Blowing on Dandelions: A Novel (Love Blossoms in Oregon Series)

by Miralee Ferrell

  “Soon to be Katherine Jacobs, I hope,” she said with mischief. “I’m not a believer in long betrothals, so I hope you aren’t hankering to wait.”

  He tugged her toward the door. “We can head to the church right now.”

  A laugh sounded behind them. “At least let me recover my strength for a day or two. Besides, I believe you still need to collect on that ‘deposit,’ Katherine.”

  Warmth stole into her cheeks as Mama’s laughter followed them out the door, but Katherine’s heart sang. Micah loved her, and that was more than enough.

  On top of it all, Mama had done the unexpected and not only apologized, but expressed pride in her daughter. For the first time in years her mother had shown her affection. And, beyond that, approval.

  The two most important people in the world besides her daughters had declared their love. Her life and hope were restored once more. No longer would she need to wish on foolish dandelion fluff blowing on the wind. No, indeed. The Lord was her strength and her fortress, and His love and Micah’s would take her over any obstacle that came her way.

  … a little more …

  When a delightful concert comes to an end,

  the orchestra might offer an encore.

  When a fine meal comes to an end,

  it’s always nice to savor a bit of dessert.

  When a great story comes to an end,

  we think you may want to linger.

  And so, we offer ...

  AfterWords—just a little something more after you

  have finished a David C Cook novel.

  We invite you to stay awhile in the story.

  Thanks for reading!

  Turn the page for ...

  • Author’s Note

  • Great Questions

  • A Sneak Peek at Book Two: Wishing on Buttercups

  Author’s Note

  Why I Wrote This Story

  Blowing on Dandelions is a work of fiction in a historical setting, but it closely parallels daily events in today’s world. It is a book driven by emotion, centering on the pain and joy of the characters. Their story consumed me and wouldn’t let go until it was written—in fact, it still hasn’t let go. I want to share with you how the story came to be, so you can understand the depth of my passion. Hopefully, Blowing on Dandelions will bless you as much as it has me!

  It all started several years ago, when I bumped into a woman I’d met in the past. Over the course of our time together, she let slip little comments about her relationship with her mother. Let’s just say the comments were filled with pain and grief. Mama was alive, well, and still contributing to that pain and grief.

  I could bear it no longer, and while giving her a hug, asked if I could pray with her that God would grant her peace and healing. Through barely contained tears, she refused. Not that she wasn’t grateful, but she couldn’t tolerate the thought of attaining some kind of peace, only to return home to the same situation and have it shattered—or worse, new shards embedded into her healed heart. I went home heartsick and unable to shake the urgency to pray for my friend. I sensed her deep level of hopelessness that her life and relationship with her mother would never change. I prayed every time her name came to mind, which happened frequently. I couldn’t forget the despair in her voice the last time we spoke.

  As I asked the Lord what my next writing project should be, He gently directed me back to those memories. I knew He was showing me, over and over, that thousands of women ache with the same need—for approval, love, and acceptance, just as they are—from their mothers. He directed me to tell this story.

  At the time, I started writing Blowing on Dandelions as contemporary women’s fiction, but after two chapters, I decided the book would be better received if set in the 1800s. It was a bigger challenge showing the depth of the heroine’s emotions, as so much was demanded during that era in regards to respect and honor toward the older members of society, especially parents. Children didn’t speak back to their elders and often repressed how they felt.

  One night, while lying in bed (so many of my best ideas sprout there), I saw a picture of a woman sitting in a grassy field with dandelions in bloom, some gone to seed. She plucked one and blew on it, and the fluff drifted away on the wind. I heard this grown woman’s little-girl heart wish that she could drift off to a place where she’d never again be hurt.

  I couldn’t draw from personal experience, since I have a wonderful relationship with my own mother and count her as one of my best friends, as I do my grown daughter. Nevertheless, I knew I must write this book. I’m a licensed minister (not a pastor) and lay-counselor and minister to women at our church, so I’ve had occasion to pray for and with many hurting women who have struggled and continue to struggle with such relational pain.

  When I posted a request on my Facebook Reader’s Group, asking for women who had experienced a difficult childhood with their mother (extending into adult life) who were willing to fill out a survey and answer some questions, I received a flood of responses. Many of the heartbreaking answers helped flesh out the mother in this story, as well as the way in which Katherine, the daughter, responds. However, none of the events depicted in Blowing on Dandelions is based on any direct information shared with me, and no confidence was broken, but the input from these women was invaluable.

  I also asked several women to read my manuscript when I finished my final draft. Each found multiple places where they related at a deep level. My hope is that this book—set in a historical time period with a strong romantic thread—will minister to you today, dear reader, far beyond “the story.” Whether you’re a mother who’s had a difficult time with a daughter or the daughter who’s always struggled with her mother, I believe you’ll find places where you can relate. As you step into the head and heart of the mother and daughter, I trust you’ll discover nuggets of truth from both that will open your eyes to what others experience … and that you’ll come to a place of healing and hope.

