ACCLAIM FOR
SPRING FOR SUSANNAH
“This is the kind of character-driven book many first novelists hope to write and few achieve. Richmond leaves the reader begging to know what happens next to her protagonists. More, please!”
—Historical Novel Reviews, starred review
“Richmond arrives on the inspirational fiction scene with a moving debut novel . . . The backstory of the emotions of a mail-order bride—a favorite among historical-romance readers—deepens Richmond’s tale, and readers will be filled with hope that Susannah will learn the true meaning of love. Highly recommended where inspiring, romantic historical fiction is in demand.”
—Booklist
“. . . charming inspirational story about a man’s extreme faith, a woman’s bravery, and God’s amazing grace. Catherine Richmond has penned a treasure in her debut novel, Spring for Susannah. She gives realistic details of life in the 1870s, works in a good measure of inspiration, and just the right amount of romance. This is truly a must read!”
—FreshFiction.com
“Spring for Susannah follows one woman’s journey to the Dakota territory where she learns not only to survive the elements, but to also trust that God has a plan for her. I loved watching Susannah transform from a shy and timid woman who feels unworthy to a strong, independent pioneer in this new world. Filled with history and well researched, Spring for Susannah kept me cheering for these well developed characters until the very last page. Fans of this genre will welcome this refreshing read from debut author Catherine Richmond.”
—Beth Wiseman, best-selling author of Seek Me with All Your Heart
“Upon rare occasion, one discovers a book that sweeps you into its world so completely, you never want to leave. Catherine Richmond’s Spring for Susannah is such a book, transfixing the reader with a tale of an unlikely love that whispers and sways across the pages like the grasses across the prairie, ripening into a heart’s desire that touches the very soul. A stunning debut that will capture your heart and never let go . . .”
—Julie Lessman, best-selling author of A Hope Undaunted
“I can’t remember being drawn in so hard by a debut novel. Cathy Richmond wrote an absolutely beautiful, sweet, funny, exciting romance. I fell completely in love with the hero and heroine. The shy, sweet Susannah who’s been trained that a woman doesn’t spout opinions or show emotions, and poor lonely Jesse who is dying for someone who will talk to him. It’s full of passion and danger and humor and charm.”
—Mary Connealy, author of Montana Rose
“Spring for Susannah is a captivating debut! Susannah’s plight captured me from the beginning, and I didn’t want the book to end. Catherine Richmond wove beautiful details throughout this novel, and I savored her wonderful description along with her story.”
—Melanie Dobson, author of Love Finds You in Homestead, Iowa and The Silent Order
“Spring for Susannah is a tender, realistic story full of memorable characters. This vivid portrait of life in the Dakota Territory will transport you into the life of a brave woman who must take the ultimate risk as she awakens to love in body and spirit. By capturing the earthly beauty of a good marriage, Cathy Richmond puts the ‘inspiration’ in inspirational romance.”
—Rosslyn Elliott, author of Fairer than Morning
“Brimming with fascinating details and endearing characters, Spring for Susannah is as refreshing as a cool Dakota breeze. An accomplished debut!”
—Dorothy Love, author of Beyond All Measure
THROUGH
RUSHING WATER
ALSO BY
CATHERINE RICHMOND
SPRING FOR SUSANNAH
THROUGH
RUSHING WATER
CATHERINE RICHMOND
© 2012 by Catherine Richmond
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.
Thomas Nelson, Inc., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Richmond, Catherine, 1957-
Through rushing water / Catherine Richmond.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-59554-925-9 (pbk.)
1. Women missionaries--Fiction. 2. Ponca Indians--Fiction. 3. Dakota Territory--Fiction. I. Title.
PS3618.I349T48 2012
813’.6--dc23
2012010650
Printed in the United States of America
12 13 14 15 16 17 QG 6 5 4 3 2 1
To those who went out to change
the world for Christ and returned
with a changed heart.
“When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee.”
—Isaiah 43:2
“Everone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.”
—Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
READING GROUP GUIDE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
Sophia Makinoff had the perfect job.
Her students were brilliant, conscientious, and far too well bred to consider cheating on an examination. Sophia could, without impunity, allow her attention to drift. She opened the window with a gentle push. A breath of air, damp with a hint of this morning’s rain and spiced with blooming lilacs, relieved the chalk-dust stuffiness of the classroom. Two flights below, a brisk clip-clip indicated a gardener neatening a hedge. From a distant music room came the strains of a Mozart sonata.
