Porterfield,  Texas February 1891 THE COLDEST NIG!IT  of winter thus far chilled Deputy Sheriff Cory Muldoon to the bone as he made his rounds in the alleyways of Porterfield. Cold wind howled around the corners of the buildings now closed up for the  night. Most  everyone in Porterfield had gone home  to their  families  and  warm  homes. This  was all the  winter he cared  to experience, and  even this would be only a few days, as the weather in Texas could change in a heartbeat, summer or winter. Lights and music from the saloon rang out and mocked the dark  silence  of its  neighboring buildings. Friday  nights  found cowboys and lumberjacks both squandering their  hard-earned money  on  liquor  and  women. Tonight would  be no different despite the cold, near freezing temperatures. Most likely at least one or two of them would end up in the jail for a spell. Cory turned up the collar of his sheepskin-lined jacket and shoved his hat farther down on his head. When he rounded the corner of the livery, the gentle nickering and snorts of the horses boarded there broke the quietness of the night. A cat skittered out from behind the general store, and a dog barked in the distance. Ever since the bank robbery last fall, he or the sheriff had roamed the alleys behind the main businesses every  night to  make sure everything  remained locked tight and secure. So far he’d seen only a typical Friday night, with everything as routine as Aunt Mae’s  boarding- house meal schedule. Of course, being Friday the thirteenth, anything could happen. They already had two men put up for the night back at the jail. Sheriff Rutherford took the night duty to keep the jail cells warm so Cory could have Saturday  off for his Aunt Mae’s wedding. Ole Cooter probably got drunk and disorderly just so he’d have a warm place to sleep tonight and not have to go out to his shack. Cory held no blame on the man for that. Durand, the saloon owner, caught the other man cheating at cards and had him arrested. Maybe the card shark would move his game on to some other town. He shivered despite the warm coat and hoped Abigail and Rachel would have dinner waiting for him back at the board- inghouse. What  with Aunt Mae’s  wedding tomorrow, those two women had taken over mealtimes until his aunt returned from her wedding trip. What appeared to be a pile of trash sat outside the back door  of Grayson’s  mercantile. Ordinarily the  store owner wouldn’t leave a heap out in the open like that. Cory hesitated in making an investigation, but the snuffling and nickering of a horse grabbed his attention. His hand caressed the handle of his gun. No one and no animal should be here this time of night. The horse, a palomino, stood off to one side. He wore a saddle, but the reins dangled to the ground. Cory went on alert, his eyes darting about the alley in search of a rider. He reached for the reins and patted the horse’s mane, then ran his hand down its flank. “Whoa, boy, what are you doing out wan- dering around?” No brand on his hindquarters meant he didn’t belong to a ranch around here, and Cory didn’t recognize the horse as belonging to any of the townspeople. Then the pile by the back door moved, and along with the movement, a moan sounded. With his hand on his gun, Cory approached the mound. An arm flung out from the heap, and another cry. This was no animal. He knelt down to pull back what looked like an old quilt. When the form of a young woman appeared, Cory jumped as though he’d  been shot. Every nerve in his body stood at attention as he reached out to remove more of the cover. A woman lay huddled under the quilt, and her body shook from the cold while a cough wracked through her chest, followed by another cry. On closer inspection he realized she was younger than he first thought. Her smooth, unlined face and tangled hair were that of a young woman. She couldn’t be more than twenty, the same age as his sister Erin. He bent over her to pick her up, and she started to scream, but another coughing spell prevented it. When her blue eyes peered up at him, they were so full of fear that they sent dag- gers of alarm straight to his soul. This girl was in trouble. “Don’t be afraid. I’m the deputy sheriff. I won’t hurt you, but tell me your name and let me take you to the doctor.” He pointed to his badge in hope of reassuring her. Instead her gaze darted back and forth as she pulled the blanket up under her chin. Her ungloved hands trembled with the cold. He removed his glove and reached out a hand to touch her forehead then yanked it back. She burned with fever. “You’re sick. We need you to get you to Doc Jensen’s right away.” He slid his hands beneath her to scoop her up into his arms. He almost lost his footing as he rose, thinking she’d be a heavier burden than she was. Light as a feather meant she was probably malnourished too. She moaned against his chest. “I’m so cold.” Her voice, weak and hesitant, touched a nerve in him. He had to get her warm. Cory made sure the blanket covered her then grasped the horse’s reins. A low whistle brought his own horse closer. “Follow us, Blaze. We’re going to the infirmary.” He held the girl tight to his chest to transfer some of his warmth to her. The quicker he could get her to the doctor, the quicker Doc could warm her up and treat that cough. No time to worry about drunken cowboys or lumberjacks tonight. The man who called himself a deputy carried her in his arms. With his gentle touch and voice, this man wasn’t like others she had known. Her body burned with heat then turned ice cold with shivers.  So much pain racked her body that she didn’t have the strength to resist him anyway. The man cradled her to his chest. “We’ll be at Doc Jensen’s in just a few minutes. Hang on, little lady.” Little lady? Little, maybe, but certainly no lady by his stan- dards. Another cough wracked her chest and set her throat afire with pain. Her thin jacket and the quilt had been no match for the cold, especially after she’d crossed the river. Not enough heat in the day to dry her clothes before chilling her to the bone and causing this cough. She’d lost count of the days since she left home and had no idea how far she’d come. She’d avoided towns as much as possible, only entering long enough to pick up food at a mercantile. Pa had to be on her trail by now, or he’d  have  others searching for her. Either way, she didn’t plan to get caught and be dragged back to Louisiana. Even now the memory of all that she had endured because of Pa made her stomach retch. She’d die before she let anyone take her back to that. The man called for someone named Clem to go get the doc, and he’d meet him at the infirmary. Maybe he was a sheriff after all since he was sending for help. She didn’t dare open her eyes, lest he’d see her fears again. Until she could be absolutely certain he meant her no harm, she’d stay still and quiet. She inhaled the masculine scent of horses, sweat, and leather. He smelled like hard work and not a trace of alcohol. Unusual for a man, even a lawman. In the background raucous music came from a saloon. She’d  recognize the tinny sound of saloon piano anywhere. It disappeared in the distance, and they proceeded down the street and up what felt like stairs or steps onto what must be a boardwalk or porch. He set her on her feet, and she peeped with one eye while he fumbled in his pocket then pulled out a ring of keys. In the next minute he had the door open and strode through it, car- rying her once again. Antiseptics, alcohol, and carbolic acid greeted her nose. This must be the doctor’s  office. Not until he laid her on a hard surface did she open her eyes, half expecting him to be leering over her. Instead he had walked away to light a lamp, which filled the room with flickering shadows dancing on the walls. A glass door cabinet stood against the wall, and another bed sat a few feet away from where she lay. He returned to stand beside her, and she almost shrank in fear at his size. Well over six feet tall, he’d removed his hat to reveal a mass of dark red hair curling about his forehead. His hand caressed her forehead, but she did not flinch, even though every inch of her wanted to. No need for him to know her fears. “I see you’re awake. The doc will be here in a minute. He’ll fix you right up.” Instead of resisting, her body relaxed at the gentle tone of his voice. He certainly didn’t  fit her idea of a lawman or a cowboy. No one but her ma had ever treated her so kindly. Most people treated her like trash under their feet and didn’t care whether she was well or sick. Still, he was a man. She had to be careful. A woman’s voice sounded, along with another man’s. She turned her head to find a beautiful red-haired woman and an older man entering the room. The one who must be the doctor stepped to her side. “Well, Cory, what have we here?” His eyes held only concern and kindness behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “I found  her in the alley behind the general store. She must have come in on horseback and fallen there.” The woman brushed hair from Libby’s face. “Can you tell us your name?” Her heart thumped. What if Pa came looking for her? But if she lied and stayed here, she’d have to keep lying. Another fit of coughing had the woman holding her upright and rubbing her back. When the spell ended, Libby whispered her name. “Elizabeth Bradley.” The woman helped her lie back down. “Hello, Elizabeth. I’m Kate Monroe, the doc’s nurse, and this fellow who brought you in is my brother, Cory. He’s deputy sheriff in town.” Just  having her there gave  Libby a sense of safety she needed with two men in the room. Her kind eyes, a green color that reminded Libby of the fake emeralds some of the saloon girls wore, had a tender look to them. The doctor listened to her chest with a funny-looking bell on something hanging from his ears. He frowned then pulled the contraption down around his neck.  “I hear a lot of conges- tion in your lungs, young lady. How long have you been out in the cold?” “I don’t know. I think it’s been several days. I left home in the middle of the night on Tuesday.” The days and nights had run together as she lost all track of time. The doctor shook his head. “This is Friday night, so you’ve been out at least three days. No wonder your lungs are so con- gested.” He turned to the one called Kate. “Get a bed ready for her. She’s staying the night and maybe longer.” Libby tried to sit up but began coughing again. She couldn’t stay here. Pa would find her. Her plan had been to head west then south, where the winter temperatures were not as severe. She’d lost all sense of direction after the first night and had no idea which way she’d come. Kate’s warm hands pushed her back down gently but firmly. “Lie still, Elizabeth. The doctor is right; you have to stay here.” Tears welled in Libby’s eyes, and she squeezed them tight to keep the tears from falling. Though hard, this bed was so much better than the ground where she’d slept the past nights. Hospitals and doctors cost money. That’s why Pa wouldn’t go for the doctor until Ma was too sick to recover. The doctor gave  her something that  tasted bitter, but she swallowed it and then lay back against the pillow Kate had placed beneath her head. The low murmur of voices ran together in a blur. One of the men said he’d stay, but the other one said something about a wedding. Who was getting mar- ried? Maybe they’d forget about her. The tension ebbed from her body as the medication took over. Someone, most likely the deputy since the doctor was an old man, picked her up and took her into another room, where he laid her on the bed. She almost sighed at the cotton softness of the mattress beneath her. So much better than pine straw and hard-packed dirt. Kate’s  voice followed  behind then shooed the man from the room. “I’m going to help her get settled for the night, so she doesn’t need you. Go on back to the boardinghouse. I’m sure you’ll find Abigail has something for you to eat.” A few minutes later Kate had removed Libby’s still damp and dirty clothes and slipped a warm gown over her head. When Libby slid her arms into the sleeves, she realized it was her own gown. “How did you get this? It’s mine.” “Cory  brought in the satchel you carried on your horse, and I found the gown in it. I warmed it by the wood stove in the other room.” That warmth, along with the medication earlier, eased away the pain, and Libby let her eyes drift closed. Perhaps this was the place she should stay after all. She pulled up the covers and turned on her side. She’d think about that tomorrow. Tonight she’d sleep warm and dry for the first time in too many days to count.

