Threads of Faith

by Andrea Boeshaar

  Andrea Boeshaar has long been one of my favorite writers. Her blend of heartwarming romance is compelling and not to be missed!

  —COLLEEN COBLE

  AUTHOR OF THE HOPE BEACH SERIES

  If you enjoyed the first book in Andrea Boeshaar’s Fabric of Time series, you’ll love the second, Threads of Faith! As always, Andrea offers her readers a cast of believable characters, a rich and inspiring story that overflows with faith and hope, and a conclusion that will leave them breathless . . . and looking forward to the next book in the series. Dust off your “keepers shelf,” folks, because this is a novel you’ll want to hold on to!

  —LOREE LOUGH

  BEST-SELLING AUTHOR OF NEARLY NINETY AWARD-WINNING NOVELS,

  INCLUDING FOR LOVE OF ELI, PART OF ABINGDON’S

  SOON-TO-BE-RELEASED QUILTS OF LOVE SERIES

  Threads of Faith by Andrea Boeshaar is another fabulous, page turning winner with its spunky heroine, hunky hero, and sweet romance. A real keeper.

  —DEBRA ULRICK

  AUTHOR OF NEW YORK TIMES AND CBA BEST SELLER A LOG CABIN

  CHRISTMAS

  Sweet, heart-tugging, page-turner; these are words that Andrea Boeshaar’s books always bring to mind. Threads of Faith is no exception. Boeshaar has given us a beautiful and complex heroine, a compelling plot, and a heartfelt reminder that family ties are strengthened through forgiveness and grace.

  —SANDRA D. BRICKER

  AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF LAUGH-OUT-LOUD FICTION FOR

  THE CHRISTIAN MARKET, INCLUDING THE ANOTHER EMMA RAE

  CREATION SERIES THAT BEGAN WITH ALWAYS THE BAKER

  NEVER THE BRIDE

  Ambition, family, and honor are at the heart of Threads of Faith—the story of a man who has prospered at the cost of his family and faith and comes to realize what matters most in life. Heartwarming and touching, this is a book to “cozy down” with and enjoy.

  —KATHRYN ALBRIGHT

  AUTHOR OF THE ANGEL AND THE OUTLAW AND

  THE REBEL AND THE LADY

  Rich detail, lively dialogue, and downright smart storytelling make this second book in the Fabric of Time series a marvelous read. Andrea Boeshaar delivers another masterpiece!

  —SHARLENE MACLAREN

  AUTHOR OF FAITH-BASED CHRISTIAN FICTION

  LITTLE HICKMAN CREEK, DAUGHTERS OF JACOB KANE,

  RIVER OF HOPE

  ANDREA BOESHAAR

  Most CHARISMA HOUSE BOOK GROUP products are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchase for sales promotions, premiums, fund-raising, and educational needs. For details, write Charisma House Book Group, 600 Rinehart Road, Lake Mary, Florida 32746, or telephone (407) 333-0600.

  THREADS OF FAITH by Andrea Kuhn Boeshaar

  Published by Realms

  Charisma Media/Charisma House Book Group

  600 Rinehart Road

  Lake Mary, Florida 32746

  www.charismahouse.com

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  All Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  The characters in this book are fictitious unless they are historical figures explicitly named. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual people, whether living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by Andrea Boeshaar

  All rights reserved

  Cover design by Bill Johnson

  Visit the author’s website at www.andreaboeshaar.com.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:

  Boeshaar, Andrea.

  Threads of faith / Andrea Boeshaar.

  p. cm. -- (Fabric of time ; bk. two)

  Summary: Julianna is running for her life, and she hides in a crate on London's dock, only to be loaded onto a ship bound for America. During the voyage she falls in love with Capt. Daniel Sundberg when he treats her as a person and protects her from his crew, but his plans for the future do not include marrying a stowaway on his ship -- Provided by the publisher.

