Grace didn’t know how Billy knew to come, but he was there at her side when the doctor and undertaker came. A wire was sent to the Murphys, and when no reply came, Billy arranged the service at the graveside to which exactly four people attended, not counting the baby and the reverend.

Doc had been unable to come because of an urgent call from a patient, but he had patted Grace’s arm before he left. “You take the little one home and continue doing what you’ve been doing. She’ll soon settle and do just fine.”

“I hope so.” Grace couldn’t help but be a little doubtful. The first time she’d given the baby milk, it had come up—she’d been about to say as fast as it went down, but remembering how she’d coaxed the baby to take two ounces, she changed her mind. It had come up all at once, sour smelling, soaking both the baby’s nightie and Grace’s last clean top.

Doc suggested diluting the milk with sugar water.

The baby kept it down better, but both Grace and baby bore the smell of spit-up. As the infant’s strength grew, so did her lung power. Grace reminded herself that little Rebecca Deans fussed a lot too.

The reverend closed his Bible and stepped around the fresh grave. “God bless you for your kindness,” he said to Maude and Len. Then he stood before Grace. “You’ve done a noble thing.” He paused. “But there’ll be people who don’t approve.”

Grace waited, wondering if he meant himself.

“You can count on my support.”

“Thank you.” It eased her mind to hear him say it.

He touched the baby’s head and made a clucking noise. “It won’t be easy for this one.”

The baby screwed up her face and screamed.

Reverend Albright chuckled. “She’s going to let the world know what she thinks about it. By the way, what’s her name?”

“No one has given her a name yet.”

“No wonder she’s mad at the world. Give her a name. That will help.”

Grace nodded, though she wondered what difference it would make to the squalling infant in her arms.

Billy put an arm around her and steered her toward the car. “Let’s go home.”

The movement of the car soothed the baby, and she slept.

“Have you thought of a name?” Billy asked.

Grace shook her head. “I thought of calling her Maggie after her mother but decided she’d have enough trouble escaping her past without branding her.”

“How about Judy? I’ve always liked that name.”

“Judy?” Grace rolled the name around in her mind. “I like it.” She looked down at the sleeping infant. “Are we doing the right thing?”

Billy shrugged. “We’re doing the best we can.”

The best she could do seemed inadequate, Grace decided in the following days. Little Judy slept no more than an hour or two at the most.

One afternoon, Billy stretched out on the sofa, the baby on his chest, patting her incessantly. “This doesn’t seem right. She pulls her knees up like she’s in real pain.”

Grace nodded, then wished she hadn’t. She was so weary it hurt to move her head. “Nellie’s baby fusses a lot too.”

“But does she scream like this? Does she pull in her legs like this? Is her little tummy as hard as a rock?”

“I don’t know.” She prepared another bottle. “Doc said I was doing everything right. I don’t know what else I should try.” She thought for a moment. “Willow gave Nellie something that helped soothe the baby’s tummy. Maybe you should go see what she can suggest.”

Grace took the baby and sat in the rocking chair. The baby took the bottle eagerly. Grace let her head fall back. “Maybe this time she’ll settle.”

Billy shook his head. “We’ve been saying that for two weeks now. It’s time to see what else we can do. I’ll go see Willow right away.”

But he did better than go see Willow; he brought her back with him.

Willow took the crying baby from Grace’s arms. “Ya got a fussy one, did ya?”

Grace nodded, so weary she felt she would never have the energy to smile again.

“I’ll have a look at her.” Willow stared down at the crying scrap of humanity for what Grace thought was an inordinately long time. Then she rang her fingertips over the baby’s head, along her neck and down both sides of her stomach. She felt both legs. Her expression remained serious, almost stern.

Grace began to shiver. “What’s the matter?”

Finally Willow turned, and what Grace saw in her friend’s eyes made her heart clench.

“I can give ya some gripe water. Same as I did Nellie. Ya can give the baby a taste on her gums when she’s fussing.” Her gaze returned to the child.

