He hadn’t been gone fifteen minutes when the house felt as hollow as an empty tin can. Even the cat and her kittens had wandered away and didn’t come when she called.

“I will not be a baby,” she vowed aloud, shrinking back as her words echoed in the stillness. “What would Nellie do?”

That was easy. Nellie had a new baby to care for.

“Well, what about Willow?”

Again, the answer was simple. Willow had her brood of youngsters, a huge garden, her chickens, and her herbs. Willow probably never had time to sit, let alone to wonder how to pass the time.

“What about Irene?”

She didn’t know. It was weeks since she’d heard from Irene, though she knew her sister had her plate full with a veteran and his motherless children to care for. “A tough row to hoe,” Father would have said. For a moment, she contemplated visiting Irene as Billy had suggested. Then she shook her head. Seeing Irene, observing how competent she was, remembering the words she’d said to Grace so long ago—it was long ago. She’d only been a child. Time enough to forget it.

She sighed. If only one could forget things that easily.

The whole day stretched ahead of her empty and hollow. She’d avoided visiting Nellie since the baby’s birth, but now loneliness made her feelings of guilt and inadequacy fade in comparison.

“I’ll go before I change my mind,” she muttered, hurrying to the car and driving away.

No one came to the door when she drove into the Deans’ yard. She saw Tom stacking hay in a field away from the house. Knocking but not waiting for an answer, she opened the door.

Loud wails filled the room.

“Nellie,” she called softly, thinking Nellie might be putting the baby to sleep.

When there was no answer, she called louder, “Nellie!” Then she followed the sound to the front room.

Nellie, her head tipped back, a squalling, red-faced infant in her arms, sat limply in the rocker.

Grace smiled. She’d been expecting to see the picture of serene motherhood, not this look of utter exhaustion.

“Nellie,” she spoke softly.

Nellie cracked open her eyes. “Hello, stranger.”

Grace smiled crookedly. “I didn’t know if you’d want to see me again so soon.”

Nellie’s eyes widened. “I’ve been dying to see you and thank you for saving my life. Mine and little Rebecca’s. Tom said he didn’t know what to do. He said it was your idea to send for Willow.” She held out a hand to Grace. “I owe you so much.”

Grace sank to a chair. “I thought you would be angry.”

“Angry? Why would I be angry?”

Grace shrugged and looked down. “I felt like I failed you. I didn’t know how to help.”

Nellie smiled. “Oh, Grace, you knew exactly what to do—get help.” She waited until Grace met her eyes. “It was your resourcefulness that saved our lives.”

The infant in Nellie’s arms, quiet a moment while they talked, squalled angrily.

“Come and meet your namesake.” Nellie turned the baby toward Grace. “This unhappy young lady is Rebecca Grace.”

Grace touched her tentatively with her fingertip. “She’s so soft. Does she cry like this all the time?”

Nellie sighed. “Occasionally she sleeps.” She turned tired, desperate eyes to Grace. “Mostly she cries.” She gulped. “I wish my mother was here.” To Grace’s consternation, Nellie broke into tears.

“Nellie, what can I do to help?”

Around her sobs, Nellie managed to get out, “Hold the baby for awhile so I can get the kitchen clean, the diapers washed.” She dashed away her tears. “Would you mind?”

It was Grace’s turn to gulp. “I’ll do my best.”

“Sit here.” Nellie pushed herself to her feet and waited for Grace to position herself before she placed the still-crying infant in her arms.

Grace stiffened as the baby cried harder. “What’s the matter?”

Nellie laughed. “She doesn’t like to be moved, the little monkey.”

Grace hardly dared breath.

Nellie patted her shoulder. “Relax. She won’t break.”

Grace tried to do as she was told.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll get a few things done.”

“Go ahead. I’ll see if she’ll settle.”

“Do your best, but don’t be surprised if she keeps up her racket.”

Grace studied the wrinkled, wide-mouthed infant. “So you’re Rebecca Grace?” She ran the back of her finger along the infant’s cheek. “You don’t seem very happy about it.” The baby hiccoughed and stopped crying. “There, see it’s not all that bad, is it?”

As if to prove her wrong, the little one took a deep breath and let it out in a long angry wail.

Grace sighed. “I don’t think she likes me,” she called to Nellie.

