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S ometimes Daniel needed to kneel when he prayed. He didn’t necessarily believe it had to be done at the side of his bed like his mother bade him throughout his childhood. This was different. He felt too much like the jungle sloth today and kneeling pushed him toward purposeful action.

The early excitement of moving to a new town and serving a new church had already faded some.

“Enthusiasm is a necessary ingredient, Lord. But today I want to shut my doors and windows and be an isolated bachelor. I want to eat without stopping, sleep without waking, and not have a single care in the world. Except I do admit to dreaming of Miss Gray on frequent occasion and it scares me.”

“That woman shakes me up. I didn’t come here for that, though You know as well as I what a man must endure. I need a vision and a purpose beyond a woman’s attraction.”

Daniel grew silent. He was not embarrassed in front of God, why should he be? God saw it all, never a place to hide from His sight.

“Give me something else to think on, will You? A pure point of focus. And if You would be so kind as to take in hand the wretched men Mrs. Ramshaw spoke of the other day without my having to get involved. That would be most appreciated as well.”

“Your will be done and Amen.”

Daniel lifted from the floor and grinned.

The next time he saw Miss Gray, he’d be fortified.

As for vision, only time would tell in what ways God would use him.

Hopefully, his hours in the pulpit would engender deeper trust in the Maker.

Trust would lead to greater relationship, maybe even a world-changing one.

His mind flicked to Mrs. Ramshaw’s quest. Perhaps that same trust also led to danger. He winced at the idea.

A train chugged in the distance, whistling towards Harrodsburg and the urge to meet it swept through him. A tug like no other, one he couldn’t ignore. And wouldn’t. Not after a prayer like that. He put on his coat, snatched up his pocket bible and made for the train station.

If anything, the walk would do him good.

Ten minutes later a smattering of people exited the train. He looked around in case he recognized any of his new parish.

Mr. Stanton and his blind daughter stepped to the platform, followed by a grim-mouthed maid.

Clara stood behind her father, cowering, wearing dark-tinted eyewear.

Perhaps they helped her see a little? Daniel stepped forward and shook Mr. Stanton’s hand.

“Good evening! Travel to Louisville, did you?” Perhaps he’d be introduced to Clara. It was the polite thing to do.

Mr. Stanton jerked a nod. “Been a long day, Reverend. Be sure there are flowers in the sanctuary come Sunday.”

That was it. He’d been dismissed with a wave and a request. Like a servant.

He watched them climb into a landau guided by one of the slaves he’d seen.

A tall, burly man, there to do his master’s bidding.

As they drove away, Clara’s face turned up to meet the little remaining sun slipping through the darkening sky. How she must crave light.

Miss Stanton—she was the reason he’d come. He knew without second thought. This is the one he must pray for without delay. A storm brewed within her. He could sense it from his pulpit last Sunday. And when she passed by him a moment ago.

He sighed and pushed the brim of his hat lower as the same stream of light penetrated his vision.

Poor child. Next time, he would finagle being introduced to her.

He’d seen her writhe in the pew, Sunday past. His words were meant to save, inspire.

How deep is her suffering that his words only chafed her wounds?

How dark is her pit? Lord, Lord, this soul!

Lord, have mercy. If she knew your love.

..Lord, guide her into love that heals her. ..

He prayed without ceasing as he walked to the post office. Two thin letters waited. One from his mother, the other, Francine. Ah. Another chapter in the life of my dear family women. What will they accuse me of now? He smiled. Francine would take his previous letter in good stride. He hoped.

He slipped his finger across the seals and read his mother’s message. Home ...

So. She’d married the man. Said she loved him and that he would be a good father to the boys. Yes, no doubt about that. Francine seemed sensitive to the situation, might he pray for her?

Francine ought to know better. They needed Mr. Johnson. Their father’s dwindled finances would soon fail them if she hadn’t, and God forbid, they would have to find work outside the home.

Francine’s letter was simple with large words written across the top.

“YOU WIN!” A very frilly apology for her former attitude, and yes, Mr. Crawley follows her to the new church.

And Mr. Crawley gives her the creeps as last Sunday he came to church with ink smeared behind his ear and one fingernail too long for her liking.

This news intimated that she allowed him to take her hand in greeting, too nice to refuse.

She shouldn’t be so hard on Mr. Crawley. He was a fine journalist. His infatuation with his sister had been going on since grade school. She had vowed to never give in.

He once joked, “Marry the guy and ease his pain!”

His bathwater had been cooler than normal that night. But he hadn’t complained. He laughed aloud at the memory .

Perhaps his sister would like to come here for a while. That would liven things up a bit. Fresh new territory for husband hunting. He’d tell her so in his letter.

CLARA SAT WITH HER sisters. Steaming, spiced pork roast made her mouth water.

“The potatoes are swimming in gravy,” Lucy said.

“And shall collect about your waist if you’re not careful.” Alice sang. She needn’t worry.

