Chapter 1
Brambleville, Kansas
April 1902
O h, her hair! Daisy Forrester slapped the brush onto the scarred top of the bureau and glared at her reflection in the mirror. Why hadn’t she left it alone? All the brushing, intended to tame her flaming-red coils into a sleek, smooth cap, had instead created a wild, fuzzy mess. Turning from the mirror, she dug a faded calico bonnet from the top bureau drawer and jammed it over her head. She flicked a hopeful glance at the mirror. Yes, the bonnet covered her hair.
But of course it didn’t hide her plain face.
Closing her eyes, she tied the bonnet strings so tightly they cut into the underside of her chin. But she didn’t care. If she found no pleasure in her own reflection, why would anyone else want to look upon her? The tighter the bonnet, the more of her it would hide. Her morning toilette complete, she trudged to the bed and poked Marion on the shoulder. She might have poked a little harder than was necessary to waken her roommate, but the long locks of spun gold spilling across Marion’s pillow seemed to mock her.
Marion sat up with a start, her big blue eyes blinking in confusion. Her bleary gaze settled on Daisy. First she squinted, then she formed an O of surprise with her rosy lips, and finally she began to laugh. “What do you have on your head?”
Daisy fingered the unembellished brim of the gray calico bonnet—the ugliest one from the last “benevolence barrel” sent by ladies from town—and scowled at the younger girl. “Are you so sleepy you don’t recognize a sunbonnet when you see one? It’s time to get up. This is your week to help with breakfast.” Daisy helped with breakfast every week. And with lunch, supper, gardening, sewing, rocking the babies … Whatever task Ma Jonnson needed, Daisy did without a word of complaint.
Marion flopped back against the pillow and groaned. “I hate kitchen duty. I’d rather work in the barn.” Propping herself up on her elbows, the ten-year-old sent a hopeful look at Daisy. “Do you think my new parents will let me help with the horses and cows instead of making me cook and wash dishes?”
The innocent question stabbed Daisy. During her nine years at the Dunnigan Orphans’ Asylum, she’d watched dozens of children skip out the door, holding hands with their adoptive parents. But not once had anyone indicated a desire to make her their daughter. Parents only wanted petite, comely children like Marion, not gangly, homely ones like Daisy.
“I think most people who adopt girls your age want help in the kitchen.”
Marion’s bright expression faded. Twin tears winked in her eyes.
Daisy hung her head as guilt smote her. Just because no one wanted her didn’t mean she should be spiteful toward those who were wanted. She sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed Marion’s thick, tangled locks from her cheek. “But didn’t I hear your new father tell you that you’d have a pony at your house? So I’m sure you’ll have time in the barn, too.”
The tears disappeared, and Marion’s smile returned. “I can’t wait until the end of the month when I get to go to my new house and have my very own pony. It’ll be a girl pony, and I’ll name herDaffodil. I’ll ride her every day, and I’ll feed her carrots or apples, and I’ll braid her mane, and she’ll love me so much she’ll never leave me.” The girl’s tone turned dreamy.
A shaft of pain pierced Daisy’s middle. No matter what she did, no matter how helpful she was or how cheerful or how good, no one had ever loved her enough to remain in her life. Not her father, who’d left before she was even born, nor her mother, who disappeared after leaving her with her grandparents. Not Grandma and Grandpop, who delivered her to the asylum’s porch and rode away without a backward glance. Not even Ma and Pa Jonnson, who’d told her only last night she’d have to leave the asylum when her sixteenth birthday arrived next month. They’d seemed
Brambleville, Kansas
April 1902
O h, her hair! Daisy Forrester slapped the brush onto the scarred top of the bureau and glared at her reflection in the mirror. Why hadn’t she left it alone? All the brushing, intended to tame her flaming-red coils into a sleek, smooth cap, had instead created a wild, fuzzy mess. Turning from the mirror, she dug a faded calico bonnet from the top bureau drawer and jammed it over her head. She flicked a hopeful glance at the mirror. Yes, the bonnet covered her hair.
But of course it didn’t hide her plain face.
Closing her eyes, she tied the bonnet strings so tightly they cut into the underside of her chin. But she didn’t care. If she found no pleasure in her own reflection, why would anyone else want to look upon her? The tighter the bonnet, the more of her it would hide. Her morning toilette complete, she trudged to the bed and poked Marion on the shoulder. She might have poked a little harder than was necessary to waken her roommate, but the long locks of spun gold spilling across Marion’s pillow seemed to mock her.
Marion sat up with a start, her big blue eyes blinking in confusion. Her bleary gaze settled on Daisy. First she squinted, then she formed an O of surprise with her rosy lips, and finally she began to laugh. “What do you have on your head?”
Daisy fingered the unembellished brim of the gray calico bonnet—the ugliest one from the last “benevolence barrel” sent by ladies from town—and scowled at the younger girl. “Are you so sleepy you don’t recognize a sunbonnet when you see one? It’s time to get up. This is your week to help with breakfast.” Daisy helped with breakfast every week. And with lunch, supper, gardening, sewing, rocking the babies … Whatever task Ma Jonnson needed, Daisy did without a word of complaint.
Marion flopped back against the pillow and groaned. “I hate kitchen duty. I’d rather work in the barn.” Propping herself up on her elbows, the ten-year-old sent a hopeful look at Daisy. “Do you think my new parents will let me help with the horses and cows instead of making me cook and wash dishes?”
The innocent question stabbed Daisy. During her nine years at the Dunnigan Orphans’ Asylum, she’d watched dozens of children skip out the door, holding hands with their adoptive parents. But not once had anyone indicated a desire to make her their daughter. Parents only wanted petite, comely children like Marion, not gangly, homely ones like Daisy.
“I think most people who adopt girls your age want help in the kitchen.”
Marion’s bright expression faded. Twin tears winked in her eyes.
Daisy hung her head as guilt smote her. Just because no one wanted her didn’t mean she should be spiteful toward those who were wanted. She sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed Marion’s thick, tangled locks from her cheek. “But didn’t I hear your new father tell you that you’d have a pony at your house? So I’m sure you’ll have time in the barn, too.”
The tears disappeared, and Marion’s smile returned. “I can’t wait until the end of the month when I get to go to my new house and have my very own pony. It’ll be a girl pony, and I’ll name herDaffodil. I’ll ride her every day, and I’ll feed her carrots or apples, and I’ll braid her mane, and she’ll love me so much she’ll never leave me.” The girl’s tone turned dreamy.
A shaft of pain pierced Daisy’s middle. No matter what she did, no matter how helpful she was or how cheerful or how good, no one had ever loved her enough to remain in her life. Not her father, who’d left before she was even born, nor her mother, who disappeared after leaving her with her grandparents. Not Grandma and Grandpop, who delivered her to the asylum’s porch and rode away without a backward glance. Not even Ma and Pa Jonnson, who’d told her only last night she’d have to leave the asylum when her sixteenth birthday arrived next month. They’d seemed
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