A Blessed Song for Their Love by Olivia Haywood
Chapter Three
Wilmington, Delaware
A few days later...
Rosaline dunked the scrubbing brush into the pail of soapy water and continued to scrub the wooden boards of the grand entrance hall on her hands and knees.
She had rolled her sleeves up to her elbows and positioned a woolen cloth under her knees to protect the fabric of her black uniform, and it served as an additional buffer to polish the floor as she scooted along, ingenuity that had thus far gone unnoticed by her employers.
Her uniform wasn’t in the best condition to begin with. The fabric had already faded after years of continual labor and washing. Mrs. Voss insisted on Rosaline paying for new clothes out of her own wages, meager as they were, so it was better to take precautions.
Her hair was pinned back loosely under her white cap, with a few loose tendrils defying the clips. She had to tuck them behind her ears now and then as they fell in her face.
“Ah, there you are girl. I have some good news,” Mr. Voss broke her concentration as he strode into the hall, his boots muddied after his morning ride, destroying all her hard work with the scrubbing brush.
Rosaline quickly stood and curtsied before addressing him. She’d been walking on eggshells since the night of her performance in the town hall, putting her best foot forward in an attempt to avoid further hunger. “Good day, Sir.”
He didn’t bother returning the greeting. “I have managed to procure another opportunity for you to sing.” He tugged on the fingers of his riding gloves and pulled them off, placing them next to his top hat and riding crop on the hall table. “I’m not sure if your last performance can be salvaged unless you heed my instructions and sing the songs I tell you to.”
“Yes sir,” she said compliantly.
“One of the other farm owners has asked if I would allow you to sing at their party. You will of course have to stay at their lodgings on your own. I can’t spare the time to go with you.”
He looked her up and down with distaste. “This time you will have to practice the words until you can sing them in your sleep. The consequences will be severe if you embarrass me like that in public again.” He glared at her, raising his eyebrows. “There are thousands of girls who would envy the opportunity to sing in public, let alone work in a grand house such as this,” he said before turning his back on her and walking towards the stairs.
“Yes Sir.” She bit back the retort that she would gladly trade places with any one of them, given half the chance.
Just then Mrs. Voss came into the hall looking for Rosaline.
A lady of around fifty with a shapeless frame, her white-blonde hair was streaked with grey and neatly pinned back into a bun. Her eyes were a greyish blue that would have been very pretty if they ever showed a hint of kindness, and she was wearing her white day dress that highlighted her fair complexion. Enid Voss had once been the talk of the county, a prized debutant that Mr. Voss had snapped up and claimed as his own. It was not a love match, but one born of greed and grounded in a concern for status.
She paused on her way out of the study when she caught sight of her husband. “Good morning dear, did you have a good ride?” she asked?
“Quite satisfactory, thank you,” he said, passing her on his way up the stairs without as much as a second glance. “I have warned the girl of her upcoming performance, Enid. I leave it to you to make her presentable.”
Mrs. Voss looked to Rosaline standing idly beside her pale of soapy water. “Are you not finished yet, girl? I have been looking everywhere for you,” she barked, her voice losing the honeyed tone it took on when addressing her husband. “Hurry up. I need you to fetch some things from the market. I’ve left the list on my desk.”
She scrutinized Rosaline from head to toe. “And for heaven’s sake, fix your hair and cap before you leave. You look a fright! Mr. Voss is right. You need tidying up. Forever with that loose hair.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Rosaline curtsied as Enid Voss made her way up the stairs.
Lowering herself to the floor she pushed her sleeves up further and continued to scrub in haste, the promise of being able to leave the ranch for a few hours driving her on.
***
Rosaline tried to hum the words of the song Mr. Voss had made her memorize as she made her way to the market. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t make them sound right. The words sounded dull and empty.
She’d rushed through her morning chores, tidied up her hair and thrown on her plain cloak and bonnet before rushing out the door.
