by Lisa Prysock
“Thank you.” Jill smiled up at him and they continued along their walk. “That’s an incredible amount of forgiveness and patience and love to dole out on a daily basis, for anyone.”
“I’m sure it is, so we’ll pray for the Lord to make things easier somehow, for both of them.” He took her hand in his again and they continued on, glancing out over the ocean waves from time to time. His limp was starting to become noticeable, signaling it’d be time to head back to the car soon.
A few minutes later, they stopped to rest and gaze at the sea. She asked, “Do you suppose we’ll end up arguing over the details of our life, in pain, and in a foul mood with each other?”
“I hope not!” Logan rolled his eyes toward the sky and laughed. “You’d probably deck me real good, Mrs. Haven.”
“You know it, Mr. Haven!” Jill teased, laughing. “Don’t you dare get cranky and argumentative on me, Logan Haven! I won’t stand for it!” Then she stomped her foot and took off running until he chased her, capturing her in his arms. They fell in a pile on the soft grass where he tickled her until she begged him to stop. Then he covered her face with tender kisses.
When they’d thoroughly explored the iconic Irish setting and taken a number of photos of each other with the cliffs and ocean as a stunning backdrop, they decided to drive back to their rental cottage in Ennis for a romantic dinner on the patio. Ennis was due north from the airport in Shannon where they’d landed the day before in a private jet on loan from a client. The pilot would meet them in Dublin for the return journey, but for now, they had fourteen days to enjoy Ireland to their heart’s content.
“What are we eating for dinner?” she asked as they climbed into their rental car to embark on the fifty-minute drive back to the romantic stone cottage. She looked forward to returning to the private dwelling surrounded by lush green meadows dotted with Heather and vibrant, large purple flowers known as Butterwort. She’d done her homework about Ireland to prepare for the journey and native plants had been a big part of her research. The Irish lodging featured wood floors, open beams, a fireplace, loft bedroom, swimming pool, hot tub, privacy, and most modern conveniences. The only neighbors to disturb them were farmers, miles away.
“What do you suggest?” Logan asked cautiously. He spent his energy maintaining his focus driving on the left side of the road. Operating the driver’s wheel from the passenger side of the car was a whole new experience for her wrangler. Without taking his eyes off of the winding roads, he added, “Judging from the notebook of research you’re lugging around in the back-seat, I know you’ve got some ideas.”
“I do, but this is something I saw earlier today on my cell phone. I’m inclined to think we’d enjoy an Irish Shepherd’s Pie, a side of asparagus, salad greens with cucumbers, and chocolate cheesecake.” Jill held up her phone, clicked a button, and read more of her highlighted notes. “The meal is highly recommended and served from a traditional Irish restaurant in Ennis with carry-out. We can pick it up and take it back to the cottage instead of having to be stuck in the kitchen all evening.”
“I like that idea,” he said as they sped down a two-lane stretch of highway at a nice pace. “My mom used to make a version of Shepherd’s Pie.”
“Your mom has been telling me stories of her Irish roots. In fact, I think Sadie is a common Irish name.” Jack and Sadie Haven were wonderful in-laws to Jill. They lived on The Sweetwater in a cabin on the property. She wondered how they were holding up taking care of Grace and Micah for the duration of their Irish honeymoon.
The thought made her wonder how her own mother, Betty Anne, with a little help from her Aunt Meredith, would be getting along with her three children from her marriage to Alex—Jackie, Zach, and Savannah— for the next two weeks. She made an effort to push her concerns from her mind, knowing all five of their children were in good hands. Logan wouldn’t be happy to hear her bring up the issue as often as she had when they were on the houseboat earlier that summer. Besides, whenever she brought up the children, he brought up the many worries belonging to being the owner of a busy Wyoming dude ranch. She told herself it was best if they tried to steer clear of both topics and enjoy the much anticipated trip.
“She was always telling Irish stories about our ancestors when Cassie and I were growing up.” It was one of the rare moments when her husband referred to his deceased sister. Cassie and her husband, Matt, had been killed in an automobile accident, leaving Logan the guardian of his niece, Grace Anne, and nephew, Micah Joseph.
