Since Astrid had raced ahead to the livery, eager to see the kittens, Greta used the opportunity to escape from the public eye, slipping into the dark interior of the wide barn and its many stalls. On a Sunday morning, the place was quiet except for the soft nickering of the horses. Thin rays of sunlight slanted through the cracks in the walls, shining on the dust and warming the air with the familiar scent of horseflesh.

“Here, kitty-kitties,” Astrid called as she probed the dark stall where the kittens had been last week.

Their trips to town on Sunday mornings always brought back the most remembrances of home. No matter how busy her pappa was, he’d always made time to honor “the Lord’s day”—as he’d called it—and to attend church. The gatherings had been a place of community and friendship—and where she’d met Thomas during those lonely days after her mamma had died.

He’d been a true friend. Maybe she’d never felt warm flutters in her stomach at his touch the way she did with Wyatt, but she’d loved him. And he was the one she missed whenever she thought about home and Sunday mornings and church services.

“I can’t find the kitties.” Alarm laced Astrid’s voice. “Can you help me find them, Greta?”

“Maybe the mother moved them to a new place.” Greta made her way carefully through the hay, but before she could join the search, Wyatt stepped into the barn. His stricken expression and the open letter in his hand stopped her.

“What’s wrong?”

“The letter’s from Flynn.”

Wyatt had shared enough about his brothers that Greta felt she knew them to a small degree. Two years younger than Wyatt, Flynn hadn’t approved of Wyatt leaving the farm and had been angry with him ever since. During Wyatt’s last visit home three years ago, they’d exchanged bitter words before parting. While Wyatt’s mother had continued to write letters, Flynn had been silent.

Greta crossed to Wyatt and wasn’t sure whether to take the letter and read it for herself or wait for him to elaborate.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple threading up and down his throat.

It couldn’t be good news. She touched his arm, hoping he sensed her support.

“It’s my ma.” His voice choked, his eyes wide with heart-wrenching sorrow. “She died in childbirth.”

“Oh, Wyatt.” Without hesitating, she slipped her arms around him and drew him into an embrace. Maybe her own family had never been affectionate with her, but she’d learned from Thomas how to be a supportive friend. And right now, that’s what Wyatt needed.

He gripped her tightly, almost as if he couldn’t stand without her holding him up.