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.
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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.”
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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.
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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
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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.
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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
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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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Lena  neL son DooLey
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.

When the stilted, uncomfortable interactions between Kate and Matt slowly shift into something more, is God finally answering the longing of her heart? Or will Kate be required to give up more than she ever dreamed?

Becky and her husband lived overseas in the Caribbean and Australia before settling in Dallas, Texas. It was during her years abroad that Becky’s passion for reading turned into a passion for writing. She published three historical romances with Avon Books, then put her career on hold for several years to care for her kids, then recently returned to writing sheerly for the love of it. She felt led to move to the genre of contemporary Christian romance and couldn’t be more thrilled with it.

These days Becky can be found failing but trying to keep up with her housework, sweating at the gym, carting her kids around town, playing tennis, hunched over her computer, eating chocolate, or collapsed on the sofa watching TV with her husband.

Learn more at: www.BeckyWade.com

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