“I’ll type the address to the restaurant into the GPS.” Jill began entering the address so Logan didn’t have to take his eyes off the road.
“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” Logan asked when she finished.
She reached for the itinerary and began reading it out loud. “Tomorrow is the tour of Rock of Cashel in Tipperary and the Romanesque Cormac’s Chapel and Hall of Vicars. There are frescoes to view and beautiful architecture.” She paused. “In the afternoon, we head to Galway to view the cobblestone streets, and view Galway Cathedral, the last great European cathedral built on the banks of the Corrib River. While we’re in the area, we’ll visit the notable Spanish Arch and Claddagh Village where there are swans floating by colorful houses in Galway Bay. Claddagh used to be a fishing village. On one side of the arch, we can take a romantic walk along the promenade. It’s called ‘The Long Walk.’ I’m recommending we find a restaurant in the area to try tomorrow evening for dinner.”
“Sounds like the perfect day.” He kept both hands on the wheel to navigate the royal blue Mercedes with precision through a rural area with narrow roads. “Are you thinking of joining me in the pool for an evening swim after dinner?”
“Now that you mention it,” Jill replied coyly, “an evening swim with just the two of us sounds truly romantic.” The playful, flirtatious tone of her voice brought a smile to her husband’s face with the promise of the evening all to themselves.
Instantly, she knew she’d responded in the best way to her husband’s invitation. If their marriage was going to prosper, they needed to take time out for each other and grow a lasting foundation with plenty of time for love and romance—something much easier said than done with five children to care for on a daily basis.
Chapter 4
"I avoid looking forward or backward, and try to keep looking upward."
—Charlotte Bronte
THE STALLS IN THE BARNS at The Sweetwater were filled to capacity with the new foals descended from Old Butch and four of Logan’s broodmares. Gallant Thunder, Liberty, and Dutch were the three new colts, and Duchess, the new filly. Bronson had placed a soft leather halter on the foals within the first three days of their lives and continued to play a big role in caring for them through the weaning process. Every morning since they were ten weeks old, he’d stocked the creep feeders to help the foals adjust to eating feed and grains. As he hoisted a heavy feedbag onto his shoulder, today was no different.
“Good morning, Mia. Good morning, Gallant Thunder. How are you two on this fine morning?” Bronson poured some of the feed into foal’s specially designed feeder, patted Mia on her back, and did the same for the foal. Mia’s tail flicked and she gave him a look that could’ve almost passed for a smile before he headed to the next stall to fill the next feeder.
The bag he’d hoisted onto his shoulder contained creep feed packed with exactly the right amount of vitamins for foals. The boss, Buck, had purchased the creep feeders from a tack shop. These special feeders were plastic bins with lids featuring feeding holes at a smaller size for foals. They attached to the walls of the stall and later, the lids could be replaced with normal feed saver lids, making them adaptable for yearlings and up. The feeders allowed the foals to remain with their mothers for a longer period of time. They prevented the mares from eating the foal’s supply of food, but made the weaning process less stressful for the foal while they learned to eat hay and grains.
“It’s a beautiful day, Queen! How are you, Duchess?�
�� Bronson scratched the broodmare, Queen, and her filly, Duchess, behind the ears. The filly didn’t stand on such wobbly legs anymore and grew stronger each day.
Logan had been overjoyed to have three new colts and a filly among the quarter horses of his herd. Immediately after the births, he and Jill had brought two bottles of non-alcoholic sparkling cider to the barns to celebrate with the wranglers and the delivering veterinarian. The vet had also returned a month later to do the proper vaccinations for the foals.
Bronson also remembered the phone call Logan had made to his cousin, Chase, thanking him. His cousin had inherited Old Butch, the crowning glory to the Haven herds, but he’d had no problem putting Old Butch to stud to help grow Logan’s herd. Bronson admired the way the Haven cousins operated—generous and considerate—always willing to share tips and exchange ideas.
“I know, Dutch. You want to go outside to play with the other colts today. Only if you promise to be more careful not to run into Duchess this time. She’s a filly, so you need to be extra sweet and gentle. I know, it’s hard to understand at your age, but someday you’ll understand more. Ruby, you look as though you’re ready for breakfast.” He patted them both on their long noses after filling the creep feeder and headed for the next stall.
