shared childhood, and she thanked God for the one boy who had accepted her when no one else would.
Until the Caldwells came along, of course. Sophie closed her eyes, picturing them at Sunday worship in the big white church near their ranch: Ada still slim and stylish in a new spring hat, Wyatt handsome and grave, holding Wade and Lilly by the hand. A perfect family who knew where they came from and where they belonged—and who had accepted Sophie as their own.
But though she was loved, accepted, and treated like a daughter, she wasn’t a Caldwell and could never be. Who knew what she was?
Robbie welcomed everyone to the service, and the organist began playing an old hymn, one of Sophie’s favorites. The notes floated softly on the spring air that drifted through the windows:
In pastures green he bids me lie
In peace beneath his loving eye.
As the words soared heavenward, Sophie remembered Miss Lillian and how she’d sung those words, her voice high and reedy, as she puttered in her garden. Wyatt’s elderly aunt said contentment was a choice. But how was it possible to be truly at peace inside when there was so much she didn’t know, might never know, about who she was and where she came from?
For years she’d dreamed that one day her mother might still find her. In her loneliest moments, she’d prayed for it, and for a brief moment years ago it seemed possible her prayers might be answered. When Wyatt and Ada learned that a woman hadappeared in Hickory Ridge asking about a lost child, Wyatt hired the famous Pinkerton Detective Agency to investigate. But the woman disappeared, Pinkerton’s gave up in defeat, and eventually Sophie ceased praying for the impossible. Clearly, God did not intend to intervene.
Robbie concluded his sermon and pronounced the benediction. Gillie looped her arm through Sophie’s as the congregation filed out. “Now that we have paid our respects to the Almighty, how about some fun?”
Sophie studied her new friend. Since arriving in Hickory Ridge, she’d been so busy getting the paper up and running that fun had become a foreign idea. But the first issue was finally printed and out the door, and she felt like celebrating. “What did you have in mind?”
“Since the weather has been so warm lately, my parents invited a few people out to the house for a barbecue this afternoon. Daddy promised to let us ride the horses. You’re from Texas, so I figured you might be homesick for the wild open range.” She swept one hand toward the towering mountains. “Not exactly the same, but—”
“I’d love the chance to ride. I miss my horses something awful.” They made their way out of the church and into the bright spring sunshine. “Of course I don’t ride Cherokee anymore. She was Wyatt’s when he lived here, but he shipped her down home and gave her to me when I lost my little mare, Hickory. Cherokee’s getting pretty old, but I love her to bits.”
“I’m sure we can find you a suitable mount. Too bad Mr. Rutledge bought Majestic from Daddy. Majestic would have given you quite a time of it.”
“Sophie.” Robbie waved to them and hurried over. “You came. Hello, Miss Gilman.”
Gillie bobbed her head. “Reverend.”
“I looked for you,” Robbie said to Sophie, “but the church was so full I couldn’t see you.”
“A big congregation is a nice problem to have.” Sophie smiled at her old friend. “Everyone seemed to enjoy your sermon.”
“I try to keep it short and lively so Mr. Purdy and Mrs. Higginbottom won’t fall asleep before the doxology.” He grinned. “How are you? All settled in at the Verandah?”
“I’m fine. Missing Ada’s good cooking, though.”
The organist, a sweet-faced woman in a dark-blue bombazine dress and matching shawl, crossed the yard. “Good morning, Miss Gilman. I’m surprised to see you. Doc Spencer tells me you were up late last night helping him tend the Osborn girl.”
“I was, but I’m glad to report she’s much
Until the Caldwells came along, of course. Sophie closed her eyes, picturing them at Sunday worship in the big white church near their ranch: Ada still slim and stylish in a new spring hat, Wyatt handsome and grave, holding Wade and Lilly by the hand. A perfect family who knew where they came from and where they belonged—and who had accepted Sophie as their own.
But though she was loved, accepted, and treated like a daughter, she wasn’t a Caldwell and could never be. Who knew what she was?
Robbie welcomed everyone to the service, and the organist began playing an old hymn, one of Sophie’s favorites. The notes floated softly on the spring air that drifted through the windows:
In pastures green he bids me lie
In peace beneath his loving eye.
As the words soared heavenward, Sophie remembered Miss Lillian and how she’d sung those words, her voice high and reedy, as she puttered in her garden. Wyatt’s elderly aunt said contentment was a choice. But how was it possible to be truly at peace inside when there was so much she didn’t know, might never know, about who she was and where she came from?
For years she’d dreamed that one day her mother might still find her. In her loneliest moments, she’d prayed for it, and for a brief moment years ago it seemed possible her prayers might be answered. When Wyatt and Ada learned that a woman hadappeared in Hickory Ridge asking about a lost child, Wyatt hired the famous Pinkerton Detective Agency to investigate. But the woman disappeared, Pinkerton’s gave up in defeat, and eventually Sophie ceased praying for the impossible. Clearly, God did not intend to intervene.
Robbie concluded his sermon and pronounced the benediction. Gillie looped her arm through Sophie’s as the congregation filed out. “Now that we have paid our respects to the Almighty, how about some fun?”
Sophie studied her new friend. Since arriving in Hickory Ridge, she’d been so busy getting the paper up and running that fun had become a foreign idea. But the first issue was finally printed and out the door, and she felt like celebrating. “What did you have in mind?”
“Since the weather has been so warm lately, my parents invited a few people out to the house for a barbecue this afternoon. Daddy promised to let us ride the horses. You’re from Texas, so I figured you might be homesick for the wild open range.” She swept one hand toward the towering mountains. “Not exactly the same, but—”
“I’d love the chance to ride. I miss my horses something awful.” They made their way out of the church and into the bright spring sunshine. “Of course I don’t ride Cherokee anymore. She was Wyatt’s when he lived here, but he shipped her down home and gave her to me when I lost my little mare, Hickory. Cherokee’s getting pretty old, but I love her to bits.”
“I’m sure we can find you a suitable mount. Too bad Mr. Rutledge bought Majestic from Daddy. Majestic would have given you quite a time of it.”
“Sophie.” Robbie waved to them and hurried over. “You came. Hello, Miss Gilman.”
Gillie bobbed her head. “Reverend.”
“I looked for you,” Robbie said to Sophie, “but the church was so full I couldn’t see you.”
“A big congregation is a nice problem to have.” Sophie smiled at her old friend. “Everyone seemed to enjoy your sermon.”
“I try to keep it short and lively so Mr. Purdy and Mrs. Higginbottom won’t fall asleep before the doxology.” He grinned. “How are you? All settled in at the Verandah?”
“I’m fine. Missing Ada’s good cooking, though.”
The organist, a sweet-faced woman in a dark-blue bombazine dress and matching shawl, crossed the yard. “Good morning, Miss Gilman. I’m surprised to see you. Doc Spencer tells me you were up late last night helping him tend the Osborn girl.”
“I was, but I’m glad to report she’s much
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