 

The dinner Bell rang just as one of the milk cows slapped Annie’s kapp with its tail. Now she was late for the evening meal. She pulled the black kapp off her head. When Maggie swatted Annie, the pins were knocked loose. She wiped off the dirt and cow manure then hastily twisted up her hair into a bun and pulled the kapp over her mess of hair.

“Need some help?” John Yoder’s dark eyes smiled at her.

She jumped at the sight of him looking down at her with a

grin. “Nee, I can finish up.”

Her mamm would scold her for her tardiness and her unruly hair, so she quickly grabbed two containers of milk, clutching them to her chest. When she turned around, John was removing the cups from the Guernsey’s udders.

“Danke. The boys must have missed a couple.” The cover of one of the containers lifted, causing milk to spill out onto her black dress. Annie wiped her hand on her white apron. Frustration bubbled up and burst out in an irritated groan.

“Now what?” John opened the barn door and shut it behind them.

Annie pointed to the milk stain and slowed her walk so he could catch up. Her mamm wouldn’t be as upset with her if she saw Annie with John.

“I spilled on myself, my hair’s a mess, and I’m late.” She jug- gled the containers to keep them in place as she walked.

John’s smile never left, just tipped to the side while she listed her worries. “You’re never late.”

“You will be too if you keep talking to me.” The milk sloshed
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Beth Shriver
around in the containers as she adjusted them again. “Taking the long way home?”

“Jah, thought I’d come by to say hallo.” He took one from her then reached for the other.

She turned slightly so he couldn’t reach the second bottle. “I’ve got this one.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged as his grin widened.

They walked together toward their houses, which were down the path from one another, divided by a dozen trees. John was three the day Annie was born and had been a part of her life more than her own brothers were at times. His brown hair brushed his collar as he walked with her, holding back to keep in step with Annie.

“Aren’t you late to help with cooking?” He nodded toward her white clapboard house. A birdfeeder was hung at the far end of the porch, which had a peaked black roof, and daisies filled her mamm’s flower garden in front of the house. Mamm created a colorful greeting of flora for every season.

She shook her head. “Nee, Eli’s helping the Lapps, so I’m helping the boys with milking. What were you doing, cutting tobacco?”

He nodded. “Nice day for it too. The sun was bright, but there was a breeze that kept us cool.” He lifted his strong, handsome face toward the sunshine and took in a deep breath.

He was just trying to irritate her, so she ignored his jab. John knew she preferred being outdoors and that she would trade places with him in an instant. When the time was right she would help with the tobacco harvesting and, along with many others, would then prepare the meal after the task was done.

“It looked warm outside to me.” She took the milk from him and kept walking. The last of the warm summer days were coming to an end, and soon it would be time for fall harvesting.

They reached the trail that led to John’s home on the far side

of a stand of tall oak trees. “Not as hot as in the kitchen.” He
4
Annie’s Truth

snapped his suspenders and turned onto the trail leading away from her.

“John Yoder . . . ” was all she could say this close to her daed’s ears. She watched him continue on down the roughed-out dirt lane thinking of what she would have said if she could. Her gaze took in the many acres of barley, corn, and oat crops and then moved to the Virginia mountainside beyond, where the promise of fall peeked out between the sea of green.

Annie walked up the wooden stairs and into the kitchen. The room was simple and white, uncluttered. A long table and chairs took over the middle of the large room, and rag rugs of blue and emerald added color and softness. For a unique moment it was silent.

“Annie?” Her mamm’s voice made  her worry again  about being late, with a soiled dress and unkempt hair.

Her tall, slender mamm stopped picking up the biscuits from a baking pan and placed both hands on the counter. She let out a breath when Annie came into the kitchen. “Ach, good, you brought the milk.” Mamm’s tired gaze fell on Annie.

