“Thank you, Doc.” Gideon extended his hand to the doctor.
As the doctor shook Gideon’s hand, he nodded. “Mrs. Towson will be asleep for some time. There’s no need for you and Naomi to remain here. Why don’t you come back in three or four hours? I imagine you have other things to do.”
“We do.”
Gideon stared at Naomi, his surprise evident. “We do?”
“I thought we’d take a walk in the park,” she said as they left the doctor’s office. The moment she’d seen Gideon’s face when his prayer ended, Naomi had known what she needed to say. Now she was being given the opportunity to do it in the perfect setting.
Though Gideon appeared bemused by the request, he handed her into the carriage and drove to City Park’s perimeter, seemingly unfazed when she promised to explain only when they reached their destination.
Once they entered the park, Gideon let Naomi lead the way. Though he said nothing, she wondered if he realized they were retracing the steps they’d taken the night he’d asked her to marry him and if he had an inkling of what she planned to say.
It had been weeks since that night, weeks of pretending that nothing was wrong when her heart had been breaking. Had Gideon felt the same way, or had he changed his mind? She’d soon know.
When they reached the center of the park, Naomi stopped and looked up at Gideon. Though her heart was racing, to her amazement, her voice did not quaver when she spoke. Keeping her gaze fixed on him, she said, “The last time we were here, you asked me a question and I gave you an answer neither one of us liked. If you ask me again, my answer will be different.”
A light breeze fluttered the cottonwood leaves while a ground squirrel scampered at their feet. Though it was an ordinary day in the park for others, Naomi could scarcely breathe while she waited for Gideon’s response. Her future happiness hung in the balance.
The wait wasn’t long—perhaps no more than a second or two—but Naomi felt as if an eternity passed before he spoke. “I’m not the same person I was then,” Gideon said solemnly. “Many things have changed, but one thing has not, and that’s my love for you. I love you with all my heart.”
Gideon paused and laid one hand on Naomi’s cheek, mirroring the gesture she’d used the last time they’d stood here. This was what she’d hoped for. Gideon loved her as much as she loved him.
The sweetest of smiles curved his lips as he said, “I love you, Naomi, and I always will. Will you make me the happiest man alive? Will you marry me?”
Yes! Yes! Yes! Though the words wanted to tumble out, Naomi found herself asking, “When?”
She couldn’t blame Gideon when he blinked in surprise. That was not the answer he’d been expecting. “What do you mean?”
“When would you like us to be married?” As they’d entered the park and the summer sun had warmed her back, Naomi had realized that she did not want a long engagement. Though they’d been pretending to court, she and Gideon had spent more than three months doing the things an affianced couple would. They knew each other, and now that the final obstacle had been removed, there was no reason to delay the wedding.
A mischievous grin crossed Gideon’s face. “How about today?”
As appealing as the idea was, Naomi did not want to marry without her mother at her side. It would be a few days before Ma would be ready for that.
“I was thinking about next week,” she said. “While you were out on the range, your mother did her best to convince me that I should be a summer bride. We still have seven more days of summer, so if we married next week, both of our mothers could be with us, and I could be a summertime bride.”
Gideon’s eyes shone with happiness and so much love that Naomi caught her breath. “Sweetheart, I’ll marry you whenever and wherever you want.” As a mischievous smile crossed his face, he wrinkled his nose. “There is one problem, though. You still haven’t answered my question. Will you marry me?”
Naomi’s giggle turned into a laugh. “Of course I will. I love you, Gideon—now and forever.” And then, though it might scandalize anyone passing by, she raised her face for his kiss. This was Gideon, the man she loved, the man God had brought into her life to make her dreams come true. Together they would share a life of love and happiness, a life that would begin the day she became a bride of summer.
