by BJ Hoff
Endorsements
Here’s what readers are saying about B.J. Hoff’s Mountain Song Legacy.
Book One…
A Distant Music
“B.J. Hoff always delights readers with her warm stories and characters who become part of your ‘circle of special friends.’ ”
—Janette Oke, author, Love Comes Softly
“For this Kentucky woman, reading A Distant Music was like driving through the eastern hills and hollers on a perfect autumn day with the scent of wood smoke in the air and the trees ablaze with color. B.J. Hoff’s lyrical prose brings to life this gentle, moving story of a beloved teacher and his students, who learn far more than the three Rs. I brushed away tears at several tender points in the story and held my breath when it seemed all might be lost. Yet even in the darkest moments, hope shines on every page. A lovely novel by one of historical fiction’s finest wordsmiths.”
—Liz Curtis Higgs, author, Thorn in My Heart
“I read The Penny Whistle years ago and never forgot it. I was delighted to see that it had become a full length novel. A Distant Music contains all the elements—compelling characters, fascinating setting, and stellar writing—that I’ve come to expect from a book with B.J. Hoff’s name on the cover.”
—Deborah Raney, author, Over the Waters
“B.J. Hoff is a master storyteller. With impeccable research, vibrant characters, and historical accuracy, Ms. Hoff weaves a story that’s impossible to put down.”
—Lori Copeland, author, The Plainsman
“In the lyrical pages of B.J. Hoff’s A Distant Music, we discover that God is present even in the darkness of despair…and where God is, hope overflows. A warm and satisfying tale of characters who will live in your memory for years to come.”
—Angela Hunt, author, The Novelist
“In some ways, A Distant Music is reminiscent of the Little House series. Each chapter recalls the details of an event or some character’s dilemma. Eventually, though, Hoff connects all the threads into a solid story whose ending will deeply touch readers. A Distant Music should find an eager audience. An excellent book to recommend to readers with a penchant for historical novels, particularly those set in late-19th-century America.”
—Aspiring Retail Magazine
Book Two…
The Wind Harp
“B.J. always does a great job of drawing her readers into the lives of her characters. I’m sure that there will be many who will be eagerly pleading to know ‘what happens next.’ I will be among them.”
—Janette Oke, Love Comes Softly
“B.J. Hoff continues the story of Maggie and Jonathan, who must endure their share of trials before reaping their reward. Though this novel is historical, B.J. deals with issues that are completely contemporary…and I loved the big dog! Kudos to the author for charming us again!”
—Angela Hunt, bestselling author, The Novelist
“The Wind Harp does not depend on sensationalism to create its moving story. Like a cup of ice-cold water on a hot summer day or sitting under a big old tree by a gently running stream, The Wind Harp draws readers in to sit for a spell. They are refreshed and never want to leave. As always, B.J.’s hallmark characterization is supplemented by her skilled depiction of both the light and dark sides of life, presented with a beautiful simplicity that made my heart sing along with the story. If you’re after a book that leaves you feeling good about life, or feeling hope about life regardless of circumstances, or just feeling refreshed after reading a wonderful story—don’t miss The Wind Harp.”
—Sara Mitchell, author of Shenandoah Home and Virginia Autumn
“In The Wind Harp, this sequel to A Distant Music, author B.J. Hoff takes the story of Jonathan Stuart and Maggie MacAuley a step further, delving deeper into their characters and crafting a tale that is truly compelling. These people who come to life in book one take on a new dimension in book two, pulling the reader into their worst fears and deepest dreams. With a different take on an age-old love story, Mrs. Hoff shows us that the old adage is true—good things come to those who wait. I love the way Mrs. Hoff draws me into each character’s hopes and dreams, while weaving in enough mystery and drama to keep me turning pages. Not many books keep me thinking about them long after I set the book down, but Mrs. Hoff has such a wonderful way of bringing the characters to life on each page. I feel like I know them—like they have become dear friends.”
—Jill Eileen Smith, reader
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Cover by Koechel Peterson & Associates, Inc., Minneapolis, Minnesota
B.J. Hoff: Published in association with the Books & Such Literary Agency, 52 Mission Circle, Suite 122, PMB 170, Santa Rosa, CA 95409-5370, www.booksandsuch.biz.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Harvest House Publishers has made every effort to trace the ownership of all quotes. In the event of a question arising from the use of a quote, we regret any error made and will be pleased to make the necessary correction in future editions of this book.
THE SONG WEAVER
Copyright © 2007 by B.J. Hoff
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hoff, B. J.
The song weaver / B.J. Hoff.
p. cm. — (The mountain song legacy; bk. 3)
ISBN 978-0-7369-1459-8 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-7369-3226-4 (eBook)
1. Married people—Fiction. 2. Sisters—Death—Fiction. 3. Family—Fiction. 4. Coal mines and mining—Fiction. 5. Kentucky—Fiction. 6. Domestic fiction. I. Title.
