Chapter 4

Modesto, 1879

Darkness was gathering as Clay Palmer looked up from his law books in frustration. He rubbed his brow, sighing. He was getting nowhere. As he paused to light the office lamp, there was a knock at his office door. His secretary had gone home for the day, so he answered the door himself.

The woman who stood there looked familiar, but he could not place her. “Yes?” he asked.

“Mr. Palmer?” the woman said. “I know it’s late, and I’m sorry to bother you, but I would like to consult you, if I may.”

“All right, Miss. . ?” he asked, his tone cool, but stepping back and opening the door for her to enter.

She handed him a pasteboard card. He took it and read the fine, Copperplate script. “’Mary K. Holt.’ Ah, yes, Molly Holt. I’ve seen you at Church – my mother speaks very highly of you.”

She walked, rigid as a board, back erect, to the chair he offered her. She was darkly dressed, Clay noted, with dark hair pulled back in a severe bun and smoke-tinted spectacles on her eyes.

“Recently?” she asked, stiffly.

“I’ll be frank with you, Miss Holt,” Clay said, perching on the edge of his desk, “I have heard some nasty rumors about you, but I am far too busy a man to listen to malicious gossip. My mother’s not the sort to do so, either. On what matter do you wish to consult me?”

Miss Holt looked down at her hands and folded them neatly on her lap. “Well. You know, then, that I was a governess for the Nagle family.”

“Yes, my mother’s known Cora Nagle for years. She was very impressed with the way you turned those boys around – they were once the terror of the county.”

A ghost of a smile crept across Miss Holt’s face, then vanished. “They aren’t bad boys, really, but they’ve had the misfortune to be raised by parents who don’t know the difference between discipline and punishment.”

“Too many of those, unfortunately,” Clay said.

“All I did was to show Jim and Aaron how to use their energies more constructively.”

“That can’t have been as easy as you make it sound.”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t bad. I’ve certainly had worse jobs.” She looked up at Clay. “I really miss them. I’m sorry I had to leave them as I did. But it wasn’t as you’ve heard.”.

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

Miss Holt looked down at her hands again. Fidgeted. Clasped her hands together. “One evening a month ago, Mr. Nagle came home drunk, which wasn’t unusual, but this time. . .” she paused unhappily.

“Did he assault you, Miss Holt?” Clay asked gently.

She smiled now, grimly. “He tried, Mr. Palmer. But I know how to take care of myself. I made sure he wouldn’t try anything like that again, and it should have ended there, but the next thing I know Mrs. Nagle is giving me the sack.”

Clay shook his head. “I can’t believe you would have stayed there after that.”

She shrugged. “I would have stayed for the boys. My problem is now that I find that it’s my name that’s being dragged through the mud. I can’t find another position because my reputation has been tainted. So I ask you, Mr. Palmer, do I have any legal recourse?”

“Do you wish to press charges against Mr. Nagle?”

“It’s too late now, isn’t it? I might have been able to prove something if I’d done so when it happened, but he’s had time to heal, now.” She shifted in her chair. “I understand the burden of proof is much less in civil court.”

Clay raised an eyebrow. An informed client, evidently. “Well, yes, but the burden of proof is still on the plaintiff, the accuser. There are two possible briefs we could file. ‘Wrongful dismissal’ is one – but I have to tell you that the law comes down pretty heavily on the side of the employer. We’d have to prove gross misconduct, and as you’ve pointed out, that would be difficult to do. Or we could sue for slander, but that’s even more difficult – we’d have to prove both that it was one or other of the Nagles who are spreading these rumors, and that the rumors are untrue.”

“And you believe that to be impossible.”

Clay sighed. “Not impossible, but very difficult. Another lawyer might take it on, but if you’re seeking my advice. . .”

“I am.”

“. . . Then my advice would be to let it drop. Not only do you have a very poor chance of winning, but filing a suit would keep the scandal alive.”

Miss Holt sat thoughtful for a long moment. “Very well, since I have asked your advice, I should not be such a fool as not to take it.” She stood. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing, Miss Holt. I cannot help you.”

“You do charge a consulting fee, do you not?”

Clay walked behind the desk. “Generally, yes, but I often waive it.”

“I pay my debts, Mr. Palmer,” Miss Holt said severely.

“I’m sure you do, but you haven’t incurred one here.”

“I’ve sought your professional advice, and I have taken it. In what way have I not incurred a debt?”

