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midmorning. James filled a jug with water to take in the wagon.
    “No rest for the weary,” Miriam said.
    That was what James feared. He hoped Gideon would marry Ella soon. At least when fall came, all three children would be in school for the first time and Miriam’s days would ease.

CHAPTER 4
    O n the beige settee with green and blue tapestry pillows, Margaret sat in her front room with hands in her lap and feet flat on the floor. Almost flat. One toe wiggled in rhythm with the ticking second hand of the clock on the mantel. She refused to give in to the urge to open the oven too soon. Patience would yield impeccable golden crusts, steam rising from the precise vents she had cut in the tops before sliding two pies into the oven side by side.
    Tick. Tock. Tick.
    A fine red thread ran through the weave of the pillows. Margaret seldom looked at them closely enough to notice it.
    Tick. Tock. Tick.
    The minute hand circled the clock face seven more times before Margaret popped up and pushed through the oak door into the kitchen, where the woodstove blasted intolerable heat. Temperatures on the first of August were beastly on their own. In past summers, Margaret was content with a cold plate of cheese and fruit for her supper. Her kitchen table always had half a dozen books on it, and food she could pick up with her fingers was more convenient while she read.
    That was before Gray Truesdale.
    Margaret took the two blackberry pies from the oven and transferred them to the cooling rack, though she had no intention of letting them cool. She wrapped each one in a fresh white towel purchased at the mercantile only four days ago. She and Gray could cut into one tonight—still warm—and she would send the other home with him.
    He stopped by two or three evenings a week now. Margaret couldn’t be certain he would come tonight, but she would be prepared. It was Thursday, a day he seemed to favor. She moved the coffeepot to the heat of a front burner.
    Perspiration dripped from both temples. Taking a handkerchief from her skirt pocket, Margaret dabbed at the moisture while she walked through the house. The front porch would be cooler, and if Gray didn’t see her sitting in her swing on a fine evening, he might think she would not welcome a visit.
    Across the street and two houses down, Lindy Lehman knelt in a flower bed. When Lindy glanced up, Margaret waved. Tomorrow evening she would wander over with a friendly offering of leftover pie.
    Margaret heard the grind of Gray’s truck, though it had not yet come into view. Several neighbors were outside their homes. If they were paying attention, they would soon realize that Gray’s visits held a pattern. What the neighbors might think of a male visitor to a woman who lived alone was a dilemma Margaret had not faced before.
    She didn’t care. This might be her last chance.
    Gray’s truck was not loud or irregular. Margaret doubted anyone else would recognize the pitch of its engine from three blocks away, but her ears were peculiarly attuned to the sound. He eased to the side of the road down the block, exited, let the door fall closed without slamming it, and plunged his hands into this pockets for a casual stroll toward Margaret’s porch.
    Her chest heated up just with the thought of him, and his scent filled her mind from yards away.
    “Evening,” he said, turning up the brick path in front of her home.
    “Evening.” Margaret gave the swing a slight push, determined not to appear too eager.
    “It’s a fine night.”
    “Quite lovely.”
    Gray reached the bottom of three broad steps, set his foot on it, and leaned on his knee. He was a tall man, and fit. When he removed his hat, dimming rays of sunlight brightened his brown eyes.
    “I was just about to have some pie,” Margaret said. “I wonder if you might want to sit on the porch and have a slice.”
    “That’s the most hospitable offer I’ve had all day.” Gray took two slow steps up the stairs.
    Margaret stood