by Gail Sattler
“The homes and conditions out there are a little rough, but in many ways not too much different than this, although I hear talk of improvements happening as they continue to expand. I’ve experienced your cooking skills firsthand, and I’ve also seen the work you’ve done organizing the church suppers and other events for your church. I think you’d be perfect. And most of all, I think you’d enjoy it.”
“I don’t know. . . .”
His hands slipped to her waist and he pulled her closer. “The second job is the more important one. With every letter we exchanged and every day that went by, I knew I couldn’t live without you. My future is stable now, and even though it’s not the job I’d dreamed of, it wouldn’t matter if I could have something far more important. What I’m asking is if you’ll be my wife and come back with me to the logging camp, whether or not you want the job in the cookhouse. I want you to be there with me, at my side, as my helpmate and my friend and the mother of our children. We’ve got a church together, and it has a real sense of fellowship and community. Louise Demchuck, will you marry me?”
“Yes!” she squealed, then rose up on her toes to meet his kiss.
While locked in his kiss, in the back of her mind Louise heard the front door slam, followed by her papa’s voice. “Louise? Anna? Where are you? Someone told me they thought they saw Elliott get off the train.”
The echo of two pairs of footsteps stopped in the doorway, and to Louise’s dismay, Elliott backed up and released her.
“Papa, Mama. Elliott and I are getting married.”
Her mama squealed, ran to her, and wrapped her arms around Louise. “I’m so happy for you, Louise!”
Her papa started to shake Elliott’s hand, shrugged his shoulders, then pulled him closer to give Elliott a suitable manly hug, still shaking one hand and patting him on the back with his free hand.
When the hugging was done, Louise backed up from her mother and stood beside Elliott. Her heart fluttered and her knees turned to jelly when she felt his arm slip around her waist. “You do know that this means I’d be taking your daughter away to the logging camp in British Columbia?”
Her mama smiled and sighed at the same time. “Of course we’ll miss you both, but I have to think of what our own parents thought when we got married and moved here to Pineridge to follow John’s job. You have our blessings.”
Elliott pulled her closer. “I have to warn you, the logging camp has even less conveniences than Pineridge.”
Louise didn’t care about conveniences. All she cared about was that God had blessed her with Elliott’s return. She didn’t care if they lived together in the heart of the city or in an igloo at the North Pole. She only wanted to marry him, and she wanted to marry him right away.
“Can we get married this weekend when Pastor Galbraith arrives and then go back to the logging camp together?”
He smiled, and her foolish heart fluttered, something she’d experienced a lot when she was with Elliott. “I think that’s a fine idea.”
“I’d love to work at the cookhouse at the logging camp. As long as in the spring, I’ll be able to raise some chickens.”
Elliott sighed. “One thing about that logging camp, it’s at least quiet at night. But if it makes you happy, you know I won’t say no to a few chickens.”
“Even a few dozen chickens?”
Elliott squeezed his eyes shut, then gave her a rather weak smile. “Only if I can name them.”
Louise raised her hands to his cheeks and pulled his face down to hers. Just before their lips touched, she stopped and whispered, “I love you, city boy.”
About the Author
Gail Sattler lives in Vancouver, British Columbia (where you don’t have to shovel rain) with her husband, three sons, dog, and countless fish, many of which have names. She writes inspirational romance because she loves happily-ever-afters and believes God has a place in that happy ending. Visit Gail’s website at www.gailsattler.com
Dedication
Dedicated to my mother, Helen. Writing this book has been an adventure I’ll never forget. Thank you, and I love you, Mom.
Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Matthew 6:34
A note from the author:
I love to hear from my readers! You may correspond with me by writing:
GAIL SATTLER
Author Relations
PO Box 719
Uhrichsville, OH 44683