Behind Sophia, a student sighed.
The view was dominated by the east wing of the College, with its basement
laundry, first-floor dining hall, and second-floor chapel, providing cleanliness, sustenance, and godliness. Across the lawn, a gasometer fueled lights throughout the College. To the southeast stood the gymnasium where Sophia had practiced calisthenics and learned the pastime of bowling, a game similar to the nine pins her father played at the garrison. She had walked the paths, attended lectures and concerts, visited the art gallery. But she had not left campus since Christmas.
Behind her, a petticoat rustled.
Above the trees the cupola of Montgomery Hill glowed, a light to the world. On days like this Sophia would serve tea on the veranda for diplomats and captains of industry, addressing topics from immigration to workers’ rights. In the front parlor she would hold a salon as lively as any in Paris, discussing justice, reform, and an end to corruption in government.
Since the election of Rexford Montgomery to Congress, Sophia had made a regular practice of reading the newspapers. She could converse intelligently on subjects as varied as the Boss Tweed and William Belknap scandals, or the Grange Movement and Civil Rights.
Now if only New York’s youngest congressman would—
“Mademoiselle?”
Sophia bumped her head against the window frame. “Oui, Elizabeth?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
“But of course. With this much hair I am immune to injury.” She patted her chignon. “How may I assist you?”
“J’ai finie.” The student handed over her examination, then leaned toward the window. “Was there something outside?”
Something? Only a world in need of saving. Sophia cited the College’s doctor: “Fresh air strengthens the constitution.”
The bell rang. The rest of the students turned in their tests and hurried off. They were all involved in planning a celebration of the US centennial. Sophia, however, was making other plans.
Rexford had been hinting all month. Last week he had mentioned the importance of spiritual compatibility to the marital partnership. She took the reference as a positive sign; they were members of the same church.
“Miss Makinoff?”
The geography teacher blocked the doorway with his corpulence and tweed. “Guest speaker in chapel tonight. From the Board of Foreign Missions. Interested?”
“Unfortunately I have another obligation this evening.”
“Blasted Montgomery.” His lower lip returned to its bulldog position and he let her slip by. His attempts at courting would cease once her engagement was announced. In the meantime it took all Sophia’s restraint to keep from shouting from the rooftops: “I am to be the wife of a congressman!”
She hurried to the suite she shared with one of the English teachers. The parlor was empty. In the bedroom, chemises and camisoles hung from Annabelle’s open drawers. Ribbons, lace, and jewelry lay scattered across the bureau. A stocking was draped like a silk bookmark over the open dictionary.
If the matron saw this, she would undoubtedly launch into her favorite lecture: the importance of housekeeping, setting an example for the students, doing one’s best in this grand experiment in female education.
Whimpering and sniffling would ensue. Annabelle was easily undone.
Where was she? Surely she couldn’t have forgotten they were dining with Rexford Montgomery.
Sophia exchanged her violet muslin polonaise for a satin dinner dress in sapphire that played up her eyes. The square neckline and Marie-Antoinette sleeves framed her gold necklace and bracelet, family heirlooms from her mother’s side. The removal of a hairpin allowed a curl to corkscrew down her back.
The riding instructor awaited her in the corridor. He bowed. “Mademoiselle.” The baron fancied them two of a kind, even though her father’s title had been awarded, not inherited.
“Good evening, Baron.”
“It is a beautiful evening for a ride, is it not? I could saddle Schatze for you.”
“Regrettably I am otherwise occupied. You are too kind.” And too persistent. Could he not see she was dressed for an entirely different activity than riding? “Please excuse me.”
“That Montgomery gent again?”
Such questions did not merit a response. He and the entire College would know soon enough.
Sophia hurried to the south wing, to the apartment of Professor Montgomery, and knocked. Her intended would answer the door with an armful of roses, then drop to one knee. No, he could not take her hand if his were full of flowers. The roses would be in a vase on the table. He would speak poetically and she would say yes.
But first he had to open the door.
Sophia listened for footsteps on the carpet. Silence. She rapped with a trifle more authority, but no one answered.
Perhaps he had been detained and left a message. She would inquire at the clerk’s office on the first floor.
She headed for the main stairs, where she found her way blocked by a milling crowd of students and faculty. Sophia leaned over the balcony rail. Below, in the entrance vestibule, Congressman Montgomery addressed an assembly of faculty and students.
“. . . since you welcomed me within the bosom of this institution of female education . . .”