Grace caught a glimpse of sadness, or was it fear? A tremor snaked down her spine. She’d wanted Willow to smooth her magical hands across the baby and say something easy, like put this herb in her bottle.

She’d wanted Willow to soothe away her fears. Instead, Willow looked like someone had handed her something smelly. “You don’t blame the baby for who her mother was, do you?”

Willow looked surprised. “Of course not.”

“Then what is it? I see something in your eyes. Tell me what it is.”

Willow handed the baby to Grace. “Give her all the loving ya can.”

The words held all the finality of a death sentence. Grace cradled the baby to her breast. “She’s just fussy. That’s all. She’ll out grow it.”

Willow nodded. “Perhaps.”

Grace stared at her. Perhaps? Was it possible Judy had something wrong? But Doc had seen her only two days ago and said Grace was doing everything right. A suspicion leapt to her mind. Doc hadn’t said anything about how the baby was doing. No, that wasn’t correct. Doc had said the baby wasn’t gaining.

Willow handed her a bottle. “Give her this no more than three times a day. It will help her sleep. Ya be sure and rest while she’s resting.” Her gaze lingered on the baby. “Sometimes it’s for the best,” she murmured, the words so soft Grace could almost believe she hadn’t heard them.

Almost. But not quite.

She waited until Billy had taken Willow home again. She waited until little Judy had eaten again and had a few drops of Willow’s concoction. She waited until the baby settled into a fretful sleep before she turned to Billy. “I’m not. . . .” Her throat clogged with tears, and she clamped her teeth tight, pushing back the storm. “I. . .”

But she was helpless before the viciousness of her emotions. She flung herself into Billy’s arms and wept until his shirt was soaked. Finally, her emotions spent, she pulled a hankie from her pocket and blew her nose.

“Gracie, what is it?” Billy’s voice sounded strained.

She couldn’t bear to leave the shelter of his arms nor to lift her ear from his chest where she heard the steady beat of his heart.

“What did Willow say?”

A shiver shook her insides. She forced a breath into the depths of her lungs. “It was more the way she looked. Then just before she left, she mumbled something about it being for the best.” She pushed back so she could see Billy’s face. “I don’t think she meant me to hear her.” She grabbed his damp shirtfront. “It was like she saw something. Something that made her act like. . .” Grace shuddered, swallowed hard, continued, her voice a strained whisper. “Like there was no hope for Judy.”

Billy looked startled. His gaze darted to the other room where Judy slept. Then his jaw twitched, and hardness made his voice dark and brittle. “There must be something we can do. I’ll get Doc first thing in the morning. He’ll know what to do.”

Nodding, she buried her face against his chest again. His arms held her with an urgency she knew wasn’t for her. Billy was as shocked and dismayed by Willow’s attitude as she.

Next morning, Billy and Grace explained their concerns to Doc. He nodded gravely and, ignoring Judy’s screaming protest, examined every inch of the baby. He indicated Grace should dress Judy again while he folded his stethoscope and put it away.

Billy took Grace’s hand as they waited for Doc to stop fiddling with his bag.

Finally, he looked at Billy. When he avoided meeting Grace’s eyes, her legs turned rubbery, and she clung to Billy’s hand, jiggling Judy, trying to quiet her so she could hear what Doc had to say.

“I’ve heard of cases like this, though I have never personally seen one before.” He cleared his throat. “For whatever reason, some babies fail to thrive.” His face puckered with wrinkles. He suddenly looked very old. “I can give you a tonic, but other than that, I don’t know what else to suggest.”

“Doc, are you saying there’s nothing we can do?” Billy’s voice crackled.

“Give her all the love you can.” His gaze flickered to Grace, then back to Billy. “You both need to get all the rest possible. I can give you some pills to help you sleep if you like.” He held a bottle to Billy. Grace watched Billy’s hand move woodenly to take it.

“Call me if you want anything. Anything at all.”

Grace’s heart beat loud enough to hear it above wee Judy’s howls; she turned to face Billy, knowing her eyes showed the same distress his did.

