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The lady draped an arm lightly about her shoulder and led the way. The door jingled behind them and her father instantly tucked her hand into his arm and led them from the comfort of the quiet shop. “I have a surprise for you,” he touched her nose, “it happens to only be across the street.”

“I do love ice cream.” She must tip-toe. Swallow her pain and reveal her Stanton superiority. He’d yet be proud of her.

“It isn’t ice cream, at least, not yet. I’m going to buy you something that will make life easier. Come along.”

She had no choice but to step quickly. They walked across the street and up onto a sidewalk. Her father pulled open the door and a wave of tobacco engulfed her.

“We are at a tobacconist? Am I to start smoking, Father?” What a wanton lass she’d be if that were the case.

Though a few of the older poor women about town had the habit—short corn cob pipes protruding from toothless mouths.

Wrinkles creased in the direction of the draw.

.. Such a tragic, comical picture she’d make.

“Indeed no. I’ve brought you to the finest cane shop in town. It’s where your grandfather’s came from. Remember it?”

She did. Long, dark and topped with a silver snake. It had frightened her. “I don’t really want a cane.” Would Father listen this time?

“Yes, you do. Help you get about the house and estate without knocking into everything.”

The clerk interrupted. “How may I be of service to you, sir?”

“My daughter needs a cane. I’ll have none but the finest. We’d like roses on the silver work.”

Another choice made for her. “Indeed,” Clara said, “Be sure it has thorns.”

DANIEL’S MONDAY WAS as empty as his biscuit jar, naught but a few crumbs remained. He shook them into his palm and tossed them in his mouth. Better than nothing.

He supposed he ought to work on a sermon, but he already had a pile prepared from his time in New York. Sufficiently fresh for this group. Having just completed introduction visits, he was not anxious to do it again.

This quiet farm town had too little to occupy him. Yet. “You know what they say about idle hands,” he said to himself.

Snatching a pair of fire-dried socks he pulled them on. Utterly lazy. He could practice riding that horse he spent so much money on. He’d go bouncing down the road while the town laughed him out of the pulpit.

Gracious. It was a plight to always be watched.

If he was going to make a fool of himself, he supposed it would do his pride some good.

He’d bob about on the back of that horse, fall off, but for a good purpose.

This horse would carry him where God needed him, and that was nothing to be embarrassed about.

He buttoned his vest and checked the length of his whiskers. After all, he’d only look the fool to a certain degree. A handsome fool was better than a shabby one.

A knock sounded down the hall. He ran and skidded in sock feet to the door and flung it open. A chunk of hair dropped into his eyes and he swiped it away.

“Miss Gray?” His practiced preacher-manners fell away in an instant.

“Mother sends an apple pie. I hope you like apple?”

He certainly liked that smile. “Uh, yes. I think I do...I...” He’d never kept his own house, rarely answered his own door.

His mother would show any guest to the study and inform him.

If a woman showed up for counsel, she stood protectively nearby.

Should he invite her in? No, that couldn’t be right.

Hardly proper to invite a single woman into a single man’s home.

Wasn’t done, and wasn’t safe for either reputation. He’d rather not have to relocate.

“You think? You’ve never had apple pie?” She stood, waiting while he waivered with that stiff grin on his lips.

Her cheeks grew rosy, a question grew in her eyes.

“I adore apple pie, thank you.”

She handed him the basket. “Well as long as you’re sure.”

“Thank you. I’m sure I’ll devour it directly.”

“An entire pie at once?” She chuckled.

“A piece, I mean. An entire piece.” He laughed. Blast, he could be so awkward. How was he able to stand in church and speak with enough confidence for an army but run into one rather striking woman and...

“Mother wants to know if you have any mending?”

“I don’t want you to spend your free time mending my clothes. I’m sure Mrs. Kilgore will oblige. ”

“I shan’t mend, only my mother. I confess I hate mending.” She shrugged her pink-clad shoulders, her smile full of humor.

“I haven’t a thing. Thank her for me, please.”

She nodded and turned back onto the side walk. He watched her only for a second. In New York, one could stare without speculation. But here—watchful eyes made for ready gossip.

He was irritated with her, not attracted. Certainly not.

He shut the door and lifted the cloth away. Sweet Heavenly Father, thank You for this pie. He trotted back to the kitchen and snatched a fork. Honestly, what he’d meant to say was that the entire pie would be eaten one piece at a time.

