But first, Callie and Polly. This morning she’d watch to see which direction the girls went to school, then in the afternoon she’d return and introduce herself. If she did so now, the girls would be late to school and would have a hard time concentrating in class.

Something inside her writhed. Was she wrong to defy their adoptive mother’s wishes? Mama and Juanita were saddened by Mrs. Scholz’s decision but said it was her right.

Leah disagreed. The girls belonged to her as surely as Helen did.

Certainly Clay would agree. Hadn’t he urged her to visit Chicago so she would be reunited with them?

Clay . . .

The news in the papers and on the radio was vague—the landings had been successful but costly. How costly? Had they cost her the man she loved?

Leah pulled out the clipping of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s prayer from yesterday’s afternoon newspaper. With her own thoughts scrambled by worry and anger and distress, it helped to focus on the printed prayer.

The president’s words spoke to her soul: “Almighty God: Our sons, pride of our Nation, this day have set upon a mighty endeavor, a struggle to preserve our Republic, our religion, and our civilization, and to set free a suffering humanity. Lead them straight and true; give strength to their arms, stoutness to their hearts, steadfastness in their faith.”

Leah glanced to the Scholz residence, still and quiet, then back to the clipping: “Some will never return. Embrace these, Father, and receive them, Thy heroic servants, into Thy kingdom.”

Her throat tightened, and she added a prayer that Clay would do the Lord’s will. She read on: “And for us at home—fathers, mothers, children, wives, sisters, and brothers of brave men overseas—whose thoughts and prayers are ever with them—help us, Almighty God, to rededicate ourselves in renewed faith in Thee in this hour of great sacrifice.”

A breeze ruffled Helen’s blanket, and Leah tucked it into place. Whatever she faced in the coming days, she had to find the good and lean on the Lord.

A door opened—the Scholz home.

Leah tightened her grip on the baby carriage.

Two dark-haired girls trotted down the steps, crossed the street, and headed in Leah’s direction, books in arms.

“Callie!” A middle-aged woman stood in the doorway, waving a paper. “Your essay!”

The taller of the girls gasped, whirled around, and ran across the street. “Oh, Mother! You’re divine! Simply divine.” Callie kissed her on the cheek.

She laughed. “And you’re full of baloney. Off you go. I love you.”

Leah’s feet rooted in place. Something about her sister’s voice sounded familiar, like this city, the church, and the postcard of the library. Was that her mother’s voice?

Callie ran across the street to her twin. “I can’t believe I forgot it.”

“I know,” Polly said. “You worked so hard on it.”