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leaving.” She pointed at Father. “Tell her, James.”
    “Honey, your mother’s right. We can’t let you—”
    “I’m going with or without your blessing. This is my life. I am going.” Tears threatened the resolve of her words as she stepped away from them.
    Arms out for a hug, Mother rose and walked toward her. “Now, now, you don’t want to do anything rash. Mr. Garvey promised to talk with Thomas. The marriage may yet take place.”
    Libby twisted from her mother’s hold. “I don’t want to marry Thomas. I don’t love him.”
    Hands on her hips, Mother stared at her with her angry-eagle gaze. “Sometimes a lady has to do what a lady has to do. The love will come later. Now go to your room and get ready for dinner. You’ll feel differently in the morning. If not, perhaps we can arrange a marriage with Thomas’ elder brother. John is getting older, and I know his parents must be desperate for him to find a wife.” Mother raised her brow, turned, and strode confidently to her chair.
    A pleading glance at Father offered Libby little hope of any aid as he’d already returned to his pipe, puffing as if he wished the smoke would hide his presence.
    Holding in the scream she begged to let roar, Libby stormed to her room. Mother would not give up until she’d successfully married her off to some bore of a man with a good family.
    Libby glared at her yellow curtains.  I’ll not feel differently tomorrow. I won’t be here.
     
    ###
    Dressed and sitting in the dark, Libby held her breath and strained to hear the chimes on the grandfather clock downstairs. Finally, she counted four gongs. Time to go .
    She tiptoed down the hall, stopped outside her parent’s door, and listened. Father snored, and she relaxed. She skittered back to her room and grabbed her valise. Along with her money, she’d packed enough clothes for a few days.
    Once she reached Auraria, she’d telegraph her parents and let them know where to send the rest of her things. Surely, by then, they’d realize she needed to fashion a life of her own. Libby flung the curtains aside. And no more yellow .
    Her bedroom was on the second floor and overlooked the porch. Fortunately, the roof sloped at a gentle angle. She eased the window up. A creak sent her heart plunging to her stomach. Afraid that the entire household had heard, she stopped to listen. The hearty chirps of crickets and an old bullfrog proclaimed all was well.
    She swung a leg over the ledge, grabbed her belongings, and ducked outside. She breathed in the night air heavy with dew, the fragrance of lilac, and adventure. Tingles skittered from her fingers to her toes.
    Leaves rattled, turning her tingles of delight into pricks of fear. She froze. A night bird flitted from the oak near the house. Libby let her bag drop to the grass below, let out her breath, and climbed down the trellis. Each step heightened her excitement.
    On the ground, she stooped to picked up her valise.
    “Libby?”
    Startled, Libby whirled, knocking her satchel into a tree. The noise scared their old tomcat and sent him howling into the night. Heart thumping, she searched the darkness.
    “Aunt Flora?”
    Her aunt stepped out from the porch and into the moonlight. “Please call me Flora … and take me with you.”
    “What? Take you with me? You don’t even … how do you know?”
    Flora clutched a worn satchel to her chest. “I overheard you talking with your mother and father, and I saw the advertisement you tore from the newspaper, and you sneaked your valise from the attic.”
    Libby bit back the no she wanted to say. Flora stepped closer. Silver light played over her aunt’s slight build, pensive face, and brown hair piled atop her head, yet even in the muted glow, Libby could see a sparkle in the woman’s eyes.
    Libby pointed to the barn. “Can you ride?”
    “Oh dear, no. … But I will do anything. If I don’t leave now, I will wither and die having never tasted of life. I have a good amount of