The girl was Mercy and she remembered the day she’d sat in the field of flowers. But they hadn’t been daisies. Most had been light purple, a few others had been red and—

Oh. Details clicked together in her mind. Oh my God. “Poppies,” she murmured.

“I think they’re daisies,” Rafe said. “Poppies are red.”

She looked over her shoulder to see him placing two steaming mugs on the coffee table. He’d brought them in on a tray, which made complete sense—and made her glad she hadn’t said anything about his being able to carry both mugs one-handed.

“At least they’re supposed to be daisies,” Rafe added. “Gideon is good at many things. Painting . . .” He waggled his hand in a so-so gesture.

“These are daisies because Daisy made him paint,” Mercy said. “He changed the flowers because he had Daisy on his mind. The flowers were actually purple and red.” She pointed to the young girl sitting in the field of flowers. “That’s me.”

He approached her warily, as if worried she’d bolt. Which was probably fair. “I thought so. I moved it out of sight when you left. I was a little . . .” He shrugged. “I missed you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You did what you needed to do. I understand.”

“I was still unkind to have run away.”

“Well, maybe a little,” he allowed.

Her lips twitched. “All right, then.” She returned her gaze to the painting, sobering. “This day actually happened. I was nine years old. It was a week before Gideon’s thirteenth birthday.” She rubbed the heel of her hand against her heart again because the memory hurt. “There was a field of flowers beyond the gates of Eden. We were expressly forbidden to go there, but we could see it when the teachers took us on field trips outside the gates. The purpose of the trip that day was to gather roots for the healer. We kids were cheap labor, I guess.”

“But you got tempted by the flowers,” Rafe said and she shot him a startled look.

“How did you know?”

He pointed to the painting. “Because you’re sitting in them.” His voice held more than a note of “duh.”

“Good point. Well, I got caught. I was good at avoiding harsh punishments as a kid because my stepfather, Amos, was a gentle man.”

“Sounds like you cared about him.”

“I did. He never laid a hand on me. He was a good man.” She frowned, troubled. “I hope he wasn’t punished because Mama and I escaped. Although we were part of Ephraim’s household by then.” She shook her head, dislodging the notion for now. “Anyway, I got caught and the punishment for going to the flower field was severe and out of Amos’s hands. A week in the box.”

“What was the box?” Rafe asked grimly.

“What it sounds like. It was a little outbuilding, an outhouse actually. But its only use was for punishment. They’d lock the person in with no light for a week. Twice a day you’d get food and water.”