do if they learned the truth.

The soldiers exchanged wary glances, their skepticism plain. One nudged the other. “How do we know she’s really the mistress of the house?” he muttered.

“We don’t,” agreed another, his hand resting on the hilt of a rusted sword. Then his face softened when his eyes found baby Kira. “But look at her, Jed. Ain’t no woman wanders with a babe in such state unless she’s touched by desperation or truth.”

“Ma’am,” the first soldier addressed Rosa, his face pinkening slightly. “Beg your pardon for our distrust. These are trying times for us all.”

Rosa’s chest swelled with a cautious hope as she nodded, her eyes beseeching. “Indeed they are, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentleman.” She straightened her spine and spoke with a confidence she didn’t feel. “It’s been a long and arduous journey for me and my child. I wish only to seek refuge within my own walls so that we may rest our weary bodies.”

“Very well,” the soldier conceded, stepping back to confer with his comrades. They muttered amongst themselves, casting furtive glances toward Rosa, who stood as still as a statue, aware that her and Kira’s safety balanced on a precarious thread of lies.

“All right, Mrs. Cunningham,” the soldier finally declared. “We’ll bid you good night and be on our way.”

“Thank you, sirs, truly,” Rosa breathed, relief washing over her like a cleansing tide. She offered them a nod steeped in gratitude before edging past the guards, her skirts brushing against the overgrown foliage that lined the path to the manor.

Once inside the once-grand foyer of Rosewood Estate, Rosa allowed herself a moment to just breathe. She sighed, closed her eyes, and sank against the mahogany door.

The air was musty, laden with the silence of abandonment, yet it was a sanctuary compared to the unforgiving streets she had traversed. She felt the tension seep from her bones, though her mind remained vigilant, acutely aware of the fragile thread upon which their safety hung.

She knew tomorrow would bring a new challenge, but at least for tonight, they had shelter. With a silent prayer of thanks, Rosa opened her eyes and stood up straight.

“Hello?” she called out hesitantly, her voice echoing through the empty manor. When no answer came, Rosa took a deep breath and surveyed their surroundings. A shiver ran down her spine as she took in the dusty grandeur of the once magnificent home.

“Baby Kira, I don’t know if this place is truly abandoned,” Rosa admitted, her voice a mere whisper in the stillness. “But we’ll rest here for tonight, and I’ll figure the rest out in the morning. Now, let’s see if I can find us something to eat.”

Gently cradling baby Kira as she ventured deeper into the manor, her steps echoed on the aged floorboards as she navigated through the dim, dust-laden corridors.

Rosa’s thoughts raced as she considered what little she knew about the manor’s history or its owner. By some luck, Rosa wandered into the kitchen. Her eyes widened in surprise.

Shelves lined with preserves, root vegetables in neat bins, and an ample supply of flour and cornmeal—Rosa’s eyes drank in the sights. There was even an icebox. With trembling hands, she gently sat Kira in a makeshift bed of towels on the large oak table and approached the icebox.

Opening it, she gasped in delight. Bottles of milk lined the bottom shelf. She quickly grabbed one and pulled the cork. “Thank the Lord,” she gasped. The milk was not sour yet. Baby Kira would not starve! She set to work without even stopping to consider why there would be fresh milk in an abandoned mansion.

Grabbing a pot hanging from the rack on the wall, she set it on the stove and then searched for kindling and wood to make a fire. “Lord, let this be Your providence,” she murmured as she found a box of matches next to the stove.

She struck a match, the flame casting a warm glow over the cold hearth. She poured milk into the pot and heated it over the newly kindled fire. The warmth from the stove seeped into her chilled bones, and for a moment, Rosa allowed herself to close her eyes and rest, grateful for the reprieve.

“Ma’am?” The voice startled Rosa, snapping her back to reality. She spun around, her hand flying to her chest, where her heart threatened to burst forth.