  The end of this story might leave you with questions about two of the secondary characters, but don’t shut the book at the end. The AfterWords section includes great questions for individual reflection and/or group discussion, as well as a sneak peek at the first pages of Book Two, Wishing on Buttercups, to tantalize you in the short months you’ll have to wait between book releases.

  What of my friend whose story inspired me to write this book? God has been working on her mother’s heart. She’s slowly changing, in tiny increments, and the relationship no longer sinks my friend into despair. She’s experiencing hope for the first time in her life.

  Not many things in life are easy, but I truly believe there is no relationship too hard or any heart too wounded for God to mend. But, yes, it does come to a matter of free will. God won’t force anyone to change or conform to His image.

  If we commit to pray for the person who has caused us pain, we can be assured that God will do His part and speak to their heart. So don’t ever think that prayer can’t work for your relationship or problem, even if you don’t see results quickly or tangibly. God speaks to the heart. He is a God of miracles, and He is more than enough.

  Always. Forever.

  Amen.

  Miralee Ferrell

  Great Questions

  for Individual Reflection and/or Group Discussion

  1. What does Katherine long for in her relationship with her mother? Have you longed for the same things in your relationship with a parent? If so, when? Think of a life event—small or large—that symbolizes that longing.

  2. Why do you think that the mother-daughter relationship is, in particular, so significant to both parties?

  3. Lucy struggles to understand what respecting your elders really means. “How far did you have to take that when your elders treated you with disrespect most of the time?” she wonders (chapter thirty-one). What do you think? Do you believe that we should respect our elders? Why or why not? Are there lines that shouldn’t be crossed? If so, what are those lines?

>   4. How do you handle critical comments that other family members make? Do you tend to let things slide, pretend they don’t penetrate, or confront them head-on? Explain. When has a well-intentioned comment you’ve made gone awry?

  5. Have you ever felt lonely, like Micah? How did you respond: by throwing yourself into a busy life, by going into a self-imposed exile (like Micah did the first eighteen months after his wife’s death), or by doing something else? Why? What method(s) worked for you? Didn’t work for you?

  6. Have you ever felt angry at God for not sparing someone you loved? Have you come to grips with that anger? If so, how? If not, why not?

  7. How were Micah and his son, Zachary, and Katherine and her mother, Frances, at odds with understanding each other? What did each think of the other, and how were they all incorrect in one or more way(s)?

  8. Do you know any “prickly” people like Frances Cooper? What hidden hurts were behind Frances’s behavior? What hidden hurts might be behind the prickly people you know? How might your awareness of those potential hurts change your own responses toward those people?

  9. How does both the fire and Amanda’s near drowning bring people together? How do they change Katherine’s perspective toward Micah and Zachary? How might almost losing the person you struggle with transform your own perspective and relationship?

  10. Frances tried to protect Katherine by making her tough so she could survive on her own, and also so she wouldn’t make the same mistake Frances had made of marrying again out of desperate need. When have you done things to “save” someone else out of good intentions? In what ways were your efforts understood? Misunderstood? How did your actions impact your relationship with that person? What small step could you take this week to begin breaking down the barrier between you and that other person?

  11. Why did Katherine respond the way she did when she saw Lucy hugging Zachary? What memories do you tend to stuff far back in the past? How do they creep into your present? Your future?

  12. When Frances passes out and is lying in her bed, she finds out—for the first time—what people truly think of her. If your friends and relatives were discussing you and didn’t know you were listening, what would they say? How might those words change your actions toward others in the future?

  13. Were you surprised when Wilma Roberts and Frances Cooper became friends? Why or why not? Have you ever experienced an “unlikely friendship”? Tell the story and what you both gained by your relationship.

  A Sneak Peek at Book Two:

  Wishing on Buttercups

  Miralee Ferrell

  Chapter One

  Baker City, Oregon

  Late August, 1880

  Beth Roberts willed her hands to stop shaking as they gripped the cream-colored envelope. She hadn’t heard from her magazine editor in months and had about given up.

  Stepping toward a corner, Beth licked her dry lips. Dare she open it here? No one lingered in the lobby of the small post office tucked into the corner of the general store, and the clerk was working on the far side of the alcove stuffing mail into the slots. Glancing out the window at the bustling street of the small city that had become her home a few months ago, she scrubbed at the fabric covering her arm and wished her scars hadn’t chosen this moment to itch. Only a handful of people knew her, so she shouldn’t fear discovery.

  Beth sucked in a quick breath and slid her finger under the flap. A folded page fluttered to the floor, opening as it landed. Her heart rate increased as a second piece of paper, long and slender, drifted several feet across the hardwood. They’d sent her another check.

  Seconds passed while she stood frozen, unable to take in the renewal of her dream. She stepped forward, then crouched low to pick up her treasure.

  Masculine fingers gripped the end of the check before she could snatch it up. Beth found herself staring into the twinkling brown eyes of Jeffery Tucker, a fellow boarder at Mrs. Jacobs’s home. She bit back a gasp, fumbled for the nearby letter, and plucked it off the floor, praying he wouldn’t ask questions.

  She extended her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Tucker. How careless of me.” Her stomach did a flip-flop as his gaze lingered on the paper, then lifted.

