Teresa Bodwell by Loving Miranda

briefly illuminating the apple trees that Miranda had started from seeds when they had moved here eight years ago. The trees had grown and matured enough to produce small apples. Miranda was no longer the little girl she had been either.
    The fluttering movement inside Mercy drew her attention away from the window, and she placed her hand over the baby. “Do you feel your papa coming close, Little One?”
    The door clicked closed behind her. “Talking to yourself, Mercy?”
    She felt a rush of pleasure when he spoke her name. The baby seemed to react, too, flitting against the walls of her womb.
    “I was chatting with your little one.”
    He bent over her, brushing a kiss against her temple as he wrapped his arms around her, one hand covering her belly, while the other captured a breast.
    “How is the little cub?”
    “Very active. I think he knows your voice.”
    “Really?”
    She put her hand over his and squeezed. “Well, he seems to react to you, or maybe he can sense my pleasure at having you near.”
    He rubbed his hand over her belly. “I wish I could feel him moving.”
    Mercy leaned back against her husband, his clothes still cool from the evening air. She rubbed her cheek against the rough stubble on his face. “It won’t be long now and you will.”
    He took the brush from her hand and gently gathered a handful of her hair, pulling the brush through.
    “It’s good to have Miss Miranda home.”
    “Mmm.” Mercy let her eyes drift shut.
    “I was wonderin’ . . . Did she say anything to you about how she came to have that scar?”
    “She said a buggy she was riding in overturned when a wagon loaded with fruit ran into them. She said such accidents are common in big cities.”
    Thad continued brushing in silence for a few minutes. The rain began and he stepped to the window, pulling it nearly shut, leaving a small gap for fresh air. They listened for a moment to the rain pattering gently against the glass.
    “You don’t believe her.” His voice was barely audible.
    “No, she would have written about that accident, or Lydia would have. Thad . . . she was in the hospital for a week.” Mercy shivered, thinking of her sister hurt and suffering so far from home. “Lydia certainly would have written.”
    “Unless your sister asked her not to write us about it.”
    “Exactly.” Mercy nodded. It hurt to think of Miranda wanting to hide something so serious from her. And it frightened her to think what it might be that she was hiding. “Whatever happened, it was something she doesn’t want me and Pa to know about.”
    Thad pulled Mercy from her stool, sat, and gathered her onto his lap. She rested her head on his shoulder, shivering a bit from the damp cold that was now blowing in through the window. He pulled her shawl tight around her.
    “Even though I haven’t laid eyes on Miranda since we’ve been married, I’ve come to think of her as a sister.”
    “The same as I feel about Clarisse.” She drew a hand along his jaw, brushing her thumb against his thick mustache.
    “I’m afraid Miranda wasn’t prepared for me greeting her with a hug, not even a brotherly one.”
    “You surprised her, is all.” She lifted her head to look into his eyes. “There was nothing wrong with you embracing her.”
    “It wasn’t only surprise.” His finger caressed her cheek, his hand bringing her head to rest back against his shoulder. “She was frightened.”
    Mercy’s stomach felt as though it were careening down a mountain in a wagon with no brake. “You think . . . ?” She couldn’t bring herself to complete the thought.
    “I think it is likely that a man has hurt her. Hurt her badly.”
    Mercy shut her eyes, seeing again the dark circles under her sister’s eyes, the prominent cheekbones that showed she had lost weight in the past year. “I never should have left her alone. I should have—”
    “Shh.” Thad placed his finger over her lips. “There’s no point blaming yourself. She’s a