Press this picture to browse inside the entire book:

Prologue

1972

In a thirty-second phone call, Hamilton Wells would make a decision that would earn him more money than he could spend in his lifetime. Everything was on the line, but he was not nervous, euphoric, or eager with anticipation. In Hamilton’s mind, the matter was not speculative, debatable, or anything less than a sure thing. Hamilton had the gift, and it had never let him down. Yet even before he made the call, he knew money wouldn’t cure the unrelenting pain of his grief. He sat at his desk with only a single orange banker’s lamp for illumination and cried silently.

Her death had been inevitable, but feelings of helplessness still overwhelmed him. His young son’s dependency on him only multiplied his grief and anger. Six-year-old Jack Wells had insisted his father do something to help Mama, but the only thing Hamilton could do was sit at her bedside and try not to cry. Now it was six weeks after her death, and Hamilton knew his son needed him to be strong, to return life to normal. A neighbor had enrolled Jack in the local church baseball league. They played a game every Wednesday afternoon. It will be good for him, they’d said. Life has to go on.

Hamilton cradled his head in his hands and groaned. The enormity of the risk he was about to take didn’t concern him. It was purely mechanical. He would surrender all he owned for just one more blissful afternoon at the lake he and his wife both loved, but now that was impossible. His wife was dead. Nothing he could do would change that.

He remembered the book of Job. Would a loving and caring God do this to the love of my life? Well, he did, Hamilton thought bitterly. Earline had lingered for months. The doctors said it was miraculous that she had endured as long as she had. Be grateful for these last days to say goodbye, they’d said. But for Hamilton, the prolonged end only added anger to his bottomless sorrow. Standing alongside his son as a helpless witness to her slow deterioration and suffering in the final weeks was more than he could bear. It was the worst time of Hamilton’s life. Nothing really mattered anymore, and it seemed he had nothing left to lose.

Under different circumstances, he might have played it safe and put the proceeds away for his son’s education, bought a new house, or perhaps invested in a bit of lake property. He could have become like the rest of the players and worn monograms on his starched cuffs so everyone could remember whose hand they were shaking. Instead, he had gone it alone. His brokerage business had few clients. He was the only big player left. Now he planned to risk everything on something happening on the other side of the world.

Ham couldn’t remember exactly when he had recognized his innate ability to pick the winner out of a crowd. It had always been there, ever since he was conscious of being alive. The talent had blossomed in the military when the card games occasionally got serious. Now, with every dollar he had to his name, Hamilton approached wheat futures with that same instinct. The Russian harvest had been a disaster, and the United States was coming to the rescue. The price of wheat was going to go through the roof, and then through the floor. He was going to make a fortune on both ends.

He picked up the phone and dialed a number on the Chicago Mercantile exchange. He listened for a few moments as the connection was made. Young Jack tugged at his father’s shirtsleeve. “Pop? Can we go now?” Jack held a baseball in his hand and a glove under his arm. Hamilton swiveled his chair, turning his back to his son.

A familiar voice announced his name. “How can I help you?”

“It’s Ham,” he said. “Short the entire position.”

“What? Everything?” the voice asked.

“Everything.” No emotion colored his voice.

Young Jack crept gingerly around the chair to face his father. “Pop,” he whispered, “come on, the game is about to start.” Hamilton shook his head and looked away.

The voice on the phone was still talking. “Most folks are still enjoying the ride, Ham. You could get hurt.”

“It’s not going a penny higher. Short it all.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Warn me? My wife is dead. What else matters?”

The voice mumbled something about her passing.

“She didn’t pass. She’s dead. Just do what I ask.”

“OK, Ham.” The phone disconnected.

Jack was standing there in front of him, shoulders slumped. The ball hung loose at the end of his fingers, and the glove had fallen on the carpet. “Pop, can we go now?”

“Sorry, Son. Not today.”

“It’s not fair!” Jack erupted. Hot tears sprang up in his eyes. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Ham looked down, silent.

Jack hurled the ball to the floor, wiped his tears angrily, and stormed out of the house.

