Gone to Texas: Cross Timbers Romance Family Saga, book one (Thanksgiving Books & Blessings Collection One 1)
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We hope you’ll enjoy all nine Thanksgiving stories and have a Blessed and highly favored
Thanksgiving Day!
Dedication
To my Father in Heaven Whose Name is so Holy.
To my husband, best friend, and co-writer, Ron.
To those always ready for an adventure with God, ready to follow wherever He leads.
Acknowledgements
Or
Thanksgiving
Because it is God I long to bring glory through my writing, I always give Him Who sits on the throne my first thanks. He gives the story as sure as He makes the sun to rise in the morning. He is my everything, and I am grateful for His constant blessings and high favor!
Since the beginning, my husband of fifty years—as of June 22, 2018—and I have written my stories together, which works marvelously for us as I’m outgoing, and he’s the strong, silent type. He is the reason for my strong heroes readers love so much! Our New York agent and Simon & Schuster editor both advised one name on the cover and that it be mine.
So to Ron always goes my second thanks!
The cover designer for the Thanksgiving Books & Blessings Collection cover art, including GONE TO TEXAS, is Evelyne LaBelle at Carpe Librum Book Design! I love her work! www.carpelibrumbookdesign.com
Thank you so much Evelyne for the great job!
Then my advance readers earned my thanks! They find my uh-ohs so that you never see them. (and if you ever do, please let me know where it is!) Louise Koiner, Cass Wessel, and more! And then my final proofer, Lenda Selph. I love you ladies and give you my heartfelt gratitude!
And last, but never least are you . . . my readers. Thank you for loving my stories and reading them all and reviewing them and sharing my promotional posts! You are my reason for writing, and I pray you are blessed and drawn to a closer walk with God through my novels.
And one more surprise:
Chapter One of
Caryl McAdoo's January, 2019 Release
Book Two in the Revivalist Trilogy
Hannah Claire's Wilderness
“Mama! Help! Come save me!”
Hannah bolted straight up in the bed. Her eyes searched the darkness. She touched her husband's lump beside her. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” He rolled over.
“Oh, sweetheart, it’s our baby! She's out there, calling to me. Come on.” She jumped up, tossed her shift dress over her head, and slipped into her sandals. “David, get up! Come on. Do you have any pound notes? I'm almost certain we're going to need some.”
Pushing himself erect, he swung his feet over the bed's side. “What? Slow down, baby. Why are we going to need money? And pounds at that? Most places take dollars.”
Did she need to shake him? “Please hurry. Why aren't you getting dressed? Hop up and come on! Do you have any English notes or not?”
“Yes, I do.” He stood and ran his fingers through his hair. “Where are we going again? It's in the middle of the night, Hannah. Really. Can't this wait until morning?”
“David!” Her tone carried the you-better-listen-to-me-and-listen-to-me-now factor. She meant business. “I don't give a hoot what time it is. Why is that important to you? Gracious! Our daughter needs us! She's . . . uh . . . Hurry! She's being sold!”
How’d she know that? She didn't know how, but she suddenly did.
And there wasn't a minute to lose.
What? David caught some of her excitement. It had to be the Lord prompting her to say such a thing. She wouldn't make that up. So, who was he to stand in her way?
Most of his cash rested safely in the hotel's vault, but he had fifty pounds sterling and over twice that in dollars. Hopefully, that would be enough.
Once out the hotel's front door, instead of jumping into a cab, she headed inland. He hated losing sight of the water, but no way would he leave his wife alone for a minute!
Coastline or not, he'd be staying right with her. Walking the streets of Lagos wasn't something either of them should be doing that time of night. No way he'd let her go by herself.
Two blocks down and one over—he paid attention of how she'd gone—she stopped a woman pushing a cart and spoke to her in . . . what was she speaking? It sounded like Hausa or Edo.
If not, it had to be at the least one of the hundred other native tongues spoken in the city. Mercy. It had to be the Lord, and not just his wife's crazy obsession.
Turning, she urged him on. “She says it isn't far. Have you got a quarter to give her? Or something?”
“Sure.” He put a coin in the woman's hand then hurried to Hannah's side, halfway up the block. “What did you say to her?”
“I asked her where the slave market was.”
“What language?”
“What are you talking about? English, goofball. It's the only one I know.”
Hannah took a side street that suddenly bustled with activity. Where before the way had been mostly deserted, wide thoroughfares, there the streets turned to narrow passageways that boasted all sorts of illicit establishments on both sides of the road.
Taverns with men inviting any and all to come inside, others had half—nude women calling from the doorways.
His wife looked neither left nor right.
The girl seemed more honed in than he'd ever seen her, her radar, it seemed by all appearances, set on a door fifty foot ahead. She stopped, spoke to the man standing beside it, then took David's hand and pulled him along with her.
Again, it sounded to him like she'd spoken Hausa or Edo, but for sure, it was definitely not English.
“What did the man say?”
“That we're just in time. They had a nice little girl coming up for sale.”
