For those of you who have read Roasting Marshmellows and wonder why Frida rarely spoke and where she came from, here is her story.

The ground was cold where the little girl lay. A tattered sweater only partially covered her tiny, frail body. She coughed loudly and rubbed her eyes. "Girl, you alright?" an older boy, probably around fourteen or fifteen, asked.
Frida didn't speak, she only nodded.
The boy nodded and layed his head back to the ground.
Frida knew not to talk, bad things happened last time she did. So no one knew her name. The boy, Fabian, was kind to her, but she didn't know what he would do if she spoke to him.
I am glad I ran away, Frida thought. Her family was dreadful. Mother had left a long time ago, Father left the day she escaped. They had lived in a torn-up leaky little one room cottage with six of them. Frida shuddered at the thought. And so she was away. She wanted to leave Switzerland forever, and never come back. She wanted to go to America. There she could find a family. A family that lived in a big house and that would never leave.
Frida fell asleep with that happy thought, and dreamt of this.
When she awoke, she was in a room with many other children her age. "Hello, young lady. Welcome to St. Mary's Orphanage. What is your name?" a stiff looking woman asked her. Frida shook her head of red hair and began to cry.
"No, no! Don't cry, dear," another woman cried. She rushed over to Frida and began to hug her. Frida's flow of tears slowed. This woman was warm.
"What is your name, honey?" the nice lady asked.
"Frida," she whispered in the lady's ear. The lady gasped. "My, you must speak more often. You have a beautiful voice." Frida smiled kindly at her.

And that is where it all began. Not long after this, Frida was adopted by an American family, whom of which you see in Roasting Marshmellows. Hope you enjoyed!