Chapter Two

Somerville, Massachusetts

Three Months Ago

“Miss Joanna Thorncroft.” Taking a deep breath, Charles Gaines dropped down to one knee in the middle of the park and pulled a small, velvet box from the inside pocket of his gray frock coat. “Will you do me the great honor of being my wife?”

He flipped the box open with his thumb to reveal a very large, very shiny diamond ring. Or perhaps it only appeared so large because the box was so small.

Joanna squinted.

No, she decided.

It was definitely large. Ostentatious, even. Then again, Charles was wearing silk trousers.

Pink ones, at that.

Or maybe they were peach.

She’d been trying to avoid looking at them.

“Charles,” she began.

“Yes?” he said eagerly.

“No.”

His smile slipped a notch. “No?”

“No,” she confirmed with a sigh. “Please get up. I wouldn’t want you to ruin your pants.”

“Quite right.” He leapt to his feet as if the ground had suddenly caught fire and used a handkerchief to delicately brush a few loose pieces of grass off his knee. “Mother would have my head if these became stained. They’re from–”

“Paris, yes. You told me last week. They’re…unique,” Joanna said generously.

Charles brightened. “Do you think so?”

“I do.”

“But you’re still refusing my proposal?”

“I am.”

“But…” A troubled frown replaced his smile. “I was certain you’d say yes.”

Joanna wondered if he knew that was what every suitor had said before him. Except for Mr. Browning, who had turned bright red from the tips of his ears to the tip of his nose and run away without saying a single word.

Of all her proposals, his was her favorite.

“I’m sorry, Charles. I truly am. It’s a beautiful ring, and I am certain it will make a special woman very happy someday. But that woman is not going to be me.”

“Why not?” he demanded.

Joanna pursed her lips. Why did men think so little of a woman’s mind that they believed a few words could change it? Or that women always owed an explanation for their decision? When a man said no, he was never questioned. And he never had to explain himself.

It was horribly unfair.

More than that, it was annoying.

And Joanna Thorncroft did not have patience for things that annoyed her. Especially when they were wearing pink/peach trousers.

“Charles–”

“I would be a good husband to you.” Drawing back his shoulders, Charles made himself as tall as he possibly could, but even by stretching into every inch of his five foot, seven inch frame, the top of his head still barely reached Joanna’s nose. “I have a good job.”

“Your father has a good job,” she corrected mildly.

“I will be receiving an excellent inheritance.”

“From your father.”

“I have a large house with ample cropland.”

“Charles, you still live with your parents!”

“And?” he asked, his brows knitting together.

“And...and I do not love you. I’m sorry,” she said. “I realize that must be difficult to hear.”

But Charles didn’t look hurt. He looked confused. “What does love have to do with anything?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Charles, why do you want to marry me?”

“Because–because I do.” Snapping the ring box closed, he shoved it back into his pocket and glanced away from her as the corners of his mouth pinched in a boyish pout. “Mother told me you would do this.”

“What exactly have I done?”

“You broke my heart.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

“Charles,” Joanna said firmly, placing her hands on his shoulders so he was forced to meet her gaze, “I did not break your heart, you are not in love with me, and you do not want to marry me. You fancy me because I’m something you cannot have, but what you’ve failed to realize is that you don’t really want me. You don’t even know me.”

“I do,” he protested. “I know all about you.”

A light summer breeze tickled the satin ribbons underneath Joanna’s chin. With a grimace, she untied them, then whisked off her bonnet and tucked it under her arm.

“Do you know I despise hats?” she asked. “Cannot stand them. They itch, and they obscure my vision, and I wish I didn’t have to wear one every time I stepped outside.”

Charles frowned. “But that wouldn’t be proper.

“I also despise being proper. There are too many rules to follow.” Her bonnet fluttered to the ground as she flung her hands out to the side. “Women can do this, but not that. We are supposed to be intelligent, but only concerning topics such as fashion, and household management, and what wine pairs best with what dish. We are supposed to be pretty, but not in a manner that would cause distraction. We are supposed to be perfect, but not so perfect that the men of our acquaintance feel undermined or challenged.” She dragged in a mouthful of air and Charles, who had remained silent during her impassioned speech, took a large step in retreat.

“You’re right, Miss Thorncroft.” He tugged at the collar of his jacket. “I–I do not believe we will suit.”

Joanna watched with some bemusement as Charles pivoted and walked briskly way…in the opposite direction of his carriage. He’d realize his error soon enough. Just like he had realized they weren’t a good fit for marriage.

