Abigail sat on her bed staring down at the aged pages spread out before her. She lifted the last one she’d read, the words searing into her brain:
“...and this is the price we paid for our freedom. Our voices. Our songs. Everything that we carried across the seas, held like jewels while we were enslaved. Songs that were never meant for war will be given in service for that purpose.”
She ran her fingers over the signature at the bottom of the page, instinctively understanding why this name was never spoken when the women of her family recounted their origins. “You had doubts, that’s why. The price was too high,” Abigail murmured. “Molly Bellweather. I’ll speak your name and thank you for the warning.”
Family Debt
“...and this is the price we paid for our freedom. Our voices. Our songs. Everything that we carried across the seas, held like jewels while we were enslaved. Songs that were never meant for war will be given in service for that purpose.”
She ran her fingers over the signature at the bottom of the page, instinctively understanding why this name was never spoken when the women of her family recounted their origins. “You had doubts, that’s why. The price was too high,” Abigail murmured. “Molly Bellweather. I’ll speak your name and thank you for the warning.”