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“Her family travels to England and have decided the journey too dangerous for her to attempt.”

“Ah. She is to live with you, then?”

“Moved into my spare room not two days ago.”

He spotted her across the room. Her head leaned slightly, listening. A young man seemed to be asking her to dance. A kind decline. And there was Miss Gray, she turned and smiled. At him?

Ramshaw’s voice broke in. “We are only here for a short time. Her mother has bidden her here for but an hour. It hardly seems fair. I preferred not to come if it only be a hour. Won’t you come visit us for supper this evening?” She patted his arm. “Her spirit is crushed. I know it is.”

“Pardon me?” Daniel realized he’d been thinking of someone else’s smile.

Mrs. Ramshaw repeated her invitation. “It would be very Christian of you. Of course, stay a while longer. We shall be ready by eight or so.”

All he could do was thank her and agree to come. He bowed and made his way around the room, partly to see if he might encounter Miss Gray again. Despite his finagling, he saw only a scrap of her gown as she danced in the throng.

The music began a new song just as the grandfather clock somewhere in the hotel struck the half hour with an ancient warble. He glanced over heads and partners as they swirled about the room.

The slow waltz would no doubt speed up. His eye caught a portion of that Henry Childer’s jacket and the fancy sweep to the back of his hair.

Daniel stepped back. And another man, standing behind an overgrown plant as though hiding from someone.

Who? He took another step back and felt his heel go right into someone’s foot.

“I beg your pardon!” He turned to find the rather controlled expression of Miss Stanton, still on the arm of her sister. Punch had spilled completely down her blue silk finery. His fault entirely .

“Not at all.” Though ashamed at the thought, for a moment he was glad she couldn’t see his face.

“LUCY, TAKE ME TO THE ladies lounge. Quickly.”

“It isn’t so bad, I’ll give you my fan to hide it.”

Clara hissed through a smile. “People expect me to be a mess.” The blind girl can’t help herself. “Has Christian seen me?”

“I haven’t seen him. Perhaps he isn’t coming.”

“It’s just as well.”

Clara felt for the round ottoman and sat down, spreading many layers of skirts beneath her. Punch dampened the bodice. She imagined its blood-red stain.

“What color is it?”

“It is rather dark. What if you put on a shawl, I can fetch it for you?”

“It’s no use, Lucy. I really don’t belong here. I can’t accept any dances and I know they are offered out of pity, not desire. No one truly expects it. I’d look hideous tripping around out there.”

Lucy’s voice came soft and close to her ear. “Guard your tongue, Belle just walked in with Julie and Lena.”

Belle’s voice rang as clear as her name.

“I heard mother talking to Mrs. Stanton. Christian Grant considers courting Lucy instead. I tell you, he’s still after the Stanton land.

The family is keeping it from Clara. Word is that they plan for him to join them in London so a courtship can begin abroad.

I know I would certainly wish to marry higher than that . ”

Clara stood, weakly but for an ounce of pride she might sling in her own defense. She found she had nothing to say. Words failed. Belle’s shrill voice disappeared back into the ballroom where music and laughter mocked all genuine feeling .

Lucy’s small, timid voice slipped within her ear. “I do not want him, Clara. I do not wish for this courtship.”

Was she no longer a visible part of her family?

All this time, Lucy had encouraged her, flattered her, supposedly prayed to God on her behalf.

Why keep such a secret? How often did people lie to appease her?

To soften a horrible situation. But Lucy’s betrayal stung.

She’d been shoved aside, deceived. Replaced.

Clara stood. “Take me to Mrs. Ramshaw. I need to go.”

“Clara, please understand. I do not want him to come. I plan on falling in love with someone else. I promise I will! Father, he—”

Ah, but she didn’t know Christian. His tender ways would get to her. He’d woo her. Marry her. No, the plan was set. She had been simply a business deal. Lucy would be too. She almost pitied her.

Lucy touched Clara’s shoulder and pulled lightly at her sleeve in the direction she requested.

Though she was gentle and said little except for where to turn, it took great willpower not to jerk away.

She should have been able to trust the only family member that seemed to understand the depth of her pain. But she was deceived.

Clara removed her hand from her sodden bodice and let the dark stain be seen. It did not matter. Let them play games if they would, she would stand in truth. Blind, rejected, and stained truth.

