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“Four.”

“Same as my Isaac.”

“Caroline’s recently widowed,” Sarah said.

Expecting the awkward silence that usually accompanied such an announcement, Caroline was surprised when Hester simply offered her a sympathetic nod. “These things ’appen, don’t they. Make no mistake, that trial’s one o’ th’ ’ardest t’ overcome, but I reckon, one way or th’ other, this life will try us all.”

“Yes,” Caroline said. Hester’s simple and honest appraisal was refreshing. “I believe you are right.” Without knowing their stories, Caroline instinctively knew that each of these women had experienced hardship. They might not know what it was to lose a husband or live with the aftereffects of smallpox, but they knew what it was to suffer. That knowledge gave them empathy, which, by some miraculous, heavenly means, lightened the loads of those they associated with. “If you don’t mind my asking, what has been one of your greatest trials?”

Hester raised her fingers to touch the dark-red ridge running across her cheek. “I reckon that would be th’ injury t’ me face.” She released an accepting sigh. “It weren’t anyone’s fault, really. I wus workin’ in th’ fields when th’ blade flew off the ’andle of another worker’s scythe. Terrible, it was. Blood everywhere.”

“It must ’ave ’urt somethin’ awful,” Sarah said.

“Oh, it did. I cried meself t’ sleep fer weeks ’cos o’ th’ pain. An’ then I cried ’cos I didn’t want anyone t’ see me lookin’ so frightful.” She shook her head slightly. “Silly, ain’t it? I should’ve been countin’ my blessin’s that I still ’ad me eyes and nose, an’ that no infection set in, but instead, I was worryin’ ’bout what others thought of me.”

Tears pricked Caroline’s eyes, and no words would come. Hester could have been describing Caroline’s current battle.

“Jim loves ya with or without yer scar,” Molly said.

Hester’s smile was soft and sweet. “’E do, don’t ’e? An’ I daresay th’ same can be said fer all th’ other people who really care ’bout me.”

“Is . . . is that what helped you overcome your fear of showing your face in public?” Caroline asked.

“I s’pose so. It took a while, mind. But after I’d been with them that accepted me as I was fer a bit, I forgot what I was scared of.”

Rejection, pity, scorn, horror, discomfort. Caroline could muster a fairly extensive list, but in the face of Hester’s bravery, each one seemed trivial.

“I hardly notice yer scar anymore,” Sarah said.

“Others ’ave said the same.” Hester’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “But the best is them who notice it right off end up not payin’ attention t’ me dratted freckles.”

Molly giggled, Sarah appeared mildly amused, and Caroline marveled. At present, it was all but impossible to conceive of making light of her situation, but she found herself looking forward to that day with new hope and significant longing.

Showing her face to Lord Benning had been a courageous first step. She now knew what should be her second. With trembling fingers, she tugged at the ribbons tied beneath her chin. “I understand what you have endured more keenly than you know,” she said. “My husband died of smallpox. I contracted the disease after him, and although I survived, I was left severely scarred.”

Slipping her bonnet off her head, she lowered it onto her knee. For two heartbeats, there was complete silence in the room. Forcing herself to raise her head, Caroline met Hester’s eyes.

“Caroline,” Hester whispered. “Yer beautiful! I thought fer certain ya were hidin’ two noses or no teeth under that veil.”

“No teeth?” Molly said. “She’d be talkin’ like old Mr. McElroy if that were the case, spittin’ and whistlin’ with every word.”

“Oh, fer goodness sake, you two,” Sarah said. “I’m sure Caroline didn’t take off ’er bonnet to discuss missin’ teeth and extra noses. Show ’er yer ’ands, Molly.”

Molly set both her hands upon her lap, and for the first time, Caroline noticed that they were almost as scarred as hers. She studied Molly’s face. It was clear of blemish.

“How did you acquire the scars on your hands without your face being affected?” she asked.

“It weren’t smallpox that did this t’ me,” Molly said. “It were cowpox. I wus workin’ as a milkmaid fer Farwell Farm a couple o’ years ago. All of us girls went down with it, an’ all of us came back t’ th’ milkin’ parlor with ’ands like this.”

“Were you very ill?” Caroline asked.

“Four days o’ feelin’ poorly is all.”

“You were fortunate.”

“I wus,” Molly said. “But I reckon there must be some’at special ’bout bein’ a milkmaid, ’cos even though we all took our turn havin’ cowpox, I’ve not ’eard of a single one goin’ down with smallpox after.”

If there was any truth to Molly’s claim, Caroline was glad for the sake of the young girls working with the cows. A shortened, less severe illness with limited scarring was what she would wish for anyone.