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

she ordered. She closed the door, watching as the man she did not want to love caught each girl by the hand. They walked toward his awaiting horse and buggy together. Their shadows trailed behind them, as if there was nothing but sunshine and good days ahead.
    Alone, Molly turned her back, feeling every drop of emptiness in her soul and every impossible wish.
     
    The image of Molly kneeling before his daughter and tending her wound stayed with him through the afternoon. So did the picture she had made in the bakery’s window, with her arms wrapped around her middle, forlorn and lost as he’d untethered Stanley from the hitching post.
    Sam set two glasses of lemonade on the table next to the back porch swing. It had been a good day. He had read to the girls early on. His afternoon rounds had gone well, and if no one needed a doc for the rest of the day, he would have a quiet evening at home. “Mrs. Finley says that’s all you get before supper.”
    “Pa?” Penelope’s toy horse, clutched in her good hand, froze in mid-gallop on the flowered cushion. “Do you know what?”
    “We’ve got it all figured out,” Prudence added, all innocence as she trotted her wooden mustang across the arm of the swing.
    “I’m afraid to know what you girls have planned now.” He leaned against the porch railing and crossed his arms over his chest, braced for the details of their next scheme. “Does this have to do with the Nevilles’ pony?”
    “Well, we would like to have Trigger as our very own—”
    “—we surely would.”
    “But this is more important.”
    “—a lot more important.”
    More than the Nevilles’ pony? This ought to be good. He braced himself for it. Perhaps it had something to do with how doting they had been to Molly’s mare. Most likely the girls wanted a little more excitement than a placid old pony could bring to their lives. What else could make the girls study one another, as if silently bolstering up their courage to ask? They had never had a problem asking for what they wanted before.
    Penelope squirmed, put her horse down and laid her bandaged hand on her lap. She looked vulnerable, as she had after the bakery display table had come crashing down. “Miss Molly was awful nice to us.”
    “She didn’t yell.” Prudence swiped the flyaway strands from her braids out of her face with a nervous brush. “Not even once.”
    “And when I almost cried, she wiped away my tears. She didn’t even scold, because I’m too big to cry.” Penelope’s voice thinned, and on her dear face showed a world of hurt. Of need. “She’s awful nice, Pa.”
    “And she gave us cookies after—”
    “—after I wrecked everything.” Tears pooled in Penelope’s eyes.
    Prudence’s lower lip trembled.
    A terrible feeling gathered behind his solar plexus. A tight coil that would not relent. His daughters were hurting. So little and delicate. “What are you two trying to say?”
    “We like her, Pa.”
    “A whole bunch.”
    “We want you to marry her.”
    “With a ring and everything.”
    He squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to hold more emotions than he could handle. Oh, Lord, help me say the right thing. Please guide me now because I’m afraid I will make a mess of this. His girls, for all their bluster and charm, were frail at heart, as anyone was. Love made everyone vulnerable, especially children. He opened his eyes, trusting that God would help him find a way to make this right.
    “We were praying too, Pa.”
    “So that maybe you would like Miss Molly.”
    “Really like her.”
    “So she could be our ma.”
    This is where he had always failed before. Sam pushed away from the railing and knelt before his daughters. The wind chose that moment to gust, sendingthe most lyrical scent of lilacs, as soothing as any lullaby. A few stray purple petals floated by.
    He had spent so much time keeping everyone at an emotional distance. Necessary for a doctor, but it had become his way of coping. First when his