“Then she doesn’t like me or Tom either. She slept the first two days after she was born, but she’s done nothing but cry since then.” Nellie sat down, sighing wearily. “I’m lucky if she let’s me get an hour’s sleep at a time. I am so tired.”

“I could hold her while you have a nap.” Grace half hoped Nellie would refuse, but Nellie jumped up.

“Oh, thank you, Grace. It’s just what I need.” She hurried from the room, pausing only long enough to say, “It’s not long since she’s eaten. She should be alright for an hour or so.”

Grace stared after her, then down at the crying infant. She tried rocking, but the baby only stopped crying for a moment. Gingerly, lest she do something wrong, Grace shifted the baby to her shoulder. Again, a brief pause while she caught her breath, then more crying.

“You certainly know how to make me feel inadequate,” she muttered. Unable to bear the distressed sounds any longer, she pushed to her feet, bouncing the infant in her arms.

The baby’s cries settled to intermittent sobs. A minute later Grace saw the infant had fallen asleep. But when Grace tried to sit, the baby fussed so she kept moving, afraid if she stopped, the baby’s cries would disturb Nellie.

Nellie woke up some time later. “She’s sleeping?”

“As long as I keep walking. If I stop, she starts to fuss again.”

As if on cue, little Rebecca opened her eyes and wailed.

Nellie took her. “She’ll be hungry now.” She put the baby to her breast and turned back to Grace. “I can’t thank you enough. You have no idea how tiring it is to look after her.”

Grace flexed her sore arms. “Just an hour of it, and my arms ache.”

Nellie nodded. “It makes me feel so helpless. Why doesn’t she settle? Am I doing something wrong?”

Her questions burned into Grace’s heart. “I’m sure you’re doing everything you should. Maybe she’s simply a fussy baby.”

“Maybe.”

Nellie seemed unaffected by her words. Grace understood. How often had she blamed herself for things when others assured her she was doing her best?

She stayed awhile longer, helping Nellie prepare supper for Tom before she headed home. As she passed the crossroads, she stopped the car. Willow would know if there was anything more Nellie could do. She turned the car down the road toward the Weltys’.

“Nellie looks plumb wore out,” she explained to Willow. “I was wondering if you could tell her if there is anything more she should do.”

“Mary, ya finish frying this chicken. Dan’el, ya run and get my bag. Mister,” she called to her husband, “I’m off to see about the new baby.”

“You do that, woman. I’ll look after the youn’uns.”

Grace glanced around. They all seemed to understand Willow’s job took her away from them.

“If ya will give me a ride over, it would save a mite of time.”

“I’ll be glad to.”

Clutching her bag close to her chest, her eyes wide with apprehension, Willow climbed up beside Grace on the leather seat.

“This will be far enough,” she said at the crossroads. She patted Grace’s hands before she stepped down. “Ya did good.” With a wave, she strode away.

Grace stared after her, repeating her words. Yes. She nodded. I guess I did do good.

Next morning she arrived at the store as Mr. Tunney raised the blinds.

“Mrs. Marshall, good morning.”

“Morning. Did my husband phone?”

“Matter of fact he did. He said he arrived at Peace River Crossing last night. Said he’d be there a day or two getting pontoons on the plane. Wait a minute. I wrote it all down for you.” He disappeared inside, returning with a scrap of paper. “Said everything was going well and for you not to worry.” He handed her the paper reluctantly. “Said he’d call again tonight.”

“Thanks, Mr. Tunney.” About to drive away, she thought of something. “What time did he call?”

The storekeeper rubbed his chin. “Believe it was about nine o’clock. The missus and me was about to turn the lights out.”

“Thanks again.” Too late at night to ask if she could wait for Billy’s phone call.

She drove a block before she pulled over and read his note. Nothing more than Mr. Tunney had said, but she reread it several times before tucking it into her handbag.

At home she immersed herself in a novel, determined to survive the day on her own.

Next morning she again arrived at the store as Mr. Tunney opened the door.

“Morning, Mrs. Marshall. Got another note for you. Your husband says he probably won’t be able to call for the next few days though. He’s way up north, isn’t he? Such a long way.” He handed Grace the piece of paper. “You must be real proud of that man of yours.”

“Yes, I’m very proud of him.” Thanking him, Grace took the note and drove away without explaining her pride came not from Billy venturing up north but from Billy’s character—his optimism, his unfailing good spirits, his kindness.

