The 12 Brides of Summer Novella Collection #3

by Margaret Brownley

  He gave a curt nod. “And from what I heard her say before she swung over the pond, she was mimicking you. There’s only one thing I can do so this never happens again. I’ll have to ask you to stay away from Laura.” He pivoted and stalked toward the little girl sitting quietly under the tree.

  Gracie wanted to sink to the ground and cry, but she stood erect, holding her head high. She’d been remiss in closing her eyes for those few seconds, but it wasn’t her fault Laura hadn’t obeyed Will, nor was it her responsibility that the girl wanted to be like her. So be it. If he didn’t want her to see Laura again, she wouldn’t see him, either. She plucked up her skirts and headed for home. She was done with this man, no matter how much the decision hurt.

  Will didn’t look back as he gripped Laura’s hand and led her across the meadow toward the Warren home. His anger was fading, and sadness took its place. He was thankful his niece was safe, but had he been completely fair in placing the blame on Gracie? Laura could be very persuasive and was prone to disobey. Had Gracie really done anything so wrong? It hurt his heart to even think about not seeing her again.

  “Uncle Will, you’re holding my hand too tight.” Laura tugged at him.

  “I’m not letting go of you until we reach the house. You’re to go straight to your room, change your clothes, and lie down until supper. With no arguments, young lady.”

  She gave a huge sigh. “Yes, sir. But you were mean to Miss Gracie. It wasn’t her fault I went on the swing. I sneaked up there when her eyes were shut.”

  He ignored her as he battled his own conscience. They arrived at the house, and he waited until Laura scurried up the steps to her room, then he made his way back to the workshop.

  Curt stood in the doorway, his eyes filled with concern. “Where’s Gracie? And why is Laura dripping wet?”

  Will waved him back inside and sank into a chair. “It’s not a pretty story, but if you have a few minutes. . .”

  Curt nodded and took a seat. “I have all the time you need.”

  Over the next few minutes, Will poured out the story, including his history and the loss of his sister. All the pain and guilt spewed out in a jumble of words that he couldn’t seem to stem. Finally, he wiped his hand across his sweaty brow and gave a feeble smile. “Probably way more than you cared to hear, but I’ll admit, it feels good to get it off my chest.”

  “I imagine it does. I’m sorry to hear about Laura’s mother. I understand now why you’re so protective of Laura.”

  Something in Curt’s tone caught Will’s attention, and he lifted his head. “You think I’m too protective.”

  Curt gave a half shrug. “It’s not my concern. You’re her uncle, not me.”

  Will tensed. “I want to know what you think.”

  Curt hesitated. “All right.” He gave a short nod. “I believe your guilt over your sister’s death has influenced you more than you realize.”

  “How so?” Will wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this, but somehow he knew he needed to listen. He’d been praying long and hard lately that he’d make wise decisions where Laura, and even Gracie, was concerned, and after the past hour, he was second-guessing everything he’d done and said.

  Curt leaned forward, his hands on his knees, and met Will’s gaze. “Let’s take my children as an example. They’re sick right now and even have a low fever. I could race to the doctor—worry over them until I make myself sick with fear. Or, I can choose to trust God with my twins, knowing He loves them more than I do. Of course, if they get worse, I’ll be sensible and call the doctor. But their health and the length of their lives is ultimately God’s decision, not mine, no matter how much I try to protect them.”

  “So you think I’m wrong to protect Laura?” Frustration put a sharp edge to his question, and Will tried to soften it. “I don’t want something to happen to her like it did to her mother.”

  “But your guilt over the belief that you caused your sister’s death is what fuels that desire.” He held up his hands. “I’m not saying you don’t love your niece. I’m saying it’s not normal to force a little girl with a sense of adventure to never climb a tree or swing on a rope or anything else that might contain a hint of danger.”

  Will leaned back and crossed his arms. “So you would have let her go on that rope swing? Even if she could have drowned?”

  “Did you pay attention to how deep it was where she landed? I’ve been on that swing, and at the deepest point where you could let go, the water comes up to my neck, and Laura isn’t heavy enough to have swung that far. There’s not a rock on the bottom of that pond that I’ve ever found.

  “Should she have done it without proper supervision? Of course not. Should she be denied ever having new experiences that other children have? I don’t think so. And certainly not to satisfy your sense of guilt over an event that probably would have happened, regardless.”

  Will winced as he tried to take in all that Curt said. He bowed his head and pondered. “And Gracie?” He finally raised his head. “How about her part in this?”

  Curt arched one brow. “I think you’re falling in love with her and don’t want to admit it, out of fear that Laura will want to be like her. Gracie Addison is a fine young wo-man, and one I’d be happy to have my daughter emulate when she gets older. She shouldn’t have closed her eyes for those few seconds, but are you going to blame her for that forever and cut off any chance of happiness for both of you?”

  Curt shook his head when Will stayed silent. “It doesn’t sound sensible to me.” He slapped his hands on his knees and stood. “I’m going to check on Deborah and the children. The afternoon is pretty much gone. Go see to your niece.” He gave Will a sly look. “And anything else that might need to be taken care of, before it’s too late.”

