Prologue #2
Thomas had written that ordinary afternoons became memorable whenever she shared them with him in his last letter, and he'd once confessed that no one had ever understood him the way she did.
Amy had read those pages often enough that every sentence lived comfortably in her memory, worn soft through repetition.
Clara studied her from the corner of her eye before shaking her head with theatrical resignation. "You're smiling again."
Amy looked at her. "I am?"
"You've reached the stage where you're visiting Brook Hollow without leaving the wagon."
Amy felt her face grow warm. "I was thinking about Theodore."
"So I gathered." Clara's grin widened. "You've been smiling at that picnic basket for the last mile."
Amy looked down at it, unable to help herself. You only tease me so much because you enjoy watching me blush. You could try being encouraging for a change."
"I am encouraging." Clara grinned. "I've spent this entire journey listening to you sigh over Theodore."
Amy shook her head, her smile softening as she glanced down at the basket. "I hope he likes the picnic."
"I'm certain he will."
"He always appreciates little surprises." Amy's voice softened. "He says they're what make ordinary days memorable."
"I hope he appreciates the woman carrying them even more."
Amy lifted her eyes. "He does."
Clara's smile softened. "I'd like hearing him tell you that while I'm standing close enough to judge whether he means every word."
Amy laughed quietly. "He says it every chance he gets."
"Excellent. Then I expect he'll say it again before the day's over."
Confidence settled easily in Amy's heart. Theodore always knew exactly what to say. Amy had come to treasure his words so completely that the future they'd imagined together felt less like a dream and more like a promise waiting patiently ahead.
By late morning, the wagon entered Brook Hollow, where other wagons lined the main street and shopkeepers greeted familiar customers from open doorways.
Children hurried along the boardwalk carrying fresh loaves beneath their arms, while merchants arranged displays outside their stores, filling the town with an easy bustle.
Amy searched each passing face almost as soon as she climbed down from the wagon.
"He told me his boarding-house stands beyond the square," she said, lifting the picnic basket with renewed energy.
Clara brushed some dust from her skirt before falling into step beside her. "Then we'd best not keep Theodore waiting."
"He said the boarding house sits beyond the mercantile," Amy said, quickening her pace as she pointed toward the next block. "We must be almost there."
Clara adjusted her bonnet and smiled. "I've never known anyone quite so determined to deliver luncheon."
Amy laughed as she shifted the basket to her other arm. "I've waited three weeks to see him."
"And the poor man has no idea you've brought enough food to keep him occupied until supper."
They turned the corner together. Amy's steps slowed. "There he is." Her voice carried the quiet excitement she’d held onto throughout the journey.
Across the street, Theodore strolled along the boardwalk wearing the same dark coat he’d worn during his last visit to St. Joseph.
Even at a distance, she recognized the easy confidence in his walk and the familiar tilt of his hat, and relief washed through her as every mile of travel suddenly felt worthwhile.
"I knew we'd find him."
Clara followed her gaze, though her smile faded almost as quickly as it had appeared. "He isn't alone."
Amy looked again. A young woman walked beside Theodore with a neatly wrapped parcel resting against her hip.
Amy's smile remained. "Perhaps she's his sister."
"I don't remember you mentioning one."
"He has cousins."
"I suppose."
Amy nodded, eager to settle the tiny flicker of unease that had appeared without invitation. Families visited one another every day.
The young woman laughed at whatever Theodore had said, and he smiled in return with the same warmth Amy knew so well.
Her feet slowed again. "He always smiles like that," she murmured, almost to herself.
Clara didn't answer.
The woman slipped her hand through Theodore's arm as naturally as if she'd done it a hundred times before.
Amy stopped walking altogether. "They must be close."
"I hope that's all it is."
Amy swallowed. "It is." She held onto the words with quiet determination while she watched them continue down the boardwalk together.
Theodore leaned toward the young woman to answer another remark, and the woman laughed again before lifting her hand to straighten his collar with easy familiarity.
He smiled at her with an affection Amy recognized immediately, because she'd treasured that same expression every time he'd looked her way.
The world around her seemed to grow strangely distant. There had to be a simple explanation. Perhaps the woman was family. Or was already promised to another man. Maybe…
The young woman rested her hand against Theodore's cheek, and he covered her fingers with his own before bending his head and kissing her.
The picnic basket slipped from Amy's grasp.
It struck the ground hard enough to throw the lid open.
Bread tumbled across the dusty street, apples rolled away in opposite directions, and the jar of blackberry preserves burst against the hard-packed earth, sending dark fruit and broken glass all across the road.
The blue ribbon she'd tied so carefully that morning came undone, drifting into the spreading stain.
The sound turned several heads. Theodore looked up, and his eyes found Amy almost immediately. Surprise flashed across his face before recognition settled in, followed by guilt that erased every hopeful memory Amy had carried with her from St. Joseph.
He took a hurried step toward her. "Amy—"
She never heard the rest.
Her vision blurred as tears flooded her eyes.
Clara reached toward her, calling her name, but Amy had already turned away.
She fled through the busy street, every shattered promise echoing louder than the voices around her, leaving the ruined picnic scattered behind her like the future she'd believed waited at the end of the journey.