Beyond All Measure by Dorothy Love Page A

supplies and the number of hours it would take to make the pattern, shape the hat, and attach the trimmings, she would not make a cent on this hat, but perhaps it would serve as a good advertisement of her skills.
    She opened her bag and took out her mother’s worn tape measure. “I’ll need your size, and I’ll have to buy supplies. I don’t have any milliner’s gauze or any wiring. I’ll need some new trimmings as well. Those will have to be ordered.”
    “How long will that take?” Mariah stood still while Ada took her measurement.
    “A few weeks perhaps.”
    “But it will be finished by October? The harvest festival is the biggest event in town.”
    “Surely by October,” Ada assured her. “I’ll let you know as soon as my materials arrive.”
    “Wonderful!” Mariah consulted the small watch suspended on a chain around her neck. “Now, I must run. If I hurry, I can deliver our quilt before suppertime.”
    She said her good-byes and left the church. Carrie swept up the cookie crumbs, gathered their glasses, and went outside to wash them at the water pump. Leaving Lillian ensconced by the window, Ada followed Carrie outside.
    “Need some help?” She primed the pump and lifted the handle. A thin stream of water trickled out. “These old pump handles are so heavy, aren’t they?”
    Carrie nodded and concentrated on swirling clean water through the glasses.
    “It sure is hot, isn’t it?” Ada blotted her forehead. “Is it always this warm here so early in the summer?”
    Carrie shrugged.
    “I heard your husband died at Shiloh,” Ada said quietly. “I can only imagine how that must feel.”
    Carrie’s hands stilled. Water ran over them and into the trough. “Everyone said I’d get over it, but I don’t want to.”
    Ada nodded. For years she’d felt the same way about her mother. “I realize that losing one’s parents isn’t the same thing as losing a husband, but I—”
    “I didn’t lose Frank,” Carrie said with surprising fierceness. “Why do people say that—as if I carelessly misplaced him somewhere? It’s so stupid! He was taken from me, and in the end, what did it matter anyway?” She brushed away tears. “If I stop thinking about Frank, if I stop mourning him, then he’s gone forever.”
    “Carrie.” Ada took the glasses from Carrie’s hands and set them aside. “We’ve only just met, and I hope you won’t think I am speaking out of turn, but here’s something I’ve learned. Our grief, however profound, doesn’t keep our loved ones alive.”
    “Then what does?”
    “Honoring them with our own lives.” She grasped Carrie’s hands. “You’re still a young woman. There is much that you can do to bring honor to your husband’s memory.”
    Wordlessly, Carrie finished washing the glasses and started back inside.
    “I saw the way you looked at my sketches,” Ada said. “Please let me make a new hat for you. I won’t charge you anything.”
    Carrie paused without looking back. “Miss Wentworth, I know you mean well, but please . . . leave me alone.”
    Stung by Carrie’s rejection, Ada lingered for a moment before following her inside. Lillian had fallen asleep in her chair, her head lolled to one side, her hat with its yellow flower trim askew.
    “Lillian?” Ada shook the old woman’s shoulder. “Time to go.”
    Lillian jerked awake, blinking. “What time is it?”
    “Almost five, I would think.”
    “Now why did you let me fall asleep? We’ll be late making supper for Wyatt.”
    Carrie finished putting the clean glasses away and picked up her quilting bag. “Don’t worry, Lillian. This morning Henry told me that Sage and Wyatt are planning to work an extra hour today to get the milling done.”
    Lillian got to her feet and straightened her hat. “Is that a fact? Why didn’t Wyatt say so?”
    “It doesn’t matter,” Ada said. “Now we’ll have plenty of time to make supper.”
    They went out to the churchyard. Carrie climbed onto her buckboard