Free Giovanna: The Cowboy's Calabrese Mail Order Bride (Sweet Land of Liberty Brides Book 1) by Lorena Dove Page A

now.”
    “Could I buy half your basket right now, if you’re selling?”
    “God bless you, Ma’am!” Giovanna said, astonished at the generous offer coming from this stern, stout woman. “But they’re all broken and dirty.”
    “Never you mind! I can brush them off and use them for a pudding. Mr. Forsythe will never know,” she said with a wink. “On second thought, give me all you have.”
    Mrs. Forsythe pressed some money into Giovanna’s hand and scooped up the biscuits into her shawl, tying them into a tidy pouch. “I don’t like to see food go to waste and these look delicious—at least, they did!” With a quick turn to step into her waiting carriage, she called out, “Take care, little Rosa! Good-bye, Giovanna!”
    The driver loosened the brake and chucked the reins on the horse’s back. As the carriage lurched away from the curb and down the street, Giovanna said, “Rosa, what do the letters say?” She pointed to the sign on the door of the retreating buggy.
    “F-O-R—For—S-Y—Forsythe MILL-IN-ER-Y. Forsythe Millinery, Mama.” Rosa looked up at her mama and smiled after she puzzled it out.
    “ Brava ! Such a smart girl, my Rosa. One day, you’ll teach me to read in English, too,” Giovanna said. She looked down at the crumple of bills in her hand, pushed them into the pocket under her apron, and hurried home to count them in private.
~*~*~*~
    Giovanna made her way the next morning through the crowded streets of Clarksburg to the other side of town, selling biscuits and looking for the hat maker’s shop. She walked down Main St. and crossed the bridge over Elk Creek, enjoying the view of the water rushing by with the West Virginia mountains in the background. So like Calabria, only much greener.
    She found a building with a wooden sign hung perpendicular to the street and painted with a jaunty hat. She made out the capital letters F and M. They matched what she had seen on the carriage. She opened the door slowly, intending to just peek inside, only to be announced by a loud ring of a bell.
    Mrs. Forsythe’s head shot up from her work at the counter.
    “May I help you?”
    “Good morning, Mrs. Forsythe.”
    “Oh! Giovanna! Good morning. How is Rosa today?”
    “ Bene , I mean , good, thank you! I brought you freshly baked biscuits since you have paid for them already.”
    “Why, thank you!” Mrs. Forsythe beamed. “Please, come here and sit.”
    Not realizing the full extent of the sacrifice it represented, Mrs. Forsythe was never-the-less intrigued by Giovanna’s honesty and work ethic that seemed equal to her own. “Tell me about yourself; I’m rather fascinated to see a mother alone selling biscuits on the streets of Clarksburg. What does your husband do? He must be a lucky man indeed.”
    “Oh— mi sposa ,” Giovanna swallowed to clear the lump in her throat. “Francesco—Frank—I lost him to the coughing sickness. What do you call it? The doctor said consumption . Rosa was just a baby, and I sell my biscuits now to take care of her. That’s all about me,” replied Giovanna, looking down at her shoes pointing out from under the dirty hem of her dark dress.
    “Oh! I am sorry,” said Mrs. Forsythe. “Well. You have family here then to help you? ”
    “My husband’s brother, he gave us a room above his store. He is working to bring the rest of the family from Italy. He and Frank came first to America to find work in the mines. Frank and I had just married and he didn’t want to come without me. My mama begged me to stay with her until he was settled…” Giovanna’s voice trailed off. “Now, I am here with my Rosa,” Giovanna said simply.
    She picked up her basket and stood to go. “You’re very kind. Thank you for helping Rosa yesterday and—and for the money,” she said, her warm smile returning to her face. “I just wanted to thank you, and now I should be going.”
    Mrs. Forsythe watched Giovanna make her way out the door and down the street. She was