The Sacred Shore
Page 1
The Sacred Shore
© 2000 by Janette Oke & T. Davis Bunn
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
E-book edition created 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-5855-8877-0
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
Cover by Dan Thornberg
This book is dedicated to
one who was
a special friend
and enthusiastic reader
Laura Lohmeyer
who, at age sixteen, is now in His hands.
Books by Janette Oke
Return to Harmony • Another Homecoming
Tomorrow’s Dream
ACTS OF FAITH*
The Centurion’s Wife • The Hidden Flame • The Damascus Way
CANADIAN WEST
When Calls the Heart • When Comes the Spring
When Breaks the Dawn • When Hope Springs New
Beyond the Gathering Storm
When Tomorrow Comes
LOVE COMES SOFTLY
Love Comes Softly • Love’s Enduring Promise
Love’s Long Journey • Love’s Abiding Joy
Love’s Unending Legacy • Love’s Unfolding Dream
Love Takes Wing • Love Finds a Home
A PRAIRIE LEGACY
The Tender Years • A Searching Heart
A Quiet Strength • Like Gold Refined
SEASONS OF THE HEART
Once Upon a Summer • The Winds of Autumn
Winter Is Not Forever • Spring’s Gentle Promise
SONG OF ACADIA*
The Meeting Place • The Sacred Shore • The Birthright
The Distant Beacon • The Beloved Land
WOMEN OF THE WEST
The Calling of Emily Evans • Julia’s Last Hope
Roses for Mama • A Woman Named Damaris
They Called Her Mrs. Doc • The Measure of a Heart
A Bride for Donnigan • Heart of the Wilderness
Too Long a Stranger • The Bluebird and the Sparrow
A Gown of Spanish Lace • Drums of Change
www.janetteoke.com
*with Davis Bunn
Books by
T. Davis Bunn
The Book of Hours
The Great Divide
Winner Take All
The Lazarus Trap
Elixir
Imposter
Lion of Babylon
All Through the Night
My Soul to Keep
ACTS OF FAITH*
The Centurion’s Wife • The Hidden Flame
The Damascus Way
SONG OF ACADIA*
The Meeting Place • The Sacred Shore
The Birthright • The Distant Beacon
The Beloved Land
HEIRS OF ACADIA†
The Solitary Envoy • The Innocent Libertine
The Noble Fugitive • The Night Angel
Falconer’s Quest
*with Janette Oke †with Isabella Bunn
JANETTE OKE was born in Champion, Alberta, to a Canadian prairie farmer and his wife, and she grew up in a large family full of laughter and love. She is a graduate of Mountain View Bible College in Alberta, where she met her husband, Edward, and they were married in May of 1957. After pastoring churches in Indiana and Canada, the Okes spent some years in Calgary, where Edward served in several positions on college faculties while Janette continued her writing. She has written forty-eight novels for adults and another sixteen for children, and her book sales total nearly thirty million copies.
The Okes have three sons and one daughter, all married, and are enjoying their fifteen grandchildren. Edward and Janette are active in their local church and make their home near Didsbury, Alberta.
T. DAVIS BUNN has been a professional novelist for twenty years. His books have sold in excess of six million copies in sixteen languages, appearing on numerous national bestseller lists.
Davis is known for the diversity of his writing talent, from gentle gift books like The Quilt to high-powered thrillers like The Great Divide. He has also enjoyed great success in his collaborations with Janette Oke, with whom he has coauthored a series of ground-breaking historical novels.
In developing his work, Davis draws on a rich background of international experience. Raised in North Carolina, he completed his undergraduate studies at Wake Forest University. He then traveled to London to earn a master’s degree in international economics and finance before embarking on a distinguished business career that took him to more than thirty countries in Europe, Africa, and the Middle East.
Davis has received numerous literary accolades, including three Christy Awards for excellence in fiction. He currently serves as Writer-in-Residence at Regent’s Park College, Oxford University, and is a sought-after lecturer on the craft of writing.
Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Prologue
Catherine stood within the shadows of the kitchen and watched her daughter pass before the open window. She glanced at the delicate face framed in dark hair and knew instantly where Anne was going. Catherine began to call out to her, to tell her that it was time to prepare dinner. But she held back. Though it had always been difficult to allow Anne to be alone at times like this, Catherine knew with a mother’s instinct that she must give her daughter these moments on her own.
Her daughter. Catherine moved closer to the window to watch the slender figure continue down the village lane. Anne was headed for the cliffside, a high promontory with far-reaching views. Just beyond the village borders, the sparkling blue Bay of Fundy joined with Cobequid Bay. When Anne was still a young child, she had taken to walking out there with her grandfather, and she had selected an ancient tree trunk as her favorite spot. Catherine had joined them on several occasions, and she knew Anne still went to sit there and be alone with her thoughts.
