Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
What People are Saying
1
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3
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Thank you
You Can Help!
God Can Help!
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Redeeming Light
Annette O’Hare
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Redeeming Light
COPYRIGHT 2018 by Annette O’Hare
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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Contact Information: [email protected]
Scripture texts in this work are taken from the New American Bible, revised edition Copyright 2010, 1991, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Washington, D.C. and are used by permission of the copyright owner. All Rights Reserved. No part of the New American Bible may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC
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White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC
Publishing History
First White Rose Edition, 2018
Paperback Edition ISBN 978-1-5223-0128-8
Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-5223-0126-4
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
A father is neither an anchor to hold us back, nor a sail to take us there, but a guiding light whose love shows us the way ~ author unknown
Daddy, you will forever be in my heart.
Harrell "Jerry" McRae
1937 - 2017
What People are Saying
In Redeeming Light, Annette O'Hare once again gives us a delightful novel with fascinating characters caught up in a story of love, endurance, and complete trust in God in the most trying of times. Set on the Gulf Coast of Texas, the reader will experience the whims of the weather and tides of Bolivar and will be turning the pages to see who survives the tempest.
~Martha Rogers, author of the
Seasons of the Heart series
Annette O'Hare has nailed it in this delightful novel of a young woman's search to secure her future and finds an everlasting love. Well done!
~Cynthia Hickey, author of
the Shady Acres mystery series
1
For thou hast been a shelter for me, and a strong tower from the enemy. Psalm 61:3
Bolivar Peninsula, Late Summer 1900
Sarah Jane McKinney had dreaded the coming night for some time now. The very thought of having to deal with that crotchety old man had her stomach performing somersaults. On more than one occasion she’d heard Daddy refer to him as a shyster. And if he was brazen enough to try pulling something over on Daddy, then taking advantage of a house full of women should be as easy as drawing ants to a picnic.
“Come on, Ginger.” Sarah Jane clicked her tongue and tugged the reigns. The auburn mare flipped her head in the direction Sarah indicated. The horse’s russet-colored mane swished past long, dark lashes. Ginger had the glamorous eyes of a pin-up girl on a calendar. She nickered and snorted her annoyance at the restless dog running between her legs.
“Come on, Rex. Mama’s gonna be angry if Maisy May gets out of her pen and eats up her vegetables, again.” The keen-eyed dog snapped to attention at the sound of his name. Sarah gestured toward the gate. “Get the rope.”
Eager to please his master, Rex grasped the tattered cords in his mouth and pulled. The wooden gate swung toward the scruffy dog and latched shut.
“Good boy, Rex.”
The milk cow mooed her protest at being shut inside the barn.
Sarah knew firsthand that Maisy preferred the taste of Mama’s homegrown produce to her store-bought feed. “Sorry, girl, but I’m not drinking any more onion-flavored milk.”
With the pen secured, Ginger slowly clopped to her stall in the back of the barn. The slow cadence of her hoof falls indicated her fatigue. All the animals spent their nights in the barn except the beef stock, and Rex of course. Rex stayed in Sarah’s room, much to Mama’s displeasure.
Looking back, Sarah saw Maisy May’s udder bag swishing to and fro as she fell in line behind Ginger. Two goats, the newborn kid, and a half-dozen or more sheep followed in step as they did every evening.
Sarah dismounted and filled Ginger’s feed trough with fresh oats. Sarah unhitched the saddle and lifted it off the horse’s back. She had helped her daddy take care of the ranch for years, with the help of Pedro and the other hands, but now that her father was gone she quickly came to realize how much work there really was. There were so many things that needed attention. If she didn’t get some help soon, the place would fall into disrepair.
Ginger snorted her approval of dinner by plunging her long nose into the feed. Sarah brushed through the horse’s fur, damp from a hard day of work. Ginger’s flanks quivered with each stroke of the brush.
Without warning, Pedro stuck his head around the corner of Ginger’s stall.
Sarah startled, and the goats bleated their condemnation of his intrusion. She put her hand to her chest willing her heart to slow down to its regular pace. I need to put a bell around that man’s neck.
“I’m gonna go now, Miss Sarah, OK?”
“OK, Pedro.” It was an effort for Sarah not to pick up Pedro’s thick Hispanic accent. “Thanks for all your hard work today.”
“I see you next week, OK? We gotta castrate those new bull before Mr. Crosby come for the herd, OK?”
Sarah draped her arms over Ginger’s back. She extended a weary wave to Pedro. Exhaustion overcame her at the very thought of castrating the young bulls. It was disgusting work for sure, but she’d put it off long enough and needed to get it behind her. Her top lip curled thinking about the nauseating job that loomed ahead of them. “See you next week. Say hello to Inez for me.”
He nodded. “OK.” Pedro wasn’t a man much for words. Having said his piece, he disappeared around the corner. He was a good man—their best man. And the only one who stayed on to help her with the herd after Daddy was killed. The others had left, afraid there would be no more work, no more pay. Not Pedro, though. He had been by Daddy’s side for as long as she could remember.
