Texas, 1879

A gentle breeze blew through the brown tresses that had been neatly plaited by the feeble hands of a grandmother earlier that morning, but now they were slowly becoming undone by the tempest that was sweeping the barren and desolate Texan countryside. The windchimes that her grandmother had bought the previous year swayed in the breeze as the sweet melody of the wind passing through it filled the air around the girl who sat on the wooden steps of the porch, her tongue held between the whites of her teeth as she stared down at the piece of sewing cloth in her hands as her nimble fingers wound the spool of thread through it.

Her concentration was remarkable, and her tanned hands were graceful as she swiftly and delicately sewed the design onto the white cloth like her grandmother had shown her all those years ago when she had been nothing but a child with a fascination of how the older woman managed to make something so beautiful out of nothing more than a needle and some yarn.

She pursed her lips as she stabbed the needle through the cloth and unintentionally into the skin on her finger. She didn't cry out as she placed the cloth aside and pulled the needle out of her flesh before watching the crimson blood seep out of the wound and drip down the palm of her hand and down onto the cloth at her side. She restrained herself from saying something unladylike as she wiped her bloody hands on the front of her already dirty dress before she picked up the stained and ruined cloth and inspected the blood droplets that now covered it.

She sighed as she set it aside and leaned back against the wooden post behind her as she watched the sun dip over the horizon in nothing but content. She pulled her knees closely up to her chest and held onto them as the wind picked up and a lowly howl of coyote sounded over the arid landscape.

The peace was disturbed by the loud banging of the door as an older and rotund woman stepped out of the cabin, causing the young girl to look up into the vexing eyes of her grandmother.

"Lydia?" she asked in her thick Texan accent as she placed her hands on her rather wide hips and stared down at the girl with harsh brown eyes. "Lydia Whitlock Kane, are you out here daydreaming again when there's work to be done?"

"No grandma," said Lydia as she rose to her feet as fast as her heavy skirts would allow and placed her hands behind her back as she looked up at the older woman shyly. "I was just working on my stitching."

"You can do that after you've helped me prepare dinner. Your grandpa will be home soon, and you know how he gets when his dinner isn't ready," said the older woman as she pointed at the door.

The young girl scurried inside the door as her grandmother swatted at her behind, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to tell her to get a move on it. She hiked up her heavy skirt as she entered into the small kitchen area where she could smell the lentil stew that was boiling on the stove over the fireplace and the cornbread that sat at the table, the exact same thing that they had eaten the night before and the night before that. But Lydia couldn't complain seeing how hard her grandpa worked hard to put that food there for them. She could only be grateful that they had food to what with the poor economy and the drought that had ravished the land for almost two decades now.

Her grandpa had told her that it was God's punishment for Texas joining the Confederacy and rebelling against the Union and Lydia was more than inclined to agree with him on that sentiment after having seen the damage and destruction that had torn the former Confederacy apart. And even after all these years, God still continued to pour out his wrath on them.

"Well are you just going to stand there all night or are you going to help?" asked her grandmother as handed the ladle over to the ruddy-cheeked girl.

"No, of course not ma'am," she said as she accepted the ladle and made her way over to the stove where the fire crackled beneath the iron cooking pot. She stirred at the stew for a few minutes humming softly to herself while her grandmother set the dinner table for the three people in their family. There should've been more placemats at the table, but for as long as Lydia could remember, it had always just been just her and her late mother's parents. No one else.

"Is the stew done?" called out her grandmother over her shoulder as she interrupted the girl's train of thoughts.

"I think so," she said as watched the steam rise into the air.

Her grandmother pushed the petite girl out of the way as she grabbed the ladle and stirred the soup around a little bit before ordering the girl to load the three bowls up with the lentil soup that looked a bit too watery to Lydia.

As she was doing this she heard the pounding footsteps of her grandpa as he stomped into the house with his heavy boots before he made his way into the kitchen and placed his coat and hat on the rack as he did every night when he returned from a hard day of work in the town.

"Evening," he said simply as he shrugged himself down onto the wooden chair at the head of the table and popped his knuckles. "Dinner ready?"

"Yes dear," said grandma as she placed down a plate of cornbread before him. Lydia quickly brought him his bowl of soup before she grabbed one of the candles on the table and lit the lanterns around the table to light their nightly meal.

"How was your day grandpa?" she asked politely as she sat down at the table and placed her napkin in her lap.

He grunted, "good. I can't say anything real exciting happened."

"How soon before the work on the railroad is completed?" asked Lydia.

"Hopefully by next spring the work should be completed," he said.

"That soon?" asked grandma. "I thought you said repairs were behind this year?"

He nodded, "they were, but the railroad Co. hired a bunch of boys from San Antonio to help out with the work. Once we're finished here, they want to send us down to Galveston to maintain the tracks there now that hurricane season is here."

"Galveston?" asked grandma in surprise. "You're not actually thinking about going down there, are you?"