A young woman stood in the doorway, her brown eyes wide with surprise.

“Please, I can explain—” Rosa’s words tumbled out in a rush, but the woman raised a hand to stop her.

“Shh, there ain’t no need for stories. I can see you’re in need,” she said, her voice softer than Rosa had expected. She crossed the room to inspect the baby before turning her kindly gaze back to Rosa. “You and the little one are safe here. And you look half-starved. Let me fix you something proper to eat.”

“Truly?” Rosa asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her deep brown eyes reflecting a vulnerable hope.

“Of course, truly,” she replied, already moving to gather ingredients. “And how about a pot of tea to soothe those frayed nerves?”

“Thank you.” Relief washed over Rosa like a summer rain. “I don’t know how to repay your kindness.”

“Let’s worry about that later. Right now, you just sit yourself down and take a load off them weary feet,” she suggested, pointing to a chair by the table where Kira lay gurgling happily, oblivious to the turmoil of their situation. “My name’s Erica. What’s yours?”

“I’m Rosa, and that’s Kira.”

As Erica busied herself with preparing a simple meal, Rosa took her advice, sinking into the chair with a sigh. The muted clinks and clatters of cookware, blended with the crackling of the fire, were soothing. She watched Erica move with practiced grace, her mousy hair escaping its bun in wisps, framing her earnest face.

“Here we are,” Erica announced moments later, setting a plate of thick-cut bread smeared with butter and a bowl of stew before Rosa. The steam rose, carrying the scent of meat and vegetables, teasing Rosa’s nostrils and awakening a hunger she’d suppressed for too long.

“God bless you, Erica,” Rosa said, her voice thick with gratitude. She reached for the spoon, her hand steady for the first time in days, and began to eat.

Erica poured them a cup of tea and sat across from her. “Miss Rosa,” Erica began, her voice betraying a tremor, “I reckon you’re wonderin’ why Rosewood looks so forsaken.”

Rosa paused, cradling the spoon in her hand. “I don’t want to pry… but what happened?”

“The master of the house, Mr. Harvey, went off to fight in the war. We received post from him about every couple of weeks or so. But no one’s heard hide nor hair from him in months!” Erica’s brown eyes flickered with the fear that had clearly been gnawing at her. “If he doesn’t return soon… I’m likely to lose my place here, and I’ve nowhere else to turn.”

The words struck a chord deep within Rosa, resonating with the echo of her own dread. “I understand more than you know, Erica,” she said softly, setting her spoon down. “Life can be mighty harsh when you’re facin’ it alone.”

“Indeed,” Erica murmured, taking a sip of her tea.

The room grew quiet, save for the gentle clink of porcelain and the soft cooing of baby Kira. Rosa wrapped her fingers around the cup, letting the heat seep into her chilled skin.

“Erica…” Rosa hesitated, glancing at the maid’s expectant gaze. With a steadying breath, she decided to let the truth spill forth. “There were some Confederate troops here earlier. They thought the place was abandoned.”

Erica gasped and clutched a hand to her chest. Her eyes darted around in terror, as if they would come storming in at any moment.

“Don’t worry. I sent them on the way… at least for tonight.”

Erica shot Rosa a quizzical glance. So, Rosa took a deep breath and then told her the truth. She didn’t leave any detail out in her explanation.

For a moment, shock painted Erica’s face, her mouth agape at the confession that hung between them. But then, a transformation occurred; her features softened, and understanding bloomed in her eyes.

“Desperation can drive a body to do things they never thought possible,” Erica said, her voice low but not without kindness. “I won’t hold it against you, Miss Rosa. In fact, I’m grateful. If the soldiers had found the house empty, they’d have stripped it bare by mornin’. You saved us both, in a way.”

Rosa knew that her decision to pose as the widow of Rosewood Manor was a risky one. Yet, in these desperate times, she saw no other choice. The stakes were high, but so was her determination to protect Kira and create a better life for them both.