  ISBN 978-1-61638-841-6 (trade paper) -- ISBN 978-1-61638-842-3 (e-book)

  1. Stowaways--Fiction. 2. Ship captains--Fiction. 3. Self-realization--Fiction. 4. New York (N.Y.)--Fiction. 5. Wisconsin--Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3552.O4257T477 2012

  813'.54--dc22

  2012025903

  First edition

  12 13 14 15 16 — 987654321

  Printed in the United States of America

  Much research goes into my novels, so I’d like to thank the

  volunteers at the Wisconsin Maritime Museum who discussed

  clipper ships with me, as well as everyone over at

  the West Bend Public Library. I appreciate your time and

  support. Another thanks goes to Anne M. for keeping me

  on track with her candid critiques.

  Most of all, I’m grateful to my husband, Daniel, for driving

  me all over creation so I can get my facts in order. And a

  shout-out to the fiction team at Charisma Media.

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  Now faith is the substance of things hoped for,

  the evidence of things not seen.

  —HEBREWS 11:1

  CHAPTER 1

  June 1877

  T HE YOUNG MASTER’S come home, dearie, and he’s asking for you. Run, if ye know what’s good for ye. Run far and run fast!”

  Eyes wide with fear, Julianna Wayland needed no further warning from the plump cook waving her floured rolling pin. She had taken quite a risk in warning her. But Cook had kept an eye on her ever since Flora was turned out of the master’s home.

  Bolting from the tiled kitchen, Julianna made her way through the servants’ doorway at the side of the brick mansion. Her heels clicked against the cobbled pavement as she ran down the bustling, cart-lined lane in which hawkers sold their wares. But where could she go? Certainly not to Flora’s home.

  As she thought of her sister’s cramped room with its single cot above the Mariner’s Pub, dread sank like a stone inside of her. Was her fate to match her older sister’s? Flora always said it was just a matter of time.

  “You, up there, stop!”

  Julianna glanced over her shoulder and saw the young master’s manservant. No doubt he’d been sent to fetch her. Well, she wasn’t about to let what happened to Flora happen to her!

  She hastened past shoppers until she turned onto another street. Perspiration trickled down the side of her face, and the jiggling threatened every pin in her thick hair tucked beneath the white, floppy cap. With one hand holding it in place, she managed to look behind her again, only to see that Horace still trailed her. If he caught her, punishment would be severe—and that’s before the young master got ahold of her.

  Julianna zigzagged her way down one street and up another until she reached London’s wharf, where a row of warehouses lined the Thames. Thankfu
lly the wind had shifted, so the stench of dead fish and human waste wasn’t as sickening as in days past.

  Rounding the corner of a warehouse, she paused and leaned against the wall, fighting to catch her breath. Had she outsmarted Horace at last? She thought of the prayers she heard every Sunday when the crusty old master of the house, Mr. Olson Tolbert, insisted all his household staff attend Holy Eucharist. It was much to do about nothing, since she couldn’t understand what the ritual had to do with her. But she believed there was a God in heaven, and if He could hear her now, she prayed that He would keep her safe from the clutches of the young master, Olson Junior.

  Memories of his dark, soulless eyes, watching her every move as she served dinner last night, and then his icy touch upon her hand and forearm when she’d set down his plate of food, were all enough to propel her onward. The man was old enough to be her father—even though Julianna hadn’t ever known hers. Perhaps her real father was twice Olson Junior’s age. Flora couldn’t recall. She’d just said he’d been a seafaring man—just like the young master.

  Oh, why had he come home now?

  The rapid approach of footfalls brought Julianna from her musing. Had Horace found her? Her gaze darted around. What should she do? She eyed the various-sized crates stacked against the brick wall of the warehouse. Hiding was her only hope.

  She moved toward the stockpile, when all at once she spied a box in which she’d likely fit. Hurrying, she scrambled onto a nearby apple crate and peered inside the tall-standing container.

  Empty.

