Where the Heart Is Romance Collection

by Andrea Boeshaar

  “I can’t just yet, Penny. I gave him my word. But I’ll say this much… you’re not dying on me now.”

  She laughed, then moaned as the pain hit like a bolt of lightning through her skull.

  “Shh, Penny. Rest yourself and just look yonder at the wide, blue sky. The clouds seem so low I feel like I could reach out and pick one—like a man’d pick a wad of cotton. This is Oregon!” he declared, pointing off to the left. “We’ve all but arrived.”

  “But there are still mountains to pass and rivers to cross.”

  “Won’t be nothing like what we’ve been through. You’ll see.”

  Gazing across the vastness spread out before her, Penny felt a stab of doubt pierce her soul. Would she ever truly settle in Oregon?

  Chapter 10

  Dillon was right. The next few weeks of traveling didn’t seem as bad to Penny as they had in the past. The days were warm and the nights were cool. The grass was plentiful enough for the animals to feed upon, and Lady Macbeth began producing again. For a long stretch of trail, the ragged pioneers traveled through a dense forest that Dillon said reminded him of Missouri.

  Oftentimes, Papa let Dillon drive the wagon while he walked beside Penny. He encouraged her by engaging her in all sorts of games involving their knowledge of Shakespeare’s plays. On other occasions, when the trail wasn’t as rough and uneven, Papa allowed Penny to ride beside Dillon and didn’t even balk when she set her aching head on his shoulder. Penny smiled as Dillon recounted happy memories of his childhood and spoke about his plans for the future. Papa didn’t balk at that, either. He didn’t even interrupt, but listened raptly as he traipsed along beside the wagon.

  At one point, Penny realized she’d never heard Dillon talk so much. Why, he talked more than she did! Of course, she wasn’t feeling like herself… yet. Even so, she felt as though a very special prayer had been answered—the one in which she’d asked that she might get to better know the man she loved.

  The Lord in all His wisdom, Penny decided, must have quieted her in order to bring Dillon out of his shell and to help her listen. What’s more, Penny realized she liked Dillon Trier—liked him as a friend—while, at the same time, she felt the love in her heart for him blossom into a desire to be his wife someday.

  Now, if she’d only survive the rest of the journey to make that wish a reality.

  One starry September night, Dillon sat on the edge of a large rock, wondering over the events of the day. As the wagons had progressed at an agonizingly slow pace down a ravine this afternoon, Penny lost her footing and fell. Worse, she’d struck her head again, giving Dillon the fright of his life; and now she lay unconscious in the Rogerses’ wagon.

  Looking up from the cup of coffee in his hands, he saw Doc Rogers coming his way. Dillon stood. “How is she, Doc?”

  “Not good, I’m afraid.” The grim set of his mouth gave credence to his reply. “And while I’m glad you convinced Rawhide to stop early today, I’m unsure of whether Penny can travel tomorrow.”

  “Then we stop for a day or two… or however long it takes,” Dillon said. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep the vehemence from his tone. “If Rawhide and the others complain, they can go on without us. We’ll catch up once Penny’s better.”

  Josh smiled slightly and gave his shoulder a mild squeeze as he strode toward his own wagon. “We’ll just have to take it day by day, prayer by prayer.”

  “Your concern for my daughter is touching,” Penny’s pa said from where he sat on a worn rug before the fire. “I’m deeply indebted to you for your kindness and help these past weeks.”

  “You’re not indebted to me, sir. I love Penny…. I—I can’t help it.”

  In the twilight of the evening, Dillon saw the elder grin above the tracings of worry etched on his brow.

  Suddenly a commotion near Penny’s wagon caught his attention, and Dillon glanced over in time to see Mrs. Rogers sobbing as she ran for her husband.

  “Josh! Oh, Josh… what are we going to do? I can’t bear it if Penny dies.”

  “Shh, Sweetheart. She’s not going to die.”

  Dillon watched with a heavy frown as, several feet away, Doc Rogers consoled his wife. Then he ushered her into their wagon.

