© 2018 by Rachel Fordham
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2018
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 978-1-4934-1422-2
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
“With unusual charm and warmth, Rachel Fordham opens the door to Azure Springs, a place as memorable as the people who inhabit it—namely the unique Em, a hero of a sheriff, and an assortment of heart-tugging, endearing townsfolk. A memorable story of faith, family, and happy endings!”
Laura Frantz, author of The Lacemaker
“The Hope of Azure Springs is full of love and laughter, hope and happy endings. This delightful book about the resilience of the human spirit and the power of love will keep you turning pages until the very end. After you read Rachel Fordham’s satisfying story, you’ll want to give the world a hug.”
Jennifer Beckstrand, author of A Courtship on Huckleberry Hill
“A tender story about loss, life, and the beauty that lies within each of us.”
Stacy Henrie, USA Today bestselling author and RITA award finalist
“Authentic. Strong. Memorable. The Hope of Azure Springs and its refreshingly realistic heroine will remain in readers’ hearts long after they’ve reached the stirring conclusion. With eloquently drawn scenes that will tug at a reader’s heart and a beautifully redemptive love story, Rachel Fordham’s debut offers a tender look at the meaning of beauty and self-worth.”
Joanna Politano, author of Lady Jayne Disappears
“As The Hope of Azure Springs unfolds, readers will find a well thought out and intricately put together love story about an uncommon heroine. Fans of Melissa Jagears and Jane Kirkpatrick will enjoy Rachel Fordham’s books now and for years to come.”
Dawn Crandall, author of the award-winning series The Everstone Chronicles
For Tyler—
who never doubted.
I love you forever.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Endorsements
Dedication
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Discussion Questions
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
Prologue
IOWA, 1881
She dead?”
Em heard a man’s voice from somewhere above her. A strange thumping pulsed through her with each word he spoke. Her throat burned, screaming for water, but she could not cry out.
“There’s life in her. Not much of it though,” a second, raspier voice answered. She felt a hand press against her throat and then move over her body, gently probing. “She’s bleeding pretty bad.”
“Gunshot?” the first voice asked.
If only her eyes would open and she could see them. Straining, she struggled to pull her heavy eyelids open. Finally, bits of light darted in front of her eyes, but she could not focus. The faces above her were fuzzy and indiscernible.
Fear swept through her, suddenly waking her battered body. Afraid the men from before had returned, she opened her eyes wide, finding strength that only moments before she had lacked. With thrashing arms she flailed at the men. Her arms flopped about but offered little defense—she was too weak from blood loss. And then they moved no longer, subdued by large, strong hands.
“Easy, girl. We aren’t going to hurt you. We just want to help. Take you into town, that’s all. There’s a good doctor there.” The man’s deep voice sounded gentle, but still she did not trust him. Voices could be deceiving. Arms could hurt as well as help. She knew these things well.
Soon she felt her body being raised above the ground, and moments later the hard planks of a wagon became the resting place for her injured frame. Too weak to move, she lay looking at the sky, wishing there were a way to end the agony, but knowing that for Lucy she would fight on.
Once the wagon lurched forward, she lost track of everything again. The wheels bouncing over ruts made her pain so intense that everything closed around her and then faded to black.
One
AZURE SPRINGS, IOWA
TWO DAYS LATER
I’m sorry to come by unannounced, but this business with the girl’s been put off long enough,” Sheriff Caleb Reynolds said while standing in the doorway of the Howells’ home. “I’d have come by sooner, but Doc Jones said she’d need time.”
“I reckon that’s fine.” Abraham scratched his balding head. Then he reached into his pocket and took out his handkerchief. After blowing his nose, he said, “She’s been sleeping pretty hard for two days. I think we could rouse her. I know we’d worry less if we knew the whole story.” He opened the door wider, admitting Caleb inside.
“Thank you,” Caleb said, trying not to sound too eager. In the years Caleb had known Abraham, the man had never spoken quickly. “Most folks wouldn’t have taken her in. It was good of you.”
“It’s no problem.” Abraham smiled as they made their way inside. “Eliza was a bit put out giving up her bed, but the rest of us haven’t minded a bit. The girl hasn’t asked for anything. Mostly she just sleeps. Follow me. I’ll take you to her.”
They proceeded through the well-lit house. Caleb couldn’t help admiring the details as he walked. Dark decorative paneling. A massive stone fireplace. Large, deep chairs that begged to be sat in. He hoped to have a home like this someday. An involuntary sigh escaped him. A place like this would make his father proud.
Abraham’s quiet words came again as they walked toward the room. “Abigail is in there. She rarely leaves the girl’s side. She’s been so worried that we’d lose her. Even after the doctor told us the wound wasn’t serious, she’s still worrying.”
“It’s not a bad wound?”
