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“That is a splendid idea.” Her father flicked the leather straps to encourage Daisy to move a little faster. “I shall endeavor to speak with Giles at church tomorrow morning. All being well, Nora’s bread will help sustain the family until then.”

Caroline leaned back against the wooden seat. It was a start. Perhaps if she thought on the Trilbys’ situation long enough, she would conceive of another way to assist them. She reflected on her time in the cottage, on their brief conversation, and on how close Sarah’s emotions had been to the surface when she’d spoken of her husband. Caroline looked out across rolling pastures, the guilt she’d felt in Sarah’s parlor returning in discomforting measure.

“Father.” She paused. How did she voice her inner conflict when she’d scarcely acknowledged it until now? “Sometimes I fear that there is something wrong with my heart.”

Her father looked at her in alarm. “Are you in pain, child?”

“No. At least, not in a physical sense.” They passed a lichen-covered gate. The bird perched on the post took to the air, and Caroline experienced fresh longing for freedom from the weight she’d been carrying. “You saw how much Sarah is grieving for her husband. It’s in her voice, her eyes, and the way she speaks of him.” She swallowed. “Why do I not feel the same about Fred’s passing? He was a good man, and I cared for him, but . . . but I have scarcely shed a tear since my smallpox fever abated and I have been well enough to comprehend that he is gone.”

For a few moments, the only thing that interrupted the rhythmic clatter of the cart wheels rolling across the road was the distant lowing of a cow.

“How did you feel when Fred left you in Portsmouth for his first voyage after your wedding?” her father asked.

“Abandoned,” she admitted. “I cried for a week.”

“And the second time?” he asked.

She turned to him. “My tears lasted almost as long.”

He nodded slowly. “It seems to me that you experienced a portion of the grief most women feel at losing their husband every time Fred’s ship put out to sea. Indeed, that first year in Portsmouth, you were even more alone than Mrs. Trilby, for you were surrounded by strangers and had no children of your own.”

It was true. Caroline had never known such emptiness as she’d felt during those months, far from all the people and places she knew and loved. Later, caring for Meg alone had been a challenge, but her daughter’s arrival had removed the piercing loneliness she’d known during her first year of marriage.

“The Bible admonishes us to mourn with those who mourn,” he continued. “Because of your own experiences, you are uniquely qualified to do that for young women such as Mrs. Trilby. Do not dismiss the feelings you had all those years ago. They have given you the strength to endure what you have now been called upon to bear.” He sighed. “And I must ask your forgiveness for not offering you greater comfort when you were mourning Fred’s loss each time he left.”

“There is nothing to forgive. I married Fred knowing that he was an officer in the navy.”

“But not fully realizing the sacrifice that would require of you,” her father said.

She managed a small smile. “I was young and in love.”

“I suppose that is true.” Her father remained pensive. “It is remarkable how God works within the confines of the most trying circumstances to help us improve ourselves. I would not wish the hardships you have experienced upon you or anyone else, but I see the strength and wisdom you have developed because of them. Indeed, the compassion you showed to Mrs. Trilby and her children today only goes to prove it and evidences that there is nothing whatsoever wrong with your heart.”

Hope, pure and sweet, filled Caroline. If her father’s impression was correct, she was not completely unfeeling. She had been grieving the loss of her husband for years. This last separation was merely more final.

She slipped her arm beneath his. “Whatever would I do without you?”

“I cannot imagine,” he teased.

She laughed, and it felt rather wonderful. “Thank you for so willingly welcoming Meg and me back home.”

“I would not have you be anywhere else, and you must stay for as long as you wish.”

Caroline did not know how long that would be. Her focus had been placed so fully on regaining her strength, she had given her future less consideration than she ought to have done. She would need to find a way to provide for herself and Meg, but perhaps there was a way she might do that and remain in Leyfield.

Chapter 7

Caroline and Meg were not at church. Benedict averted his eyes from the empty spot on the pew beside Nora and attempted to dispel his concern. Given that Reverend Moore was preaching, that was not an easy task. Benedict considered it most unlikely that Caroline would miss her father’s sermon on a whim. There had to be a sound reason that she and her daughter were absent. He tightened his hold on the hymnal. Had her fainting spell in the barn been something more than simply rising too quickly? He should have checked on her before now.

The hymn came to a close, and Reverend Moore rose to offer the benediction. The congregation knelt, and when the final amens were said, everyone stood and began filtering into the aisle. Reverend Moore wasted no time. When Benedict reached the end of his pew, the vicar was already conversing with the local shopkeeper, Abel Wallace, at the other side of the church. And based upon Reverend Moore’s solemn expressions, it was a conversation best left uninterrupted.

Instead, Benedict searched for Nora. Even though the vicar’s cook and housekeeper did not live at the vicarage, she would surely know if Caroline had taken ill. Unfortunately, the older lady wearing a straw bonnet with a distinctive plaid ribbon was nowhere to be seen among the steady stream of people exiting the church.

Offering a polite nod to the local magistrate and his wife, Benedict joined the general exodus and stepped out of the dimly lit building into a churchyard filled with sunshine, blue skies, and chatting parishioners. A quick look around told him that Nora had not stayed to mingle. And neither would he. Walking briskly, he took the gravel path to the gate and the nearby hitching post, where his mount stood waiting.

“Come, Saxon,” he said, setting his foot in the stirrup and pulling himself into the saddle. “We must make a detour before we go home.”

The vicarage was not far from the church, and Benedict traversed the short distance quickly. Dismounting, he tied his horse’s reins to the gate post and approached the front door. Rose bushes yet in bud filled the flowerbeds beneath the windows on either side of the dark-blue door. Benedict raised the knocker and let it fall. The sound echoed hollowly. He frowned. Was it possible that no one was home? Or were both Caroline and Meg confined to their bedchambers?