William didn’t laugh at her.
Who would leave home penniless unless they were forced to?
Staying with the Whitaker family meant enduring humiliation, but they could still survive. However, what’s the point of calling a place a home when there’s no shelter from the storm, and the family is filled with discord? William thought Scarlett had guts. People often said nieces take after their uncles, and William had always been fond of Scarlett. Now, he felt she was nothing short of exceptional.
William reached into his pocket and pulled out a few crisp bills.
“Here’s $50 for now. Let’s discuss your business plans carefully. If you need more, I’ll find a way to help you in a few days.”
The $10 bill was the largest denomination at the time.
Elizabeth was startled. “Big brother, where did you get this money…”
A new bicycle, and now casually handing over $50? Elizabeth knew the state of their family well—it was so poor you could hear the echo of coins clinking. William had been unreliable in the past, but over the past two years, he had straightened out, learning masonry to support the family. After a year of apprenticeship and two years as a skilled worker, life had slightly improved. However, masonry wasn’t a steady job like a factory worker’s position; income was unstable.
William knew his sister was naive and didn’t explain much, simply insisting Scarlett take the money.
“Thank you, Uncle. Consider this a loan I’ll repay,” Scarlett said without pretense.
She was indeed starting from scratch, but with $50 as capital, she could seize the opportunity presented by the harvest season. Refusing William’s help out of pride would only force her mother to suffer further.
William chuckled, pleased.
He asked Scarlett to lend a hand, bundling their belongings to the back of his bicycle.
The mother and daughter’s possessions consisted of sweet potatoes, their clothes, and the daily necessities they had purchased earlier. Before they even reached the village entrance, someone holding a bowl called out mockingly:
“Your dad’s back!”
“Whitaker Chris is going to beat them to death…”
The people of Larkspur Village were so unfriendly, it was as if Scarlett had desecrated their ancestral graves.
The Whitaker family’s gate was wide open, and a burly man stepped out.
“Where are you going? Did you and your grandma have a fight at home?”
His voice was gruff and deep, his arms bulging with muscle, and he stood nearly six feet tall—this was Scarlett’s father, Whitaker Chris.
It was clear where Scarlett had inherited her height. In the 1980s, being over 5’3” was a point of pride for Scarlett, and she was quite satisfied with it.
William didn’t give Scarlett a chance to respond. He grabbed the sack of sweet potatoes and hurled it at Chris.
“You scoundrel! I was planning to settle accounts with you someday, and here you are, walking right into it!”
“Who had a fight with who?”
“Your wife and daughter were bullied to death, and you pretended not to know?”
“You worthless fool! My sister marrying you was the worst luck of eight lifetimes…”
William was small, not even 5’7”.
Yet when he exploded, Chris couldn’t even fight back.
Of course, Chris didn’t seem inclined to retaliate, shielding his head with his arms rather than engaging.
“Big brother, let’s talk this out!”
“Talk about what? You’re a scoundrel! All brawn, no brains. Decades of living and you’ve learned nothing! Don’t care for your own daughter? Fine, I’ll care for her in your place!”
Elizabeth panicked, trying to intervene, but Scarlett held her back firmly.