“I was talking with John.” She opened the cooler door and placed the milk on the shelf.

Her mamm’s smile told Annie she wasn’t late after all, so she continued. “He said it was a good day for baling.”

Hanna and her brother strolled in, and he grabbed a biscuit, creating a distraction that allowed Annie time to twist her hair up and curl it into a tight bun. A tap from their mamm’s hand made her son drop the biscuit back into the basket with the rest. “I’m so hungry.” Thomas’s dark freckles on his pudgy face con- trasted to his light hair and skin, so unlike Annie’s olive-colored

complexion, which was more like their daed’s.

She tousled his hair. “You are always the first one to dinner

and the last one to leave.”

“I’m a growing child. Right, Mamm?” Thomas took the basket of biscuits to the table and set them next to his plate.

“That you are. Now go sit down and wait  for the  others.”
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Beth Shriver
Mamm placed a handful of biscuits in the breadbox and brushed her hands off on her white apron.

While they waited for the others to wash up, she addressed

Annie. “John walked you out this morning and walked you home?” “Like he has most every day of my life.” Annie’s voice almost

reached the edge into sarcasm, but she smiled to make light of it. Didn’t her mamm know that her obvious nudging turned Annie away from John, not toward him?

Hanna had been quiet, listening, and walked over to Annie. “Should we ask Mamm if we can look in our chests in the attic?” Annie peered over Hanna’s shoulder at Mamm. “Jah, but let’s

wait until after supper.”

Her mamm’s brow lifted just as the buzz of her family coming into the room sidetracked her attention from Annie and Hanna. The younger ones were restless with hunger, and the older sib- lings talked amongst themselves. Frieda, Hanna, Augustus, Eli, Thomas, and Samuel all sat in the same chairs they were always in, and Annie took her assigned seat with the rest.

Her daed sat at the head of the table and waited with watchful eyes until everyone was quiet. When Amos folded his hands, all followed suit, and they all said silent grace.

Geef ons heden ons dagelijks brood. Give us this day our daily bread. Amen. Annie thought the words then kept her eyes closed until she heard movement from the others.

Amos passed the food to his right until it made a full circle back to him.

“We’ve almost finished with the Lapps’s tobacco field,” Annie’s oldest brother, Eli, informed Amos. He and Hanna had Mamm’s silky blond hair and blue eyes, but Hanna didn’t have her disposition.

Amos nodded and lifted a bite of chicken to his mouth.

Eli leaned toward Amos. “I can then tend to our barley day after tomorrow.”

Amos spoke without looking at his son. “You will work the

Lapps’s land until they say you are finished. Not before.”
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Annie’s Truth

The gleam in Eli’s dark eyes faded as he took up his fork. “Jah, Daed.”

Mamm spoke then. “It’s an honor you are able to help them while their daed recovers.” She shifted her attention to her hus- band. “Have you heard how Ephraim is healing?”

Amos continued to eat as he spoke to her mamm. “His back is mending. It’s his worrisome wife that keeps him laid up.”

“Ach, I’d probably do the same if it were you.” Mamm waited a moment until Daed’s mouth lifted into a half smile.

He gave the table a smack to stop Frieda from tempting Thomas with another biscuit. “The boy can help himself without your teasing him.”

She set their hands in her lap. “Jah, Daed.”

He nodded for them to eat again. Conversation was uncommon during meals, so Annie let her mind wander. Harvest season was approaching, and the excitement of upcoming weddings was on everyone’s mind. Although the courtship was to be kept quiet, most knew which couples would most likely be married in the coming months.

Annie’s mind went to John, the one she knew her parents, as well as his, would expect her to be with. Although she had feel- ings for him, she wished her spouse would not be chosen for her. It had changed her relationship with him just knowing what their expectations were. He had been her best friend, but she now kept him at bay, hoping for more time before the pressure became too great and they were forced to marry.

She put the palm of her hand to her forehead, resting there with thoughts of who else she could possibly be with from their community. Names went through her mind, but not one appealed to her in the same way John did.

Hanna nudged Annie as everyone began to clear the table. Annie’s mind rushed back to the present. She knew why Hanna wanted her attention. She was thinking about the upcoming nup- tials too. Their wedding chests gave them promise for their own

special day.
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Beth Shriver
“Let’s ask Mamm.” Hanna’s eyes shone with excitement. Annie felt a lift in her spirits at the thought of having the privi- lege to rummage through their special treasures. She looked at her mamm laughing at her brother’s story of his britches getting caught on the Lapps’s fence. Her smile faded when he showed her the hole the wire made, which she would be mending that evening.

“You ask her,” Annie urged.

Hanna was the closest to Annie’s age and her confidante, as she was Hanna’s. “After dinner.” Hanna got up from her chair to help.

Frieda started the hand pump as the others gathered the dishes and put away the extra food. Once the dishes were cleaned and dried, Hanna and Annie  went to  their mamm, who stacked plates in the cupboard as the girls walked over to her.

“What do you want to ask me?” Mamm continued with the dishes until the last plate was put away.

Hanna and Annie looked at one another. Annie furrowed her brows to make Hanna talk.

“We’d like to see our hope chests.”

“It’s a long while from any weddings being published.” Mamm placed a hand on the counter and studied them. “Okay, then. But after your lessons are done.”

Hanna grabbed Annie’s hand, and they walked quickly from the kitchen. “Jah, Mamm,” they said in unison. Annie hadn’t looked through her chest since she’d given up the doll her mamm had made for her. Since it was her first, Annie had chosen to store it after receiving another from her aunt.

Hanna urged Annie to stop doing homework after she com- pleted hers, but Annie wouldn’t go until she’d finished her story. Finally the girls ran up the wooden stairs to the attic. Hanna grabbed the metal doorknob and pushed on the door to open it. The door creaked in the darkness, and Annie held the kerosene lamp up to examine the room before entering. It looked exactly

the same as the last time she’d been there.
8
Annie’s Truth

A chest of drawers held baby clothes, and beside it stood a cabinet full of documents and paperwork Daed kept but never seemed to use. Special dresses and a bonnet hung on the far side of the room alongside a box of old toys her daed and Eli had made.

The girls spotted the chests lined up next to one another, where they would remain until their owners were married. Amos had made each of his girls one in which to keep their sentimental belongings.  One  day,  when  they  had  their  own homes,  they would have a memory of their daed and the things they held dear during their childhood.

Annie ran to the last one. Amos had lined them up according to age, so Hanna’s was right next to Annie’s. “You first,” Annie told Hanna.

“Nee, you.” Hanna moved closer to Annie and watched her lift the heavy wooden lid. “I can’t wait.” Hanna went to her chest and opened it as well. “Ach, I’d forgotten.” Hanna reached for the doll Mamm had made for her.

Annie grabbed hers, and they examined them together, just alike and equally worn. “I loved this doll! I had forgotten how much I played with it when I was a child.” The black bonnet was torn around the back, and the hay stuffing peeked out the back of the doll’s dress.

“Mine is tattered as well. I’m glad we put them away when we did, or there would be nothing left of them.” Hanna glanced at Annie’s doll.

Annie placed the doll in her lap and pulled out her wedding quilt, the one of many colors. Hanna’s was a box design, and Annie’s was circles within circles, resembling the circle of life. She ran her hand across the beautifully stitched material and admired her mamm’s handiwork. When she looked up, Hanna was doing the same.