Ten minutes later on the futures board, wheat ticked down.

It ticked down again.

And so it would continue. Ham would be richer than he’d ever imagined. He’d never experience another financial challenge for the rest of his life. It was not really important, though. Scripture came back to him: “what good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul?”

He would trade it all to have his love, his life, back again.

But that was not an option.

Out his window, Ham could see young Jack riding his bicycle furiously down the street. He watched with a passive surrender as his son’s small frame shrank into the distance.

Chapter One

Fleas, Footsteps, and Check-out Lanes

Giving from a Grateful Heart


Kate stepped out of her bookstore at the end of a long, tiring day, locked the door behind her, pulled her scarf up over her nose and mouth to shield her lungs from the bitter cold air, and rushed across the lot to her car. Just one quick stop at the grocery store and she’d be on the way home to cuddle up with her new book in front of a warm fire.

As she waited at the traffic light to turn into the grocery store lot she took off one glove to feel if the air blasting out of the heat vents was starting to warm. Ah, yes. What a relief. In the few minutes it had taken her to get from her bookstore to the grocery store her fingers had started to ache from the cold. “I think I was born with cold fingers,” she muttered. The light changed to green and as she turned into the lot she came alongside a narrow median strip and noticed a man holding a crudely made hand-lettered cardboard sign. HOMELESS. NEED FOOD. PLEASE HELP. At his feet was a small white plastic bucket. His collar was pulled high against the cold, but her eyes went to his hands holding the sign. Bare hands.

My fingers ache from five minutes in this cold car, with gloves on. How cold must his be? she wondered. Her eyes went to his face. Late twenties, probably six or seven years older than Mark. The sudden thought of her son instantly made her shoulders sag. She hadn’t seen Mark since summer. Addicted to drugs, Mark had left home several months ago after a two year struggle—maybe war was a better word—with his parents over his drug abuse. He still called sometimes, but he’d been bunking in with friends, house hopping, and he’d even slept on the streets rather than come back home. Never had she felt so helpless as she’d felt watching her son self-destruct these past two years. Never so powerless to meet the deep needs of the son she loved. But he wasn’t ready to give up his drugs or his illusion of freedom. He remained elusive about his whereabouts and declined every offer Kate made to meet him someplace to talk. Where is he tonight? Cold and hungry like this guy? Begging on some street corner? And if a kind stranger gives him a ten dollar bill, he’ll buy his next hit of pills before buying a warm meal. Kate’s heart sank. Are Mark’s hands cold tonight?

And then it came to her. A quiet nudge. She parked, hurried into the store to pick up bread, eggs, and some yogurt for the weekend, then hit one more aisle. Through the checkout, a dash back to her car, and back along the other side of the median strip, where she pulled alongside the young man, rolled down her window and stopped. Her heart picked up its pace. He walked over to her car, bucket held out, but she didn’t hand any money out the window. Instead she held out a warm pair of gloves she’d just bought. He looked startled.

“Your hands must be terribly cold,” she said. “I hope these help.” The young man looked confused for a moment. Then accepted the gloves. “Thanks,” he said.

The car behind her honked and she pulled away and moved toward the intersection. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw him pulling on the gloves. She blinked to clear a few tears away. They were warm on her cold checks, but another warmth from somewhere in her core was spreading upward, and she found herself smiling.

For the first time in a long time she didn’t feel powerless at the thought of Mark. Take care of my son tonight, Lord, she prayed. Show him Your love through the kindness of a stranger. And Lord, comfort the mother of that young man tonight.

In that one simple act Kate had discovered the power of generosity. She’d not only warmed a troubled young man; she’d kindled a spark of hope for Mark. And she realized that God had just used her to care for the son of another worried mother. And who knows, maybe the young man on the median strip called is mother that night.

Just one simple act.