As David walked by, he nodded at the over-sized doorman. “Hello.”
The man grunted something in whatever tongue he spoke then turned back and faced the street.
Was he dreaming? It didn't seem like a dream.
Maybe a vision. But who knew what one of those was like?
The hammer went down on the shirtless man standing on the raised platform, then an older man climbed onto the little stage. Now and again, one of the few white faces in the crowd spoke in English.
But mostly, the buyers and sellers conducted all their business in a native language, and he didn't understand one word.
A burly man came out, carrying a small girl. He set her on the stage then backed off, but not too far, as if the child might make a dash. Had she run from him before? She looked to be a fighter.
Maybe three years old, and small for her age. Her belly swollen with the familiar malnutrition of the area, she stared at the people looking her over. She'd been crying.
Hannah squeezed his hand. “That's her.”
The auctioneer started the bidding. Hannah shot her hand into the air, but so did three others, another woman and two men. Back and forth they went, his wife acting like she understood every word.
One would never guess, she hadn’t been buying little girls all her life—in some foreign language, no less. Though baffled, he trusted without a doubt, God led her there too that place at that time.
The woman dropped out first, then one of the men. The other guy bid twice with Hannah answering him right away. Was the guy a shill just running up the baby's price?
The few times David had gone to an auction with Pawpaw, his grandfather would point out the shills right off and never bid against them.
The hammer came down then the man pointed it right at Hannah, rattling off a string of commands or instructions or some such.
“We won! Praise God! We need to pay him, David. They won't let us take her before we pay. Hurry! I want that baby girl in my arms!”
“How much?”
“Twenty-three pounds! Weren't you even paying attention?”
“I was listening to be sure, but it was like . . . all French to me.”
He counted out the notes, careful not to reveal the dollars tucked behind the pounds. Wouldn't want to give an
y one of the unsavory-looking characters standing around any ideas. Especially not in that part of town.
All the way back to the hotel, the child laid her head on Hannah's shoulder, then once inside, she said something to his wife—in Hausa, if David had to guess.
Hanna answered then turned to him. “Did you see anyone following us from the auction?”
“No.”
“Adaolisa said two big men were behind us the whole way, then stayed outside when we came up the stairs into the hotel.”
“That's her name? Adaolisa?”
“Yes. It mean's God's daughter. Isn't that wonderful?”
“It is, my love. But tell me . . . how is it you can talk to her?”
His wife looked at him like he was crazy. “She's speaking English, David.”
“No, dear, she isn't.”
“What are you talking about?”
Facing his newly purchased daughter, he smiled. “Hi, Adaolisa, I'm David.”
She made no response.
“See?”
“That doesn’t mean anything.” Hannah held Adaolisa out enough to look into her eyes. “Tell your new daddy hello.”
The girl looked at him with a shy grin. “Hello.”
Cuddling her little doll, she smiled at her husband. “See there, yourself.”
“Sweetheart.” He shook his head. “She just said barka dai.”
Adaolisa nodded. “Hello.”
“Why are you saying that? I have ears.” She sat down. The enormity of what she’d just done—all of it since sitting straight up in bed wide awake--struck her. “What’s going on, David? Did we just go into a seedy part of town and buy this baby girl?”
“Indeed we did, at your insistence. And it appears you can speak and understand Hausa or Edo or whatever.”
“They were speaking in African, weren’t they? At the auction. But I could understand it just as if they spoke English. How . . . Wow! The Lord’s mercy endures forever, but . . . how’s that possible? You know I’ve never studied any language but Spanish. I never even knew about . . . what did you call it? Hausa? I didn’t even know what they spoke in Nigeria. What am I saying? I still don’t.”
“Maybe it’s like the miracle at Pentecost. The Word clearly speaks of a gift of tongues. That’s the only explanation I could come up with. I could hardly believe my eyes. You were amazing. Just as amazing is how did you know the auction was taking place right then? It’s got to be God all the way. He is so amazing.”
“Your being redundant, darling.”
“Why not when it’s true? And praise the Lord for His protection.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The two big men Adaolisa saw following us. They must have been angels.”
“Wow. Why do you think we couldn’t see them?”
Throwing his hands into the air, he shook his head. “Don’t know.” He looked around the lobby. “Come on, let’s get back to our room and get down to basics. We just bought a baby girl. I don’t even know if that’s legal here. Wouldn’t you say she’s three or so? Ask her if she’s hungry or thirsty or needs a change.”
Standing, she transferred the baby to sit on her hip. “You’re right.” She kissed Adaolisa’s neck. “Are you hungry, baby girl?”
She nodded then fell against Hannah chest. “I’m not a baby, but you can call me it if you want.”
“How old are you, darling?”
“Five. Thank you for coming and saving me from those terrible men. I love you. I’ll love you forever.”
After half a Coke and two oatmeal raisin cookies, David’s new little girl dozed off in his wife’s lap. Hannah only lasted long enough to get herself and Adaolisa in bed, then she was out, too.
