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Baker Publishing Group - Lynn Austin

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211 pages

English

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They watched their sons, their brothers, and their husbands enlist to fight a growing menace across the seas. And when their nation asked, they answered the call as well. Virginia longs to find a purpose beyond others' expectations. Helen is driven by a loneliness money can't fulfill. Rosa is desperate to flee her in-laws' rules. Jean hopes to prove herself in a man's world. Under the storm clouds of destruction that threaten America during the early 1940s, this unlikely gathering of women will experience life in sometimes startling new ways as their beliefs are challenged and they struggle toward a new understanding of what love and sacrifice truly mean.

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 novembre 2006
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781585584215
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	4 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0360€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

© 2006 Lynn Austin
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 2010
Ebook corrections 05.15.2020
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.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-58558-421-5
Unless otherwise identified, Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
Scripture quotations labeled NIV are from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com
Cover design by The DesignWorks Group
Cover photograph by Steve Gardner, PixelWorks Studios, Inc.
1940s background photo courtesy of Kitsap County Historical Society Museum Archives
To Ken
with gratitude
and love.
Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue
Part 1
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
Part 2
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
Part 3
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
Back Cover
Books by Lynn Austin
All She Ever Wanted
All Things New
Eve’s Daughters
Hidden Places
Legacy of Mercy
Pilgrimage
A Proper Pursuit
Though Waters Roar
Until We Reach Home
Waves of Mercy
Where We Belong
While We’re Far Apart
Wings of Refuge
A Woman’s Place
Wonderland Creek
R EFINER ’ S F IRE
Candle in the Darkness
Fire by Night
A Light to My Path
C HRONICLES OF THE K INGS
Gods & Kings
Song of Redemption
The Strength of His Hand
Faith of My Fathers
Among the Gods
T HE R ESTORATION C HRONICLES
Return to Me
Keepers of the Covenant
On This Foundation
www.lynnaustin.org
Bestselling author Lynn Austin has sold more than one million copies of her books worldwide. She is an eight-time Christy Award winner for her historical novels, as well as a popular speaker at retreats and conventions. Lynn and her husband have raised three children and live in Michigan. Learn more at www.lynnaustin.org .
“Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.”
Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
Give her the reward she has earned,
and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.
P ROVERBS 31:29–31, NIV
PROLOGUE
December 1941
* Virginia *
Virginia Mitchell watched her husband carve the Sunday pot roast and wondered if he was having an affair. He showed more interest in the way the meat was cooked than he did in her. Harold traveled out of town often with his work, so he had plenty of opportunities to stray. He would leave tomorrow on another trip, in fact. He set down the carving knife and nodded his approval.
“Roast beef looks good, Virginia. Not dry or stringy.”
She sighed with relief. “I was afraid it might be ruined. The sermon went a little long.”
“The new pastor likes to beat a dead horse.” Harold gave her his charming smile, revealing an endearing dimple in his left cheek.
Virginia never should have married a man as handsome and intelligent as Harold Mitchell. She worried constantly that he would find another woman who was more stimulating than she was, someone who made her seem dull and boring in comparison. Virginia always sifted through his pockets when he came home from a trip and searched every compartment of his suitcase for telltale signs that he’d been with another woman. She even sniffed his shirt collars and the lapels of his suits for traces of perfume. Once or twice she thought she’d detected an unfamiliar scent.
Worry consumed her the way her family was consuming this Sunday meal: Harold piled thick slices of meat onto his plate; nine-year-old Allan shoveled forkfuls of mashed potatoes into his mouth; seven-year-old Herbert gulped down Jell-O as if racing against time. If only she knew for certain that Harold really was having an affair.
But then what would she do? Ginny had thought it through countless times as she’d searched his pockets. She couldn’t leave him; how would she support herself and her sons on her own? She would have to find a job, and she wasn’t qualified to be anything except a housewife.