She always jumped at the opportunity to leave the farm. Somehow, today was different. She’d lost the will to sing in the solitude that the roads leading to town had always afforded her. The open planes of grass and fields of daisies that stretched before her were doing little to lift her spirits. Not even the cows made her smile, though she usually greeted them by name as she passed the many farmer’s fields.
The dirt road was empty as she picked her way over the rocks and holes, her wicker basket for the groceries swaying gently over her arm. Sighing she gave up on the new song and switched to an old familiar hymn, but that didn’t sound right either. Her heart was heavy as she neared the town. In the eight years she’d worked for the Voss family, she had never had difficulty singing a hymn.
The words usually flowed effortlessly without thought, but all she could hear in her mind at present was the mocking voice of Mr. Voss belittling her talent. “Lord, I need your help,” she prayed as she looked at the clear blue sky. “My heart is heavy, longing for change.” She would often talk to God whenever she was alone. The thought of him hearing her brought her comfort.
She dreaded the upcoming event Mr. Voss had mentioned. Staying in a stranger’s home was even worse than performing at the horrid town hall. She dreaded the thought of having to sleep in a strange bed next to other maids she didn’t know. At least the confines of her tiny room provided her with privacy, if not comfort.
Lord, please don’t let them force me onto a stanger's farm. Intervene Lord, and stop that plan before it happens.
A gentle breeze rustled her cloak as it blew past her into the town. She could hear children laughing and playing the closer she got.
“Good morning Rosaline!” the fish peddler called from his cart as he passed her on the road, his horses kicking up dust with their hooves.
“Good morning,” she smiled and called after the cart. She was well-liked in town for her gentle spirit and kindly manner.
The breeze was picking up and blew the newsagent’s papers across the road, to the old man’s great annoyance as he chased them down with the help of some laughing children. Rosaline smiled at the scene and climbed the steps that lead to the mercantile store.
The bell jingled as she pushed open the door and stepped inside. She blinked a few times, adjusting her eyes to the dimmer light of the store.
The shop was empty besides a woman milling about between the isles of goods. Picking up this and that as she looked at the labels.
“Well if it isn’t my favorite customer,” Mr. Granger said by way of greeting from behind his cash register as he wiped his hands on his striped apron. “And what can I do for you today?”
Mr. Granger was a kind man in his late forties with a slight overbite and pointed nose. His arms were toned from years of lifting the heavy sacks of flour and sugar that were always neatly stacked in his shop. He kept a clean store with tidy rows of goods and prided himself on using honest scales.
“Good day, Mr. Granger.” Rosaline smiled and handed him the list of groceries from her apron pocket as she placed the basket on the counter that ran the length of the store. “The usual, please.”
He took the list and examined it through the spectacles that hung low on his nose. His red hair was thinning on top, making his bald spot visible as he bent his head.
“Right, that all seems in order. I’ll have this for you in a jiffy,” he said pleasantly as he took the basket from the counter.
She looked around at the canned goods that were stacked from wall to wall as she waited for her order to be filled. The shop was well stocked with household goods. It even boasted an assortment of foreign spices that Mr. Granger displayed on shelves behind the counter.
“Is that Rosaline I heard?” came a cheerful voice from the back of the shop.
Rosaline smiled at her lively friend as she came bouncing forward and hooked a plump arm through her own.
“You don’t mind if we go for a walk, do you Pa?” she called to her father without waiting for a reply. She pulled her friend out the door and back onto the busy street.
Donna Granger was Rosaline’s best and only friend. She was at least a head shorter than Rosaline and her hair was a mass of coppery curls that couldn’t be tamed beneath the frilly cap she wore when she helped her father in the store. She was plumper than her friend, never having to go without a meal in her life. Her pale skin was spattered with freckles and her sparkling eyes were hazel brown.
“Come. Let’s take a walk in the field,” she suggested, and proceeded to drag her friend away by the arm.
Rosaline knew her friend all too well and let her lead the way.
They left the street and entered the empty field that lay behind the shop.
The daisies were in bloom, and Rosaline bent to pick one up. She plucked at the white petals as Donna chattered away about their Sunday tea and asked if she would like to come.