“I can’t help you. I won’t charge you,” he repeated.

Miss Holt removed her spectacles and rubbed her eyes, which were green and surprisingly soft. “Mr. Palmer. Please. I have very little in the way of dignity left. Please don’t take away what little I do have.”

Clay leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk. “Miss Holt. Molly. How much money do you have? I know it can’t be much.”

Molly replaced her spectacles. “That’s none of your concern.”

“Do you have any family, anyone who can help you?”

“That’s also not your concern.”

“I take that to mean ‘no,’” Clay said. “What kind of man do you think I am, to think that I’d take money from you now?”

Molly glanced down. “Because if you don’t, I’ll be a debtor, and I’ve never been a debtor.”

Clay sighed. “Very well, I’ll suggest a compromise. I’ll send you a bill, but you have to promise not to even think about paying it until you’ve found decent work. Fair?”

“Fair,” Molly said, giving him her hand. “You may send it to Mrs. Ephraim’s Boarding House.” She turned to go, then turned back. “I’ve always heard you were an honorable man, Mr. Palmer.”

“Clay,” he said. “For what it’s worth, Molly, I believe you to be an honorable woman.”

“Thank you,” Molly said quietly. “That is worth something to me.”

Clay walked her to the door and saw her out. He went back to his desk, sat, feet on top of the law books, unheeding. He lit a cigar, smoking pensively, then stamped it out. He put on his jacket – he was already late for dinner. He blew out the lamp, closed the shades, and went home.



He lit an after-dinner cigar and stared into the fire in the Palmer parlor. His brother sat reading a book while his sister knitted some unidentifiable charity garment. His mother put a hand on his shoulder and asked, “Is something wrong, Clay? You’ve hardly spoken a word all evening.”

Clay kissed her cheek. “No, nothing wrong, Mother. At least, not with me.”

“You’ve been working hard on the railroad negotiations – I’m sure you’ll find an equitable agreement.”

“No, it’s not that, either, although I am going to have to work a lot harder on it tomorrow. I. . .well, once again I seem to have hit the limits of legal justice.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Just. . .someone whose only possession was her good name and who’s had it stolen from her. There’s no restitution for that,” he said, bitterly.

“Someone like Molly Holt,” Beatrice said.

Clay raised an eyebrow. “Now why do you mention her?”

“Because she’s been on my conscience. I’d like to do something for her, but for the life of me I can’t think what.”

Alex raised his head. “Molly Holt? Isn’t she that governess the Nagles got after their boys got kicked out of the school?”

Clay nodded.

“Woman should get a medal for taking on that lot,” Alex said.

“How can you say that, Alex?” Rory asked. “After what she did?”

“What did she do?” Alex asked.

“Really, Alex,” Rory said. “Everyone knows what she did.”

“‘Everyone,’ Sis?” Alex asked. “How could ‘everyone’ know? Was ‘everyone’ there?”

“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” Rory said.

“Out on the range, yes,” Alex said, “but you’ll find, Rory, that what ‘everyone’ knows is almost never so. It’s vile.” Alex pounded the arm of his chair. “You soil a poor man’s name, that’s bad enough, but soil a poor woman’s, and you might as well rob her and leave her in a ditch.”

“Oh, really, Alex,” Rory said. “No one ever died from a bad reputation.”

“I’ve seen it, Rory,” Alex said. “I’ve seen women pushed to starvation, or worse. All for the sake of a little ‘harmless’ gossip.”

“What’s worse than starving?” Rory asked.

“Think about it. If a woman who needs to work can’t get decent work, she’ll either starve or take indecent work.”

“That’s. . .horrible,” Rory said. “You mean Molly could end up like that?”

“The world can be a very cruel place, Sis, especially for a woman alone,” Alex said.

“Can’t we help her, Mother?” Rory asked.

Alex snorted. “You sure change your tune in a hurry.”

“Well, even if she did do. . .what everyone says she did, she doesn’t deserve that. No one does.”

“Don’t offer her money, whatever you do,” Alex said to Beatrice.

“Amen to that,” Clay muttered.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Beatrice said. “I should pay her a call, though. That’s the least I can do.”

“Actually, Mother,” Clay said, thoughtfully, “that in itself might go a long way toward solving her problem, if you make sure you’re seen doing it.”

“Do you think so?” Beatrice thought for a moment, then smiled. “You may be right at that.”

“You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?” Clay said.

“Maybe. Let me talk to Molly first.”

