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knowing what might lie in your path. She had also forgotten how confusing it was. She felt a tree – was it the large oak or one of the smaller ones to the east of the building? She felt gravel underfoot but had no idea where there was gravel on this side of the property. And where were all the children? Phoebe kept flailing, feeling the air, searching for another person. She walked a little further - still no one. She was about to give up and pull off the blindfold when she bumped into something – someone.

"Got you!" she squealed. β€˜Now, the identification,’ she thought. Without the use of her eyes, she would have to rely on her other senses. She could tell that the person wasn't a small child. Her hand reached out and encountered a broad chest and shoulders. This was definitely a man, not a woman. She began to feel his face. It was clean-shaven. Maybe a boy her age? She felt his hair. It was thick, maybe wavy.

'This part is much harder than it looks,' she thought.

Just when she was about to concede defeat, she felt his arms slip around her waist. Before she had a chance to react, his lips were on hers. She knew she should protest, push him away, but she had never been kissed before and the shock of it happening was magnified by the new sensation of the act itself. His lips moved on hers and her stomach flipped. Then, as quickly as it had started, it was over. He removed her blindfold. It took a moment for Phoebe's eyes to readjust to daylight, but when they did, they were focused on two blue orbs sparkling with mischief - Will Caffey. He ran backwards three steps, eyes twinkling, twirling the blindfold and smiling as if he had just accomplished something. Then yelling, "She found me. I'm it," he ran off to rejoin the others at the front of the church.

"Phoebe? Phoebe, are you listening to me?"

"Sorry," Phoebe responded, snapping back to the present and picking up another article of clothing, "I guess I wasn't. What were you saying?"

"I was asking what you'll be wearing tonight, when Will comes for supper?"

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing now?"

Sarah wrinkled her nose. "You traveled home in that dress."

"And what of it? Honestly, Sarah, I have no intention of putting on airs for the likes of Will Caffey."

"But surely, you'll want to at least freshen up, Will Caffey or not."

"That's a wonderful idea," Phoebe decided, as she ushered her sister to the door. "So, you had better give me some time to right myself after the long day I've had."

"All I am saying is that someone as pretty as you should realize it and start using it to her advantage."

She pushed her sister through the door and shut it firmly behind her then examined her reflection in the newfound quiet of the room. It had been a long day, and Sarah was right - she could use some freshening up. She browsed through her wardrobe of freshly unpacked clothes. She pulled out an especially drab skirt, one common to deaconesses.

The plainer the better, she thought. Wouldn't want Will Caffey thinking I was dressing to impress him."

Though she knew she was attractive, she was not vain. She didn't have Sarah and Esther's curly blonde locks or their pretty green eyes. She favored her father, not her mother, in looks. Her hair was brown, a very dark brown, just like her eyes. But she was not unpleasant to look at. She had always considered her beauty a gift from God, a gift that someday the man God intended for her to marry would appreciate. It had been a long time since she had considered her beauty, and what it might mean to a man. For all of her adult life, she had been focused on her studies. But she wondered now, had she been too focused? Had she been so intent on preparing herself for God's work that she had missed out on the pleasures inherent to being a woman?

As she stared in the mirror, something in the wardrobe caught her eye. She turned, pushed the freshly unpacked dresses out of the way and pulled a frock from the back - a beautiful blue dress that her friend Anna had made for her to wear to her high school graduation. She had forgotten all about it. The skirt of the dress was a little longer and fuller than current fashion, but it was still a beautiful garment. She held it in front of her and looked once again in the mirror.

'It might be a little too fancy,’ she thought. 'But all of my other clothes are so wrinkled from the trip...'

Phoebe turned and hung the deaconess skirt back in the closet.

When Phoebe had finished unpacking and freshening up, she found only her father in the house, quietly reading his Bible and sipping a bottle of Vernor's Ginger Ale in the parlor.

Phoebe's father was unconventional for a pastor, and not only for his fashion sense. He always wore a fine suit like other men his age, but rather than a fedora or a bowler hat, as was the fashion, the Reverend Albright preferred a Stetson, an uncommon hat in Michigan. His unique style only amplified his unique personality.

He hadn't always been a man of God. He was apt to say, "But for the Grace of God and the love of a good woman" he might have died. But his sordid past gave him an understanding and an empathy for 'sinners' that other ministers did not possess, and made him approachable to all kinds of people, not just members of his congregation.

Reverend Albright was loved and respected by everyone in the community, including Phoebe, and that respect was what made her nervous about the conversation she was about to have with him.

"Hello, Daddy."

He looked up and smiled. "Well, there you are, my dear. Don't you look lovely. Prepared to receive our dinner guest, I see."

Phoebe felt her cheeks grow warm and instantly regretted her decision to wear the blue dress. "It's just an old garment, really. Where is mother?"

"She and your sister went to visit Mrs. Knapp. She's been under the weather and your mother wanted to take her some soup and fresh cut flowers. Don't worry. The roast is in the oven and she'll be back in plenty of time to finish up the meal."

Phoebe was glad they had the house to themselves. She stood there a moment, wanting to speak, but not knowing how to start.

"What's the matter, darlin'? Something wrong?"

She sat in her mother's chair across from her father. She took a calming breath, then began. "Daddy, why didn't you send word that Will Caffey was picking me up at the train station?"

Reverend Albright sat his Bible on the table beside his chair. "Well, I didn't think it would matter. Was it a problem, Phoebe?"

"Yes. It was. A very big problem," she started. "I know you are unaware of this, but I find Will Caffey to be one of the most disagreeable men I've ever met."

Her father's eyebrows shot up. "Disagreeable? Will? I'm not sure I've ever heard anyone use that word to describe the boy."

"Well, I use that word, and I have a hundred more like it to describe him."

Reverend Albright leaned forward, his face wrinkled with concern.

"What's he done that's so disagreeable?"

Phoebe paused. What could she say? She didn't dare tell her father about the kiss. He would ask if she had pushed him away, which she had not. He would wonder if she'd slapped him, but the answer to that was no as well. He would also ask her why she didn't tell him, her father, who would have taken the boy to task, but she did not have a good answer for that, either.

"I'm – I don't really want to discuss…"

"This isn't because of that kiss he stole from ya, is it?"

Phoebe gasped. "How did you know about that?"

Her father shrugged. "He told me."

Phoebe didn't think she had ever been more shocked in her life. "Will told you? When?"

"The next day. He also told me about how awful he felt for acting like such a scoundrel."

Phoebe couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Will told you? What did you say?"

"Well, we had a long talk about the sin he had committed against you, against me, against the Lord. I gave him an earful about how I had no use for a man that would do something to a woman against her will. There ain't much more in life I find more contemptible."

Contemptible. Yes, that was a word Phoebe would use to describe Will Caffey. "Yes, Daddy, I agree β€”"

"After chewin' him out, I gave him some time to think on what I'd said. Then he told me more."

"More? What did he say?"

"He admitted to having feelings for you. That's no excuse for his behavior, mind you, but he said that his actions were motivated more by his inability to keep his emotions in check than they were by some latent disrespect for the fairer gender. But he knew he could make no promises of a future, with the war looming and all, so even if you had given him

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