Jolly colors, low necklines, and excessive decoration denote inferior character and cast a shadow of suspicion upon the unborn child. – MISS GERTRUDE HASSLEBRINK, 1878 On Sunday Lucy and Caleb followed a caravan of wagons and shays up the hill to where the church once stood. “I still don’t see how we can have a church service without a building,” Caleb complained. Earlier, Lucy had a similar conversation with her father, who chose to stay home. “It’s only temporary,” she said, hoping it was true. Caleb yawned and Lucy slid him a look of sympathy. “You didn’t get much sleep last night.” It was after three a.m. when she heard him come home. “Old Mrs. Brubaker was dying again,” he said. “Doc Myers put me in charge of her deathbed vigils. He said it would teach me bedside manners.” Lucy laughed. “It’ll teach you patience, I’ll say that much.” He grinned. “She’s okay. She’s just a lonely old lady.” Her heart swelled with pride. She could never be as kind and understanding as Caleb.
