Grace crouched down as Aubrey placed her toys carefully in the white sand. ‘‘You sit right in here and play while I mow the lawn. Promise?’’

‘‘Okay.’’ Aubrey beamed up at her, dimples winking. ‘‘You play.’’

‘‘In a little while.’’ She stroked Aubrey’s curls. She could never get enough of touching this miracle that had come from her. Before rising, she looked around, mother’s eyes scanning for any danger.

The yard was fenced, and she had installed a childproof lock on the gate herself. Aubrey tended to be curious. A flowering vine rambled along the fence that bordered her house and the Cutters’ and would have it buried in bloom by summer’s end.

No one was stirring next door, she noted. Too early on a Sunday morning for her neighbors to be doing more than lazing about and thinking of breakfast. Julie Cutter, the eldest daughter of the house, was her much-treasured baby-sitter.

She noted that Julie’s mother, Irene, had spent some time in her garden the day before. Not a single weed dared show its head in Irene Cutter’s flowers or in her vegetable patch.

With some embarrassment, Grace glanced toward the rear of her yard, where she and Aubrey had planted some tomatoes and beans and carrots. Plenty of weeds there, she thought with a sigh. She’d have to deal with that after cutting the lawn. God only knew why she’d thought she would have time to tend a garden. But it had been such fun to dig the dirt and plant the seeds with her little girl.

Just as it would be such fun to step into the sandbox and build castles and make up games. No, you don’t, Grace ordered herself and rose. The lawn was nearly ankle-high. It might have been rented grass, but it was hers now, and her responsibility. No one was going to say that Grace Monroe couldn’t tend her own.

She kept the ancient secondhand lawn mower under an equally ancient drop cloth. As usual, she checked the gas level first, casting another glance over her shoulder to be certain Aubrey was still tucked in the sandbox. Gripping the starter cord with both hands, she yanked. And got a wheezing cough in response.

‘‘Come on, don’t mess with me this morning.’’ She’d lost count of the times she’d fiddled and repaired and banged on the old machine. Rolling her protesting shoulders, she yanked again, then a third time, before letting the cord snap back and pressing her fingers to her eyes. ‘‘Wouldn’t you just know it.’’

‘‘Giving you trouble?’’