THE HOTEL ROOM WAS too cold and Marie’s muffled snore kept her awake. She rubbed her feet against a blanket. Marie said her medicine would be in a tiny tumbler within reach. Ready for her. Another promise unkept. When she felt for it, she found the bottle instead.

Perhaps she should drink the whole thing and sleep for days and days, with nothing to bother her in the darkness. The liquid sloshed. Would it kill her if she tried it? Fear seared through her consciousness.

To completely die, that was another issue. She was too young for that. She uncorked the bottle and inhaled. Lavender? She replaced the top.

The doctor had been so kind. She was supposed to go back in the morning. Dark glasses were being made for no other reason but to let others know she couldn’t see. A blatant warning that she wasn’t well. No more invasions of unwanted curiosity peering into her soul.

COLD WATER TRICKLED across her face. She drew a deep breath and rolled onto a wet pillow. Marie’s voice spat in her ear.

“Your father is waiting for you to go to breakfast. Move quickly.”

Marie’s accent was most grating. Especially early in the morning.

“Tell him to go on without me.” She flipped her pillow over and nestled back in.

“No.”

More cold water splashed into her face. The tyrant. Clara sat up to protest, a petticoat was flung over her head and jerked down her chin.

“I shall tell Mother of your behavior towards me.” Not that Mother would object.

Marie pushed her to her feet. “Just because you have no sight doesn’t mean you get to do what you want.” A corset followed the insult. “Raise your arms.”

Clara held onto the bedstead while Marie ensured the corset would get laced within a breath of fainting. And here she thought she’d need the entire bottle of nerve relaxer...

An hour later, she sat alone in the eye doctor’s examination room. Marie waited outside, most probably by choice. Her father declared he had business to attend to and left her helpless.

Someone entered. “Good morning, Miss Stanton. I have your frames ready, would you like to try them on?”

“Dr. Rosenthal, I shan’t like them, if I may be honest.” Not that she could see how they looked on her.

Cold metal slid across her temples, a light weight rested on her nose. “There. A perfect fit and you are still as lovely as ever.”

Bold of him. But also very sweet. Her chin quivered. She mustn’t lose control.

He took her hand in his. “Life isn’t over. There are a few ways you can still see.”

“So, there is still hope?” Father needed to hear this .

“Not seeing with the eyes, but with these.” Without warning, he touched the tips of his fingers to hers. “You can see me if you want.”

“I don’t understand.” His words were a riddle.

“Like this.” He brought the tips of her fingers to his forehead and traced them down in the barest of whispers. “Be brave. Feel the shape of my face. Use your imagination. Your true friends won’t mind.”

Her face felt hot. This was humiliating. Intrusive. True friends? “I daresay I can remember their faces.”

“Perhaps you will meet new ones. Now you know how to picture them.”

“I can’t exactly picture you.”

“Try again.”

“No thank you.”

“Then I will tell you about myself. I’m rather tall. My hair is brown. I have blue eyes. They say I have a Roman nose on a thin face.” He took her hand again pressing it against his jawline. “See?”

“Stop using that word. I can’t see .”

“Use the eyes of your heart, Miss Stanton. Whatever you think now, life isn’t over. You may find it’s only beginning.”

“It’s been the end of many things.”

“I suppose it has. Your father says you are to never ride a horse again?”

“Yes.”

“When you marry, your husband may disagree with his declaration.”

Could she ride again? The thought both thrilled and terrified her.

Abruptly, her father entered. “I’ve got it, my dear. The finest cane I ever saw. You’ll be the absolute belle of all blind women.” He pressed the stick into her hands. “Show her how to use it, Doc.”

A cane. The belle of all blind women? Must she number among them? She was a woman. Wasn’t that enough? She’d only seen a blind woman once. An old, mountain woman with dirt trapped in her wrinkles as though she never washed.

The doctor’s tender voice mixed with business.

She could tell he had a kind heart. “Keep it low to the floor. Here now, stand up, Miss Stanton.” He took her hand and raised her from the chair.

“There. Keep it sort of tilted and gently sweep the space before you. When you run into something, you’ll know to watch your step. ”

Distant laughter invaded the silence of the moment. It wasn’t fair that the rest of the world could be happy while she gasped for sight as if it were air, submerged beneath the dark, drowning surface.

“Give me your arm, Miss Stanton. I will walk you to the station with your father’s approval.” She barely heard his calm, even tone. Or her father’s parting thanks. Or felt Marie’s dutiful nudges. Or noticed the train whistle that screamed behind her as they were pulled homeward.