A Discovery Worth Sharing

You’ve read the subtitle of this book, Discovering the Power of Generosity. If you recognized my name on the cover of the book you may be asking yourself why a writer known for fiction is writing a nonfiction book on generosity The answer is . . . well . . . if you don’t mind me quoting the title . . . simple. Have you ever discovered something so great that you just had to tell your friends? You know, like a great little vacation spot you stumbled across while on a trip, or a new clothing store with affordable prices, great selection and really stellar service? Maybe you’ve heard a speaker that had a huge impact on you, or saw a movie that made you laugh ‘til you cried and you knew just the friend who needed it. When we find something we love, we want to share it with it others and spread the joy. Right? That is how I feel about simple acts of generosity. I have had some encounters with generosity—as the recipient, the giver, the witness—that have had a profoundly life-changing impact on me. I’ve just got to share the news.

On the other hand, you may have seen the word generosity and thought to yourself, “Oh great. One more appeal to go digging deep into my pocket.” Don’t worry! You are not in for a brand new load of guilt. I promise! That’s precisely what this book is not about. In our age of overwork and exhaustion, tossing a few dollars here and there may be the easiest way to practice generosity. But I am talking about it in larger terms—life-changing terms.

Like my friend Kate. She made a five minute investment of time, and on a whim probably spent about eight or nine dollars on that pair of gloves. But her decision had nothing to do with her wallet. It had to do with her heart. When she handed those gloves out the window she brought unexpected goodness into a bleak situation. And that goodness spilled over and gave back. It multiplied. For my friend Kate, that was just the beginning. But that is a story for another time.

When you pick up a book, it’s fair to ask, “What’s in it for me?” My goal in writing this is to surprise you with the multiple benefits that come from small and large acts of generosity. I’m convinced that we cannot become all we could be until we are willing to unclench our hands and release what we’ve been clinging to, what we’ve been determined to keep for ourselves. The intriguing part is that once we release such gifts we are free to take hold of something more, something better; something that God has wanted to give us for a very long time.

Simply put, intentional acts of generosity can open our lives to the very best God has to offer. In fact, the very best that God has to offer is exactly where we need to start.


A Tradition Worth Keeping

Several years ago I read of the old Quaker tradition of keeping a gratitude journal. I was inspired by the idea so I purchased a book with blank pages and titled it My Ode to Joy. Each morning I wrote a little thank you note to God. I found it to be a way to start my day on a positive note. Little did I understand then how the discipline of writing down five things for which I am thankful every day would forever change my life.

When I first started I found it easy to hit the big things—good parents, a wonderful husband, my children (and later my grandchildren) and, of course, a writing career I love. These precious gifts still make their way onto my list over and over. Today, when I re-read journals from past years I see that as the months, then years, trickled by, I began to dig deeper for things to add to my list. As I matured in my understanding of how God works, it wasn’t only the good things, the pleasant, “happy” gifts for which I expressed appreciation. I began to see more clearly how God was using life’s trials in unexpected ways for my good so I began to write down my gratitude for the seemingly negative things in my life—my troubles, pains and losses. With that knowledge I became more confident that God would see me through everything, and my gratitude grew deeper. In fact, expressing thanks for negative things is a practice I adopted from Corrie ten Boom as I read her book The Hiding Place.1


Fleas, God’s Secret Weapon

During World War II, Corrie and her sister, Betsie had been arrested in Holland for trying to help Jews escape the Holocaust. They ended up in Ravensbruck, one of the most infamous Nazi concentration camps. Their barracks had been built to hold 400 prisoners but by the time the sisters arrived at the camp, the room held more than 1400 women.

Living conditions were insufferable. The women were housed like stacked cordwood on dirty, flea-infested straw, strewn on wooden platforms. The fleas feasted night and day until everyone was covered in itchy, raised welts.

If it hadn’t been for their Bible and the comfort the sisters were able to take from Betsie’s readings, Corrie didn’t know how they could have survived from day to day. If the guards had ventured into the room they would have discovered the forbidden Bible. Not only would it have been confiscated but the consequences would have been brutal. Over and over, the two sisters wondered over the mystery of why the guards never inspected their barracks.

