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moments of His presence
.
    But I can’t feel, see, or hear anything that gives me such peace anymore. I see nothing ahead except endless murky days and sinister nights stretching before me. Only one small glimmer now and then flashes in my peripheral vision – a little light blinking like a tiny star. But I am afraid to look at it. Is it offering me a safe harbor, if only I would look? Or will it vanish forever, if I dare to turn my head?
    This morning, sitting in the carriole, I knew I had to face the busy day ahead. I couldn’t stop to rail at Fate or the Furies or whatever was making my thoughts so bleak. At least for a few hours of every day, when I teach at Miss Cameron’s School for Girls, I am free of these dark thoughts. And, I remind myself, I also have Dilly as a quiet ally at home. Blessings, too, must be remembered
.
    I should be wearing a sackcloth and ashes, I decided, for I am Gloom itself today
.
    “Miss Alexander!” someone called. “Are you all right? I thought I heard you talking to someone.”
    My sleigh was blocking the narrow church road. Ten feet away, Reverend Dalhousie sat astride a horse with a dour expression, rather like his master
.
    “Still miles away, Miss Alexander, in the cosmopolitan world of Upper Canada?” he asked
.
    I laughed to hide my fluster. “I’m still recovering from my long days of travel, Reverend. I was practicing a lesson for my pupils. I must go. I am already late.”
    “Will you be attending our little gathering for the Gaskells?”
    “Indeed, I will,” I said, hoping it would be more cheerful than Mrs. Gaskell’s other dismal events over the years
.
    “I am pleased with the new hymns you included for the Christmas Eve service, Miss Alexander, considering I gave you such short notice about taking over the church choir. I am looking forward to hearing them and, of course, your school choir as well. I won’t keep you. Mr. Campbell is failing and wishes to say his final farewells to God and his family.”
    I couldn’t help smiling. “Not again! Mr. Campbell has been dying for forty years.”
    He looked shocked. “Now, Miss Alexander, you mustn’t poke fun. Mr. Campbell is old and convinced of his looming demise. Perhaps this is indeed his final day.”
    I tried to look contrite. “If it is, please say good-bye for me. But do please remind him that our next choir practice is Friday at seven o’clock.”
    He was clearly disconcerted by my flippancy. I flushed, stammered out an apology, and sent my sincerest best wishes to Mr. Campbell
.
    Sometimes words fly out of my mouth. It can be strangely satisfying to be slightly reckless, but it is not wise. Women are not allowed to be offhanded or opinionated in our bishop’s community. Perhaps that will change with the Dalhousies. Hope rises, but often its bubble is quickly pierced
.
    Reverend Dalhousie lifted one hand, and his horse high-stepped away. I turned to watch him. He sat well, slim and tall, his fair hair covered with a woolen scarf topped by a narrow fur hat, his upper body in a heavy coat with a thick fur collar. But his feet in those knee-length riding boots would grow cold. A few episodes of painful frostbite and he would soon learn to wear the moccasins of our people
.
    Robert Dalhousie is like no other man in the parish at present – a prize to be won at all costs by hopeful mamas in the other stone houses. He is English, pleasant-looking, in his late twenties, if somewhat stiff and formal. The mothers of marriageable daughters have issued a long list of dinner invitations well into February
.
    Is he a little interested in me,
I wondered
, in his detached, cautious way?
Perhaps I was reading too much into his pleasant manner. Perhaps not
.
    Feeling suddenly better, I flicked Tupper’s reins, clicked my tongue, and we were off
.

6

CASS
    A scratchy throat started on the way to school. By the time math came around, it was really sore, my eyes watery, and my nose full. As I finished a pop quiz and