Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
He thought her spoiled and pampered and, of course, unattractive. Prudence was no fool. She knew herself to be plain, and some referred to her as plump. She had never thought herself plump. She just refused to wear a corset. Its confining restraints made breathing next to impossible.
She laughed to herself and wondered how a man would react when he discovered on his wedding night that his wife's waist wasn't as slim as he had been led to believe. Zac Stewart probably liked his women slim, petite, and perfect.
She hastily covered her left hand with her right as she walked. It was bad enough being plain, but the deformity . . . how she detested it.
Tears of bitterness stung her eyes. Her grandmother had tried so hard to help her. But society could be cruel to those they felt were different. After several episodes of being laughed at and joked about, her grandmother had stitched the prettiest gloves for her to wear all the time.
"If no one can view them, no one can make fun of you," her grandmother had said.
So Prudence wore gloves wherever she went. And no one made fun of her any longer. The two end fingers on her left hand, which had been crooked and useless since birth, were tucked away so as not to offend anyone. And when propriety insisted her gloves be removed, she learned to keep her afflicted fingers from everyone's view.
It was at her grandmother's death bed six months ago that Prudence discovered just how much her plain features and deformity had cost her.
Her grandmother, whom she had loved beyond reason, had whispered the shocking truth to her. Your mother is alive. She hadn't believed her, attributing her raving to her illness. After all, her mother had died twelve years ago, a fever having taken her while she was away tending a sick relative.
Her grandmother had seen Prudence through her grief, her father having been too lost in his own. It had taken years to accept her mother's death. She had been such a vibrant part of Prudence's life.
Now her grandmother was asking her to believe that her mother had left her and even worse she was insisting Prudence go find her.
"The truth. Go find the truth," she had urged.
What truth? Prudence had thought. The truth that her mother had never loved her. That she was ashamed of her only child and had run away. Was this the truth she was to search for? To find a mother who hadn't wanted her then and most certainly didn't want her now?
Still, her grandmother's words haunted her. She had been so adamant.
"You must go. You must find her."
Prudence hadn't considered it at first, but then it became a driving force within her. She wanted desperately to find her mother, Lenore Winthrop, and hear her reason for leaving. Hear her tell Prudence herself that she didn't love her.
Her plans had been made then. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would stop her. Not even Mr. Stewart's prediction that she wasn't capable of surviving out west. She had survived a mother's desertion; she could survive worse.
A private detective Prudence had hired discovered that a woman fitting her mother's description had last been seen in a town called Wells City, Kansas, several years ago. She had been in the company of a woman named Sadie, who still resided there. And Wells City was where Prudence intended to go.
She stopped in front of her house and stared at its immense size. It bespoke wealth —three stories, lace curtains, a house staff of fifteen, an outside staff of ten. Yes, she was certainly accustomed to the best.
Prudence entered through the black iron gate and walked up the brick path. She would miss her home and her father, but she would return when her task was complete. Her plans were final. There would be no changing them. She would inform her father now, not exactly the truth but a tale he would find believable. He would rave and rant and forbid her to go. She would submit to his command as a proper daughter should. Then tomorrow at dawn, she would slip away and begin her journey. And she wouldn't return until she had found her mother and the truth.
CHAPTER 2
"You what?" James Allen Winthrop yelled.
"I wish to go west and help educate the heathens," Prudence repeated calmly, having expected this outburst and prepared for it.
James Winthrop shook his head, not actually believing his daughter's words. "That is the most ridiculous notion I've ever heard."
Prudence sat primly on the edge of the green velvet chair opposite her father's mahogany desk. "Not at all, Father, the heathens need culture as well as anyone."
"But you won't be teaching it to them," he said sternly.
"And why is that?" she asked softly, ignoring his parental insistence.
"Because I refuse to allow it, Prudence," he said, smashing his hand down hard on the desk and rattling the ink bottle in its silver holder. He didn't like the way his daughter's eyes glared at him. She was determined. He could see it clearly. Well, this was one time she wasn't going to get her way. "I've been lenient with you to a fault. I have allowed you too much freedom to do as you've wished. But this . . . this crazy notion is beyond consideration."