But after the cattle were sold, she’d probably have to let h
im go too. Daddy’s ranch was too big for three women and one elderly Mexican man to handle. To keep her father’s MK brand alive, she’d have to scale down the operation. At least until she could get more help. Times like these made her wish she had half-brothers instead of two half-sisters.
Pedro led his mule out of the pen, where he kept her during the day, and climbed on her back. It amazed Sarah every time his leg made it over with his diminished stature. He nudged the mule in the flanks and held tight to the homemade harness she wore. She took off down the road with a jingle from the bells around her neck, all the while hee-hawing her grievances. Pedro’s wife, Inez, decorated the mule’s harness with colorful ribbons and bells, making her, as she said, “Muy bonita!”
Sarah removed her cowboy hat, and a passel of long, blonde curls tumbled down. She shook her head and ran her fingers through the straw-colored waves. A cow lowed in the distance, drawing her from the barn. She put the hat back on and walked toward the fence.
One of the fence posts leaned precariously, demanding Sarah’s attention. One more thing she needed to take care of but didn’t have the time or energy for. She chose a sturdy post and leaned her weary body against it. It was the time of day she’d grown to love so much growing up on the peninsula.
The sun appeared larger than usual. It cast brilliant rays of light onto the Bolivar Point Lighthouse standing tall in the distance. The huge tower reflected the dazzling light onto the swampy pond in front of it. The water danced and glimmered. The sun gave forth its final magnificent rays before gently sinking into the waters of Galveston Bay.
The herd of fifteen hundred Texas Longhorn cattle bearing her father’s MK brand grazed in the pasture. The colors of their hides were more varied than an artist’s pallet. She couldn’t imagine a more beautiful sight than the one that lay before her.
“Sarah Jane.” Her short, red-headed mama hollered from the back door. “Come inside and get cleaned up. Mr. Crosby will be here before you know it.”
“I’ll be right in, Mama.” The screen door slammed shut. Oh, Lord, I’m not looking forward to this meeting tonight. You know how Mr. Crosby is. He’s not to be trusted. I need You there to make sure he doesn’t take advantage of us.
God heard her prayers, but ever since Daddy died, it felt as if He was nowhere to be found. If she was to have a successful meeting with Mr. Crosby, she needed all the heavenly assistance she could muster.
Brutus, the oldest and best of their breed stock, bellowed his long, loud cry. The cows followed him into the far pasture with a soft lowing. Mama insisted they keep Brutus after the horrible accident. She asserted they needed him to continue Daddy’s near perfect line.
The broad chested king of the herd sauntered away with prideful arrogance. His seven-foot horn span swayed as he walked. Brutus was a regal animal, but it didn’t matter to Sarah how majestic he might be. She turned toward the house.
She would never forget that he was responsible for goring her daddy to death.
2
Sarah and her sister, Grace, helped Mama serve up the delicious cut of beef, potatoes, gravy, green beans, fresh peaches, and yeast rolls.
Sarah paid careful attention to Mr. Laird Crosby’s demeanor during supper to get a feel for how their negotiations would go afterwards. If the way he devoured Mama’s home cooking had anything to do with his willingness to deal, then prosperity was on their side. But uncertainty assailed her. It seemed he’d checked his previously crotchety manner at the door. Perhaps he was on his best gentlemanly behavior since he was in the presence of ladies.
“Mrs. McKinney, that might have been the juiciest piece of roast beef I’ve ever tasted.” Mr. Crosby patted his round belly as he followed Mama into the living room. He sat down in Daddy’s chair.
Mama said nothing, so Sarah let it go.
All men were to be respected, even if they did speak with some kind of Alabama accent. He wasn’t a native Texan; that much she was sure of.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Crosby. It’s been a while since I’ve cooked for a man.” Mama sat in her rocking chair and smoothed out her skirt. Rex trotted over and sat close to her. Mama put her hand on his furry head. “As you already know, our cattle provide some of the finest beef in southeast Texas—have for years now.” She gestured to Sarah and her sister, standing at the doorway. “Girls, come on in and have a seat. You are as much a part of this as we are.” She reached up and touched one of her faded red curls. “This will all be yours someday when I’m gone.” Her voice cracked.
Sarah wanted to roll her eyes. It was Mama’s new practice to voice her sense of mortality since Daddy died. She didn’t buy into Mama’s poor-little-old-me act. Her mother had survived a divorce and the deaths of her last two husbands. If she could live through that, then selling off a herd of cattle should be an easy day’s work for her.
The middle sister, on the other hand, seemed to thrive on Mama’s newfound insecurities. Most everyone considered Grace Winnie the most beautiful girl on the peninsula, with her enormous blue eyes and angelic features. Of her two sisters, Sarah was closest to Grace, but bless her heart, the poor girl was as naive as they came.
