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“I reckon times are ’ard fer most people these days. What with th’ ’igh price of wheat an’ all.” Mrs. Trilby shrugged slightly. “’Course, that’s if there’s any wheat flour in th’ shop t’ begin with.”

“Is it still bad here?” Caroline asked. “It was all but impossible to find wheat flour in Portsmouth last summer, but things were improving when I left.”

“Aye. Last year were terrible. But truth be told, it ain’t much better now.” Worry filled her brown eyes. “I did ’ear that Lord Bennin’ is growin’ more wheat than ’e ’as afore. I’m just ’opin’ that when it comes time t’ ’arvest, ’e’ll keep the wheat local. ’Eaven knows th’ people of Leyfield need it.”

“We must all pray for a good harvest,” Caroline’s father said.

“Yes,” Caroline said, watching the children’s expectant faces. “And the means to survive until then.”

“Amen,” Mrs. Trilby responded softly.

“May we do anything for you?” Caroline asked.

Mrs. Trilby shook her head. “Yer kind t’ ask, but we’ll manage.”

Caroline was less sure. She recognized hunger when she saw it. Having experienced it herself after Fred’s death made her even more keenly aware of it. She glanced at her father. His concerned expression had yet to fade.

“Please do not hesitate to reach out, Mrs. Trilby,” he said.

“Thank you, Reverend.”

He handed the basket to James, who took it reverentially.

Sally moved closer so she could peer inside. “Now, Mama?” she asked, looking back at her mother. “Can we have it now?”

“We have guests, Sally.” Mrs. Trilby’s voice held a hint of reproval.

The little girl’s face fell, and Caroline knew that it was time for them to leave and for the children to eat. Untangling Peggy’s fingers from her bonnet ribbons, she gently set the infant on the floor at Mrs. Trilby’s feet.

“We shall go now,” she said. “But if I may, I should like to stop by again at a later date.”

“Yer welcome,” Mrs. Trilby said, shifting Sammy off her knee so she could stand. “Please tell Nora we’re most grateful fer th’ bread an’ butter.”

“We shall.” Caroline’s father guided her toward the door. “There’s no need to walk us out. You see to the children.”

Mrs. Trilby paused in the center of the small parlor. “Thank you, Reverend. An’ you, Mrs. Granger.”

“Caroline,” Caroline said. “Please call me Caroline.”

The woman nodded and offered a tired smile. “An’ I’m Sarah.”

* * *

Caroline waited until her father drove the cart away from the Trilbys’ cottage before speaking. “They need food, Father.”

“That was my impression also.” Her father’s expression was grim. “But she will not take kindly to charity.”

“Her children will starve if she does not.”

Her father released a tense breath. “I will speak to Abel Wallace at the shop. It may be that he’d be willing to put a little extra in Mrs. Trilby’s orders if the church pays the difference.”

The idea had merit, but Caroline had a feeling that with Sarah Trilby’s limited resources, her visits to the shop were few and far between. It might be several days before Abel was able to act upon her father’s request.

“Are you willing to forego a few helpings of bread and milk at suppertime?” she asked.

Her father gave her a questioning look. “Most certainly, if it is for a good cause.”

“I wonder if Giles would be willing to drive a little farther to drop off a portion of our daily milk delivery at the Trilbys’ cottage.” She clasped her hands together. Was she asking too much of the busy cowman? “It would not be too far out of his way, and I’m sure the children would welcome fresh milk.”