One morning Betsie read the Bible verse in 1 Thessalonians 5:18 that said, Give thanks in all circumstances. She insisted that they put this into practice, feeling certain that ‘giving thanks’ was the answer to their suffering. As Corrie tells the story, her sister named a litany of things they needed to thank God for—from the amazing circumstance that enabled the sisters to stay together, to the Bible she held in her hands, to the other women in the camp. But when Betsie began to thank God for the suffocating room and finally for the fleas, Corrie balked. It seemed impossible to Corrie to find anything for which to thank God in the deprivation of a concentration camp.

But Betsie insisted, reminding Corrie that God said, “in all circumstances.” Corrie recalled standing in that room with all the other women, thanking God for the fleas and being certain that, for once, Betsie was wrong. Yet, that prayer proved to be a turning point for the women. Their circumstances hadn’t changed but their attitude did. Betsie and Corrie began to connect with the women in a way that changed those barracks and the women imprisoned there. It wasn’t until much later that Corrie discovered the reason the dreaded inspection never happened and their beloved Bible remained undiscovered. It was the very same reason she and Betsie were never stopped from having their much-anticipated Bible studies.

The fleas!

The guards refused to set foot into those barracks because of the out-of-control flea infestation. When Betsie took God at His word and thanked Him in all circumstances, she had no idea those fleas were actually a gift from God.

It’s easy to be grateful for the sunshine, the good things, plenty of food, meeting the budget and compliant children. But God tells us to express gratitude in all circumstances.

Think about it. That means we are called to offer thanks when the wind blows into our lives at hurricane force. We are asked to thank Him when the money runs out long before the end of the month, and when the kids are pushing the boundaries and challenging us at every turn. It doesn’t make any logical sense, does it?

Corrie ten Boom discovered the “sense” of giving thanks in all circumstances. She discovered the vital link between gratitude and trust. Through reading The Hiding Place and through the practice of keeping my own gratitude journal, I, too, have discovered this link. Though we may not understand the whys of our circumstances, by thanking God we grow to acknowledge that He is in control—that He can be trusted. We learn to release our iron-tight grip on our circumstances, and we experience a much-welcome reprieve from worry.

The importance of giving thanks is clear in Philippians 4:6: Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. Interesting, isn’t it? The antidote for anxiety is to pray with thanksgiving.

Discovery

The act of gratitude reminds us that God is worthy of our trust.


Footsteps Worth Following

I admit learning to praise God in all circumstances takes practice. I find I need to be intentional and deliberate in doing so, and make it a day-by-day, even minute-by-minute exercise. My grandparents were immigrants of German-Russian extraction who settled in the Dakotas. They were dirt farmers during the Great Depression of the 1930’s. My grandparents, Anna and Anton Adler, rose long before dawn, greeting each day with anticipation. My grandfather labored in his fields only to see his crops fail year after year. When all seemed lost, he didn’t give up. He looked toward the future. He heard of work picking fruit in the Yakima Valley in Washington State. Selling everything they had, my grandparents headed west with six children, leaving their two adult children behind with and all their earthly possessions strapped to the back of their Model T Ford. They headed west, and without a backward glance, he left the farm behind. By all outward appearances my grandfather had failed just as the land had failed and yet, as told in our family stories, my grandparents chose to thank God for the work ahead of them, rather than complain over what they had lost.

In the footsteps of my grandparents I, too, want to look at life with a sense of gratitude. I see my journal writing as starting my morning out on the positive note of practicing gratitude. Instead of grumbling over the drizzle outside my kitchen window, I can smile and remember that it’s the rain that makes everything so green and lush in the Pacific Northwest.

I once read that there are more verses in the Bible that praise God than anything else. I’m not a Bible scholar so I can’t say for sure if that’s true or not but I do know that when we have a thankful heart, despite our circumstances, we lighten our load. Nothing jumpstarts our gratitude like practicing the habit of praise. King David, who poured out his gratitude in verse after verse of the book of Psalms, was called a man after God’s own heart. Isn’t that what we’d like to be? Simply reading his psalms of praise is an ideal way to build gratitude into our lives.