“I wish he were here to give me a shot of his optimism right now,” she muttered. This being alone with nothing but one’s thoughts gave her entirely too much time to dwell on her doubts and fears. Yesterday had been haunted by the loss of her baby. When she forced herself to think of something else, she’d been equally distressed by thoughts of her own mother’s death.

The idea of spending another day alone was unbearable. She turned toward the Deans’. Perhaps Nellie would welcome her offer of help.

Nellie shepherded her into the house, her fingers to her lips. “She’s sleeping. Willow gave me something for her and showed me comfort measures. She told me not to worry about Rebecca crying so much. Some babies simply need to cry more than others.”

Two pairs of eyes turned toward the sudden wail from the other room.

Nellie sighed. “At least she sleeps some of the time. By the way, thanks for sending Willow.”

Grace followed Nellie to the baby’s cradle.

Nellie nursed the baby, then cradled her in one arm as she did her work.

“Have you heard from Billy?”

Grace nodded. “I won’t hear for a few days now.”

“Do I detect a tremor in your voice?”

“Probably. I don’t like staying alone.”

“Worried?”

Grace shook her head. “My thoughts won’t give me any peace.”

Nellie’s hands stilled. “Grace, I wish there was some way I could make you see that God’s peace is a gift ‘that passes all understanding.’ That’s from the Bible.”

“I do too, but I guess I have to figure it out myself.” Nellie made it sound so simple—as if all she had to do was say yes, please, and peace would suddenly envelop her heart.

“I suppose you do. Just don’t waste too much time doing it.”

“I won’t.” The promise was easily spoken, but she had no notion of how she’d fulfil it. Perhaps Nellie was wrong. Perhaps some people were destined for peace, others for inner turmoil.

Every day Grace checked for messages from Billy. Four days she turned away in disappointment, returning to a silent, empty house. On the fifth day, Mr. Tunney handed her a slip of paper. She didn’t wait for him to tell her what it said but hurriedly drove away. She braked the car and unfolded the paper.

“Everything is well. I’ve had a lot of fun and excitement. Will tell you when I get home. Expect to arrive Monday.”

She folded the note carefully and put it with the others in her bag. Two more days and her agony of loneliness would end.

She drove to church the next day, her heart longing for words of comfort and encouragement, and she found them there, but the lonely house soon enough drove them away.

She woke early Monday, jumped from bed, and hurried to the kitchen to mix up cookie dough. She hurried from the table to the stove to the washbasin. If she kept busy, the time would pass faster. All the while she listened for the distant drone of the airplane.

Twice she ran from the house, looking to the sky, and returned disappointed. The third time she thought she heard him she waited, straining until she was certain the noise was real, then hurried outside and spotted the dark spot in the sky that rapidly drew closer. Billy barely had time to taxi to a stop before she raced toward him. He jumped down and caught her in his arms, kissing her.

“I missed you, Gracie.”

“Me too.”

“I’ve lots to tell you. It was a wonderful experience. Only one thing wrong with it, and that was being away from you.” He kissed her again, longer, more gently.

She held him tightly.

After a moment, he extracted himself from her arms. “I brought you something.” He reached into the cargo area and pulled out a bundle wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine.

But her eyes devoured him. His dark brown eyes shone with excitement and satisfaction, his lips parted in a wide smile. He flipped off his helmet; his dark hair glistened in the sun. She wet her lips. “What is it?”

He laughed. “Unwrap it and see.”

She struggled with the strings until he flicked open his pocket knife and cut through them. The paper fell open and she lifted the article. “It’s a coat.”

“A parka,” he corrected. “Made by one of the Indian women near Norman Wells.”

She shook it. It was fine, doe-colored leather trimmed with fancy beadwork and lined with soft fur. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.” She leaned over to kiss his mouth.

“Umm. You taste good.” He draped an arm over her shoulders and turned her toward the house. “What have you been doing with yourself while I was gone?”

She told him about visiting Nellie. “She named the baby Rebecca Grace.”

He chuckled. “Gracie Three.”

“Your trip went well?”

“We had to put down unexpectedly on the lake when the motor stalled, but it was nothing. We landed smooth as could be, and I soon had the line cleaned out.”

She shivered. “I’m glad you’re back safe and sound.” While he was gone, she had not allowed herself to think about the consequences if something happened to him up in the wilds, but now it was safe to acknowledge she’d been concerned. “I missed you.”

