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189 pages

English

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A Compelling Pioneer Story From Bestselling Author Kim Vogel SawyerFed up with the poor quality of life in 1880 New York, Tarsie Raines encourages her friends Joss and Mary Brubacher to move with their two children to Drayton Valley, Kansas, a booming town hailed in the guidebook as the land of opportunity. She offers to help with expenses and to care for Mary and the children as they travel west by wagon train. But when tragedy strikes on the trip across the prairie, Tarsie is thrown into an arrangement with Joss that leaves both of them questioning God and their dreams for the future. As their funds dwindle and nothing goes as planned, will Tarsie and Joss give up and go their separate ways, or will God use their time in Drayton Valley to turn their hearts toward him?

Sujets

Historical romance

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Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 octobre 2012
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441260437
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0202€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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© 2012 by Kim Vogel Sawyer
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means for example, electronic, photocopy, recording without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-6043-7
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
The poem Tarsie sings in Chapter 8 is from “The Last Rose of Summer” by Thomas Moore.
Cover design by Lookout Design, Inc.
For Deena ,
who knows without doubt
“. . . it was then that You carried me.”
“Fear not: for I have redeemed thee,
I have called thee by thy name;
thou art mine.
When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee;
and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee:
when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned;
neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.
For I am the L ORD thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour . . .
Fear not: for I am with thee.”
Isaiah 43:1–3, 5
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
1 2 3 4 5
6 7 8 9 10
11 12 13 14 15
16 17 18 19 20
21 22 23 24 25
26 27 28 29 30
31 32 33 34 35
36 37 38 39 40
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Kim Vogel Sawyer
Back Ads
Back Cover
1
N EW Y ORK C ITY M ARCH 1880
T arsie Raines clutched the collar of her cloak beneath her chin and prayed the gusts of wind tugging at the patched bombazine wouldn’t carry her away like a kite before she reached her destination. Dark clouds hovered above the rooftops, promising a shower and giving the filthy city streets a gray cast that masked the midmorning hour.
The heels of her shoes tick-tocked against the cobblestone, steady as a clock’s pendulum, despite having to wend between vendors’ carts, groups of begging urchins, and the endless throngs of milling humanity. Odors fish, rotting vegetables, bodies too long unbathed assaulted her nose, stirred by the damp breeze whisking from the bay. Her cloak slipped from her shoulder and its tail slapped the leg of a man leaning negligently on a rickety stair railing. She jerked the fabric back into place but not before the man sent a leering grin that traveled from her unraveling braid to the scuffed toes of her well-worn boots. Tarsie hugged the leather pouch containing her herbal cures to her bodice and shivered, but not from cold.
How she wanted out of this city! Mary did, too. Oh, Lord, please . . .
The prayer, a helpless plea, winged from her heart as more than a dozen others had since she’d found the tattered copy of James Redpath’s Handbook of Kansas in an alley a week ago. Although her deepest yearnings found no utterance, she trusted that the Lord she loved and served could read the wordless groanings of her heart and would answer in a way perfect for Mary. But so much rested on Mary’s husband, Joss, and what he would say. And Joss had no use for the Lord.
The first cool raindrops plopped onto the dirt-crusted cobblestone as Tarsie reached the brick tenement that housed Mary’s family. She darted inside, grateful to have escaped a dousing. Her wool-and-cotton cloak was far too heavy for balmy springtime. But Tarsie owned no other covering, so she wore the cloak year-round. It helped hide the sad dress beneath it.
Tarsie made her way up the narrow concrete stairway littered with food scraps, crumpled paper, and animal droppings. Somewhere in the building, a baby’s weak cry tore at Tarsie’s heart. Such suffering. Wasn’t there a better life waiting elsewhere? Her fingers curled around the booklet in her pocket. Yes, a better life awaited . . . in Kansas. Somehow she must convince Joss of that truth.
The door to the Brubachers’ apartment stood open, inviting Tarsie’s entrance as it always did on Wednesdays. The children, Emmy and Nathaniel, dashed to greet her the moment she stepped over the threshold. Tarsie gave the towheaded pair a hug, then glanced around the sparsely furnished but clean room. “Where’s your mama?” Tarsie hoped her friend hadn’t ventured out for shopping. The rain would surely bring on another cold, and Mary’s weakened lungs couldn’t abide one more illness. Tarsie marveled that the woman had survived the winter.