Thank goodness.

Picking up her bonnet, she gave it a quick shake before carelessly plopping it back on her head and striking out towards home. She knew Charles was what every young, unwedded girl from Somerville to Salem would consider a fine catch. He was pleasing to the eye, had all his teeth, and was as rich as a king. Or rather, his father was. How unfortunate, then, that Charles wasn’t looking for a wife.

No, what Charles–and all of Joanna’s previous suitors–desired was a pretty vase they could put up on a shelf. Something to admire from afar, and occasionally take down to show off to friends before they returned it to the top of the bookcase.

Well, she was no vase.

And she had absolutely no intention of spending the rest of her life accruing dust on some shelf. Even if the shelf was in a lovely mansion and her family could have desperately used the money such an affluent match would bring.

Something her sister, Evelyn (Evie to family and close friends), brought up as soon as Joanna walked through the door of their small, creaky house on the outskirts of the village square.

“He proposed, didn’t he?” Evie said after she’d taken one glance at Joanna’s face. “And you said no. Again.” Her mouth curling, Evie crossed her arms and scowled at Joanna from across the foyer. Which also doubled as a parlor. And a music room. And, when they had a guest, a bedroom as well.

Not so very long ago, Joanna and her sisters had lived in a grand brick manor in the center of town. There had been plenty of bedrooms to spare, as well as parlors with fifteen foot ceilings, and drawing rooms with beautiful, white wainscoting, and a sun-filled studio for Claire, the youngest, to do her art. Their home had been so large that their father, a physician of much acclaim, was able to see his patients in the formal study and their grandmother, who had helped raise the girls since their mother died when Claire was only a baby, had her very own wing.

They’d had tutors, and carriages, and an entire closet devoted to Evie’s extensive shoe collection. Money was of no consequence and, while they remained humble at heart, the Thorncrofts were considered to be one of Somerville’s most affluent families.

Then came the War of the Great Rebellion.

Four years of devastation that tore the country apart from the inside out. Family fighting against family. Brother again brother. Citizen against citizen. Dr. Jacob Thorncroft had been reluctant to leave his daughters, but his services were needed on the front lines, and he’d never refused to help those in needs.

For nearly eight months, their only correspondence with him had been through letters. He hadn’t made it home for Joanna’s sixteenth birthday, or Evie’s leading role as Juliet in the fall play at Chesterbrook Academy for Young Ladies, or Christmas.

But he’d always sent his letters, and his love, and there was never a doubt in Joanna’s mind that one day he would return to them.

And then one day he had.

In a pine box.

With his name scrawled at the bottom in pencil.

Once the initial shock had passed and the grief had changed from a knife being dragged through the flesh into a dull throbbing, Joanna and her sisters were dealt another blow. Without their father’s income, they could not afford to sustain the lifestyle they’d grown accustomed to.

At first, under the guidance of their grandmother, they made do by selling off the paintings and the furniture. Then the carriages and the horses. Finally, on a day stained by tears and helpless regret, they said goodbye to their beloved childhood manor and used the money garnered by the sale to purchase a two-bedroom cottage a mile out of the village.

It had been a difficult transition, made even harder by all the other changes that soon followed. Evie had to leave Chesterbrook mid-year as the tuition was prohibitively expense, Claire was never given the opportunity to attend, and Joanna halted all plans to go on a grand tour of France with her dearest friend, Louisa, a trip they’d been planning since they were practically in pinafores.

Their forced sacrifices allowed them to survive and, in the six years that followed, they learned to make do with simple things. But none of the sisters, with perhaps the exception of Claire, who was nearly too young to remember, forgot what it was like to have everything. Which was why, when Joanna and Evie came of marriageable age, they set their sights on making a fortuitous match that would help lift them out of poverty.

Or, at least Evie did.

“I knew you’d refuse Charles. I just knew it.” As different from Joanna in appearance as she was in demeanor, Evie had lustrous black hair she brushed exactly one hundred times each morning, a flawless, ivory countenance with nary a blemish or freckle to be seen, and blue eyes that held a hint of violet. She was also shorter, only five feet two inches to Joanna’s five foot nine, but what she lacked in height she more than made up for in temperament.

Born only eighteen months apart, the two sisters had begun quarreling in infancy and they’d never stopped. Or so that was how it often felt.

One issue that had been particularly contentious as of late was Joanna’s adamant refusal to take any of her many marriage proposals. Evie saw nothing wrong with marrying a man because of what he could provide, regardless if those provisions included love or not. And Joanna didn’t care what her future husband could provide so long as he loved her unconditionally.

