Montana Legend. Jillian Hart

from the porch post. The bell-like cheer of their voices rang through the kitchen. What luck that a girl Ella’s age had moved in next door.

      “Going to take Mr. Gatlin a loaf of your bread, are you?” Cousin Lark, a young girl of sixteen, swept into the kitchen. “I don’t know, Sarah. It sounds like a wasted effort to me.”

      “A kind act is never wasted.” Knowing full well what Lark meant, Sarah swept the caked flour and bits of dough into the garbage bucket. “Would you like to take some fresh rolls to your meeting in town?”

      “As if I would bring something homemade.” Lark wrinkled her dainty nose as she lifted her best cloak from the peg at the door. “Although I’m sure your baking leaves a certain impression with a man like Mr. Gatlin.”

      Sarah had grown used to her stepcousin’s biting remarks, and she was old enough to know the girl was spoiled and sheltered. Life would teach her differently soon enough. But what truly cut to the quick was the derisive look that said, “poor relation.”

      That was a sore point. Sarah felt her face flame and she turned her squared back, grinding her mouth shut and keeping it that way. She could not risk losing her temper and being tossed out of the house, a house Ella still needed.

      Sarah’s gaze shot to the window where her little girl was stroking Scout’s silky-looking neck. Ella glowed with happiness, standing beside her new friend, but she remained wan and thin. No amount of food and care seemed to make a difference. Ella’s health was still frail, the doctor had told her. It was likely to remain that way for a while longer.

      “Everyone in town will get a chuckle out of your baking for Mr. Gatlin.” Lark shot out the door, apparently delighted to have the last word.

      Sarah leaned her forehead against the upper cupboard door and tried not to let the words take root, but how could she help it? Especially when Lark was right.