“See, Clay,” Alex said, “you helped your client after all.”

“Now, Brother, I never said Molly Holt was my client. I can’t say that I’ve ever met Molly Holt.”

“You can’t say it, Brother, but we can think it.”

“Think whatever you like,” Clay said. “Now, I’ve had a tiring day, so I think I shall retire with a good book, and not a law book, either. Good night, Mother,” he said, kissing her.

“One more thing,” Beatrice said. “If I’m to pay a call on her, do any of you know where she went after she left the Nagles?”

“Well,” Clay said, “I do believe that I have heard she was staying at Mrs. Ephraim’s Boarding House.”

“Thank you, Clay. Good night, dear.”

Clay fairly bounded up the stairs.



Molly struggled with the pump in front of the boarding house. The pump was rusty, and sweat stained her back. Her wiry black hair had escaped its ribbon, and long tendrils straggled along her cheeks and forehead. She looked up at the sound of a buggy approaching, and with some surprise recognized Beatrice Palmer. She shoved her hair back from her face and wiped her hands on her apron.

“Good morning, Mrs. Palmer,” she said. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Good morning, Molly,” Beatrice said. “I’m sorry it’s so early, but I wanted to be sure to catch you at home.”

“You did?” Molly frowned slightly. “Whatever for?”

“Is there someplace private we could talk?” Beatrice asked, descending lightly from the buggy.

“There’s my room,” Molly said, “but there’s nothing to sit on except the bed and a couple of trunks.”

“I can sit on a trunk. When my husband and I first came to California, we lived in a tent with nothing but a couple of apple crates and a straw tick full of bedbugs.”

“Well, I can’t offer you any bedbugs, but if you want to come up, you may. Let me take this water to the kitchen first.”

“I’ll help,” Beatrice said, putting a hand to the bucket.

“I can manage it,” Molly said, pulling the bucket away.

“I’m sure you can, but why should you when I’m here to help?”

Molly gave Beatrice a hard stare from behind her spectacles. “Come on, then,” she said.

There was barely space in Molly’s room for the narrow bed, bureau and two trunks pushed up against the wall. Beatrice ran her hand over the spines of Molly’s books, which were carefully arranged on the bureau, before perching herself on a trunk, seeming entirely at her ease.

Molly sat down on the bed, smoothed back her hair and said, “I suppose Mr. Clay Palmer sent you to talk to me?”

Beatrice shook her head. “Clay told us that he’d had a client he wished he could have helped, but he didn’t mention names or particulars. It was my own bad conscience that brought you to mind.”

“Bad conscience? Why? You don’t owe me anything. Cora Nagle is your friend – it’s only natural for you to take her side.”

“Is it? If you think that we should be against you, then why did you consult my son?”

“I know his secretary – we’re in the same sewing circle. Generally, when people discuss their employment, it’s to complain, but Annie never did. She only spoke of his kindness, and his integrity. I thought I could trust him.”

“You can. I do, better than anyone in the world.”

Molly clasped her knee. “Why did you come?”

“I’ve known Cora Nagle for years. I know her follies as well as her strengths, but this is far beyond folly. I ask you, if a friend of yours had done someone a grievous injury, and was either unable or unwilling to put it right, what would you do?”

Molly thought. “I would try to put it right myself.”

“So we do understand each other,” Beatrice said.

“But, Mrs. Palmer, most people don’t think that way.”

“If you do, and I do, what does that matter? And please call me Beatrice.”

Molly hesitated. “I don’t think I’m ready to do that yet.”

“Very well. When you’re ready. Now, as to your situation, I think I may know how to help you, if you’ll let me.”

“I’m proud, Mrs. Palmer, but I’m no fool. If you can help me, I won’t argue.”

“Then it’s my pleasure to invite you to accompany myself and my family to Church tomorrow.”

Molly gasped, shocked, then threw back her head and laughed. “Mrs. Palmer! What a bold person you are!”

“I’ve invited Rev. and Mrs. Laven to the ranch for Sunday dinner, and I’d like you to come as well.”

Molly strode two steps across the room and clasped Beatrice’s hands in hers. “Thank you. All I need is a chance to redeem myself, and you’re giving it to me. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay such kindness.” She hesitated. “Beatrice.”

Beatrice smiled. “By passing it on, of course. I’m merely repaying the many kindnesses I’ve received myself.”

“I will. Thank you, you won’t be sorry.”