"I'd get paid more than what I'm making here, and it wouldn't be permanent. I'd only be there for a few months, at least until hurricane season ended. They need workers down there in case a bad one blows in and damages the tracks."

"And I suppose Lydia and I would be on our own?" asked a skeptical Edna, her voice strained as she regarded her husband.

"Only for a few months," he argued.

"You won't be here for the harvest?" asked Lydia. Although the drought had made crops scarce this year, there was still much work to be done on the farm come fall and the prospect of not having grandfather around did not bode well either of the two women. There were many outlaws who came through this area and while they both knew how to use a rifle, the thought of anything happening to them while he was away was disconcerting to say the least.

"There will hardly be anything in our fields to harvest," said grandfather. "We cannot depend solely on our crops to save us come winter. We need money if we are to see ourselves survive until spring."

It was true. Their meager crops would not be enough to get them through the fall let alone the winter. The drought was so severe that year and the rivers were practically dry. They had begun to save money to buy stock-piled goods that would not go bad, but they needed more and winter was fast approaching.

"We will discuss this later. The stew is getting cold," said grandma Edna sharply as she grabbed both her husbands and her granddaughters hands in her own calloused ones. "Now, let us say grace for this meal that God has provided."

They prayed over the meal before they began to eat the food that her grandma had prepared. Lydia was silent as per custom as her grandparents chatted about her grandfather's work on the railroad. Lydia ate her meal in near perfect silence as she waited for one of her grandparents to address her so that she could speak so as to not break the rule of not speaking unless spoken to that her grandmother strictly enforced. It was impolite of a young lady such as herself to speak when the grownups were conversing, and she needed to keep her manners in check if she was ever to find a respectable husband.

"So, Lydia my dear, how was your day?" asked grandpa as he munched away on his cornbread. "Did you do anything fun or did your grandma put you to work?"

"I completed my chores and I helped grandmother collect water from the river for the animals," she said as she set her fork down on the table. "I also practiced my lettering today."

"You've been practicing your lettering for quite a while now," commented grandmother as she buttered her cornbread.

"Ms. Walker said that I should keep practicing it," replied Lydia before adding; "for when the school reopens, of course."

"Well that would be pointless. Lydia, even if the school did eventually reopen, I need you here on the farm to help out with the work," said grandmother as Lydia nodded.

"I know grandmother, I just don't want to forget everything I've learned," she replied quietly.

Ever since the local school had closed a few years prior, Lydia's education had begun to wane, and her grandmother had not the time or the skill to continue her dwindling education. Lydia knew how to read and write and a little bit of mathematics, but she was not proficient in any of it as she felt she should've been. Her grandma was more concerned with her knowing how to maintain a household now that she was older and nearing marrying age.

"Anything else you do today?" he asked before he wiped his mouth with his napkin.

Lydia nodded, "I also practiced my stitch work."

Her grandpa opened his mouth to say something before his dark eyes lit up in recollection as his attention turned from the girl over to his wife.

"Speaking of stitch work, I forgot to tell you that I ran into Mrs. Whitlock while I was in town today," he said slowly as both of the ladies perked up at the mention of the highly esteemed woman that they were not overly fond of.

"What did she want?" asked her grandma as she stirred her lentils around.

"She wants to know if you would be able to make her granddaughter a dress for the upcoming debutante ball in Houston," he said as he coughed into his hand nervously as her grandma's face twisted in nothing more than annoyance at the thought of the well-off family that were far wealthier than they.

"Why doesn't she just go to Ms. Marilyn? She has one of those fancy sewing machines. I'm sure she would be able to make Ms. Abigail a lovely dress for the upcoming ball," she said offhandedly as she waved her hand decisively through the air.

"She asked for you specifically. She said that she wanted only the best for her granddaughter," he said as Lydia stared down at her lap in awkward silence. She knew that that statement would set her grandmother off and she did not want to be witness to her grandmothers anger.

"The best for her granddaughter, huh?" said her grandmother mockingly. "I can't believe the audacity of that woman. How dare she even ask such a thing from us."

"Edna-"

"Don't you Edna me. You know that she's only doing this to stick it in our faces," said her grandmother angrily as she pointed her finger over at him. "They've been trying to do that ever since we brought Lydia home from Galveston and quite frankly I'm sick and tired of it. Tell her thank you for the consideration but that it would probably be best if she sought services elsewhere."

"She offered to pay fifteen dollars," he said with a concisely authoritative tone that told Lydia that this was not a request. They needed that money and there was no way that grandfather would pass up the opportunity, even if it meant having to deal with Lydia's- extended family.

Her grandmother paused, "you didn't."

Her tone was terse as she looked over at her husband with nothing but disdain gracing her features as Lydia too looked over at her grandfather with pleading eyes. Lydia did not want to help make the dress nor did she really want anything to do with that family that had rejected her the moment she had taken her first breath.

"I did," replied her grandfather, his tone leaving no room for discussion. "You and Lydia will go to the Whitlock estate first thing in the morning to take the measurements. I will not argue with you on this, Edna. Like I said, we need the money."