  “Poor, dear Beth,” Isaiah said, voicing Dillon’s very thoughts. “She and Penny are so close. I’m sure she feels as helpless as… well, as we all do.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sure.” Dillon lowered himself back onto the boulder.

  The professor narrowed his gaze. “And how would you handle such a thing if your, um, wife despaired over a friend in need?”

  “How would I handle it?”

  “Yes, I’m curious. Some women are more sensitive than others, and I know plenty of men who are impatient with their wives’ tears.”

  “Doesn’t seem Doc Rogers is impatient with anyone or anything,” Dillon replied. “Especially his wife.”

  “I agree. But I’m not referring to either Josh or Bethany. I’m merely inquiring over a purely hypothetical situation.”

  Dillon grinned. The turn in conversation didn’t throw him as much as it might have many weeks ago. Ever since he’d asked to court Penny, Isaiah Rogers had been grilling him like a rabbit on a spit.

  But that was all right. He respected any pa who made a man squirm when it came to giving away his daughter’s hand in marriage. In fact, Dillon suspected that someday he might be harder to convince than even the professor!

  Penny opened her eyes and knew immediately that something wasn’t right. To her left, the sun was streaming in through a window.

  A window!

  Slowly, she lifted herself up in the bed.

  A real bed!

  She felt weak and lay back down against the fluffy pillows. Where am I? How did I get here? When did I get here? Where’s Papa, Josh, and Bethany? Where’s Dillon?

  She glanced around the room and its dark rough-hewn walls. She wondered if her family had abandoned her somewhere along the trail—a small settlement, perhaps, because of her headaches.

  Her headaches!

  Penny touched her temples. The pain was gone. “Oh, praise God!” she said in a raspy voice that was unrecognizable to even her own ears. Clearing her throat, she tried it again. “Praise God!”

  There. That was better.

  The door creaked open and a little boy peered in. His blond hair hung straight down on his forehead. He took one look at Penny, gasped, and slammed the door shut.

  “Mama! Mama!” she heard him call. “The lady is awake!”

  Penny lay silent, straining to hear the reply.

  “Why, Nathan, you shouldn’t have disturbed Miss Rogers. For shame.” The woman’s voice sounded soft and gentle, even in the reprimand.

  The door creaked open once more and a blond woman looked in. Her hair was elegantly pinned at the nape, giving her a regal appearance. “Hello,” she said in a tentative tone.

  “Hello,” Penny replied.

  The woman smiled and stepped into the room. She wore a plain brown skirt, adorned by a multicolored apron, and white blouse. Penny estimated her age to be somewhere in the late twenties. “I’m Deborah Lannon. I live here with my husband and two young sons.”

  “Pleased to meet you. I’m Penelope Anne Rogers. Penny, for short.”

  “Well, Penny, I’m sure you’re wondering what you’re doing in our home.”

  She managed a nod.

  “You’ve been very ill, and when your family reached the Willamette Valley last week—”

  “I made it to Oregon?”

  “Just barely.”

  Penny struggled to sit, and Mrs. Lannon stepped forward to assist her. “Let me explain how you came here. Our house is the first one pioneers reach when they arrive in Oregon City. My husband is a minister; and after we traveled the trail from our home in New York, it became his fervent wish that we aid pioneers in need. Some come to us sick, others come to us with nothing but the tattered clothes on their back. Our mission is to tend to and refresh w
eary immigrants and get them back on their feet so they can begin their lives here in the Willamette Valley.”

  “That’s a very charitable mission, Mrs. Lannon, and I’m forever grateful.”

  She smiled. “It’s reward enough to see you awake and talking. You had all of us very worried. Kept us on our knees.”

  “My family…?”

  “They’re here in the valley, also. Your father is already pursuing his interests at the university in Oregon City.”

  Penny grinned.

  “Your brother and his wife are in the throes of building their cabin. They’re assisted by every able-bodied man available, including that nice man who seems quite taken with you,” Deborah said with a twinkle in her blue eyes.

  “Dillon?” Penny’s grin became a smile.

  “Yes, and when your brother’s home is built, the team of men will help him with his cabin. That’s how it’s done here because families need homes by the time winter hits. Everyone tries to help each other.

