These past two years since Ma’s death, Keara had defended her grieving pa’s antics to anyone who complained, but if Brute McBride was standing in front of her right now, she’d blast him with more words than any of the neighbors had ever dared speak to her against her bullheaded father.

The perfume of honeysuckle reached her, but she didn’t turn to enjoy its beauty along the split-rail fence today as she usually did. The splash and roar of White River filled her heart, loud and fast after the rains, like the storm that had whipped up inside her when she discovered how much she had lost, and what she must do to survive. All because of Pa.

She loved this land whittled from the forest around it by hard, backbreaking labor. The nearby resort city of Eureka Springs, with its gardens, healing springs, and steep, winding hillside streets, could not compare to the beauty of this Arkansas countryside. The thought of living and working there away from the ones she loved made her shiver, but if this plan didn’t work, what choice would she have?

Stepping over the rise with legs that felt shaky, she saw the peaked roof of her neighbor’s home. Smoke drifted from two of the three chimneys. She stopped, and for a moment she couldn’t catch her breath. The sky appeared to blacken with clouds, but there were no clouds, only blue that stretched from the ridge of hills in the east all the way to the end of the world in the west.

The end of the world…of her world.

Bite the bullet, Keara.

She marched like a soldier down the rise through White River Hollow, her gaze set on the big house, painted like a brilliant butterfly, its multiple colors chosen with care, its gingerbread trim carved by the hands of a man who’d willingly indulged his wife’s whimsy. It was put together strong to last, like the man who’d built it, with the help of his relatives and other neighbors who lived comfortably spaced from one another along the hollow.

A porch, gilded with yellow and lavender railings, skirted the front and east side of the house, and a kitchen garden greened the yard where the rock fence protected the crop from many rooting and foraging animals.

Eight-year-old Britte and six-year-old Rolfe were proud of the garden they had helped Keara plant. She could close her eyes and see their beautiful faces—Britte so much like her mother, and Rolfe like his father. Thoughts of them gave her strength to keep walking. This was for Gloria’s children.

Keara inhaled the scent of the fruit tree blossoms in the orchard as she drew near, the pink and white blooms looking like pastel clouds. Her mouth usually watered when she thought about the peaches and apples, plums, and pears that would come from those trees—some of which still had not reached full bloom. Today her mouth tasted of dust.

She looked for signs of the children in the yard or playing under the trees. No one was in sight.

By the time Keara stepped up to the broad porch, she was winded and shaking, and not from the half-mile walk. She rang the cowbell Elam had hung next to the door for Gloria. The clanging echoed in her ears.

After a moment the wooden door with navy and sky-blue trim opened and Elam’s tall, strong frame filled the doorway. His familiar dark brown eyes lit with welcome, but he was also obviously surprised.

“Keara?”

She caught her breath, but the steadiness of his voice calmed her. She had come to know Elam Jensen well over the winter—knew the burden he carried after Gloria’s gruesome death late last summer.

“I thought I’d check to see how Cash is doing on the goat’s milk and corn gruel.” Liars go to hell, Keara McBride. But truly, they’d had a time weaning the baby since his Cherokee wet nurse moved on to the Oklahoma Territory with her family.

“I think it’s going to work.” Elam moved aside and gestured for Keara to step into the great room, which was warmed by one of the new iron stoves he’d bought last year for Gloria. He’d also built the cushioned chairs and sofa, their wood glowing golden from the same log beams that held the house in a sturdy embrace beneath its charmingly decorated exterior.

Nearly the whole valley along the White River had come to see the Jensens’ comfortable new furnishings, some relatives riding the five miles from Eureka Springs—any reason for a get-together since the recent entry into the twentieth century. The all-night party had been something to remember. Elam’s sisters, sisters-in-law, and cousins had helped Gloria and Keara keep the refreshments flowing while the men talked about their animals and the young ones raised a ruckus in the barn with their dancing and singing.

Only weeks later, those same neighbors, family, and friends had returned with food and prayers of mourning for one of the most generous and kind women in the county. A hapless tourist, seeking relief in the healing waters, had unknowingly brought smallpox to Eureka Springs, even after the vaccines across the countryside had long ago promised protection. Gloria—with her trips to town to deliver meals for the sick and their caretakers—had been caught in the disaster.

Keara stepped past Elam into the great room. She glanced toward the stairway with its fancy railings and slats painted the color of cream and butter. “Where are the children?”

“David and Penelope stopped by this morning on their way to the swimming hole for the day. They invited Rolfe and Britte to go with their cousins.”

“On a Monday?”

“You know Pen now that she’s expecting again. I just put Cash down for his nap.” Elam’s deep voice filled the room. His whole presence filled the house as it occupied Keara’s thoughts.

Keara still ached with the loss of her dearest friend. Caring for Gloria’s children, keeping her family fed and clothed, and teaching Rolfe and Britte their letters and numbers over the winter had helped fill some of the emptiness Gloria’s death had left in Keara’s life; she hoped it had made a difference in theirs.

Elam touched her shoulder. She jerked before she realized he was only taking her shawl to hang it close to the stove. Get hold of yourself, woman! Do what needs to be done.

He frowned at her. “Keara? You’re as skittery as our new foal. What happened? Did you see a baby snake on the way here?” He spread the handmade woolen covering over the hall tree Keara’s own father had made for the housewarming.

She blinked up at Elam as his words registered. Was that a teasing note she heard in his voice? He’d barely cracked a smile since Gloria’s passing. Elam Jensen was once known for a good sense of humor, and though he was never mean, he used to like to tease. He knew she hated snakes.