Free In a Mother’s Arms by Jillian Hart, Victoria Bylin

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart. Let me get your sister.”
    Penny sniffed and nodded, cradling her cut hand, and he swooped Prudy into his arms. Glass and cookies ground beneath his boots as he turned, and the sight greeting him nearly toppled him. Molly knelt in front of Penelope, examining her injured hand. He lost awareness of everything—the child against his chest, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, fear that his daughter was in pain. He felt weightless, buoyant with emotion.
    “It’s not bad at all. I’ll get some water to wash this with.” Pure concern shone like a pearl’s luster as she gently wiped a tear from the girl’s cheek. “Come over here and sit for me, okay, love? It’s going to be all right.”
    Penny nodded with another sniffle. “It only hurts a little bit.”
    His good girl. Chin set, more tears hovering but not falling, trying so hard to be brave. Vaguely he was aware of lowering Prudence to the floor. Somewhere in his befuddled mind he knew he should be the one to tend to the wound, but for the life of him he could not seem to move. Two things became crystal clear. The gentle tug against his hand as Prudence wrapped her fingers in his, and Molly as she returned with a bowl, pitcher and cloths.
    “Come sit over here.” Pure compassion, the woman took Penny’s elbow and guided her the few steps to thelong bench meant for customers. She helped Penelope to sit, her murmur spoken so low, the words were lost to him.
    The little girl relaxed, her gaze taking in every detail of the woman’s face. Molly held the little hand to the basin, poured water over the wound and dabbed carefully, checking for bits of glass and debris.
    He felt a tug on his hand and met Prudy’s worried face and plea-filled eyes. She hadn’t been harmed by the broken glass, but she was hurting from something different, something harder to see.
    “She’s just like our list, Pa.” She whispered, sidling up against him, so it was just the two of them. “She’s nice in every way.”
    She certainly is. His windpipe thickened, but it was no medical malady that made it hard to draw in air. It was this woman kneeling before his child, with her delicate golden curls and kindness. There was no pretense. No social decorum. Nothing but concern for the child. Like a mother, she inspected the raw edges of the small cut, speaking soothingly in low tones, trying to tease a smile from the girl to reassure her.
    It was almost as if Molly were a mother, for she knew just what to do, how to comfort, how to care.
    “You hold that still for me, okay, darling?” Molly took the bloody cloths and rose with a rustle of her skirts. She cradled Penny’s chin with her free hand. “I’ll look to see if Mrs. Kraus has a salve in the medicine cabinet. Then we’ll get that wrapped up good so you can have a cookie. Maybe you had better have two cookies. It will help you heal faster.”
    He watched, amazed. As she smiled down at his daughter, she changed in the same way a bud opened into a blossom. The same way dawn became morning. Everything about her bloomed. Her eyes, her face, her spirit. Pure radiance. In that light he saw something kindred, the sorrow he’d read in her before. But this held a joy, too, a memory and a love so powerful, he knew. He knew.
    Bless her, Lord. Please look after her, for all she has been through.
    Sorrow beat at his carefully controlled will. His resolve not to like or to care about Mrs. Molly McKaslin crumbled like a cookie, leaving strong, vibrant emotion. He wanted to think it was sympathy for her lonesomeness he felt, and that’s what he was going to tell himself. He could not love her. He would not love her.
    “I’ve got some salve in my medical bag in the buggy.” He moved woodenly toward the door, his emotions oddly disconnected as he grasped the brass knob and bolted into the warm, bright day, refusing to let himself wonder why he was running so fast.
     
    As Molly wrapped up two cookies