“Doctor said she’s lucky the bullet didn’t hit anything important. It should heal up fine. But she lost a lot of blood. My Abigail has been by her side since. Nursing seems to be in her blood—and in her heart.” Abraham spoke of Abigail’s current nursing, but Caleb wondered if he was remembering. A few years back the whole town had suffered from fevers. The Howells had lost two sons. Grief sat heavy on the town, but no one had mourned quite like Abigail Howell.
Focusing on the current circumstances, Caleb readied himself for another glimpse of the waif. For just a moment he’d seen the girl when the wagon lurched into town two days before. She was a sorry excuse for a girl—unconscious, seeping blood, dirty, and smelling like something pulled from the bottom of a privy. He ha
d been near the wagon and had heard the doctor shouting his request for someone to take her in.
“Who’ll house her?” the good doctor had shouted into the growing crowd. “She needs a place to stay. Somewhere safe to convalesce.”
No one had volunteered. No one but Abraham, who happened to be returning home from his store, his books tucked under his arm as they were every night when he locked up and walked the short distance back to his home and family. Stopping to see what the commotion was, he had quietly offered his roof to the girl. The crowd had murmured among themselves, but none seemed surprised by Abraham’s offer.
Caleb had been ready to wake the girl and go after whoever did this. No one was going to get away with shooting a pitiful girl in his territory. Before he’d been able to shake her and get the details he needed, Doc Jones had stopped him. “She’s not well enough to be questioned,” he’d said. “Give her a couple days.”
Caleb had questioned the men who had found her, but they’d been no help. When he’d walked back to the jail, he had nothing to show for his efforts but questions. Now here he was. He’d followed the doctor’s orders and waited two days, but it was time to figure out this mess.
“Em, try to wake up. The sheriff’s here. He wants to help you. Can you wake up and talk to him?” Abigail gently nudged the girl’s shoulder. Abraham stood near his wife, silently spectating.
The effect was slow, but the girl did open her eyes. Blue eyes met his own. It was obvious that the Howells had attempted to clean her up, but she was in need of a good dunk in a tub.
“Em, is it?” Caleb asked, trying to sound gentle, not wanting to scare the girl off. Em, he said again in his mind. A mighty plain name for a mighty plain girl.
“That’s my name. What do you want?” Though the girl’s voice quivered, it still carried a hint of defensiveness.
“I want to find out who shot you and what I can do to help.” He leaned in a little closer and tapped his badge. “I’m the sheriff of this town, and it’s my job to catch whoever did this. You tell me what you can and we’ll keep you safe. I need to know everything you remember.” He’d dealt with youngsters before, often enough to know that a gentle voice helped them stay calm. After years of questioning people, he’d also learned other tricks: Never let them know you’re caught off guard. Always keep control. “Go ahead, tell me what you can.”
She raised herself up a little, her eyes meeting his. “Why are you talking to me like I’m a child?”
“How old are you?” He was okay starting with her age—at least it was something.
“Nineteen. Nearly twenty.”
He could find no words. So much for keeping control. Staring hard at the girl, he tried to decide if he believed her. Upon closer inspection, he thought perhaps she was right. She was so thin, terribly thin, her frame looked childlike. Perhaps it was lack of food rather than age that caused her to look so young and small.
Finally, clearing his throat, he spoke, making sure he was using a voice appropriate for an adult. “I apologize. I’m not the best at guessing a woman’s age. Can you tell me who shot you?”
“I’ll tell you, but it won’t do you much good. Three men came to the house, yelling and knocking things around, and then they started shooting.” Pausing, Em took a ragged breath. “I’m sure they thought I was dead. They just stepped over me, cursing and searching the house for something. I just lay there in my own blood, waiting for them to leave.”
“Did you see their faces?” He opened his notepad. “Did you know any of them? Do you know what they were looking for?”
Em’s eyes darted around, and her breathing sounded more labored. Abigail put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, Em. Just one thing at a time.” Turning to the sheriff, she said, “Perhaps one question at a time. She’s been through so much already. I think we need to take it slow.”
He fought the urge to remind them that he’d already waited two days.
Em took several slow breaths while Abigail wiped her perspiring brow. “Shhh,” she soothed. “It’s all going to be all right. We’ll keep you safe, and Sheriff Reynolds will find whoever did this.”
Em turned toward him. “I never saw them before, but I did get a good look at them. I’d know them if I ever saw them again. I don’t know what they were after, but if you could take me back there, I might have an idea where to find it.”
“Where to find what?” he asked, his voice rising. She was only further confusing him. What he needed were answers, not more questions.
“I said I don’t know. What I do know is whenever George came back from one of his trapping trips, he always went to a certain spot, tucked away on our land. Like he was checking on something. I never thought much of it. He was a quiet man, and this was not his only strange habit. But I’m guessing whatever they were looking for is there.”
