by Indiana Wake
Honey’s Grace
Pioneer Brides of the Oregon Trail
Indiana Wake
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Contents
Pioneer Brides of the Oregon Trail
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
Epilogue
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Also by Indiana Wake
About the Author
Pioneer Brides of the Oregon Trail
It is 1866, twenty-three years after the great migration that saw 1000 pioneers head west.
Oregon is a vibrant town and the next generation are grown and making their own mark. What difficulties will they face? Does the great journey still loom over their lives, are new settlers still coming to town? Do old resentments still linger?
Find out how 5 families that settled in Oregon deal with the new life they have and how the next generation grow up to find love and happiness in this wonderful new series.
Each book is a standalone story and can be read in any order. The books are
Suki’s Heart
Amanda’s Hope
Katie’s Courage
Jenny’s Wish
Honey’s Grace
This is the last book in this amazing and much-loved series but you can read the story of the first generation below. It tells of love on the great migration of 1843 and has the stories of the parents of much of this series’ books. Grab these wonderful bestselling romances:
Trinity’s Loss
Carrie’s Trust
Josie’s Dreams
Polly’s Choice
Charlotte’s Wedding
All books are FREE with Kindle Unlimited or just 0.99
Chapter 1
“Honey Goodman, how times have changed! It used to be you trying to convince me to dance with a nice young man. Now I can’t get you to move from the spot. What happened?” Suki Reynolds laughed good-naturedly.
“Well, you’re a married woman now. It wouldn’t be right for me to try to get you dancing with another man these days. Not to mention the fact that Sonny is just a few yards away.” Honey chuckled, her golden curls bouncing a little as she did so.
“Very funny!” Suki playfully swatted her friend’s arm. “You know what I mean, Honey! I didn’t think I’d ever see you give up.”
“I haven’t given up, Suki, I swear. I’m just tired of the out-of-town cowboys and their rough ways. And, as for the local men, I guess I haven’t found one I want to spend forever with. I don’t know, I reckon I always thought this was so easy. Maybe it was only easy when I was the one dishing out the advice.” Honey shrugged and rolled her eyes.
“Your advice was always welcome. And it worked too, didn’t it?” Suki tipped her head in the direction of her new husband, Sonny Reynolds. “And don’t forget, Sonny came into town as a cowboy. They’re not all the same, you know.”
“I know. But I reckon you struck real lucky with that man of yours. He’s a good one.” Honey smiled warmly; her friend’s happiness meant everything to her and there was no hint of envy in her soul.
“Although I must admit, they’re not a nice crowd, tonight. I don’t know half of these guys.” Suki peered off across the town barn.
There were revelers dancing and enjoying themselves, as always, but there were little groups of cowboys here and there, not dancing, but watching. Some of them stood at the edge of the dancing, clearly watching the young women and trying to decide which ones were unwed. As Honey followed Suki’s gaze, she realized there was something about this new bunch of incomers she didn’t like, either. Not that she’d met any of them just yet, but they seemed to give off a menacing air.
As she watched, Honey realized she’d caught the eye of two of the cowboys; maybe they thought she and her friend were trying to tempt them over. She hurriedly shifted her gaze.
“If we’re not careful, they’ll be over here,” she said in a hiss. “Suki, look this way.”
“Sure thing, I don’t like the look of those two. Maybe we should call Sonny over here.”
“No, let’s not get your husband into some kind of ruckus if there’s no need. Let’s just ignore them and hopefully they will go back to staring at the girls dancing.” Honey sighed. “I don’t know, it seems to me that this new bunch of cowboys are all cut from the same cloth. They all act the same way, just look at them. Or don’t look at them, I should say.” Honey laughed without mirth, keeping her eyes fixed on Suki’s face.
“Who’s that?” Suki was easily distracted.
Sighing, Honey followed her friend’s gaze in another direction altogether and found herself watching a young man wandering into the barn alone. There was something tentative about him, as if he wasn’t sure he quite belonged. He reminded her of a part-broken horse, one who might set off in the opposite direction with very little reason.
Whoever he was, he most certainly was not a cowboy. They had a way of dressing—a way of walking—a confidence that was determined rather than inherent. She wasn’t sure she could comment on the young man’s confidence, but she had the idea that he was not putting on an act like so many of the young men in the town barn that night.
“I don’t think I know him,” Honey said, and then wondered if that was really the case.
The further he advanced into the barn, the more she thought there was something just a little familiar about him. He wasn’t a friend; Honey knew that much. If he had been, she would recognize him immediately. All in all, the man perplexed her.
“Me neither, but he’s kind of handsome, isn’t he?” Suki grinned. “And he sure doesn’t look like a cowboy.”
“Not dressed like that he isn’t,” Honey agreed, turning a little so that she was now only peering at him and from the corner of her eye rather than staring at him flat out as her friend was.
