Prairie Romance Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  He raked his hand through his hair and continued on. “Now I know the truth. God was never far from me. Even when He took Jane, He was good enough to provide you so we could carry on. In my ignorance, I raged at Him; but He never abandoned me, and He gave you and Johnny to me as a gift. In my times of sorrow and strife, God blessed me with a woman and two babies to love. He was never far away, Lena. He was faithful, and He was there.”

  “Yes, He was,” she agreed.

  The reserve in her voice tore at him. Steven knew why it was there. He got to his knees and settled his hands on her shoulders. Gently he ran his thumbs up the beating pulse in her neck and lifted her chin. “I was a fool, Lena. I let you feel like Leah, an unwanted wife. Hear me now: You aren’t Leah; you’re like Ruth. She was a widow, too. God gave her to a man she barely knew, but they found grace and love. Let me be that kind of husband to you. Believe me, sweetheart. I couldn’t say it months ago because I refused to lie—now I say it freely: I love you.”

  For weeks he’d ignored the love light in her eyes, and she’d finally banked it. She went about, filling their home with her special warmth and tenderness; but he caught the quiet hurt in her eyes and carried terrible guilt in knowing he put it there. Even now, wariness painted her features.

  “Lena, you once said every need gave God an opportunity to provide and bless us. You didn’t tell me the other part.”

  “What other part?” The words barely whispered between her lips.

  “With every sorrow, God takes the opportunity to comfort and draw us close to Him. He did that through you, Lena. God used you to console me and teach me to risk loving again. That lesson came hard. It cost you every bit as much as it cost me. Please, sweetheart—let’s both be whole again and of one accord as He wants us to be.”

  Tears sparkled in her eyes. “Is this what you truly want, Steven?”

  “With all my heart.”

  He’d just finished kissing her soundly when Mark rode up. He was covered in soot. “Glad to see your family’s fine, Boss, but the rest of the news ain’t good.” He grimaced. “Your place burned flat to the ground.”

  Steven cradled Lena close. “I have all I need, and God will provide.”

  Epilogue

  From the ashes of their ranch house, Steven and Lena worked together to rebuild a home. During those months, their love blossomed and Steven found the serenity he’d been lacking. They filled the rooms of their new home with laughter and soon gave Johnny and Talitha a baby brother.

  “He’s a hefty little man,” Steven said as he admired his newborn son. He tenderly tucked a damp curl behind Lena’s ear. “I can only pray this one is half as smart and strong as our Johnny-boy.”

  “Ja, that would be a blessing.” Lena gave him a weary smile.

  Warmth filled his soul. Steven knew the Lord had blessed them with a deep and abiding love. God had been faithful.

  CATHY MARIE HAKE is a Southern California native who loves her work as a nurse and Lamaze teacher. She and her husband have a daughter, a son, and a dog, so life is never dull or quiet. Cathy Marie considers herself a sentimental packrat, collecting antiques and Hummel figurines. She otherwise keeps busy with reading, writing, baking, and being a prayer warrior. “I am easily distracted during prayer, so I devotecertain tasks and chores to specific requests or persons so I can keep faithful in my prayer life.”

  Freedom’s Ring

  by Judith Miller

  Dedication

  June Coombs

  Ann Dunn

  Jesse Grant

  Ramona Kelly

  Barbara Langham

  Connie Long

  Betty Marshall

  Letty Meek

  The friends who have prayed me through good times, bad times, and looming deadlines. The Thursday evening Women’s Care Group, Maranatha Baptist Fellowship, Topeka, Kansas.

  Chapter 1

  November 1, 1840

  Hannah Falcrest stood at the railing of the Republic and stared into the blackness of the water below. Flickering light danced from a mast lantern, and the resulting play of eerie shadows on the ship’s deck sent chills rushing down Hannah’s spine.