Caleb nodded and reached for his hat, relieved that this would have an easy solution. A quick ride to an old homestead and—
“I see what you’re thinking, Sheriff Reynolds, but she can’t go anywhere—not yet. Doctor said she’s to take it easy for a couple weeks.” Abigail’s eyebrows pulled together, and her eyes did not leave his until he set his hat back down. For being a kind woman, Abigail Howell could be intimidating.
“I’m not staying in bed for a couple weeks,” Em said. “I can’t stay here. I’ve already been here too long.” As she sat up higher in bed, the blanket fell away from her arm. Caleb was surprised to see wrinkled, discolored skin all along its surface. He was no doctor, but he was fairly certain the grim marks were from an old burn.
Abigail again put a reassuring hand on Em’s shoulder. “Hush, dear. We were happy to take you in. We volunteered and haven’t regretted it for a moment. The doctor says you have a bit of a recovery ahead, and I’m not about to cross the doctor.” Abigail pursed her lips into a tight line and waited.
Caleb hoped that Em knew when to admit defeat. Despite Abigail’s resolute look, he saw the good woman’s tenderness and concern.
Abigail Howell was as near a saint as there was in Azure Springs. This girl in her sorry shape could not have landed in a better home.
“I second what Abby said. You’re welcome here,” Abraham said, crossing his arms over his pudgy belly. Abraham Howell always stood by his wife. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do. Good day to you, Sheriff, ladies.” He stood deliberately, nodded, and then turned and left.
“I’m not one to put things off that need to be done. But I’ll follow the doctor’s orders and wait to take you back out there,” Caleb said.
“Her recovery will be much quicker if she takes it easy,” Abigail said.
“I’ll trust her to your care. But I can’t just sit around here waiting. I’ll head out there myself and see what I can find. Those men might have left clues. There’s no reason for me to wait.”
“If you head out there, you could bring back her clothes and some of her essentials.” Abigail turned to Em. “Are there any personal items you would like the sheriff to bring?”
“Won’t find much by way of essentials,” Em said. “The dress I was wearing is my only dress. I know it’s not much to look at, but it’s the only one I have. If you do head that way, there’s something I could use your help with.” Avoiding eye contact, she turned her head toward the wall, her hand fiddling with the edge of the quilt. “Would you bury George? I hadn’t meant to leave him, but I knew I had to get away.”
“George? You mentioned him before. Who is he?” Caleb’s voice again rose as he spoke. He had not expected to hear that someone else had been shot. Someone killed. Why hadn’t she told him that first? Caleb rubbed the dark stubble on his chin, giving himself a moment to calm down. “Tell me about George.”
Em’s voice was softer now, barely above a whisper. “George is the owner of the homestead. I lived with him—in a way.”
Caleb looked from Em to Abigail, hoping to understand. “You lived with him? Was he your brother, father?”
“I think we should slow down. These have been a taxing few days.” Abigail came to the rescue again. “I’m sure Em can explain it all. But you must give her time.”
Em spoke up. “It’s all right, Abigail. I’ll tell what I can. I suppose you could say I worked there. Though I wasn’t paid. And yes, he’s dead. They shot him more than once in the chest before they shot me. I checked before I left and he was dead. I wouldn’t have left him if he hadn’t been. He needs someone to bury him. It’s not right, him rotting aboveground. I’d do it myself if I could, and I will if you won’t.”
Caleb pictured those frail limbs digging a grave and dragging a grown man into it. He doubted she possessed the strength, and even if she did, it would be a daunting task. It wouldn’t be a pleasant job for him—dealing with death never was—but he’d had years of good meals to run on and he did not want for muscle.
“I’ll bury him, don’t worry yourself about that. But this is more serious than I thought. Depending on what these men were after, they may be back.” He scratched at the back of his neck, then stood and paced the room. “When they return, if they return, they’ll know you’re still alive and may come looking for you. Seeing as you are a witness to George’s death, they might want you dead. I’ve been sheriff long enough to know there’s a breed of men who hates a witness.”
He felt Abigail’s and Em’s eyes trailing him as he walked back and forth. They said nothing.
“Judging by the wound in your side, they’re not afraid of pulling the trigger. If they’re smart, they’ll know you may be able to identify them.” He ran his hands through his hair. He hadn’t anticipated anyone coming after this pitiful girl. For two days he’d assumed that she was merely the victim of some senseless crime. Never had it crossed his mind that this might have been a planned attack. The longer he talked to her, the more he was convinced this was not just a matter of her being in the wrong place at the wrong time. These men were after something.
“I don’t even know where I am. How will they know?” Em asked. “I took a horse when I left. I rode it a long way before I fell off.”
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