He stayed in the hotel’s hard-backed chair, staring at the miracle the Lord had brought, and prayed. Such a miracle.
For months, Hannah had been seeing or hearing a child, but he always figured it would be an orphan she came across from a village close to Mike’s compound.
What a night!
A Word of Knowledge given in her sleep—speaking and understanding unknown tongues—and angels unaware . . . How many times over the years had he encountered one of God’s hosts?
That old man his father saw as a boy at that filling station. Then his grandmother thought it might be the same old man in the tent meeting when the little girl was healed. And the same that his great—grandfather ran into, who never aged.
He had to be an angel.
Adaolisa saw two.
Could one of them be the same angel that had watched over generations of his family? In another form maybe? Could celestial beings change forms at will? Go from this world to the next whenever they wanted?
Jesus had. He’d suddenly be inside a room with a locked door, then vanish just as quickly.
A touch on his hand brought his eyes open. A new day had dawned, and the child had obviously been the first to wake. She smiled.
“Nagwode.”
“Okay. Nagwode.”
“Ohkaay.”
The little thing was a cutie and trying out English.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Taking hold of one finger, she spouted off a string of words he couldn’t begin to repeat.
“She’s hungry again and wants more coke and cookies.” Hannah scooted up in bed. “Any coffee?”
“Not you, but I can handle that.” He got both his ladies what they requested but only offered half a cookie and two splashes of Coke for the little one. “Tell her she can have more after a real breakfast.”
Adaolisa took a sip then whispered something in Hannah’s ear.
His wife said something back to her in the unknown tongue then nodded. “If you would go downstairs and wait for us . . .”
“Oh sure. I’ll be the one in the café swilling coffee. You two come on when you’re ready. Hopefully, Mike will make it today.”
“I hope so, too. I’m getting tired of Lagos.” She waved him out with a grin. He took his leave, careful to make sure he had his room key, wallet, and money clip.”
One egg, toast with jelly, and a small glass of milk proved plenty for such a little lady. Hannah ate her usual bowl of oatmeal while he wolfed down three eggs, toast, and a medley of fruit.
The banana he recognized, but the rest . . . He needed to find out what they were called. They were delicious. After breakfast and a last cup of coffee, he decided to leave a message for Mike at the desk and head out.
The baby needed clothes, and he’d like to find a doctor to look at her. A big sack of everything a young lady would need came easy enough.
The streets around the hotel had everything a tourist could possibly want—at probably twice the regular price. But going back to the section of town he’d ventured into last night was out of the question.
Finding a doctor was a bit harder, but with his wife’s new linguistic skills, he soon sat in a rather clean but crowded outer office.
Like a trooper, his daughter sat in Hannah’s lap and let the man poke and prod her, then the doctor rolled his chair back and looked at David.
“Where’d you get the girl?” Though black, the man spoke perfect English with an interesting British accent.
“We bought her last night at the slave market.”
“Do you know where she’s from?”
“No, sir.”
“Who took you there? How’d you know about the place?”
“Are you a believer, sir?” More than a bit reluctant, David explained how he and Hannah had journeyed into the seedy part of town and outbid three other folks.
The man listened then shook his head. “From the look of her, I’d say she’s from the north. My guess is her parents were Christian. Either they were murdered, and the child was taken--or perhaps only stolen--then sold by the Muslims.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Her features, her name, and unless you two are delusional, that’s the only story that makes sense to me.”
“Is she heal
thy?”
“There’s nothing wrong with her that three meals a day won’t cure. But be aware, sir. Nigerians don’t like whites taking their babies.”
Hannah Claire’s Wilderness
Will debut January, 2019
Watch for Pre-orders in October!
KING DAVID’S TABERNACLE, book three in this “Companion Book” trilogy is scheduled to debut January 2020. The Revivalist is John David Nightingale’s story, a continuation of the best-selling, award-winning Texas Romance Family Saga series.
You’ll recognize David, Buddy and Sandy’s son from CHIEF OF SINNERS (book nine) as the fourth generation from Charley Nightingale who you first met as a four-year-old in book one HEARTS STOLEN.
It’s so hard for this author to leave these dear people (characters I so love) behind.
So why should I?
All of Caryl McAdoo’s Books
Historical Christian Texas Romances: Vow Unbroken – 1832 / Hearts Stolen – 1839-1844 / Hope Reborn – 1850-51 / Sins of the Mothers – 1851-53 / Daughters of the Heart – 1853-54 / Just Kin – 1861-65 / At Liberty to Love – 1865-66 / Covering Love – 1885-86 / Mighty to Save 1918-1924 / Chief of Sinners – 1826-1951 // Companion Books: The Bedwarmer’s Son 1859 & 1926 / Son of Promise 1950 / The Revivalist Trilogy John David’s Calling 1968-70
Contemporary Christian: Red River Romances - The Preacher’s Faith / Sing a New Song / One and Done // Apple Orchard Romances - Lady Luck’s a Loser