She resolved a test to play upon her kind hostess. If Mrs. Ramshaw failed to be as true as Clara’s stained bodice, other plans must be made.

“Poor dear. I hear she spills all manner of things—ruined her finest muslin with ink...” Mrs. McPherson assumed she could not hear. Like so many others.

“I’ve also soiled Mother’s best table cloth with wine, have you not heard this as well, Mrs. MacPherson?” Clara mustered a cunning smile.

Lucy led them through a large crowd of people. Clara felt the jab of more than a few errant elbows. Then, they stopped .

“Oh, Clara.” A disapproving tone met her ears.

More betrayal. She’d been led to Mother. “Lucy, I asked you to bring me directly to Mrs. Ramshaw.”

“I have.” Lucy sighed. “They are standing together.”

A shawl was quickly tossed around her shoulders, her mother gripped her hand. “You can’t be seen in such a dreadful state.”

“Too late for that, Mother. Mrs. McPherson is spreading the embarrassing news all about the room this moment.”

“You must go back with Mrs. Ramshaw directly.”

“I want nothing else, I assure you.” That wasn’t entirely true. “Mother—I...”

Her voice grew tight and direct in her ear. “You must stay with Mrs. Ramshaw, stay where you can—"

The minister’s voice interrupted, “Once again, I beg you to accept my humblest apology. I hope I haven’t ruined your dress.”

“My dress is not what is ruined. Mrs. Ramshaw, I am ready to go.”

Mother tucked the shawl tightly about her. “Do as you are told, Clara.” Father’s words, stolen for times such as these, when Mother could find no other.

Lucy’s small voice pled, “Clara? I will write to you. I promise.”

“If you wish. Mother, give Grandmother my love. Fare well.”

Mrs. Ramshaw’s now familiar arm crept through hers again. “Let’s get you home and resting in front of the hearth.”

Clara, led once again, left her family. She felt her spirit sail far away from them, as surely as they planned to sail from her.

DANIEL STARED AFTER her for a long moment.

He’d soiled her lovely blue silk that no doubt cost a fortune and a seamstress ten sore fingers.

And ruined her singular hour of entertainment to boot—all because he was fool enough to play the lover’s game of flirtation.

If Miss Gray had tossed him a smile, he ought not have taken it to heart. Especially with a beau on her arm.

Or perhaps he had made more of it than was there. At any rate, his foolishness caused a premature end to Clara’s party. Why there had been a limitation, he could hardly guess.

Francine might give him advice as to how to repair his mistake. Then again, it was she who had personally forbidden him to have anything to do with women after that stupid incident. How blind he’d been.

He had resolved to focus on his ministry, not get carried away by the first peachy smile that favored him.

Heavens. He’d momentarily forgotten he was supposed to dine with Mrs. Ramshaw and Clara in one hour’s time.

The violins began a new striking tune, the shrill notes pierced—his head was the drum. He rubbed his temples. How stupidity gave one a headache! He made his way to the men’s lounge. Cigar and pipe smoke floated about the room, no matter that the wide windows stood open.

The men were embroiled in a political debate. Not the conversation for the new minister to enjoy, lest he be put on the spot. He did not want or need suspicion from any direction.

Neither did he desire a wall in front of their hearts when he preached on Sunday. He needed his people open to hearing truth. Another time perhaps.

He slipped out of the room through an oversized window and onto the porch. A few couples and older men sat around in wicker furniture, fanning away flies. Slave women with trays of lemonade stood at the ready.

He took one and swallowed as quickly as he had the punch. There was Miss Gray again, alone with two other females. His heart failed to flutter .

Though the time was still early for dinner, he made his way to Mrs. Ramshaw’s. He was supposed to be a means of cheer for Clara tonight. They would likely wish him away as well.

But one could not doubt God’s potential work in the mundane, anything from a dinner to an accidental punch spill. He regretted his silliness, but if he truly believed the words he cherished daily, then by his love for the Lord, all things would work together for good. Even this.

MRS. RAMSHAW AND CLARA spoke little on the way home. And only a little more when helping her into a clean, unstained gown. She left her by the hearth as promised.

Clara imagined a single candle flickering in the darkness, a low glow from the fire. Were there more candles? Maybe she should ask.