“No, I won’t. One of my sons will call for you tomorrow. I believe Clay is the only one you know?”

“Yes, barely.”

“Well enough,” Beatrice nodded. “He’ll call for you around ten thirty.”

“Everything all ’right and proper,’ Beatrice?”

“Of course. We want to show that we respect you.” Beatrice stood. “I shall see you tomorrow at worship.”

“I’ll walk you down.” As Molly watched Beatrice drive away, she considered what had just happened. The Palmers, the first family of Stanislaus County, were taking her disgraced self to Church. It was almost too funny to bear.

She ran back up to her room, threw herself on the bed and laughed until she cried.



Aurora pulled on her gloves as she descended the staircase. “Really, Mother, I don’t know why you had to invite her to Church with us.”

“Now, Rory,” Beatrice said, “we all agreed to help her.”

“But this, Mother! I don’t know how I’ll ever raise my head again.”

Beatrice turned at the bottom of the staircase and glared up at her daughter. “Then stay home, Aurora!”

“Mother, you don’t mean that.”

Clay emerged from the library at the sound of raised voices. “I do,” Beatrice said. “I won’t have you taking such unchristian thoughts into the Lord’s house. Perhaps you’d do better to stay at home and contemplate what company Our Lord kept.”

Rory hid her face in her hands. Clay moved to comfort her, but Beatrice held his arm. Rory dropped her hands and wiped her eyes. “All right, Mother. I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“Will you be kind to Molly?”

“I will try. I’ll not be unkind to her, at least. I promise.”

“Very well,” Beatrice said, kissing Rory’s cheek. “Please go tell Alex that we’re ready.” Rory fled back up the stairs.

“Don’t you think you were a little rough on her, Mother?” Clay asked.

“My only daughter,” Beatrice sighed. “I’m afraid I’ve overindulged her. She’s become altogether too spoiled and selfish.”

“But she always ends up doing the right thing.”

Beatrice smiled and kissed Clay’s cheek. “I’m glad you have faith in her. Now go call for Molly – we’ll meet you at the Church.”



Molly watched from the window of her room. As soon as she saw the Palmers’ buggy turn the corner, she grabbed her shawl and dashed down the stairs. She was standing, breathless, on the porch as Clay reined in. “Good morning, Molly,” he said, climbing down and assisting her into the buggy. “Are you ready for this?” He climbed in beside her.

Molly nodded. “I have to be, don’t I?”

“It may be difficult,” Clay said, “but keep your head high. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”

Molly smiled and squared her shoulders. “Is this better?”

Clay gave her chin a tiny nudge upward. “Now it is.”

Molly chuckled. Clay flicked the reins.

He pulled the buggy up in front of the church and helped Molly to alight. Offering her his arm and an encouraging smile, he led her into the church. His brother and sister were waiting in the foyer. “Miss Molly Holt, I’d like to introduce you to my sister Rory. . .”

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” Rory said, subdued.

“. . .And my brother Alex.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Alex said, taking Molly’s hand.

“Where’s Mother?” Clay asked.

“Here she comes, now,” Alex said.

Beatrice bustled into the foyer. “Molly, how good to see you,” she said, kissing Molly’s cheek. “Marjory is ill today, so I have to play the organ, but I’ll rejoin you before the sermon.” She took in all her children in one glance. “You know what to do,” she said and hurried up to the choir loft.

“What are we doing?” Molly asked.

“We’re supposed to stand here looking conspicuous and make sure that anyone who wants to talk to us has to talk to you, too,” Alex said.

“I feel like a prize cow at the fair,” Molly said.

“Now that’s not so bad,” Alex said consolingly. “If you saw the way we pampered our prize cattle, you’d be glad to be one.”

“Alex,” Rory said, “don’t be talking about cattle in Church.”

“Why not? If God made cattle, I don’t see why He’d mind us talking about them.”

“It’s not very uplifting is all.”

Molly smiled wistfully. How nice it would be to have brothers again. Suddenly, she felt small arms thrown around her from behind.

“Miss Molly! Look Aaron! It’s Miss Molly!” Jim Nagle buried his face in Molly’s waist. Molly looked up to see his parents swooping down on her – she gave Jim a quick hug.

“It’s good to see you, Jim, Aaron.” She reached out and touched Aaron on the shoulder.

“Git away from her, boys,” Fred Nagle hissed, barely controlled.

Cora tugged at his arm, futilely. “Fred, please.”