  Julianna vaulted over the side. Once within its narrow-slatted confines, she gathered her skirts and tucked her black dress around her ankles. Then she hunkered down. Her fingers found a thick layer of straw at the bottom of the crate, and on afterthought, she tossed it over her head and her back, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t be found.

  Seconds later a man’s voice came upon her, and suddenly her hiding place jerked from side to side. Julianna’s neck wrenched painfully, but she dared not make a peep.

  “It’s full, all right, Mr. Bentley.”

  “Fine. Fine. Now load ’er up, and ye can have the job.”

  Neither of the men sounded like Horace, and relief coursed through her. But before she could cry out and make her presence known, a lid clamped down over the top of the tall crate and was hammered into place.

  From his position on the poop deck Captain Daniel Sundberg squinted into the sun at the tall, rigged masts of the Allegiance. They resembled the spindly fingers of webbed hands, reaching desperately heavenward. They’d remain bare until such time when the Allegiance was towed out of London’s harbor. Her sails had been neatly folded and stored, awaiting his orders to be hoisted as soon as they set out to sea, bound for New York City.

  At last Daniel’s gaze fell on the faces of the fifty-seven men who’d signed on as his crew, some newly acquired, others he recognized. They stood broad shoulder to broad shoulder and, together, melded into a motley assortment of fellows. The experienced sailors had clean-shaven jaws and wore neatly pressed uniforms. Duffle bags sat at their booted feet. The others, however, were dressed in various degrees of bedraggled clothing, at least a day’s worth of beard covered their jaws, and they stood barefooted on the polished deck.

  “Well, sir, what do you think?”

  “I think, Mr. Bentley,” Daniel said with fond but cynical emphasis, “that you must have scrounged up several of these men after the pubs closed this morning.”

  His first mate chuckled, and Daniel’s annoyance mounted. Selecting a crew took careful consideration. After all, he was responsible for both the ship and its cargo, which consisted of several tons of tallow and sundries. But the most precious of it all were several Old Master paintings going to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Daniel had personally overseen to their safekeeping.

  “Need I remind you, Bent, that we’ve got almost a three-week voyage ahead of us, and it’ll seem like a lifetime with the wrong crew aboard.”

  A hint of a smile still curved Al Bentley’s thin lips. “No reminding required, Cap’n. I’ve been your first officer for a long while now, and I know what you expect.” Bent counted on his fingers. “Isaac Cravens has been your second and Billy Lawler your third . . . ”

  “I know who my officers are!” Daniel couldn’t quell his impatience. “I also know the names of the carpenter, blacksmith, and sailmakers.”

  “And Dr. Morrison, of course, is sailing with us too,” Bent added, much to Daniel’s irritation. “Mr. Ramsey wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “As I’m keenly aware.” Daniel rounded his eyes with sarcasm, knowing good and well the requirements that his friend and employer, George Ramsey, put in place for his fleet.

  “Jimmy Levins’ll be your cabin boy as usual.”

  “Good, good . . . ” Only a year ago Bent had found Jimmy up on Liverpool’s wharf. With nowhere to go, no family, or so he’d sworn, Jimmy had been more than happy to sign on with Ramsey Enterprises.

  “As for our crew, I interviewed ’em like ye tol’ me, and each sailor proved himself while loading up the Allegiance. We’re ready to set sail anytime you give the word.”

  Daniel eyed the men. “I suppose they’ll do.” Helplessness nipped at him. He didn’t have time to be particular. He’d been forced to cut this last visit to London short due to a telegram bearing bad news.

  “You won’t be sorry, Cap’n. I’ve a hunch these able-bodied men will serve us well.”

  Daniel kneaded his chin. “I presume there is a cook on board.” He arched a brow before glancing back at his brawny crewmen. Two voyages ago Bent had overlooked that small detail.

  “Cook’s been hired.” This time chagrin edged the husky man’s reply. “He’s been in your employ b’fore. Jeremy Kidwell’s his name, and he’s presently in the galley, arranging things to his liking.”

