“Good supper.” Billy tipped his chair back. “You did fine.”

Grace had opened beans and corned beef for him, but biscuits and syrup had been enough for her. “I couldn’t have done it without Nellie’s help.”

“It certainly was kind of them to come help.”

“They seem like a nice couple.”

“Very.”

“Did Tom mention God at all?”

“It came up a time or two, why?”

“Nellie talked like God was a good friend. Like she thought of Him being right at her side. I didn’t know whether to be impressed or put off by it.”

Billy gave her words a moment’s consideration. “Now that you mention it, Tom talked much the same.”

“What do you make of it?”

He shrugged. “Maybe it’s part of their upbringing. Or maybe they’ve had some sort of profound experience.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I was overseas there were pilots who claimed they had some sort of mystical experience with God. I remember one fellow who’d been shot and figured he was done for. He said he called out to God and somehow—he said he couldn’t explain it—he felt a warm presence with him. All I know is he made it back to the airfield even though his machine was damaged beyond belief.”

“Did he act differently afterward?”

“Only in that he talked like God was sitting in the seat next to him. I found it a little annoying after awhile.”

“Sort of like Nellie.”

“I guess.”

“But what do you think of it? Could God really feel that close to someone?”

He took the last biscuit, drowning it in syrup. “Seems strange to me. I figure we’re all right the way we are. I believe in God. I believe in salvation, but after that it seems to me God pretty well leaves us to live by the seat of our pants. Seems to me God has little interest in the affairs of man. After all, look at the war, the flu epidemic, and stuff like that. Where is God when that happens? Obviously He expects us to make the best of a bad situation.”

“Yes, that seems right to me. But Nellie and Tom are so nice. It’s hard to understand how they think the way they do.”

“Certainly doesn’t make them any less likeable, does it?”

“Not a bit. I liked Nellie right off. And they were so helpful. Nellie helped me make a list of food we’ll need to get started.” She giggled. “It’s a little different than Mr. Tunney’s.”

“No more beans?”

“Nellie said that was cowboy grub.”

He nodded. “Things have fallen into place much faster than I thought they would, thanks to the Deans’ help. I think I’ll take the train to Edmonton tomorrow and pick up my plane.”

She nodded. Again that gleam of excitement in his eyes.

“Why don’t you come to town with me and do the shopping?” he suggested.

Grace quickly agreed.

As soon as the kitchen was tidied up, Billy yawned, “Bed sounds awfully good. I know it’s early but I’m tired.”

“I’m not about to argue.” Weariness had plagued her most of the day, and she willingly followed him upstairs.

“Everything unpacked and sorted out?”

“Yes. I put your things here.” She pointed toward the top drawers. “My belongings are in the bottom. The rest is still in the trunk.” She’d pushed it to the end of the bed and draped a plaid robe over it.

“It looks fine, don’t you think?” he said as he looked around.

Pleased with how she’d arranged the room, and pleased Billy seemed to appreciate it, Grace smiled. “It does.”

He dropped his trousers to the floor and draped his shirt over the bedpost, then crawled between the covers. “This feels good. A bit more comfortable than sleeping outdoors.” He opened the covers invitingly. “A lot more private too.”

She jumped in beside him, eager for his kisses.

He pulled her to his bare chest. She trailed a finger along his ribs, pausing to trace around the spider-shaped scar near his waist. Beneath the covers, a longer, silver scar went from knee to thigh—reminders of how he had flirted with death during the war. The thought of how she might have lost him in one of his daring forays into enemy territory sent a shudder across her shoulder.

His arm tightened around her. “Not cold, are you?”

“No. Someone must have tiptoed over my grave.”

“Boo,” he yelled.

“What was that for?”

“Chasing away whoever was tiptoeing over your grave.”

His expression grew serious, and he trailed a tickling finger across her lips, then cradled her head, pulling her toward him until their lips met. With one hand at her neck and the other holding her cheek, Grace felt sheltered in his love. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him desperately.

Later, after he’d fallen asleep, one arm draped over her, she listened to his slow, deep breathing. He’d fallen asleep without saying the words she longed to hear. She stared into the darkness. Why didn’t he ever say how he felt? A treacherous thought stole in. Did he not speak of love because to do so would be to lie?

She sighed. There was no point in thinking about it. All it did was make her feel lost and uncertain. But there were times she could barely contain her own feelings; she longed to say “I love you” all day long. So why didn’t she? Because, she admitted, something inside would not allow her to do so. Not until he spoke first.

Billy stood at her side as the train chugged into the station. “I wish I could help you with the grub. Keep in mind, whatever you buy, you have to carry.”

“I’ll try and judge accordingly.”

“Here’s money to buy what you need.” He gave her a handful of bills. “If you need more, Mr. Tunney will give you credit. I haven’t made arrangements at any of the other stores yet.”