What is she thinking of today? Catherine wondered as Anne moved out of sight. A child no longer, she was now eighteen, with a quiet yet joyful nature. Even so, there were moments like these when the stillness seemed to gather about her like a shroud. Then her features became as grave and inscrutable as an elderly woman’s, and Anne would wander off on her own.
Other memories too painful to ponder tumbled through her mind, and instantly Catherine returned to her dinner preparations, the motions as natural as breathing. There were more questions she dared not ask. Not any longer.
Chapter 1
Before Charles Harrow set foot upon land, he already loathed the place. Halifax was, to his mind, loud and ugly and utterly unappealing. Nothing about the scene seemed inviting at all. The sun rested on the western slopes and shone upon the town rising in dirty, unkempt stages from the harbor. Jostling throngs filling the harbor square were forced to thread their way through bleating cattle and shouting soldiers. From every corner rang hammers and saws and shouts intermingled with the mewling of the animals. The workmen’s dust was so thick it reminded him of the storm at sea they had recently endured. Charles sneezed into his handkerchief and wished himself back in London, away from these untamed and uncivilized colonies. The fact that a whim of fate had forced him here left him furious. He was not accustomed to doing anything other than exactly what suited him most.
“As I live and breathe, there’s the Pride of Weymouth,” cried the captain, moving up alongside him at the rail. “Look at her resting there at anchor, calm as by-your-leave. I never thought we’d see her spars again.”
Lord Charles, eighth earl of Sutton, released an explosive breath. It would do no good to bemoan his fate again. He had survived the journey; he had made the crossing. He snuffled and made rejoinder out of courtesy rather than interest. “Your son is on that vessel, am I right?”
“Aye, if he didn’t wash overboard like your two servants. The lad shipped as midshipman, against his mother’s wishes. Eleven years old and the youngest of my brood. I’ll rest easier once I learn I don’t have to go back and tell the missus he was lost at sea.”
Charles Harrow sighed heavily and squinted over the bustling capital of the colony known as Nova Scotia. Halifax was a city that threatened to burst its own seams. My servants. The older man had been with Charles since he was a child, since before his father had died and passed on to him the estates and the money and the power. The old servant had been like a second father, so attached to Lord Charles he could not think of letting him make this journey alone. And now he was gone, buried in the heart of a storm Charles had thought would cost them all their lives.
As though reading his thoughts, the captain confessed, “There were moments when I thought we all were headed for Davy Jones’s locker.”
Charles turned to the captain, noting more gray in the man’s beard than there had been at the beginning of their voyage. “It seems strange to look at our rigging and not see icicles long as my arm.”
“Crossings to Halifax this early in the season remain rare for good reason. But you made it, sir, and arrived here while the hills remain topped with white.” The captain offered the glimmer of a smile. “That’s something for you to tell your grandchildren.”
My grandchildren. Charles Harrow ground his teeth at this unwelcome reminder of why he had made the perilous journey. “I must be off,” he muttered.
“I’ll have a couple of seamen carry your gear.” The captain offered a stiff bow. “Whatever it was that sent you over, m’lord, I hope you’re successful.”
“My thanks.” Charles Harrow returned the captain’s formal bow and started down the gangplank, followed by two seamen laden with trunk and bags.
His first step on dry land in two months almost sent him tumbling, for a shepherd led a flock of sheep directly into his path. Only the quick hands of one of the seamen saved him from sprawling in the half-frozen muck. Charles waited as his sea chest was hefted from the mud and fleetingly wished there were some way to transport himself back to London.
But there was no help for it. Fate had dealt him a cruel hand, and he was here. Without power or comforts of wealth and home, and even the familiar faces of his two most trusted servants gone. His only hope was to complete his business and—
“Lord Charles? Are you Lord Charles?”
“I am.”
The mud-spattered young man whipped off his hat and made a parody of a courtly bow. “Winston Groom at your service, m’lord. I bring Governor Lawrence’s sincerest respects. He regrets that he could not be here to greet you himself, but urgent business has called him to the hinterland.”
“Of course.” Charles pointed at another flock of bleating animals bearing down on them. “Let’s carry on somewhere safer, shall we?”
“Certainly, your lordship. This way.” The man bowed and scraped in the way of someone awed by Charles’s station, seeking to lead and follow at the same time. Winston Groom reminded Charles of an oft-beaten dog. “Did your lordship have a pleasant journey?”
“Don’t be daft, man. Crossing the North Atlantic at any time could hardly be call for pleasantness. A passage between March and April was nothing short of dreadful.”
