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adores you. She says if she must lose to anyone, it better be to someone
    of your exceptional talent.”
    Mary glanced at Sal y who indicated Jenny was tel ing her the truth. If she remembered who
    Maureen Brown was, perhaps it wouldn’t seem so strange that she’d be happy to lose.
    “As long as you real y don’t mind making a snack, we’d love to eat something you make,” Jenny
    said.
    “Wonderful.” Mary smiled, excited by the idea of fixing them something to eat. “I’d like to try
    out one of the recipes I found in my box. I believe it’s for brown sugar candy.”
    Carl let out a whoop and ran for the kitchen.
    “That’s his not-so-subtle way of tel ing you he’d like it,” Sal y said.
    Though she grinned, Jenny rol ed her eyes. “Not-so-subtle, indeed. I have to confess that Carl
    loves coming here because you cook better than I do.”
    “Oh, you do fine,” Sal y protested.
    “Yes, but not as good as Mary,” Jenny said and glanced at Mary with a teasing gleam in her
    eye. “And that’s even when I use your recipes.”
    Sal y shrugged. “Some of us are better at it than others, and Mary, I have yet to find anyone
    who’s better than you.”
    Pleased by their kind words, Mary thanked them and led them to the kitchen. Maybe she didn’t
    remember them, but it didn’t take much to understand why she was friends with them. They
    were just as wonderful as her husband was, and for that, she was grateful she married into his
    family.

Chapter Five
    Two weeks later, the July weather grew warmer and Mary made it a habit of taking Isaac and
    Rachel outside more so she could relax on the porch swing. On this particular day, she
    decided to try her hand at sewing. Sal y had shown her a simple pattern yesterday when she
    came out, and it seemed to be familiar enough to try. Eager to see if it would prompt a
    memory, she sat with the shirt Dave needed mending.
    For the moment, the children were happy. Isaac was running across the yard, looking for a
    frog to play with while Rachel was playing with her dol on the porch floor. Mary pul ed the
    thread through the needle and glanced at her daughter. The dress on the dol had the name
    Rose on it. She wondered why.
    “Rachel?” she cal ed out.
    Her daughter looked over at her.
    “Who is Rose?”
    Rachel’s eyebrows furrowed.
    Mary motioned to the dol . “On the dress is the name Rose. Who is Rose?”
    “Ros. Preddy.”
    So whoever Rose was, she was pretty. Judging by the way Rachel turned her attention back
    to the dol , she figured that was al she was going to get from her, but Rachel was only a year
    old. What else could she expect? Shrugging, she knotted the end of the thread.
    “I know what Rose is, Ma,” Isaac yel ed from the porch steps.
    Surprised he was even paying attention to what she was saying to Rachel, she asked, “Who is
    Rose?”
    “A flower. See?” He pointed to a rosebush by the porch steps. “Pa planted it for you after he
    got the house done.”
    “He did?” Wel , that was awful y sweet of him.
    “Rachel likes the roses. She says they’re pretty.”
    “Oh.” Now that made sense.
    “It’s also a name,” Isaac added.
    “Is it?”
    “If she has a sister, she wants her name to be Rose.”
    Amused, Mary’s lips curled up into a smile. “Did she tel you that?”
    “Yes. She babbles a lot, but I know what she means.”
    “I’m sure you do.” When she realized he was waiting for her to say more, she cleared her
    throat. “If you have another sister, we’l name her Rose.”
    “Be sure to give me a brother first, Ma.”
    “I’l do my best.” Even if she didn’t remember how her children were conceived, she figured
    picking the gender wasn’t under her control. But why tel him that?
    Isaac, seeming to be happy with the promise of a brother, ran off to search for a frog. Shaking
    her head, she chuckled and turned her attention back to the shirt. It looked like she only had to
    mend the front pocket. She pul ed the thread