Free Embrace the Day by Susan Wiggs

cold enough for a roaring blaze, but Genevieve's lamp oil had run out, and she wasn't ready to retire for the night. Taking up one of her books, she thumbed through it until she found her place.
    In appreciation of her interest in reading, Luther Quaid had been by with more books on farming. Sometimes he even brought her a plump, freshly skinned rabbit or offered a sample of venison, dried and jerked by his Indian wife. Genevieve looked forward to Luther's infrequent visits. He wasn't a talkative sort, but he brought news from town and was always ready with some practical advice to help her along.
    Genevieve turned her eyes to her own fields, illuminated now by a full moon. Always her attention went back to those two grand, gently rounded hills. There was a boundless richness about the brown fields, rippling like corduroy over the acres. Genevieve stared at the land for a long time. It was hers, and what she did with it was up to her.
    Slowly, like the moon breaking from a bank of clouds, a smile spread across her face.

Chapter Five

    "
I haven't any
money," Genevieve said.
    Digby Firth brought the tips of his fingers together and regarded her sternly from beneath brows that resembled graying bottle brushes. "How much do you know about growing tobacco, Mrs. Culpeper?"
    She looked down at her pink dimity dress, sent to her by Prudence, who was fast outgrowing her clothes, and bit her lip. Not for the first time, her conviction wavered. It was a fool thing, coming to Yorktown with Luther Quaid. A woman alone, she had no business trying to revive her farm. But she squared her shoulders and faced the tobacco factor with determination.
    "I know very little, sir, except what it smells like being smoked in a tavern. But I've been studying about cultivation. The soil on my place is excellent. It's borne only two seasons of tobacco."
    " 'Tis a hard crop to bring from the earth. There is a neverending cycle of cultivation. If one small task is improperly performed, it could mean ruin. Every step, Mrs. Culpeper, requires skill, judgment, and a good bit of luck."
    "I understand that, Mr. Firth. I've studied Mr. Charing's treatise inside and out."
    He tamped a small wad of tobacco into a pipe, held a flame to it, and frowned severely through the strands of blue-gray smoke that encircled his head.
    "Why, Mrs. Culpeper?" he asked. "Why would you want to start up a tobacco farm? 'Tis an uncertain, sometimes cruel existence—"
    She regarded him steadily, gathering conviction. "I want to make things grow, Mr. Firth."
    The bushy eyebrows raised, but the look he gave her was not unpleasant.
    "Just how do you propose to go about this, Mrs. Culpeper?"
    "With your loan, I'll buy seed, equipment, and a horse and hire workers to help me prepare the seedbeds in January. I'll need help again in April, when it's time to transfer the plants to the main fields, then at harvest time."
    "Mrs. Culpeper, you do realize that your first crop won't even be shipped until next spring? You'll have no income at all until then."
    "I've been without money for five months, since I arrived in Virginia."
    "Tell me, Mrs. Culpeper…"
    "Yes?"
    "Just what makes you think you'll succeed?"
    "I'll succeed, Mr. Firth. Because I won't allow myself to fail."
    He stared at her in her fading frock, hands folded in her lap. There were traces of dirt under her fingernails. Her face was browned by the sun, and freckles dusted her nose and cheeks. When she lifted her eyes to him, Digby Firth decided to give her the money.
    He smiled to himself. People would raise their eyebrows and wonder if, in his dotage, the hardheaded Mr. Firth was getting soft, showing compassion for a young widow alone in the world. But that wasn't true. He hadn't become wealthy by doling out charity. He'd done it by making himself the smartest, most intuitive tobacco factor in Yorktown.
    And as he looked at the young woman across the desk, Digby Firth knew that the glint of tenacity in her eyes wasn't just a