Dishes and pots rattled in the kitchen. A rich scent filled the room.

Her only friend had been deceiving her. As had her entire family. But Lucy? Clara’s stomach still hurt. The one sister who seemed to care snaked around her roiling emotions and at just the right moment, squeezed hard.

Her family could do nothing more to catch her unaware.

For a moment, she regretted going to the ball in the first place, but then, she’d never know the full falsity of her family.

The fact that they denied her worth made her feel the richer for the knowledge, though not happier.

It was power she needed at the moment, and the evening events were road signs indicating which path she must take.

She smiled a little. Fate had brought her to Mrs. Ramshaw. Much solitude would be expected. In solitude, plans might be made. Though what they should contain in her dark world, she hadn’t the slightest notion. But the fact that she could make them set her wheels turning, however slowly .

But first things first, she must know whom to trust. Without that, she had nothing.

Mrs. Ramshaw shoved a pillow behind her back and added another by her side. “Glad to see some color back in your face. Too many people in a room is unhealthy, I say.”

“What about church? There are many people there.”

“Worship is healthy. I’ve a bit more to do. You rest.”

Why not? That’s all she’d been doing for days on end.

Clara rearranged the pillows. The evening had grown quite cool and her feet pinched in the slippers she’d forgotten to remove with the ball gown. She slipped them off and rubbed her feet. If she could get closer to the fire it would be such a relief.

She ran her hands down her gown. Mrs. Ramshaw had pulled the dark blue wool from the peg. She knelt to the ground and felt around the floor. There was a braided rug. Good. Crawling on the floor wouldn’t brown her skirts.

Her hands found a tea table. If she just scooted on her hands and knees, she’d feel for the heat and be safe enough. A thud puffed somewhere nearby. “Mrs. Ramshaw?” She didn’t answer.

A draft crept around her hands and feet, but just beyond, warmth already reached her face. She put her hand slowly out to it, brought her legs beneath her and slowly began to stand.

Large gloved hands caught her wrists. Clara cried out, “Oh! Who is here? Speak.”

“Don’t fret yourself.” A low, calm voice steadied her. “Here, let me guide you. Did you want a chair by the fire?”

The minister. He’d been watching her. He seated her as though she might break. What choice did she have? To be seen on her hands and knees like a cripple! Humiliating fodder for more gossip.

“Please forgive me, I did not know anyone was here or I would not have created such a fuss. ”

“You made no fuss that I saw, but you’ll have to forgive me for breaking into your privacy. I failed to announce myself. I didn’t see anyone in the room at first.”

Clara whispered. “Please do not tell Mrs. Ramshaw I was on the ground. She’ll not give me a moment’s peace.”

“You have my word, Miss Stanton. I again apologize for being unspeakably clumsy with my punch. I daresay I doused your fun in the worst way possible.”

“Actually, I am grateful for your clumsiness.” Without an excuse to leave, she would have been trapped by an endless, vicious circulation of gossip.

“Is that so?”

“Now I am here, where I am meant to be, and not in the land of the living, where life is merry.”

“And you are truly glad?”

“Yes.”

“You did not care to go to the ball? I thought for certain your evening was spoiled.”

Clara paused for a moment. She didn’t dare lie to a minister. “Not anymore.”

The gloved hand was now ungloved as it touched the top of hers. “If you mean that this is the land of the dead, and therefore, Heaven, I might say you exaggerate. But to compare this home to hell, well, that would have to be of your own making, not of circumstance.”

“I did not mean it like that...I...”

“I assure you, Mrs. Ramshaw and I are very much alive and happy.”

“I am grateful to be here. Before you came, I was thinking just that.”

“Have I rattled you? My sister would have jabbed me in the ribs before now.”

His voice smiled. Did he ?

The kitchen door swung open. “Reverend Merrick, you are just in time!”

“Here, let me carry that to the table for you.”

“The biscuits are hot this time. Not all cold like on the Sabbath. Help Clara to the dining room, won’t you? She doesn’t know her way there yet.”

Clara stood from her chair and made her way past the kitchen door, near the dining room entrance and paused.

“I believe you are my responsibility.” Reverend Merrick took her hand and placed it in his arm. He seated her gently. Kindly. Just as Christian had done so many times before and would soon do again for Lucy.