Chapter 1

1867 December

Vicksburg, Mississippi

Mary Anna Donlen sewed on the hundredth button of the day and then fixed the hem on the latest dress. Exhausted and facing chores when she returned to the boarding house, she massaged her pricked and callused fingers. This was not the life she had envisioned for herself.

After picking up her bag, she said her goodbyes for the day and trudged down the road toward Ira's Boarding House. It wasn't more than a ramshackle old house, but it was home. A far cry from Honeysuckle Ridge. The plantation she'd grown up on and, until four years ago, lived in sublime luxury.

Now, the fine mansion was nothing more than an ash heap and the land owned by carpetbaggers. All she'd had went up in the fire that took her home. No one was sure who started it. Some said it was former slaves, but she thought it was her eldest sister, Myra, who died in the fire. All the losses had been too much for her.

That left Mary Anna alone. All her family was gone. Victims of the horrible war that had destroyed the South. So, she eked out an existence as a seamstress apprentice and hoped some knight in shining armor would rescue her.

The problem was there were no more knights, only destitute and broken men no better off than she. The North did little to help the South. Lincoln's assassination had sealed their fate. Unfortunately, the former slaves found little help from their rescuers, and as a result, Mississippi was plunging into a dark abyss where poverty reigned. A sad fate for a state that had sported the most millionaires only a few years before.

Tired and hot from the sultry air, even though it was early December, Mary Anna stopped under the sparse shade of a magnolia and rested. She was in no hurry to get to Ira's and clean the floors. Her hands were already raw from the sewing and in no way resembled the soft hands of a lady. She remembered the days before the war. The wondrous times of gentlemen and ladies. Balls and dances with all the beautiful displays that money could buy.

Yet it was no good to remember those days. They would never return. Some said the South would rise again. All Mary Anna could see was a broken land filled with broken souls. Everyone hurt. Maybe not the carpetbaggers, but the entire South was plunged into defiant tears. All had lost someone, while many had lost everyone. Her tears had long ago been cried out. First for Paul, her fiancé, then her parents, brothers, and last, her sister, Myra. Only Mary Anna remained of the Donlens of Honeysuckle Ridge.

Taking a deep breath, Mary Anna forced herself to stand and continue toward Ira's. She hated even admitting to calling it home, but it was what she had. The one good thing was her friendship with Alice. They'd become like sisters. From similar backgrounds and also recent events, they clung to one another.

Mary Anna glanced at the sun and smiled, thinking that Alice would be just about getting home now. She worked in the chicken house, pulling feathers and heads. How the young woman did it, Mary Anna couldn't fathom, but at least Alice made enough to live at Ira's. Plus, she'd bring home chickens to cook for dinner whenever she could. No one asked if the chickens had been given to her or taken, as no one asked about a gift of food. It was too scarce to question its legality.

With the hope of a decent meal, Mary Anna rushed to Ira's. She couldn't wait to see what stories and maybe chickens Alice had come home with. Alice was always good for some news. It would seem that the women plucking chickens talked incessantly about who did what to who.

Mary Anna ran inside, letting the door bang behind her as she called for Alice. Up the stairs and almost to the room they shared, she finally heard her friend in the kitchen. Continuing to her room, Mary Anna threw her bag on her bed, kicked off her shoes, and put on her slippers and comfortable skirt. She ran back down the rickety stairs, careful to miss the third step that had been broken for years, and ran into the kitchen.

"Chickens?"

Alice turned and shook her head. "No. Almost, but that weasel of a boss came in and took the ones I'd set aside. He glared at me as he took them. I think he knows about my charitable taking."

Mary Anna chuckled. "I guess that's one way to look at it. So, what is the verdict for dinner?"

"Make-believe stew. We throw in what we can find and pretend there is meat in it. But it should keep us going for another day." Alice grinned.

Nothing seemed to get that girl down. Mary Anna knew one reason was the young woman's faith. Mary Anna had asked her about it, but Alice just looked at her and said it was available to all who asked. With a sigh, Mary Anna made a mental note to do that as soon as she had the time. After all, to ask the Lord for something so special would require a lot of time and effort. Something she had little of right now.

"I'm starved, so whatever we have will be good. Any news we should know about, Alice?"

Alice stirred the pot and looked pensively up to the corner of the ceiling as if the answers were written there. "Well, let me see if I can remember. Wilma said the weasel was trying to woo Celia Ferbert. But we all know she is nothing but a carpetbagger and wouldn't consider a minute with the little man. We all had a good laugh about that."

Ira Coster cleared her throat. "Ladies, we shouldn't gossip." She looked around. "But then again, we must be kept aware of what is happening." The older woman chuckled. "The thought of that mean little man getting his comeuppance is a delightful thought. If only all the Yankees couldn't suffer some of that after what they did to us."

Mary Anna grinned at Ira. She was called Ira for short. Her full name was Iramennia, but it just took too long to say. So, the woman had shortened it to Ira.

Ira clapped her hand. "Sit down, and we'll bring the bowls of stew to you." She grinned and nudged Alice. "One more tidbit."

"Oh, for all of us single women under thirty, there is a call for proxy brides." Alice grinned. "We are to show up at First and Front Street tomorrow at seven tomorrow morning. I am going."

Nell, who had just turned thirty, scowled. "What is a proxy bride?"

Alice frowned. "The way it was explained to me was that the women who stood up would be married to men in Kansas. I guess it's kind of like a mail-order bride, except we'd already be married to the man when we got there."

Mary Anna shook her head. "What if we don't like the man?"

Alice shrugged. "I don't know, but can it be worse than the state we're in now? I mean, look at my fingers. They are raw. I can't stand to look at another chicken."

Mary Anna looked down at her own red hands and callused fingers. "I'm going. I agree. We need to get out of Mississippi before it takes us all down. Things can't get harder than this."

Alice clapped. "Oh, good. I hope we get men that are good. I've heard Kansas is beautiful."

Mary Anna stared at her friend. Alice may have heard it was pretty, but Mary Anna had heard it was cold in the winter, full of wild men, and dusty. Well, it was worth a try. Mary Anna didn't want to see another sewing needle or button. Maybe she'd make time to ask the Lord about that thing called faith.