The soldier from Atlanta had every right to look annoyed. Leanne had given him completely wrong instructions. She’d been useless in today’s knitting class. She’d been useless in most of her duties, her mind dangerously preoccupied with the one student she no longer taught. “I’m sorry, soldier, you’re absolutely right—the pattern does say to knit that row.” No amount of prayer had banished John from her mind, no Psalm had replaced the loss with contentment or trust that God knew what He was doing. Her mind knew what was right but her heart refused to comply—and the tug between them had overthrown her concentration. Leanne looked around the classroom to realize she was missing a student. “Where is Private Carson?” “I was wondering the same thing,” Ida said. Whether Ida had come to the soldiers’ class for moral support or for the view, Leanne was glad to have her. “He was going to turn his heel today, wasn’t he?
