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could never provide the kind of life she’s used to living.”
    â€œPerhaps material things don’t matter to her as much as you think they do. Perhaps love and commitment are much more important.” This time Rebecca reached over and pushed back the hair that had already fallen over his eyebrows. “You should ask her about that sometime.”
    He looked up and saw her smile, and there was no mistaking the happiness in his expression. “That’s good advice,” he said.
    She had intended to let him be the one to bring up the topic again, but several days after their conversation her father had received news that one of his ships had been lost at sea, and Crispin along with it. Rebecca felt deeply for Naomi, who had lost her husband after only three years of marriage. And it made her consider her feelings for Galen even more carefully.
    After several days of dropping hints—all in vain—she had finally confronted the issue directly. And she had gone all the way to the silversmith shop to do it.
    When she entered, Galen was putting away the hammers and tongs and other implements of his profession. She regretted not arriving a few minutes earlier; she loved watching him work. However, she had wanted to time her visit so they would have a chance to talk.
    â€œRebecca, what are you doing here?” Galen scowled as he pulled the heavy work apron over his head and hung it on a peg.
    â€œIs it all right?” she asked quickly. “I . . . I thought you’d be glad to see me.” Had she come at a bad time? Why was he upset?
    â€œOf course I’m glad. It’s just that you’ve been sick recently, and it’s an awfully long walk from your house to Harbor Street.” His face relaxed in a near smile. “I was worried about you, that’s all.”
    â€œI’m fine now—I needed the walk. I haven’t been anywhere in two weeks.” She exhaled in relief. “But I am a little winded. Perhaps I should sit down.”
    â€œYes, but not in here. It’s too hot.”
    The fires, used to heat precious metals until they were pliable, had been extinguished, but it was still quite warm in the shop. Galen guided her outside and they strolled toward the waterfront, stopping to buy some fruit from one of the vendor stalls lining the colonnade.
    Rebecca loved the varied noises and smells of the marketplace. Many of the merchants had already closed for the day and most of the pedestrians were headed away from the center of the city.
    They found an unoccupied bench near the river and watched a cargo ship dock while they ate their snack. When the silence had deepened beyond her endurance, Rebecca prodded Galen.
    â€œThe other day,” she began, “when you said there was this wealthy girl you wanted to marry . . .” She hesitated, hoping he would pick up the cue, but he just looked at her, patiently waiting. “Anyway, I said that maybe money wasn’t that important to her.”
    She paused again, and still he remained silent. “I know it’s only been a few days,” she continued, “but you haven’t mentioned it again, and, well, with everything that’s happened, I keep thinking . . .” This time she paused not for his reply but to summon her courage for the question that really mattered.
    â€œGalen, am I that girl?”
    A slow, deep smile parted his lips and a hint of amusement flashed in his eyes. “Of course. I thought you knew, Rebecca.”
    â€œI did. Or I thought I did. I mean, I usually know what you’re thinking.” She fidgeted with her tunic, arranging the skirt in folds. “I guess I just needed to hear it from you, that’s all.”
    â€œYes,” he repeated. “You are the girl I want to marry.”
    Rebecca was silent then, basking in the overwhelming relief she felt at his words and the happy sight of his smile. But then a new concern stirred her, and since