Check-Out Lane Surprise

A few months ago I was in line at the supermarket. My cart was piled high and I was anxious to be on my way. I was grateful that the young woman in front of me only had a partially filled cart. As I watched her carefully unload her groceries, I could see that she seemed anxious. As the checker finished ringing up the groceries, the young woman leaned across the check stand, whispered something to the checker and left—without her groceries. The checker piled the bags onto the cart and set it off to the side.

I guessed the scenario. The young women didn’t have enough money to pay for her purchase.

The clerk looked up at me and smiled, “Thanks for waiting. She had to go to the bank for more money.”

I looked at the mountain of groceries in my cart, remembering my own scary days back in the early 1980’s when I first decided I wanted to be a writer. My husband Wayne and I had four young children and, as a construction electrician, Wayne was often between jobs. I remembered well when were feeding our young family of six on Wayne’s unemployment check of one hundred fifty dollars a week.

I felt that inner discomfort that I sometimes get when God nudges me to do something. I call these moments ‘divine appointments’. It wasn’t by accident that I turned up behind this young wife and mother.

“How much were her groceries?” I asked.

The clerk looked up as if she hadn’t understood my question.

“How much was the bill?” I repeated. She pulled the tape from the bag and told me. Then she shrugged her shoulders as if she didn’t know why I’d be asking.

“Kindly add that amount to my bill,” I told her

The clerk stopped checking my groceries. I was glad my piled-high cart had kept others from lining up behind me.

“She may not even come back,” the woman cautioned. “Sometimes if a person doesn’t have enough money they say they’ll come back because they’re embarrassed. In every likelihood she won’t return, so save your money.”

“No,” I insisted, “I want to pay for her groceries.”

“She probably won’t be back,” she said in a flippant tone. “What do you want me to do with them then?”

“Give the food to someone in need,” I suggested.

I could see the clerk had never had someone offer to pay for someone else’s groceries. She appeared shocked and continued to stare at me. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

I explained that at one time I’d been in that young woman’s situation. I remembered wondering how I’d feed my family. I told her how grateful I was for all that God had given me. I tried to explain that with gratitude comes the urge to share.

She didn’t say a word and I was left wondering if I was babbling on far too long. What I was doing didn’t make a lot of sense. The clerk was right—the woman who’d left might very well not return. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that God wanted me to do this. I’ve come to recognize those promptings from God and learned not to resist them.

Slowly the clerk returned to ringing up my groceries. “I want to know more about God,” she said simply.

That’s when it hit me. This nudge from God wasn’t about the young woman who left her groceries behind. God hadn’t nudged me for her sake, but for the clerk’s sake! For whatever reason, she needed to witness an act of generosity done in the Lord’s name.

I thought of Corrie ten Boom’s fleas. In this case, my own gift of generosity was having a benefit I had never imagined, just as the fleas had a benefit Corrie had never imagined. I thought I was helping the young woman needing groceries, but the Lord had set his sights on the clerk. Something my Florida pastor, James Biles, once said in a sermon came to mind. I remembered being struck so by his words that I wrote them down on the margin of my bulletin: “We aren’t called to share the Gospel. We are called to show the Gospel.”

Look at it this way: had God not been tutoring me in the habit of gratitude, I might have been stewing about the delay caused by the young woman’s inability to pay. Instead I was able to listen to that still, small voice that sometimes gently urges me to act. Had I rationalized that the young woman might never come back for her groceries, I might have missed blessing the person God intended. Although I frequently shopped at that store I never saw her again and yet I feel God planted her in my path that day for His purposes.

Keep the eyes of your heart open for those God may want to help through you today.

Discovery

Practicing an attitude of gratitude spills over to acts of generosity.


The Science of Gratitude

My own discovery about the importance of gratitude was largely developed as I read the Bible. But did you know that science confirms the importance of gratitude as well?

Two researchers, R. A. Emmons of University of California at Davis and M. E. McCullough of the University of Miami, have been researching the Dimensions and Perspectives of Gratitude. Their findings fascinate me and have been the basis of dozens of articles in scientific journals and bulletins. Take a look with me at what they learned.