There was nothing that either Lydia or her grandma could say at that point to get themselves out of it and they could not disobey grandpa, not when it was the difference between eating their next meal or not.

"Must I go?" asked Lydia softly as she broke her silence to stare over at her grandfather, who looked at her sadly as he reached across the table to grasp her hand in own large calloused ones.

"Your grandmother will need help," he said. "I know this will be difficult for the both of you, especially you Lydia. I dislike them as much as you, but you will do fine. Keep your head up and remember that they can't hurt you unless you let them."

"Fine," began her grandmother as she raised her hands in surrender, "we'll go. But I swear if they say anything about our daughter being a- whore or Lydia being illegitimate I will wring their necks."

Illegitimate. It was a much nicer word than bastard in Lydia's opinion, but it still meant the same thing and it still hurt to hear it. Her parents had not been married when she was born nor, had they gotten the chance to tie the knot after her birth. In fact, Lydia had never known either her mother or her father seeing as they had both died shortly before or after her birth. Her father had disappeared during his service in the Confederate Army just days before her birth and had long since been presumed dead while her poor mother had bled out during childbirth, leaving Lydia in the care of her maternal grandparents.

Her father's parents wanted nothing to do with their bastard granddaughter and the feeling was more than mutual. Lydia only regretted that she did not know more about her own father, but she dared not approach the subject with either set of grandparents.

A photo and a name were all she had while she knew almost everything there was to know about her late mother.

"I'm sure that the Whitlock's know that you're not a woman to be trifled with," he said. "And I'm sure that they wouldn't say anything as such to any guest of theirs. They wouldn't want to compromise their reputation for being the most hospitable family this side of the Mississippi."

"I would hardly count on them to give us the respect they do for other members of the community," said her grandmother offhandedly before she turned her attention over to the young girl seated across from her with a critical eye. "However, I wouldn't want to miss out on the opportunity to show them what a wonderful and respectable woman Lydia has grown into these past few years."

The way that her grandmother was looking at her told Lydia that she would be forced to bathe and clean up her appearance so as to look presentable for when they went to take Abigail's measurements.

Lydia had only seen her cousin a handful of times and they had only spoken once before despite the fact that they had grown up in such close proximity. But then again, they did belong to different social groups and it was safe to say that the bastard granddaughter of a day laborer and a two-bit seamstress would never socialize with the same people that Abigail Marie Whitlock would.

That night grandmama drew a bath for Lydia and then helped her braid her dark brown hair into two large braids that would leave her hair curly by morning. She also made sure that Lydia's dress and petticoat were cleaned and mended before she polished her shoes and then sent her off the bed so that she would not have dark shadows under her eyes when she woke the next morning.

It was understandable that her grandmother would want her looking her best seeing as all the Whitlock women had no problem dressing in expensive and fancy looking clothes, although that sort of behavior had waned over the past few years as the economy had taken a plunge. But even then, Lydia could say without a doubt that she did not care what they thought of her. It wasn't like her dressing up would do much for their opinion of her, which had stayed firm and unwavering for all of Lydia's seventeen years.

They disliked Lydia Whitlock Kane and they despised the fact that she had been given their surname as her middle name. It was common in that day for illegitimate children to be given their fathers surname for their middle name and it was obvious that Rebecca Kane had wanted everyone to know who the father of her daughter was. It was no secret that Lydia was Jasper's illegitimate child, but it was also something that was not spoken and if it was, it was in hushed tones that never got any louder than the breath of a whisper.

Some pitied her for her situation and others treated her without an ounce of kindness for the scandal that was her birth. It was funny how things could've been vastly different if her father had returned to Galveston where her mother had stayed for the duration of her pregnancy and had married her like he had promised to do in his letter, but Lydia would never know seeing as it had become nothing more than wishful thinking at that point.

She sighed as she rolled onto her back on the hard mattress that creaked with every little movement and stared up at the ceiling of their little cabin as the wind howled outside her window. She could hear her grandpa snoring in the other room as well as her grandma's occasional one-sided dialect as she talked in her sleep.

Lydia turned on her side as she pulled the covers closer to her body and stared over at the wooden nightstand her grandpapa had made just for her that held two black and white photos of her parents. They were the only images of them that she possessed, and she cherished them like treasure as she stared at them in the moonlight that shown through the curtains of her window.

Her mother's achingly beautiful face stared down at her from the framed portrait that sat next to the image of a young man in his uniform with his hat in his lap as he stared at the camera with a somber-looking face that made Lydia wonder what he had been thinking in that very moment. Both pictures had been taken just months prior to their deaths so Lydia knew what they had looked like when she had been born and she burned each one of their faces to memory.

A slight breeze wafted in from the cracked window as the curtain swayed in the wind and a lone wolf howled in the distance as she closed her eyes and finally allowed herself to succumb to sleep as the unmoving faces of her parents watched in silence.