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D aniel smiled to himself. Clara would have him to thank, though she should never know. Ministerial visits could be fruitful indeed.

Mrs. Winters poured another cup of tea. “I’ll send around the invitation for next week. You are correct, Reverend, one should not stay so cooped up when her friends are at hand.”

Her daughter, Miss Mary Winters, sat by the fireplace stitching. “We mustn’t ask Belle. She’s a perfect demon.” She didn’t even look up.

“Mary! Hold your tongue and pray God doesn’t strike you down for slander.”

“It’s true, mother. She courts three men at once. It isn’t fair.”

“Reverend Merrick doesn’t care about courting conversations, do you?”

Daniel nodded, “Only with regard to myself.”

Mary burst into laughter. “Fair enough, mother. Even ministers want to be in the game.”

“How came you to be so coy? Finish those stitches and hold your tongue.”

Daniel held a laugh. If anyone might cheer Clara, Mary Winters seemed fit for the job.

“You’ll come for tea when we have finished shopping, Reverend? I think it would be, um...good for the young ladies that you are present. ”

“Ah...I’d be delighted.” As usual, he hadn’t thought quick enough to avoid this annoyance.

If only Francine was here, she might take his place at these petty social functions.

Really, why was it good for a reverend to preside over a gaggle of ladies?

To be married off, of course. Just maybe he would be called away before he had to endure that.

He retrieved his hat and gloves and took his leave. Moments later, in the privacy of his study, he read a letter from his sister.

“ I am coming, I can bear Mr. Johnson no longer. Or that awful Mr. Crawley. Harper and Elias like Mr. Johnson, he brings them presents of sling shots and peppermints. He brings me a sheaf of badly written notes and asks me to rewrite them. After I’ve taught a class of thirty-two.

Mother seems to think it daughterly of me to help him since he cannot see so well, I say to her that I am not his daughter and would not cramp my hands for the notes his assistant is already paid to adjust. Mother doesn’t respond and goes right on darning the family socks. And I am exhausted.

There has to be more to life, Daniel. I have prayed about this, I have apologized to Mother and Mr. Johnson and declared my purpose in coming to you...”

What was her purpose, exactly? Daniel turned the letter over.

“I’ll be there on Monday, the last week of November.”

Daniel tapped his fingers on his desk. He was happy that she was coming, but her troubles did not seem so dire as to make the long journey. Still, her presence would make a great difference to his work, if she was willing. Like go to that wretched tea. Too bad she wasn’t already here.

CLARA JOSTLED BETWEEN Mary Winters and the cold, hard side of the carriage. Mrs. Ramshaw had essentially forced her to accept the invitation. “You’ve been too idle,” she’d muttered .

Two hours of shopping with a group of young ladies of her age did lift her spirits.

The rogue horse ride she’d taken had left her uncertain of her standing with Mrs. Ramshaw.

Did the lady think she’d lost her mind? Did everyone?

The question ate at her. And it kept her still, neither demanding nor doing anything.

What Mrs. Ramshaw called idle, Clara called safe.

They disembarked for another shop—would they have walked instead.

Reverend Merrick had whispered in her ear that day, that she must be a passionate woman to throw herself on the back of a horse.

She knew he didn’t mean to be vulgar. He understood, perhaps, her desire to be one with the wind.

To feel the freedom of an open field, racing towards a happy future, all green and golden before her.

Mary’s laugh brought her back to reality. She’d been standing at the counter, stroking a ribbon without thinking. “What color is this?”

“A very dull green. Might do for that old lady that keeps you, though. Here, your bonnet wants this wide blue ribbon.”

Clara purchased the blue ribbon, a few half-pounds of chocolate, peppermint sticks, and tea. At the last moment, she chose some pencils and paper for Morrie. Thankfully, no one questioned this purchase, though they full well knew the items could not be for her.

It had been salt rubbed in the wound to listen to Morrie learning to read. Perhaps the gift of pencil and paper would put her in good graces with Mrs. Ramshaw.

Reverend Merrick didn’t come to read aloud often enough. She craved stories, happy endings. For her own life. And for her horse. If only, if only, if only...

Clara reached for Mary. She wasn’t there. Distant laughter rippled outside. Clara adjusted her basketful on her arm. “Clerk? Clerk?” She turned in a circle, her arms out. She would not panic.