Their experiments demonstrated that those who kept gratitude journals on a weekly basis exercised more regularly, reported fewer illness symptoms, felt better about their lives as a whole, and were more optimistic about the upcoming week compared to those who recorded troubles or neutral life events. As they continued to experiment, they found that participants who kept gratitude lists were more likely to have made progress over a two-month period toward their most important personal goals—academic, interpersonal and health-based—compared to the subjects in their control group.2 So gratitude not only contributed to better overall health but helped reach important goals. Think about it. Our creator designed us to benefit when we give thanks.

And that’s not all. Here’s something else they discovered: a daily gratitude exercise where young adults regularly focused on specific things for which they were thankful resulted in higher reported levels of the positive states of alertness, enthusiasm, determination, attentiveness and energy.

And remember that I said that generosity grows out of gratitude? The study also showed that participants in the daily gratitude experiment were more likely to report having helped someone with a personal problem or having offered emotional support to another. You see, when gratitude becomes a habit, then generosity seems to follow naturally.

In a sample of adults with neuromuscular disease, a twenty-one-day gratitude intervention resulted in greater amounts of high energy, positive moods, a greater sense of feeling connected to others, more optimistic ratings of one’s life, and better sleep duration and sleep quality, relative to a control group.

Wow!

But there’s more. Stephen Post, PhD, professor of bioethics at Case Western Reserve University’s School of Medicine, is the author of Why Good Things Happen to Good People.3 In an article in Guideposts, “The Power of Gratitude” he shares five things he discovered about gratitude:

Gratitude Defends. Just fifteen minutes a day focusing on the things you’re grateful for will significantly increase your body’s natural antibodies.
Gratitude Sharpens. Naturally grateful people are more focused mentally and measurably less vulnerable to clinical depression.
Gratitude Calms. A grateful state of mind induces a physiological state called resonance that’s associated with healthier blood pressure and heart rate.
Gratitude Strengthens. Caring for others is draining. But grateful caregivers are healthier and more capable than less grateful ones.
Gratitude Heals. Recipients of donated organs who have the most grateful attitudes heal faster.
Discovery

Gratitude gives back. When we practice gratitude, not only do we grow in our trust of God, but we benefit physically, emotionally and spiritually.

Gratitude as a Prerequisite to Giving

As we acknowledge all we have, as we learn to praise God for all He has done for us. Then God helps us pry our fingers off our possessions, our Day Timers® and our bank statements. This brings us full circle. Can you see why we explored gratitude before we set off on our journey to discover the power of generosity? Gratitude is the basis for giving. Grumpy, stingy people cannot live in the spirit of generosity. In order to be able to open our hands to give, we first have to give thanks for all we’ve been given. It’s just that simple!







[Design note: Bordered feature—or maybe decorative corner treatments and different font—at the end of each of each chapter: Simple Acts of XXX. Also, find an attractive alternative to plain bullet points.]



Simple Acts of Gratitude


Begin a Gratitude Journal. Each day write five things for which you are grateful.
Practice praise. Nothing opens our eyes to the gifts we have been given than focusing on the Giver. Find at least one new thing to praise God for each day.
Stay alert for those “God Nudges” and be grateful when you sense them. When you feel like you should be doing something for someone, act on it. Keep track of those nudges. Write them down, noting how you responded and the outcome. When we practice listening for that still small voice we become better at hearing it.
Thank God in all circumstances. This means that sometimes you’ll thank Him for the “fleas” in your life.



****************************************


One Simple Act

Debbie Macomber


Howard Books

Nashville, Tennessee

Our purpose at Howard Books is to:

Increase faith in the hearts of growing Christians
Inspire holiness in the lives of believers
Instill hope in the hearts of struggling people everywhere
Because He’s coming again!


Published by Howard Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.howardpublishing.com

One Simple Act © 2009 Debbie Macomber

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Howard Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.


Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data TK


ISBN 978-1-4391-0893-2

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1


HOWARD and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.


Manufactured in the United States of America


For information regarding special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact: Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or business@simonandschuster.com.


The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our Web site at www.simonspeakers.com.