He hugged her tighter. “You better.”

They settled into a routine. Billy had several day jobs, flying men and supplies to Turner Valley and Banff.

Fall slowly descended with cool, crisp mornings, longer nights, a full harvest moon, and the sound of geese overhead, flying south in formation.

A contentment settled into Grace’s heart. Billy was home, life was good.

She visited Nellie often, growing more confident helping with Rebecca.

“I’ll take these,” she told Mrs. Paige, plunking four books on the desk.

“I’ll be right there.” Mrs. Paige looked out the window, her attention caught by something.

Grace joined her. The window looked out on a side street—quiet yards to the left. A wagon trundled down Main Street. A block away ran the back alley of a row of shops tucked in behind the more prestigious Main Street businesses. One was a gambling place. There were other low-class establishments. She’d taken one look at the signs and avoided the street.

She saw what held Mrs. Paige’s attention.

A huddled figure stood behind one of the buildings. Grace had seen enough to know the front of these businesses were painted gaudily, but no paint had been wasted to glorify the back. Bare boards, windows stuffed with newspaper, broken furniture stacked against the wall, it was enough to make her shudder.

She couldn’t make out the age or sex of the huddled figure, but she saw the hand uplifted toward the bulk of a man standing on the sagging step, clutching at his shirt front. Grace could feel the desperation in that gesture. The man shook the hand away.

Mrs. Paige snorted.

Grace glanced at her, surprised at the hardness in her expression. Then she turned back to the drama.

The begging form reached up again. Grace thought she heard a cry but knew it was only in her imagination.

Grace shivered as the big man planted his fists on his hips and glowered at the pleading figure before he ducked inside and slammed the door.

The other figure crumpled to the ground.

Mrs. Paige snorted again and turned away.

“Who is that?” Grace kept her eyes on the pathetic bundle on the ground.

“No one you would care to know about.” Mrs. Paige marked the due date in the books and pounded them down on the desk.

“I’m curious that’s all.”

“Don’t bother yourself about the likes of them.”

Grace knew from the way Mrs. Paige drew her lips into a tight line that she would learn nothing from this source. She determined she would find someone to tell her about the scene she’d witnessed. As she told Mrs. Paige, she was curious.

She asked at the post office.

“I make it a point to know nothing about that establishment,” Mrs. Schofield said, her black eyes snapping. “In my opinion, they shouldn’t even be allowed in town.” She closed her mouth and would say no more.

Grace went to Church’s store. She’d decided to be less direct in the hopes of eliciting more information. “I saw something this morning,” she began.

Lou Church leaned forward. She liked to hear about other people.

“You know that place behind the mercantile?”

Lou drew back. “Hummph. Know more than I want to. That’s a fact.”

“It was the strangest thing.”

Again Lou leaned forward, her eyes alight with interest. “What do you mean strange?”

“This big man was shaking his fist at some poor soul. Out in the back alley, mind.” Grace pretended an interest in the display of hankies. “I’ve always liked pansies embroidered on a hankie.”

Lou lifted her nose and sniffed a sound of such pure disdain that Grace stared at her. “Young Maggie Murphy no doubt.” She sniffed again. “I wondered how long it would be before Big Ed threw her into the streets.”

“You sound like you know this Maggie Murphy.” Grace sounded only mildly interested.

“I know of her. Most everyone in town does. Why she came marching into town as bold as you please. Didn’t waste no time trying to find a decent job. No, sir. She found Ed’s place right off, and that’s where she’s been since.”

“Ed’s place? Hmm. What sort of place is that?” She fingered several of the hankies, then turned toward the row of white gloves.

“Why it’s the sort of place that gives a town a bad name, if you know what I mean.”

Grace nodded absently. She was beginning to get the picture of what sort of place Ed ran. “You’re telling me this young Maggie went to work for him?”

Lou tossed her head. “She couldn’t wait to walk into his back room.”

It was on the tip of Grace’s tongue to ask how Lou knew so much about what went on in Ed’s place, but she knew such a question would bring an end to her attempt to gather more information. “Makes me wonder why Ed would throw her out like that.”

“The baby.”

Grace almost dropped the pair of gloves she held. She blinked hard to control her emotions. “A baby,” she cleared her throat. “What baby?”

Lou lifted another tray of gloves from behind the counter. “You might like these. Fine kid leather. All handmade. Just the thing for a fine lady like yourself.”