The baby stopped crying, but Grace knew Judy was only catching her breath for another onslaught of screaming. In that one quiet moment, the sudden silence as loud as the baby’s cries, wee Judy looked up at Grace, her dark blue eyes demanding. Pleading. At that moment, Judy was no longer a poor helpless baby needing love and care; she became a strong-willed person who made her way into Grace’s heart with all the determination of a bull—or a hummingbird. Grace swallowed hard. Heart of my hearts, sweet baby.

She stroked the soft baby cheek with the back of her fingers. “Look at her, Billy. She has the heart of a fighter. She’s begging us to help her.” Barely able to speak past the tightness in her throat, she whispered hoarsely, “I won’t let her. . .” She stumbled over the word shouting through her thoughts. Her mind rebelled at thinking it, let alone saying it. She found another word instead. “I can’t let her go.”

Billy pressed his balled up fist to his mouth and shook his head. “I know. But I feel so helpless.” He chewed his bottom lip and groaned. His expression tight, he drew Grace gently into his arms, Judy cradled between them. For a minute the baby stopped crying. She gave a loud hiccup and looked startled at the unusual noise coming from her.

Grace giggled. “I think she likes being squeezed between us.”

Billy took the baby’s hand. The wee fingers curled around his finger. “You hang on, little one. Just like that.”

Grace met Billy’s eyes. Silently she joined her heart with his in a vow to save this baby.

A troubled expression clouded his eyes.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“This is going to be a tough battle.” He searched her eyes. “One we might lose in the end if we believe what the experts say.” His eyes darkened with concern. “You’ve already lost so much. Are you sure you’re up to this?”

She laughed low in her throat. “I don’t believe you. Aren’t you the one who is always telling me I’m so capable? And now when I’m sure I can do something, you doubt me.”

He grinned sheepishly. “I guess it sounded foolish. I only want you to understand clearly what we have ahead of us.”

“I can do this.”

“I know you can, but you won’t be doing it alone. You heard Doc. We need to take care of ourselves.” He smiled down at Judy, who wrinkled her face in preparation for another session of screaming. “If we don’t, we won’t be able to take care of this little missy. So from now on, as much as possible, we’ll take turns walking this little one.”

She nodded. A rest once in awhile would be good.

He took the squalling baby. “You look all in. You go have a sleep while I feed Judy. Maybe I’ll take her for a drive so you can sleep without benefit of her singing.”

Grace laughed. “Singing is it now? Who knows? Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps she’s starting early to practice for opera.”

Billy shuddered. “Oh, please, not opera.” He gave Grace a little shove. “Off you go to bed.”

Day after day passed. Despite Billy’s help, Grace knew exhaustion like she’d never imagined possible; exhaustion far more profound than physical fatigue. Despite their love and care, Judy continued to throw up almost as much as she drank. Her arms and legs were like twigs, they were so thin. It seemed ironic to put a nappy on her wasted buttocks.

“You go to church,” Billy insisted one Sunday. “The break will do you good. Me and Judy will be alright for awhile.” He bounced the fretting baby.

Grace drew back. “When did her screams become such weak whimpers?”

Billy shook his head. “She’s getting weaker every day.” He met her eyes. Her pain reflected in his dark gaze. “Go to church. Pray.”

She turned on her heels and left the house. The cold wind immediately caught her breath. A dusting of snow filled the air. Winter would soon be upon them. She sighed. The cold, bareness of winter already filled her heart.

By the time she got to church, the sun stared bleary-eyed through the thin clouds. She sat for a moment before she trudged inside, wishing she hadn’t come. What she really needed was sleep. She could sleep a hundred years and not feel rested because, she admitted, sleep alone would not provide the refreshment she needed. Only Judy thriving would do that.

The hymns of faith mocked her. Where was God when they needed Him? Pray, Billy said. But she didn’t know how to pray. Not for something like this.

Nellie waited for her at the end of the service, handing Rebecca to Tom as she took Grace’s arm and led her away to a private corner of the room. “Grace, how is Judy? Not that I really need to ask. You look half dead.”

