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see you?” I said.
    Augusta came to stand beside me. “Because I think you need someone you can talk to.”
    Was it that obvious? Could she
see
how much I hurt? “Then I guess you know about Ned.” I waited for her answer, and when it didn’t come right away, I thought my doubts were justified.
    Augusta spoke softly. “Of course I do, Kate. And the baby, as well.”
    How could she know?
Just then I didn’t care how. What mattered was, she was
there
. “I lost the baby,” I said, feeling the familiar wetness seeping into my eyes. “We waited so long, and I lost the baby. I don’t even know if it was a boy or a girl . . . Augusta, it wasn’t my fault.”
    She put her arms around me and the smell of strawberries was like a faint perfume. “Of course, it wasn’t your fault. I don’t believe your husband blamed you, did he? That wasn’t in my notes . . .”
    I wiped away tears with the dainty, lace-edged hankie she pressed into my hand. “No, he didn’t blame me, but he grieved alone. For years after having Josie we tried to have another child, and when we found I was expecting, Ned was ecstatic. He had lost his job and hadn’t yet found another, but this was such a happy thing, it made the other seem unimportant. Then, when I was less than three months along, I had a miscarriage.”
    A defective sperm or egg, my doctor had said. It was nature’s way of cleaning house. Nobody’s fault. We could try again.
    “He shut me out,” I told Augusta. “I felt empty to the bone, but he had no room in his heart for me—only his own grief.” I blew my nose as I paced the kitchen. “Self-pity, that’s all it was. He lost his job, he lost his baby. Well, I was hurting, too!” I didn’t have the nerve to tell her Ned and I hadn’t been intimate in months.
    The handkerchief was soggy and Augusta passed me another. “Have you tried talking about this?” she said.
    “When? He’s never home, and when he is, he’s tired or he doesn’t want to discuss it. Frankly, I’m tired of trying. I begged him to see a counselor with me, but it was like talking to a wall.” I shrugged. “Finally, I just went by myself.”
    “And did that help?” she asked.
    “I think it helped me to become stronger, to learn to face things by myself. But Ned resented it, you know. Said he didn’t like our problems being flaunted in front of perfect strangers.” I blew my nose. “
He’s
the one who’s a stranger!”
    Augusta Goodnight stood by the window and the moonlight caught her hair so that we needed no other light. “Just try and be patient, Kate,” she said, “it’s not over . . .”
    I waited for the angelic announcement that would bring purpose to my life.
    “It’s not over,” the angel continued, “until the plump lady performs.”
    At the risk of offending my otherworldly guest, I laughed all the way upstairs, then giggled in my sleep. If she had done nothing else, Augusta had brought a respite of amusement into my bleak existence. But I didn’t think that was the main reason for her being here. Even though she hadn’t said so, I had a strong feeling the angel was sent to warn me. But warn me of what?

C HAPTER F OUR
    “Just why are you here?” I asked my angel again the next morning. If I’d had any doubts about her heavenly connections, they vanished when I tasted Augusta’s coffee. And pancakes, so crisp and light they almost floated, seemed to multiply as fast as we could eat them, although Penelope did her best to keep up until Augusta gave her a warning lift of the brow.
    “As I said, I’m filling in.” She smiled. “More coffee?”
    I held out my cup. “But why?”
    “As to that, we’ll have to wait and see.” She began to fill the sink with rainbow bubbles. “We can start by getting these dishes cleared away so you can join the others in your family. Penelope, you may help dry.”
    Oh, no! Not with Mama’s good china!
“Oh, please, let me,” I said, grabbing a dishtowel from the