“They are nice. Soft as down.” She pulled them on and held out her hands to admire them. “I could use a new pair of gloves. I’ll take these.” A small price to pay for having her questions answered. “You were saying about a baby?”

“Miss Maggie Murphy wasn’t as smart as she thought. She got herself in the family way. I understand Ed made her work all along.” She leaned close to whisper. “Can you imagine such a thing?”

Grace shook her head, her eyes wide, silently begging Lou to continue.

Lou nodded. “I heard she had herself a baby girl not three days ago. I expect Ed gave her a chance to get back on her feet before he threw her out.” Lou’s mouth puckered like a pickle. “She won’t be much use to Ed now. Not with a baby and all.”

Grace pressed down the shudder that clawed at her insides. She kept her voice soft, sounding only mildly interested. “What do you suppose will happen to them?”

Lou shrugged as she wrapped the gloves in a flat box and handed them to Grace. “I heard Maggie was sick. Wouldn’t surprise me if she died. For sure no one in this town is going to offer to help her.”

Grace swallowed hard, stilling her insides. “But what about the baby?”

Lou rang in the money Grace handed her and returned the change. “With no one to care for it, what else but it will die too? It’s a mercy really. What kind of future is there for a child born in that situation?”

Grace grabbed up the change and rushed from the store. She threw the parcel on the seat of the car and threw the car into gear, driving home much faster than usual. She couldn’t believe Lou’s words. To think no one would lift a hand to help that poor girl and her child. That poor innocent baby.

She drove into the yard in a whirl of dust and jerked to a halt.

Billy stepped from the barn, a piece of metal rod in his hands. “What’s your hurry?”

Grace sprang from the car. “Do you know who Maggie Murphy is?”

Billy gave her a strange look. “Seems to me I heard the name a time or two.”

“Seems everyone knows about her but me.” At some point during the drive home, Grace’s shock had turned to red-hot anger. “Seems like everyone is judge and jury as well.”

Billy stepped back from her fury. “What are you talking about, Grace?”

She closed the distance between them. “I’m talking about a young girl thrown out on the streets.” She jabbed her finger in his direction. “Or should I say, into the alley.” She jammed her fists on her hips. “The woman—Maggie—I could maybe understand. After all, she made some choices. Maybe she should have to face the consequences. But a baby? Why should the baby be thrown out like a piece of garbage—human garbage? As if she did something wrong.” Her breathing was ragged. “As if some poor little baby can be held responsible for what adults do. Before she was even born, mind. It’s not her fault in the least.”

Billy’s mouth hung open; his eyes wore a startled look. “Grace, I’ve never seen you so worked up.”

She breathed hard. “It’s the injustice of it. Imagine blaming a poor innocent baby.”

His eyes narrowed. “Yes, imagine.” His tone was dry.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m agreeing. How can a baby be blamed for anything? They can’t make any choices.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Seems to me we’ve had this conversation before.”

She blinked. “We have?”

He nodded. “It seems a young woman I know is suffering from a sense of guilt because of something her sister said that makes her feel like it was her fault their mother died when this young woman was only a baby. Seems to me I’ve asked how a baby could be to blame.”

“You’re meaning me.”

He nodded. “Don’t you see how unfair it is to blame a baby?”

Her heart ticked the seconds as she stared at him without answering. “It makes sense when I say it.”

He chuckled. “But not when I say it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what did you say?”

She shook her head. “There seems a chasm between what I think and what I feel.”

Billy pulled her to his chest. “Poor Gracie, it’s hard having all your misconceptions shattered.”

She clutched his shirtfront, smelling the oil and grease of his morning’s labors and something more—the warm manly smell of him; smells that comforted and held her. “I hate to admit to wrong thinking,” she mumbled against his shirtfront.

He laughed. “I wouldn’t expect you to capitulate too quickly; not my Gracie.”

She thumped his chest. “Are you calling me stupid? Or stubborn?”

“Let’s settle for saying you like to be dedicated to your ideas.”

She laughed, turning her face up to him. “Billy, you always set things straight, don’t you?”

He grinned down at her. “Just call me Mr. Fix-it.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You better not be trying to find out.” He shook her gently.

Her laugh bubbled up from deep inside, a sensation as pleasurable as any she’d felt for a long time. She leaned back in his arms and let her laughter rang out.

He grinned down at her.