Free Forever and Ever by Patricia Gaffney

no,” Anne assured her, jiggling the smiling, wide-eyed baby in her arms. “Unless you call insomnia a sickness. I’m beginning to think of it as a penance, although I’m not clear on exactly what sin I’ve committed to deserve it.”
    Sophie laughed. “None, I’m sure. You look tired, though.” But she didn’t worry about Anne, because under the surface fatigue lay a soft, radiant happiness that never left her, and made her look beautiful no matter how weary she was. “I wish I could take Lizzy for a few days, to give you a rest.”
    “Well, that’s nice of you.”
    “No, it isn’t.” Sophie cupped her hand behind the baby’s soft, spindly neck and gave her a kiss on her sweet-smelling cheek. “It’s pure selfishness.”
    Lizzy’s mother smiled fondly. “But you still love your work at the mine, don’t you, Sophie?”
    “Oh, yes—but I didn’t mean I don’t have
time
to take Lizzy. It’s just that I’d be missing a certain, how shall I say, prerequisite.”
    “Oh,” Anne said, laughing. “Yes, well, Mrs. Ludd keeps telling me I ought to hire a wet nurse, but I don’t want to. If I did, I’d only have more time to myself, which would mean I’d have to pay more duty calls on needy parishioners. And let’s face it, no one would like
that.
” Sophie pretended to be shocked, but she was used to Anne’s irreverent humor by now. “Besides, as much as she wears me out, I can’t bear to let this little monkey out of my sight for more than a few hours at a time.” She made a moony face at her daughter, who returned it with a sleepy smile.
    “Tell me, Sophie,” she said as they went up the stairs together, “who was that man at the reading tonight? I didn’t recognize him.”
    “His name is Mr. Pendarvis.”
    “Pendarvis? He must be a Methodist; I’m sure I’ve never seen him before.”
    Anne was new to Wyckerley, only three years or so. “No one’s ever seen him,” Sophie explained. “He’s only just arrived.”
    “Really? How exciting. He’s awfully good-looking, isn’t he? I used to think black-haired men were handsomer than fair-haired—before Christy, of course. What brings him to our little village?”
    “I’ve given him a job at Guelder. He’s a miner.”
    “Is he?”
    “He doesn’t look it, does he?” Sophie said quickly.
    “Oh, I wouldn’t know.” She laughed lightly. “After all, what does a miner look like?”
    Sophie frowned; it wasn’t the answer she’d wanted. “I meant to say, he doesn’t
speak
like a miner.” Even in her own ears she sounded defensive.
    “What do you suppose made him come to hear the last bit of
Emma
?” Anne wondered as she rocked Lizzy, who had begun to fret.
    “I’m sure I can’t imagine.”
He came to provoke me, of course
, she thought in silence. They had arrived at the front door of the vicarage. “Where’s Christy tonight?” she asked, throwing her shawl over her shoulders.
    “He had to go to Mare’s Head for a christening.”
    “Whose baby is it?”
    Anne hesitated a fraction of a second. “Sarah Burney’s.”
    “Oh.”
    The two women exchanged looks. Sarah Burney was the scandal of the neighborhood. Educated, respectable, the daughter of a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, Sarah had fallen in love with a petty officer under her father’s command. Before they could marry, he’d been killed in the British bombardment at Canton.
    “Poor girl,” Sophie murmured. “What will become of her, I wonder.”
    Anne shook her head. “Or her baby.”
    “Her life’s ruined.”
    “It’s so unfair.” Lizzy pulled on a lock of her mother’s reddish hair, spoiling Anne’s coiffure—and lightening the solemn mood that had fallen between the two women. “Do you have to go right away, Sophie? Stay and have a cup of tea with me, can’t you?”
    “It’s late. I’d love to, but I’d better go home.”
    “Next time.”
    “Yes, of course.”
    “Good night, then.” They touched hands, and Sophie went down the flagged