Revealed by Tamera Alexander Page B

promise.’’ She winked. ‘‘And the months will pass in no time.’’
    She laid a hand on her midsection, thankful for this lasting connection with Jonathan, and willed the look on her face to match the lightness of her tone. ‘‘Besides, traveling a thousand miles with this baby jostling inside me wasn’t something I looked forward to anyway.’’
    Annabelle hoped her smile looked more convincing than it felt. She’d spent most all of her life pretending, and she was good at it too.
    Or at least she used to be.

CHAPTER | EIGHT
    L ATER THAT SAME AFTERNOON Annabelle helped Hannah and her young daughter, Lilly, hang laundry in the backyard.
    Hannah seemed especially quiet, and Annabelle could easily guess why.
    ‘‘You know, Hannah, Denver’s not that far from Willow Springs. Maybe we could meet again before I leave next spring.’’
    Eleven-year-old Lilly, with dark hair and violet eyes so much like Hannah’s, beamed with excitement. ‘‘We could make a trip and see Aunt Annabelle before she leaves!’’
    Hannah finished hanging the sheet in her hands with a smile that Annabelle recognized as forced. ‘‘Lilly, would you please run inside and check on your brother for me? Bobby should be through with his snack by now.’’ She waited until the girl was out of earshot. ‘‘I just wish you could stay here until then, Annabelle. I don’t like the idea of you being in Denver all by yourself, especially being with child. If you don’t want to stay here with us, I’m sure we could find you a place to live with someone from church. Someone who would be understanding about your situation and who has some extra room, maybe lives a ways out of town.’’
    Doing her best not to laugh, Annabelle snapped her fingers. ‘‘I know just the person! Mrs. Cranchet! I could live with her, and that way she and I could knit together and come up with ideas for Patrick’s sermons.’’ Hannah’s droll expression only encouraged her. ‘‘Let’s see, we could entitle the first sermon . . . ‘The Virtues of Chastity.’ ’’
    Hannah’s eyes widened. ‘‘Annabelle McCutchens, you ought not joke about such things. It’s not proper.’’ She pursed her lips.
    Her tone sounded serious enough, and for a moment, Annabelle wondered if her joking had crossed the line. Again. But when Hannah lifted a hand to cover her grin, Annabelle giggled along with her.
    Hannah leaned closer. ‘‘Can you imagine what Mrs. Cranchet would do if we asked if you could live with her?’’
    Annabelle cocked a brow. ‘‘Well, Patrick wouldn’t have to worry about her giving him any more advice—that’s for sure. She’d just keel over dead right there.’’
    Though she had never attended church with Patrick and Hannah, Annabelle often wondered what it would be like to actually walk through the doors of a real church building, white steeple and all. Far-away memories, locked away since childhood, nudged the surface of her mind, yet they provided only the dimmest of recollections before fading. While living in Denver, she and Jonathan had spent Sunday mornings with a small group in someone’s parlor, with the men taking turns reading Scripture. Nice as that had been, the thought of meeting in a ‘‘house of God’’ still held such appeal.
    Patrick and Hannah had asked her to attend with them, many times, but she’d always declined, certain of the reception she’d get from Mrs. Cranchet, among others. Plus she didn’t want the Carlsons paying for her mistakes—any more than they already had for taking her in to stay with them. So as much as she hoped to one day experience that type of gathering, the only sermons she recollected hearing were ones Patrick and Hannah, and a handful of others, lived out every day. As well as those Jonathan had lovingly delivered by example.
    Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to feel the least bit slighted.
    Hannah shook out a damp shirt and hung it on the line. ‘‘What are you going to do