Suki was right, the young man was handsome. He was tall and broad but not in a rough and swaggering way. He was straight-backed, with the darkest hair and a strong, clean-shaven jaw. He wore black trousers and a waistcoat, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up and a neckerchief tied loosely about his throat.
Despite that final touch—that little hint of roughness—the neckerchief did not cover the fact that the young man was closer to being a gentleman than a cowboy or farmer. More than ever, he caught her interest. He seemed out of place, as if he had walked in through the wrong door and now found himself in another world. And yet, the rough tying of the neckerchief seemed deliberate, like a man who knew exactly where he was going to spend the evening and didn’t want to stand out too much. Who on earth was he?
“He doesn’t seem to know anybody, Honey,” Suki continued to give commentary as they both watched the young man carefully pick his way through the revelers to the punchbowls. “Well, he’s taking the liquor punch so he can’t be as straitlaced as he looks.” Suki chuckled.
“I don’t think he looks straitlaced, really. He looks out of place, but not so awkward. It’s as if he doesn’t mind that he is a little different from everybody else and look, nobody else seems to have paid him any attention at all. Maybe we’re just nosy, Suki.”
“Oh yes, we sure are nosy.” Suki laughed. “Why don’t we walk on up to the punch bowls to get a better look at him.”
“I think we might be too late,” Honey said with a deep sigh. “Look.”
The two women looked in unison to see t
he cowboys who had studied them earlier making their way over. Honey wondered if they could simply get up and walk away, maybe even do as Suki had said and hover by the punchbowls. But would it really be fair to involve the newcomer in their little trauma? He was dressed well and would certainly antagonize the cowboys without even trying. No, it would not be fair.
“And Sonny is now nowhere to be seen,” Suki said and sounded a little tremulous. “Really, we shouldn’t have put up with this. A couple of women ought to be able to stand and talk at the barn dance without becoming prey.”
“You put that well. I certainly feel like prey now. Well, I’m not putting up with it,” Honey said, having grown tired of the way of things lately.
This new breed of cowboys needed putting in their place and Honey Goodman had decided on the spot that she would be the one to do just that.
“Howdy, girls,” one of the two cowboys said, lifting his hat.
There was something about the way he lifted his hat—it felt like a mockery of gentlemanly behavior when teamed with a look so lascivious that even a nun would have recognized it. It annoyed Honey greatly, and so she began as she meant to go on.
“Ladies,” she said sharply. “We’re not children.”
“Ooh, listen to this one!” The hat-lifting cowboy turned to his friend and let out a derisory howl of laughter. “That’s not real friendly, is it?”
“Gentlemen, my friend and I are in the middle of a conversation and we sure would like to be left to it,” Honey continued, keeping the fear out of her voice.
“Well, aren’t you a haughty little maid!” the second cowboy said with an angry sneer on his face. “I reckon someone ought to teach you a lesson!”
“For what? Wanting to talk to my friend? Wanting to decide for myself who I spend my evening with? You’re not among your closest friends here, mister, but I am. You just go ahead and try to teach me a lesson here and see how many of the locals are going to stand by and let you do that. And don’t forget, cowboys are ten-a-penny here. My daddy needs only speak to whomever it is you work for and you’ll be dragging your sorry behinds to another part of Oregon to look for work!” Honey glared at him. She did not like to be threatened by a man.
The hat-lifting cowboy touched his friend’s sleeve and tipped his head in the direction of the dance floor, indicating that they should just move on. Only when his friend seemed determined to carry on badgering the women did he speak again.
“Come on, there’s prettier ones than this pair out dancing.”
“Yeah!” the second cowboy said vitriolically, looking Honey up and down as if she didn’t meet his high standards anyway.
The two cowboys sauntered away and, when they were out of earshot, Honey laughed.
“Honey, I can’t believe you!” Suki squeaked, clearly impressed. “Oh, and look! Just out of time, my husband is wandering towards us!”
“Don’t you go saying anything to him, Suki. I don’t want him getting into any trouble tonight.”
“Sure,” Suki said, her eyes still bright with admiration for her courageous little friend.
Chapter 2
As Marshall Thornhill walked into the town barn, he tried to remember the last time he’d been in there. His family, being about the grandest for miles around, tended to keep themselves apart from the rest of town. Marshall had always felt the greatest sense of missing out, but his father, and his grandfather, had always insisted on maintaining the separation they had always claimed marked them out as better.
For the young Marshall Thornhill, life had just been plain lonely. Privileged, yes, but lonely nonetheless. Going away to study had somehow broken the horrible spell of it all, providing him with friends, albeit temporary ones, and a sense of community that he missed dreadfully now that he had returned from university.
