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should be involved, at least until we can find another.”
    Her father said nothing.
    “This may be a calling from the Lord, Father. Haven’t you said, along with Vicar Burton, every man and woman receives a calling from the Lord, that the Great Governor of the world has appointed to everyone a proper work, wherein we should spend most of our time so we may glorify God?”
    The vicar nodded and smiled.
    “If God is calling me to help the Costins during this time of need, how can we say no?”
    Her father was silent, thumping his cane against the floor.
    “At least for a while. It would not have to be forever.”
    “John would certainly be grateful,” added the vicar.
    Her father gave a last thump of his cane. “Fine. Fine. My Elizabeth may be housekeeper for the Costins. It is a losing battle, arguing against my Elizabeth.” The twinkle in his eyes softened his grumble.
    Elizabeth smiled and hugged the babe closer to her bosom.
    “But only,” Father continued, “if Samuel has no objections to waiting. The fellow has been persistent of late. It would do my Elizabeth no good for him to get tired of waiting. It would do her no good at all.”

Chapter
3
    No.” Samuel stood in the middle of the bakehouse. His body filled the space and left little room to maneuver. “If Elizabeth is busy as a housekeeper, then she’ll not want to settle down with a husband.”
    “I hear what ye are saying, Samuel. I hear ye.” Her father’s fingers worked briskly as he shaped the pastry cases before him on the brake. He had already floured the table with its long-hinged roller used for kneading dough, and now the table served as his work space for the more delicate confections of his bakery.
    Henry, her father’s helper, had broken away the mud seal on the oven and removed the stone slab covering. With sweat dripping from his face, he used a long-handled peel to remove the loaves that had baked during the night. They would sell most of the bread that day, but a few loaves belonged to cottagers like Samuel’s aunt, who prepared her own dough and paid a small fee to use the bakehouse oven—one of the few in Bedford.
    The beehive oven was built into the thickness of one of the bakehouse walls. Even after an entire night, a considerable quantity of heat still radiated from it. Father and Henry would use the leftover heat to bake the other goods that required a lower cooking temperature.
    The door of the bakery was open, but the warm breeze wafting inside didn’t give any relief to the heat of the oven or the fresh-baked loaves.
    Elizabeth had whisked the sweet egg and milk mixture that would serve as the custard filling, and now she was as hot and soggy as if she had been weeding the garden in the sun at noonday. Her bodice stuck to her back and her petticoat to her legs.
    “I don’t understand why I may not serve as the Costins’ housekeeper,” complained Catherine, lingering at Elizabeth’s side after delivering more milk and eggs.
    “The children need someone who is concerned about their well-being,” Elizabeth said. “Not a vain young girl whose only interest is in making a good impression and winning herself a husband.”
    “He’ll have to remarry eventually. It wouldn’t hurt to let him know I’m available and interested.”
    “He has need of a housekeeper, not a housewife.”
    “I am the better choice for both.” Catherine dipped her finger into the bowl of custard filling.
    “We have already gone over this.” Elizabeth swatted Catherine’s hand. “Vicar Burton requested me.”
    Catherine licked the sweet mixture dripping from her finger. “But I am free of obligations—”
    “Enough.” Their father cut in without breaking the rhythm of his work. “For now, my Catherine, ye must assume Elizabeth’s tasks here where ye are needed. This is a great responsibility in itself.”
    The look in Catherine’s eyes made clear she didn’t think their father’s ruling was fair. But respect took precedence. She