She nodded. Steam puffed incessantly from beneath the train, warning blasts reminding her Billy would soon board the train and leave her alone.

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be, but I’ll probably be back before dark. There’s no need for you to hurry home. Take your time looking around town. Go see Nellie if you like.” He paused. “You can find the way?”

She nodded. The two-mile walk from home was direct enough. And to go to the Deans’ simply meant turning right instead of left at the first road.

Billy hurried up the steps as if he could make the train get to Edmonton sooner by his efforts. He turned to wave. “Have a good day.”

“You too.” She waited until the train pulled away before she turned toward town.

The station backed onto the main street. Stores of either sandstone or tall board fronts marched up and down the length, giving way to tidy, tree-lined yards. Houses in neat squares along straight streets spread out on either side. Grace hurried down the steps, anxious to explore the town.

Deciding to wait until she was tired of wandering around town before she made any purchases, she examined the inside of every store that caught her attention. After a bit, her steps took her down the side streets. A sign in front of a building caught her attention, and she stared at it.

“Daystown Public Library,” she read. Just what she needed. She hurried inside, stopping at the door to fill her lungs with the familiar smells of books and papers.

“Good morning.”

She followed the sound in the dusky interior and discovered a bespectacled, plump woman standing between shelves. “Good morning,” Grace said. “I’m so glad to discover Daystown has a library.”

The woman lowered an armload of books to a table. “Sounds like a confirmed reader speaking. I’m Mrs. Paige, the librarian. Glad to be of service.”

Grace stood between shelves, studying the titles. “I had to leave most of my books behind when we moved. You can’t imagine how hard it was to choose which ones I must part with. Keep the book of plays or my favorite novel?” She held out her hands as if weighing the decision in each palm. “Be practical and bring a home medicine book, or be romantic and bring a book of poems.” She sighed. “A dreadful predicament.”

Mrs. Paige laughed. “Maybe we can help ease some of your pain.”

Grace nodded. “I believe you can.”

“You’re that new woman who moved into the old Martin place, aren’t you?”

“Grace Marshall.”

“Welcome to our community. And especially welcome to the library. I perceive we have found a loyal supporter.”

“When it comes to books, I’m very loyal.”

Mrs. Paige laughed. “We recently got in fifty new titles. Perhaps some you haven’t read yet. What are you interested in?” She led the way to a table where the books stood on display.

Grace picked up one. “There’s something about a new book.” She lifted it to her nose. “I don’t know if it’s the ink or the binding, but there is an alluring smell to them.” She breathed deeply. “Full of mystery and promise.”

“If you’re looking for mystery and promise, I suggest this one.” Mrs. Paige handed Grace a brown bound book. “It’s the story of a man who decided to trek across Africa. I’ve read it and can recommend it highly.”

“I’ll take it.” She paused. “That is if I’m allowed to take out books.”

“Of course.” The librarian bustled toward the square wooden desk next to a potbellied stove. “All you have to do is fill out one of these cards.”

Grace filled out her name and address and handed it back.

“You’re all set,” Mrs. Paige said. “Have a look around.”

Grace picked up book after book. “It’s hard to decide.”

“They’ll be here next time, my dear.”

Grace gave a rueful laugh. “I know, but it’s still hard to narrow it down to what I think I can carry home.”

In the end she added two romance novels to the adventure book. As she checked them out, she thought of home. “I don’t suppose you’d have a book that will tell me in a few simple lessons how to cook and run a house.”

Mrs. Paige chuckled. “I’ve been married for twenty-five years, and I’m still trying to figure out how to reduce it to a few simple lessons. Or maybe I should say, a few simple steps. But I do have something that might help.” She scurried to the far end of the room and held out a weighty volume. “Not condensed, I’m afraid, but I’ve paged through it a few times, and there’s lots of valuable advice here.”

“Establishing a Pioneer Home and Kitchen,” Grace read. “The title sounds like what I need.” She flipped a few pages. “The Basics. Setting up the Laundry. Bread and Other Essentials. Preserving. Storing Vegetables.” She closed the book. “I’ll take it and see if I can mangle my way through it.”

The librarian patted her hand. “No one is born knowing everything. The one who fails is the one who fails to try.”

“I suppose that’s right.” She bid the older woman good-bye. Anxious now to get home and enjoy her books, she hurried to Mr. Tunney’s store with the list she had prepared, and a few minutes later, her bag bulging, she headed down the street toward home. Sweat trickled down her back by the time she stepped in the door and let the bag fall from her shoulders to the table. She sank to the nearest chair, panting. “I’m grateful I didn’t try to carry any more.” The room echoed with emptiness. She shivered. She couldn’t remember ever having been alone before.

