As she watched, a young woman, small and slender, stepped down and walked toward the rear of the train where the conductor was unloading baggage. The woman attempted to pick up a polished wooden box with a handle on top. It wasn’t overly big, but it must have been very heavy, because she could not hoist it even an inch off the ground.

“If you’ll wait a while, I’ll assist you, ma’am,” the conductor said before continuing to unload baggage and boxes from the train.

Gathering her courage, May strode down the platform, trying not to look too anxious, and praying she could pick up the wooden box with no trouble. The woman was dressed in what even May recognized as expensive, tailored clothes; a deep green travelling gown with a matching jacket and the jauntiest little hat with a feather perched on her dark brown, piled-up hair.

“I can carry this for you, ma’am.” May grasped the cold iron handle. The box was heavy, but she lifted it with ease.

The petite, fine boned young woman looked up at her. “Thank you, sir. You’re very ...” She stared for a moment, long enough for May see that her eyes were hazel with more green than brown in them. “Forgive me. Thank you, miss….?”

“May Jakobsson.”

“Temperance Lowell, at your service.”

“Do you have a suitcase?” May asked.

The woman pointed at the large wooden trunk the porter was dragging out onto the platform. He caught his breath before saying, “Where are you going, ma’am? I can deliver your belongings in a while.”

“To Reverend Grant’s house on Church Street, but I don’t want to leave my sewing machine unattended.” She indicated the box May carried. “It was very expensive.”

For one who was normally so shy around ladies, May felt terribly daring. It was unlike her to approach a woman, and where her courage sprang from this day was a mystery. “I’ll carry it for you and the porter can bring your trunk in a while.”

“Are you sure? It’s very heavy.”

“It’s light as a feather.” May looked down at the woman. “I didn’t know there was such a thing as a sewing machine.” They walked side by side off the platform, across Main Street, and along to Church Street. “It’s just down here, ma’am.”

The Grant house was one of the first houses built in town and it had a front yard with a white picket fence around it, neatly cut grass in front, and a porch swing. Maybe one day, if she worked really hard, May would have a house just like it.

“Oh, this is very pretty. I wasn’t sure how ... erm.” Miss Lowell sought for the right word. “Developed the town would be.”

“It’s bigger than it was a year ago when I arrived, and it will be bigger still next year. Where do you come from, ma’am?”

“Boston. Have you ever been?”

“No. I was born in Dakota Territory, but further north. I came to Livingstone to take up a claim.”

Smiling, Miss Lowell asked, “On your own, Miss Jakobsson?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How brave of you. How very independent. I admire that.”

With Miss Lowell’s gaze so full of admiration resting on her, May’s cheeks burned, just as they had at the Mercantile. She opened the gate and stood aside, allowing Miss Lowell to walk ahead of her.

“Thank you, Miss Jakobsson.”

May followed her up the path and climbed the three steps of the front porch where she deposited the sewing machine. “There you go.”

“This was most kind of you. I’m so appreciative.”

May hated to gossip, but, thinking the young lady might be an innocent, she felt obliged to warn her. “Miss Lowell.”

“Yes, Miss Jakobsson?” Did she smile like that at everyone or was it special, just for May?

“I know the reverend is a man of God and I’m sure he’s a decent man for the most part.”

“But?” Miss Lowell asked.

“He likes ladies and he thinks they all like him. Sometimes he oversteps, if you know what I mean. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

The little laugh that bubbled up from Miss Lowell sounded like a tinkling bell. It was adorable. Everything about the woman was adorable. “I’ll be on my guard, Miss Jakobsson. Thank you for the warning.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.” May rang the bell.

Miss Lowell held out her hand. “Thank you so much for your help and kindness, Miss Jakobsson.

May had already taken Miss Lowell’s small hand in hers and was so charmed by its delicate softness that she was too distracted to be embarrassed by her sartorial failures. She released the hand and raised her hat. “Good day, ma’am.”

“Good day, Miss Jakobsson.”

All the way back to the hitching post, May grinned. If Miss Lowell never smiled at her again, she would live on that encounter for years to come.