  “Of course, folks in town are glad that we’ll now have our own doctor,” Deborah added, “since your brother will settle here. And my husband and I feel so blessed,” she said, flitting around the room and straightening up. “We’ve been praying for another pastor to help us with growing our church and ministering to our congregation. Why, when Reverend Brewster and his sweet wife came to see after your health, we knew without a doubt our prayers had been answered.

  “Now, then,” Deborah said, with hands on her hips and a lovely grin curving her mouth, “why don’t I help you bathe and dress? I have a feeling we can expect company this evening.”

  The measures taken to wash and change clothes left Penny exhausted. Attired in a simple gown with her hair brushed out, she lay atop the bedcovers trying to regain what little strength she had. Worse, she felt ashamed of how she looked. Her face appeared sallow in the mirror, and the calico that once fit nicely now hung like a drape over her too-thin body. But Penny had to admit she felt glad to be a part of the living again; and she knew she had much for which to be thankful.

  Just as Mrs. Lannon predicted, word that Penny had regained consciousness soon spread through the valley. By suppertime, she was reunited with her family, following which Bethany immediately blurted her good news. But she needn’t have said a word; the fact appeared quite obvious.

  “You’re going to have a baby! Oh, Beth, this is going to be so much fun. I can hardly wait until she’s born. I’m going to be the auntie who spoils her rotten.”

  “She?” Josh said with an arched brow. “Her?”

  “Oh, did I say she?” Penny teased. “I meant little she or he. Him or her.”

  “Yes, I thought that’s what you meant,” Josh replied, wearing an amused grin. He glanced at Papa. “She seems her old self again.”

  Papa smiled. “Yes, she does.”

  At that moment, Dillon stepped into the bedroom, looking better than Penny had ever seen him. His tan trousers looked fresh and his cambric shirt had been starched and pressed. Penny wanted to throw herself into his arms, but Pastor Brewster and Emma walked in right behind him and began exclaiming over her renewed health. Afterward, the reverend led everyone in a prayer of thanksgiving.

  More people flittered in, and the tiny room soon filled to capacity. The Millbergs stopped by, looking as pompous as ever, and Lavinia’s pink gown with its white ruffles and satin bows had to have been brand-new and store-bought, no less. But the fact that the Millbergs even deigned to visit her at all was, Penny decided, oddly touching.

  Over the next hour, as guests came and went, it was all Penny could do to make eye contact with Dillon. He stood against the far wall, waiting patiently for his turn to speak with her. Penny had a hunch he’d prefer a bit of privacy when the right time arrived, except it didn’t look like that was going to happen soon since the Cole brothers had just burst into the room.

  Then, all at once, Dillon seemed to have had his fill of waiting. Penny smiled with anticipation as she saw him making his way through the throng. When he reached her bedside, he nodded out a formal greeting.

  “Penny.”

  “Dillon…”

  She held out a trembling hand, but instead of taking it, he scooped her up into his arms and proceeded toward the doorway.

  “Dillon, I don’t know if—”

  “I’ll be careful, Doc. I promise.”

  “Young man, perhaps it would be best if…”

  “Pardon me, Professor, but I’ve been mighty long-suffering, if I do say so myself.”

  “Why, Dillon!” Penny exclaimed. “Y–you skirted my family’s wishes!”

  “Sure did,” he said, gazing down at her with an intense spark in his eyes. “But they’re all well aware of my intentions.”

  Wide-eyed and with an arm around his thick neck, Penny could hardly believe it. Gone was that shy, uncertain man, and in his place loomed a veritable hero wrought from any imagined work of literature!

  Upon hearing Papa’s guffaw as they left the room, she relaxed and allowed Dillon to carry her onto the back porch of the Lannons’ log home. He set her down gently in a wooden rocker and knelt by her side.

  “Penny,” he said, taking her hand, “I can’t stand to think I almost lost you… except I knew God was doing something. I just didn’t know what.”

  “Oh, Dillon…” His words melted her heart.

  He kissed her fingers, sending delightful shivers up her arm; and Penny felt as though she might lose consciousness again—but for very different reasons.

