0764214101 by Tracie Peterson Page B

area, an armoire, and bookcase. The room was papered in a light blue rose pattern with all the trim painted in white. A quilt in all shades of blue covered the bed, and deep navy-blue cushions adorned the bed and the small couch. It took her breath away. And the tears started in earnest. Smiling through them, she turned to the older woman. “Mrs. Goodman . . . I . . . I . . .”
    “I’m glad you like it, dear. Now, you get to bed. If you need anything during the night, I’m just across the hall.” And for the second time that day, Lillian found herself wrapped in a warm hug.

C HAPTER E IGHT
    A clock somewhere in the house chimed midnight. Lillian was weary to the bone, and yet she couldn’t sleep. So she’d unpacked her small bag and found a lovely cream sunbonnet that Carla must have tucked in there among her things. How sweet of her—if only everyone would treat each other with such kindness. It made tears well up in Lillian’s eyes. Swiping at the tears on her cheeks, she went back to unpacking and decided she might as well tackle the trunks.
    When the last item was tucked away, she lay in bed again, only to toss and turn. All the details that had skittered through her mind on the trip were now in front of her. All the adjustments. No staff to press garments or help her dress. And her hair! Goodness, she could manage a bun and a braid on her own, but she’d had someone arranging her hair since before she could remember.
    Fiddlesticks. She was thinking like a selfish child, all worried about such petty things. She was here to work, and work she would. All the trappings of her former life were just that. Trappings. It was time to focus on what the Coltons needed.What Jimmy needed. The past was the past. Lillian would look forward, not back.
    Her mind swept in a hundred different directions. Excitement and nervousness flowed through her. But oh, how she needed rest. Getting up again, she reached for her robe and then wrapped it around her. Maybe a glass of water would serve to cool her nerves and help her to relax. All the tension of the past few weeks pressed in on every part of her body. She headed to the kitchen and prayed for sleep.
    As she passed the library, a shaft of light shot out into the hallway. Mr. Colton must still be awake. Maybe if she kept her steps light, he wouldn’t notice her.
    But the sound of his voice stopped her in her tracks. Only a foot from the door, she debated turning around and heading back to her room until she heard her name.
    “—Miss Porter. Lord, I’m so ashamed of my behavior toward her tonight. But we need her so desperately. Please . . .” His words became muffled.
    Lillian stepped closer and peered around the door. Mr. Colton had his head in his hands, elbows on the desk. His lips were still moving, but she couldn’t make out the words. Then he shook, almost as if he were crying. His shoulders lifted as he inhaled, and Lillian felt like an intruder. She stopped looking and turned back toward her room.
    “Oh, God. Please help me. I need to find a way to help my son. I feel him slipping away, and I’m afraid. I can’t lose him, too. . . .”
    Woodward Colton’s words reached her ears as she walked back to her room. New determination surged through her. That broken man crying out to God couldn’t be a murderer. She wrapped her arms around herself and returned to her room.
    There was a little boy who needed her.
    God had brought her to this olive farm for a purpose. And she would do everything in her power to fulfill it.

    The morning came sooner than Woody would have liked, but the smells of breakfast wafting from the kitchen made his stomach growl. Today was a new day. He splashed cold water on his face and dressed. Maybe Miss Porter would be able to break down Jimmy’s invisible walls. Hopefully she’d had enough rest and would at least feel up to meeting with Woody about his expectations for her job.
    As he headed to the dining room, he heard