by Annie Boone
“I thought we had passed everything along.”
The few things she had started to work on from time to time—little blankets and hats and shoes—in the hope that soon a baby would be growing inside her had been given to young mothers who actually could use such items.
Not trusting her voice, she nodded. But then, Susannah reprimanded herself, they were over this. The woman reminded herself of the happiness and joy she had already. Lucas tossed the yarn over to the table, out of her view. Before she could turn to it, he was guiding her to the bedroom with the lowly lit lantern. “I’ll pass it along to Mrs. Ruthers tomorrow, I think. She has another one on the way.”
She already had six children. Susannah shook her head and sighed, leaning into her husband as they made their way into the bedroom. It was big and it was spacious, very comfortable with their separate chests and large canopied bed. Susannah was blessed with so much, why did she think she needed anything more?
“We have children,” she mused finally, once she had changed for the night. “Don’t we? Not the pigs, of course. Young ladies, eyes bright and hopeful with so much to learn. We just get them for a shorter amount of time, really.”
Lucas smiled after a moment, and nodded. Their eyes met, and it started her heart as it always did. She could see all of him when they looked at one another, and Susannah knew every part of his soul.
“You’re right,” he said. “Mrs. Ruthers and her brood will never compare to what we accomplish.”
It made her giggle. “Oh, be nice. And I’m sure she’ll appreciate the blanket. Perhaps I’ll finish it for her first?” She inhaled deeply, falling into her pillow. “I really am lucky, you know.”
“Oh really?” He snuffed the lantern out and pulled her close. Though they were growing older, some things never changed, and that’s what Susannah loved. He had changed over the last few years as well, growing quieter in many ways but much sillier. He liked to laugh more than he wanted to search out trouble, which was a change she loved.
Had she grown? Susannah yawned and wondered this even as her husband kissed her brow, brushing back a strand of hair that had escaped her braid. She brushed her fingertips across his jawline almost absently, wondering how he was always so warm. Closing her eyes, Susannah Jessup curled close to her husband, and knew she had everything she needed right there beside her.
* * *
Did you love reading about Susannah and Lucas and how their love story began and grew? If so, you might want to read about Susannah’s friend, Eleanor, from Boston. Eleanor will come for a visit and just maybe she’ll find her perfect match.
Read the preview by turning the page.
Preview – Eleanor and Matthew from the Colorado Matchmaker Series
Boston, Massachusetts; 1877
Eleanor sighed. The faint smell of baking pies wafted past her nose, their fragrance weakened by the pies having cooled. It was a cold, damp spring day, and business was slow. People didn’t go to the open market when it was this soggy out unless they had to.
The weather wasn’t having a favorable effect on Eleanor’s wares, either. Usually she’d have a few days to sell her baked goods before they were too stale, but her rolls and pies seemed to soak up the moisture in the air. Perhaps it was just the dreary fog weighing Eleanor down, along with the warm coats, smart hats, and necessary offerings of every other man, woman and stall in the market.
“Slow morning, isn’t it?” Mrs. Kent, who worked at the vegetable stand next door, yelled over. Not many people were purchasing her wares, either.
“You’re telling me. I don’t know how many more days like this I can take.” Eleanor said, shaking her head.
“Aye. This weather’s a devil to business.”
Eleanor sighed again. Mrs. Kent might be losing sales, but she didn’t have as much to lose as Eleanor. Her husband was a farmer, and very much alive. Even if they were low on money, they could live off their farm—at least for a while. Eleanor didn’t have that luxury. If she didn’t sell pies and all her other baked goods, she might not have a roof over her head.
Eleanor Trimble, at the tender age of twenty-four, had become a widow. Influenza had taken her husband John only months after their baby had been stillborn. That had been a year ago, and since then she’d been selling baked goods at the market. Eleanor’s pies were good, but it’s hard to build a life on selling baked goods in an open air market.
Picking up her knife, Eleanor sliced into a rhubarb pie.
“Can’t let all this go to waste.” she said, handing a large slice to Mrs. Kent.
Once a pie was started, it simply had to be finished. By the time the market closed, Eleanor and Mrs. Kent had eaten a whole pie between them.
Eleanor shook her head as she packed her unsold goods into the hand-cart she used to trek to and from the market. She’d eaten more pie than she’d sold, today. Eleanor really couldn’t take any more days like this.
The scene at home was not encouraging, either. As soon as Eleanor walked through the door, her mother put her hands on her hips and looked at her expectantly. Eleanor pulled the day’s meager earnings from her pocket and dropped the coins into her mother’s hand.
