Lena would always be grateful for that lesson. And for learning to trust the sovereignty and goodness of God even when tragedy and hardship overwhelmed her. She knew now that God had directed her family in the past and was here with them today. None of them knew the future, but they could trust Him with that, too.

“Who would like seconds?” she asked. “Eat hearty, everyone! There’s plenty more.”

CHAPTER 1

DECEMBER 1951

Christmas was coming. Eve Dawson saw signs of it all around her Connecticut town as she walked home from work. Pine boughs and wreaths decorated front doors. Christmas lights and tempting gift displays adorned shopwindows. Even the snow blanketing lawns and rooftops and sitting in puffy mounds on all of the bushes looked festive. Yes, Christmas was coming, and with it, the anxiety of trying to squeeze a few extra dollars from her tight budget to buy presents for her five-year-old son, Harry.

The afternoon was growing dark as she hurried along. The shortened December days meant it was barely light when she left for work in the morning and nearly dark when she returned home. Harry would be watching for her from the picture window, eager to show her something he’d made in kindergarten or to describe the latest exploits of his TV heroes, the Lone Ranger and Tonto. Eve remembered watching for her mum the same way, waiting outside Granny Maud’s cottage for the first glimpse of Mum coming up the road. At least Eve’s job in the typing pool allowed her to return home to Harry every day and tuck him into bed at night. When Eve was Harry’s age, her mum, who’d also been a single mother, had worked as a live-in servant at Wellingford Hall and was only able to see Eve once a week.

A hunched figure hurried up the sidewalk toward Eve —Mrs. Herder, bundled against the cold and the gently falling snow, walking her dog. Eve smiled at the older woman as they passed. “Hello. Lovely evening, isn’t it?”

“If you like snow.” Her words were muffled by the thick scarf wrapped around her neck and chin. Mrs. Herder continued past, her rambunctious yellow Labrador stopping to sniff at mailbox posts one minute, then tugging on his lead the next. They seemed a mismatched pair, the young dog too large and energetic for the small, white-haired woman who reminded Eve of her granny.