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as she sat there in the darkness, her son in her arms, her heart pounding with fear, she had begun to wonder if the promise was empty. She had begun to wonder if there was any hope left, any future, any chance of peace. She had pushed the doubts aside, forced herself to stand up, forced herself to keep moving. She had taken William s hand and led him deeper into the darkness, and she had kept walking. It was the only thing she knew how to do. CHAPTER SEVEN: THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS The years on the road had taught Ruth many things, but perhaps the most important lesson was the kindness of strangers. She had met people who had seen her and William and had chosen to help, who had given them food and shelter and hope when they had nothing else. There was the woman at the diner who had given her a job and a bed, who had looked at her with knowing eyes and asked no questions. She was a stout, cheerful woman named Betty, with a laugh that filled the room and a heart that was even bigger. She had taken Ruth in when she had nowhere else to go, had given her a place to sleep and a hot meal and a chance to earn a little money. "You look like you could use a friend," Betty had said, her eyes twinkling with understanding. "And I could use some help in the kitchen. What do you say?" Ruth had said yes, had worked in that diner for three months, had saved enough money to move on. She had never forgotten Betty s kindness, the way she had asked no questions, the way she had trusted Ruth without reservation. There was the old man on the bus who had given her his seat and his smile and his blessing. He was a frail, stooped man with a white beard and eyes that sparkled with mischief. He had seen Ruth struggling with William, had seen the exhaustion in her eyes, and he had insisted that she take his seat. "A pretty young woman like you shouldn t be standing," he had said, his voice warm and gentle. "And a young man like this deserves a comfortable ride." He had told her stories during the long journey, stories of his youth, of his travels, of the people he had met along the way. He had made her laugh, had made her forget her troubles for a little while. And when they had parted ways, he had pressed a crumpled dollar bill into her hand. "Buy yourself something nice," he had said. "And remember, there s always kindness in the world. You just have to look for it." There was the family who had taken them in for a week, feeding them and clothing them and treating them like their own. They were a large, boisterous family, with seven children and a house that was always overflowing with noise and laughter. They had found Ruth and William sleeping in a bus station, had invited them home, had given them a warm bed and a hot meal and a sense of belonging. "You re part of the family now," the mother had said, her arms wrapped around Ruth in a warm embrace. "As long as you need us, we re here for you." Ruth had wept that night, silent tears streaming down her face. She had been so alone for so long, had carried so much on her own, had forgotten what it felt like to be supported.