  Gracie had never been much of a crier, but right now she wanted to beat on her pillow and wail the loss of Laura and Will. Especially Will. When had she allowed the man to burrow himself so deeply into her heart? Jerold Carnegie might be boring, but at least marrying him wouldn’t have brought this kind of pain. She snorted. No, but she’d warrant she’d have another whole set of problems to deal with, married to that man.

  She was thankful her father was at work when she got home, so she’d been able to slip into her room without being seen—or questioned. Papa knew she’d been helping Deborah and Curt, and he’d started questioning her lately about the new man working there. Her blushes had given him all the information he’d needed, and he’d informed her he intended to meet Will and see if he passed muster. She’d cringed at the thought, but now it didn’t matter. Will didn’t care to see her again.

  A knock at the door reverberated through the house, then it came again. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and pushed to her feet. If it was Jerold, she’d send him packing with no doubt to her feelings this time. She was in no mood to be trifled with after losing Will and Laura.

  Gracie threw open the door, her lips wide to get in the first word before Jerold could speak, but they closed as soon as she saw Will, hat in his hands. Stunned, she stood with her heart thudding a dull beat in her ears.

  He gestured toward the parlor through the open door. “May I come in and speak to you?”

  She nodded and stepped aside. Papa would be home any moment, and they probably should sit on the porch until he arrived, but right now she didn’t care about propriety. She simply wanted to get this over—there was nothing romantic about his request. Will had come to make sure she’d understood his demand at the pond about Laura.

  “Would you care for coffee?”

  “No, thank you. May I sit?” He stood uneasily before an overstuffed chair.

  “Please.” She perched on one across the room. “I know why you’re here, and I’ll honor your request not to see Laura again.”

  He bolted from the chair and stood, towering over her. “That’s not why I’m here.” He clutched his hat so hard the brim crinkled. “I owe you an apology, Gracie.”

  “What?” She met his
gaze for the first time. “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes. I was harsh to you at the pond, and I had no right.” He sucked in a sharp breath and plunged on. “Curt gave me a good talking to when I got back, and he’s right. I’ve been letting guilt over my sister’s death color everything I do with Laura—and with how I’ve been treating you.”

  She listened, not sure she understood. “Could you explain, please?”

  He nodded and settled onto the edge of the sofa nearby, only an arm’s length from her. “You are so similar to my sister that it scared me. The same bright, sunny personality—the same sense of adventure and fun. You’ve been trying to disguise it these past few days, I think maybe to show me you aren’t a danger to Laura, but it’s who you are.

  “Part of me has been worried for Laura, but I realized today that the other part has been terrified to allow myself to fall in love with you, on the chance you might get hurt. Or worse, do something foolish and die. I couldn’t face that possibility, so I pushed you away.”

  Gracie sat still, trying to take it all in. Only one thing he’d said stood out. “Terrified to allow yourself to fall in love with me? Is that what you said?” Joy tried to sing through her heart, but fear that she’d heard wrong tamped it back down.

  He nodded then reached out his hand and clasped hers. “I know it’s too soon to say this—we haven’t known each other long—but I care for you, Gracie, more than I’ve ever cared for any woman. I want a chance to get to know you better. To court you as a woman like you deserves to be courted and, I hope, win your love in return.” He paused and sucked in another breath. “That is, unless that fellow who was here the other day has beat me to it.”

  She giggled and shook her head. “Jerold Carnegie? I think not. I sent him packing a few minutes after you left. I had nothing to do with him appearing on my doorstep, nor did I care to have him stay.” She sobered as another thought smote her. “But what about Carissa?”

  “Who?” His face was a total blank.

  Gracie relaxed. “Miss Sanderson, Laura’s teacher. I thought you might be interested in her.”

  His eyes widened. “She’s a very nice lady, but she seems a bit tame. Definitely nothing like a fiery redhead I know.” He raised the back of her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss there, long and slow. “Would you allow me to court you, Gracie? With the hope that one day I might win you as my bride?”

  A step sounded in the open doorway and Gracie looked up. Her father stood there, a bemused look on his face. “So what do you have to say to this young man’s question, my girl? I’ve been talking to Curt Warren about Will, and it seems he’s a good worker and an honest man.” He turned his attention to Will. “And while I’d have preferred he ask my permission to court you first, I’ll allow it if it’s what you want.”

  Will pushed to his feet and drew Gracie with him, nodding his thanks to her father. He waited, both of her hands held in his.

  She raised her face and smiled. “I’d like that very much. I’ve known since the day you pulled me out of that tree and I landed in your lap that I cared for you.” Warmth flowed into her cheeks, but she kept her gaze steady on his. “I’m a bit forward, but you’ll have to take me as I am. Although I’ll promise not to climb any more trees if that makes you happy.”

  Will drew Gracie closer. “I don’t care how many trees you climb, or teach Laura to climb. I’ll even build you both a tree house if you’d like that. I’ve decided to trust both of you to God’s loving care and quit worrying. As long as you’ll be careful and promise me one thing.”

