Monday, July 27, 2009

Julie Fulton Rossiter

I hid my face so that they wouldn't be able to see my relief. Nobody cared that Frank Rossiter was dead. I was his wife, and I didn't that wasn't true. I did care, I was glad.

Frank Rossiter was a millstone around my neck. Am I sad that he's dead? My God, no! Whoever killed him did me a favor.

I had already fled, taking the girls, and difficult as it had been, I'd found work in the next town, taking in washing. "My how the mighty are fallen," my mother would say.

It wasn't what I had planned for my life but I had twin daughters to care for and they would not be reared with a gambler's shill for their mother.

So, I left Frank. He didn't seem to mind until the money ran out. Then he came hunting. I told him to leave us alone. We wanted nothing from him, and he had no use for us. We would be fine on our own.

But Frank always liked to use persuasion. He knocked me down, took the twins and promised me that I wouldn't see them again until I came back to work for him.

It was a relief to have him admit that I was no more than his employee. It severed any remaining feelings I might have once had for the girls' father.


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