He finished the task of making sure the feeders and troughs were filled with fresh water and food for the horses, hoping to find some free time to make some notes about organizing the upcoming Pioneer Days. Maybe he’d have time later that morning when McGuire and Jed promised they’d tend the barns for ranchers who would trickle in, coming and going on the trails for horseback riding. The Sweetwater was currently filled with all of those contestants for the beauty pageant and a huge troop of Girl Scouts. They’d keep McGuire and Jed hopping for sure. They were surrounded by girls and women everywhere, at least this week, and every time he turned around it seemed someone needed something. Buck found it amusing, McGuire was too in love with Katie to notice, and Jed was hopelessly distracted; though not a single beauty queen noticed him. The Girl Scouts, however, kept him hopping with running for horses, saddles, and all kinds of requests for help with how to ride the trails. Poor Jed! He just wanted to find the nerve to ask a single beauty queen out on a date. So far, it hadn’t gone very well for him. He clammed up whenever they entered the barns or came within five feet.
“Good morning, Virginia! Look how big Liberty has grown. He’ll be in his very own stall soon, just you wait and see! A fine colt you are, Liberty, yes indeed.” Bronson chuckled as Liberty’s front hooves stomped and Virginia took a step closer to nuzzle his arm.
Though Buck was preoccupied with matters pertaining to his wife, Ella, it seemed as though today would be a good morning to finally put some thoughts on paper. Maybe he’d even be able to make a few phone calls, if he could figure out where to begin looking for pioneers. They sure didn’t list them in the phone book wearing costumes and making homemade soap, at least not in Lander’s phone book. There were pioneer museums and trails in the phone book, but apparently this project was going to require some seriously creative thinking.
If there was one thing he wasn’t, it was creative. All he could do was pray he’d somehow become creative in time to pull the project together and not disappoint the ranch owners and his boss. They were all counting on him.
FORTY MINUTES LATER, Bronson was seated on a wood bench beyond the little white church beneath a clump of trees on The Sweetwater. A pen tucked behind one ear and a notebook in his hands, he was stumped and no closer to achieving any sense of organization to the Pioneer Days idea.
And then he heard music! Was that the sound of a violin wafting over the meadow? Had he died and shown up in heaven? The melody streaming into his ears was perfection and one of his favorite hymns. “Be Thou My Vision” drifted from a direction deeper in the meadow. He felt genuinely compelled to go in search of the source.
Some thirty paces farther into the meadow through taller grass thick with wild flowers, he paused to behold the girl with the scarf, Miss Tory Johnson, playing a violin. Only she wasn’t wearing a scarf today and her hair was pulled back into a fancy bun at the nape of her neck. She sat on a quilt spread out in a clearing in the meadow, facing a tree line beyond them, wearing a purple summer dress with a white belt and pink cowboy boots. What a surprise to find the beauty queen possessed such talent! He knew a thing or two about music from his college days, and he was sure Tory was among the best violinists he’d ever heard.
He listened for about a verse more and then decided to make her aware of his presence by joining her in song with the lyrics, hoping he wouldn’t startle her or cause her to stop the sweet sounds. She glanced over her shoulder at him with that sweet, shy smile, continuing to move the bow along the strings of the instrument she held in her arms. He sat down on the edge of the quilt and continued to sing the lyrics until she completed the song.
Bronson let out one of his whistles again. “Wow! That was absolutely amazing!”
Tory’s sweet laughter sounded like a meadow lark to him. “We make beautiful music together. You’re not so bad of a vocalist yourself.”
“Thanks,” he replied. “We do make a great team.”
“Where’d you learn to play the violin like that?”
“Practice,” she answered, tucking a stray hair behind one of her ears. “Many years of lessons and practice, since about age five.”
“You should be like on tour or something,” he continued, praising her.
“It’s very kind of you to say so, but I don’t think I’m quite that good.” Tory blushed, but this time she didn’t look down. “Where’d you learn to sing like that? You’ve got a very nice voice.”
