“Aunt Jean was the closest I had to a mother—while also being so much more. It makes me sad that I’ll never see her smile again or have her teach me something new.” She pointed toward a quilt rack in one corner of the room. “She made that. It’s one of my favorites. There’s a trunk full of them in my bedroom. She made and did so many things, helped so many people, and was just such a talented person. She donated dozens of quilts over the years. Baby quilts, charity quilts, Quilts of Valor for soldiers—those were her favorite to make. Probably because Roy died in the service.” Sarah sighed. “I tried to soak up everything I could, to do good things like she did, but there was so much more for me to learn from her.”

If ever Bodie was going to tell Sarah about his quilt, now was the perfect opportunity. He could explain about her quilt. Her note. Her impact on his life. That, like her aunt, she helped so many people, too.

She’d helped him. Maybe she’d be glad to hear that. Maybe it would help.

But he hadn’t planned to tell her about the quilt he treasured even more after getting to know the woman who’d made it. What would be the point?

“I imagine she was very proud of you.”

How could her aunt not have been proud? Sarah was the best person he knew. Good, wholesome, unjaded by the cruelties of the world. He wanted to protect that. To protect her from the things he’d seen and done. To wipe away the sadness in her eyes.

Sarah nodded. “She was proud, but always pushed me to do my best. She believed in serving others and lived her life doing so.”

“Nothing wrong with that life philosophy if you’re able to do it.”

“As a young widow, she took care of her in-laws and then, much later, she took care of me.”

“She never had children of her own?”

“No. They’d planned to start a family after Roy came back from the war.”

“But he never came back,” Bodie finished for her.

She gave him a trembly smile. “Did you fight in any wars, Bodie?”

Not ones where the enemy fought out in the open. His enemy had always been hidden, avoiding open battlefields and attacking from the shadows, hiding among the innocent and wreaking destruction on their lives.

Taking the lives of his brothers in arms.

His stomach knotted. His vision blurred. His fingers dug into his palms as his hands clenched.

Bodie closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Fighting the shadows, he opened his eyes, met her still-watery gaze.

“Well, I guess I did mean to pry,” she corrected. “I’m curious about you, about your time in the service.”

“I didn’t fight in a war like your uncle Roy.”