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C lara dreamt of her horse again. She woke with a smile. The warm velvet, the air, the sun, the wide green fields, the soaring speed. The power that knew exactly what to do with her spirit.

Being pent up in Mrs. Ramshaw’s abode—day after day—wore upon her tender soul. A mere walk wasn’t sufficient.

Reverend Merrick’s readings had fallen by the wayside after two Sunday afternoons.

So much for his devotion. The man was as busy as the doctor.

The entire congregation suffered from one thing or another and each person thought the man could cure them with a simple prayer. Poor souls, didn’t they know better?

Some prayers never got answered. Assuming they were heard at all.

Jenny’s granddaughter was pregnant. Poor thing. Clara heard whimpering through the walls at night. Perhaps some bloke had wronged her, but how the girl could pine for the scoundrel!

As for her, she was done with Christian and anyone connected to him, be it her family or foe. Hard to tell the difference at times.

That morning, Clara put on the blue gown and added two extra curls the night before so that two trailed down to her shoulders and joined the flowing cascade in the back. Something had to happen today, or she would go out of her mind.

Evidently, Reverend Merrick had sent a message that he was coming today. Mrs. Ramshaw and Jenny had been about dinner preparations for their guest since morning .

Her heart thudded slightly. Reverend Merrick owned a horse, didn’t he? Perhaps he would indulge her in a ride...or perhaps escort her home to visit the stables.

Father might have forbidden her to go near a horse again, but he wasn’t here to enforce his law upon her.

Besides, it wasn’t the horse’s fault she fell and then caught a fever.

The more she thought, the more she felt that Christian was at fault.

He had played a dangerous game by bounding in front of her.

How had she not understood that before now?

She shouldn’t blame herself. If he’d been struck blind, she would not have abandoned him. Certainly not.

A few hours later, Mrs. Ramshaw had done an impossible thing. She seemed to always be redefining what was appropriate. For example, Jenny and Morrie were commanded to dine with them. In the dining room. Mrs. Ramshaw would have the pleasure of serving.

Morrie nearly cried because the preacher would see her delicate condition.

“Nonsense. It isn’t a condition. God’s weaving a baby in there. It is sacred. If Reverend Merrick is the right kind of preacher, he will see your little one my way.”

Clara listened to Jenny’s mumblings. “Ain’t gonna be took well by the master, dining at the big table. You tell him you tol’ us to do it.”

Mrs. Ramshaw didn’t hesitate. “Jenny, in my eyes, you are a free woman.”

“In yo eyes only. I’s bought and paid for, Mrs. Ramshaw.”

“Only by the blood of Jesus. We all are. Now I hear the Reverend at the door.”

Clara reached out. “Jenny?”

“Yes, Miss Clara. I go to the kitchen if you tell me.”

“No, I want you and Morrie to do what she says.” While the orders confused Clara, the plan seemed good. Peaceful, somehow. As if they were her family now. How good it would feel to have them near her around the table.

“Clara!” Reverend Merrick’s presence filled her senses. “I’ve neglected our readings. Shame on me. I’m not sure anything will come of David Copperfield if I don’t follow through.”

Clara laughed and gave her finest smile. An outing was at stake. “You haven’t been reading ahead, have you?”

“You’ve caught me. Without thinking, I read a chapter. I swear to you only one.”

Mrs. Ramshaw cleared her throat. “That will be enough swearing, let us eat.”

Jenny and Morrie didn’t speak the entire luncheon except for a ‘yes ma’am’ or ‘no ma’am’ when Mrs. Ramshaw tried to get them to converse. Though Clara did not see them she knew in her heart they weren’t happy.

Mrs. Ramshaw had asked Reverend Merrick an interpretation of Scripture based on his sermons. Clara suspected she was underhandedly trying to evangelize Jenny and Morrie. How sneaky that old woman could be. But Reverend Merrick used rather educated words even she had trouble understanding.

It was during one of his long explanations that Clara couldn’t help thinking of his looks again. She was glad she’d troubled herself about her appearance this morning. She meant to flatter her way into the horse stable.

All she knew was his voice and the length of his hand when he had placed hers under his when he poured tea. He was a gentleman and a minister, nothing more. Might even be engaged. Rotten thought if she hoped to—

His voice penetrated her thoughts. “You really ought to be doing something with those hands of yours, Miss Stanton.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My mother could knit blindfolded. ”

As if every woman ought to know how to knit! “How very fortunate for your family.”

“Tell me, how have you been keeping yourself busy?”