Grace rushed to Mama’s side and lifted her hand. “Oh, Mama, are you getting the gloomies again?”
Mama patted Grace’s arm. “I’ll be fine, honey. Now have a seat.” She patted the straight-backed chair next to her rocker, and Grace sat down beside her.
“Eh, hm.” Mr. Crosby loudly cleared his throat. “Mrs. McKinney, even though it hasn’t been clearly stated to me, I believe I can ascertain the reason as to why you’ve invited me out here to your ranch.”
Mama raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Well, it is the spring, Mr. Crosby. And if I’m not mistaken, the late Mr. McKinney had always invited you to our ranch at this time of year to discuss the purchase of our beef stock. So naturally, I assumed the reason I invited you here was more than obvious.”
“Well, you see now, that’s just the thing, Mrs. McKinney.” The man turned his attention away from Mama and looked at Grace. “Darlin’ would you be a dear and fetch me a cup of warm coffee and some of that delicious-looking peach cobbler I seen on the sideboard?”
Grace looked to Mama, who patted her on the knee. “Go on and get him what he wants.” She left the room.
Mama clasped her hands together and leaned forward to talk to the man. “Now what was it you were saying, Mr. Crosby?”
Mama’s question appeared to catch the man completely off guard as his eyes lasciviously followed Grace’s backside from the room. His neck whipped around to Mama, a revolting smile on his face. “What I’m saying, Mrs. McKinney, is that, if, in fact, you have invited me here to discuss whether I intend to enter into a contract with you…ladies, well then, I’m sorry to disappoint you. You see, ma’am, I’m not exactly in a position to purchase your cattle this year.”
“What?” Sarah jumped from her chair. “But you’ve always bought Daddy’s beef stock. Why would this year be any different?”
Mr. Crosby tightened his jaw and sneered at Sarah. He leaned forward in his chair…Daddy’s chair, and put his hand on his knee. “It’s different, my dear, because you are not Clayton McKinney.” He pointed at Mama and Sarah with two fingers on his right hand. “You two may be McKinneys, but you’re by no means the man of the house.”
Mama waved her hand at Sarah. “All right now, Sarah. Let’s all calm down, and see if we can work this out.” Sarah returned to her chair, and Mama turned her attention to the smug faced man. “Mr. Crosby, I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning. Of course, we’re not the man of the house, but we’re all that’s left.” She held up a hand in question.
He sat back in Daddy’s chair and crossed his legs as though he owned the place. “I see what you’re saying, Mrs. McKinney, but as far as I’m aware, you may not even be the legal owner of the Longhorn stock, since Mr. McKinney is no longer alive.”
At that moment, Grace came into the living room with a steaming cup of coffee and a saucer of M
ama’s peach cobbler. “Here you are, Mr. Crosby.” The way she politely handed them to the nasty man and even went as far as to smile at him made it obvious she hadn’t been listening to the conversation. She returned to her place next to Mama.
He winked at Grace before setting the coffee on the side table. “Why thank you, darlin’.”
Mama continued, a bit more frustration in her voice than before. “I’m sorry, Mr. Crosby, but how can you possibly think I’m not the legal owner of my own husband’s cattle?”
Mr. Crosby took a huge bite of cobbler and didn’t mind talking with his mouth full. Bits of cobbler shot from his mouth as he spoke. One of them would have to clean the floor later. “Well, ma’am, do you have any papers showing that the beef stock has been left in your name? Perhaps you are in possession of your late husband’s will. Because I don’t know for sure, but Mr. McKinney may very well have…say, a brother with just as much claim to the cattle as you do.”
Uncle Jasper’s face appeared in Sarah’s thoughts. He wouldn’t lay claim to Daddy’s cattle and leave them penniless. He wasn’t that kind of man. He was good and kindhearted like Daddy. How did this disgusting man know anything about Daddy’s brother? What kind of game was he playing?
Mama looked at Sarah. She hoped her mama could find a source of support in her eyes. She turned back to her aggravator. “The only one who might have more entitlement to the cattle than I do would be my daughter, Sarah, here. As you know, she is my late husband’s only heir.”
Mr. Crosby picked up his coffee from the table and took a long, loud sip. “Is that right, Miss McKinney? You are your daddy’s sole heir?” He wiped coffee and sweat from his lips.
Sarah stiffened her back. “That’s right, I am.”
Having devoured the cobbler in only a couple bites, he put the empty dish on the pedestal table next to Daddy’s chair. “Well now, Miss McKinney, seeing that you claim to be the sole owner of the MK Ranch, I suppose I should be talking to you then. If you don’t mind me asking, would you tell me how old you are, my dear?”
Sarah scowled at the pompous man. Righteous indignation swelled inside her. “Why, I’m seventeen and a half. Not that it’s any of your business. And for your information, I never claimed to be the sole owner of this ranch. The ranch belongs to Mama.”
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