Since the Christmas season, when all the girls had come out, six of the young women in Annabelle’s age group had gotten engaged. And Annabelle wasn’t going to meet anyone staying at home with her mother. After the past two months, she already seemed older and more mature than the others. Something like that could frighten young men away. And more than anything, her mother wanted her to get married. Annabelle continued to be unconcerned and was happy to see Hortie and the others, but none of the men was of even the slightest interest to her.

Josiah Millbank came to see them once he arrived in July too. He never failed to bring a gift with him when he visited, flowers in the city, and in Newport, either fruit or candy. He spent hours talking to Consuelo, as they sat together on the wide porch in rocking chairs, and after his third visit, Annabelle teased her about it.

“I think he likes you, Mama,” she said, smiling.

“Don’t be silly.” Consuelo blushed at the suggestion. The last thing she wanted was a suitor. She intended to remain faithful to her husband’s memory forever, and said so to anyone who would listen. She was not one of those widows who was looking for a husband, although she wanted one desperately for Annabelle. “He’s just being kind to us,” Consuelo added firmly, convinced of what she was saying. “He’s younger than I am anyway, and if he’s interested in anyone, it’s you.” Although she had to admit, there was no evidence of it. He seemed to be equally comfortable talking to mother or daughter, and he was never flirtatious, just friendly.

“He’s not interested in me, Mama,” Annabelle confirmed with a broad grin, “and he’s only five years younger than you are. I think he’s a very nice person. And he’s old enough to be my father.”

“Lots of girls your age marry men his age,” her mother said quietly. “He’s not that old, for heaven’s sake. I think he’s only thirty-eight, if I remember correctly.”