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going to hurt him, either. After all this time, his heart had finally hardened into a block of stone.

    Abby stood at the back door with the kerosene lamp and watched Ella walk toward her own home a hundred yards beyond the bunkhouse. Though she had all but begged Ella to stay and partake of the meal she had so generously cooked, her new friend had refused. Her own family awaited her. She would come, though, she assured Abby, to visit tomorrow.
    Her own family …
    A renewed wave of homesickness and longing washed over Abby. Oh, how she missed her own family, Thomas and little Joshua. If only … if only she’d been a better mother, perhaps Joshua wouldn’t have died. If only she had been a more biddable, loyal wife …
    Hot tears stung her eyes. Abby wrenched her thoughts from her guilty self-torment, pulled the door closed, and turned. Conor MacKay and his daughter stood in front of the kitchen table.
    “M-Mr. MacKay, ” Abby stammered, startled. Furiously, she blinked back her tears. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
    His shuttered glance first took in her—and Abby knew he’d noted her tears—then moved to the table, set with glasses, bowls, spoons, the pot of stew, thick slices of bread, and a crock of sweet cream butter. “We were getting hungry, Mrs. Stanton, ” he said, his words surprisingly gentle and subdued. “I take it supper is served?”
    “Why, yes, so it is.” Abby placed the kerosene lamp she was holding in the middle of the table, then hurried to one of the two cupboards and picked up the pitcher of milk sitting there. “Please, sit where you usually do.” She lifted the pitcher, relieved to have something to do. “Would anyone like a glass of milk?”
    Conor looked pointedly at Beth. The girl didn’t reply. “Beth likes milk, ” he finally answered for her. “Sit down, Beth.”
    His daughter shot him a mutinous glance but took her seat without a word. Abby moved to her side, filled her glass, then another for herself. “What about you, Mr. MacKay? What would you like to drink?”
    He wanted to tell her a stiff shot or two of whiskey would be welcome right about now, but decided against scandalizing his new employee the first night out. As it was, she looked as if, at any moment, she was on the verge of breaking into a fit of weeping. “Water will do me fine, Mrs. Stanton.”
    Abby pumped out some water into his glass and returned to his side.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Stanton, ” he said, glancing up at her. “Please, sit. I can’t abide a woman hovering over me.”
    Abby flushed. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what you expect of me.” She took her seat across from Beth.
    The pot of stew sat closest to Conor. He dished up for Beth a portion of dark, rich beef stew, thick with tender carrots, potatoes, and peas, then reached for Abby’s bowl. Once he had served himself, Abby passed the plate of bread and crock of butter.
    She sat there and waited until all had their food, hoping that, as the man of the house, Mr. MacKay would then lead them in the saying of grace. He, however, never lifted his eyes from his bowl.
    Abby turned to Beth, watching to see what she would do. The little girl was even quicker than her father to shove the first spoonful of stew into her mouth.
    Abby clasped her hands before her and bowed her head, offering a silent prayer of thanks for the meal the Lord had given. Then, after finally unfolding her hands and placing her napkin on her lap, she lifted her gaze.
    Two pairs of eyes were riveted on her, and the look in one particular, smoky blue pair made Abby’s heart almost skip a beat. Forcing the brightest smile she could manage, she picked up her spoon and began to eat.

 
    3
    Let us run with patience the race that is set before us.
    Hebrews 12:1
    The next morning at 5:00 A.M. sharp, Abby woke to the raucous clanging of her new alarm clock. Groggy and disoriented, she groped blindly for the unfamiliar instrument, finally finding the button that silenced the