  Her heart skittering like a filly bounding through a meadow in the springtime, she nodded. “Anything.”

  “I know I said we’d court, but since you said you care, I hope you won’t make me wait too long.” He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “I’m praying you’ll consider becoming my summertime bride—that you might marry me in a couple months, before fall sets in, under the dogwood tree where we first met. There’s nothing that would make me happier.”

  Gracie looked at her father and saw his happy expression. She laid her cheek against Will’s chest to feel his own racing heartbeat and sighed. “Nor me. A summertime bride sounds about as perfect as anything can be.”

  Miralee Ferrell and her husband, Allen, live on eleven acres in Washington State. Miralee loves interacting with people, ministering at her church, (she is a certified lay counselor with the AACC), riding her horse, and playing with her dogs. An award-winning and bestselling author, she speaks at various women’s functions and has taught at writers’ conferences. Since 2007, she’s had ten books released, both in women’s contemporary fiction and historical romance. Miralee recently started a newsletter, and you can sign up for it on her website/blog at www.miraleeferrell.com.

  The Lumberjack’s Bride

  Pam Hillman

  © 2015 by Pam Hillman

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1- 63409-576-1

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1- 63409-575-4

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  Chapter 1

  The piney woods along Sipsey Creek, Mississippi, June 1889

  Lucy Denson wove her way among the towering pines, her attention focused on the steady buzz of a crosscut saw up ahead.

  She hefted the basket, filled with lunch for the lumberjacks, and huffed out a breath, blowing a wispy strand of hair off her face. Why Papa had insisted on returning to Mississippi was beyond her. Of course when her cousin Jack’s logging business had taken off and he’d asked for help, Papa had felt obliged to leave Chicago and use his bookkeeping skills to manage the books for Jack and his partner. She wrinkled her brow as the tip of her boot scattered the remains of a rotten log and black beetles scampered out. Seemed like Jack could have found someone else to keep the books.

  His own sister, Annabelle, had been a school teacher. She was perfectly capable of tallying a column of numbers. But no, tradition dictated the books had to be managed by a man, so her father had packed up the entire family and moved them all back to Mississippi, and no amount of begging could induce him to let her stay in Chicago.

  Tears smarted her eyes.

  And just when Deotis Reichart had started to take notice of her. Her father’s impetuous midlife crisis had ruined the chance for the life she dreamed of. She pushed thoughts of what she’d left behind in Chicago to the back of her mind, hiked her skirt, and navigated a steep incline. Right now she’d promised her cousin Annabelle she’d deliver thick slabs of roast beef sandwiches and roasted potatoes to the men working on the ridge up ahead. She might not be able to cook, but she was willing to help out in any way she could. She paused and cocked her head, listening for the saws.

  And that’s when she spotted the spider web stretched between two trees. She stopped and stared, the intricate design eye-catching in its simplicity. She stood transfixed, trying to memorize the pattern so she could repeat it with her crochet needles. She regretted not having anything to sketch the web. After all, she hadn’t expected to run into such beauty when she’d ventured into the woods.

  The web quivered, and her gaze snapped upward where she spotted a large yellow-and-black spider. She shuddered and stepped back. The web design was fascinating,
but she could do without the spider. The spell broken, she veered around the web, left the spider to its business, and started off again. The sooner she delivered the men’s lunch, the sooner she could head back to the cook shack, where the smoke from the stove kept the spiders, mosquitoes, and bugs at bay.

  And maybe there she could scrounge up a scrap of paper to sketch the web.

  “Keep sawing.” Eli Everett’s muscles ached with fatigue as he pushed the crosscut saw toward his little brother, Josiah.

  An amused grunt rumbled through his chest. He’d have to amend his thinking. Josiah had shot up like a green sapling in the last year, and no one would dare call him little anymore. Hard work behind a crosscut saw had honed his muscles until Eli wouldn’t want to be caught on his bad side. Not that that was likely to happen. Josiah was as easygoing as a lazy dog in the shade.

  A creaking noise interrupted his musing, and his attention focused sharply on the job at hand. He could feel Josiah letting up on his end of the saw, a sure sign his brother thought it was time to make a run for it. Eli gripped the handles and thrust the saw back toward his brother, an unspoken order that they needed to stay with the tree a few minutes longer.

  Suddenly the creak turned into a full-fledged groan that didn’t let up. They paused, easing the saw out to protect it from damage. His head tilted back. He lifted his gaze upward, skimming the tall, long length of the loblolly pine. The top swayed, and he nodded at Josiah.

  “Timber!” Josiah took off at a run.

  Eli turned, and that’s when he saw her.

  Right in the path of the severed pine tree.

  Head down, she picked her way toward him, a wide-brimmed straw hat shading her features, pink gauzy ribbons tied under her chin swaying gently in the breeze. Her gaze lifted and met his. In a split second, Eli took in everything about her, from the brilliant blue of her eyes, hair as pale as fresh-cut lumber, the light-colored sprigged skirt cinched about her narrow waist, to the white shirtwaist and crocheted shawl draped across her shoulders, even the basket looped over her arm.