Chapter 9

But Abegail's world was destined to challenge and surprise her and deny her any promise of stability. Just as she was beginning to adjust to this world and a future with Wally Holland, her world had collapsed inside her.

She let out a little, involuntary sob as the last of the children filed out of the schoolhouse. She busied herself briefly inside, setting up for the lessons of the next day, and then, with a sigh of resignation, a sigh that had a little catch of a sob in it, she closed the schoolhouse door and walked down the path to the street, easel and paints in hand, bound for an escape into the world of her art.

"Howdy, Miss Abegail," Horace the postman sang out as he came up the road on his bicycle.

"Howdy back at you, Mr. Trap," Abegail called to him.

He tipped his hat. "Mighty fine day, Miss Abegail, but it will turn cold soon enough. You off to Holland's to be the first to snag one of those newfangled electric heaters that man from the fair over in St. Louis is pushing?"

Tha