“Your letter said ‘simple life, honest work, small farm needing a woman’s touch.’”
“I know what my letter said.”
“Then you lied.”
Silence. Behind them, the older children were helping the younger ones into the wagon. Loss was crying. Lucy was trying to comfort her. Patrick was arguing with Samuel about who got to sit where. Martha had climbed into Rosie’s lap and refused to move. Normal sounds, children sounds. The sounds of her family surviving one more minute, one more hour, one more day.
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