  “Not at all, Miss Roberts. I apologize if I startled you.” He offered the check, keeping those mesmerizing eyes riveted on hers.

  Beth tucked the payment and letter into the envelope, then pressed it against her chest.

  His brows drew down, erasing the warm smile as his gaze dropped to her hands. “Is everything all right?”

  Panic gripped her, and she covered the scar on her wrist. Her loose sleeve had left her exposed, and she was sure he’d noticed. All she could think of was escape. “I’m fine. I must get home. Good day.” She backed up two steps and bumped into someone behind her.

  “Umph.” Firm hands gripped her arms and kept her from falling.

  Beth gasped and scrambled forward out of the man’s grasp. “Mr. Jacobs. I’m sorry; I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Forgive me, Miss Roberts.” Micah Jacobs removed his hat and bobbed his head. “If I’d known you planned on getting your mail today, I’d have offered you a ride. Zachary and I would have enjoyed your company.”

  “No need.” Beth sidled toward the door and avoided his stare. If only the sun weren’t streaming in the front window and illuminating everything in its path. “It’s lovely now that fall has almost arrived. I enjoyed the walk.” She smiled, then turned and dashed across the lobby. When she’d entered, the place was empty, and now it seemed almost every person she knew had been drawn to the post office.

  Thank the good Lord Aunt Wilma hadn’t appeared. At least these men were too polite to ask questions. Not so with her aunt. That dear woman would dig and pry until she obtained every last shred of information possible. Not that she wouldn’t tell Auntie her news, but first she wanted to savor whatever the letter contained.

  Beth bolted outside, keeping a tight grip on the envelope. She had no intention of revealing her secret to anybody, except to Aunt Wilma, of course, who’d been like a mother. Beth had made it this far without anyone else knowing, and she intended to keep it that way.

  A shudder shook her at the memory of Jeffery Tucker’s quizzical look after he’d glimpsed the check. Had he taken in the dollar amount and the signature of the sender? Would he recognize the magazine from back East? Probably. Although from what she knew of the mysterious Mr. Tucker, she surmised he had secrets of his own to guard. She could only pray he’d be charitable and keep his own counsel.

  Jeffery worked to keep his expression carefully neutral. No need to encourage questions from Micah Jacobs or his son, Zachary. Something certainly had Miss Roberts flustered. She’d appeared self-conscious and worried at the same time. Did the check from the magazine contribute to her distress, or had he somehow disconcerted the young woman? Another thought struck him. Why in the world would the timid Miss Roberts have a check made out to someone else from a well-known women’s periodical? Of course, he assumed it was a payment, and a large one at that. She may have been picking up the mail for her aunt, but he’d swear the check was made out to someone named Corwin, not Roberts.

  Not that he had a right to pry—time to quit attempting to solve mysteries that weren’t his concern. He’d come to town for another reason entirely.

  He stepped up to the window. “Mr. Beal, any mail today?”

  A tall, gangly man pivoted quickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Mr. Tucker. Yes, sir, there is indeed.” He pushed his rimless spectacles up his nose and grinned. “An envelope from a publishing house back East and a letter from your family. Your father or uncle, perhaps? Hope they’re both good news.”

  Jeffery bit back a groan. Too bad the timid Miss Dooley wasn’t working today. She never snooped in patrons’ business. Not so with Mr. Beal. He knew the comings and goings of everyone in town, all by inspecting the outside of their mail. “Thanks.” He tucked the missives under his arm and tipped his hat.

  “Not
so fast there, young man.” The clerk leaned close, his warm breath fanning Tucker’s cheek. “You mailed a package to that same publishing house some weeks back. Does this letter mean they’ve made it into a book, or they’re turning it down? If we’re gonna have a famous author in town, I want to be the first to congratulate you.” He stuck his hand across the divider.

  Jeffery took the man’s hand and shook it briefly, then backed away. “Sorry. I don’t know what it might be, and I’m not famous for anything. Please excuse me.”

  He strolled from the post office without looking back, then halted a half block from the building. Micah and Zachary were standing in the lobby, a perfect target for prying questions from that obnoxious man. He’d better return and encourage them to leave or rumors would be flying through town faster than a rabbit fleeing from a prairie hawk. Of course, he’d never personally seen that type of chase, but he’d read about such things in his favorite dime novels.

  He glanced at the envelope from his father and scowled. No telling what he might want, but based on his recent correspondence, it probably wasn’t good. Jeffery’s thoughts flitted back to Miss Roberts, and he grunted. Speculation about her behavior no longer seemed proper. He couldn’t speak for anyone else, but his letter was only one of the things he’d prefer to keep private.

  Beth slipped into the boardinghouse, hoping she could get to her room without being seen. Not that she disliked any of the other residents, but the letter from her editor begged to be read. She hadn’t dared to stop along the way after her encounter with Mr. Tucker.

  She’d made it to the foot of the stairs when the skin on the back of her neck tingled. Gripping the banister, she turned and peered over. “Aunt Wilma.” She released the breath she’d been holding. “I didn’t hear you come in.”