“Oh here and there, I guess. I heard the music and had to find the source,” he remarked. “It’s nice to encounter you again, Tory.”
“It’s nice to see you again, Bronson.” She blushed again, but this time with a beautiful smile looking up into his hazel eyes as she held the shiny violin in her lap.
“So why aren’t you riding horses today with all of the other beauty pageant contestants?” He tossed the notebook in his hands onto the quilt, the pen still tucked behind his ear. “Are you settled comfortably into your cabin with the other girls for the duration of the pageant?”
“Yes, I’m all settled in. The cabins are very nice. I don’t have much privacy there to practice, though. I thought I’d practice for the talent portion outside since some of the girls are trying to take an afternoon nap. They’ve kept us busy with meetings since the other morning when you saved me from my scarf. I haven’t played this song in a while, so I’m going to need to work on it a bit, that is if I don’t end up choosing some other melody for the big day,” she explained. “I’m kind of undecided as yet.” Glancing at his notebook, she asked, “How about you? Are you a writer? Someday I plan to be one, and you’ve got me curious with that notebook and the pen tucked behind your ear.” She gave him one of her shy smiles, tilting her head with a curious look.
Bronson laughed and shook his head. “No. I’m not a writer. I’ve been trying to work on a project and I’m at a loss as to how to begin.”
“What sort of project?” Her head tilted to the other side as he began to explain Logan and Jill’s vision for Pioneer Days at The Sweetwater.
She listened carefully to all he had to say. “Maybe I could be of some help to you. I’ve read a lot about the pioneers. I’m a voracious reader type.”
“Sounds like it, with wanting to be a writer and all. That’d be amazing if you’d want to help, but it’d have to be on your free time, and you’d kinda have to keep it under wraps. It’s all supposed to be a big surprise for Lander folks. I like history too, but I can’t think where to find any pioneers in historic garb for rent.”
Tory giggled. “No, you probably won’t find them in the phonebook, but I’ve got some ideas. First off, we’ve got to find someone who can sew pioneer garb and also, some volunteers to wear the costumes and do demonstrations.”
“Ah! Good thinking! I think I know exactly who we need to talk to.” Bronson’s wheels were clicking. “You free tonight? I’ll take you to meet Betty Anne. Well, Katie lives there, too. They’re the best seamstresses in Lander. Plus, Jackie’s there.”
“Who’s Jackie?” she asked.
“You’ll meet her tonight. Say, around seven? I’ll pick you up in my truck. No need to worry about dinner. Betty Anne feeds everyone who stops by and boy can she cook!”
Chapter 5
“God created marriage. No government subcommittee envisioned it. No social organization developed it. Marriage was conceived and born in the mind of God.”
—Max Lucado
“SO WHAT’S BEEN YOUR favorite place we’ve seen so far?” Logan asked as they walked along another hiking trail exploring Connemara National Park. Today, he had his cane to help with the occasional flare of pain from his rodeo accident when his hip had been stomped during a tragic fall from a bronco.
“Oh, that’s easy! Definitely today’s visit to Kylemore Abbey right here in the Connemara Mountains. I figured it might be one of our favorite moments of the trip.” The neo-Gothic castle overlooking a lake, built in 1868, originally a millionaire’s mansion, had become a Benedictine abbey for nuns. The restored church and gardens were lovely and sparked Jill’s imagination for a fictional Christian story she couldn’t wait to write. “But ask me again tomorrow, because every day I fall in love with each day’s travels more and more.”
“I know,” he chuckled. “Yesterday you said it was Galway Bay. The day before, the Cliffs of the Moher.”
She held her hand out and admired the authentic Claddagh styled ring on her finger which Logan had purchased for her, both as a honeymoon gift and souvenir. The ring's distinctive design featured two hands clasping a heart, surmounted by a crown. The two hands symbolized friendship, the heart symbolized love, and the crown, loyalty. They’d selected an emerald heart surrounded by dazzling diamonds. They’d also learned from the jeweler where they purchased it that the design of the Irish ring originated in a fishing village by the name of Claddagh, near the city of Galway, and had first been produced in the 17th century.