PS3558.034395S66 2007
813'.54—dc22
2007004405
All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s and publisher’s rights is strictly prohibited.
Contents
Endorsements
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Beginnings
Chapter One: Learning to Love
Chapter Two: A Gathering Storm
Chapter Three: Going Home
Chapter Four: The Long Goodbye
Chapter Five: A Message from Eva Grace
Chapter Six: Taking Gracie Home
Chapter Seven: At Home on a Winter’s Night
Chapter Eight: A Disappointment
Chapter Nine: Two Are Better Than One
Chapter Ten: Jonathan’s New Idea
Chapter Eleven: Visitors
Chapter Twelve: Meeting with Matthew
Chapter Thirteen: Old Friends and New
Chapter Fourteen: An Unwelcome Letter
Chapter Fifteen: A Blast from the Mine Whistle
Chapter Sixteen: In Need of a Helping Hand
Chapter Seventeen: The Proud and the Proud
Chapter Eighteen: Changes of the Heart
Chapter Nineteen: Sunday Surprises
Chapter Twenty: A New Teacher in Town
Chapter
Twenty-one: Sharing News
Chapter Twenty-two: On Behalf of Good Men
Chapter Twenty-three: Jonathan’s Plan
Chapter Twenty-four: Maggie’s Goodbye
Chapter Twenty-five: A Grateful Heart
Chapter Twenty-six: Shadows over Sunday
Chapter Twenty-seven: An Intrusion of Darkness
Chapter Twenty-eight: Shattered Silence
Chapter Twenty-nine: A Child Is Born
Chapter Thirty: Family Gathering
A Gift for Skingle Creek
A Note from the Author
About B.J. Hoff
The Mountain Song Legacy
About the Publisher
Dedication
For Jim…
Thank you for the music.
Acknowledgments
So many special people have been part of this story. No book is ever completed and published without a major effort on the part of many, including those who love and serve and wait behind the scenes. Let me mention a few:
Nick Harrison, my editor…whose patience is as impressive as his instincts, whose approach to the work produces inspiration rather than frustration, whose expertise is unfailing, and whose sense of humor is unflagging—all of which make him nothing less than a genuine blessing to his authors.
The entire Harvest House family…a remarkable team whose efforts always bring credit to the One they serve with such commitment and faithfulness.
Janet Kobobel Grant…my agent and friend who never asks for more than my best.
Cheryl and Sara…who never stop praying, never stop believing, never stop caring.
Angie…wizard and friend, whose quicksilver mind, bedrock common sense, and relentless sense of humor can’t quite mask the sensitive heart of a genuine song weaver.
Winnie and Nita and Charlotte…heartfelt thanks for the ideas and the encouragement and the laughs—on a weekly basis—and for making me more friend than client.
My family…you are my story and my song.
My readers…God bless you—every one of you!
Beginnings
O God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Be Thou our guide while life shall last,
And our eternal home.
Isaac Watts
Skingle Creek, Northeastern Kentucky
December 1904
Maggie Stuart. Maggie MacAuley Stuart. Mrs. Jonathan Stuart.”
Maggie stood looking out the window at the bright December morning. The snow that had fallen Christmas Eve—her wedding night—still blanketed the ground. Because of the mines being closed over the holiday, the pristine whiteness had not yet turned gray with coal dust.
Even though she was alone at the moment, she felt a little foolish practicing her new name over and over. She turned away from the window to let her gaze play over the bedroom. Everything was new: this room, a new name, a new home.
Jonathan’s home. How many times had he reminded her that it was now her home too? Their home.
That being the case, she wondered if she dared act on his suggestion that once they returned from their honeymoon trip, she consider doing some redecorating. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. On the other hand, she wouldn’t mind turning the bedroom into their room rather than the masculine sanctuary it now represented. With not a feminine touch to be seen, it was almost spartan in its decor: functional pieces of dark, sturdy wood, bare walls, heavy drapes, and shelves groaning with books.
Suddenly the thought of stripping all this away and starting over felt presumptuous, even intimidating…not to mention extravagant. And no matter what Jonathan said, could she really bring herself to start making changes to the home in which he’d lived for so many years? Wouldn’t he ultimately resent her for it? Besides, what did she know about redecorating? Miners’ families did well to fix their broken furniture and add a coat of fresh paint every few years. Only wealthy people had the means to redecorate.
People like Jonathan’s family.
The slam of panic came out of the blue, stealing her breath. There were so many changes, so much that was new. Jonathan would expect her to know how to do things. Things his mother would have done. And his sister.
