She’d have the townhouse to herself, since Gray and Annabelle were still in Kansas. They’d given Mr. and Mrs. Holder, the two live-in servants, leave to visit their grown children in Baltimore. Caroline probably ought to stop for something to eat, for the house had been vacant all week and probably lacked food, but she had no appetite.

The streetlamps were on, but her spirit still felt gloomy as she turned the corner onto her street. At the end of the block she could finally see the stately, three-story townhouse where she’d grown up, and she quickened her steps, eager to get home.

Except there was a light on in the house. It was in the back near the kitchen. Could the Holders have accidentally left a lightbulb burning before they went to Baltimore? If so, Gray would have a fit. He mistrusted electricity, thinking it a fire hazard and an expensive one, at that.

A hint of misgiving rose within her. It wasn’t like the Holders to leave lights burning, and something didn’t feel safe.

Then she chided herself. It had been a long day and her feet hurt, and she wasn’t going to wander in search of a hotel because the Holders had left a light on. For all she knew, the Holders had already returned from their trip.

She mounted the steps, inserted her key in the knob, and twisted it open.

“Mr. Holder?” she asked as she stepped inside. The front rooms were dark, but the skinny hallway running to the back of the house was dimly illuminated by the kitchen light.

She froze. A man’s heavy coat was draped over the parlor sofa. It didn’t belong to Gray or Mr. Holder, for it was tattered and filthy.

Footsteps sounded from the kitchen, and a man’s silhouette was framed in the hallway.

“Caroline?”

The voice was familiar, but it couldn’t be. He was so gaunt, like a skeleton. He moved farther down the hall, the light from the streetlamp finally shining on his face.

“Luke?” But it couldn’t be. He looked so different. “Luke!”

He said nothing but smiled and held his arms open wide. She wanted to race into them, but she couldn’t move. She could only stare. The room swayed, and she started to topple just as Luke’s arms clamped around her.

“Whoa, there. Have a seat,” he said, guiding her into a chair, which was good, because for the life of her she wouldn’t have been able to keep standing.

She landed on the chair with a thump, keeping both hands braced on his shoulders. How bony he felt, his shoulder blades prominent beneath her palms. It was Luke, but he was pale and gaunt. She tried to stammer out a question but was breathing too fast to form anything but gulping noises of disbelief.

“Are you laughing or crying?” he asked.