She watched Harold pour gravy over his mashed potatoes and thought that maybe it was better if she didn’t know for certain. This way she wouldn’t be forced to decide whether to live with the knowledge in silence, forgive him, or leave him. She found it difficult enough to decide what to fix for dinner, let alone wrestle with questions of infidelity and trust. Ginny didn’t kid herself—you could never trust a man once he became a philanderer .
She had chosen philanderer for her newest vocabulary word. It meant someone who made a habit of cheating on his spouse. For more than a year, Ginny had used a thesaurus and a dictionary to try to improve her vocabulary, hoping to converse more intelligently for Harold’s sake and to feel less inferior for her own sake. She had purchased the two books during her one and only year in college, and they’d done nothing but collect dust ever since—except for the odd time she’d used them to press flowers. She had looked up playboy in the thesaurus, recalling that Harold had a reputation as one before they’d met. The word playboy had led to philanderer .
Was he one? Did she really want to know? She watched him stab a forkful of green beans, and her chest ached with love for him. If only he loved her half as much as she loved him.
Harold took charge of the dinner conversation, as usual, asking the boys about their schoolwork and Boy Scout projects. Ginny had nothing new to report about her week. She felt dumb, dull, vacuous —another vocabulary word. Her life was uninteresting and boring, day in and day out. If only she could do exciting, challenging things, be a woman of vision and purpose like Eleanor Roosevelt. Then Harold would have no reason to philander .
The candle flames blurred as her eyes filled with tears. Did anyone even notice the pains she took to make Sunday dinner special: lighting candles, using her good china and silverware, spreading the table with a white damask tablecloth and napkins? Sunday was the one day when her little family was home together all day, and she liked to make it special. They always attended church, dressed in their Sunday finest, the boys looking like little men in their jackets and ties. Ginny was in no hurry for Allan and Herbert to grow up. She wished they were still babies, or at least chubby toddlers in short pants. Harold chided her constantly for babying them too much.
Virginia watched the mashed potatoes and Jell-O vanish, the pot roast shrink to scraps of leftovers. All too soon, Harold and the boys had gobbled down the apple pie she’d baked, excused themselves from the table, and disappeared into the living room. Harold sighed as he slouched into his armchair with the Sunday Times . The boys sprawled on the floor with the family dog and the funny papers. Maybe Ginny should do more than skim the news. Maybe she should take an interest in the events over in Europe the way Harold did. Maybe other women would pose less of a temptation if she could discuss current events with him.
But current events would have to wait until she’d washed and dried the dishes. Virginia surveyed the abandoned table and wanted to cry. All that work: ironing the tablecloth and napkins, peeling the potatoes, cutting up the green beans, making sure the meat was seasoned just right and the gravy wasn’t lumpy, rolling out the piecrust, peeling the apples, slicing them to a uniform thickness—an hour and a half of work in a steamy kitchen and the meal was over in twenty-two minutes. It would take her another hour to clean it all up. And it was such vacuous work. No wonder Harold was bored with her . . . she was bored with herself. She wished she were bolder, smarter, more confident—like Eleanor Roosevelt.
Virginia was drying the last of the pots and pans when the telephone rang. “Ginny! Are you listening to the radio?” her next-door neighbor asked breathlessly.
“No, why?”
“You’d better turn it on. We’ve been attacked.”
“Attacked? What do you mean?” But Betty had already hung up. Ginny hurried into the living room, stepping over Harold’s outstretched legs and Allan’s strewn comic books as she made her way to the radio. The humpbacked Philco came to life with a hollow ploink .
“Who was on the phone?” Harold asked as the radio tubes warmed up.
“Betty Parker. She said we should turn on the radio. Something about an attack.” Static squealed as Ginny adjusted the knob, finally tuning in to a channel. It took a moment for the announcer’s words, reported in somber tones, to sink in.
“Thick smoke is still billowing from the United States’ Naval Base at Pearl Harbor, where the U.S. Pacific Fleet is anchored, and from Hickham Field, where more than one hundred U.S. planes have reportedly been destroyed on the ground. There is still no word on how many ships were damaged. So far, at least two hundred servicemen are confirmed dead, but the death toll is expected to rise.”
Harold lowered his newspaper and sat forward on the edge of his seat. Allan looked up from Little Orphan Annie , his eyes wide. “What happened, Dad?”
“Shh . . . listen.”
“Witnesses report that the emblem of the rising sun was visible on the wing tips of the attacking airplanes. There are unconfirmed reports that the Japanese used aircraft carriers to ferry the planes within striking distance. Once again, we