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“ T he documents, as requested.” Mrs. Ramshaw handed Daniel the all-important proof that Mr. and Mrs. Stanton had indeed relinquished rights to their daughter. Surgery, they must grant permission—but marriage? Had they thought so little of Clara? Or her chance at happiness?

He’d never release his daughter in this way. But praise God Mrs. Ramshaw came to her aid. He laughed. They never suspected the old woman capable of upending Clara’s life for the better.

“Now all I need is Francine to cooperate, and we’ll be on our way.”

Mrs. Ramshaw tapped her chin. “After you are married, she must come live here. I’d love the companionship.”

Francine hadn’t celebrated much at the news. She tried to put on a happy front, despite the dire warnings that Clara wouldn’t—couldn’t—make a decent preacher’s wife. She listed her shortcomings again.

“I do like her, Daniel. Very much.” Francine had kissed him on the cheek and wished him well. He could do nothing to tug her out of the depths. Melancholia drowned her joy since she’d arrived. He’d urged her to pray. She assured him she did.

Plans must continue. They would marry within two weeks. Seemed like an eternity. Once the ring was on her finger, he was ready to make his vows. Clara was eager as well, though had grown somewhat timid of late .

Sweet Clara. He’d been so reluctant to help this renegade group of abolitionists. Worried about his sterling reputation. He wanted nothing to mar his ministry or override his purpose. What happened in New York couldn’t happen again.

When Mrs. Ramshaw first approached him, he wanted to forget she ever said the words. Pretend that slavery wasn’t a great evil, pretend that the souls of his congregation were all that mattered. That was the truth, he discovered. Their souls did matter and he felt a fool for having been so reticent.

If Clara hadn’t made her crazy offer...if her heart hadn’t been turned inside out...if... He saw in sequence the beautiful change in his beloved. She’d not only gotten stronger, she’d become fearless. She’d do anything to set Morrie free. If only he’d shown as much pluck from the beginning.

Truth be told, she infused him with energy. Sometimes God’s will came upon him in a still, small voice. Other times it crashed down like a rider bounding from her horse.

“Ma’am?” Jenny poked her head in the parlor. Her eyes flashed with concern.

“What is it, Jenny?” Mrs. Ramshaw was already on her feet.

“Morrie be painin’.”

“It’s too soon—oh dear. Say some prayers, Reverend. Hot water, Jenny.”

A moan sank through the floors, mournful and desperate.

Clara filled the doorway. “She needs help! I don’t know what to do!”

Daniel gathered her to his side as Jenny and Mrs. Ramshaw rushed upstairs. For hours they sat together, serenaded by Morrie’s pain-filled cries. Praying, weeping. Hoping.

Clara murmured into his jacket. “She’s been through too much already. Why this? ”

“I don’t know.” He sensed the growing wave of questions, one led to another, then another. Who had the answers?

How could a good God deliver a sweet woman into the hands of a man who would defile her? How could a good God allow a fifteen-year-old child to become a mother? How, indeed could a good God allow Morrie’s people to be enslaved for so long? Why hadn’t He stopped the horror?

How did one explain to her tender heart that God loved so much that He sent his Son, Who, therefore, sent us? Us ...he pondered. Of course. They were the answer. Good would eventually overpower the evils. It had to. The two couldn’t exist together.

He kissed the top of Clara’s head. “And the Lord God gave to Job twice as much as he had before...” A devastating story with a strangely satisfying conclusion.

Clara snuggled closer—too close for propriety. “If good can come from my blindness—then—” she didn’t finish.

“Yes. Good will come to Morrie.”

“I’m afraid she will die.”

Daniel stroked her back. He feared the same.

“My father—”

“Hush now.”

She pulled away from him. “He’ll be a murderer.”

Daniel shook his head. “Best not to think on it.”

“He should pay for his sin.” Bitterness tainted her words.

Daniel couldn’t disagree. For raping Morrie, and who knows how many other victims, the man should hang. He did deserve it. How painful the knowledge was for Clara! There was nothing left but to pray for his soul.

Like Jonah’s regret, Daniel didn’t always want the guilty to repent and receive the same measure of mercy the faithful enjoyed. He shut his eyes and let his mind drift to the greater story. The greater redemption. Restoration .

Mrs. Ramshaw and Jenny’s voice urged Morrie on. Success was near.

“We can hide the fact that she’s had the baby. You sent the letter to your father?”

She nodded.

“Then we’ll soon be on our way. All of us.

” He helped her to her feet. “Come, I believe Esther is in need of an apple and a gentle touch.” He led her outside where his horse—her horse—stood waiting.