The question Clara dreaded and the one everyone asked. She’d been busy moping, daydreaming, tracing her finger along the decorative edge of the teacart in the parlor. Eating.

He caught her. “You are quite right, I need to be doing something. I had hopes of engaging you for a ride about town, if I may?”

“If I had a carriage, I would gladly oblige. Sad state you find me in.”

“I don’t need a carriage, I know how to ride, if you would but lead the horse. Please, I am itching to get out.”

“Clara, it is not appropriate to beg.”

“She’s not begging, only politely inquiring. I know how she must feel. I spent an entire winter sick and cooped up in my bedchamber when I was a child. Would have been dreadful except for my books.”

“Dat chile needs to stay off a horse. The master done threatened us if we ever helped her do it. She be forbidden.”

“Jenny! Father’s not even here!”

Reverend Merrick wasted no time. “I am so sorry, Miss Stanton. You’ve been commanded not to ride, I can’t go against your father’s wishes like that.”

Clara leaned her head upon her hand.

“If it makes you feel better, Lass and I hardly get along. The horse definitely has something against me. If I don’t fall on my backside once a week...” he laughed.

Clara dropped her hand and accidentally knocked her plate off the table. No sound of breaking china. She could be grateful for that.

DANIEL WATCHED CLARA’S hopeful countenance fall like a raincloud. How often had she ridden before her accident ?

He himself had never even owned a dog. New York City was too busy, too much traffic for pets. The city officials had enough problems with horse droppings filling the street.

Truth be told, he couldn’t wait to own a horse and find some freedom in the wide-open countryside. Archibald Methodist Episcopal had made it happen. Little did they know of his inner glee.

Perhaps she might enjoy at least petting Lass. The horse probably wanted some attention after downing that bag of oats and standing alone.

“Come outside with me and give her a pat anyway.”

“I’m sure we can spare an apple for the creature,” Mrs. Ramshaw said.

“I suppose it will have to do.” Clara wiped her lips with the tip of her napkin and stood.

The girl regained her formal self. All composed and pliant enough only to obey the rules of civility. Had she been allowed to ride, he wondered what kind of expression might grace her sweet face.

He caught himself. He couldn’t be thinking of faces as sweet. Especially hers. She was too vulnerable. And God help him if he got snagged by another escapade.

“I bought the horse from your father, perhaps he isn’t a stranger. I mean she. Lass is a Morgan.”

“Father is fond of Morgans. He’s always got a colt to sell.”

“Lass is a better horseman than I am, believe it or not. Where is your cane? I’ll retrieve it for you.”

“I...”

“It’s missing.” Mrs. Ramshaw presented him with an apple.

“Oh, shame. Hopefully it will turn up.”

Clara rose from her chair. “I’m afraid it’s gone for good.”

He stepped to her side. “May I guide you?”

“Please. ”

He placed her hand in the crook of his arm. Her nearness warmed him. He hadn’t expected that. This was a girl he pitied, though she had declared she didn’t want such concern. Unavoidable.

He panicked as they walked down the steps. A thought struck him. Could Mr. Stanton possibly have sold him Clara’s horse? Oh no .

“Wouldn’t you like me to read first? We can go in by the fire and stay warm that way.”

“No, not yet.”

Maybe there wasn’t a single horse to her name, and she rode whatever was available on her farm. She was blind. How could she tell one horse from another? He hoped his hunch was wrong.

“Here she is.” He brought her hand to the side of Lass’s face, watching Clara slowly stroke its wide jaw and run her hand down the long neck.

Lass nodded her head and stamped her foot. Clara turned to him. “She wants the apple. Let me give it to her.” She reached out.

“Are you sure it’s safe? Won’t she bite your fingers off?”

Amusement crested her sightless eyes. “Haven’t you given her apples before?”

“I confess I have not.”

“Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like you. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Indeed, his lack of horsemanship was dreadfully obvious. Even the blind girl could see that.

She held the apple in the palm of her hand. Lass took it in an instant, smacking sweet juices between her large lips and teeth.

Clara stroked the horse’s side now. “How many hands is she?”

“Haven’t a clue.”

She reached up behind Lass’s neck, ran her hand under the still chomping jaw. She didn’t stop stroking the creature. When her hand reached up the back of the mane, she stopped .

“I thought Esther was dead.” She leaned her head against the horse’s neck, holding the beast with both hands. “They led me to believe...” Tears filled her eyes.

“Oh no.” So, the horse he’d purchased had been hers. He felt like a fool. Didn’t know what to say.

Mrs. Ramshaw must’ve seen from the window. She came rushing outside. “Is she ill? What is it?”