Their differences in opinion, Joanna had long ago concluded, came from the very different ways they had healed after their father’s death. Whereas the unexpected passing of the sibling’s only remaining parent had made Joanna all the more determined to follow her heart, it had left Evie with a lingering sense of bitterness and longing. The middle Thorncroft sister wanted what she’d had to give up, and she was willing to do whatever it took to get it all back.

The beautiful house in the middle of town. A gleaming carriage that turned heads as it passed down the street. Hats and gowns and rooms filled with shoes. Material belongings that meant little to Joanna, and everything to Evie.

There was nothing wrong with either position, except that they were so very opposite there seemed to be no way a compromise could be reached. Added to that, their grandmother had tacitly refused to give her blessing for Evie to marry until Joanna found a husband first, and thus the sisters found themselves at each other’s throats more often than not.

“I did not want to refuse Charles.” Tossing her bonnet onto an empty table, Joanna reached to the nape of her neck and pulled out the pins holding her heavy coiffure in place. Giving a blissful sigh when her hair tumbled freely down her back, she surrendered herself to the nearest chair and kicked her feet up on a worn leather ottoman. Tiny dust plumes flew into the air, illuminated by rays of late morning sunlight trickling in through the curtainless windows.

“Then why did you?” Evie demanded.

“Because he didn’t give me any choice in the matter.” Joanna started to close her eyes, then opened them with a grimace when it became obvious by the tension simmering in the air that Evie had no intention of letting the matter drop. “I did not love him. He did not love me. What else is there to say? Of course, I declined his proposal. It would have been a disservice to both of us had I accepted.”

“What in the world does love have to do with anything?” Evie asked, unknowingly repeating what Charles had said nearly verbatim. “Charles Gaines is the wealthiest bachelor in all of Somerville. You would want for nothing as his wife. We would want for nothing. Surely you don’t have to be in love in order to see that.”

“You’re right, I don’t have to be love. But I do want to be in love.” When Joanna heard the patter of feet on the stairs, she sat up straight and greeted her youngest sister with a warm, affectionate smile. “There you are. I was wondering if you’d returned from the market yet.”

“Half an hour ago.” As fair as Evie was dark, Claire’s light blonde curls framed a delicate face with high arching brows, soft cheekbones, and a mouth shaped like a cupid’s bow. She had a sensitive nature, and a sweet heart, and was adored by all who knew her. “I was able to get more flour and eggs, but butter has gone up to nearly fifteen cents a pound.”

“Fifteen cents?” said Joanna incredulously. “That’s absurd! Mr. Hemphill acts as if his cows are churning out gold.”

The corners of Claire’s lips twitched. “For their sake, I’m glad they are not. That sounds as if it would be very uncomfortable. How was your stroll with Mr. Gaines?” Nudging Joanna’s feet aside, Claire sat on the edge of the ottoman. “Did he–”

“Ask her to marry him?” Evie interrupted with a glare at Joanna. “Yes, as a matter of fact, he did. I’ll give you three guesses as to what our dear sister said, but you’re only going to need one.”

Clair sighed. “Oh, Jo, not again. I was under the impression you liked Charles.”

“I did like him. Although his choice in pants was admittedly questionable.”

“How did he take the news?”

Leave it to Claire to worry about the man her sister had spurned.

“As well as can be expected, I suppose.” Joanna gave a small shrug. “He’ll be fine, I’m sure. There’s a line of women from here to Boston waiting to marry him.”

“Yes, but you were at the head of the line.” Like a cat with its hackles raised, Evie began to pace back and forth across the room, her skirts swishing angrily between her ankles. “You know Mr. Bridgeton has asked to court me. Not only is his father a senator, but he’s considering a run for the governorship at the end of next year! I could be a governor’s daughter-in-law. Think of all the high society I’d be able to entertain! Why, we’d probably even get to go to Washington and meet President Grant. But if I cannot accept Mr. Bridgeton’s proposal because you keep refusing yours, then there’s no point to it, is there?”

“How do you know Mr. Bridgeton would propose?” Joanna asked.

“Jo,” Claire chided gently. “That’s not very nice.”

“But it’s true. Who’s to say whether he and Evie would get on or not? After all, that’s the entire point of a courtship, isn’t it? To decide if the person bringing you flowers and reciting poetry under the full moon is someone you want to spend the rest of your life with.” Joanna brushed an auburn curl behind her ear. “For what it is worth, I’ve always found Mr. Bridgeton a tad dull.”