The thought overwhelmed her. Oh, she knew how to keep house well enough. She’d been brought up to do her share of housework: laundry and ironing, cooking and cleaning. But she knew next to nothing about the niceties of maintaining a home. There’d been no money, thus no interest, in that sort of thing in her family.
But she wasn’t exactly dimwitted. Didn’t Jonathan insist that she’d been the brightest student he’d ever taught? And hadn’t she made her way through university as an honor student? Surely she could learn whatever she needed to learn. She’d not disappoint her husband.
My husband! I’m a wife. Jonathan’s wife.
That was the newest—the strangest—thing of all. Jonathan wasn’t new to her, of course. Across the years he’d moved from teacher to mentor to friend. But now he was her husband. Someone to come to know in new and different ways.
The thought gave Maggie her first cold feeling in her married life.
She sank down on the side of the bed. Beside her, Jonathan’s briefcase lay open where he’d left it before going downstairs to fetch the newspaper for reading on the train. At the top of the other odds and ends he’d already packed was Maggie’s book—The Penny Whistle—that she’d finally given to him yesterday morning…Christmas morning, the day after their wedding.
Naturally she’d told him about the book she’d written. What she hadn’t told him was the reason its publication had been delayed. Originally scheduled for late fall, she’d bargained with Mr. Rice at the publishing house to delay the book’s release until after Christmas in order to change the dedication appropriately: “To Jonathan Lawrence Stuart—my mentor, my hero, my husband.”
The thought of how moved Jonathan had been upon reading the dedication page brought a smile now, albeit a fleeting one. Her thoughts seemed bent on returning to the same treacherous direction as before—her own inadequacies for all that lay before her in her new life.
In a little while they would leave on their honeymoon trip to Lexington. There she would finally meet Jonathan’s family: his ailing father and his widowed sister. What would they think of her? Her youth, her inexperience, her lack of refinement…would they be terribly disappointed in his choice of wife? Even the thought of bringing disappointment or embarrassment to Jonathan and his family was intolerable.
The sound of him clearing his throat yanked her out of her thoughts. She looked up and saw him standing in the doorway, his head tilted to one side watching her.
“So—” he said, “are you getting used to it yet?”
“Used to it?”
“Everything.” He came and took both her hands in his, tugging her to her feet. “Being married. Having a new name. A new home. A husband who’s absolutely wild about you. That’s enough for a start, I expect.”
He kissed her lightly on the forehead.
At the moment Maggie wasn’t eager to talk about newness. “I see you’re taking my book along,” she commented, gesturing to his travel case.
“Of course I’m taking it along! I can’t wait to show it to my father and Patricia. A man’s entitled to boast a little about his wife’s accomplishments after all.”
“Don’t you dare, Jonathan.”
He drew her into his arms. “It’s not every day a man has a book dedicated to him, you know.”
Maggie framed his face with her hands. “It’s really your story, Jonathan. So of course I dedicated it to you.”
“Do you have any idea how proud I am of you?” he questioned quietly.
She loved the way he drew her into himself just by searching her eyes. And the way a strand of his flaxen hair fell over one eye when he dipped his head to kiss her. And the way he always breathed her name after he kissed her. Oh, she loved everything about him, this man who had been her husband
for all of…thirty-eight hours now! She had never known such a feeling as this dizzying whirlwind of love and happiness.
An unexpected chill passed over her, as if to thwart the rush of emotion bubbling up in her. She recognized it for what it was—the old Irish superstition she’d too often heard as she was growing up: Too much joy was likely to invite an equal cup of sorrow.
“Maggie?” Jonathan was watching her, his expression one of concern. He held her slightly away from him. “Are you all right?”
Maggie managed a smile and nodded. “Just trying to think of anything I might have forgotten.”
He didn’t look convinced. “Are you quite sure you’ve no regrets about leaving your family so soon after Christmas? We could have waited a day or two more.”
They had spent their wedding night at Jonathan’s house. Their house, he would have reminded her. Yesterday they shared Christmas with Maggie’s family, coming back here in the evening to prepare for their trip.
“I’ve no regrets about anything so long as we’re together,” she replied, resolved to give truth to her words. Forcing a note of brightness into her tone, she added, “Although I confess that I already miss Figaro a little.”
“Ah. So my competition is to be a hound.”
“I loved your dog before I married you,” she reminded him.
“Yes, I know,” he said dryly. “Is it possible that’s why you married me? So you could move in with my dog?”
“He’s an awfully handsome fella. But then so are you.”
“And both of us are obviously besotted with you.”
He drew her close again as if to act on his besotted state, but Maggie stole a glance at the clock on the bedroom mantel.
“Jonathan—we have to go or we’re going to miss the train.”
He sighed, still managing a brief kiss before taking a last look around the bedroom.
“Our luggage—”
“Already in the buggy.”
“Did Figaro settle in with my folks all right?” she asked as they left the room.