“My friends, where are they? ”

“Just outside the door.”

“And the door?”

“Oh, you’re the girl that was struck blind. Tragic, one so young as you. Here, I’ll take you to them.” Clara felt the man’s hand on the back of her elbow, guiding her. “Mind your step. Two down, there’s a lass.”

Mary saw her. “Oh, do forgive me, Clara. Yvette saw the dearest bonnet in the window and we couldn’t get a good look unless we came outside. It’s rather cold, and I believe we will be just in time for tea if we leave now.”

“I am chilled to the bone. We must be stir-crazy to want to go shopping in this cold,” Yvette said.

Clara laughed. What could she say? Stir crazy? They didn’t know the meaning. “I’m certainly ready for tea.”

“I hope we haven’t tired you out too much?” Mary asked.

Was she that fragile? “Not at all.” Clara climbed into the coach, the chill air seeped up her sleeves and into her cloak.

Her friends quietly whispered and laughed softly. Clara kept a practiced smile in place. Did they really believe she didn’t know the topic of discussion?

Moments later, they circled around the parlor hearth. Talk of handsome young men dominated the conversation until Mary called out to Clara. “Have you had any gentleman callers lately?”

“I believe you have heard of my broken engagement, but I’d rather not speak of it.”

“You do well to forget him. Perhaps you will have a better offer.” Mary giggled.

Clara found none of it humorous. “Who would make such an offer to me?”

“Poor Clara. We all feel for you, you know.”

“How kind of you.” How she wished she could see their expressions .

“It hasn’t changed your beauty in the least,” Mary said.

“That’s a relief.”

“I heard that the preacher, Reverend Merrick has been roped into reading long sermons to you. Must be dreadful.” Mary laughed, the others joined in.

Clara smirked. “Of course it is dreadful, you can only imagine what it is like!” And Clara laughed too, deeply embarrassed by the thought that her life had stooped so that she had to endure the pity of the local clergyman.

But Reverend Merrick, he wasn’t like what they described.

Had they not heard his sermons? What did they think of his looks?

“Mother has tea ready, girls. Come to the table.”

DANIEL REFUSED TO STAY . Urgent business, he’d told Mrs. Winters. How could Clara be as coy as the others? He stood ready to open the door when he overheard them talking.

Dreadful, was he? He wouldn’t waste his time in that quarter. And she would certainly have all his sermons offered up, the hellfire, damnation ones to be sure. From the pulpit. Such ingratitude.

He hastened down the street, flung open the front door of his home then slammed it.

He leaned against its cold back. Truly her foolish words didn’t matter to him. Perhaps she hadn’t meant what she said. But how could she not when announcing his dreadfulnes s to the entire room? Or was she referencing his pronunciation rather than his presence?

He would certainly not stay to tea. He hadn’t wanted to be there in the first place. Putting himself in the center of half a dozen flirting girls could be detrimental to his career. Maybe he should thank God for getting him out of an embarrassing situation. Or had He?

“THERE’S ONE THING THAT bothers me, girls, perhaps you can help.”

“Anything, Clara. We are here to be your slaves for the afternoon.” Mary laughed.

“I know what all of you look like, for that I am grateful. But for the life of me, I can’t picture the new minister. I’ve imagined him with bulging eyes and a giant hooked nose, but I know that cannot be generous of me. I plead with you, tell me of his looks.”

“His eyes do bulge a little,” Mary said. “Yes, quite a little, especially when he preaches. Or when he’s around Miss Gray.”

“His eyes do not bulge in the least,” Yvette said. “They are brown. His hair is black as a raven’s wing and he’s tall.”

“Would you call him handsome, then?” Oh dear. Had she asked that?

“I’m sure if he had more money, he would be,” Mary said.

“Charlie Pearson has both and he’s fair game. So long as Belle doesn’t meddle.”

“I’m not up for the game,” Yvette said. “I want a sensible, devoted man. I don’t care if he’s rich.”

“Oh, you’ll care, you just don’t know it yet. One does have to live one’s entire life with a man. Might as well be nice to look at and rich enough to keep you happy!”

Clara forced a laugh. She wrapped her arms together and felt terribly far from home. Strange that her place—her life—was now with Mrs. Ramshaw. Not her family.