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M rs. Ramshaw pulled Clara along the train and into a private car. “Money your father left for any occasion I deemed necessary. Privacy comes at a premium.” She gently pushed Clara into a velvet-covered seat and sat beside her. Daniel stepped through, his knees brushing her skirts.

Each time he came near, she felt his warmth and thought of Christmas. Downright distracting, this man. Had she dreamt up their embrace? Did he still care?

“We should be there in three hours or so,” he said.

Three long hours.

Mrs. Ramshaw patted her hand. “Maybe try to knit something while we ride so it’s not a complete waste of your time.” She rummaged in a bag for a set of needles and a ball of yarn.

Clara gripped them in her gloved hands. If only Father had written before now. Maybe he had done so—maybe Dr. Rosenthal had permission for the surgery in his hands? In that case, would she follow through? Dear Lord, do I dare?

The train seem to say, “Rosenthal, Rosenthal, Rosenthal...” in a steady push towards her freedom.

In all honesty, Clara didn’t want to face him. Not really. Or did she? Did he really expect her eyes to be cured? No, the man was fine. The impossibility of the situation is what she didn’t want to face.

A light snore lifted by her side.

She turned to Daniel. “Is she asleep? ”

“Out like a light.” She felt him lean close. “Worried about the meeting?”

“Truthfully, yes.”

Clara felt his hands lifting the tangled yarn and needles out of her own and settled them within reach. “How do you get on with the Braille book?”

“Splendidly.” Her voice caught, emotion erupted unexpectedly. “This is ridiculous.” She brought her hand to her forehead. “Take me home, Reverend.”

“We can’t exactly ask the train to stop. You don’t want to talk to him anymore?”

“No. Gracious, what’s wrong with me?”

“But he is expecting us. Shall we send a note when we arrive? I’m afraid it may be too late to do so.”

“Alright. We’ll go see him.” She leaned back in her seat.

“When we get to Louisville, let us dine at the hotel and miss the meeting completely.” Daniel sounded like he was crumpling paper of some sort. Crunching.

“Are you eating?”

“Roasted pecans. Want some?”

“No.”

“Clara? You have the ability to be as free as I am. Jail walls do not surround you.” He chewed some more nuts. “Life’s doors will be opened to you.”

“I’ve changed my mind. I want to see Dr. Rosenthal.”

“I know.”

“And how did you know that?”

His laugh rumbled deep. “Women are always fickle.”

“Not all of us. I’ve experienced a few too many men who take what they don’t intend to keep.

” She should have kept her mouth shut. She didn’t blame him—she’d told herself this time and time again.

He didn’t make promises only to break them.

He didn’t ask for her hand in marriage and then run off with her sister. He’d been nothing but kind.

In a moment, her hand was in his. “Clara.” He removed her glove, then took her other hand and removed the other one.

Skin against skin. He rubbed his fingers across the tops and caressed her palms, then securely enveloped both of her hands between his.

He spoke quietly. “Don’t worry. I intend to keep what I have taken. ”

AN HOUR LATER THEY’D disembarked and hired a cab to the address. Daniel felt Clara trembling on his arm. Such excitement. Would it help or hurt her? Mrs. Ramshaw took her free hand. “Come now. Better get this over with.”

A police patrol wagon led by two bored horses parked in front of the tall brick building. Crime? The area looked shining new. As busy as the city he’d left behind.

They climbed the steep set of steps to the door and halted. Something felt wrong. He leaned into the waiting area and a stench met his nose. He shut the door quickly. “Mrs. Ramshaw. Clara, wait here while I talk to the doctor first. I’ll be right back.”

He disengaged Clara’s grasp and stepped in. The putrid smell! Lamps were lit and voices grew from the inner rooms. Two men stepped out from the office. Policemen.

“One of them jerked a thumb behind him.” I don’t think you want to end up like that guy. Better find yourself a new doc. This one’s in the slammer. The noose is next.”

“What do you mean? What has happened?”

“That doctor is no physician. He’s a quack. I’ve never seen the like. The guy’s been lining up unsuspecting people. Making big promises. A new surgery to restore their vision. This is the third death this week. ”

The door opened and Clara and Mrs. Ramshaw stepped through. “It’s too cold outside.”

“You here to see Doctor Rosenthal?”

Clara bent her head in a nod and lifted a handkerchief from her sleeve.

“Well, Mister, she’s better blind than dead.”

“What’s going on here?” Mrs. Ramshaw broke in.