Marshall walked further into the barn, amazed that there was something familiar and comforting about it, despite the fact his family had only attended events where his father, Kirby Thornhill, could take a leading part. No doubt the last time they had been there, his father would have been judging something like vegetables, cakes, or pretty ladies. Whatever it was, his father liked to be asked by the townsfolk to judge their little competitions. Marshall knew it made his father feel like some sort of dignitary, even though Kirby Thornhill had never said such a thing out loud.
Spying the punchbowls in the distance, Marshall decided to pick his way through the crowds and get himself a drink. Despite the curious familiarity of the town barn, something about so many people inside it made him feel lonely again—just as he had felt as a child. But he had decided to come to the barn dance that evening. It had been his choice. It hadn’t occurred to him that one of the very things he longed for would somehow manage to make him feel as much an outsider as not attending had done. Still, he was there now. Maybe, he would even recognize somebody, an old friend from the schoolroom, although they were truly few and far between. Perhaps acquaintance would be more accurate.
His eyes carefully scanned the room, avoiding anything to draw attention to himself like no sweeping head movements. When he saw a young lady looking at him, he managed to peer back at her without being at all obvious.
She sure was a beautiful woman, with large golden curls and something spirited about the way she turned her head and talked to her friend. She wasn’t very big, but she drew the eye. And then, with something between a smile and a grimace, he realized that he knew her. It could only be Honey Goodman.
He chuckled quietly to himself—trust him to pick out his enemy. Well, not his enemy, exactly, but the daughter of his father’s enemy. But the loyalties and enemies of parents naturally trickled down into the hearts and minds of their offspring. It was the way of things in towns like theirs; he wasn’t sure anybody meant it to be that way, but children were unquestionably loyal. No doubt, that was why it was so easy for a child to follow in his father’s footsteps without examining the wants of his own heart.
There was a queue for drinks at the punchbowls and he joined the one which would see him certainly handed something with a little liquor in it. Marshall wasn’t a great drinker—it was true—but he thought a few swallows of alcohol might make all the difference that evening.
He looked over to where Honey Goodman and her friend stood talking, not looking at him at all now. Surely, the young lady at her side was Suki Sheppard? Or Suki something, at any rate. Had somebody told him that she had married at some point while he had been away at university? Either way, he ought not to have been surprised; Honey and Suki had been inseparable from the very moment they had all started their education at the little schoolroom in town, it stood to reason that their friendship would stand the test of time.
It was the one thing he was grateful to his father for, for there had been much talk of sending him away to school from a very early age. Fortunately for Marshall, Kirby Thornhill thought that he could have a much better effect and provide much more suitable guidance than any school could for his young son.
Even though he had been a little apart from the rest, accepted by some, but not accepted too much, Marshall looked back on his school days with fondness. It had been as close to friendship as he could have hoped for back then. But, by the time his father was ready to send him away to university, Marshall had been ready to go. It didn’t matter at the time what he was to study. The promise of a few years with limited time spent in his father’s company, not to mention his mother, was enough to make the whole thing a wonderfully exciting adventure.
However, had the choice been his, which it most certainly had not, Marshall wouldn’t have chosen to study the law. That had been his father’s want; the idea that working as an attorney would have his son quickly propelled into the lower echelons of local government was, as always, a draw to Kirby Thornhill.
Marshall’s now-deceased grandfather, Bart, had failed to make his way into government, as had his father. Both men had assumed that money, and money alone, would be enough to get them to where they want
ed to go. They were educated well enough, of course, but they had never turned their hands to anything much in their lives and a burgeoning government in a Pioneer town needed men who knew what they are doing. Finally, Kirby had come to that realization. Perhaps too late for himself, but not too late for his son. Regardless of what it was Marshall wanted to do with his life, of course.
The lady serving up the liquor-fueled punch was intent on whatever conversation she was having with the man at the head of the queue. Marshall could tell by the way she smiled that she had a liking for the man; this business of getting a simple drink might take a while. He decided to content himself with another look at Honey Goodman. Why was he so bothered? Maybe because she and Suki Sheppard were the only faces that he recognized.
As he turned to look, he could see two cowboys approaching the women, swaggering along under the weight of their supreme confidence. Marshall smiled to himself—did women really like that kind of approach?
Honey Goodman wasn’t just getting the attention of the swaggering cowboys in her company, but from several interested young men in the barn. He looked around and could see more than one pair of eyes studying the unfolding scene with interest, likely hoping that his own chances weren’t about to be dashed to pieces as they surely would be if the tiny blonde beauty set off to dance with one of the two men.
Marshall gave a weathered eye to the drink situation and, seeing that nothing had changed, he turned back to look at Honey. He could see her blonde head tipped to one side, something which he recognized from his days in the schoolroom. In fact, he had personal experience of the head tilt; she was giving those young cowboys a piece of her mind, he could swear to it.
