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tasted salty on her lips. Once she started crying she couldn't stop. Afraid her grandmother would hear, she reached for a washcloth to cover her face.
    Drained and gasping for breath, she leaned back and soaked until her fingers and toes were wrinkled. She was miserable.
    Totally miserable.
    There was a knock on the bathroom door. "Jenny? Are you all right? You haven't slipped down the drain, have you?"
    "N—no. I'm getting out now."
    "Good. You need to eat something."
    "I will."
    When she emerged from the bathroom, she was surprised to see her grandmother sitting on the wooden chair in the bedroom.
    Startled, Jenny tucked the towel more securely around her.
    "You've been crying," Phoebe observed. "Maybe I shouldn't have pushed you to go to therapy."
    Sinking down on the bed, Jenny reached for her robe and drew it on. "No, you should have. I was hiding here. And I need the therapy."
    "But? I hear a 'but' coming."
    Jenny shook her head as if she didn't know what her grandmother was talking about. Then she just couldn't hold it in. "It's just that she said—she said something— " her lips trembled.
    "Did she hurt your feelings?"
    "No." Jenny swallowed. "She said nice something . . . something nice," she corrected herself, hating the way expressing herself came so hard. "She said she'd watched me on television and I—I cared so much about the children."
    Phoebe came to sit beside her and put her arm around Jenny. "Why did that make you cry?"
    "She said no one else had rushed in to do my job since I was hurt." Jenny took a shaky breath.
    Her grandmother sighed and put her arm around Jenny's waist. "Ah, now I see what makes you so sad. You're worried about the children."
    Her throat was choking with tears. "Someone will. I have to tell myself that someone will do something now that they know."
    "God is looking out for all His children, even when it seems He is not."
    "I know." Jenny pulled a tissue from the pocket of her robe and wiped her eyes. "I know."
    "Pray for the children. That's what you can do for them now."
    Nodding, Jenny took a deep breath. "I will."
    "Now, I think you'll feel better if you have something to eat then take a nap. Ya?"
    "You're probably right."
    Phoebe gave her a hug and stood. "Good. Come eat."
     

     
    There had to be a way to do something, Jenny thought later as she stretched out on the bed.
    Her eyes went to the journal she kept. Maybe when she wrote in it in the morning she'd find a solution. For now, she prayed. Then she slept.
     

     
    The next day, her grandmother asked Jenny if she wanted to go into town, but she didn't press when Jenny begged off. She left, promising to be back in a few hours.
    Jenny was still really sore from the physical therapy. She knew to expect it, but that didn't make her feel any better. With a sigh, she took a few aspirin and rested on the sofa with a book.
    The aspirin, the rest, and the warmth from the fire made her feel better. She read for a while and then put down the book.
    She was strangely restless. Maybe it was because she'd been out yesterday, breaking the routine of being housebound. Maybe it was because she knew she had been hiding.
    Or maybe it was because everyone else seemed to be out and about today. Going to the kitchen window, she watched cars and horse-drawn buggies travel up and down the road.
    She realized she looked to see if Matthew was driving every time a buggy passed. Now I'm behaving like a teenager, she thought wryly.
    How much did he remember about that last summer she'd visited? He'd pushed that jar of blueberry jam toward her and it seemed to her that he was trying to prod her memory. That his expression was . . . hopeful?
    But maybe that was just wishful thinking. Just because she'd had a crush on him, had thought about him for years, didn't mean that he'd done the same. After all, not only had she never heard from him again, he'd gotten married.
    That part hurt the most. From what she could figure out, he'd married about a year