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bowl,” he said.
    “It’s not.” When the baby saw him pick it up, she began to cry and point to it. “I think she’s still hungry. Check the cupboard and see if there is any pap formula.”
    “I have no idea what I’m looking for,” he said, pushing aside the blue and white gingham over the shelves.
    “Look for Nestlé. That would be the most likely formula,” she said.
    “I see nothing like that.”
    “Is there milk in the icebox? I can make it with flour and milk.” She began to dress the baby in a white gown.
    He peered into the icebox. “Yes, there’s milk.” He took it out and sniffed it. “Smells okay.”
    “Here, you take her.” She thrust the baby into his arms then took the milk and measured out a pint into a pan. She added a pint of water and a tablespoon of flour and put it on the stove. When the bubbles began to roll, she stirred it and put it in the pap feeder. “I’ll feed her as soon as it cools.” She nodded toward the high chair by the table. “Make sure you take that with you.”
    Jennie continued to wail and reach for her, so she took the baby from Mr. Jesperson’s awkward grip and tried to soothe her, but the baby refused to be consoled.
    Her cries—the cries of a little girl, lost and abandoned—twisted Katie’s heart, bringing forth memories she wasn’t quite ready to face.

F IVE
    T HE WIND RUSHED past Katie’s ears as she skated home in the twilight. She quite disliked being forced to leave little Jennie in the care of the lightkeeper, but Bart would be waiting for her by the time she got home. She crested Mercy Hill, and then her skates rolled faster down the slope toward the house. The sea foam hurtled toward the shore on the crest of the waves, dark blue in the dim light. The salty scent lifted her mood. She loved living by the ocean.
    Gaslight glimmered through the windows and she smelled the pot roast their cook had put in the oven this morning. Katie sat on the bottom step, removed her skates, and then hurried to the front door. The first thing she noticed when she stepped inside the house was the scent of liquor. A pool of liquid ran between broken pieces of glass on the floor. Someone had dropped a bottle of whiskey. Or thrown it.
    She dropped her skates in the corner by the bench. “Mama?” she called, her voice quivering. Something was very wrong. Her mother would never allow a liquid to mar her redwood floors. She rushed down the hall to the parlor and found her father bending over her mother, who reclined on the davenport. Bart, a grave expression on his face, stood off to one side with his hands behind his back.
    “Mama?” Aware of the accusation in the glare she tossed at her father, she lowered her eyes. He adored Mama. He would never hurt her. “What’s happened?”
    Her father lifted a brow. “Don’t raise your voice, Katie. You’ll hurt her head. Someone struck her with a whiskey bottle.”
    She stepped to her mother’s side. Her mother attempted a smile, then a moan issued from her mouth. Katie laid her hand on her mother’s forehead. “Did you call the doctor?” she asked her father.
    “I did,” Bart said, stepping toward her. “He’s already come and gone.”
    She didn’t want Bart here. This was a family matter. When he tried to grasp her hand, she stepped away. “What did he say?”
    “The doctor assured me Inez will be fine,” her father said, his voice trembling. “It appears worse than it is.” He stepped back so Katie could kneel at her mother’s side.
    The maid hurried in with a wet cloth. Katie took it and pressed it to the lump on her mother’s forehead. “Who attacked her? A thief?”
    Bart cleared his throat. “I came up the porch steps with your father as a man rushed out the door. He had a kerchief around his face and I didn’t recognize him. Of course, I hurried inside to check on you and your mother.”
    Her father nodded. “I found your mother lying on the entry floor with the maid caterwauling over