  Hannah had fervently prayed. She prayed as she prepared for her family’s departure from their hamlet on the outskirts of Yorkshire…and during the journey to Liverpool…and while waiting three days in a boardinghouse for their ship to sail. As much as she loved her English homeland, she had been willing to forsake kith and kin if, by immigrating to America, there was a possibility of Edward finding contentment. Then, perhaps, his happiness would overflow and spill out to include their marriage. Oh Lord, make it so, she had constantly, silently pleaded.

  Now her journey to America neared an end. No longer must she cook her meals and brew her tea at the communal fire supplied to steerage passengers. No longer need she worry about her provisions running low, the distant, raging storms, or the dreaded seasickness. And no longer need she pray for a change in her marriage.

  After forty-eight days at sea, and within four days of their scheduled arrival, the vessel dropped anchor in a New Orleans port. Everything seemed to be going according to plan. Everything—except for the fact that Hannah was no longer the wife of Edward Falcrest and mother of two children. Instead, she was a widow. Her husband and young son lost at sea. All that remained as evidence of her marriage was her eight-month-old daughter, Elizabeth, and the small gold wedding band on her finger. With a surprising determination, she twisted the thin circle of metal from her hand and watched as the ring dropped silently into the water below.

  “Not thinking of jumping overboard, I hope.”

  Hannah hastily turned and moved away from the railing.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Falcrest. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “Mr. Winslow?”

  “Yes,” he replied, moving forward so that the lamplight illuminated his broad- shouldered frame. “I grew concerned when I didn’t see you below with the other women. Mrs. Iverson said you’d asked her to look after your daughter.”

  Hannah moved a step closer to him. The lantern glow mingled with the redorange hue of an autumn moon to highlight William Winslow’s well-chiseled features and send luminescent streaks of vermilion and gold through his ebony hair.

  “Since my husband’s death, I don’t enjoy keeping company with the other women.”

  “They aren’t helpful?” he inquired, a look of concern crossing his face.

  “They are very nice. But—” She hesitated momentarily, gathering her thoughts. “But the women expect me to grieve the loss of my husband.

  “I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, Mr. Winslow. However, I have no tears for Edward. The only tears I shed are for my son, Frederick. Does that shock you?” she quickly added, lifting her head and allowing her gaze to meet his velvet-gray eyes. His gentle countenance astonished her.

  “Few things surprise me, Mrs. Falcrest. Indeed, I realize there are many unhappy marriages—I’m just not sure what causes them,” he tenderly replied.

  “From my experience, it would be beneficial if the betrothed parties loved each other, or at least liked one another, prior to the marriage.”

  “I would have to agree, ma’am. Am I to conclude, then, that your marriage to Mr. Falcrest was a loveless one?”

  “Our marriage was nothing more than a business transaction—arranged to settle my father’s gambling debts with Edward. But God blessed the union with two lovely children. For me, that proved sufficient compensation for the cruelties imposed by my late husband.” Hannah’s shoulders sagged with the weight of regret as she spoke. “Now Edward is no longer alive. But neither is my precious Frederick.” Her voice wavered at the mention of the boy, and she turned her gaze back toward the murky water that was gently slapping the sides of the ship.

  “Tell me,” Mr. Winslow asked, his voice once again filled with the quiet tenderness she had earlier detected, “what are your plans?”

  “I’ve come on deck to get a much-needed breath o
f fresh air and to seek counsel in the matter,” she replied, giving him a reticent smile.

  “Ah. And whose counsel might you be seeking?”

  She watched as he glanced about, as if expecting to find someone lurking in the nearby darkness. “God’s,” she responded simply.

  “And has He supplied your answers?”

  “Not all. But at least the most urgent ones.”

  “I wish I could say that God answers my questions so directly.”

  “Perhaps you’re just not listening,” she suggested. “Or perhaps you don’t like the answer and choose to pretend the answer is not from God.”

  His eyes seemed to twinkle in response to her comment. “You may be correct, Mrs. Falcrest. May I inquire as to when you and your baby will be returning to England?”