Evie stopped short. “Mr. Bridgeton is not dull. He is refined.”

“I believe if you look in Roget’s Thesaurus you’ll find that refined is another word for dull.”

“Oh, dear,” Claire murmured with a distressed glance between her sisters. “Can’t we just–”

“Why must you be such a brat?” Evie hissed.

Joanna’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t like to fight with her sister. But she couldn’t very well let an insult pass without returning it in kind. What sort of precedent would that set? Evie was already unbearable under the best of circumstances. Allowing her to get away with her abominable behavior would only make it worse.

“If anyone is being a brat here,” she said, jabbing her finger at Evie, “it’s you. I’ve every right to accept–or refuse–any marriage proposal given to me.”

“Not when your refusal has dire implications for the entire family!”

“What would you have me do?” she exclaimed. “Marry someone I don’t love?”

Evie set her jaw. “Do you love the roof over our heads? Do you love the food on our table? Do you love the clothes on our backs? Because if you don’t marry soon, and marry well, not being able to afford a pound of butter is going to be the least of our concerns.”

Joanna flicked a glance at Claire’s face, which had drained of all color, and then scowled at Evie, who at least had the good sense to appear somewhat contrite.

The elder sisters took no prisoners when they attacked each other, but it was never their intention to upset the baby of the family. Never mind that Claire had turned eighteen just last week. To Joanna and Evie, she would always be a little girl clutching her doll as she struggled to keep up with them on their various escapades.

By silent agreement, Joanna, Evie, and their grandmother had vowed to hide the worst of their financial woes from Claire. It was a burden they didn’t want her to carry. Not when her life was already so different from what Joanna and Evie’s had been at her age.

When Joanna was eighteen, the war hadn’t even started. There were rumblings. Whispers. News of a rebellion growing in the south. But Somerville had remained untouched, even well after the first battle that burned Charleston to the ground, and their lives had remained largely unchanged.

It wasn’t until their father gave them each a piece of chocolate and bid them farewell with a kiss upon their heads that the full weight of the war began to sink in. The enormity of what could be gained if the Union won. And what might be lost if it didn’t.

Even then, even when Joanna watched the dust kick up from the hooves of her father’s horse as he rode away until her eyes stung, she never imagined that would be the last time she’d ever see him. Certainly Claire, all gangly limbs and earnest questions, hadn’t known what would happen. And when it did, when the absolute worst occurred, Joanna and Evie tried the best they could to shield their sister from the grief, and the loss, and the devastation only a parent’s death could bring.

They’d protected her ever since.

Joanna knew that Claire was not oblivious. Her little sister understood they weren’t as wealthy as they’d once been. Heavens, a blind person could see that. Still, Joanna had taken great pains to shield Claire from the extent of their sacrifice. But a stain could only be covered by a rug for so long, and they’d sold off the last of the floor coverings months ago to pay for food.

“Don’t listen to Evie,” Joanna advised, giving Claire a nudge with her foot. “She’s always prone to dramatics. We’ve still plenty left from selling the house. We’ll be fine. It will all be fine.” But even to her own ears, her words sounded hollow. A collection of empty promises she had no way of keeping unless she did the one thing she couldn’t bring herself to do: marry for money instead of love.

If only Evie had been born first! She certainly had no such compunctions in regards to marrying a man for his wealth and social stature. But for reasons that had always baffled Joanna, their grandmother was insistent that her granddaughters marry in the order they’d entered the world. Which meant Joanna either needed to seriously reconsider Charles’ offer, or find another way to save the family from financial ruin.

Given Charles’ proclivity for silk pants, she had her hopes pinned on the latter.

“We cannot continue on with our heads buried in the sand.” Evie put her hands on her hips. “You know as well as I, and maybe it’s time Claire knew as well, that we’ve not enough to see us comfortably through the winter. What little we had was spent on new slate shingles for the roof last fall and rebuilding the summer kitchen after you burned it to the ground.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Joanna snapped. Even though it had happened last year, the topic of the summer kitchen–and its subsequent burning–was still a tender subject.

Joanna had been cooking (always a dangerous feat) when she found herself distracted by a fawn in the meadow across the way. She’d taken care to move the pot she was using off the fire before she flitted out to watch the young deer but, apparently, she hadn’t moved it far enough, and when the pot boiled over, the resulting heat from the steam caused a pile of straw to catch fire. The summer kitchen had gone up in flames despite Joanna’s best efforts to save it, and all she’d gotten for her trouble was a white puckered scar on the inside of her forearm from a floating ash.