Grace closed her eyes, pushing away nausea and exhaustion. Fear and worry plagued her like a persistent disease. She shivered. “I can’t stand it much longer. Why should a poor helpless baby have to suffer so much? And we can’t do anything about it.”

Nellie hugged her.

“I’d give anything to be able to help her.” The tortured words spilled from Grace’s lips. “If only there was something.”

“There’s prayer.” Nellie said it like it like nothing more was needed.

“Billy sent me to church to pray.” Desperate for help from any source, Grace turned her face to Nellie. “But I don’t know how to pray.”

Nellie smiled sweetly. “You know how to talk, don’t you?”

“Don’t be silly.” This was no time for frivolity.

“I’m not. What I’m trying to say is prayer is nothing more than talking—talking to God.”

Grace stared at Nellie, her thoughts trapped by the simplicity of Nellie’s statement. Finally, she shook her head. “You don’t just waltz up to God and say, ‘Hello there, I’ve something to say to you.’ ”

“But that’s exactly what you do. That’s part and parcel of the work Jesus did on the cross.”

“I don’t understand.” A deep longing to believe sucked at Grace’s insides.

“Didn’t Jesus say believing on Him gave us the right to be children of God?”

Grace nodded.

“Think about it, don’t children go to their father in trust and faith, asking for things they need, telling about their dreams and desires?”

“It seems irreverent. Too easy.”

Nellie gave her a gentle smile. “Sometimes we reason ourselves right out of the things God wants for us. I suggest you simply decide you have the right to talk to God about your fears and needs and then just do it. Stop waiting to try and figure out all the theological ramifications.”

Grace nodded. “I’ll try.” Sighing, she wrapped the woollen kerchief around her hat and pulled on her gloves. “I must get home.”

Nellie gave her another hug. “I pray for you several times a day. I confess I’m not sure how to pray, whether to ask God to heal that poor baby or to give you strength to nurse her through her short life.” Nellie’s voice thickened. “I pray for both, and I leave the choice of life or death in God’s hands; He alone knows what is best.”

Grace nodded, too choked to speak.

The wind had died down; a watery sun gave the landscape a flat appearance, the lack of shadows erasing bumps and dips in the road.

Grace thought of Nellie’s words. Talk to God like a child to a father. She took a deep breath. “God, I’m not sure about this praying business. It seems altogether too bold to come to You with my problems, but I have nowhere else to go.” Embarrassed at the sound of her thin words in the flat light, she stopped talking.

Trust. The word blared through her mind.

She jolted around to see if someone had ridden up unnoticed, but she was alone in the gray world.

Trust Me.

The words came from inside her head. Was it as simple as that? Maybe it was. But did she want to trust God? Like Nellie said, He had the power of life and death. She rebelled at the idea of Judy dying.

Rebel or trust.

She could ask God to make Judy better, but was that trust?

She gripped the steering wheel so hard her hands hurt. Trust, she knew, meant leaving the choice with God. But she couldn’t go on fighting God for this child. Her weariness was too bone numbing.

“God, I can only do as Nellie does: beg You to make Judy well, ask You to give Billy and me strength to nurse her and. . .” Her heart clenched painfully. “I leave the choice in Your hands.” The words ended in a sob.

She drove on, not thinking, not feeling.

At home, she sat in the car a moment, then trudged indoors.

Billy lay on the sofa, one arm holding the weak baby, the other thrown over his eyes. He breathed deeply.

She tiptoed over and looked at Judy. The baby’s eyes were open; she seemed to be staring at something a few inches away, then her face screwed up in pain.

Agony shot through Grace’s body at what this poor child had to endure. “Poor baby,” she crooned, taking the infant from Billy’s chest, hoping to make it to the kitchen before Judy’s wailing woke him. He lifted his arm and opened one eye. “Go back to sleep,” she said. “I’ve got her.”

He sighed wearily, closing his eye when he saw Judy in Grace’s arms.

