“For people like us who come from lowly backgrounds, we all too often accept our place at the bottom and think that’s where we belong. But that’s just not true.”

Mrs. Moresby had been right. Mercy had always just accepted her place, had never questioned it. What made Mr. Scott know what was best for her life? Mercy straightened her shoulders and lifted her head, watching as the young woman in the mirror did likewise.

She’d left her home and everything familiar so she could forge a better life in a better place. But it was all too easy to keep walking the same old path, seeing herself as a nobody, viewing herself as nothing more than a servant, believing she didn’t really matter.

If she wanted to move forward on her new journey, then she needed to accept what Mrs. Moresby had said, that God didn’t create some people to be better than others, that He created everyone to have equal value.

Mercy stared at herself in the mirror without blinking. She lifted a hand and touched her cheek, her chin, then her nose and the dusting of freckles there. Her eyes were surrounded by long lashes. Her lips dipped into a heart shape. And the loose strands of her long hair softened her face.

Patience had told her she was beautiful like Twiggy. But Mercy hadn’t wanted to be like Twiggy in any way, not even in her appearance. By avoiding mirrors, Mercy hoped she could make the similarity go away. And yet the face staring back at her now wasn’t Twiggy’s at all. Yes, there was some resemblance, like the eye and hair colors and maybe the shape of her nose and chin.

She blinked once. Then twice. Mostly she was different. Unique.

She’d tried so hard all her life not to be like Twiggy. But maybe she’d already been different all along and just hadn’t realized it.

“I need your answer, Mercy,” Mr. Scott said. “If you refuse to choose one of the men, then you will force me to do it for you.”

Mercy stared at herself for another moment and then straightened her shoulders even higher. Taking a deep breath, before she lost her courage, she pivoted so that she was facing the reverend. Her stomach rebelled with a dizzying lurch.

“I’m not picking from any of the men, sir.” Her voice quavered.

Mr. Scott took a step back, as if her defiant words had smacked him in the chest. He seemed to catch himself before narrowing his eyes. “I do not think I heard you correctly, girl. I demand that you choose one of the men, and then we shall have the business at hand concluded.”