Edited by Cindy Lambert

Cover design by TK

Interior design by TK

Photography/illustrations by TK


Scripture quotations not otherwise marked are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version ®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked The Message are taken from The Message. Copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group.

The sound of little girls’ voices and the sight of the sun streaming through the tall, second-story window of the Open Door Home for Destitute Girls, a privately owned orphanage on upper Manhattan, told nineteen-year-old Julia Cavanaugh that the day had started without her. Julia, an orphan herself, now running the place for the owner, brushed a strand of dark hair from her eyes. She submitted to a second yawn as a twelve-year-old girl hopped onto her bed.

“He’s gonna ask her to marry him, don’t you think, Miss Cavanaugh?”

“Oh, Shelby.” Julia wiped the sleep from her eyes and smiled into the freckled face staring eagerly at her. “Give me a moment to wake before you go asking such things.” Julia stroked the girl’s cheek, her heart seeming to double within her chest with love for the youngster.

The embroidery sampler she’d fallen asleep working on still lay at the end of her bed. She picked it up and eyed the image of a small house she’d copied from Godey’s Lady’s Book. Above the house, she’d stitched the words Home Sweet Home in fancy script. Gazing around the broad room lined with small metal cots and bustling with little-girl chatter, Julia noted the embroidered pillowslips, carefully pressed—albeit dingy—curtains, and dandelions smiling from scavenged jam-jar vases. She’d done her best to make the room pleasant for the girls—and herself. She glanced at their faces and smiled, gladly embracing her role as caretaker.

A less-than-subtle “ahem” from Shelby reminded Julia she’d been asked a question. She glanced at her young charge, still perched on the end of her bed. “What did you ask?”

“Finally.” Shelby eyed her with mock frustration. “I said, do you think they will get married—Mrs. Hamlin and Mr. Gaffin? Haven’t you noticed the way they look at each other?” Shelby’s cheeks hinted of red. Her golden hair was already fixed in a proper bun, her hands and face washed, and her simple dress clean and pressed despite its patches and stray threads.

“Shelby Bruce.” Julia shook her head, as Shelby’s two-year-old sister Beatrice wiggled onto Julia’s lap with a squeal. Julia planted a firm kiss on the top of Bea’s head.

“Married? I don’t think so,” Julia continued. “Mrs. Hamlin would’ve told us—told me—if she was being courted. Mr. Gaffin’s just an old family friend.” Julia wondered where on earth the girl got the notion that their headmistress wished to marry.

Although they have been spending a lot of time together. Julia pushed the thought out of her mind as little Bea shuffled to a stand, planting her pint-sized feet on Julia’s thighs. “Fammy fend!” She pointed a chubby finger at her older sister, Shelby.

“All right, Bea.” Julia plopped the toddler on the floor and swiveled her toward the small bed she shared with Shelby. “Time to straighten your bed.” Then Julia eyed the twins. “Charity, Grace, would you two virtuous girls fetch fresh water for the basin?”

Shelby pushed away from the bed, wrinkled her brow, and thrust her hand behind her as if to support her back—a perfect imitation of their middle-aged headmistress. “Now where did I put my spectacles?” Shelby clucked her tongue as she waddled forward.

Laughter spilled from the lips of the girls around the room. Encouraged, Shelby scratched her head. She plopped down on her bed then hopped up again as if surprised, pulling imaginary spectacles from under her rump. “Oh!” she squealed. “There they are.”

The laughter grew louder, and Julia pursed her lips together to smother the impulse to laugh along with them. She planted her fists on her hips. “That’s enough. All of you know what must be done before breakfast.” The girls’ laughter quieted to soft giggles hidden behind cupped palms as they scattered to do their chores.

Shelby lingered behind, her form now straight and her eyes pensive. “Maybe she forgot to tell you, Miss Cavanaugh.” The young girl gazed up at her. “The way they look at each other—it’s like my ma and pa used to, that’s all.”

Julia folded a stray sandy blond curl behind the girl’s ear. “Don’t worry, my sweet. If Mrs. Hamlin was getting married, we’d be the first to know.”