Lucy tapped the table in front of her. “Your spectacles look as if they are pure gold. They are lovely, Clara. If I had to wear them, I’d want that exact pair.”

Clara pulled them off. Odd how her sisters used to always engage her in everything. Now, they acted as if she were a stranger. An unknown.

She dug into her food and receded into her own quiet.

“Clara!” Father’s voice boomed through the house. “Clara? There you are.” He pulled her away from her meal and into his study, guided her into one of his old, crackling leather chairs.

He paced the area between her and his giant desk, a swish from the right, a swish from the left.

He cleared his throat. “Your mother has been affected over this whole affair. It’s hurt her badly.

She didn’t take the news very well. Marie is with her now.

” Thick fingers tapped the desk as he paused.

“Try not to talk of your difficulties, if you will. Keep your, um, sun spectacles in your pocket. Out of sight.” He patted her shoulder as if comforting a child not allowed to keep a baby rabbit.

Clara nodded. Mother was affected? What of her own feelings?

Of a young girl suddenly struck blind. Not important, apparently.

Yes, she’d keep every fear and hurt buried and boiling within.

Hold her emotions close. She’d share nothing with her family.

Let them go their merry way to England and tea and parties without her.

Fine. Once they left, she’d do as she pleased.

Dr. Rosenthal was wrong. Marriage wouldn’t be what allowed her back on a horse. Lewis would help her, the moment they drove away.

Lucy entered. “Father, I’d like to steal my sister away for a walk.”

“Carry on, then,” He mumbled through the tip of his pipe.

Lucy quickly led her to the tobacco field near the barns, she was sure of it, and the exertion left her breathless. A rich, sweet scent permeated the air and burned her eyes. She knew the tobacco must have been recently cut, speared, and housed for drying.

Lucy stammered and began to cry. “I’m just so sorry for you. I’m so, so sorry! I think Christian is vile for what he did to you. And Mother and Father. How can they leave you behind? I don’t understand, Clara.” The sobbing continued.

She cared? A sigh escaped her lips. “Don’t try to.”

“What can I do for you?”

Do for her? What indeed. Clara shook her head. These were issues Lucy could not fix. “Don’t abandon me. I’m still the same sister.” Was she? Had not her circumstances changed everything?

Lucy’s arm looped again with hers. “I’ll always be faithful to you, as a good sister should.”

“Tell me the truth. Do I still have my looks?”

“Of course, you do.”

“Please, Lucy, this is rather vain of me, but I can’t help it. Please make sure that I’m always stylish.”

“That I can do.”

“I ordered a dress from Louisville for the ball. Christian will be there and I want to win him back.” The plan glowed in her imagination.

“You think a dress will do it? ”

“It has a rather daring cut...I can hide it with a shawl until we arrive to the McPherson’s. I don’t trust Marie to help me get ready. She won’t care. She merely slings my hair into a bun.”

“I’ll do my best, Clara.” She paused. “But do you think Christian deserves another chance after abandoning you?”

“He’s just scared. I know it.” What else could it be?

TWO WEEKS LATER TO the day, Clara trembled with excitement. The gown had arrived with a mere six days to spare.

“What’s this?” Her mother snatched the large box from her.

“Father treated me to a new ball gown.”

“He did?”

“Well, doesn’t he always splurge on us, especially for the McPherson ball? Please, Mother, I want to go try it on.” Excitement built. “Come on, Lucy. Help me with it.”

Clara made her way upstairs without help, Lucy trailed behind lugging the box.

If only she could see it! Lucy helped her undress quickly. She could almost hear her smile.

“Oh, Clara. The color of this silk...I’ve never seen this shade of blue! Alice is going to be livid.” Lucy slipped pulled and tugged until the fabric hugged Clara in all the right places. In her mind’s eye she could see the sheer luxury.

“You’re beaming. I haven’t seen you beam since Christian first fell in love with you. If he refuses you again, I’ll think there’s nothing good about men.”

“Lucy?” Mother had come in. She stood silent for a moment. “Leave us.”

Lucy rustled away without a word. Clara stood, pasting on her best smile. Even her mother could not doubt her womanly capabilities .

“Sit down...please.”

“I don’t want to wrinkle this. Do you not like it?”

“You seem a grown woman.”

Barely a hint of a compliment. “That I am.”

“I shouldn’t think you’d care to go to the ball. You know you won’t be able to dance.”

“Why must you remind me of what I can no longer do?”

“Such a late night, I’m not sure that it would even be good for you to go.”

“I’m still me, Mother.” Couldn’t she see that?

“I’m going to be honest with you.” Her voice cracked.

“I can’t see how any man would want to become attached to you.

Oh, this is hard for me to say.” Her cry was muffled by a handkerchief.

“You are attractive, to be sure. Makes the whole charade all the more painful to watch. It would have been better if you had been born plain.”

“What are you saying?” What did she mean?

Mother remained silent.

Was she still in the room?