Their eyes met. “Hold yours up so I can see.” Hanna’s voice was soft and breathy. “It’s beautiful, Annie. You’re lucky to be

closer to marrying than me.”
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Beth Shriver
Annie tilted her head and turned the quilt to face her. “I don’t feel ready.”

Hanna’s brows drew together in question. “Why? You’ve always known you’ll be with John. And he is a handsome one.” She grinned. “I’ll take him off your hands.”

Annie tried to force a smile. “Why has everyone chosen my spouse for me?”

Hanna put her quilt back into the chest. “Don’t let your mind wander. Just be happy with the way things are.”

Annie fell silent, in thought. “Questioning is how we find the

truth.”

“The truth has already been found.” Hanna reached for her family Bible as she spoke.

Annie nodded, humbled, and looked for her special Bible. She moved a carved toy Eli had made for her and a book her mamm had given to her. Finally, at the very bottom, she found a Bible the minister gave her. As she opened it up, she skimmed through the flimsy pages. She went to the very front of the book and smiled when she saw how she had written her name as a young girl. The letters were varied sizes and uneven.

Her mamm’s and daed’s names were both written under hers, their dates of birth, and a list of her brothers and sisters under that. Births and other dates of additional relatives proceeded on to the next page, including the dates of their marriages. Annie flipped back to the first page and noticed the day of her birth was missing. Only the year was written; the day did not precede it, only the month.

“Hanna, come look.” Annie handed her the Bible and searched her sister’s face for some sign that she knew the reason for the omission. Annie thought back to the days her family recognized her birthday—one in particular.

Birthdays were often celebrated after church service on Sundays when everyone was already together and they wouldn’t take time away from daily chores during the week. This being

tradition, Annie didn’t think much of the exact date of her birth.
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Annie’s Truth

Thoughts of self were discouraged. Everyone was treated equally so as to prevent pride.

On Annie’s thirteenth birthday she had been surprised by her family and friends with a party. A cake with thirteen candles was brought out, and gifts were given. Her brother had made her a handmade wooden box, and her sister, a picture of flowers. Other useful gifts such as nonperishable food and fancy soaps made by her aunt in the shape of animals piled up on the picnic table next to a half-eaten cake.

The best gift was from John. He had taken an orange crate and decorated it with his wood-burning tools. It was filled with small, flat wooden figures of every significant person in her life. The time and care he had put into the gift had touched Annie. She treated the present with such care she had thought it wise to store it in her hope chest. Now Annie wished she had enjoyed the box more.

She searched for it now and found the pieces scattered throughout the bottom of the chest. She picked up the wooden figures one by one, examined them, and put them in the box. Although they all looked alike, as no graven images were per- mitted,  she used  her imagination  to pick out each person. Frieda, Hanna, Augustus, Eli, Thomas, and Samuel were all accounted for, then Mamm and her daed, her mammi and dawdi—grandparents—then John and her. All of the boy fig- ures looked the same as well except for their height, facial hair, and a hat her dawdi always wore.

She’d envision John’s figure to be the exception. He had a thick head of black hair and always wore it a bit longer than he should. He could always get away with such things due to his charismatic personality. That was something not encouraged, so not often seen in their community.

Annie ran a finger along the small wooden likeness of John and wondered if she shouldn’t dismiss him so readily. As a friend she adored him, but the thought of marrying him annoyed her.

But did that feeling come because of him, or was it her?
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Beth Shriver
Hanna’s sigh brought Annie back to the moment. Hanna looked from her Bible to Annie’s. “That’s odd, isn’t it?”

Annie turned a crisp page and stared at the words again. “I

wonder if Mamm simply didn’t remember to fill in the day.”

Hanna frowned. “It’s not like Mamm to forget to do anything like this.”

Annie didn’t want to believe that Mamm forgot, and Hanna was right in that their mamm never left anything undone, espe- cially when it came to her children. “I’m sure there’s a reason.”

“The only thing left to do is ask.” Hanna closed the Bible and handed it to Annie.

Annie took the black book, its pages edged with light gold. “Don’t you want to?” Hanna grasped her hands together and

set them on her knees.

“Jah, I do.” Annie stroked the top of the golden pages with her

finger. “And then I don’t.”

Hanna grunted. “Well, that’s silly.”

Annie stopped and took the Bible in both hands. “But I have a strange feeling.” Annie squeezed the Good Book. “Maybe it’s better if I don’t know.”

Lisa Tawn Bergren is the best-selling, award-winning author of over 30 books, with more than 1.5 million copies sold. She just finished writing a Colorado historical trilogy (the first book,Breathe, Sing and Claim), and has begun a teen series called River of Time.

Lisa’s time is split between managing home base, writing (including a fair amount of travel writing), consulting and freelance editing (with a little speaking here and there). She’s married to Tim, a liturgical sculptor, graphic designer and musician. They have three kids-Olivia (15), Emma (12) and Jack (7).

All five of the Bergrens make their home in Colorado Springs, Colorado.

For more information on Lisa and to view other books written, please visit her website: http://lisatawnbergren.com

I really enjoyed reading Glamorous Illusions. It has a good story line. The parents that raised Cora did an excellent job. Cora had the rug ripped out from under her yet she was able to do what her mother asked of her. Not only did she do it, she did it in a way that would make her mother proud.

Cora is a strong Christian thrown into a very difficult situation. She then has to tour the world with people, her half siblings and friends, that will not let her forget how she came to be with them.

As Cora accepts the situation she has found herself in, she learns the true meaning of love and forgiveness.

***Special thanks to Tammy Hill for sending me a review copy.***

A spiritual gift is given to each

of us so we can help each other.

—1 Corinthians 12:7
Prologue

My  dream  haunts  me,  and  not  only  when  I  am

asleep.  It  also  scratches  the  back  of  my  wakened

mind, as elusive as a forgotten lyric or name and yet,

it leaves me in a state of perpetual hunger; searching for some‑

thing I know is close but just out of my reach.

This recurring nightmare never deviates for a moment. As

always, I lay on my stomach across my bed in my old bedroom,

engrossed in the book that lies open in front of me. Sheltered in

the pastel pink of my room, I am always oblivious in the begin‑

ning. My bare feet move lazily from the bed and back heaven‑

ward as I bend my legs with each turn of the page, humming a

tuneless melody. Although there is nothing alarming; no sound

or movement other than my own; a sense of unease washes over

me. My heart begins to thud loudly in my chest and my veins

turn to ice as I slowly move to a sitting position in my bed.

Then, my walls crumble to the floor in one swift movement as

silently as a curtain dropping after the final act. I jump up and

stare in disbelief at what I see around me. No longer protected

by the false security of my walls, I see a wasteland of charred

earth and darkness. A whimper escapes me and tears spring to

my eyes. I turn in a circle looking for a place to hide, but every‑

thing from my past life is gone now; only destruction and ruin

remain. Just beyond the darkness, I can barely make out the

shadows of horrific creatures. I can’t help but to close my eyes

to them. Then, the screams begin. I hear hundreds of voices, all

screaming in pain and pleading for help. As I cower in the place

that was once my safe haven, I have a strong feeling of urgency

to do something. Even in my fear, I know the answer is close.