Fred glared around at all the Palmers. “I don’t know what the likes of you are doing with the likes of her!”

“My mother invited Miss Holt to worship with us,” Clay said.

“And if the likes of you doesn’t like it, you can come talk to the likes of me!” Alex hissed.

“Come along, boys, Fred,” Cora pleaded. “Let’s find our pew. The service is about to start.” As the Nagles traipsed up the aisle, each one looked back at Molly: Fred glaring, Jim longingly, Aaron wistfully, Cora with such a look of mortification that Molly found herself longing to run and comfort her.

“That’s one unhappy woman,” she whispered. She did not realize that she was weeping until Clay handed her his handkerchief. She wiped her eyes. “That was hard.”

“Let’s find our pew,” Clay said gently. He escorted Molly into the sanctuary, the others following.
Molly enjoyed the hymns, as she always did, but she barely heard the sermon. She assumed it was about Love and Forgiveness – Rev. Laven’s sermons generally were. She was grateful for Beatrice’s presence – she found the older woman’s strength and self-assurance comforting. One final hymn and she was filing out of the church, shaking hands with the minister, climbing into the surrey with Alex and Beatrice while Clay and Rory went ahead in the buggy to see to dinner. “Are you all right, Molly?” Beatrice asked.

“We had a run-in with Fred Nagle,” Alex said. “It shook her up a mite.”

Molly took a deep breath – she could finally feel her heart beating again. “No, it wasn’t that. It was Cora and the boys. It’s hard to see people you care about so miserable.”

“I see why you might care about the boys, but Cora?” Beatrice said.

“Apparently so,” Molly said. “I didn’t think I did, but seeing her face today. . .I find I can’t be angry with her anymore.”

“Good, Molly, good,” Beatrice said, patting Molly’s hand.

“Maybe so,” Alex said, “but if Fred Nagle ever bothers you again, you come tell me, Molly, you hear?”

“He doesn’t bother me,” Molly said, leaning back and staring at the passing scenery. Brothers. It would be so nice to have brothers again.



At dinner, Molly found herself seated between Clay, at the foot of the table, and Rev. Laven to her left. Mrs. Laven was to Clay’s right, across from Molly and next to Alex. At least Beatrice was at the head of the table, as Molly expected. Molly was relieved that the food was served family-style, so she wouldn’t have to spend the entire meal wondering which fork to use.

“So, Molly,” Alex asked, passing the food around, “how did you manage to tame those Nagle boys? Because if those two weren’t headed for jail, I’m not Alexander Palmer. I know their father beats them – I can’t imagine what punishment you could use that would get through to them.”

“I never hit them,” Molly assured him. “They’ve already been hit far too much. There’s a big difference between discipline and punishment.”

“What do you mean, Miss Holt?” Rev. Laven asked.

“Punishment only instills fear of getting caught. Discipline instills conscience, a desire for good. Punishment is certainly a lot easier to administer – discipline takes time and a lot of patience.”
“Weren’t you tempted?” Alex asked.

“Not really. I admit I’ve had to use force a few times, especially at the beginning, to keep them from hurting themselves or each other, but never violence. How can you trust someone who hurts you?”

“But what did you do? That’s what I want to know.”

“I helped them find ways to put their energies to constructive use. Aaron, for instance, likes to take things apart. . . ”

“Destructive little menace,” Rory muttered.

“. . .But I showed him that putting things together is far more interesting. Whatever money he came by ended up buying tools and parts. He’s built some amazing contraptions – all perfectly useless, of course – but he can take them apart and put them back together in quite creative ways.”

Rev. Laven nodded. “Admirable. But what about Jim? His mother is always despairing that she cannot get him to stop lying, to save her soul. How do you make a seeming natural-born liar stop lying?”

“I didn’t. I made him write them down and embellish them.”

“I don’t get it,” said Alex. “You get him to stop lying by encouraging him to tell better lies?”

“Jim has a very active imagination. If he can learn to use that constructively, and learn the distinction between fiction and lies, then that is a good thing. Didn’t Our Lord use stories to show the truth? Jim’s real problem right now is that lying is very useful to him as a way of avoiding his father’s violent punishments. I wasn’t able to do anything about that, unfortunately. Once Jim learned to trust me, he never lied to me. But that’s the best I was able to accomplish in the time I had.”

“Yes,” Rev. Laven said. “I’ve tried to curb that violent temper of Mr. Nagle’s, and his drinking. Many a time, to no good purpose.”