“Sweepin’,” Nathaniel said, tucking a finger into his mouth.
Five-year-old Emmy wrinkled her nose at her little brother. “ Sull -eeping.” She squared her skinny shoulders and beamed at Tarsie. “I fixed biscuits an’ jam for Nattie an’ me. Mama said I’m her best helper.”
Tarsie gave the little girl’s tangled hair a pat and managed a smile, but inwardly she quaked. If Mary still lay in bed, something was amiss. With trembling hands, she draped her cloak over the single chair in the room. “You two stay out here and play quietly. I’ll be seein’ to your mama.” She pinched the precious pouch between her elbow and ribs and scurried into the sleeping room beyond the living quarters, certain the children would obey. They were bonny youngsters in all the months Tarsie had visited, she’d rarely found a need to scold them.
As the children had indicated, Mary lay on the lumpy bed that filled the corner of the small room, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. The pale pallor of her skin concerned Tarsie, as did the sheen of perspiration on her brow. Another fever? Tarsie sat on the edge of the bed, causing the springs to creak. Mary’s eyes fluttered open as Tarsie placed the back of her hand gently against the woman’s moist forehead.
The heat from Mary’s skin seared Tarsie’s flesh. Her heart tripped in worry, but she clicked her tongue on her teeth and shook her head, assuming a teasing tone. “Look at you now, sound asleep in the middle of the mornin’. Such a lazy one you are.”
The corners of Mary’s mouth twitched upward in a feeble smile. “So you don’t agree I’ve earned a rest after doing laundry yesterday for my own family plus four others?” A sigh heaved, carried on a wheezing breath. “I have two more loads to do today, though, so I should rise.”
“And why are you still takin’ in laundry?” Tarsie scowled, all pretense at teasing forgotten. “Didn’t I tell you the lye fumes an’ plungin’ your hands again an’ again into water isn’t good for you? If you’re wantin’ to get better for good, you cannot ”
Mary struggled to prop herself up with her elbows. “I have to work, Tarsie. I’ve told you so.” Her arms gave way, and she collapsed against the soiled pillows.
“Well, you won’t be doin’ any laundry today.” Tarsie flopped her age-worn pouch open. Her most valuable possession, she always kept her great-aunt’s medicinal pouch with her. She never knew when the cures inside might offer comfort and healing to some poor soul. The cures had been used for Mary more than anyone else. If only something in the leather pouch would heal Mary for good.
Tarsie’s fingers sought the small packet of holy basil. The herb had effectively reduced Mary’s fever in the past. “I’m thinkin’ this new illness ought to tell you leanin’ over a washtub does you no good.”
“It wasn’t doing the wash that caused my sickness,” Mary said.
Tarsie whisked a glance around the room and noted the window opened at least six inches. She pointed. “Did Joss leave the windows open all night again? I’ve told you, the night air . . .” Tarsie shook her head, too frustrated to continue. She stomped to the window and gave it a push that settled the frame against the sill with a thump. Sometimes she wondered if Joss had no interest in keeping his wife healthy. He stubbornly refused to follow any of her directions. Hands on hips, she faced Mary. “I’ll be havin’ a chat with him, an’ ”
“No.” Mary’s voice, although weak, sounded firm. “He works so hard during the day. He needs his rest, and he sleeps better with a little cool air in his face.”
Tears pricked Tarsie’s eyes. Mary was the most giving, unselfish person she’d ever known. Why couldn’t Joss pander to Mary the way she pandered to him? She moved to the bed and seated herself again. “But what of you? Is your sleep not important?”
“I’ll be all right.” Mary’s chapped lips curved into a weary smile. “You’ll make me well again, as you always do.”
Oh, how Tarsie prayed Mary’s words proved true. She loved this dear woman had ever since their very first meeting across the apple vendor’s cart on the street not quite a year ago. God had orchestrated the crossing of their paths days after she’d laid her great-aunt to rest, just at the time Tarsie desperately needed a friend. Her eyes slipped closed. Help me get Mary out of this city, Lord away from its damp breezes that bother her lungs an’ from the vermin that crawl through her bed at night. Help me send her to a better place . . . even if it means I never see her again.
She rose, holding the little drawstring bag of crushed holy basil in her fist. “Then I better be brewin’ you some tea that’ll rid you of the fever, hmm?”
Mary’s hand snaked out and curled around Tarsie’s wrist. “And something for my strength? So I can work this afternoon?”
Tarsie frowned. “You can’t be up workin’ not when you’re sick. The people can wait for their wash.”
“But they won’t wait.” Desperation colored Mary’s voice. “They’ll find someone else to do their washing, and I’ll lose the money.”
“Joss earns a decent wage at the docks. You shouldn’t need to be worryin’ about money.”
Mary pursed her lips and turned her face away, falling silent. Rain splatted against the closed window, and the children’s muffled voices carried from the other room. Tarsie hated hurting her friend, but she knew Joss squandered a fair amount of h