She jerked to her feet, mumbling, “I’ll put everything away first.” Immediately she promised herself she would stop talking to herself. It was too strong a reminder that there was no one else around to talk to. She put the baking supplies on one shelf. The canned beef she’d purchased, she set aside, planning to use it for the evening meal if Billy got back in time.

Mr. Tunney had had two-dozen, farm-fresh eggs. “You’re really lucky to get these, Ma’am,” he’d said as he’d bundled the precious lot into a small box. “I don’t often get them in the store except when Mrs. Jackson has extra and she trades them. This is the first she’s brought me in two weeks.”

Grace understood eggs were a precious commodity until they could get some hens of their own and took them down to the cellar.

She picked up the instruction book, opened it to the first page, and began to read about the importance of being properly prepared. “It’s a bit late to think about preparations,” she muttered, forgetting her promise not to talk aloud to the emptiness.

She flipped through a few chapters, glancing at the information, lingering on instructions on how to set up a pioneer kitchen. There were receipts for “mainstay” meals, and she read these with keen interest.

“But I don’t have all this stuff.”

She mentally marked receipts for biscuits, griddle cakes, and cookies, noted the directions for preparing meat, then pushed the book aside. “I’ll study it more later,” she murmured. The novels beckoned, and she took the book on top. The Lady in White.

“I’ll rest a bit, then get to work.” She carried the book into the front room, pulled the rocking chair close to a window, and was immediately transported into the world of a young lady in England, who made a habit of wandering around the extensive gardens in a fine white dress. There she encountered a handsome young man who grew to love her. The words of love he spoke to the heroine were vivid and strong.

Grace sighed. How she longed to have her handsome Canadian hero make the same passionate declarations.

A sudden roar made her jump up in alarm. The sound faded slightly then returned.

She ran outside. An airplane circled the house and tipped toward the barn.

“Billy. He’s home.” She’d lost track of time and read the whole afternoon.

The airplane bounced on the field next to the barn and taxied to a halt. Billy climbed from the farther back of the two seats and jumped to the ground. “Whooee! Isn’t she a beaut?”

Grace ambled toward the barn. “You got home in good time.”

“I couldn’t wait to get up in the air again.” He shouted with laughter. “It’s the best feeling in the world. Man is it good to have an airplane again.”

Grace studied the craft. “It’s the first time I’ve been this close to an airplane. It doesn’t seem very sturdy.” Just a bunch of wires and wood covered with fabric. Who’d want to go hundreds of feet off the ground in such a thing?

“She’s a dandy. She’ll get me where I want to go.” He pounded heavy stakes in the ground and secured the plane to them with ropes. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to this baby. Tomorrow I’ll take her up again and scout around. When people see there’s an airplane in the area, I’ll be getting all sorts of jobs.” He tied the last rope and straightened, his gaze lingering on the aircraft. “I always figured a Curtiss Jenny Canuck is the prettiest machine they ever made.” He gave the plane a fond look. “A real beauty.”

Grace’s mouth tightened. He had said more sweet words in the past fifteen minutes than she’d heard in the last year, and it rankled that they were for the benefit of some tin bucket. “It’s only a hunk of wood and wires.”

Billy looked shocked and reached out to pat the belly of the plane, as if Grace’s words could somehow injure the machine. “How can you say that? She’s a fine machine. Handles real nice.” He gave the airplane a fond look. “You got anything to eat?” But he didn’t wait for her to answer. “By this time next week, I bet I’ll have more business than I can manage.” He grabbed her hand and hurried her toward the house.

“Wop May says the real business is in the north.”

Grace almost stumbled. “North?”

“Yup. With pontoons or skis, an airplane can get into places that would take days or weeks to get to by any other means. Can you imagine the possibilities?”

“How far north?”

“He says there’s a lot of interest in using planes to get stuff into places like Norman Wells, Fort Resolution, and Yellowknife.”

“How far north are they?”

“Way north. Up in the Northwest Territories. Uncharted land. I’ll bet it takes a real good pilot to work up there.”

“Where do the pilots fly out of?” He sounded like he wanted to pack up and get in the action tomorrow—today if possible.

“Wop says Peace River Landing would be the place to set up headquarters.”

They stepped into the kitchen. “I haven’t made anything yet. I wasn’t sure when you’d return.” No need to tell him she’d wasted the afternoon reading.

“I’ll wait.” He washed up, then sat at the table picking up the book she’d left opened.

She waited, hoping he would comment about her industry, but he shoved the book aside. She knew he hadn’t really looked at it.

“Wop says Freddie McCall is doing business out of Calgary.”

Grace let out a long sigh. Calgary was closer.

Billy continued. “With Wop and Court operating out of Edmonton, and McCall at Calgary, I figure we’re pretty well situated about in the middle between the two.”