  “I love you, Penny. I love you more than words can say.” He paused and swallowed hard before adding, “Just ask your pa.”

  “He approves?”

  Dillon nodded. “He does. Gave me his blessing to court you just before we reached Farewell Bend. But I couldn’t tell you then. You were too ill.”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, looking like he might be forming his thoughts with painstaking care. “When you had that next accident, you slipped into some sort of coma. It was like you were half with us and half someplace else. Your sister-in-law would spoon-feed bites of food into your mouth, and sometimes you’d eat. You would look at us all glassy-eyed, and we could tell you weren’t really there. Some Indian folks we met along the way said your spirit had taken flight and wouldn’t ever come back. But I refused to give up hope.

  “Then while we were traveling the pass around Mount Hood, I told your pa that I thought our courtship had lasted long enough. I said when you woke up, I wanted to marry you. He said when you woke up, I could. Ever since, I’ve been waiting….”

  Tears of joy sprang into Penny’s eyes. Such devotion she couldn’t fathom; and she knew without a doubt, if she hadn’t before, that Dillon Trier was the man for her.

  “I love you, too.”

  “Well, if so, will you marry me? And the sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

  She tipped her head and grinned. “You want to marry me in this sorry state?”

  “I’d marry you in any state.”

  She smiled at the candid reply and placed a hand against his rough cheek. “Yes, I’ll marry you. I’ll be your wildflower bride, and I’ll love you with all my heart and with all the breath I have in me.”

  Dillon’s brown eyes clouded with unshed emotion. “I couldn’t ask for more.”

  He pulled her onto his knee and wrapped his arms around her. Penny never felt so cherished and protected. As she gazed up at the immense Oregon sky, with its ribbons of scarlet and gold fastened across the horizon, she thanked the Lord for giving her this treasured moment—

  This one, and those sure to follow in the lifetime ahead.

  ANDREA BOESHAAR

  Andrea has been married for nearly forty years. She and her husband have three wonderful sons, one beautiful daughter-in-law, and five precious grandchildren. Andrea’s publishing career began in 1994. Since then, 30 of her books have gone to press. Additionally, Andrea cofounded ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers) and serv
ed on its Advisory Board. In 2007, Andrea earned her certification in Christian life coaching and is currently the purveyor of The Writer’s ER, a coaching & editing service for writers. For more information, log onto Andrea’s website at: www.andreaboeshaar.com. Follow her on Twitter: @AndreaBoeshaar, and find her on Facebook: Andrea Boeshaar Author.

  Love Opens a Way

  by Claire Sanders

  Dedication

  For Vanessa, a wonderful wife and mother.

  I’m glad you’re part of our family.

  Chapter 1

  Wayne County, Indiana

  August 1861

  Leah Wall sat in the minister’s study and gazed at the wildflowers in her hands. Young John had gathered a few yarrow and daisies, but queen anne’s lace dominated the group. How had her cousin known that particular flower held a special place in Leah’s heart?

  “That flower is like thee,” her mother had said. “Look how it stands straight on its slender body, its face pointing to the sun, praising God for giving it so much strength and purpose.”

  Leah ran her finger over the fragile bloom, wishing her mother had lived long enough to see her wedding day. Many farmers considered queen anne’s lace a weed, and since coming to live with her aunt and uncle, Leah had felt more like a weed than a flower.

  Aunt Cynthia hurried into the small room. “Is thee ready? The groom has arrived and is talking to the minister and your uncle Abram. It won’t be long now.”

  “I’m ready,” Leah answered, knowing her response was less than truthful. She was happy to be getting married, truly she was, but how she wished she could’ve met her future husband before today.

  Uncle Abram tapped on the doorframe. “Caleb would like to speak to thee before we begin, Leah. Is thee willing?”

  Leah swallowed the lump in her throat. What would Caleb think of her? Aunt Cynthia had helped her make a new dress of pale green cotton, fashioned in the Quaker’s plain style. Leah touched the brim of her white linen prayer cap. Would he think it old-fashioned of her to cover her head? So many women had given up the practice.