He pulled an apple from the saddle bag and placed it in Clara’s hand.

She held the horse by the bridle and spoke softly to the creature who had unknowingly triggered her downfall.

“I’m glad you aren’t afraid.”

“No—I couldn’t be. Not of Esther.”

“But she ruined your sight...”

Clara squeezed her eyes together and swept her hand down Esther’s long neck.

“Mr. Grant—he rode in front of me as I was poised to jump the fence. He’s to blame.

I was trying to keep up. He circled back and cut me off.

I don’t know why—it all happened so fast. I couldn’t hold on.

” She patted the creature. “It wasn’t her fault. Poor thing.”

So much seemed out of control—but it wasn’t outside the loving direction of the Father. He saw. He knew.

“I’m not sorry it happened, Daniel.”

MRS. RAMSHAW ARRIVED with the news. Her voice quavered as though her own child had died. “He’s in the arms of Jesus.” Sounds of mourning filtered through the floor above.

“How is Morrie?” Daniel asked.

Mrs. Ramshaw sniffed and blew her nose in a handkerchief. “She’ll live, thank God. One day, she’ll be fine again.”

“May I go to her? ”

“If you wish.”

She left Daniel’s warm, safe side and climbed the stairs behind Mrs. Ramshaw. When they entered her room, Jenny gave a warning. “Ain’t no place for a lady, Miss Clara.”

“Help me to Morrie’s side, please.”

Mrs. Ramshaw guided her to the bedside, and Clara knelt down on the rug. “I would trade places with you if I could, Morrie.” Tears clogged her throat.

“No, Miz Clara.” Morrie’s voice was weak. “He’s the most beautiful baby I ever seed.”

“I wish I could see him.”

“He be lookin’ just like my pappy. So tiny-like.”

Water trickled into a bucket, a tea cup rattled close by.

“Hold him, Miz Clara?”

Jenny swished to Clara’s side and placed a tiny bundle into her open arms. Such a light weight.

She stroked the knitted blanket she’d finished only days ago.

Cradled there, he rested in the deepest of sleeps.

Her brother. Morrie’s son. Jenny’s first grandchild.

A gift, despite the taking—a taking, despite the life.

Her fingers found his and she held his tiny palm and fingers splayed. Blood of two families mingled together.

“Morrie.” She reached for her and captured her arm. “With all my heart, Morrie, I love your boy. And in all my power, I will help you. Do you believe me?”

“Yes, ma’am, but I don’t know why.”

“You’re going to be free, Morrie.”

“I don’t rightly understand what that means.”

Jenny lifted Clara to her feet. “Morrie be needin’ to rest now. I gots her, she gonna be fine.”

Mrs. Ramshaw lifted the baby away from her and nestled him back in his mother’s arms. It wouldn’t be long before they’d have to bury the boy .

Did she memorize his features? She certainly would have. Poor, poor, Morrie.

Mrs. Ramshaw sent her downstairs again and set her and Daniel to tea making. They were both quiet. Clara trembled from having held such a tiny life, blown out like a short-wicked candle. She measured out the tea leaves slowly, yet managed to spill half of them on the table.

“Here, I’ll do it.” Daniel took the spoon from her hand.

She bent her head down to her arms and allowed him to do the simple task.

“I’ll make a disaster of a wife for you, if I can’t manage the basics.” She may as well confess it now, before he was stuck with her for good. “You know, I can’t even cook?”

The idea of ever needing to know how never crossed her mind. These tasks belonged to Jenny. And any other house help they enslaved.

“Clara Stanton, my future wife, please understand that I love you, whatever you are, however you are. Think of how much you’ve learned in such a short time.”

He placed a cup of tea in front of her, the steam billowing its mildly tart fragrance.

“I fear I will fall far short.”

“We all do.”

“You will be disappointed in me.”

“Disappointed? You do me no honor with this charge.” He snatched her fingers and kissed them.

“You are certain you’ll have a blind wife?”

“My fiancé, I believe, sees more than most people do these days.” He came behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Morrie’s baby is gone—he—” Words strangled. How did one move on after such sorrow ?

“I know, Clara. My mother lost her last son. I know how you feel. I held my baby brother, too. Seeing his perfect form, his tiny fingers and toes—well, they made a believer out of me, if you can understand.” He carried the tea tray up upstairs, leaving her to the quiet snapping in the woodstove.

Her step-brother. Father had always wanted a son...but she hoped upon hope that he would never know that Morrie had carried his child. He didn’t deserve to have what he wanted, for all the taking he’d done.

A bitter tear slipped down her cheek. She never wanted to see him again. Irony tussled with the thought. Most likely, she wouldn’t have to.