It wasn’t often she made mistakes. At least, not of that magnitude. She would’ve liked to have forgotten the entire thing ever happened, but Evie had an uncanny knack for bringing it up at the absolute worst possible times.

Like right now.

“You left the pot on, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but–”

“Then you burned it down,” Evie said with unmistakable smugness.

If Joanna had that pot handy, she would have thrown it at Evie’s head. Unfortunately, she had to settle for her shoe. Evie ducked, and the ankle boot bounced harmlessly off the wall just as their grandmother entered the room carrying a basket of carrots she’d picked from the garden behind the house.

“My dears,” Ruth Thorncroft scolded, her thin gray brows gathering in disapproval over a hawkish nose. “It is not yet noon. Can we save the shoe throwing for after lunch?”

Joanna sank low in her chair. “Evie started it.”

“And I am finishing it.” Although small and slight in appearance, their grandmother had a will that was as strong as iron. A good thing, as she’d needed that will to see her through the death of her husband, the loss of her only child, and raising her three granddaughters as her own.

The matriarch of the Thorncroft family, Ruth was both stern and loving, strict and compassionate. When the sisters lost their mother to scarlet fever, she’d stepped in without hesitation, and had been caring for them ever since. She’d nursed their hurts, taught them their letters, and modeled the proper way to execute a curtsy. Joanna quite simply did not know how they would have gotten through the past few years without her unwavering support or wisdom, and her face heated beneath the scolding weight of Ruth’s stare.

“I didn’t actually hit her,” she muttered beneath her breath.

“Not for lack of trying, I’m sure.” Ruth clucked her tongue. “Pick up your boot, darling. We may live in a house the size of a pincushion, but the last I checked it wasn’t a barn.”

Obeying her grandmother’s request without argument, Joanna removed her remaining ankle boot before grabbing the one she’d thrown and adding them to the line of shoes beside the door. For a second, her attention lingered on the assortment of footwear, all of it scuffed and worn and patched.

Not too long ago, the leather would have had a shiny new finish and the buttons would have been covered in silk instead of cheap pewter. Another reminder, however slight, of what had once been before the war.

When the back of her throat tightened, Joanna made herself to turn around. The death of her father was not something she liked to dwell on. For while the general heartache had lessened over time, the razor sharp grief still remained, like a needle lost in the folds of a skirt.

There would be hours, days, even months where she did not miss him at all. Or, when she thought of him, it was only of their happy times together. Then out of nowhere, she would feel the stab of that pesky needle, and all the pain came rushing back.

Placing her hand at the base of her neck, she willed the cool tips of her fingers to soften the shards of glass within as she forced herself to slowly inhale through her nostrils and breathe out through her mouth.

Joanna had always experienced her emotions more keenly than those around her. Or at least, that was how it often seemed. Most likely, because she was incapable of disguising how she felt. If she was sad, she cried. If she was happy, she laughed. If she was angry, she threw shoes. Nobody ever had to guess what Joanna was feeling, because, for better or for worse, it was always right there on her face.

At the moment, the same could be said for Evie.

“I can only assume from the murderous look Evelyn is giving you from across the room–careful, dear, you don’t want your mouth to fix like that–you’ve left another broken heart in your wake?” Ruth asked Joanna as she set the basket of carrots aside and wiped her hands clean on the apron she wore over a faded green and white gingham dress.

“Charles’ heart wasfar from broken.” Tucking her grief aside, Joanna gave a snort. “I believe he was more upset about almost getting a grass stain on his pants.”

Ruth sat down in her favorite chair, a wooden rocker that had belonged to her grandmother, and drew a blanket across her lap. “As long as you were kind in your refusal, I see no reason to make a fuss.” She gave a pointed glance at Evie, who pursed her lips and looked away. “When you find the man you are meant to be with, he won’t let you go as easily as that.”

Joanna tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “Evie thinks I should have accepted his proposal.”

“Is that so?” Ruth murmured. “It’s such a lovely morning. Claire, do you mind opening a window? I do so enjoy when you can smell the sea in the air.”

While not considered a coastal town, Somerville was only a stone’s throw from the ocean, and on a clear day, Joanna could taste the sharp, tangy salt water on her tongue and hear the piercing cry of gulls circling the massive sailing ships docked at Boston Harbor.

