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place. For some reason, she turned around. She had to find the source of those cries, and she was sorry she did.
    Olivia turned just in time to see the minister's wife struggling to comfort a little girl, not even three years old, but the child wanted her father, and Matthew didn't hesitate to reach out for her. The little girl flung herself into his arms and hid her face against his shoulder, and he absently stroked her wavy hair while listening to an earnest expression of sympathy from one of the mourners.
    The scene completely undid her, and Olivia whirled around and hurried to the carriage, not even waiting for the driver to help her climb inside. She collapsed onto the seat and let her head fall back against the upholstered cushion, smothering her own cries beneath her gloved hand.
    "Olivia?” Eula's voice was harried when she joined her a few minutes later. “Are you all right?"
    She nodded, forcing herself to speak despite her constricted throat. “Please, hurry and close the door. Let's go home. Now."
    Eula settled herself opposite Olivia and the carriage lurched forward. Why had she let herself be dragged to that funeral? She was the last person who should have been there, let alone be overcome with emotion. She could only hope no one had noticed her dash out of the cemetery.
    "You should have spoken to him, dear."
    She glanced up. “He saw me. He knows I was there."
    "But he doesn't know why."
    "I was there because you insisted that it was the right thing to do."
    Eula reached inside her reticule and withdrew a lace handkerchief, offering it to Olivia. When she finished drying her eyes, her aunt said, “Then you should feel proud of yourself."
    Olivia knotted the hanky around her fingers, remembering the way that child had held on to Matthew for dear life, and felt ashamed instead. She had never seen the child, never bothered to ask about her, or even acknowledge her existence. It had been so much easier to think of her as an unfortunate indiscretion rather than a little girl who deserved her compassion rather than her disdain.

Chapter Four
    Spring 1868
    There were certain advantages to being an old maid. Perhaps advantage was too strong a word, but Eula Chandler felt entitled to a few privileges, one of them being the right to meddle in the lives of those she cared about. Olivia tried not to let it bother her, knowing her aunt had the best intentions, but there were days she feared her patience had been tried to the limit.
    "Now, aren't you glad you came with me today?"
    "Glad is hardly how I would describe it.” Olivia snapped the reins and turned the buggy onto the main road. If anything, she was frazzled. “I had no idea we'd be there all day."
    Indeed, she had little patience for the sick and the shut in, but Eula thrived on them and felt responsible for every wretch in the county. Today she had sworn delivering food was all they would be doing and that it would take no time at all. Olivia hadn't even intended to go inside, but her aunt couldn't carry everything by herself. Indeed, Olivia had to make two trips from the buggy into the house, wondering how any sick person could eat so much.
    "Olivia,” Eula admonished. “We must always ask ourselves what Jesus would do."
    Despite her irritation, she smiled at her aunt. “He only fed five thousand."
    "Hush up and drive."
    It was no short trip to reach the more rural area, and the morning was completely gone. It didn't help that the trip required driving right past Matthew Bowen's farm, coming and going.
    She had managed not to even look in his direction coming out, but the silence had her mind wandering and her eyes followed suit. She managed to stop herself before completely turning her head toward the farmhouse, but not before Eula noticed the direction of her thoughts.
    "Look, Olivia. There's Matthew."
    Olivia glanced toward the house but saw no one. She turned back to tell her aunt that she was mistaken when she caught sight of the wagon approaching