Into the Wilderness

“Put the butter and honey on the table and I’ll bring the hotcakes.”

When they were all seated, Ezra said grace. Lily had just picked up her first forkful of food when she thought she heard a light tap on the door. Rose, too, cocked her head toward the sound. “Did you hear that?” Lily asked.

Her father looked up. “What?”

“Perhaps a knock,” Rose said. “I’ll go.”

When she didn’t return right away, Ezra called, “Was anyone there?”

“Not exactly,” Rose said, a hint of laughter in her voice. When she came back into the kitchen, she concealed something behind her back. Ezra regarded her expectantly. “You look like the cat that ate the canary.”

“A surprise was left on our doorstep.” Then she produced a small bouquet of wildflowers wrapped in a newspaper secured with twine. “Happy May Day, Lily.” Rose beamed, handing the bouquet to her sister and winking at her father.

A blush rose to Lily’s cheeks as she studied the flowers. Nestled among the wild violets, primroses and sprigs of fern was an envelope inscribed with her name.

“It would seem you have an admirer,” her father said. “I remember well the times I left a May Day bouquet at your mother’s door when I was courting.”

Lily set the bouquet on the table and pulled a note from the envelope. Scanning it for a signature, she murmured, “Not an admirer, Papa. A friend.”

Then engrossed in the message, she failed to see a knowing look pass between her father and sister.

In strong masculine handwriting, the words blurred in her vision as she recalled her last conversation with Caleb at her mother’s grave.

If when thy thoughts to gloom do fly

And sorrow seeks thy soul to cloy,

Mayhap these blooms may still thy sigh

And serve as harbingers of joy.

A friend

“Well?” her father studied her inquiringly.