I fall to the ground, kneeling over with my arms bent over my

head. I rock back and forth like this, pleading to someone for

the answer all the while knowing I should get up and help these

lost souls.

I know.

Then, as quickly as the revelation began, it’s over. I wake up

with my heart pounding, gasping for air, knowing inherently

things aren’t what they seem. I wake up knowing that I have a

purpose to fulfill. Soon though, the dream fades, along with the

feeling of urgency. Although the desire for answers never leaves

me, my everyday life begins to take precedence over the fervor

of my dream.

Once again, I’m lulled into believing that I’m just an average,

powerless teenager.

Chapter One

I reclined  on  the  beach  towel  and  grabbed  another  to

throw over my face. I had only just taken a few steps out of

the ocean, but the drops of water were already baking off

my sun‑darkened skin. I blindly groped for the small, red cooler

positioned between my cousin and me. I should have gotten out

a bottle of water before I covered my face; dilemmas like this

were the extent of my problems nowadays. I found the bottle

and pulled it out, ignoring the mumbling of my fifteen‑year‑old

cousin, whom I had evidently splashed with ice water. As the

older by a year, I had been looking out for her this summer; she

could consider this my aiding her against heatstroke.

I leaned up on my elbows to take a sip. The towel fell from

my face, so I glanced around at the carefree families playing in

the surf and then took a minute to check out the guys as they

checked out the girls. I had been staying with my grandparents

at their house on the beach for four weeks now; it had become

a familiar scene. I tunneled my toes further down to find the

damp coolness in the white sand as the DJ on our small por‑

table stereo talked about the record‑breaking heat. In the dis‑

tance, I could hear a gang of squawking seagulls demanding

more  food  from  the  unfortunate  tourist  who  made  the  mis‑

take of tossing up the first crumb. Further off, there was the

occasional crack of a firecracker, leftovers from last weekend’s

Fourth of July celebration.

I looked over for my bag so I could toss the now empty bottle,

but didn’t see it. Instead, I caught a glance of my grandfather

waving to me from the boardwalk. It was not just a friendly

wave. Instead, it yelled, I need you for something! My cell phone

was securely zipped up in plastic and tucked away in our beach

bag, wherever that was. I nudged Priscilla, who must have been

in a sun coma, because she didn’t budge. I reached in the cooler

and doused her again, which snapped her right out of it. She

didn’t think it was funny, to say the least, and was a little too

smug for my liking when she told me the bag, along with my

cell phone, was in the house. Now it was my turn to grumble as

I threw my swimsuit cover over my head. Then, I realized my

flip‑flops were also in the absent bag. I would have to attempt

to jog up to the beach house without burning my feet on the

white‑hot sand. I skeptically judged the distance. I told you I

had problems.

“Hi, Gramps, what’s up?” I asked from the wooden steps just

outside the screened back porch where he stood. I reached over

and twisted on the short water faucet. It let out a squeak in reply.

I used the attached green hose to spray off my legs and feet; a

ritual my grandmother expected us to perform each time we

made the short walk from the beach.

“Ember, I hate to tell you this, but it looks like we’re going to

have to cut your stay with us a little short.”

I hope it will only be by a few days, I thought, as I opened the

screen door. I had been having a great time. When I asked him

how short was short, he ran a hand through his thinning hair.

“Well,  I  just  talked  to  your  mom.  She  wants  you  back

tomorrow.”

There was about a five second moment of shocked silence,

then  I  exploded,  “Tomorrow,  but  that’s  ridiculous!”  I  began

shuffling around sofa pillows, looking for the lost cell phone bag

with urgency, already concocting arguments with Mom in my

mind. I found the missing beach bag lying on the floor behind a

chair. I pulled out the baggie and held it up, grinning from my

victory; until I noticed Granddad didn’t share my excitement.

He had taken a seat on the porch swing and was just looking

down at his tented fingers.

“Granddad,” I asked with a sense of unease. “Is everything

OK?” He just smiled and patted the empty spot beside him.

“Honey, everything is fine. Everyone is healthy.” I let out a

deep breath in relief because he had answered the question I

was afraid to ask. My grandfather smiled again to reassure me.

As I remember it now, I realize his eyes didn’t match his

smile’s optimism, but I was—to make a grand understatement—

a lot less “in tune” back then.

“I  didn’t  want  to  be  the  one  to  tell  you  this . . .               ,”  he  hesi‑

tated, looking over at the back door. My gaze followed his to

my grandmother, who was watching us through the window.

Realizing she had been discovered, she quickly wiped her hands

on her apron and came out, taking a seat in the rocking chair.

“ . . .               but, your mom wanted you to know now and not over the

telephone.”

Grandma broke in. “Just say it, George, you’re scaring her.”

“Grace, if you think you could do better . . .               ”

“Please, you two, what’s wrong?” I pleaded.

Grandma shot him a scathing look and filled me in on what

would  be  yet  another  life  changing  transition  for  me.  “Your

mother has divorced Bill, honey. It looks like they decided to end

it the last time you were here, during spring break. The papers

were finalized last week.” She paused and glanced nervously at

me then continued, more brightly, “It sounds like Kim’s found a

cute little place for you two, just a few miles outside of the city.

She needs our help to get some of your things moved in and, of

course, we’re happy to help. I’ve already talked to your uncles.

They’re willing to take off the next couple of days and go with

us. They’ll just have to work the weekend to make it up, but

their boss is always real understanding about family matters . . .               ”

She  was  just  rambling  now,  graciously  giving  me  time  to

wrap my head around the unexpected news. My mother had

left my stepfather. Four years ago, almost to the day, they were

getting  married  on  this  beach;  now  it  was  over.  Grandma

used the words, “cute and little” when she described the house.

Knowing Mom, she had refused to take much financial help

from Bill, if any at all, even though he was loaded. I took a

deep, shaky breath. So, the life of popularity and wealth was

over, just like that. I tasted the salty tears before I sensed I

was crying. Grandma must have realized it at the same time

because she stopped chattering. She and Grandpa both jumped

up and sandwiched me into a fierce hug.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I can’t believe they did this to you.

It’s going to be all right. We’ll help you through this . . .               ”

On and on it went, these words of encouragement she and

Granddad  cooed  at  me  through  my  tears.  What  they  didn’t

know—couldn’t understand—was their pity fell on deaf ears.

I was crying tears of relief.

The movement of the swing lulled me into numbness as I sat

on the screened back porch of my new house. The rain mim‑

icked my mood and took the place of the tears I no longer had

in me to shed. Only yesterday, I was enjoying the summer at

my grandparents’ beach house in Florida. We had planned for

me to stay until mid‑August, but it was cut a month short by

Mom’s insistence to get out of my stepfather’s house. I mean ex‑

stepfather. Instead of an address in the wealthy area of Atlanta,

we now resided on the outskirts in Smalltown, USA, popula‑

tion 15,000. I know he was helping her financially because she

was able to get a day job in a pediatric clinic instead of the

many shifts she used to work before Dr. Bill. He wasn’t exactly

throwing money at her feet, though, considering we were the

proud owners of a 1950s brick ranch house, roughly only a little

larger than a mobile home.

