He chuckled and shook his head, in the throes of some private wonder, and then ran one hand through his hair. “Come along then, Bliss Stafford, and we’ll see about quieting that stomach of yours.”

She followed him, still wearing her shabby plaid coat, peering into this room and that as they passed down a wide hallway toward the back of the house. The place had a certain spartan prosperity about it; there would be few luxuries here, but nothing needful would be lacking, either.

The kitchen was spacious and filled with wintry light, and the glare dazzled Bliss so that she had to blink several times in order to see again. A lovely Maori woman was standing at the stove, cooking, and again Bliss felt a peculiar stirring of sadness.

“Found her in the barn,” Mr. McKenna said, and that was his only comment. He went to the washstand in a far corner of the huge kitchen and poured water from a crockery pitcher into a basin.

Bliss felt a blush moving beneath her freckles. She smiled lamely at the cook, who responded with a pleasant look but said nothing, and Mr. McKenna made a tremendous splashing as he washed.

Feeling very self-conscious, Bliss intertwined her fingers in front of her and rocked once or twice on the worn heels of her high-button shoes. “I suppose you’re wondering what I was doing sleeping in your barn,” she piped, though Mr. McKenna had not actually inquired about that peculiar occurrence. “Well, I’ll be happy to tell you.”

The handsome farmer rolled up the sleeves of his blue cambric workshirt and grinned. “That’s good of you,” he remarked as the cook added another place to the table, which had been set for one, then discreetly left the kitchen. “Won’t you sit down?”

Bliss was stung by the mocking formality of the question, as well as by the courtly bow her host executed. With a sniff, she settled herself at the table, still wearing her coat. The smell of the fried meat and eggs made her light-headed, she was so hungry.

“It just so happens that I’m on my way to America,” she announced, scooping food onto her plate with as much dignity as she could manage.

The ice-blue eyes were twinkling again. “An ambitious jaunt, that. What’s in the States?” Mr. McKenna took what remained of the eggs and mutton, politely failing to notice that Bliss had left him relatively less to eat than one might have expected.

Bliss swallowed before answering, for even though she had spent the night in a stranger’s barn and been forced by circumstances to accept what amounted to charity, her manners had not deserted her. She thought of all the glowing letters she’d received from her mother over the years, and she could hardly wait to get to the place.

“Everything,” she said, in a musing, dreamy voice that would surely have brought desultory comment from Alexander—had Alexander been there, that is. She peered across the table at her benefactor, squinting a little because her eyes were tired. “Have you ever been to America?”