A crowd gathered as Adelaide slipped into the schoolhouse. Across the front of the room, the orphans sat in two rows of chairs, their young faces etched with uncertainty and a glimmer of hope. Adelaide counted nineteen boys and nine girls. Twenty-eight, the exact number the committee had expected. Her heart plummeted. Still, she couldn’t drag herself away.

      She studied each child in turn. Some appeared to be in their early teens, others quite young; their small feet dangled above the floor. Though rumpled from travel, all wore proper clothing, with hair combed and faces scrubbed.

      They were beautiful, every single one of them.

      Across the room she caught the eye of Mr. Graves. His quick smile made her feel less alone in this room of instant families.

      Adelaide’s gaze returned to a young girl of six or seven. Fair and blond, she leveled aquamarine eyes on the crowd. A brave little thing or maybe merely good at hiding her fear.

      “Miss Abigail, what on Earth are you doing here?”

      With huge proportions and a voice to match, Viola Willowby loomed over her. That a steady customer persisted in calling her Abigail, even though Adelaide’s Hats and Sundries hung in bold letters over her shop, set Adelaide’s teeth on edge.

      She lifted her gaze, forcing up the corners of her mouth into something she hoped resembled a smile. Atop Mrs. Willowby’s head perched one of Adelaide’s finest creations—a floppy straw hat bedecked with pink cabbage roses.

      “Hello, Mrs. Willowby.”

      “I saw you leave the orphan interviews. Why were you there?”

      “For the same reason as you.”

      Mrs. Willowby gasped. “You can’t be serious! It…it wouldn’t be proper.” Mrs. Willowby pulled a lace-edged hanky from its hiding place in the depths of her ample bosom and touched the linen to her nose, as if she feared catching some dire malady that would render her as irrational as she obviously thought Adelaide to be.

      Adelaide looked her square in the eye. “And why not?”

      “You’re a spin—” Mrs. Willowby’s face flushed, unable to get the heinous word past her lips. “A maiden lady.”

      Adelaide wanted to rip the stunning hat off her customer’s head and swat her across the face with it. But then she sighed, ashamed of herself. A Christian shouldn’t think that way. Besides, Mrs. Willowby represented the thinking of the committee, probably of their church, even the entire town. “You needn’t worry. They denied my request.”

      “Well, I should think so!”

      Judge Willowby, an equally large man, tapped his wife on the shoulder. “I’m sure Miss Crum is quite capable of rearing a youngster, Mrs. Willowby.” While his wife sputtered like an overflowing teakettle, he motioned to two chairs. “It’s time to start.” He turned to Adelaide. “Nice to see you, Miss Crum.”

      Adelaide smiled at the judge. Clearly he found some good in his uncharitable wife.

      Adelaide could understand why the Willowbys had been given a child. Years before, they’d lost their two children to diphtheria. Well-heeled, after finding natural gas on their property, they wielded a lot of influence in town.

      While she…Well, truth be told, she was a spinster. How she disliked the word, but at thirty-one years of age, soon to be thirty-two, Adelaide had to accept it applied to her.

      She moved to the back of the room and took a seat, recalling some years back her chance at marriage. She hadn’t loved Jack, the man who’d asked. Had her refusal been a mistake? Young at the time, she’d foolishly expected to fall in love. It hadn’t happened.

      Keeping busy hadn’t been a problem. She faithfully attended the First Christian Church, went to prayer meetings on Wednesday nights, where she communed with the Lord, but with not one eligible bachelor. Within the pages of books, she found adventure, but put little stock in the fictitious men who whisked women away to live happily ever after. No, Adelaide lived in the real world, had her feet planted firmly on the ground. Men couldn’t be counted on. Her chest constricted. Her mother’s life had proved that.

      Her gaze returned to Mr. Graves. Light streamed through the window behind him and the rays caught in his thick hair, giving him a halo of sorts. Though with that strong jaw and stern expression, he hardly looked like an angel. But he did, she had to admit, look fine.

      Mr. Wylie walked to the front and asked for quiet, then introduced Mr. Fry, an agent of the Children’s Aid Society.

      A thin fellow with slicked-back hair and a hooked nose walked to the podium, eyeing the crowd over his reading glasses. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Children’s Aid Society is grateful for your interest. Many of these children were homeless, sleeping in doorways and privies, selling matches or flowers, working as shoeshine or paperboys. Some begged for food. When they came to us, many wore filthy rags infested with vermin.”

      The children sat unmoving, staring ahead with somber gazes, showing no reaction to Mr. Fry’s words. “You may wonder why New York City has such a vast number of orphans.” His hand swept over the children. “Some of these children aren’t, in fact, orphans. When John’s family—” a thin boy scrambled to his feet “—immigrated to this country, he and his family became forever separated.” John sat down.

      “Death or desertion of one parent left eight of our twenty-eight children with no one to care for them. Unwed mothers left a few on our doorstep.”

      Someone murmured, “Poor things.”

      Tears stung Adelaide’s eyes. More than anything, she wanted to take every last one of these children home and try to make up for the deprivation of their young lives with warm hugs and fresh-baked cookies.

      “In some cases, family members brought them to us, trusting we could provide them a better life, which, with your help, we’re attempting to do.”

      Adelaide couldn’t imagine giving up a child. Nothing could make her do such a thing.

      “Mr. Brace, our founder,” Mr. Fry continued, “realized we couldn’t handle the problem alone. He devised this plan to place the ten thousand orphans we presently have into rural areas and small towns, where they’ll receive an education and enjoy the benefits of a healthy environment and family life.”

      The numbers boggled Adelaide. Surely with that many homeless children, there’d be one child for her.

      Perhaps if she went to New York—

      “Your local committee,” he said then consulted his notes, “comprised of Mr. Wylie, Mr. Paul, Mr. Sparks and Mr. Graves, has approved the eligibility of your homes.”

      Involuntarily, Adelaide’s gaze again sought Mr. Graves. Even from this distance, the sight of his determined, serious face shot little pricks of awareness through her limbs.

      She forced her attention back to Mr. Fry.

      “I’ve been told more requests were made than we could provide on this trip. Perhaps in the future as more children come to us, we can remedy that situation.”

      Adelaide caught her breath. If they came again, then, next time she might convince the committee.

      Who was she fooling? No one in Noblesville, or New York, would give a single woman a child. If only she could give her world a twist and watch it transform like the bits of colored glass in the kaleidoscope she’d seen at the mercantile. Maybe then, she’d change a few stubborn minds.

      “Along with periodic visits by one of our agents, these gentlemen have agreed to oversee the children’s welfare. At any time, the agreement to care for a child can be broken, either by the family or by the child.”

      Perhaps a little