“You seem very wise about children, Miss Holt,” Mrs. Laven said. “I suppose you’ve had a lot of experience with them?”

“Not as much as I would like. I raised my four brothers after my father died, and was studying at a ladies seminary to be a teacher when the War intervened. I was never able to achieve my certificate.”

“Why not?”

“Because the Union Army burned the seminary down.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Laven said. She paused. “But after the War? Couldn’t your brothers have helped you to find a way to finish?”

“They might have. If any of them had come home.”

Rory gasped. Molly stared down at her plate. I will. Not. Cry.

“Perhaps we should stop plaguing Molly with questions and let her eat her dinner,” Beatrice said.

“No,” Molly looked up. “I’d like to finish answering the question, if I may.”

“Of course,” Beatrice said.

“After the War, I drifted. I worked my way downriver and westward in whatever employment I could find. I tried to always be honest, though I admit I was not always respectable.”

“What do you mean?” Mrs. Laven asked.

“For instance, I worked for a while as a costumer for a traveling Shakespeare troupe. I know that working in the theater is not considered ‘respectable,’ but I’m not ashamed of it.”

“So you could be a dressmaker,” Rory said.

Molly touched her spectacles. “Not anymore. My eyes are too weak for anything but plain sewing. One of the jobs I had, four or five years ago, was as cook at a lumber camp. Many of the lumbermen had also had their educations cut short, so I taught several of them to read and do arithmetic.”

Clay looked startled. “Dick Shalot?”

“Yes, Dick was one of my pupils,” Molly said, crinkling her brow. “A quite good one, too. He went through all the Readers in about six months, and was almost ready for Algebra when winter closed in. How did you know?”

“Because it was our lumber camp,” Clay laughed. “You might be pleased to know that we’re sending Dick back East in a couple of weeks to study engineering. He’s one of our best men, smart as a whip.”

“He told me once he’d learned to read from a cook,” Alex said. “I’d never thought I’d meet her.”

“It looks as though the Palmers owe you a debt, Molly,” Beatrice said.

“Not really,” Molly said. “Dick was very eager to learn. I don’t think anyone could have stopped him.”

“Never underestimate a good deed, Miss Holt,” Rev. Laven said. “It’s possible that someone else might have come along to change that young man’s life, but you were the one who actually did.”

“Now, I really think it’s time we let Molly eat, don’t you?” Beatrice said. “That was an interesting sermon today, Reverend. . .”

Under the chatter of conversation which ensued, Clay leaned over and whispered, “Brava!”

“I hadn’t intended to tell the entire life history,” Molly said.

Clay merely smiled and ate his dinner.



“I’m sorry we can’t stay longer, Beatrice,” Rev. Laven said, after dinner, “but I need to stop by the orphanage and we have several ill parishioners to call on.”

“Quite all right, Reverend,” Beatrice said. “I’m so glad you could come.”

“Miss Holt,” Rev Laven said, “it’s been a pleasure to deepen our acquaintance.”

“Molly,” Mrs. Laven said, pressing her cheek against Molly’s, “so good to get to know you.”

“Perhaps I should go, too,” Molly said as the Lavens made their departure.

“Nonsense,” Clay said. “You’ve been working like a stevedore. It’s time for you to relax and be a guest.”

“Come sit down, Molly,” Beatrice said, taking her arm. “Why, you’re trembling. Sit down, dear. Alex, fetch her a brandy.”

“I’m sorry,” Molly said. “I’ve been under such a strain the past month.”

“Don’t apologize,” Beatrice said. “Here, drink this. Slowly now. Perhaps you’d better lie down. Rory, could you please show Molly to the guest room?”

“No, I’m all right,” Molly said, clutching her glass. “If I could sit quietly for awhile?”

“Come into the library,” Beatrice said, “it’s quiet in there.” Clay took Molly’s elbow and they followed his mother. “Here’s a sofa, there’s a lamp - I noticed you like George MacDonald,” Beatrice continued, “and we have several of his books, too, but feel free to help yourself.” She plumped up a pillow on the sofa. “Relax and no one will bother you for an hour.”

Molly smiled, and mother and son left her. “Where’s Aurora?” Beatrice asked Alex who was still sitting in the parlor.

“She went upstairs a little while ago,” Alex said. “Didn’t say why.”

“That’s not like her,” Beatrice said. “Perhaps I’d better check on her.”

“Let me, Mother,” Clay said. “She may still be feeling awkward from your tiff this morning.”

