I believed, as everyone believed, that she was a penniless old farm widow with nothing to her name but the bed she lay in and the children who would not come.

I cared for her anyway.

I cared for her because it came up out of my own heart and had nowhere else to go.

That is the whole truth of it, and I need it on the record before I tell you what was hidden in the pillow, because what was hidden in the pillow does not mean what it would mean if I had known.

Chapter 7 — So Good You Have Patience