“I think Joanna should have at least considered Charles’ offer,” Evie put in. Retreating to the staircase, she sat on the third step and scowled at Joanna, who scowled right back. “Especially considering our current circumstances.”

“And what circumstances are those?” Ruth asked mildly.

“It’s all right.” Having finally managed to wrench the window open, Claire turned around. “I…I know. About everything. You needn’t hide it from me anymore as if I were still a child.”

“No one is hiding anything from you,” Joanna protested even as guilt tickled her conscience, for that was precisely what they’d been doing. “We just didn’t want you to worry.”

“Then you should have given me more money for market,” Claire said, her lips twisting in a wry smile, “and I would have been able to afford the butter.”

“How much was the butter?” Ruth queried.

“Fifteen cents a pound.”

“That much! Mr. Hemphill certainly thinks highly of his cows, doesn’t he?” Their grandmother shook her head. “At that rate, we’d do better to buy a cow and churn the butter ourselves.”

“Which is exactly why Joanna could have said yes to Charles.” Evie’s voluminous skirt, complete with a large silk bustle, rustled loudly as she stood up.

Unlike Joanna and Claire, who had taken to wearing simpler garments now that they no longer entertained at the house (even with just the four of them the parlor/foyer/guest bedroom was noticeably crowded), Evie still insisted on dressing her very best every single day.

Appearance, she insisted, made all the difference between genteel poverty and actual poverty. Never mind that they hardly had two nickels to rub together. If someone saw Evie walking down the street with her hair perfectly pinned beneath a velvet half-bonnet and enough ruffles on her gown to suffocate an elephant, they’d naturally assume she heralded from a wealthy family. Which, of course, was exactly what she wanted them to think.

For her part, Joanna had never much cared for the opinions of others, regardless of whether they were friends or foes. The intricate and ever-changing rules of fashion had always eluded her. She’d much rather spend her time doing than dressing.

Yet another reason why she and Evie rarely saw eye to eye.

“How many times do I have to say I did not love him?” Joanna wondered aloud. “I’m beginning to sound like a parrot.”

Evie crossed her arms. “You act as if love is the most important thing in the world. As if it is something that will pay for itself. But it isn’t, and it won’t. Women have been making strategic marriages to advance themselves both economically and socially for centuries. It is not a foreign concept.”

“And I suppose if one of these women jumped off a bridge, you’d do that as well?” Joanna bit out as she struggled to rein in her temper. She’d had just about enough of Evie’s nonsense, and she was tired of listening to it.

“Might we all try to get along?” Claire asked timidly. “I’m sure if we–”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Evie scoffed, glaring at Joanna. “I’d ruin my dress.”

“Your dress. Your dress.” Joanna threw her hands in the air. “Because that’s all you care about, hairstyles and dresses and pretty things.”

“What’s wrong with pretty things?”

“They’re useless!”

“I really think–” Claire began.

“Are you saying I’m useless?” Evie’s eyes flashed a dangerous shade of blue. “Just because we like different things doesn’t mean what I like is any less valuable or unimportant. That’s your problem, you know.”

Anger boiled in Joanna’s blood, hot and thick. No one could rile her up quite like Evie. She almost wished they were children again, so that she might resort to yanking on Evie’s braids. But the last time she’d tried to pull Evie’s hair in the heat of an argument, Ruth had snapped a ruler across Joanna’s knuckles and told her in no uncertain terms that she was too old for such antics and, as a young lady, if she wanted to attack or defend herself she would have to learn how to do it with words.

The issue with words was that they required both thought and discipline. Joanna, on the other hand, had always preferred to act first and consider the potential consequences of those actions later.

“What, exactly, is my problem?” She advanced on Evie until they were nose to nose. Well, almost nose to nose. Joanna was several inches taller than both her sisters. Taller than almost every woman in the village, truth be told. “My string bean” her father had called her with great affection, and while other women might have felt self-conscious about their height being so different from their peers, Joanna had never given it a second thought.

“You think you’re always right just because you’re the eldest.” A storm cloud had gathered between Evie’s brows and lightning shot between them, leaving a groove in the middle of her flawlessly plucked arches. “And because you think you’re always right, you also believe things are just going to magically work out. But they’re not, and your foolish optimism has blinded you to the stark reality of our situation.”

“I’d rather have my optimism than your cynicism!” Joanna retorted.

“Would you rather starve than marry?”

“If it meant marrying someone I didn’t love, then maybe I would!”

“That’s absurd.”

