“There are letters from James Darby, the man she married, and several from her to him. They’ve been my favorites so far. In them you can see the evolution of their feelings for each other, the affection, the humor, the respect. He fell in love first, I think, and I think his loving her, understanding her, helped her discover herself.”

“Lucky for her,” Clare stated. “She married someone she loved, and who loved her.”

“I think they had a really good life,” Hope said. “He not only financed the bulk of the school she wanted to build, but came to share that vision with her. He was from a good family, financially and socially solid, so her father approved. But they loved each other. She was able to have a full life with the man she loved. It wasn’t a marriage based on fear or duty or convenience.”

When she caught the scent of honeysuckle, Hope eased down beside Avery. “Love opened her life. She loved her sister, but she was young, afraid, and didn’t know yet what it was to be in love. She kept her sister’s secret, as far as I can tell. And my sense of her, from the letters, is loyalty. I don’t believe she would have betrayed you. She wrote to your cousin Sarah Ellen. They were close to the same age, and she shared her heart, her thoughts, her joys and worries with her. She feared for you, if your father learned you were slipping away to meet Billy. He was a stonemason, working on your father’s estate. Is that right? You need to tell us if that’s right, so I can keep looking.”

She appeared in front of the door leading to the porch.

“He carved our initials into a stone. He showed me. Initials inside a heart in the stone. He put it into the wall, so it would last forever, and no one would know but the two of us.”

“What was his name?” Hope asked.

“He’s Billy. My Billy. I was riding, and went past where I was permitted, alone. Down to the stream, and he was there, fishing on a Sunday afternoon. He should not have been, and I should not have been. A brisk March afternoon, and the water in the stream pushing through the thawing ice.”

Lizzy closed her eyes as if looking back. “I could smell spring trying to break through winter, yet snow still lay in the shadows. The sky was winter gray, and the wind still bitter.”

Opening her eyes, she smiled. “But he was there, and it was no longer cold. I should never have spoken to him, nor he to me. But we knew as if we had always known. A look, a word, and hearts opened. Like in the novels Cathy would read me, and I would laugh at love at first sight.”