“Yes, yes, sir, humble apologies, sir. The Weymouth feared you’d been lost with all hands.” The young man was dressed in what most likely passed for high fashion in the colonies. His shirt collar was starched and his winter coat fur trimmed, but his clothes were as mud-spattered as his boots. “Governor Lawrence will be delighted to hear that you survived the journey.”
“Is there a suitable inn in this town? A hostel? A wayfarer’s lodging?”
“Indeed, that is where I am taking your lordship.” He led Charles and the two silent seamen up onto the elevated wooden walkway. The seamen’s clogs clattered loudly over the rough planking. The remnants of hard winter were everywhere: dirty snow remained piled against north-facing walls; tiny icicles still dripped from the walkway’s overhang. The distant hills were more white than brown. Horses drawing wagons and carriages along Halifax’s thoroughfares still bore their rough winter’s coats. Charles picked his way behind the young man across a busy intersection, dodging supply wagons and a trio of mud-drenched horses and two boys leading half a dozen pigs by rope leads. The pigs were the biggest he had ever seen, rude beasts that fit the town perfectly.
Eventually Winston Groom opened a glass-topped door with a flourish and announced, “Right through here, your lordship.”
The hotel was so new it still smelled of fresh-cut lumber. But the floor was waxed and there were tallow candles in the chandelier and the owner there to bow him over the threshold. Charles took the first easy breath since stepping off the gangplank. Here at least there was a semblance of civilization.
The owner bowed a second time and said, “Welcome, Lord Charles. We have taken the liberty of preparing for you our finest rooms.”
Charles permitted himself to be led up the central staircase, inspected the rooms and announced them adequate. He gave the seamen a silver penny each. When he saw Winston Groom’s eyes widen at the amount, Charles had the impression that here was a man who could be bought.
The innkeeper said, “We’ve got a fresh haunch roasting on the fire, m’lord, and the last of our winter’s stock of root vegetables making a fine stew. And bread in the oven.”
His stomach grumbled at the thought of fresh food. “I don’t suppose you have any fruit.”
The hotelier was a sharp-faced man more suited to the counting room than the kitchen. His laugh held the easy roughness of the colonies. “Not for another month, your lordship. Not till the first vessel arrives from the southern colo
nies.”
“Very well, I’ll take whatever you recommend.” He turned to the governor’s assistant hovering by the bed. “Groom, is it?”
“Yes, m’lord. Winston Groom.” The spindly man was all angles and hollows.
“Perhaps you’ll join me for a private word.”
Charles watched as the groom’s eyes widened. He was obviously flattered at the thought of speaking confidentially with an earl. “You’re too kind, sir.”
“Not at all. Not at all.” He extended one arm to direct the young man back down the stairs beside him. “Tell me, Groom. You know your way around the colony. Perhaps you’ve heard tales of another man bearing my name?”
The step faltered, and the young man grasped the railing. “I’m not … I’m not certain, your lordship.”
He had. Charles was certain of it. “Come, come. A man who holds the governor’s confidence must have heard something, surely. Andrew Harrow is his name. Some mention would have been made of this when Weymouth reported that I was journeying on their sister ship.”
Winston did not respond as he was led across the foyer to a pair of tall chairs by the fire. Charles observed the young man’s furrowed brow, the way he started to speak and then cut himself off, the eyes that refused to move in his direction. It was all the answer Charles required.
“Andrew Harrow,” Charles continued smoothly, his genial tone making it as easy as possible for Groom. “Formerly Captain Harrow, head of the military garrison at Fort Edward. Resigned after the expulsion of the Acadians. Word has it that he was forced out under a cloud.”
“I … I may have heard some mention, m’lord.”
“Of course you have.” Keeping his voice light, his tone airy, as though they were discussing the weather on a kind summer day, Charles turned his own gaze toward the fire, seeking to hide his sudden eagerness. “I understand that my brother went off to the American colonies for a time. He and his wife, apparently. A woman he met and wed there in Fort Edward. Boston, I believe, was their destination.”
But the young man’s attention had been snagged early on. “Did you say brother, m’lord?”
“Indeed, yes. Andrew Harrow is my only brother.” It cost Charles dearly to hold to his light tone, but he had no choice. No choice but to hide the shame and endure the dreadful voyage and come to a place he had sworn never to visit. All for a brother who had been the greatest threat Charles had ever known, a man he had vowed he would never see again. How wrong he had been. About so many things. But Charles kept his voice easy as he spoke to the fire. “Andrew studied at a seminary in Boston. I have received a letter from the head of the school confirming that, and the fact that Andrew returned here to Nova Scotia. But since then I have lost track of him.”