Carved by her great-grandfather, the wooden piece had been handed down to family members for generations. Each bride carved her initials into the old wood before passing it on to the next woman in line. Mama had passed it down to Josie who, after her own wedding, had handed it over to Meg during a ritual that had made all three Lockwood sisters roll on the floor with laughter.

Today, however, no such happy ritual was in play as she and Josie struggled to carry the massive chest inside the house and into the small but tidy parlor. They set it on the brick hearth so as not to get mud on the carpet.

“Whew! I forgot how heavy it was,” Josie said.

Meg brushed a hand over her forehead. Good riddance. The hope chest that once held her girlish dreams was now a dismal reminder of a day she’d sooner forget.

“I don’t know why Amanda refuses to take it. It’s only fair. You and I both had our turn.”

Josie frowned, as she was inclined to do whenever their younger sister’s name came up. “Amanda’s too independent to get married. She’s only interested in stirring up trouble.”

By trouble, Josie referred to Amanda’s many causes. One—her campaign to close saloons during Sunday worship—had almost created a riot. Their youngest sister was the black sheep of the family and was always on the warpath about one thing or another.

“Poor Mama,” Meg said. “All she ever wanted was to see the three of us married and bouncing rosy-cheeked babies on our laps.” She gasped and quickly covered her mouth. “Oh, Josie, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Josie patted her on the arm. “I haven’t given up hope that one day I’ll have a child of my own. Some things just take time.”

Meg flung her arms around her sister’s shoulders and squeezed tight. “I wish I had your patience.”

Josie hugged her back. “I love you just the way you are.”

Meg pulled away and smiled. Spending time with Josie always made her feel better. “Thank you for taking the hope chest off my hands. If I have to look at it one more day, I’ll scream.” She and Josie had spent hours working on her trousseau—and for what?

“I’m afraid the clothes inside are a mess. The chest tipped over, and everything is covered in mud.” Just thinking about that handsome new lawyer’s hands all over them made her cheeks blaze.

Josie opened the hope chest to check the contents. She lifted the carefully sewn garments one by one and examined them.

While her sister inventoried the damage, Meg glanced out the parlor window and froze. There rode Mr. Garrison on his fine black horse. Her breath caught, and she quickly stepped behind the draperies so as not to be seen gaping. Did she only imagine him staring at the house? If I had someone like you…

Josie’s insistent voice brought her out of her reverie. “I’m sorry?”