“Tiff?” Alex asked.

“It was nothing,” Beatrice assured him. “All right, Clay – see if she needs anything.”

Clay climbed the stairs and stood outside Aurora’s room, listening a moment, hearing nothing. He rapped a knuckle on the door. “Rory?”

“Go away, Clay,” Rory said through the door. Clay heard her sniffle, then she said, “No. Wait. You may come in.”

Clay opened the door to find Rory sprawled across the bed, eyes red and streaming. “Rory, what’s wrong?” Clay asked, although he had an idea.

Rory sprang up and threw herself into her brother’s arms. “Oh, Clay. She’s so goodhearted and kind and she’s had such a hard life and I’ve made it worse!”

“Now, Sunny, how could you have made her life worse?”

“I gossiped about her, Clay. All the trouble she’s in, I helped to make. I’m so ashamed. I’ve been so mean.”

Clay sat on the bed and put his arm around her. She buried her face in his shoulder and wept. “Yes, you’ve done wrong, dear, but you’re deeply sorry for it, aren’t you?” Rory nodded against his shoulder. “Then you’re a better person today than you were yesterday. That’s all any of us can do, is try to be better today than we were yesterday.”

“Bless you, Clay,” Rory said. “You always know the right thing to say.”

“If it’s any comfort to you, Sunny, I misjudged her myself when I first met her. I thought she was stern and prim and stiff. But what she really was, was frightened.”

“She won’t need to be frightened anymore, will she, Clay? Not with you and Mother looking after her.”

“Not with all of us looking after her. When did you know the Palmers to all agree on something and not be able to do it?”

“Never,” Rory said.

“Don’t worry, Sunny. I have very good feelings about Molly Holt.”

“So do I.” Aurora smiled, wiping her eyes. “You haven’t called me ‘Sunny’ since I was a little girl.”

“I know,” Clay said. “Guess I felt like playing at Big Brother.” He kissed her nose. “Better?”

“Yes, but I think I’d like to stay here and think and pray for awhile.”

“All right, Sunny, but I’m here if you want me. Shall I send Mother up to you?”

Rory nodded. “Yes, please, if you think she won’t be angry with me anymore.”

“No, dear, she won’t.”



Molly read for awhile, and when Beatrice returned for her, found she felt much better. She enjoyed spending the rest of the day with the Palmers – Alex showed her is favorite horse, Rory showed off her prize rose garden, Beatrice and Clay had both read many of the same books that she had and enjoyed talking about them, and all the Palmers endeavored to make her feel at home.

Clay drove Molly back to Modesto after supper. The night was moonless, and Molly leaned back in the buggy, looking up at the stars. “I wonder why the sky seems so much bigger here than it does back East? Look, there’s Mars. And I think that’s Jupiter. And over there are the Pleiades.”

“That’s the Seven Sisters, right?” Clay asked.

“Yes, except you can only see six stars with the naked eye. With a telescope you can see hundreds.”
“May I ask you a personal question, Molly?” Clay hesitated. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Molly stiffened, then forced herself to relax. “Of course. You’ve earned the right.”

“Why did you stay in Modesto?”

“I’m not sure. Part stubbornness, I think, not to be run off when I’d done nothing wrong. But this is the third time I’ve been to this part of California, in a life where I’ve never been to the same place twice. I guess I wanted to find out why.”

“Perhaps you’re finally ready to settle down.”

“I hope so. I’m nearly forty – it would be nice to have a home of some sort. I’ve been a feather on the wind for so long.”

“Or perhaps a feather on the breath of God.”

Molly cocked her head. “Would you be shocked if I told you I didn’t believe in God?”

“Surprised, certainly, given your taste in books.”

“I read MacDonald because he believes in God.”

“I don’t understand,” Clay said.

“I’d like to believe. I could wish there was a loving Father who looked after us and guided our feet, but I don’t. If I have no fire of my own, I can at least warm myself at others’ fires.”

Clay turned and scrutinized her, but there was sympathy in his eyes. Molly seemed to struggle with herself. Finally she said, “Clay? There’s something I left out of that life story I told at dinner. May I tell you?”

“If you wish to, of course.”

Molly held her breath, closed her eyes. “I lost my husband in the War, too.”

“I’m so sorry, Molly.” Clay calculated. “You must have been very young.”