“Is there something on your mind?” Donna nudged her after a few minutes. “I’ve been talking and talking here and you haven’t said a word. ”
“Hmmm?”
“Where is your head, Rosaline Berry? I was asking if you wanted to come for tea on Sunday when you have your half-day.”
“Oh, that sounds lovely. I’ll be there,” Rosaline said distractedly.
Donna stopped walking and faced her friend. “Did something happen?”
Rosaline gave in and told her friend about the night at the hall and how her heavy heart had been preventing her from singing ever since. She talked of her concerns now that Mr. Voss had started hiring her out to other farm owners to sing at their events.
“I know I should be grateful. Mr. And Mrs. Voss have given me so much. But I’m struggling to be content,” she sighed.
Donna’s mouth hung open as she gaped at her friend. “Grateful? Rosaline honestly! There are beggars in the poorhouses that get treated better than you do!”
“It’s because of them that I didn’t end up in a poorhouse, Donna. I owe them my loyalty.”
Donna gave her friend a pitying look. “Do you know what I think?” She took her friend’s arm again as they continued their stroll.
“What?”
“We need to find you a way off that farm. I’ve been thinking about this for a while. There’s no hope of you ever meeting a husband while you’re there. The Vosses keep far too close an eye on you for that. Your only hope is to become a mail-order bride. There was Mrs. Swinton who lost her husband. She answered an advertisement in the paper and now lives a happy life married to her new husband. It made me think of you when I heard the story.”
Rosaline gave her a puzzled look.
“You hear about them all the time these days. Men seeking wives post an ad in the papers, and girls from across the country apply and leave to be their brides. Just think! You could have a frightfully fun adventure!” Donna explained. “Don’t you want a new life? A husband and children to call your own?”
Rosaline sighed. “I’ve honestly stopped hoping for a family of my own. I feel I should be content with the life I have now. I’m sure I could find work on another ranch, but marriage and children of my own?” She looked off into the distance. “That seems like a fairytale.”
“Well, I want better for you.” Her friend stopped and gripped both her hands in hers. “I want you to marry a good man with a nice house. I want you to be marvelously happy and have a dozen children!”
Rosaline laughed as her friend danced and twirled her around in a circle. She could always count on Donna to cheer her up.
They twirled and laughed until they had to stop and catch their breath.
“We better get back or they’ll send out a search party soon,” Donna said breathlessly, her round cheeks blushing pink. “I’ll race you!”
They picked up their skirts and ran back to the store.
***
Half an hour later Rosaline was on her way back to the ranch. She used both her hands to carry the basket laden with goods in front of her.
A breeze was scattering the forgotten pieces of newspaper that the poor old man hadn't managed to catch. Bits were torn and blowing over fields or stuck in shrubbery along the way.
She stopped and put down her basket as a piece caught in the hem of her cloak. Bending down she retrieved the paper and casually glanced at the heading.
“Mail-order bride.”
Her heart leaped into her throat.
“Widower seeking godly wife to join his family.
Marriage of convenience.
Wifely duties will include cooking, cleaning, and raising a baby.
Looking forward to receiving your reply.”
She stood in disbelief, looking at the torn piece of paper in her hand. Was this a sign? she wondered. Rosaline felt a tug in her spirit. She folded the piece of paper and tucked it carefully into the pocket of her apron before retrieving her basket and walking back to the farm.
***
“There you are girl,” Mrs. Voss barked at her as she entered the hall carrying the basket of goods. “Mr. Voss has had a letter just now. In a month’s time, you are to stay at another farm and perform at the tavern down the road. You had better be prepared.”
Rosaline’s heart sank into the pit of her stomach. They were going to send her off, bouncing from house to house to sing in front of strangers without a care for her wellbeing. The thoughts of everything that could happen to her while staying at a stranger’s house made her ill. Her hand slipped to the scrap of newspaper in her pocket as Mrs. Voss’ heels clicked on the hardwood floors on her way out.