With Love from Bliss (Saskatchewan Saga Book #2) by Ruth Glover Page A

outing in the fresh air. But slowly it became obvious to the two younger girls, to the governess, and to her aunt and uncle, that Frances was showing better color, was even “sparkling” on occasion, and was, in general, exhibiting more of an interest in life. Frances seemed, at last, in her mid-twenties, on the verge of enjoying life as a normal young woman. “She’s like a rose in the fall that has decided to bloom,” fanciful Kerry described her, then adding, “and she’s all the sweeter for the wait.”
    It was true, Frances was a new person. Frances was in love.
    At first not discerned by anyone—for, after all, no one expected invalids to enjoy the ordinary experiences of life—the secret eventually came to light.
    A dancing master came twice weekly to teach Kerry (with Gladdy watching and secretly humming and going through the steps all alone at first, then with Kerry as her teacher and partner). These sessions were chaperoned by Frances, and no one—not the spinster Miss Beery, not the chaste Kerry or theinnocent Gladdy—was experienced enough in love to see what was happening before their very eyes.
    Frances, being stronger, had hinted that she too might like a discreet dance step or two with Señor Garibaldi, he of the swimming dark eyes, the small mustache, and the graceful hands and feet. Kerry, stepping back and allowing Franny to step within the circle of the dancing master’s arm, noted Franny’s heightened color, which was natural. But the tremulous lips? The starry eyes?
    When the first short session was over and Señor Garibaldi bowed gracefully over Franny’s hand, it did seem, to Kerry, that he held her hand longer than was necessary. Never could Kerry recall having seen eyes looked into as soulfully; never had Franny lingered—light as a bird and as fragile—so long a time on weary feet. Untaught in love, still Kerry’s breath caught for a moment as she recognized the chemistry—as old as time and as new as the moment—that passed between the two. Of its own volition, it seemed, a Scripture sang itself into her heart: “I found him whom my soul loveth: I held him, and would not let him go.” Never had Scripture seemed more appropriate. The Song of Solomon, always a puzzle to Kerry, suddenly made sense, beautiful sense.
    Still, Franny turned back to Kerry, back to everyday life, and said nothing. But it was not necessary—the secret was out.
    “Gladdy,” Kerry whispered later, “have you noticed . . . anything unusual about Franny?”
    “You mean,” Gladdy, more worldly-wise and therefore more observant, said straightaway, “about Señor Garibaldi? I didn’t fink . . . think you saw, and I didn’t know whether to say somefing or not.” At times of stress or excitement, Gladdy tended to revert to her old, natural way of speaking. Her speech showed improvement, but to her everlasting sorrow her hair, more like a porcupine with hackles up than anything else when not forcibly restrained, was not as tractable. Now it crouched, as it were, atop her head like a live thing, ready to spring forth at the least excuse; the vibrant color remained as undimmed as ever.
    Not certain how Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Sebastian would feel about such an alliance, Kerry said nothing to them of her suspicions concerning Franny and Señor Garibaldi. But even Charlotte and Sebastian noticed the improvement in Frances’s health and outlook. Always gentle, kind, soft of speech, and slow to show annoyance—Franny seemed sweeter than ever. Franny glowed. Franny glowed for about six weeks.
    There came a day when Señor Garibaldi did not arrive at the scheduled time. Though Kerry waited in the room they called the classroom, he did not come. Neither did Franny, as chaperone. With a sense of something wrong Kerry made her way to Franny’s room, to find the drapes closed and the room in semidarkness though it was mid-afternoon. Franny’s low voice had responded to Kerry’s knock: “Who is