After the long drive, my grandparents, uncles, and I stayed

in a rundown hotel by the interstate. My grandmother and I

slept in the same room, though only one of us actually got any

sleep. I spent the night with a pillow over my head in a futile

attempt to drown out the sounds of my grandmother’s snores

and the neighbor’s television that blared all night through the

paper‑thin walls. We had an early morning rendezvous in the

lobby for breakfast. Soon, we were on the road to my new house

and life. I wasn’t ready, but cold cereal from a plastic dispenser

in a room the size of closet didn’t exactly inspire anyone to hang

out. Besides, they were all here to work. After a surprisingly

quick reunion with Mom and an even faster tour of the house,

everyone went to work unloading the moving van. Thankfully,

the carport kept us from getting too soaked and we managed

to unload all of the boxes and put the furniture in place. My

family left to get an early dinner and to help Mom return the

rental truck before heading back to Florida. I said my goodbyes

and stayed at the house to sulk. I just wanted to be alone for a

while and process everything. I had spent my time staring at

nothing, lost in the past. When I came out of it I noticed, for

the first time, a dead plant in the corner of the porch. The pre‑

vious owners must have left it behind. I couldn’t blame them. It

obviously hadn’t seen water for days; no way it was coming back

to life. In spite of my better judgment, I picked it up and put it

outside in the rain. We all deserve another chance.

Just as I got comfortable again, the sliding glass door opened.

I turned to see Mom standing there, shaking her head.

“Daydreaming again, Ember? What’s the fantasy about this

time?” she joked.

“That I have my life back,” I retorted and felt instantly sorry,

but pride kept me quiet.

Mom’s face fell. She looked as if she wanted to say more, but

we were interrupted by a guy who looked about my age carrying

one of our boxes of stuff.

“Where would you like this?”

Mom asked him to set it on the table for a minute. “Ember,

this is Cade. He rode by, saw me unloading this box we missed,

and insisted on helping.”

Cade walked over to me and stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m

Cade,” then rolled his eyes at his mistake.

“Yeah, I heard. And as you heard, I’m Ember,” I said, still

grumpy from being disturbed. I saw the appalled look on Mom’s

face and took the hint. I reached out and gave his hand a quick

squeeze.

“With an E?” he asked, seemingly unfazed by my rudeness.

“Yeah, my parents had a weird sense of humor.”

He laughed at my misfortune and then grinned, not taking

his eyes off of me. I surprised myself by smiling back. I couldn’t

seem to help myself. The guy practically radiated crush vibes.

Plus, he was cute with sun‑lightened, thick blond hair cut in

uneven  layers,  blue  eyes,  and  a  100‑watt,  mischievous  smile.

Mom cleared her throat, and I dragged my eyes away to check

the box.

“That goes to my room. Come on, I’ll show you.”

My “new” room had obviously been decorated for a little boy.

It was powder blue from the ceiling down to the shag carpet

and was about the size of a box. In fact, the entire house could

almost fit into my closet. The closet that used to be mine, that

is; in the life I lived for four years beginning when I was twelve.

In here, there was a double closet with a sliding door just to the

left of the doorway. Straight ahead was a large picture window

that took up most of the wall. Underneath it was my twin bed.

A full‑sized bed wouldn’t have fit in here. On the right, by the

door, was my mirrored dresser. Further over on the far wall was

my memory collector, a white shelving system that took up a

full wall. It was comprised of dozens of different‑sized cubbies.

My grandfather had assembled it for me that morning. I had

hoped to put off organizing my things until another day but it

looked like fate had a different idea.

“Keep  the  door  open!”  Mom  instructed  loudly  from  the

kitchen.

I rolled my eyes at the reprimand. “That is so not like her,” I

informed Cade. Maybe it was the extra stress. I let it go and

stepped out of his way. “Just lay it over by the shelves.”

“Wow, what are you going to put in here?” he asked, as he

placed the box on the floor and took his place by it.

I knelt in front of the box and, once again, found myself

smiling, “You have no idea.”

When I leaned over the box to open it, a few curls escaped

from behind my ear, which is usual for me. It’s thick, wavy, and

falls a few inches below my shoulders. My hair was normally

brown, but the summer sun (and an Atlanta hair colorist) made

it lighter with blond highlights. Sunlight, both real and artifi‑

cial, also darkened my usual porcelain‑colored skin, which my

mom said made my green eyes “pop,” whatever that means. I

pulled a hair tie from my wrist and tied my hair back in a knot.

I looked up to find Cade staring at me. He quickly looked away.

I continued working on the box. I tore it open and brushed away

Styrofoam popcorn to reveal my treasure.

“What is all of this?” Cade asked reaching inside.

“Memories,” I responded with pride and pulled out a Statue

of Liberty snow globe. “My bio‑dad brought me this after one

of his trips.”

“Bio‑dad?”

“Yeah, my biological father, Jackson Matthews. He and my

mother dated in high school. He was tall, dark, and handsome

and wanted to see the world right after graduation. She was

underage and smitten, but knew her parents would never approve,

so  they  eloped.  That  summer,  they  made  it  from  Florida  to

Atlanta before they found out Mom was pregnant with me. He

left the summer after I was born to ‘explore their next options’

and finally only came back to give her divorce papers.”

“That bites. So, you don’t see him often?”

I shook my head and placed the globe on a shelf. “He has four

different kids from four different wives. That and his wanderlust

keep him busy, and absent. That’s why the few things I do have

from him are special. He’s never been there to give me any other

kind of memories.”

“And this?” Cade asked as he held a little, white Bible.

I took it and thumbed through it, smiling. “I received that as

a gift from my old church when I got water baptized. That was

right before Mom got remarried to Bill. I was twelve. I don’t

think I’ve ever felt happier than I did that night,” I whispered,

lost in the memory.

“So, you’re a Christian?”

“Yes. I mean a lot has happened since then, but that doesn’t

matter, right?” I asked, chewing my lip.

Cade shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I don’t get into that stuff.” I

guess he noticed my concern at his abrupt behavior because he

added, “Look, I totally understand your need for religion, espe‑

cially when you were young and weak. I just don’t need that

right now in my life. Everything is going great for me.”

“How so?” I prodded.

“I’m going to be a junior this year. That means only two more

years of this place, then I’m outta here.”

“I’m going to be in eleventh grade, too,” I offered. Our eyes

locked  for  a  second  then  he  reached  around  his  neck  and

unclasped his necklace. It was a black leather strip with some

kind of gem as the pendant. He slid the pendant off, stood up

and laid it on the top shelf.

“What are you doing?”

“This is definitely a good memory kind of day,” he said with

a wink. I’d better get going. If you want to talk church with

someone you should meet Mouse.”

“Mouse?” I questioned.

“Yeah, I think you two will really hit it off. You want me to

introduce you to her and show you around some tomorrow?”

“I would like that,” I said happily, as I stood up.

Cade asked for my cell number and dialed it to send me his

number. On the way out, he paused at my doorway and said, “I

know this must be rough on you, moving and all, so you’ll just

have to forgive me.”

“For what?” I asked, puzzled.

“For taking pleasure in your pain. I’ll call you later tonight,

new girl” he said with a smile and left me alone with the butter‑

flies in my stomach. I blinked as a glare bounced off my mirror.

I turned around to face the window.

“So there you are,” I said to the setting sun with a grin.

