Arthor: MACLAREN SHARLENE
Twenty-one-year-old Eliza Jane Merriwether, better known as Liza, had never been one for self-pity. No sir, if things didn’t go her way, which often they did not, she simply sucked in a deep breath, held her head high, gathered up her skirts, of which there were many, and marched forward, gaining fortitude with every step.
This, however, took the cake, tested her endurance, if not her dwindling courage, to its very limits. More than once, she’d had to ask God if He was sure about the direction He was sending her, and every time she received some form of affirmation. Still, she couldn’t help but speculate.
The hot August sun beat down on Liza’s shoulders, its relentless heat seeming to burn a hole straight through the material of her cotton gown. Dust gathered on her brow and eyelids, the grime mixing with beads of perspiration that she fruitlessly dabbed at with her now soiled handkerchief.