Was her family rich? Surely not. Were they poor? Did she wear old stained hand me downs to school where the other kids would make fun of her? Was she a good student in school, bringing home good grades for her parents to proudly display on the ice box? Did she even go to school?
Did she work on the farm? Were her hands callous from milking the cows, feeding the chickens? Did she enjoy her life? Did she long for something more, something beyond her reach?
Did she have brothers or sisters? Did they pick on her and call her names, make her feel unloved? Did she love them back anyway?
Was she a doctor? Saving the lives of the sick and the dying? Was she a lawyer, a secretary? Was she a milk maid? Were her hands callous? Was she happy with her life or was she always reaching for something more?
Did she live alone? Did she have a husband? Did she love him with all of her heart? Did she have children? Two or three little children to raise and be proud of, maybe there were eight. Was she barren, sterile? Did her husband resent her for it? Did he cheat on her, spreading his seed furiously to see his own line live on, even if it was through sin? Did she hate him for it? Did she sit home late at night, alone and barren, and cry thinking it was her fault?
Did she go to church? Did she believe in god? Did she love him? Did she curse him for keeping her from the life she so desperately wanted? Did she love Jesus? Was church just another chore? Did she cry during service, as her sore and callous hands folded in prayer? Was she happy with all of her life? Did she want for something more?
Who is this big eyed round-faced girl? This girl with the bushy eyebrows and dirty shawl? A relative for sure. . .