Prologue
How did a woman know her life was truly coming undone?
For me, it was the moment I found myself staring down at a mail-order advertisement by candlelight.
I wasn't even sure how we got here.
Well, that was a bald-faced lie, wasn't it? I knew exactly how it had happened.
The British invaded. Pa went off to fight even though both Ma and I had begged him to stay at home on the farm with us.
Then, just as we got into the swing of things, got a handle on the farm, the animals and the planting, Ma had gotten the wasting disease, and I was forced to watch her wither away to nothing while we waited for news from Pa.
News that never came. Not from him anyway.
We were informed, with a very stoic letter in the post, that he'd been shot and killed in the Battle of Rooiwal.
Not long after I had to say goodbye to Ma, too.
It was like she'd been holding on in hope that he'd return, and when those hopes were dashed, she'd given up.
Now I was faced with the harsh truth that I either had to take a husband from town, or pack up my life and roll the dice on some stranger who promised stability, and perhaps—if heaven smiled kindly on me—something a bit more special than survival.
There was no way I was taking a husband from the pathetic boy-men that were still left in town. They didn't know their asshole from their elbows and were so full of spit and vinegar from losing the Boer War. So many of them were bitter and could focus on nothing other than their rebellions.
And as previously mentioned, they were nothing more than children. We'd lost so many good men.
The candle sputtered, filling the kitchen with a faint stink of smoke. I pressed my forehead against the table, the old wood scarred from years of use, Ma's bread-kneading, and my own restless doodles when I should have been doing sums. Now the house was too quiet.
I'd never hear Ma humming my favorite tunes, or Pa's boots scuffing along the floor when he came in for his lunch.
All that was left was me, a few pitiful animals, and crops that already looked like they were failing in the harsh summer sun.
Emotion bubbled inside my chest, the tears threatening to fall, even though I willed them away. There was no point in letting emotion get the best of me. Not now.
I stayed there, my head against the table for a moment, deep breathing as I made peace with my choice, before pulling closer a paper and pencil to write my reply to the advertisement that would shape my future. The pencil trembled in my fingers as I started crafting my response.
Each word was a gamble, a ticket out of despair or a step into a life I could not yet imagine. My heart thudded with fear, but beneath it, a small spark of hope stirred. For the first time since I had to bury Ma, I let myself imagine a future beyond this empty farm.
With that thought, I pressed the pencil harder against the paper, committing myself to a path I could never take back.