“Rosenthal’s a fraud. ‘Sall you need to know.”

“Daniel?” Clara queried.

“Outside—let’s get some fresh air.”

He led them down the steps to a nearby bench, his stomach hijacked by nausea. How close Clara had been to being under his hands! Thank God Clara’s father had never responded to their queries. Thank God . What could he say but the truth of the matter? Yet again, God protected her.

Mrs. Ramshaw held on to Clara like she might sink off the bench. Her lips were pursed. “What, in Heaven’s name, is going on?”

“His surgeries helped a few people to their deaths. He is in jail, I’m afraid.”

Clara blanched, confusion spreading across those staring eyes of hers.

“A quack? How absolutely impossible.” Mrs. Ramshaw’s voice quivered. “I’d have never forgiven myself. Never.”

Clara gripped Daniel’s hand and Ramshaw’s arm came around her shoulders. “Lord, Lord. Thank you for keeping our Clara safe. Oh dear, dear Lord.” The woman’s prayer slipped between them like glue.

Why would the man choose her life to play games with? Was it the money she’d be able to pay? Deathly thoughts. What might have happened had she gone under his knife ?

One of the police men exited the office and approached them. “If you don’t mind, would you three be willing to give a statement as to your dealings with Dr. Rosenthal?”

Clara lifted her chin and told him what she knew.

She’d had so much hope. He’d tried to entice her into a surgery that could have killed her. Her broken desperation had transformed her into a woman he was beginning to love to the depths of his being. Indeed, she’d gained much. But what damage would this new loss cause?

AFTER A FEW HOURS ABOARD the train, Clara had never been happier to get off and stretch. Daniel had procured a table at a nearby inn, where they’d dined in silence before the never-ending return journey.

She couldn’t explain her feelings. They’d all remained quiet the rest of the way home— her mind receding into itself, nestling within her newly forming thoughts.

That Dr. Rosenthal was such a brute had been a shock.

A man lay murdered in the very room where he’d examined her last autumn?

The idea stole her breath. Surprisingly, the knowledge that there’d be no surgery—was no treatment—to restore her sight hadn’t been the blow she’d expected.

She knew that Mrs. Ramshaw and Daniel were worried. She hadn’t melted into a pool of tears or come up with a new, outrageous threat. No more bargaining to get her way. Her desperation had been tempered by love. Daniel’s and Mrs. Ramshaw’s.

They’d cared for her like family. They carried her heart firmly, but gently.

Unmovable, no matter what Clara said or did.

Mrs. Ramshaw couldn’t be put off from caring about her.

For her. This time, it didn’t feel as if the old woman wanted to control her destiny.

She wanted to keep her safe. Unlike her parents.

..the ones she should have been able to trust with every inch of her life .

And Daniel, God knew she didn’t deserve him. Not with her failings and what she tried to do. How could they forgive so freely? She asked herself these questions, but knew the answer in its purest form.

Jesus.

Only Jesus.

Jenny bustled about her, serving tea and hot soup. The sounds around the kitchen were as familiar as they were comforting. The creak of the stove door, a splash of water, a gentle hum...

Clara breathed in the fragrant soup, a family recipe. Except this kitchen felt more like home than any other.

She tore into her hot yeast roll and generously buttered it.

Life...life was here and now. God had seen fit to put her where she’d experience a taste beyond what she’d always known.

More than a taste—she lifted her spoon to her mouth and savored the herbed broth—life was a whole new pot of soup.

She laughed at her own attempts at sorting out her feelings.

Blinded though she was, she felt that she could see. Finally.

Daniel burst through the kitchen door, allowing in a cold wake of frigid air. He’d left not twenty minutes prior. “Have you seen the paper?”

A crackle met her ears as he spread it wide on the table. Mrs. Ramshaw mumbled the text as she read. “...caught and killed. Those who aided or abetted were to be...”

She didn’t finish. Daniel sounded as though he’d raced up the hill from his parsonage. Jenny stopped humming. Mrs. Ramshaw groaned. “Dear God.”

Clara put her spoon into her bowl. “What happened?”

Mrs. Ramshaw patted her hand. “We’ll have this discussion another time. Daniel, go home. Get some rest. We’ll think straight come morning.”

“Mrs. Ramshaw? ”

“Don’t let your soup grow cold, dear.”

Daniel’s hand briefly rested on her shoulder. “Goodnight, Clara.” He sounded tired. Deflated. “Good night, Mrs. Ramshaw. You’re right. We’ll think better after a good rest.”