Springfield, Massachusetts

1881

The woman had bled to death under Doctor Elias Robertson's knife. Whether she was lying on an operating table or not, it didn't matter. She was the dead wife of a local judge, a powerful man with many connections.

Her father would never admit it but Cordelia Robertson knew there was more to the incident than a slip of the wrist. She had seen the empty syringes in the closet of his medical practice. Father's limp had become more exaggerated of late with a Confederate bullet still lodged deep in his hip. His morphine addiction was understandable but what had happened was inexcusable. Now their whole life in Springfield would cease to exist.

"Please see that those boxes are packed tight with sawdust," Cordelia instructed, brushing a stray, charcoal curl from her forehead. "They are fragile."

The tap of Father's cane sounded across the threshold. He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder but Cordelia did not turn from tucking the last of his medical volumes into a pine box. He sighed but she did not look at him.

"I received word that they are expecting us by the end of the month," he ventured before turning to cough into his handkerchief. "It was wise of you to suggest contacting your mother's cousin. We won't see much of him but he has been most helpful."

Cordelia nodded coolly and reached out for another heavy bound book. The July sun flooded the nearby window, shadows of curious folk peeping in shivered on the floorboards. By now the whole county knew of their shame as they were shunned, driven out of the business and finally out of the state. The judge whose wife had died was not a merciful man and he had done everything in his power to tear down her father's reputation as a physician.

One of the movers stumbled and Cordelia shot him a stern look. "Be careful, I said."

"Dee-"

"Yes father?" She turned towards him, not meeting his eyes.

"What would I do without you?"

He gently grasped her chin till she looked at him. His steel gray eyes that she shared were warm but distant as though the events of the past weeks had left him detached from their world. All the while she was alone and open raw to it, suffering through the gossip and snubs. None of their old friends from Springfield society would see them off and Cordelia was certain that none would miss them.

Doctor Robertson was dragging them away to tend the people of the Tug River Valley on the border between Kentucky and Virginia. They were blessed to have found a job as they had been run out of any other option in the state of Massachusetts. A distant cousin had his own practice in the area and had the connections to set them up in the middle of nowhere with no prospects at all for her future. There was no way Cordelia would lower herself to marry some low bred southern farmer, part of the same people who had shot her father in the war.

"You are so much like your mother," Father conceded when she didn't reply. He let his hand drop and shook his head. "Your expectations are so high. But try not force them on those around you. I fear you'll only be disappointed."

As he hobbled away, Cordelia rubbed the back of her neck. Her shoulders slumped from carrying the weight for her small broken family. That was one blessing. Her mother wasn't alive to witness their downfall. Moving towards the window, she peered out into the busy street.

Carriages jostled down the cobblestone. One stopped at the bank across the street. A figure paused at the entrance of the marble columns and glanced over his shoulder at her window as if he knew she was standing there. Marshall Rogers, the senator's grandson, met her eyes. If everything hadn't happened, she might have been engaged to him by the end of the summer. His lips stiffened.

Cordelia swept away from the window before he could snub her. He certainly would have done so. Even if the man had been a suitor during her one and only failed season after her debut, he was still a part of society. Something she would never exist within again.

Marshall Rogers was not going to rescue her from the wilds with a proposal. She would merely have to become resigned to her fate, one far worse than death.