  “I shall remain in America,” she firmly replied, straightening to her full height with an air of stubborn determination.

  “Would it be fair to assume that this is one of those answers from God that you would rather ignore?”

  A small smile tugged at the corners of her full, pink lips as she glanced toward the beckoning lights of New Orleans in the distance. “I suppose that would be a fair assumption.”

  He threw his head back and gave a deep, resonant laugh that filled the night air. “You are truthful to a fault, my dear lady.”

  “I would certainly like to think so,” Hannah responded.

  “Forgive my laughter, but I find your forthright answers refreshing.”

  “That’s an interesting comment, Mr. Winslow. I like to think that truthful, forthright conversation is a common practice. You speak as though the opposite were true.”

  “Perhaps I’ve spent too much time associating with the wrong people. I’ll need to see if I can change that,” he replied.

  “A week or so after we set sail from England, I believe my husband mentioned he had visited with you.”

  As Mr. Winslow’s face broke into a smile, Hannah attempted to recollect what Edward had told her about him. She raised her eyebrows in question and asked, “Didn’t he tell me that you’ve previously visited the United States?”

  “That would be correct,” he replied cordially.

  She had hoped that Mr. Winslow would elaborate without being quizzed. Hannah lacked the skill of engaging in small talk, especially with gentlemen, but she felt a desperate need for knowledge about this new country that would soon become her home. “Are you planning to settle in America?” she ventured.

  “My dear lady, I’ve already made my home in the United States. I was back in England only briefly in order to meet with some business associates.”

  “So you’ve found them agreeable?” she inquired.

  “Found what agreeable?”

  “The United States.”

  “Yes, of course. Quite agreeable.”

  “And where do you reside, if I may be so bold as to inquire?”

  “We’ve settled in New Orleans,” he answered. “We?”

  “My mother lives with me.”

  Although she waited for what seemed an inordinate period of time, he said nothing further. Hannah could restrain herself no longer. “Mr. Winslow, only minutes ago, you told me that you appreciate forthright and truthful conversation. Is that not correct?” “Yes, I did.”

  “Then why do you persist in giving me only the most meager of answers to my questions? Is it not obvious that I desire information about the United States and what I may expect in this new land?”

  “I apologize, Mrs. Falcrest. But something tells me that once I provide you with the answers you desire, you’ll scurry back below deck and I’ll not see you again. I found myself mostly alone throughout the course of our journey, and I much prefer your company, even if I must gain this pleasure by devious means.

  “However, I must confess you have succeeded in making me feel remorseful. Please, ask me your questions, and I shall answer them as fully as possible. But with one provision,” he quickly added. “You must agree to accept my assistance once we land.”

  Hannah chose to ignore his final remark. She needed information—information that Mr. Winslow could provide.

  Before they embarked on their journey, Hannah’s husband had not been lax in gathering facts about America. Quite the contrary. In truth, many folks had scoffed at Edward’s determination to investigate all aspects of this venture before leaving England. But although her husband had shared some of his newly acquired knowledge with Hannah, she knew that they would encounter unexpected circumstances at every turn. Edward’s death had not been among the unforeseen situations she had considered. That event seemed to magnify every uncertainty the two of them had weighed only days before their sojourn.

  “Prior to our departure, my husband was in correspondence with several people living in the United States. He decided that our best opportunity to start a new home was in a place called Illinois,” Hannah explained. “We sailed to New Orleans, rather than one of the eastern ports, in order to avoid crossing the Allegheny Mountains, for Edward felt that such a trip would cause undue hardship with the children and our belongings. Someone suggested that we sail to New Orleans and then take a steamer up the Mississippi River, where we could board a boat at St. Louis to traverse the Illinois River.”

  Mr. Winslow nodded his head in agreement. “Sounds like a good plan. What was to be your final destination?”

