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T he sky blossomed a forget-me-not blue and Daniel sighed. The fine day had made the walk here pure pleasure, but the visit wasn’t going as he’d hoped.

Mr. Stanton drew from his pipe, not seeming to notice the momentary lapse in conversation, which had been animated for several minutes.

It seemed Mr. Stanton had issues with the previous minister and made an extensive list to ensure such irritations never happened again.

The paper crinkled in his front coat pocket, a wad of discontent.

Daniel smiled despite the man’s authoritative stance. He could certainly handle the simple subject of flowers in the sanctuary. “Drooping flowers certainly don’t lift a body’s spirit. But surely flowers aren’t my duty to provide?”

Mr. Stanton nodded. “Jeffery Barton might loan you one of his slaves for cleaning, but with harvest coming,” he shrugged, “Job’s up to you.”

Mrs. Stanton nodded her agreement while two of their daughters sat as straight as New York statues. Why couldn’t one of these females help? Surely, they’d know more about flower arranging. Good grief. The silliness of some people.

“I’ll do my best, Mr. Stanton.” He’d do his best to pass the task to someone better suited, that’s for sure. And as quickly as possible.

A slave appeared with a silver tray of lemonade in crystal glasses.

He’d better keep his abolitionist beliefs in his back pocket if he was going to thrive.

But still, slavery rankled him. And he’d caused enough stir in his early career for a long, clean record to matter.

One day, he wanted to go home to New York again, work for a larger congregation. Do some real good.

He sipped his lemonade in an acceptable quiet. He would not query the young ladies—they seemed far from interested by his visit. But one was missing—the blind one so many in town had been eager to gossip about. “Do you not have three daughters, ma’am?”

Mrs. Stanton pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eye. “Clara. Perhaps you have heard about her accident?”

“I have, ma’am. A fall from a horse?”

She dabbed the other eye and returned the handkerchief to her sleeve.

Had there been tears? Quite theatrical. Perhaps it was the unseen ones she’d tried to blot away.

“Is she indisposed to lemonade on a fine day?” Anything to meet the famous wild woman punished by blindness. Rumors, they tainted at will. He’d see her vindicated.

“I’m afraid, Mr. Merrick, that she suffers with melancholy. See, she sits alone beyond the tree.”

“Ah.” Daniel looked where she pointed. Clara slowly swayed on a wide swing, he couldn’t make out her features, but a great length of comely maple-colored hair had come undone and swept the ground. She didn’t seem to care.

Mr. Stanton slapped his knees and spoke through his pipe. “Lord willing, she’ll quickly regain her sight soon enough and wed soon after. But I won’t allow my women to ever climb on the back of a horse again, as long as I breathe.”

Daniel’s eyes lingered on Clara, “A loss of freedom on their part.”

Mr. Stanton guffawed as though he told a joke. “They don’t feel it one bit. Not with my fat purse emptying faster than rain falls, isn’t that right my daughters? ”

Alice grinned. “It’s only because of the ball, Father.”

Mrs. Stanton’s smile grew as well. “It’s one of the most important days of the year, with Belle’s coming out.”

Daniel blinked at the thought. A debutante’s entrance into society was the family’s way of helping her make the most fortuitous match—for both families.

Frills and glamorous balls aside, did these young women really enjoy being the means of financial gain?

A most important day of the year, indeed. Sold to the highest bidder.

Mr. Stanton stood, so did Daniel. “I’ll show you the stables, see if that thoroughbred won’t suit you.” He led the way. “Let’s leave the ladies to their never-ending talk of silks and lace.”

Daniel bowed to the ladies. “I am in desperate need of a horse.”

Mrs. Stanton nodded. “You’ve come to the right place, Reverend.”

A childhood dream was about to come true. A man needed a horse, not a cat. His pace quickened as they reached a row of stables that put to shame the homely cabin he’d visited yesterday.

He glanced back to Clara. The haze of autumn’s final light framed her in its glow. The sun had set its sight on her and only her. Did she know that God saw her? That He cared?

An hour later, Daniel bounced down the road on a borrowed saddle and a suspicious horse. Not the sleek racing Thoroughbred Mr. Stanton had showed off. But an older Morgan who tossed its head from side to side as if displeased with its new owner.

“We’ll become good friends, you and I. Not to worry.” More to convince himself than the horse.

She turned a circle and he pulled the reigns.

Too tight, the horse reared. He tried to hang on but slid to his backside, plop in the middle of the dusty road.

A dirty plume grew as he scrambled to snatch the bridle.

The horse tossed her neck from him. His backside ached and his frustration grew. He needed riding lessons .

The horse stamped her feet. “All right, Miss, I have dominion over you and you’d better get used to it. He slapped dust away and grabbed at the reigns once more, but faltered. “I suppose I can walk by your side. Just this once.”

The road loomed, long and empty. Two more miles with this bossy beast by his side. He couldn’t help but think of Clara Stanton after his minor fall. How would he deal with such a strange tragedy? The threat of living in darkness pulled at his soul. “Poor thing. Dear God, I can’t fathom it.”