Page 17

The rolling of the cart’s wheels and the lowing of cattle on the other side of the hedgerow were the only sounds that broke the silence until they rounded the corner and a small cottage came into view.

“Before we arrive at the house, tell me how Mrs. Trilby is faring.” Caroline had not seen the woman at church, and placing her focus on another would be the best way for Caroline to move past her own raw emotions.

“Things have been very hard since her husband passed,” Caroline’s father said.

“How did he die?”

“It was an accident with a horse,” he said. “If you remember, Will was the village blacksmith. I gather he was shoeing a skittish thoroughbred belonging to a gentleman down Tewkesbury way. A breeze caught a door, and it slammed closed. The horse reared, broke loose of its tether, and kicked Will in the head.” Her father shook his head sadly. “He never woke up.”

Fred had been seriously ill for almost a fortnight. As desperately as she’d desired a different outcome, Caroline had at least been offered a few days’ forewarning of what might happen. An accident so wholly unexpected must have been a terrible shock.

“How awful for Mrs. Trilby,” she said.

“It was. Nora tells me that she’s been taking in washing and mending, but I fear those small things will be insufficient to make up for the loss of her husband’s income. Not with four young mouths to feed beside her own.” He pulled up in front of the cottage, a concerned expression on his face. “That is one reason why I asked you to join me. As her minister, I need to ascertain her needs, but sometimes it is easier for a woman to confide such things in another woman.”

“Mother used to accompany you on such visits,” Caroline said.

“Yes.” For a fleeting moment, sadness touched his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by acceptance. “Like you, she had a way of seeking out the positive in a situation. It was a great boon when members of my flock were in need of encouragement.”

Caroline was not sure that she was up to that task; she was barely surfacing from her own difficulties. But she could hardly retreat now, especially as one of the Trilby children was solemnly watching their arrival from the front doorstep.

Her father descended from the bench, and by the time Caroline had alighted, two more children had joined the first. Caroline’s father lifted the basket and started toward the door with Caroline beside him.

“Good day, James,” he said.

The tallest of the children inclined his head. “Good day, Reverend Moore.”

“I wonder if your mother might be available?”

James nudged the little girl at his right. “Sally, go tell Mother that th’ minister an’ another lady’s ’ere.”

With a final wide-eyed look at their visitors, Sally disappeared into the house. The child’s voice calling for her mother reached them through the open door. James shifted his feet awkwardly. His younger brother popped his thumb into his mouth. James swatted it out.

“What is your name?” Caroline asked, dropping into a crouch so that she could face the young boy before his tears began.

“S-Sammy,” he said.

“And how old are you, Sammy?”

He raised three fingers.

“Good gracious. Did you know that is one of my favorite ages?”

Sammy’s eyes had not left her, although Caroline doubted he could see much beyond her veil. “You like three?”

“Why, yes, don’t you?”

He shook his head. “I’s too little t’ climb trees an’ too big t’ sit on Mama’s lap.” He sniffled. “Peggy’s littler ’n me. She can’t walk yet, so she alwus sits on Mama’s lap.”

Caroline’s heart ached for the child. And for his mother. There had been many times when Caroline had wished that Meg had had a father at home so that she might be cradled in his arms, but Meg had never had to share Caroline’s lap with another child.

“Reverend Moore!”

At the sound of a woman’s voice, Caroline rose to her feet. Sarah Trilby was only three or four years older than Caroline, but during their youth, the age discrepancy had been enough that they’d not known each other well. Her dark hair was falling loose from a disheveled plait, and a large apron covered her pale-blue blouse and brown skirt. On her hip, she carried an infant. Peggy, Caroline assumed.

“Good day, Mrs. Trilby,” her father said. “I hope that we are not interrupting something important.”

“I’m doin’ some washin’, is all,” she said. “Come in, please.” She hiked Peggy a little farther up on her hip and backed into the small house. “It’s nothin’ that can’t wait fer a bit.”