She warmed a bottle for Judy, enjoying the few minutes peace that feeding provided. Judy wrapped her hand around one of Grace’s fingers; she locked eyes with Grace, not blinking the whole time she sucked.

The feeling she had for this wee child was more intense than anything she could have imagined. “I love you, Baby,” Grace murmured. “I want nothing more in the whole world than for you to get better, but I know how much pain you have to endure.” Tears blurred her vision. “Ahh,” she moaned. “I don’t want to see you suffer anymore.”

She checked the bottle. One ounce gone. Despite Judy’s hunger, she didn’t dare let her take more than that without burping, and she slipped the bottle away.

Judy smacked her lips and lay content.

“If only it could be like this.” But experience told Grace otherwise. She wrapped Judy in the soft pink blanket, a gift from Nellie when they brought Judy home, and held the baby to her shoulder, patting her back until she burped.

The baby took another ounce. Grace cuddled her, tears trickling down her cheek.

Billy tiptoed in, leaning over to watch Judy resting against Grace’s breast.

“This is the way it should be,” he whispered.

She raised her teary gaze to him. “I know.” Even as she spoke, Judy jerked her legs up, twitching in pain, and wailed. “Shh, Shh.” Grace rocked hard, knowing it did more to comfort her than it did Judy.

“How was church?” Billy asked above the wails.

“Have you noticed how we manage to carry on a conversation above her crying?”

Billy grinned. “If we didn’t, we’d never speak to each other anymore.”

She gave a shaky laugh. “Church was good.” She sorted through her thoughts. “Nellie said she prayed for us every day.” She explained how Nellie’s prayers left the choice in God’s hands.

Billy nodded. “It would be foolish to think we had any other option.”

“What do you mean?”

“The choice is ultimately and finally God’s as to when and who dies.”

“Yes, but—”

“I know. We can fight it, but really we can’t change it.”

“Is that where trust comes in?”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I want to be able to pray and tell God to make her live.” She turned her gaze to the distressed baby. “But I can’t stand to see her suffer like this day after day.” She lifted her face to Billy. His eyes glistened with tears. “So I have to choose to trust God to do what’s best.”

He nodded.

She went on. “I’m at my wit’s end. I’m tired and discouraged. And I don’t know how to cope. Nellie said to pray. You said to pray. But I’ve never prayed for anything for myself before. My prayers have been confined to the sinner’s prayer—you know, ‘Father, I have sinned, I know my sin keeps me from You. But Your Son, Jesus, by His shed blood, will cleanse me if I but ask.’ And of course, I joined in praying for world peace during the war.” Suddenly it seemed urgent for Billy to understand how she prayed on the trip home. “Today, driving home, I talked to God. I told Him I was willing to accept His choice regarding Judy.” She paused, trying to understand this new sense of peace she felt. “I think I can accept whatever happens—not that I won’t care. But somehow I know I can leave it with God.”

Billy leaned his elbows on the table. “I’m glad for you but the idea of Judy. . .” He coughed, unable to finish his sentence. “I’m afraid it makes me angry.”

She nodded. “Things will work out. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”

He jerked to his feet. “Will they?” He stomped from the house.

A few minutes later he came to the door and called. “The weather has cleared. I’m going flying for a bit.”

She listened for the sound of his plane as it took off and faded into the distance, then she rose and headed for the bedroom. He would have to find his own way of dealing with the situation.

She curled up on the bed. Judy seemed to crave the warmth and touch of another body, and so she settled the baby close to her, pulled a quilt around them, and tried to rest, dozing in between patting Judy. The little tyke fussed less than usual. Grace acknowledged the baby simply did not have the strength left to react to her pain.

When Grace awoke to Judy’s wails, it was dark. She jumped out of bed, grabbed up the baby, and raced through the house. Empty. She flung the door open. No airplane. Judy kicked weakly. As Grace filled a sterile bottle and warmed the weakened milk, her limbs shook so bad she spilled some.

Billy had not returned.