Her new life

My father had died years ago. Everyone expected my mother to remarry, but instead, she took a job working for her brother, using the income to care for me.

I was 18, almost 19, long past the age when most girls in our town were married. But I had no interest in marriage. My days were filled with farm work, leaving me neither the time nor the desire for anything else.

Occasionally, I went into town with my mother to gather supplies for the farm. It was on one of these ordinary days that everything changed.

I had just finished my chores and was wiping the sweat and dirt from my face when I walked into the house.

"Uncle Charles!" I called out, but my attention quickly shifted to a man I had never seen before.

I glanced at him, then at my uncle. My mother sat nearby, sulking. My uncle glared at her while I could feel the stranger's eyes on me.

"Anna, she's almost 19! This is happening!" my uncle shouted, his voice sharp. "She needs a man in her life! I can't be here to correct or discipline her if needed. She should have been married at 15! Stop sulking, immediately!"

I stumbled back, shocked by his tone. He had never spoken to my mother like that before.

"Uncle Charles, there's no need to yell at my ma," I protested. "I'm not interested in marriage. She knows this, and that's why she's upset. Don't worry, ma, I'm not going anywhere." I squeezed my mother's hand to comfort her.

She pulled her hand away. "He's right," she said, her voice firm. "I'll be sad to see you go, but it has to be done." She spoke to her brother, not me.

No, this can't be happening! I don't want to marry anyone.

I thought I had only voiced this in my head until my uncle struck me across the face. He had only hit me a few times before, and the sting was sharp. I grabbed my cheek, tears threatening to spill, while the man watched silently.

Why was he even here? This was humiliating.

"Stop making a scene!" my uncle demanded. "This man is going to be your husband. He traded cash and jewelry for you. He saw your picture at my house and was intrigued, especially when he learned about your marital status and intact virtue."

"He isn't going to be my husband. I'm not interested," I said, my voice trembling. "You'll have to give the things back."

My words seemed to shock everyone in the room, including myself.

My uncle struck me again, harder this time. "You're embarrassing yourself, Clementine," he hissed, pulling me close. "This is the last time I'll warn you. Keep this up, and I'll take you to the barn."

I knew what that meant, and I didn't want it. My tears fell freely now, hot and fast.

"Do you understand?" he asked, still gripping me tightly.

"Yes, sir," I whispered, my voice trembling as more tears fell.

"We've already signed the contracts and packed your things while you were outside working," he continued. "We thought it would be easier for you. The stagecoach will be here soon. Say your goodbyes to your mother. Once you're settled, Mr. Leonardo Hemsworth will allow you to contact her."

"Yes, once you are settled and according to your behavior, I will allow you to contact your ma," the man said, his tone cold.

Allow? The word echoed in my mind. I hadn't even left the house yet, and already he was dictating what I could and couldn't do. This was exactly why I never wanted a husband. But it seemed I had no choice.

I hugged my mother tightly, whispering, "Please don't let them do this."

She held me even closer. "I'm sorry, I can't; it's for the best," she said, her voice full of resignation.

The one person I thought would help me was letting me go.

"I love you, ma," I cried, still holding on to her.

I heard the hooves of the approaching horses. My uncle opened the door and carried out a few of my bags. The dread I felt intensified.

My new husband placed a firm yet gentle hand on my shoulder. "It's time to go," he said softly.

"No! I don't want to leave!" I cried, clutching my mother, who tried to free herself from my grasp.

He grabbed my forearm and yanked it harshly, causing me to stumble.

"It's time to go," he repeated, his voice firm. "I won't ask again. I don't like repeating myself, so you'd best learn that quickly."

He practically dragged me out of the house, opened the stagecoach door, and pushed me inside before following and closing the door. He tapped the roof, signaling the driver to go, still holding onto my arm as if I might run.

Which I might, but not now. Where would I go? I had no job, no money, and no place to stay. As a woman, I couldn't even rent a room on my own.

After a while, he released my arm. I used my other hand to gently soothe the skin, now red and bruised. I looked out the window, tears still falling, and wiped them away with my palm.

"Here," he said, handing me a handkerchief.

"Thanks," I mumbled, dabbing at the tears. He didn't comment on my crying; he just read his newspaper.

My friend Jacob had been teaching me to read in secret. It was something girls weren't supposed to know how to do, but I was determined to learn.

I rested my head against the wall of the stagecoach, my tears finally running dry.

"We'll stop soon to get something to eat," he said, not looking up from his paper.

"Okay," I replied quietly, not looking at him either.

"Give me your hand," he ordered, pointing to my left hand.

I hesitantly placed my hand in his. He slipped a ring onto my finger. "This stays on, always," he said. "Your mother said it would fit you." He returned to his newspaper.

I stared at the unfamiliar piece of jewelry, unease settling in as I wondered what the future held.

The coach stopped abruptly. He opened the door and held out his hand. I placed mine in his, and he helped me out. My clothes were still dirty from the morning's work.

He handed some money to the driver. "We'll be back soon," he said before leading me into a small café.

Inside, he guided me to a table and let go of my hand. I reached for a chair to sit, but he smacked my hand away, the sting catching me off guard.

"I pull out your chair," he snapped. "Don't do that again unless we're at home. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said quickly, looking down.

He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. "I'm your husband. You will speak to me with respect. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir, I understand," I said, meeting his gaze.

He released me, satisfied, and pulled out my chair before sitting down himself.

A waiter approached. "What can I get y'all to drink today?"

I looked up, but before I could speak, Leonardo answered, "Water for the lady, and I'll have an ale."

The waiter walked away.

"I don't like you looking at other men," Leonardo said, his voice hard. "When he comes back, keep your eyes on me or the ground."

I fixed my gaze on the floor, staring at the wood grain.

When the waiter returned, he placed my drink in front of me. "What can I get for you to eat today?"

"It's cold out, so we'll both have stew," Leonardo said.

"I'm not hungry," I muttered, looking at him.

"Two stews," he repeated, ignoring me.

His face reddened with anger. "Don't ever do that again. Are you trying to embarrass me? I didn't ask if you were hungry. You'll eat the stew, and you'll finish it. You need to gain weight before we try for children."

I looked away and took a small sip of water.

The stews arrived, and the waiter took Leonardo's payment before leaving us alone.

I ate slowly, just trying to finish and appease him. I wasn't hungry. It wasn't unusual for me to only eat once or twice a day.

When we were done, Leonardo asked, "Do you need to use the restroom? It's a long trip home."

"No, sir," I said softly.

He stood up and took my hand again, leading me back to the stagecoach. He opened the door, and we climbed in.

"You look exhausted. It's a long journey; rest," he said, turning back to his newspaper.