𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘎𝘐𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘌𝘚𝘚 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘙𝘌𝘛𝘙𝘐𝘉𝘜𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕 | ʀᴅʀ

Chapter Ten

1890, West Elizabeth: Big Valley

Rosalie took the wedding photo of Louis and Isabella from the mantel, stuffing it into the canvas bag she brought to gather the couple's things from the ranch. She took a few of their other belongings too, such as some of Isabella's clothes, and Louis' writings to look over later when she had more mental strength.

Louis' notes were knowledgeable, consisting of scribbles in different languages such as Spanish, French, and even Latin, along with his translations of basic and more complex phrases. She didn't know if any of it would come in handy later, but she took them along with his writings that he intended to publish.

It was heartbreaking to hold his manuscript, which was full of love and passion for advancing the acceptance of interracial relationships and advocating for respect towards people from other cultures. Even though interracial marriage had been legal for years, deep-seated racism and prejudice still persisted, especially in places like Lemonye where he grew up.

Louis was a very intelligent and passionate man. He was nothing short of brilliant and Rosalie was sure his writings would have meant something if he went on to publish them as he intended. The thought that Isabella had been killed because of something he believed in so strongly was painful.

Rosalie took many of their things for safekeeping, but the one thing she couldn't do was come close to their graves.

She saw them well enough through the back window, the two dirt patches nauseating enough from where she stood. Maybe someday she would be strong enough to visit their graves, but coming inside the house was already terrifying enough. She wasn't ready to visit where they laid to rest.

Two weeks had passed since she visited the ranch, and she found herself standing at the edge of the Dakota River, Blitz a few paces behind her, his tail swishing as he waited patiently.

The water rushed against the bank and over the rocks, splashing onto the beach just before her boots. Fish darted beneath the surface as scaly blurs. The river's roar drowned out most of the surrounding natural sounds, and the cool air, driven by the river's intensity, brushed against her reddened cheeks.

Rosalie stared out at the water with a frown, her hair pulled back into a French braid, a few loose hairs curling against her hairline and in her eyes. She wore a pale blue button-up and cream pants, her brown boots shiny and recently polished as she had started to care more about her appearance again, drifting back into old habits.

It wasn't that she felt better—she probably would never feel fully at peace again after witnessing the death of her cousin and the bloody, battered body of her best friend. But as the days passed, knowing they were laid to rest together and their ranch was secure, she began to sense a slow return to normalcy. Despite the nightmares that plagued her nights and the continuous lack of sleep, other aspects of her life felt more familiar than they had in weeks.

Rosalie looked down at the heavy, glistening revolver in her hand.

She felt nauseous as she looked at the weapon, flashes of Louis pulling the trigger at his skull entering her mind.

His cries and desperate tears as he confessed he couldn't go on without Isabella—almost as if he was begging Rosalie for forgiveness for his cowardice before pulling the trigger—echoed through her mind, mingling with the images of that event.

The only solace she found through all this was knowing Louis and Isabella were together.

In her mind, there was no other way for them to be—they had to be together in the afterlife. Even though taking one's own life is considered one of the greatest sins, she had faith that something aligned for them after their great tragedy. Perhaps it was God bestowing mercy upon Louis, allowing him to be with his wife despite the grave sin he had committed to be with her.