Sophia winced at his unfortunate juxtaposition of the words “bosom” and “female.”
“. . . the most worthiest of women . . .”
Oh dear. She must take up the task of polishing his speeches, lest his orations sink under the weight of florid sentimentality and improper grammar.
“Shouldn’t you go down?” the Latin teacher whispered.
Yes, it would be wise to put the man out of his misery.
“. . . whose grace and wit thoroughly enchanted me . . .”
The biology teacher glimpsed her pushing through and directed the students to clear a path. With a swish of petticoats and urgent whispers, the way opened.
“Félicitations, Mademoiselle Makinoff,” someone murmured. “I’m so happy for you.”
Sophia arrived at the base of the steps as the congressman reached the end of his address.
“May I introduce the woman destined to become Mrs. Rexford Montgomery—”
Sophia took a deep breath, pasted a smile on her face, and stepped forward into the vast, empty space around Congressman Montgomery.
“Miss Annabelle Bedlington Smith.”
Too late. At that exact moment his fiancée stepped from the reception room into his waiting arms.
Gasps, murmurs, and giggles echoed around the hall.
In that weighted fraction of a second, as the blood rushed to her face, Sophia considered her options: retreat through the pitying crowd, stand and be the object of more pity, or move forward with all the poise expected of a graduate of St. Petersburg’s Smolny Institute for Noble Maidens.
Momentum propelled her across the floor. Decorum and a tight corset kept her upright. “Let me be the first to congratulate you.”
“Dearest!” Annabelle embraced her in an eye-watering cloud of perfume. “You’ll never believe what happened! Rex proposed!”
Annabelle was right: Sophia did not believe it.
Annabelle Bedlington Smith did not meet a single one of Rexford Montgomery’s requirements for a wife. She had no interest in government, spoke no foreign languages, hated travel. She never read the Bible, rarely attended church, and, in fact, dabbled in phrenology. And she was far too careless to run a house the size of Montgomery Hill.
Montgomery Hill. Sophia’s breath caught. No carriage rides ending in the porte cochère. No arranging flowers on the sideboard. No receiving the movers and shakers of this world.
Sophia pressed her fist to her lips and glanced over her roommate’s head. The man knew better than to meet her eye. He looked down at Annabelle and his chin disappeared into his neck.
A weak jaw. Quelle horreur. How had she missed that?
“Oh, you’re speechless! He surprised me too.” Were those diamonds swirling around Annabelle’s finger, or was Sophia dizzy? “Let’s go to supper, dearest. We have so much to talk a
bout.”
Like engagement dinners and wedding dates. Trousseaux and bouquets. Receptions and honeymoon trips. Chaos in Annabelle’s inept hands.
“I am sorry. I was coming to tell you, we have a speaker in the chapel and I must . . . my presence is required.”
“I hope they don’t need you to interpret, dearest. You know what a headache that gives you.”
“I never get headaches.” Until now. “Please excuse me.”
But Annabelle would not release her. “Wait, dearest. I’m going to need a bridesmaid. Would you do me the honor?”
Exile to Siberia would be preferable. “Perhaps you should consult your sisters.”
“Oh, of course! How could I forget!” She turned to Rexford. “I have three sisters.”
Sophia made her escape. She moved rapidly up two flights to the chapel. Her hand pressed her heart, finding it bruised but not broken.
Rexford had made his choice. The suffering was his.
The geography professor cheered—or was it jeered?—when he spotted her. “Montgomery jilted you, did he?”
As the news of Annabelle’s engagement made its way through the College, she was in for weeks of hand-patting, tepid tea, and quel dommage. Sophia lifted her chin and turned to the lady principal. “How may I assist you?”
The principal assigned her to serve refreshments. The rhythm of pouring and passing offered a certain kind of solace. Just before the hour, students filed into the pews. Sophia perched on the back row, awaiting an opportunity to slip away.
The speaker, an elderly woman dressed head-to-toe in gray, had served as a missionary to the heathens in China. Spiritual and physical poverty beset the land. The men were bedeviled with opium. The women had their feet bound.
Annabelle’s feet were no bigger than those of a child. So much about her was childlike . . . or more accurately, childish. How would she manage, with her flights of fancy, to conduct a dinner party for twelve? She would never command the respect necessary to manage a household staff the size of Montgomery Hill.
“‘Study to show thyself approved unto God,’” the missionary quoted. “My daughters, students of the College, have you studied to be approved?” She stared right at Sophia.
Through Rushing Water Page 1