Julia hoped her own gaze didn’t reflect the sinking disquiet that draped her. Mr. Gaffin was a rich world traveler. If there was any truth to Shelby’s suspicion, Julia couldn’t imagine he’d let Mrs. Hamlin continue to work with orphans. Perhaps they’d get a new headmistress.

Or maybe the girls would be separated, moved to new homes…

If Mrs. Hamlin got married, all their lives would be radically changed. And if Julia had to leave the orphanage, she had no idea what she would do. Julia swept that painful thought away and steadied her gaze at Shelby. She couldn’t hide her true feelings from this girl. Julia took Shelby’s hand and answered as honestly as she could.

“I don’t think she’ll get married, but if she does, God will take care of us, like He always has.” Julia lifted her chin in a smile. “And really, Mrs. Hamlin may be forgetful, but no one could forget that. I sure wouldn’t.”

Ardy, a shy Swedish girl, removed her dirty sheets from a small bed and then approached, taking Julia’s hand. “Don’t ya think you’ll ever be gettin’ married?”

“Actually, there is something I’ve been wanting to tell you all….” Julia leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees.

The two girls eyed each other in surprise, and Shelby’s brow furrowed.

“Come closer.” Julia curled a finger, bidding them.

“What is it?” Shelby asked, her eyes glued to Julia.

The girls leaned in. “I’d like to tell you…that there’s a wonderful man who’s asked me to marry him!”

The squeals of two girls erupted, followed by the cheers of nearly three dozen others who’d been quietly listening from the stairwell.

“There is?” Shelby reached forward and squeezed Julia’s hand.

Julia let out a hefty sigh and giggled. “No, you sillies. Well, at least not yet. Someday. Maybe.”

Shelby pouted “But you said… ”

“I said I’d like to tell you I had a man. I’d sure like to, but of course since I don’t, I’m happy to stay here with all of you.”

The girls moaned.

The squeak of the front door down on the first floor of the Revolutionary War–era home-turned-orphanage drew their attention. They waited as Mrs. Hamlin’s familiar chortle filled the air, along with a bash and clang of items—hopefully food and supplies that she’d picked up.

“Julia!” Mrs. Hamlin yelped. “Julia, dear, where are you?”

“Coming.” Julia hurried down the stairs to help the older woman.

Julia neared the bottom of the steps and paused, trying to stifle a laugh at the sight of the twinkly-eyed woman sprawled flat on her back. Scattered boxes and bags covered the donated rug.

“Mrs. Hamlin! What on earth? Why didn’t you get a steward to help you?”

“Oh, I didn’t want to be a bother.” She cheerfully picked herself up. “I was in such a hurry to show you all what I’d bought. And to tell you my surprise. Such a wonderful surprise.” Julia eyed the boxes and noted they were from R.H. Macy & Co. More than a dozen boxes waited to be opened, and she couldn’t imagine the cost.

“I found just what the girls need, and on sale!” the headmistress exclaimed.

What they need is more food—vitamin drops, too—and maybe a few new schoolbooks. But Julia didn’t dare say it. And somehow God’s hand of providence always provided.

“New clothes, I gather. That is a surprise.”

“But only half of it, dear.” Mrs. Hamlin rubbed her palms expectantly. “I also must tell you my news. The best news an old widow could hope for.”

Julia followed Mrs. Hamlin’s gaze toward the idle youngsters who’d gathered on the staircase to watch. Her eyes locked with Shelby’s, then she quickly looked away. “News?” The muscles in Julia’s stomach tightened.

“Girls,” Julia shooed them away with a wave of her hand, “you know better than to eavesdrop. Off to chores with you. We’ll have breakfast soon.”

The girls started to scurry off, but Mrs. Hamlin halted them with her words.

“No, no,” her high-pitched voice hailed. “Come back. This news is for all of you.” They circled around her, and she tenderly patted their bobbing heads.

“What is it?” Julia wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Mrs. Hamlin’s cheeks so rosy or her eyes so bright.

“I’m getting married!”