“Pa?” Mary Lenor a Murray shouted back over her shoulder as she picked up the heavy picnic basket. “You ready to go?” Why does he always drag his feet when we’re going to

church?

Her father came through the mud room into the kitchen, letting the screen door slam shut behind him. He smelled of heat, hay, and sunshine, with the strong tang of muck from the barn mingled in. By the looks of his clothes, attending church was the farthest thing from his mind. His ratty trousers held smudges of several dark colors. She didn’t even want to guess what they were. And the long sleeves of his undershirt, the only thing covering his torso, were shoved above his elbows. Grayed and dingy, the shirt would never be white again, no matter how hard she tried to get it clean.

Mary bit her tongue to keep from scolding him as she did her younger brothers and sister when they made such a racket entering the house. No doubt he would give her some excuse about having too much work to go to church. Not a big surprise. She’d heard it all before too many times.

He set a bucket of fresh water beside the dry sink and gripped his fingers around the front straps of his suspenders. That always signaled he was about to tell her something she didn’t want to hear.

“I’m not going today.” This time he didn’t really make any excuses, just this bald-faced comment.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm her anger. She’d give him a sweet answer even if the words tasted bitter in her mouth. “The new pastor is coming today. We’re having dinner on the grounds after the service. Remember, I told you when we got home last Sunday.” She flashed what she hoped was a warm smile at him and prayed he couldn’t tell it

was fake.
14
M a ry ’s Ble s si ng
“What happened to the last one? He didn’t last very long, did he?” Pa started washing his hands with the bar of homemade soap she kept in a dish on the shelf. “Don’t understand why that church can’t keep a pastor. Someone musta run him off.”

Mary couldn’t keep from huffing out a breath this time. “I told you about that too.” She clamped her lips closed before she asked the question that often bounced around her mind. Why don’t you ever listen to me? At seventeen she was close enough to being an adult to be treated like one, and she’d carried the load of a woman in this household for years.

“His wife died, and his father-in-law begged him to bring the grandchildren closer to where they live, so he headed back to Ohio. Living in the same community as their grandparents, he’d have a lot of help with the younger ones.”

Mary had never known her own grandparents, none of them. Not her mother’s parents. Not her father’s parents. Not the par- ents of whoever gave birth to her. She didn’t wonder about any of them very often, but today her heart longed for someone who really loved her.

With bright red curly hair and fair skin that freckled more every time she stepped into the sunlight, she didn’t resemble anyone in this family that had adopted her as an infant. Since they were black Irish, they all had dark hair and striking blue eyes, not like her murky green ones. And none of them had ever wanted to know what she thought about anything—except her mother.

“Well, I’ve gotta lot to do today.” Her father reached for the towel she’d made out of feed sacks. “You and the others go ahead. I might come over that way at dinner time.”

No, you won’t. Mary had heard his statement often enough to know he was trying to placate her so she would leave him alone. So she would.

“Frances, George, Bobby, come on. We don’t want to be late.”
15
Lena  neL son DooLey
She shifted the handle of the loaded basket to her other arm. “Frances, you grab the jug of spring water. We might get thirsty.” Her father’s icy blue eyes pierced her. “Pretty warm out today.

No sign of rain.”

“We’ll be picnicking in the field between the church and Willamette Falls. It’s cooler there, especially under the trees with the breeze blowing across the water.” She started toward the front door.

“Keep your eyes on the boys.” His harsh command followed her. “Don’t let either of them fall into the river. They could drown. Water’s fast right there.”

She nodded but didn’t answer or look back at him. All he cared about were those boys and getting them raised old enough to really help with the farming. He already worked them harder than any of the neighbors did their sons who were the same ages.

Six long years ago her mother and older sisters contracted diphtheria when they went to help Aunt Miriam and Uncle Leland settle in their house on a farm about five miles from theirs. On the trip to Oregon one of them had contracted the dread disease and didn’t know it until after they arrived. No one knew they were all dead until Pa went looking for Ma, Carrie, and Annette a couple of days later. He saw the quarantine sign someone nailed to a fence post and didn’t go closer until he had help. When he came home, he told Mary she would have to take over the keeping of the house. Six long years ago.

When did my life become such drudgery? Had it ever been any- thing else? At least not since Ma died, which seemed like an

eternity ago.
16
M a ry ’s Ble s si ng
4 4 4
Daniel Winthrop whistled while he dressed for church. He looked forward with anticipation to the moment when he would lay eyes on Mary Murray. Even her name had a musical ring to it.

He’d been waiting and planning what to say when he approached her. Today he would start his subtle courting. With the situation at the Murray farm, he knew he would have his work cut out for him to convince her she could start a life of her own with him. After he achieved that, he’d ask her father for her hand.

Visions of coming home to her each night and building a family together moved through his head like the slides of photo- graphs in the Holmes stereopticon they had at home. He loved her already, but more than that, he wanted to get her out of that house, where she was loaded down with so much work and responsibility.

Daniel had often gone with his mother when she bought fresh produce from the Murrays, so he knew what her life had been like since her mother died. Their families came to Oregon on the same wagon train, so he’d known her all his life. He was only three years older than she was, and he had watched her over the last few years as she blossomed into a beautiful young woman.

Mary needed to be appreciated and cared for, and he was just the man to do it.

“Daniel, we’re leaving soon.” His father’s voice prodded him from his dreams.

With a final peek into the tall cheval glass, he straightened his necktie before he headed out the door of his room. “I’m on my way.”

He bounded down the stairs and took their picnic basket
17
Lena  neL son DooLey
from his mother. “Something really smells good.” He gave a loud sniff. “Do you need me to test and make sure it’s all right?”

He welcomed her playful slap on his hand that crept toward the cover on the basket. Her laughter reminded him of the chimes he had heard in the larger church in Portland.

“Not a single bite until dinner.” Like a queen, she swept out the door Father held open for her.

Their familiar ritual warmed his heart. He looked forward to creating family rituals with Mary. Once more he whistled as he headed toward the brougham. Nothing could cloud his day.

When they pulled up to the Methodist church, his father guided the team toward the back, where a large area paved with fine gravel gave plenty of space for those who arrived in horse- drawn vehicles. While Father helped Mother down from the open carriage, Daniel took the reins and tied them to one of the hitching rails that outlined the space. He chose the rail under

a spreading black cottonwood tree where the limbs were just beginning to show the leaf buds.

He scanned the lot, looking for the Murray wagon. Not there. Disappointed, he stared at the ground. Please, God, let Mary come today.

Clopping hoofs and a jingling harness accompanied a wagon

taking too fast of a turn into the parking area. Daniel cut his eyes toward the advancing disaster. Two of the wheels did indeed lift from the ground. Before he could get a shout out of his mouth, he heard Mary’s sweet voice.

“Lean to the right, boys!”

George and Bobby, Mary’s brothers, scrambled across the seat, followed by Frances. The wagon wheels settled into the gravel, and Mary pulled on the reins.

“Easy. Settle down.” Even though she spoke to the horses, he

heard every word.
18
M a ry ’s Ble s si ng
His heart that had almost leapt from his chest also settled down when he realized she was no longer in danger. Thank You, Lord.