“Perhaps, but no more absurd than trading my freedom for a fancy house high on a hill.” She gave a willful toss of her head. “I will not marry for any reason other than love. You cannot convince me otherwise.”

“And you call me dramatic?” Evie said. “What freedoms would you be giving up by marrying Charles Gaines? The freedom to live in this tiny little shack while everyone mocks us in the village? The freedom to not be able to afford butter or new clothes or wood for the winter? The freedom to not send Claire to finishing school?”

“I’d be giving up the freedom to be myself! Charles and all the other suitors preceding him would see me suffocated in beautiful gowns and tea parties and luncheons. They’d parade me about as if I were some fine show horse before they gave me a carrot and put me away while they went to smoke cigars and give themselves pats on the back for how well-behaved their wives are.”

Evie looked genuinely puzzled. “And what’s wrong with that?”

“It’s notfor me. If I could find a wealthy man who had all the traits I desired, and who loved me for who I am now instead of who he wants to mold me into, then I would marry him in a second!” Joanna cried passionately. “But if such a man exists, he isn’t here in Somerville. Trust me.” Her mouth flattened. “I’ve searched.”

“Well you’d best keep searching, because we’ve no other way to keep the creditors at bay.”

“I–I could find someone to marry,” Claire interceded hesitantly.

“No,” Joanna and Evie said in unison.

Claire frowned. “But the butcher’s son, Eric, has been slipping two extra slices of bacon into our order.” Her face was overcome by a rosy blush. “I think…I think he might be sweet on me.”

Joanna shook her head. “Free bacon does not a marriage make.”

“But–”

“Joanna will be the first to marry,” Ruth announced, finally breaking her silence as she set her blanket aside and stood up from the rocking chair. “I’ve few rules in this house, but that is one which you all will abide by. Furthermore, I’m weary of all this squabbling. You two,”–she pointed at Joanna and Evie–“have worn my nerves to the bone with your constant bickering. If your father could see you now, he’d be most disappointed in how you are treating each other.”

Shame burned the back of Joanna’s neck.

There was not a crueler thing that Ruth could have said.

But she was right.

If Father could see them now, he would be disappointed.

He’d always been so proud of how his daughters had gotten along. Oh, they’d had their occasional disagreements. Three girls under a single roof, how could they not? But they’d never fought like this. And never over things of such a personal nature.

The uncertainty of the war, the death of their father, and the loss of their home and the life they knew had combined to create the perfect storm of emotions that neither Joanna nor Evie knew how to navigate. The sad truth, Joanna assumed, was that they’d grown so accustomed to pointing out each other’s differences that they’d forgotten how to celebrate their similarities.

On a hard swallow, she met Evie’s gaze.

Her sister’s eyes were wide, wider than normal, and there was a suspicious glint in them even though Evie refused to let herself cry (she was convinced that tears caused wrinkles).

“I never liked the way Charles always used his salad fork for the main course,” Evie said with a sniff. “You couldn’t possibly marry someone who did not use their silverware in the correct order. What would people say?”

It wasn’t a perfect apology. It wasn’t even really an apology at all. But the intent was there, and that was all that mattered.

“Not to mention his choice in fashion,” Joanna said.

Evie blinked. “Are you referring to his salmon trousers?”

“Are they salmon? I thought they were pink.”

“Salmon,” Evie confirmed. “And imported straight from Paris.”

“You don’t say.”

“Have we managed to reach a compromise?” Ruth asked with a cool, measured stare at her oldest granddaughters.

Joanna glanced at Evie, who gave a small, nearly imperceptible nod.

“Yes,” she said, “I believe we have.”

“Good,” said Ruth matter-of-factly. “I realize all of you girls are concerned, and you’ve every right to be. The truth of the matter is that our situation is precarious. But no one is going to marry someone they do not want to. Nor will they be pressured into doing so by any member of this family. Is that understood?”

“Then what would you have us do?” Claire asked softly.

Ruth hesitated. She seemed to be battling back and forth with something, before she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “You can sell the ring.”

All three sisters gave an audible gasp and looked at each other.

After a moment of stunned silence, Joanna was the first to speak.

“You mean...Mother’s ring?” she said disbelievingly.

Ruth lifted an eyebrow. “Is there another priceless ruby ring I am unaware of in your possession?”

“No,” said Evie. “It’s just that…”

“It’s Mother’s ring,” Claire finished.

Found in a box in the attic seven weeks after their father passed when they were packing up their belongings, the ring in question was an enormous heart-shaped ruby with glittering diamonds on either side. They knew it had belonged to their mother because her name had been inscribed on the inside of the gold band.