“I was twenty when the War began. Henry was twenty years older than me – he’d been a friend of my father’s, so I had known and loved him all my life. He insisted that I finish my education, even after we were married. He believed that the world would be a better place if everyone, man or woman, was educated to as high a level as they could achieve.”

“He sounds like quite a man.”

“He was a visionary. He saw the world as it could be, and he spent his life working for that. He’d been a long-time abolitionist. . .” she paused, “no, more than that. He was part of the Underground Railroad. He was always putting himself in danger for others, the War was no different. He was old enough to be exempt, but he felt he couldn’t stay out while others died for what he believed in.”

“I was in the War, too,” Clay said. “I was a lieutenant in a colored regiment. At least your husband died fighting for what he believed in.”

“He died, that’s all I know,” Molly said bitterly.

Clay pulled back on the reins. He turned to Molly. “Would you rather he’d had a senseless death?” he asked angrily.

Molly was taken aback. “I’d rather he’d not died at all.” She touched Clay’s arm. “I’ve offended you – I’m sorry, but I don’t know why.”

Clay flicked the reins again. “It’s nothing. Not your fault.”

Molly released his arm, shook her head, then took his arm again. “It’s not nothing. Will you let me make it right, whatever I did wrong?”

Clay reined in the horse once more. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It’s. . .my wife, Lucy, died in a buggy accident. We’d had a fight, she ran out – she always drove too fast, this time – well, it was my fault, you see.”

“All married couples fight, Clay – it’s not your fault.”

“It was.” Clay shifted anxiously. “Lucy and I grew up together – she was the belle of the county. She could have married anyone, but she waited for me to finish law school. And I neglected her. She wanted us to live in Sacramento or San Francisco, but there are plenty of lawyers there. These are my people, Molly – I grew up here, I know them, they know me. And I worked hard. Too hard to suit Lucy. She was right, I guess. She spent more time with our friends Jim and Sarah Gardner than she did with me.”

“You were trying to establish yourself,” Molly said, “she understood that, I’m sure.”

Clay shook his head. “No, she didn’t. And I didn’t understand her, or weigh her needs enough in the balance, and so she died. But that’s not the worst of it.” He turned to face her. “At the funeral, Jim Gardner condoled with me how terrible it was to lose Lucy and her baby both.”

Molly put her hands to her face. “She was with child?”

Clay nodded. “Yes, only I didn’t know it. And Jim did.”

“Oh, dear.” Molly turned pale.

“I walked away from him that day, too shocked to utter a word, but it ate at me, Molly. Day after day, like a cancer. Until the day I loaded up my gun and rode to his farm, intending to make an end of it – it was going to be either him or me.”

Molly shook her head. “You never talked to him about it?”

“What was there to talk about? Lucy would never have told him before me if it had been mine – it didn’t bear thinking of.”

“What happened? You didn’t kill him,” Molly said hopefully.

“No,” Clay slumped, “I didn’t. I didn’t even go through the gate. His daughter Abigail was sitting in the yard making mud pies, and I looked at her, and I couldn’t go through with it. Whatever might have happened between him and my wife, I couldn’t make his daughter an orphan. I turned around and went home and haven’t spoken to him since. But I had murder in my heart, Molly. I can never forget that – that I’m capable of murder. It’s a black place in my soul that I’ll never be rid of.”

Molly frowned. “I don’t think that’s so, Clay. You were in pain, and very angry. It was your pain and anger that wanted to kill, not your heart. If not Abigail, you’d have found some other reason. You’re not a killer.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Clay began to flick the reins, but Molly tightened her grip on his arm and he let them drop.

“Henry came home for a week, before he was killed,” she said. “We had an awful fight. My brothers were all gone, I begged him to stay with me, but he refused to desert. And then three weeks later he was dead, with no way for me to take back the hateful things I’d said.” Clay nodded in sympathy. “When I got the word, I didn’t even pack – left with the clothes on my back and what little money I had in my purse. I went to Louisville and got a job on a riverboat, and somewhere around Natchez I had a miscarriage.” She covered her face with her hands. “I didn’t even know I was pregnant. Three years married before the War, and it had never happened - I thought I couldn’t, but – if I’d stayed home, I might have. . .” She looked up at him, her face tear-stained. “I might still have something of Henry. So you see, I do know how it feels to be responsible for someone’s death.” She hid her face again, weeping.

Clay put his arms around her. “Molly, Molly dear, don’t cry,” he said. “I’m here, it’s all right,” and then he was kissing her, and it was, somehow, all right.