The wagon came to a standstill, and Mary put her dainty hand to her chest and released a deep breath. The green cotton fabric, sprigged with white flowers, looked good on her, setting off her red hair, pulled up into a bunch on the top of her head. Without a hat or bonnet covering it, the sun danced across the curls. He loved seeing the wisps frame her face. That’s how he pictured her when he dreamed about their future.

Mary sat a moment without moving. She was probably scared out of her wits. Where was her father? He should have been driving the wagon, not her. How long had it been since the man had attended services? Daniel couldn’t remember the last time. It was not a good thing for a man to neglect his spiritual nature. He’d just have to pray harder for Mr. Murray.

Daniel hurried toward them. “Hi, Mary.”

She looked up, straight into his eyes, fear still flickering in the back of her gaze. “Daniel. Good morning.” Her words came out riding on short breaths.

He took hold of the bridle of the horse nearest him. “I can hitch your team under the trees for you.”

After releasing another deep breath, Mary nodded. “Thank you. I’d like that.” She turned toward her siblings. “Frances, you get the picnic basket, and George, you carry the jug of water. Go find us a pew, perhaps near the back of the sanctuary, and put the things under the bench. I’ll be right in.”

The younger children climbed out of the wagon and followed their sister’s instructions. Mary watched them until they’d gone around the side of the building toward the front. Then she stood up.

Before she could try to climb over the side, Daniel hurried to
19
Lena  neL son DooLey
help. He held out his hand to her. She stared at it, then looked at his face.

“I’ll help you down.” He gave her his most beguiling smile. For the first time since she arrived, she smiled back, and pink

bled up her neck into her cheeks. Her blush went straight to his heart. Oh, yes, he loved this woman.

Mary slipped her slim fingers into his hand. Even through the white cotton gloves, he felt the connection as warmth sparked up his arm like fireworks on Independence Day. She glanced down so she could see the step. When she hesitated, he let go of her hand and both of his spanned her tiny waist. With a deft swing, he had her on the ground in seconds. He wished he had the right to pull her into an embrace. Wouldn’t that just set the tongues a-wagging? He couldn’t do that to her. Mary needed to be cherished for the treasure she was. And as far as Daniel could see, her father really didn’t treat her that way.

He watched her walk toward the front of the building, enjoying the way her skirt swayed with each step, barely brushing the tops of her black patent shoes. That is one beau- tiful woman. He turned back to her team. Walking beside the horses, he led them toward the hitching rail where his family’s brougham was parked, hoping it would give him the oppor- tunity to help her back up onto the wagon seat. As he crossed the lot, several other conveyances entered, and he waved and exchanged greetings with each family.

The church was the first one established in Oregon City. At that time, it was the Methodist Mission but grew as the town did. Along the way, members of this body had a great influence on what happened in the burgeoning city. And that was still true today. His Winthrop ancestors, who settled nearby, had been instrumental in both the growth of the church and of the

town. He felt a sense of pride at being a part of something that
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important, and he wanted to increase the town’s assets, because he planned to raise his own family here. Maybe establish a dynasty of his own, watching his sons and daughters, then his grandchildren, prosper.

His woolgathering slowed the progress of tying the horses to their spot. He needed to hurry so he wouldn’t miss the begin- ning of the service. As he opened the front door, Mrs. Slidell struck the first chord on the new Mason and Hamlin reed organ. The church had ordered the instrument from the manufacturing plant in Buffalo, New York. When it arrived only a couple of weeks before, the music added a special feeling to the worship and helped most people stay on the right tune better than the old piano did. He hummed along with the introduction to “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” his favorite hymn.

Glancing around the room, Daniel finally spied Mary and her siblings sitting on the second pew from the back on the right side of the aisle. He squared his shoulders and confidently approached the wooden bench. He asked if he could sit with them, and she scooted over to make room. Just what he wanted. He would be sitting right beside her.

Throughout the service, Daniel had a hard time keeping his mind on the proceedings. Mary sat close enough for him to touch her if he leaned a little to his right. He was so tempted to bump against her arm, but he held back. He imagined clasping her hand in his and holding it for longer than just a few seconds while helping her down from a conveyance or through a doorway, really wrapping his large fingers around hers and intertwining their fingers. Just thinking about it caught his breath.

He whooshed it out, and she turned toward him, her eyes wid- ening with a question. After flashing a smile at her, he glanced up at Rev. Horton. The man’s delivery was smooth, and his words

made a lot of sense. He’d be a good pastor for them, but Daniel
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couldn’t keep a single word of his message in his mind. Not while he could feel Mary’s presence with every cell in his body.

Instead, in his mind he searched up and down the streets of Oregon City, seeking a place to turn into a home for him and his beloved. If the right house wasn’t for sale, he could build her one. She could help him choose the design. That’s what he’d do. Build her the home she’d always dreamed of. His heart squeezed with the knowledge of what he planned to do. He could hardly keep the idea to himself. He hoped it wouldn’t take too long for him to convince her that they should marry.

He’d even hire servants to help her manage their home. Whatever her heart desired, he’d do everything he could to present her with all she wanted. He only hoped it wouldn’t take too long. At twenty years old, he was ready to move on to the next phase of his life—with Mary by his side.

“Now let us bow our heads in prayer.” Rev. Horton raised his hands to bless the whole congregation.

Daniel dropped his head toward his chest. How had the man finished his sermon without Daniel noticing? Next Sunday he’d have to listen more closely. He really did want to get to know the new pastor and his family.

“Amen.” After the pastor pronounced the word, several other men echoed it.

Daniel watched his father rise from the second pew near the front on the left side of the aisle and take his place beside the new preacher. He placed his arm across the man’s shoulders. “Dear friends, on your behalf, I welcome our new pastor. Now let’s all meet his lovely family.” He waved toward a woman sitting on the front pew. “Mrs. Horton?”

The woman stood and turned toward the congregation. She was pretty, but not as young or as pretty as Mary.

“And,” Father’s voice boomed, “these are their children.”
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Four stair-step youngsters stood beside their mother. The tallest, a boy. The next, a girl. Then another boy, and the shortest, a cute little girl. As if they had rehearsed it, they bowed toward the people in unison.

Several women across the sanctuary oooed or aahed before a loud round of applause broke out. The three oldest children gave shy smiles, and the youngest tugged at her mother’s skirts. When Mrs. Horton picked her up, the girl waved to the people, clearly enjoying the attention.

“I hope you all brought your blankets and picnic baskets.” Father beamed at the crowd. “We’re going to spread our food together. I believe there are plenty of sawhorse tables set up near the building. And you can pick a spot under the trees to settle for your meal. Just don’t forget to take the time to greet our new ministerial family while you’re here.” Father led the Horton family down the aisle and out the front door.

Daniel turned back toward Mary. “Perhaps you and your brothers and sister could spread your blanket beside my family’s.” A tiny smile graced Mary’s sweet mouth. “If you’re sure your

mother wouldn’t mind, I’d like that.”

“Oh, yes. I’m sure.” He stepped into the nearly empty aisle and moved back to let Mary and her family precede him, and he quickly followed behind.

His heartbeat accelerated just thinking about spending spe- cial time with the object of his affections. Without thinking, he started whistling a happy tune.

Mary glanced back at him. “I didn’t know you whistled.”

“Oh, yes. I’m a man of many talents.” His heart leapt at the interest he read in her gaze. Things were well on their way to working out just the way he wanted them to.