Anne, my love ~ JW

The identity of “JW”, where the ring had come from, and why it had been hidden all these years...well, that remained a mystery.

When Joanna had first discovered the ring, tucked away with a lock of their mother’s hair (red, just like her own), she and her sisters had discussed selling it. But still reeling from the loss of their father, they hadn’t been able to part with something that had belonged to their mother.

Even if it was something they knew nothing about.

Late at night, with nothing else to fill her mind, Joanna had closed her eyes and wondered...but she’d never allowed, nor wanted, her mind to travel down a road where her mother had been given a piece of jewelry worth a large fortune from a man whose initials did not match her husband’s.

Thus the ring’s very existence had been largely–and purposefully–ignored.

Until now.

“The ring is worth an immense amount. I’ve never seen a stone of its equal in all my years.” Ruth walked to the window. “You would need to take it to a jeweler in Boston. I have one I can recommend. No merchant here in Somerville would be able to give you even half its value. But if you went into the city, and held out for a higher price, the money earned would be more than enough to see us comfortably through the next few years.”

An unpleasant feeling pooled in Joanna’s belly. Not quite guilt, not quite excitement, but an uncomfortable combination of the two that tasted sour on the back of her tongue. Like the time she’d bitten into a blackberry that wasn’t yet ripe.

“I’m not sure…” she said with a glance at Evie, who appeared equally uneasy.

Ruth peered at them over her shoulder. Her gaze was sharp, and uncharacteristically calculating. “Evie, you could purchase that beautiful silk shawl you’ve swooned over every time we’ve gone into the village. Joanna, you could go on that trip with your friend. And Claire, you could start up your singing lessons again.” Her gaze softened as she looked at her youngest granddaughter. “You’ve a rare talent, my dear, and I should like to see you pursue it.”

The praise brought a blush to Claire’s cheeks. “Thank you, Grandmother.”

“I suppose…” Joanna hesitated. Here, at last, was the opportunity she’d been hoping for. The chance to fill their pockets and alleviate their financial burdens without having to marry a man like Charles. Still, it didn’t seem right. To sell something that had never belonged to them. To sell something their mother had taken such pains to keep secret. But then, what other choice did they have? “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to take the ring to Boston and see how much it is actually worth. After that, we can decide whether we’d like to sell it or not.”

“I agree,” said Evie.

“But it’s the last thing we have of hers,” Claire protested. “Except for her lock of hair, and the painting.”

Joanna’s gaze automatically went to the brick fireplace on the other side of the room. There, propped on top of the old wooden mantel, was the only painting they had of their mother. The commissioned artwork had been a wedding gift. It depicted Anne and Jacob Thorncroft on the day of their marriage. Their mother, stunning in white with her auburn hair hidden beneath a veil, was looking directly at the artist while their father, handsome in a black suit, gazed adoringly at his bride. Both of them were glowing with happiness, the love and devotion they felt towards each other all but radiating off the canvas.

Since she was a little girl, Joanna couldn’t remember a day that had gone by where she hadn’t paused whatever she was doing to admire the painting. She’d memorized every brush stroke, from the slight curve of her mother’s mouth to the sparkle in her father’s eyes. It was a beautiful piece of artwork. But more than that, it was a glimpse into the past. A glimpse at a mother she could hardly remember. A glimpse at what awaited Joanna if she could find her own true love.

“Mother would never want us to marry someone we didn’t love.” Of this, Joanna was absolutely certain. “For that reason, I believe she would approve of us selling the ring.”

Claire bit her lip. “How could you possibly know that?”

Joanna gestured at the painting. “Because I can see how much Mother loved Father. And the last thing she’d want is for us to commit ourselves to a husband out of obligation or necessity. That’s not to say we will part with the ring. But if we did, I don’t think she would look poorly upon us for it.”

“You’re right,” said Evie.

Joanna nearly fell over. “I’m sorry, what?”

Evie rolled her eyes. “You needn’t look shocked.”

“I am shocked.” She pressed the back of her hand to Evie’s temple. “How are you feeling? Any hot or cold flashes? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Very amusing,” Evie said before she swatted Joanna’s arm away.

“Then you’ll go to Boston?” Ruth asked.

Joanna and Evie nodded.

After a long pause, Claire did the same.

For once, all three Thorncroft sisters were in agreement.

If only they knew how much that unity was going to change all of their lives...forever.