  “Kidwell, eh?” Daniel recalled the young, red-haired man. Other than being somewhat impetuous at times, he filled the position as cook quite adequately.

  “Aye, sir, Kidwell’s both skillful and resourceful.” A hopeful glimmer entered Bent’s sea-green eyes.

  “Good work.” Daniel rarely doled out compliments, but he made a point to do so when they were warranted. He gave Bent a friendly clap on the back.

  “Thank you, Cap’n.” A smile stretched across the first mate’s leathery face, revealing a dark space where a front tooth had once been rooted. “You know, I was sorry to learn this’ll likely be our last voyage together.”

  “Yes, well, it’s time for me to move on.” Daniel clasped his hands behind his back and widened his stance on the poop. “But before I marry and then step into the role of executor and chief of Ramsey Enterprises, I need to shore up some things from my past.”

  The news from Wisconsin burned in his memory. Poppa has taken ill, his mother, Kristin Sundberg, wrote. Please come home soon.

  Daniel had been surprised when his mother’s telegram arrived from New York City with the rest of his mail. But, of course, Mor had no knowledge that he’d spent the last two months in London. It had been seven years since he’d heard from her or any of his family. It had been for the best. He and his parents never saw eye to eye. But now a sense of duty implored him to make certain that his mother and sisters were well provided for once Poppa passed.

  “Cap’n?” Bent’s voice broke through his troubling thoughts. “It’s possible, ye know, that your father’ll recover.” Bent leaned in close. “My own mother suffered a debilitatin’ illness. But now she’s back on her feet an’ spittin’ nails like always.”

  Daniel wrestled with a grin. “I’ll take encouragement from that bit of information.”

  The warm summer wind brushed over his face, bringing along with it the stench from the Thames. Thank God he wouldn’t be docked on this crowded, stinking river for weeks, such as had happened several voyages ago. George Ramsey was not without influence in this city, and he’d pulled some strings all the way from New York. The Alleg
iance was on a short list for a tug, which would see her safely out of London’s port.

  Arms falling to his side, Daniel turned toward his cabin to finish the paperwork awaiting him on his desk. “All right, Bent. I approve the crew. Carry on.”

  “Aye, Cap’n!”

  Darkness shrouded Julianna so that she couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face. Beneath her the sea roiled. Waves crashed rhythmically beyond the walls of her tomblike confines.

  A ship. She’d been loaded into the bowels of a ship, for pity’s sake!

  Julianna gulped back fear and frustration. How could this have happened? She’d tried to cry out. However, her voice hadn’t been heard above the din of sliding crates and sailors’ shouts. And the language—it had been blue enough to burn the ears of any delicate female. But, of course, Julianna had heard the same foul words, or worse, coming from the pub at which Flora worked. How her sister could abide serving ale every night to those ruffians, Julianna would never know. Of course Flora didn’t have much choice, thanks to the young master and his sinful lusts.

  It had been a little more than three years ago now that Flora held the stately position of upstairs maid at the Tolbert mansion. But then Olson Junior forced himself on her. Months later Flora couldn’t hide the result of that attack, and, of course, the master wouldn’t abide an unmarried woman with child working in his house, even if the babe was his own grandchild. He turned Flora out into the streets.

  Julianna’s heart crimped at the memory. She’d tried to help Flora, but the few coins she made weren’t enough for her sister to live on. Sadly, the only help her sister found came from the prostitutes on the wharf. After the baby died at birth, Flora went to work in the Mariner’s Pub alongside her new friends. When Julianna tried to see her, Flora turned her away. She had her life now; she had friends. She didn’t need her proper little sister infringing on her lifestyle. Had Flora been sober when she’d spouted those words, Julianna might have believed them. Unfortunately, finding Flora sober hadn’t been possible yet.

  But now, dear Lord! She’d been loaded onto a ship? Where was it going? How would she get off?