She carried the cradle into the kitchen and washed away the dirt. Then she used a dry cloth to polish it.

That done, she carried the now shining clean cradle into the living room and set it near the fireplace to warm up.

“There you go, Baby. You’re going to sleep in a real bed for a change,” she told the dreaming child. He was making sucking motions with his mouth against his fist, his long eyelashes resting on his warm, pink cheeks. His hair was still a wild mess, but the haphazard style was growing on Grace.

She pulled his blanket back up to his shoulders and looked at her watch to see that it was one in the afternoon. She heard a knock on her kitchen door. Her heart jumped into overdrive at the thought that Grey had returned. She rushed to the door and opened it, only to find two familiar faces that she couldn’t immediately place.

“Oh, Grace,” the woman said, reaching out and enveloping her in a gigantic hug. “We’re so sorry. We just heard about Mary.”

The man, his arms laden with dishes covered in foil, walked past them and set his load on the kitchen table. The woman wouldn’t let her go. She just kept hugging her, rocking Grace back and forth.

“I told Peter we weren’t going to let a little storm stop us from coming,” the woman continued. “We’re here for whatever you need.”

“Ah…thank you,” Grace murmured against a wet, woolly shoulder. She pulled herself out of the embrace and stared at the woman. “I know you,” she said.

The woman laughed. “Of course you do, Gracie. I’m Mavis. And that’s Peter. We’re the Pottses. I used to baby-sit you and your sister when you were just barely toddlers.”

“Oh, yes,” Grace said, taking the woman by both hands and squeezing them affectionately, ashamed of herself for not recognizing them both immediately. “I haven’t set eyes on you in years. It’s good to see you both again.”

Mavis Potts gave her an apologetic smile. “We were in California visiting our son when your parents died, and we couldn’t get back in time for the funeral.”

The woman hugged her again, quickly this time. “We just heard about Mary, honey. What can we do for you? I brought you something to eat,” she said, going over to the table and unwrapping the dishes. Mavis suddenly looked awed, if somewhat abashed, by all the food she found herself unwrapping. “I probably overdid it, but that’s what I do when I hear bad news. I cook.”

“How did you find out about Mary?” Grace asked, walking up to Peter Potts and giving him a warm hug.

“Ellen Bigelow phoned us this morning,” Peter said. “Told us Michael had been out all night and came home this morning with the news.”

“He’s devastated,” Mavis added, holding a heaping, still steaming apple pie in her hand. “He’s not handling it well. He’s locked himself in his room, and Ellen said he hasn’t eaten all day.”

“They were going to get married, you know,” Mavis added in a saddened whisper. She set the apple pie back on the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

Grace could see the seventyish woman’s eyes begin to water. “I just can’t believe it,” she said, shaking her head. “Mary’s dead. When did it happen?”

Grace blew out a tired breath, pulled out another chair, and sat down across from her. The lies were about to begin yet again.

“Six weeks ago,” Grace told her. “She was in an automobile accident.”

“She was down visiting you? Where? Virginia, isn’t it?”

“Yes. She came down because I asked her to. I was pregnant, and I wanted her company.”

Mavis’s eyes widened to saucers. “Pregnant?” she squeaked, looking toward Grace’s stomach.

Grace nodded in the direction of the living room. “I had a son four weeks ago,” she told her.

“Oh, you poor child,” Mavis lamented, getting up and pulling Grace out of her chair so she could hug her again. “Losing your sister now,” she commiserated. “At what should be the happiest time of your life.”

Grace hugged her back, her eyes watering with unshed tears. She was glad the woman had come calling today, even if she did make her cry. Mavis let her go and headed into the living room.

“Grace Sutter, you have this child in an apple crate,” she chided, appalled. “Why isn’t he in his cradle?”

“I just got it down from the attic,” she told her, walking into the living room with Peter trailing behind her.

“I forgot it even existed. The changing table and some clothes are still up there. I’m going to bring them down later. I just got this cleaned up, but I didn’t want to disturb him yet.”

“It’s a boy? What’s his name?” Mavis asked in a hushed tone as she peeked at the sleeping child.

Grace closed her stinging eyes. She liked these people, and she hated to lie to them.

“I’m calling him Baby for now,” she told Mavis. “I haven’t been able to decide on a name yet. What with Mary and everything, I’ve just wanted to wait. I want it to be the right name.”

Grace opened her eyes just in time to see Mavis descending on her again. She was hugged so tightly this time she squeaked.

“That’s okay, honey. Nothing says you have to name him right off the bat.” She pulled back and smiled at her. “I think you’re smart to consider the baby’s name carefully. Within two months of naming our first son, I was sorry. Preston Potts never did fit the boy.” She headed toward the stairs, still smiling. “He finally did grow into it, but it wasn’t a pleasant childhood for him. The kids kept calling him Prissy Potts.

Where’s your husband, Grace? I can’t wait to meet him.”

“I don’t have a husband,” she told her, her words nearly getting stuck in her throat.

Mavis flushed. “Oh. I…ah…I’m sorry.” She waved her hand in the air, as if brushing her words away.

“That’s fine, honey. Does this mean Baby’s father is no longer in the picture?”

“Yeah. Something like that,” Grace mumbled, turning to smooth out the wrinkles in Baby’s blanket. She turned back to Mavis and shot her a forced smile. “But I’m okay with it. Baby and I will be just fine.”

Mavis nodded. “Then if you’re okay, we’re okay, too. Come on, Peter. Let’s get the stuff downstairs for Grace.”

Grace ran after Mavis, who was surprisingly nimble for a woman her age. “That’s not necessary. I can do that.”

“Nonsense. You just had a baby. You shouldn’t be lifting anything heavier than your child,” Mavis said, disappearing up the stairs.

Peter walked to the stairs with an understanding smile on his face and stopped in front of her. “Better not argue with her,” he said. “Not once she decides on something. Don’t worry. We won’t be here long, Grace. We’ve got to go check on the Merricks and the Colburns, to make sure they’re weathering the storm okay.”

“You’re always welcome here, Peter,” she said, not wanting him to think she was ungrateful.

He set an aging but still strong hand on her shoulder. “I know, honey. When my mother died, we appreciated the concern of our friends, but we also wanted some time to ourselves to come to terms with our loss. We’re here if you need us, Grace, but we’ll be careful not to intrude.”

“Thank you,” she told him, giving him a big hug.

Mavis returned down the stairs with a box in her hand, and Peter went up and got the changing table and carried it into the kitchen.

It was another three hugs later before the Pottses left as quickly as they had arrived, with instructions that Grace call them immediately if she needed anything.

It was while she was cleaning the changing table that Grace realized what Mavis had said. Michael was home, and he had locked himself in his room. Ellen and John Bigelow were nearing eighty themselves, and they were probably worried about the new owner of their farm, who was also their boarder.

Grace also remembered that Michael MacBain was part of the reason she was here. Not only was she supposed to get to know him, but she was supposed to do for him what the Pottses had automatically done for her without waiting for an invitation.