About the Author
Amanda Cabot is the bestselling author of more than thirty novels and half a dozen novellas, including Jeremy and Esther’s story, The Christmas Star Bride, and Waiting for Spring, which tells Madame Charlotte’s story. Although she grew up in the East, a few years ago Amanda and her high school sweetheart husband fulfilled a life-long dream and are now living in Cheyenne. In addition to writing, Amanda enjoys traveling and sharing parts of her adopted home with readers in her Wednesday in Wyoming blog. One of Amanda’s greatest pleasures is hearing from readers, and so she invites you to find her online at www.amandacabot.com.
The Summer Harvest Bride
Maureen Lang
Dedication
For Neil, always my hero.
Chapter 1
Finchville, Illinois, Spring 1851
Morning, Sally,” greeted Mrs. Gibbons as Sally Hobson stepped into the dry goods store. “You just missed Willis. He came in for a packet of pipe tobacco for the mayor not ten minutes ago.”
Sally held up the basket of eggs she’d brought to sell, suppressing an inward groan. But why shouldn’t Mrs. Gibbons assume she wanted to see Willis at every opportunity? The entire town began linking them together since last year’s harvest celebration when Willis had claimed her for nearly every dance. Catching the eye of the mayor’s son was considered quite a coup among the young ladies Sally’s age.
“I brought our eggs, Mrs. Gibbons.”
The storekeeper’s wife welcomed the basket at the counter, pulling her cashbox from a shelf underneath. “Did you hear about the newcomers?”
Sally shook her head then waited as Mrs. Gibbons counted the two-dozen eggs.
“Heard tell there’s a gang of ’em all in one family. Boys as big as David’s Goliath, every last one of them, all fresh from some town back East.”
Sally looked toward the window, glad she hadn’t seen them and hoping to avoid such a sight on her way back home, just outside of town. Having lived in Chicago, she’d learned to avoid bullies and didn’t welcome a pack of them here in the peaceful, quiet town of Finchville.
“They were spotted down by the spring this morning, measuring and counting off steps to who-knows-what. Now they’re here in town. One of ’em came in here and invited everyone out to the town pump to hear some kind of idea that’s supposed to benefit everybody. Imagine that! Don’t even live here, and they’re snooping around; then inviting all of us out.”
“What sort of benefit?”
“Didn’t say.” Mrs. Gibbons handed Sally a few coins for the eggs. “Why don’t you run on over and see what it’s all about? Mr. Gibbons is already there, and you’ll probably see Willis, too.”
Sally pocketed the money and nodded, although she wasn’t sure about following Mrs. Gibbons’s suggestion. No one in her family had been gladder than Sally to leave the ever-growing swarm of people in Chicago. She’d rejoiced when Father announced his intention to take up farming on the Illinois prairie in Finchville. The little town sat on the main road between Chicago and Iowa, in the middle of one of the few areas that included a forest, river, and rolling hills on the otherwise flat but fertile prairie.
Still, it did stir curiosity for a group of strangers to gather the entire town together. Wasting everybody’s time wasn’t likely to inspire many friendships, if they planned to stay. The farmers around town had only one thing on their mind this time of year: planting. The fields were too wet after a late snowmelt and early spring rains, but the land would soon be ready to enfold the seeds of this year’s crops.
She stepped outside, wondering if her sister was in town yet. Alice and her husband, Arthur, farmed on the opposite side of to
wn, but Sally and Alice coordinated their days to drop off eggs and butter in town. If Alice had heard about the newcomers, she was probably already at the town pump.
Slipping her empty egg basket onto her arm, Sally joined a few others already headed in that direction. Mr. Granger, the baker, tipped his hat her way as he walked along without a word.
The pump was on the east side, near a grove of trees that beckoned travelers to take respite on their way through the wide, open prairie. The oak and beech trees were just beginning to bud, and today’s warm sunshine seemed to hurry the process.
Two unfamiliar wagons rested in the shadow of the Finchville Arms, the only hotel in town. Finchville bustled just two seasons a year, planting and harvest. But it appeared anyone in town today, with the exception of Mrs. Gibbons, was at the pump now.
Her gaze fell on the newcomers themselves and her heart unexpectedly fluttered. Perhaps they weren’t quite as large as Goliath, but each one tall, broad shouldered, sturdy and hard as the strongest oak. Four. . .five if she counted the patriarch in this family, judging by the thatch of thick gray hair above a still handsome but leathery face.
For a moment she wondered if this was some sort of ploy to get the townsfolk together and rob them all at once. Who would stop them? Sheriff Tilney wasn’t the only one absent—she didn’t see Willis or his father, the mayor, either. Had some other member of their so-called family diverted the town’s only officials so they could be about their crime?
Telling herself she should have waited for Alice at the store, she started to turn back when one of the men stepped out from his pack.
“People! People!” rang his voice as he jumped on the iron bench near the pump. He waved onlookers closer. “Thank you for the warm welcome to your fair town!”
He was definitely not like the pictures she’d seen of the cruel warrior Goliath, always portrayed with a fierce scowl before meeting his unlikely death. If anything, this man was a matured David—someone who’d inspired more than one heroic story.
“Permit me to introduce myself and my family,” he said as he crossed his chest with one palm and gave a quick bow. “I am Lukas Daughton and these”—now sweeping that strong palm to the men behind him—“are my brothers.” Each one saluted as Lukas called a name: “Bran. Fergus. Nolan. Owny. And finally”—he leaned down to hold up one of the older man’s hands—“may I present the best of us all, our father, Nathaniel Daughton, the finest engineer west of Baltimore.”
He turned his attention back to the crowd, perhaps counting how many were present. When his gaze roamed he stopped at Sally before going on, but looked at her again—only to let his glance linger with a smile.
She looked away, hiding her face with the brim of her bonnet for fear he would see evidence of the blush his notice had ignited.
“Now why, you might be thinking,” he went on, “does this family of burly men want to steal a few minutes of your day? Let me tell you we’ve heard of this little hamlet, with its sparkling creek and fertile farmland, and the forests to block the harshest weather the prairie offers. So we came out here to see for ourselves if this might be the place for us to do what we do best: build a grist mill that will serve not only your farms but those from this entire county.”
Whispers erupted here and there, but Sally couldn’t tell if her neighbors were interested or skeptical. While there were a number of small mills connected to towns between Chicago and Iowa, there weren’t many and all were a considerable distance away. How her father would delight in being able to grind corn meal or flour right here in town!
And yet. . .she reined in her interest. That would certainly change things around here. “What’s this all about?”
The call came from a familiar voice not far behind Sally. Mayor Silas Pollit, Willis’s father, possessed a voice that fairly whistled, like a bullet before hitting its mark. Although he’d already been mayor when Sally and her family moved to Finchville three years ago, she’d always wondered if his voice was one of the reasons he’d been elected. No one could ignore such a grating, if commanding, sound.
“Ah!” The newcomer’s voice carried, it had to be said, much sweeter on the ear. “I can tell by the cut of your coat you’re a man of some renown.” Yes, Lukas Daughton’s voice was definitely easier to enjoy. Loud enough to be heard, yet smooth and easy as it slipped inside and coated the inner workings of her ear with pleasing tones. She wondered how he would sound in church, singing a hymn. If he went to church at all.
Willis Pollit had arrived with his father and took a step closer to Sally, greeting her with a silent, familiar smile. He touched her elbow, too, and she crossed her arms to let her basket dangle between them. Why had she never noticed how possessive Willis’s touch must appear?
The surprising question filling Sally’s mind was why such a motion from Willis should suddenly feel more annoying than it had only yesterday?
Chapter 2
Lukas Daughton believed a face was made for smiling, because it took so much more effort to frown. Usually sooner than later, most people proved him right. Smiling was contagious.
It didn’t take long to guess the newcomer, the mayor, someone had called him, looked like he didn’t find much to smile about. The comfortable creases in his forehead gave him away.
Undeterred, Lukas included the crowd in their conversation as he made his way closer to the man he no doubt had to convince, if he truly was the mayor.
“I commend you, sir, for guarding the best interests of these fine town folk.” Lukas glanced around, starting in the direction of the young woman he’d spotted earlier. Edging closer to the mayor had brought him closer to her. She was even prettier than he thought, with her creamy skin and wide blue eyes. How many shades of blue had God created? The shade in her eyes was surely the prettiest. And her skin looked softer than those kidskin gloves his father gave Lukas’s mother on her last Christmas this side of Heaven.
Lukas started his familiar speech, knowing it so well he could let his eyes return often to the girl without losing his place. “My father was born in Ireland, the son of a miller. From his youngest days, he saw the workings of a mill, from the gears under the millstone to the buckets on the water wheel. Before long his father heard of another miller who wanted to build a new grist wheel in the next county, and so he sent his oldest son—my father—at just fourteen years old, to help with the construction and be an apprentice. That began my father’s education of how the best mills work. Something that has benefited others already and will do the same for you. If you let us.”
With a wave to remind everyone of his brothers, he added, “Together we have built four mills under our father’s direction. Before that, my father worked on or repaired more than a half-dozen mills in Ireland. Here in America our four mills serve farming communities that are now centers of commerce and success.”
“And how is it you aim to build such a thing?” the mayor asked, looking him over with an eye that didn’t miss their humble clothing. “Newcomers around here bring their own investments, and I imagine this will be quite costly. How do you propose to fund such an ambitious endeavor if you don’t intend to earn a living from it after it’s built?”
Lukas patted the man’s ample shoulder with just enough assurance and confidence to avoid any hint of condescension. “We supply the labor, as well as the most important element of all: the know-how. The rest—and by that I mean the cost of material—we humbly submit would be shared by the town that will reap the benefits.”
“Ridiculous,” the mayor grumbled, shaking his head so that his double chin wobbled. “Do you expect us to entrust our resources or hard-earned money to strangers?”
“We’re happy to earn that trust.” Lukas looped his thumbs through his suspenders, all the while keeping the girl within the periphery of his vision. He pulled out the newspaper clippings he carried in his pocket, and handed them to the mayor. Several stories recounted the names and successes associated with mills they’d left behind, complete with t
he Daughton name as builders.
“What makes you think we believe you didn’t have these articles printed yourself, just to fool unsuspecting towns like ours?”
“We can show you letters of recommendation from our past customers. But you might think we wrote them ourselves.” He winked at the mayor. “The articles name the towns pleased with our work, all four, and you can send for verification. In the meantime”—he smiled again in the general vicinity of the girl rather than straight at her, because he sensed shyness in her refusal to meet his gaze—“we can get to work on first things first. The friendship.”
A young man standing between him and the girl took another step closer to Lukas, fairly putting her behind him. Lukas had noticed how close he’d chosen to stand beside her, but Lukas wasn’t yet ready to believe the man’s claim on her. He was likely related to the town official, unless the similarity in the curve of their frowning brows was coincidence. Why would such a pretty girl want to be part of a family so unaccustomed to something as easy as smiling?
“What’s to make us believe the person you recommend we contact isn’t some crony of yours, paid to say whatever you want us to hear? You might not even be the Daughton builders you claim to be, but frauds using their name and reputation.”
“I can tell this is a town filled with clever people!” Lukas spoke with gusto. “I like that. Why not simply address it to the name of the town, in care of the sheriff, or the mayor, or some other official as you please? A postmaster? An innkeeper? A storekeeper? We couldn’t possibly know where the letter would land, could we? But I guarantee everyone in each town we left will know our names and can tell you about the success with our mills. And you can ask for descriptions of us. Five such handsome men as ourselves are hard to forget,” he added with another wink.
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