  “Edward learned of good land to be homesteaded not far from Pike’s Ferry, near the Big Blue Creek. Are you familiar with that area?” she asked, her deep blue eyes alight with anticipation as she waited for his answer.

  “No, I can’t say that I am. I’ve traveled the Mississippi to St. Louis and farther north, but I’ve not sailed the Illinois River or been to Pike’s Ferry. So your husband was a farmer, planning to homestead?”

  “We planned to homestead, although my husband had little farmingexperience. We were told that a person who was not afraid of hard work could succeed. My husband wanted to own a piece of land and make his way in the world. That opportunity was not possible in England.”

  “Please don’t think me unfeeling, but surely you don’t intend to follow your husband’s previous plan.”

  “What else can I do? We have already invested considerable money in the land, and I can ill afford to throw it away. Besides, I have no family left in England. At least I own land in America.”

  “Your husband purchased land sight unseen?” Mr. Winslow inquired with a note of disbelief in his voice.

  “Edward had been writing to Mr. Henry Martin, who lives on the adjoining property. The land came highly recommended by him—eighty acres of improved land with sugar maples and some of the acreage broken up for sowing wheat, and another portion ready to be sown with Indian corn and oats. Of course, I’ll want a vegetable garden near the house and perhaps a small flower garden.”

  “I don’t mean to discourage you, ma’am, but I still don’t see how you’re going to farm the land, what with only you and the baby left. Why don’t you see if you can find a buyer and plan to settle in the city? You won’t be able to plant and harvest the crops by yourself. It’s hard enough to eke out a living with both husband and wife working the land.”

  “Who do you think is going to buy the land, Mr. Winslow? As you already stated, land is rarely purchased sight unseen. The only person expecting our arrival is Mr. Martin, and the only place I have to call my home is this land in Illinois. Unless my situation changes, I see no other recourse but to continue my journey. I find little pleasure to think of leaving this ship and the few people who have befriended me throughout this voyage. They represent my last link to England.”

  “Since you earlier agreed to accept my assistance, let me make a—“

  “You misinterpreted my silence for agreement, Mr. Winslow. I agreed to nothing,” Hannah interrupted.

  “William,” he replied.

  “Excuse me?”

  “My name is William. Why don’t you call me William? If we are to be friends, I t
hink it would be acceptable to address each other by our given names. What is your first name?”

  Hannah stared back at him, her earlier argument forgotten with this latest suggestion. “My name is Hannah, but—“

  “Well, Hannah, as I was saying, why don’t you let me do a bit of checking to see if I can find someone to purchase the land? You could then remain in New Orleans—or return to England, as the Lord so directs,” he added.

  She shook her head. “I firmly believe that I’m to go to the farmstead, Mr. Winslow.”

  “William,” he corrected.

  “William or Mr. Winslow—makes no difference—I believe I am to make my home in Illinois, not New Orleans, and not England.”

  “You certainly are privy to explicit directions, aren’t you?”

  “Not always.”

  “But this time you’re absolutely certain that God has said, ‘Hannah Falcrest, I want you to go to Pike’s Ferry and live on that eighty acres of land.’ “A tone of amusement edged his voice.

  “God didn’t actually say the words, Mr. Win—-William. I just feel it, in here,” she said, pointing to her heart.

  “I see. Well, do you feel in there,” he asked while pointing toward her heart, “exactly how you’re supposed to care for yourself and Elizabeth on that land? Or do you expect to receive that information on another day or in some other way?”

  “Are you intending to shock me by your blasphemous questions, sir?”

  “They’re not meant to be blasphemous. I am a God-fearing man, Hannah. But I need you to clarify this matter. I believe God intends us to use the brains He has given us, as well as clear logic, to figure out what to do in situations such as this. And to be honest, your decision defies logic.”

  “So you think me to be an irrational woman incapable of making a sound decision?”

  “I beg to differ with you! I never said that,” William retorted. “You’ve twisted my words. I merely stated that given the circumstances at hand—“