A Promise to Love

by Serena B. Miller

  It couldn’t be.

  Susan had said that She-Wolf had been in the fishing boat as they were being blown away from shore . . . but it couldn’t be. The lake was too big. The coincidence too great. It was obvious that he was so desperate to believe his family was alive that he was beginning to imagine sounds that were not there.

  Just to be sure, he stood very still and listened. Once again there was no sound except the waves of the lake.

  One foot was in the stirrup and he was ready to mount, when he thought he heard something again. He stopped. Listened. Nothing.

  And then he heard it. He knew he heard it. Three short, staccato barks—and they were definitely coming from the darkness of the lake.

  “Who’s there?” he shouted.

  No one answered.

  Then suddenly, there came the unmistakable howl of She-Wolf—a dog with a sound like no other dog he had ever known. She began to bark again, and this time she didn’t stop. His heart leaped up as he heard the barks coming closer and closer.

  “Over here!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, waving the red cloak above his head. “Over here! Row toward my voice! Ingrid, sweetheart, row toward my voice!”

  She-Wolf was getting even more agitated as Ingrid rowed in the direction the dog was facing. The dog’s body wouldn’t quit trembling. She kept looking back over her shoulder at Hazel and Ingrid as though making certain they understood what she was telling them. She kept laying back her ears, giving short, staccato barks, then she would quit, prick her ears forward, and listen. At one point, She-Wolf raised her voice in a primal howl that sent chills down Ingrid’s spine. That dog heard something—but none of them had any idea what it was.

  She prayed that there was a beach where they were headed, instead of boulders to crash against. It would be a terrible thing to go through this ordeal only to lose their lives battered against sharp rocks.

  Then Agnes said, “I think I hear a man’s voice.”

  Everyone leaned forward, straining to hear over the rhythmic splashing of Ingrid’s oars.

  She felt as though her arms would fall off, but they could just fall off—she intended to get her family to shore if it killed her.

  Then she heard it too. A man’s voice, shouting, screaming. She-Wolf was now answering his shouts with almost nonstop barking.

  The dog was so eager, Ingrid worried that she might jump overboard. There was a possibility that the boat would capsize if she did.

  “Easy, girl,” Hazel said. “We’re doing what you want us to do. We’ll be there soon.”

  Then Ingrid heard something that convinced her that the lack of food and sleep was causing her to hallucinate. She stopped rowing.

  “Shhh—everyone.”

  Even She-Wolf ceased barking.

  She had not been hallucinating! There was a man’s voice in the darkness, and he was shouting her name.

  “Over here,” the voice shouted. “Ingrid! Sweetheart! Keep rowing. You’re getting closer. Keep rowing. The beach is sandy here. There are no rocks, just come straight toward my voice!”

  This was not possible. It was simply not possible. And yet everyone heard the same thing. The children started calling out to their father. Bertie, upset by the commotion, began to cry. Mary wept with relief that not only were they going to live but that her son was safe.

  Hazel did not shout, did not call out. All she did was stroke She-Wolf’s coat, saying, “Good girl, good girl!” over and over.

  Every muscle in Ingrid’s body was screaming in protest. Her mind knew absolutely that she could not do this. It was too far. The water was still too rough. The boat was too heavy. She had not eaten in so long. She was so very, very tired.

  And then, as though carried on the very surface of the water, a familiar refrain began to play in her mind—right along with the rhythm of the oars.

  Love bears all things.

  Dip. Pull.

  Love believes all things.

  Dip. Strain. Pull.

  Hopes all things.

  She gritted her teeth and grunted with the effort of pulling the heavy boat through the swells. She was growing weaker.

  Dip. Pull.

  Endures all things.

  She could not do this, but she had to do this!

  Dip. Pull.

  Love never fails.

  Dip. PULL!

  Ingrid finished those final yards on sheer grit alone. The moment the boat touched sand, the instant she knew her family was safe, she dropped the oars and collapsed.

  Barely conscious, she felt someone dragging the boat onto shore, and then Joshua was lifting her from the amazing little fishing boat that had saved their lives.

  She had never heard a grown man break down before, but Joshua sank to the ground still cradling her in his arms, clutching her to his chest, rocking back and forth, half-laughing, half-sobbing, saying love words to her over and over.

  “Pa,” she heard Agnes say, “it’s all right. We’re all safe. It’s all right. You don’t have to cry anymore.”

  Epilogue

  “Hans wants to buy the farm from us.” Joshua was lying beside her, on the softest bed Ingrid had ever laid in, in one of Delia’s opulent guest rooms.

  Ingrid felt a great well of happiness at the mere mention of her brother’s name. The day She-Wolf had led them to shore, the day of miracles, there had been one more—the news that her beloved brother was alive and well and they never had to be separated again.

  “Our farm is for the sale?” Ingrid lay facing him, twisting a small curl of Joshua’s thick hair around one finger. Her husband needed a haircut. He had been at the lumber camp a full two months this time.

  “I wanted to see what you thought before I agreed to anything.”