“One pie and a dozen cookies.” she said shortly, not waiting for her mother to reply before heading to the kitchen. Mother followed her anyway, incensed.
“What kind of day’s work is this?” she scolded. “I slave here all day, taking in laundry to make a few pennies, and this is the help I get from you? Ungrateful girl. We don’t have to support you, you know. You’re a grown woman. You’ve got to contribute to the family like a grown woman.”
Eleanor put away her left over pies with her back to her ranting mother, mouthing the words of her lecture along with her. She’d heard this litany many times over.
Shortly after the death of Eleanor’s husband, the factory her father worked at had closed. He’d worked there for almost forty years. He now spent his days searching for new work, as without his income the family faced the threat of eviction, but he was too old and set in his ways for many employers to be happy with him.
The entire family was scrambling to take up the slack, from the widowed daughter to the youngest sons. The only people who didn’t seem concerned about the matter at all were Eleanor’s two older brothers, both well situated in trade jobs and both equally disinterested in their poor relations.
“It’s bad enough those brothers of yours can’t even be bothered to write.”
“Much less help out the rest of the family. Yes, Mama, I know.” Eleanor said wearily. “Trust me. I know.”
Christopher came scrambling into the apartment at that moment, interrupting Mother’s intensifying ire. He’d been dispatched to the post office to see if there was any mail. There was one letter, but not one that would make Mother happy. It was from Eleanor’s friend, Susannah Jessup, who’d moved out to Colorado to get married.
Eleanor disappeared to the semi-privacy of her bed. She shared a room with her younger brothers, but even when almost everyone was home she wasn’t likely to be bothered in there.
My dear Ellie,
I hope this letter finds you in better circumstance than when you last wrote. I have little to report of myself—
A few paragraphs detailing what news a small mountain town provided followed. Susannah wrote with enough detail and regularity about the residents of Pine Ridge that Eleanor knew exactly who she was talking about, even if she’d never met the new pastor or Matthew Connor in her life. Though Eleanor would have preferred reading more about what happened in Colorado, the subject of Susannah’s letter quickly turned to less pleasant things.
It distresses me to hear that life in Boston continues so bad. It makes me realize how few my problems really are in comparison. Even if I have no children, I have a husband and a home, and I’m not likely to lose either.
Do not think that I write only to brag about my good fortune. I want to share it with you. I’ve discussed it with Lucas, and he’s agreed that
it would be wonderful if you could come to Colorado and stay with us over the summer. I need help around the house, anyway, and a change of scenery might be just the thing you need. If nothing else, it would be much harder for your mother to nag at you in Colorado.
If you do choose to come, send a letter back right away, and we’ll know when to expect you. I took the liberty of outlining an itinerary that would have you arriving by train at a most reasonable time of day, though traveling overnight would be required. But you know it is a long journey from Boston to Colorado Springs. It would be lovely if you could be here for at least part of the spring.
Eleanor chuckled. That was just like Susannah, to get an idea in her head and run away with it. Just like when she’d decided to move west in the first place.
Setting the letter on the bed, Eleanor took a speculative look at the cheap calendar she’d pinned to the wall. It was March twentieth and that only gave her a few days to make a decision and mail a letter to her friends.
“Eleanor!” Mother’s voice came shrilling from downstairs. “Get in here and help with dinner!”
Well, it didn’t take long to make that decision. As far as Eleanor was concerned, being in Colorado before the snow melted was her new priority.
***
If you want to find out what happens next for Eleanor, find more information here:
http://www.annieboone.com/Colorado-Matchmaker/Eleanor
About Annie Boone
Bestselling author Annie Boone admits that sweet love stories are a passion for her. She also enjoys history, so writing about the two together is the perfect combination for her. Her love of history was passed down by her father and cultivated by her husband.
Annie has always had a quiet story teller hiding inside and now she has the time to put those stories on paper and share them. Her hope is that her stories will entertain readers and her words will inspire the ones who need it the most. The Christian elements she includes often help remind her of her own faith as she writes.
Annie lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and the two most wonderful cats in the world. She loves to travel, cook for her family and friends, and watch as much sports as possible. She also loves to read. Of course!
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Also by Annie Boone
Annie is a bestselling author with books in series and stand alone stories. Each series is a set of books with a common thread, but stories don’t have cliff hangers and each one always has a happy ending.
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Cutter’s Creek Series – Collaboration Series with Kit Morgan, Vivi Holt, and Kari Trumbo
God Bless the Children
Kansas Mail Order Brides
The Parson’s Daughters
A Ready Made Family Plus the Sequel – Two for one special package
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