“If that was the case, then I would have fallen in love with Mack when we were about three years old. That’s my first memory—of being in church with him and Adam.” Lily fingered a lovely lace shawl that had to date back fifty years or more.

“Adam,” Sally sighed. “Now that was one sexy boy.”

“I always thought he was fake and kind of full of himself,” Lily said.

“Yeah, but he’s so pretty.” Sally fanned herself with her hand.

“I had a pretty man, and look where it got me,” Lily said. “I don’t know that I could ever trust another of that kind.”

“Me, either, darlin’,” Sally said, “but I believe that Mack is really trustworthy.”

“Then why haven’t you asked him out?” Lily asked.

“No sparks,” Sally said. “If I can’t have electricity and chemistry, I’ll stay single. I had the ho-hum marriage, and it just didn’t work for me.”

Looking back, Lily could say that her marriage hadn’t been ho-hum, at least not at first, but in all honesty, she had to admit that the romance had died several years before Wyatt said he’d found another woman.

Lily could hardly wait that evening to get up to her room and dive into the journal again. The pages were so old that they felt as if they could crumble in her hands, so she turned them carefully. The ink had faded in some places more than others, and she had to get the bedside lampshade adjusted just right to see the words clearly.

Matilda Smith Bedford, June 1870

Lily glanced back over the last pages she’d read and realized that she’d turned two pages at once. She read those before she went on to what Matilda had written.

This entry was dated May 1, 1865: