THIRTY-SIX
Magdalena stood over Sister Theresa’s grave. Claire stood beside her, her arm around her shoulder. “She was a saint in every sense of the word.”
“She was, Mags, she truly was, and you know what?”
“What?” Magdalena asked, sadness weighing her voice.
“She told the gunman that she would pray for him, did you know that? And she told him that he couldn’t kill her because the worst that could happen is that her soul would go to Paradise.”
“I know,” Magdalena acknowledged. “But thank you for reminding me.” Her eyes filled with tears—the painful kind. “I miss her,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Claire agreed, “God must have decided He needed her more there.”
Magdalena smiled, “That’s a beautiful way to look at it,” she agreed.
“Come on, my friend. Let’s go back to my house. Mary said she’d have dinner ready for us, and if I don’t get you back soon, I’ll be in trouble with the doc.”
Claire turned to leave, but Magdalena’s words stopped her.
“I love him.” She stated simply.
“I know you do, Mags. Just give it some time,” Claire encouraged.
“No, I lost him by not being completely honest. That hurts far more than anything else I’ve endured,” she admitted.
“God works in mysterious ways, Mags. Have faith.”
* * *
“Magdalena, will you walk with me?” Lance asked shortly after dinner was over.
Her eyes flew to his. “Yes, of course,” she agreed, admonishing her hopeful heart to quiet down.
He offered her his arm, and she wrapped her arm around his as he led them through the door and down the steps to the Main Street.
“Sister Theresa will be missed. Are you okay?” He asked.
“I’m sad, Lance,” she admitted. “I struggle with wondering if there’s something I could have done to prevent it.”
“You were focused on the children’s safety, as you should have been. As it was—,” he hesitated, “I could have lost you.”
She glanced sideways at him. Had she heard him correctly? “Let’s sit here,” he suggested, placing his hand on the small of her back, directing her toward a bench in front of the town merchant’s store.
“Magdalena—“
“Lance—“
They both started and then laughed.
“You first,” she giggled.
He took her hands in his and she looked at him curiously.
“Magdalena, I’m sorry for my haste and poor reaction when I found out about your father’s ultimatum.”
“I shouldn’t have kept it from you,” she protested, squeezing his hand.
“No, you shouldn’t have,” he agreed, his eyes focused on hers, “but I should have been open to listening to you, and hearing your explanation of why you waited to tell me.”
She nodded.
“I spoke with your father when I was in Philadelphia, and he told me what he had done. I don’t think he was proud of it,” Lance paused, “but I think he did what he felt was best for you, at least in his own mind.”
She nodded again, her eyes fixed on his.
“Magdalena, I could have lost you, and it was a necessary awakening on how barebones my facilities are here, and trust me, your father didn’t mince any words when it came to that fact. He loves you, and he was very worried. We all were.”
Where was he going with this? She wondered.
“I’m saying all of this to say that I’ve fallen in love with you,” he smiled, “and while in Philadelphia I asked your father for permission to marry you.”
She squeezed his hand tighter, and her eyes were shining now, but with happy tears.
“Magdalena Allen, will you marry me? I don’t want to waste one more day without you as my wife. There’s no one on this earth who can complete me like you can, and although I know I can be bossy and demanding at times, and that won’t change,” he warned, “I love you. “Will you agree to be my wife?”
Magdalena had tears streaming down her face now. “I thought I’d lost you,” she admitted with a whisper. “I thought I would never marry, and I was furious with my father and his ridiculous ultimatum, but you changed all that, Lance.” She glanced down at his hands holding hers. “Yes, yes I will marry you! I love you,” her eyes shone into his.
He gathered her into his arms and held her tight. “I don’t want a long engagement,” he admitted.
“I don’t either,” she agreed. “Let’s have something small and—soon,” she blushed.
She gasped as his fingers brushed a wisp of her hair back from her face.
“I won’t change who I am, Magdalena, but I can promise you that I will always take care of you, do what’s best for you, and love you with all my heart. Can you accept that?”
She laughed. ‘I’ll try to be better about letting you do that,” and then her eyes grew wide as his hands circled her waist. “I—I’ll telegraph my father tomorrow,” she assured him breathlessly.
“Maybe we should draft that telegram tonight, my beautiful bride-to-be," he suggested, as his lips claimed hers.
EPILOGUE
“Magdalena Allen, do you take Doctor Lance Holloway to be your wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death you do part, according to God's holy ordinance?”
Magdalena paused for just a moment. Lance’s left eyebrow raised ever so slightly and she bit her lower left lip. “Yes, I do,” she agreed with a mischievous smile.
Lance’s eyes smiled back. She was really marrying this handsome, intelligent, kind, and very bossy man. The butterflies in her stomach did a perpetual dance every time she was near him, and now he would be hers and she would be his.
Lance took Magdalena’s hands in his, running his thumb gently inside her palm. Her breath hitched, her eyes widened, and her heart pounded in her chest. “With this Ring,” his voice continued low and strong, “I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Life with this man would never be dull, and she couldn’t wait to begin her new life as Mrs. Lance Holloway.
* * *
Thank you for reading Reluctantly Charmed—the love story of Doctor Holloway and Magdalena!
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental. Bareglen Creek, Texas is a fictional town set near San Antonio, and part of the Heroes of Texas, a Christian Western Romance series.
Copyright 2018 by Kate Cambridge
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Property of Kate Cambridge | August 2018
ISBN: 978-1-947171-09-1
Chapter 1
Mary | Bareglen Creek, TX | October 1896
Mary Hawarden Trost stood at the window of her modest ranch, watching her brother Jim move toward the barn. Partly hidden by the curtains she’d purchased from the mercantile in town, she brushed away the tears running down her cheeks with a deep sigh.
Outside, she heard the sounds of Colossal, the Longhorn, trying to get Jim’s attention as he strode past his corral, and the bark of Goliath, her dog. Familiar sounds that normally brought her comfort—but today she felt anything but.
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sp; She leaned against the window frame and took a deep breath—a breath that as she exhaled seemed to only quicken the stream of tears that coursed down her face, rolling under her chin to her neck. She gulped, forcing the torrent to stop before it turned into uncontrollable sobs.
She hadn’t told her brother about the telegram she’d received yesterday from her deceased husband’s family—they’d been her family once, too, but now they were her enemies. They’d never wanted Mike to leave Philadelphia, and to be fair, her family hadn’t wanted her to leave either, but Mary had promised to work as a volunteer teacher at an orphanage run by Sisters just outside Bareglen Creek for a minimum of three months, and once she and Mike had fallen in love, he’d decided they should marry and go to Bareglen Creek together.
Mike’s family had never forgiven Mary for that, and the final straw had been his death. Mary’s hand moved to her stomach, desperate to quell the visceral sadness that threatened to overwhelm her. Mike had been gone a year now—but there were times when it seemed like yesterday when his laughter would fill the walls of their small farm home, and his strong body, their bed. How she missed him!
Mary had heard that some people found a love that was so unique and rich that it could only be found once, but until she’d fallen in love with Mike, she hadn’t believed it. Her eyes shifted to watch her brother as he moved hay into the barn—her mouth turned up at the edges. Her brother was one of the best men she’d ever known, and after Mike’s death and funeral, he’d moved to Bareglen Creek to help her with the small farm she and Mike had started.
When she and Mike had first arrived in Bareglen Creek, they rented a small living space above the mercantile until they purchased the land and built a dwelling to live in. Mary had taught at the orphanage, but over time, Mike had needed her at the farm and they’d worked it together full-time before he died. She’d planned to return and manage it on her own, and she’d certainly tried to assure her father and brother that she could, but true to the Hawarden men’s reputation for stubbornness, they wouldn’t hear of her returning without Jim once they realized they could not convince her to sell the farm and remain in Philadelphia.
In retrospect, she was incredibly grateful for Jim, despite the fact that she felt guilty that he’d left his life in Philadelphia behind to help her—she was now quite certain she wouldn’t have been able to have managed the farm without him despite her intentions.
Jim had given up so much, and she’d fought hard to hang onto the small farm and the dream she and Mike had created together—but now she would likely be forced to give it up if Mike’s family had their way.
Mike’s family had been silent after the funeral, and they’d made it clear they wanted no further contact with Mary, so when the telegram arrived yesterday from his parents with the demand that she turn the rights to the farm over to them, she’d been shocked.
A wave of grief made her clench the window frame. She’d believed the old adage that time was the best healer, but if so, why did she feel a lump of sorrow clogging her throat so tightly that she wouldn’t be able to speak even if she wanted to?
She knew she needed to discuss the telegram with Jim tonight, and had planned to do so over dinner, but she wanted to do it with her emotions under control. She needed to have a sense of how she wanted to move forward with this before she spoke with him—but at this point she was afraid she would turn into a blithering mess. Waiting another day to tell him wasn’t wise because the telegram had been clear that they wanted a response from her within a fortnight.
The ache in Mary’s heart had grown over the last few hours rather than lessened. She felt guilty—guilty as she’d found herself questioning God anew. Why had He taken Mike from her? Why did Mike’s family hate her so? Why, why, why?
She swung away from the window and paced the kitchen floor. Her stomach was in knots, her eyes swollen, and she felt as though she were a mute—unable to open her mouth or speak.
Why, Father? She moaned from the depths of her soul.
Be still, and know that I am God, He whispered back.
Mary ran to her bedroom and fell to her knees, grabbed the Bible on her side table, and clutched it to her chest. Sobs began to wrack her body. She had no sense of time or how long she’d been on her knees, but as the sobs began to quiet, she whispered back, “I’m so sorry, Heavenly Father. Please forgive me.”
Chapter 2
Lee Jamison | Philadelphia. PA
Dr. Lee Jamison turned the page of the latest medical reference book on depression and grief written by a renowned German researcher and psychiatrist. He wasn’t sure he agreed with the doctor’s findings, but it was important for him to stay abreast of the research in his field taking place across the world—whether he agreed with it or not.
Lee set the book aside with a sigh, his eyes absently roamed his compact office inside the Institute of Pennsylvania Hospital before standing to look out the small window behind his chair. The sun was setting, and his day was coming to a close, yet he still had to review his lesson for the following day’s classes. Normally he looked forward to the class he taught at the University of Pennsylvania—he taught some of the greatest student minds in the field of medicine—and the weight of his influence on these young, bright minds weighed heavily on him. He was well aware they would impact the course of medicine and psychiatry moving forward, for those who chose the field.
The field and practice of Psychiatry had already come a long way under the guidance of men like Dr. Thomas Kirkbride, his mentor at IPH, but Lee knew it still had a long way to go. His predecessors had done their best, but it was incredulous to think that even fifty years ago depression, grief, hysteria, and anxiety disorders were treated with horrifically barbaric methods.
But today his mind was somewhere else—or on someone else. Lee thought back on Lance and Magdalena Holloway’s wedding. It was a beautiful wedding and he was thankful his best friend and former University of Pennsylvania medical school classmate had found a woman that completed him in ways no other woman ever had or could.
Lee and Lance were both traditionalists when it came to finding the woman they would mate for life, and although it was becoming unpopular in light of the Suffragette movement, they both believed in the traditional submission of a wife to her husband under the caveat that a man would love his wife as Christ loved the Church and gave Himself for it.
Finding a wife hadn’t been at the top of Lee’s list of important things to do or accomplish. But seeing the happiness of Sheriff Sullivan Clarke and his wife Claire, and now Lance, both former classmates, had changed that. Well, that, and the spirited and beautiful Mary Hawarden Trost.
The image of Mary, a widow and Claire’s sister, came unbidden to his mind often throughout the day—each and every day since he’d seen her at Lance and Magdalena’s wedding. Lee had met Mary originally months ago in Bareglen Creek, Texas, when he was visiting Lance. Lance had set up a new medical practice in the town, and Lee had visited for a few weeks over a vacation break. It had been a whirlwind vacation with more danger, adventure, and hands-on medical practice than Lee had seen in a long time.
Since then Lee had seen Mary at the wedding, and then gone to Bareglen Creek to cover Lance’s medical practice while he and Magdalena were on an extended honeymoon. The corners of his mouth turned up as he remembered Mary’s reaction when she’d found out he, Sully and Claire would be traveling to Bareglen Creek together on the train.
Lee’s eyebrows creased as he considered Mary’s reaction to his presence on the trip and his request to court her. She had outright refused and told him she was still grieving Mike—her husband’s death. She’d told him she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready to remarry. Since then she’d avoided him like the plague, even while he was in Bareglen Creek covering for Lance.
Upon his return to Philadelphia, his mother, Susan, had begun pressuring him to find a suitable wife and marry, especially once she caught wind of his interest in Mary Trost. Lee was usually effective at curbin
g his mother’s attempts to manipulate his life, but in this case, she’d gotten his father on board and they had made the entire process a challenge with dinner invitations that included beautiful young Philadelphian socialites.
After spending time in Bareglen Creek with Lance and Sully, and observing their relationships with the spirited and independent women who had become their wives, Lee realized that a wallflower wife wasn’t what he wanted—he wanted a woman of substance and strength—a woman who wanted more from life than tea parties and social events.
He wanted Mary.
Chapter 3
Mary | Bareglen Creek, TX
“Mary—Mary!” Jim’s voice cut through the haze of Mary’s mind. She wasn’t herself, and hadn’t been since dinner last night. She moved the eggs around on her plate—her mind a million miles away.
“What? Oh, I’m sorry, Jim. What were you saying?” Her tired eyes met his, as his dropped to the dark circles under her eyes.
“What’s going on, sis? You’re not yourself and you haven’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday.” He cut off her protest. “You’re just moving the food around on your plate. You need to eat. Are you ill? Should I call for Doc Holloway?”
She visibly bristled at the suggestion. “I’m fine, and there’s no reason to call for the doctor,” she quickly objected. The last thing she needed was the bossy Doctor Holloway on her case.
“Then eat,” her brother demanded.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not a child, Jim, so don’t treat me like one.”
He set his fork down and leaned across the table. “I’m not treating you like a child, Mary. This farm takes a lot of energy to run, and you’re already too thin. You have to eat—unless you’re unwell—in which case I absolutely will call for the doctor.”
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