The tightness across Grace’s shoulders began to ease.

“Unless we decide to head up north. Now that would be an adventure.”

A muscle between her shoulder blades spasmed.

“But for now, I think this is the best place to be.”

Grace kept her attention on opening the canned beef, struggling to remember the instructions Nellie had given on turning the block of cold brown matter into a delicious meal. All the while her mind raced. There was no mistaking the note of longing when Billy talked about going north, a thought that turned her insides to a quivering mass.

She’d managed to get a few potatoes and some soggy carrots at the store. She peeled and chopped them, half listening to Billy extol the virtues of the Jenny. Her nose twitched, and she rubbed it. She would never have guessed it possible to be jealous of a machine, but listening to Billy rave about the attributes of his airplane, she experienced a bitter burning in her throat. They even gave the plane a name that sounded like another woman, she fumed.

The meat and vegetables simmered; the kettle boiled. She poured tea. Pressing back the resentment she felt at all the talk of Jenny, she got two teacups. “Would you care for tea while supper cooks?” Supper, she thought. Whatever happened to using good old English names for things? She thought she’d adjusted to the changes in language, but tonight it rankled to call tea supper. All she wanted was to return to her comfortable way of life where she wasn’t expected to cope with meals and shopping and everything.

“How did shopping go?”

His sudden question caught her off-guard. She slopped a bit of tea and mopped it up before she answered. “I found the town library and got some books out.” She pointed toward the manual. “Maybe I’ll learn how to run a house.”

“You’ll do just fine. I don’t know why you worry about it. I don’t.”

“You can’t possibly imagine how awful it could get. I have absolutely no idea how to do most of the things mentioned in this book.”

“That’s probably why the book was written, don’t you think? For someone who didn’t know what to do.”

“I suppose.”

“You sell yourself short. Just because Irene and your Father led you to believe you were unable to do anything on your own doesn’t make it so. You are bright and quick and will do just fine.”

“I hope you’re right.” His words rang with confidence in her abilities; a confidence she wished she shared.

“Did you get what you wanted from the list?”

She nodded. “Pretty well. Mr. Tunney said we were lucky he had some eggs.

Billy nodded. “How would you like to go see the Weltys tomorrow and see if we can get some hens?”

“What does it involve to have hens?”

“Beats me. I was raised in town too, remember? But it can’t be that hard if everyone does it.”

Grace refrained from saying everyone seemed to know how to cook, but that didn’t make it easy. She knew there was no point in saying anything. Billy believed it was easy simply because he said so. She reached for the book. “Maybe there’s something in here.”

But what she read did nothing to calm her worries. “They say you need a warm chicken coop. It tells about proper feeding, how to tell a setting hen, and how to deal with her.” She shoved the book aside. “Makes more sense to me to go to a shop and buy them.”

Billy laughed. “Some hen somewhere had to lay those eggs before the shopkeeper could sell them. Besides, where’s your sense of adventure? It will be fun to learn all this new stuff.”

Grace studied the brown liquid in her cup. Finally she looked him square in the eye. “I’m afraid I don’t see it as an adventure. I see it more as a chance to discover how many times I can do something wrong.”

“You are really and truly a pessimist, aren’t you? I believe if someone handed you a hundred dollars, you’d check to see if it was bobby trapped somehow.”

“Well, why would anyone hand me a hundred dollars?”

“Who knows? Besides, it doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to say is you don’t have to always be looking for something to go wrong. Look at us. We have a pleasant little house. The Deans are nice neighbors.” He sniffed and smiled. “And you’re turning into a fine cook.” He looked at her long and hard. “I knew the first time I saw you that you had the makings of a good woman.” He chuckled. “Didn’t you try and keep me from falling on my face?”

She gave a half-hearted smile. “I fear it will be me falling on my face now.” And with Billy planning to be gone much of the time, who would there be to catch her?

He shook his head and turned to read about raising chickens. “Seems there’s not much I can do to keep you from believing the worst about yourself.”

She rose to fill plates with the meat mixture. It did smell quite fine. And later, as she sat across from Billy, she acknowledged it tasted fine too. She should be happy with her accomplishment. She sighed. She was, of course. Only it didn’t ease the longing she felt inside. A longing she couldn’t even put her finger on, something deep inside ached. If Billy would take her in his arms and declare his love with the passion the hero in her book had, perhaps then she would be able to believe in herself and his love for her. If he would even share a bit of the enthusiasm he expressed over his Jenny.

In bed later, she snuggled close to him. He pulled her to his side. “I am so happy. This is my dream come true.”

After he’d fallen asleep, Grace faced the wall. If only he had meant her when he spoke of his dreams coming true, rather than his airplane.