  Selling the farm was not something she had ever considered. She had assumed they would leave Delia’s, go back home, and rebuild.

  “Where we go if we sell to Hans?”

  Nothing prepared her for what came out of his mouth next.

  “Bart and his men, the man-catchers who kidnapped your brother, were released from jail recently. They are free men.”

  “How can this be?” She sat up, shocked. “They keep my brother locked up like animal! How can they be free?”

  “Bart had connections and money,” Joshua said. “He paid off the right people. There are some honest citizens here in Bay City who are trying to change things—but there is still much dishonesty among the powers-that-be.”

  She could not believe it. “The man who took my brother is free man? He not pay for his crime?”

  “Only the bit of time he spent in jail. From what I understand, even there he got special consideration.”

  “This I cannot believe!”

  “It’s true.” He looked at her, as serious as she had ever seen. “Ingrid, do you trust me?”

  “You, I trust with my life!” she said. “Why do you ask such thing?”

  “Do you mind if we don’t go back? Would you mind if I didn’t try to rebuild the farm?”

  “Hmmph! I do not care if we live on moon as long as our family is all together!” She gave thought to the implications of his words. “Where will we go?”

  “Delia has quite a few connections of her own.” He was looking at her so intently, she knew there was something very important coming. “She is part of the group of people who are trying to turn Bay City into a more law-abiding town.”

  Ingrid frowned. “What does this have to do with Hans and farm?”

  “Both Delia and my boss, Robert Foster, were favorably impressed with how I managed to help apprehend the kidnappers without any bloodshed.”

  “I am impressed too. What does this have to do with Hans and farm?”

  “Delia also knows a lot of men in high places who don’t ever want her knowledge about them to get out to the general public.”

  “She—how do you say this—black mark them?”

  “The word is blackmail, sweetheart. Delia never used that word, but I believe she d
id make a couple of prominent men very nervous recently.”

  Ingrid was utterly confused. “Why Delia want to make men nervous?”

  “Because these men have the ear of the president.”

  “The president?” Ingrid let out a huff. “You tell me what you are talking about, Joshua Hunter! Right now!”

  “Delia and Robert informed me that based on the recommendations he has recently received, President Grant has appointed me U.S. Marshal for this area. I don’t have to take the appointment, but if I do, I’ll get to help the citizens of this area turn things around. I think I’d be good at it.”

  “You will be afraid? You will be in big danger?”

  “No. I’m not afraid, and yes, there would be some danger. Every job has its dangers, including farming, but from what I understand, I’ll be allowed to appoint deputies to help me. I have a handful of local men I’ve gotten to know at the lumber camp, also former soldiers, who I would like to have beside me. I think we could make a real difference.”

  “Where we live?”

  “There’s another option. I got a letter from Zeb last week. Since we are, for the moment, homeless—they have graciously offered to take us in and share the farm with us.”

  “What? Why they do this now? After we spend whole winter living with Delia?”

  “It could be that my brother has finally grown a spine, or it might be because Barb has had a sudden change of heart, or . . .”

  “Or?”

  “It has finally occurred to both of them that the farm is still in our mother’s name and she could legally have them thrown off the property.”

  Ingrid gasped. “Mary would do that?”

  “She has strongly considered it, but ultimately I think she’ll just end up charging Zeb and Barb a hefty rent to stay there.”

  “They would pay?”

  “If they think they’ll lose the roof over their heads if they don’t—they’ll pay.”

  “Zeb and Barb is one place I do not want to live!”

  “I kind of figured you would feel that way.” He chuckled. “So, here’s what I’m considering doing—with the pay I’ll get from the camp after we bring the logs in, plus whatever Hans pays us for the farm, along with whatever salary I would get as a marshal, I think we could buy a nice house here in town. The children could go to a real school. Mother says she and Hazel are discussing the possibility of pooling their resources and buying a small place here in town since Hazel’s house is gone—there’s even a chance we could find something close together.”

  “You will not miss farm?” she asked. “After you work so hard?”

  “From what I’ve been hearing, it doesn’t appear that White Rock will ever build back up. The people don’t seem to have the heart for it. Most are starting new lives in other towns. I guess I’m like the other people of White Rock. I don’t have the heart to go back and try to rebuild. I heard that even Susan’s parents, along with her and Lyman, recently moved here to Bay City, where her father has found a church. I think most of us feel the need for a fresh start.”

  “What about Richard and Virgie’s farm?”

  “Hans wants to buy that from the children, someday. They are the only heirs. In the meantime, we could give him permission to work both farms if he wanted.”

  “Three hundred and twenty acres.” Ingrid smiled. “Hans will be very happy . . . and you help Delia and Robert clean up town?”

  “I hope so,” he said. “Frankly, I’m looking forward to the challenge, but I won’t take the job unless you want me to. If this upsets you, I’ll tell Delia and the president that I won’t do it.”

  Ingrid started laughing. She laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn’t seem to stop. Every time she tried—one look at him and she would start laughing again.

  “What is this?” He seemed utterly mystified by her behavior. “What is so funny?”

  “So, you are saying”—Ingrid bit down on her laughter long enough to begin ticking things off on her fingers—“we buy new house, we put children in school, I have many nice neighbors, Susan and family close by, Delia and Lizzy close by, Mary and Hazel close by, plenty nice stores to shop, Hans happy working farm . . . and I not have to carry water to cherry trees no more.” She started to laugh again. “Oh, Ingrid so very upset!”

  He grinned. “I’m guessing then that you approve of the idea?”

  She wondered if it was possible to love a man any more than she already did. “I live on moon with you, Joshua Hunter—but Bay City will make me very happy.”

  He kissed her hard and then glanced over at the substantial wooden door. “Did you lock it?”

  “Ja.” She laughed. “I lock it plenty good. Children all asleep. Mother and Hazel all asleep. No one bother us until morning unless Polly decides to throw up again.”

  He took her chin in his hand and looked deep into her eyes. “You realize that I am going to spend the rest of my life cherishing you, don’t you?”

  “Ja. I know that good.”

  He held out his arms to her as a familiar refrain ran through her mind.

  Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

  Love never fails.

  Author’s Note

  The heart of this novel was inspired by the life of my grandmother, Elizabeth Allen Bonzo, who took upon herself the task of salvaging a still-grieving dirt farmer’s family in the late 1800s. She, too, sat in a neighbor’s living room all day and into the night until the neighbor gave up and she was given “her” baby—the widower’s infant son. Like Ingrid, my grandmother also forever cherished the fact that her husband once told her that she was a better mother to his children than their birth mother.

  Their log home was used as a makeshift courtroom for our rural township in the 1800s. Much of the court trial I write about at the beginning of this book, including the details of the young woman’s mysterious illness, were taken verbatim from an 1881 handwritten transcript we discovered among some forgotten court records left in that house.

  As in my story, the mystery of the young woman’s death was never resolved by the court and was ruled “death by unknown causes.”

  As I searched for possible causes of death that could explain her symptoms, I discovered one that surprised me. Patented, herbal, abortive medicines were a big business in the 1800s. The business was so lucrative that in 1870, during a time when earning a dollar a day was considered a fair wage, a Madame Restell spent over sixty thousand dollars on newspaper advertisements alone. The liberal use of these abortifacients caused many deaths.

  To the disgust of legitimate logging camp owners, good loggers were sometimes kidnapped and forced to work in dangerous “haywire” camps.

  Many believe that the holocaust that swept across the Midwest in October of 1871 was caused by a meteor shower. The fact that so many fires started at virtually the same time, hundreds of miles apart in at least five states, supports this theory. Others believe that it was simply a perfect storm made up of severe drought conditions, hundreds of acres of discarded tree tops, and the habit many farmers had of burning off their fields in the fall.

  Most of the scenes I described during the fire, with the exception of Ingrid’s rescue and the cross-country journey of Joshua and Hans, were based on eyewitness accounts gleaned from 1871 newspaper clippings. Hundreds of dazed wild animals sought shelter in those towns bordering the lake. Exhausted birds rested on every available surface. Domestic dogs and cats from inland farms ominously abandoned their homes several days before the fire.

  The inhabitants of the once flourishing but now phantom town of White Rock tried to save their homes by forming a bucket brigade, only to abandon the effort and run for their lives moments later. The wall of flame was said to have been over one hundred feet high and stretched along the shore for miles. The hurricane-force winds created such havoc in Lake Huron that the people had to fight against being thrown back onto the flaming shore. Some did not succeed and perished
. Wet, oaken buckets placed upon people’s heads for protection caught fire far out into the water from the heat alone. The scene of Ingrid’s wagon being aflame as they hit the water was taken from a true account from a different location.

  Most of the farmers in the direct path of the fire tragically chose to stand and fight for their property. Over 1,500 people died. At least forty towns were destroyed. A small fishing boat holding nine adults and several children floated blindly in the thick smoke for three days, during which one child died.

  Steamboat captains heroically braved the lack of visibility to rescue hundreds of burn victims and refugees in the days following the fire, dropping food and clothing off to those who stayed behind. A Dr. Johnson from Port Huron worked tirelessly upon the Moffat, bandaging and giving comfort to the steady stream of burn victims. Sadly, the long-awaited rains came only twenty-four hours after the conflagration.

  The intrepid General George Custer really did have eleven horses shot out from under him. With incredibly bad timing and aim, he managed to accidentally shoot and kill one of them all by himself—while riding it.

  Serena B. Miller is the author of The Measure of Katie Calloway and Love Finds You in Sugarcreek, Ohio, as well as numerous articles for periodicals such as Woman’s World, Guideposts, Reader’s Digest, Focus on the Family, Christian Woman, and more. She lives on a farm in southern Ohio.

  Books by Serena B. Miller

  * * *

  The Measure of Katie Calloway

  A Promise to Love

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