Elizabeth looked on as the president of the Senate nodded in distinguished fashion to her father, who made his way to the podium, and she could not have been prouder. Not only of him but of what he was about to do.
Her father looked out over the crowd. “President of the Senate, distinguished colleagues, and honored guests . . .” He found her in the audience and a look of pleasure moved across his face. “I am present before you today to propose a bill designed to protect one of our nation’s grandest vistas. Being distributed to each of you now”—he nodded to clerks at the side, and Elizabeth smiled as Daniel squeezed her hand—“is a gold-embossed volume that contains nine of the finest photographs on record of the untamed splendor of the Colorado Territory and the sacred Ute tribal lands of Mesa Verde. These photographs were captured by one of the—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “By one of the most gifted and . . . extraordinary photographers of our day, Mrs. Elizabeth Westbrook Ranslett.”
Elizabeth’s throat swelled with tears, and she was grateful she didn’t have to make a presentation today.
“These bound volumes are presented to each of you as a gift in the hope that you will see for yourselves the magnificence and unequaled grandeur of this nation’s Rocky Mountains.”
The creak of fresh bindings filled the chamber, and Elizabeth leaned forward in her chair to catch the senators’ expressions. Collective awe and amazement accompanied their hushed whispers, and an unequaled depth of pride swept through her for Daniel and his accomplishment—for their accomplishment.
“I am proud to introduce to you a gentleman,” her father continued, “whose acquaintance I am most pleased to have made at this particular point in my life.”
She heard Daniel’s deep breath beside her and felt her own chest rise and fall. Thank you, Father, that these two men, so dear to me, didn’t cross paths at an earlier and more fateful time in history.
“A gentleman who has dedicated himself to the preservation of these lands, and who has written to many of us in this very room over the past seven years. It is with deep regret that I tell you he never received a single reply. And as much as many of us would like to cast that blame on our illustrious Postmaster General . . .” Laughter filled the chamber. “The blame is laid at my feet . . . and yours.” The laughter slowly faded. “Only now are we recognizing the significance of his selfless endeavor.” Her father nodded in their direction, their signal. “Mr. Daniel Wayne Ranslett is here today to tell us about this land and the magnificent cliff dwellings you see in the pages before you. . . .”
Daniel leaned close. “We made that journey together, Elizabeth.” Amid applause from the chamber, he rose, inviting her to stand with him. “We’re going to make this one together too.”
Elizabeth paused outside of Rachel’s barn, and Daniel took her hand. “You ready?”
Gripping her reticule, she nodded and blew out a breath. “I think so.”
Josiah looked up when they walked in. He laid aside the cloth in his hand and stepped back from the saddle on the workbench. Elizabeth first read surprise in his expression, then endearment, and was certain she’d never forget how he grabbed them both in a huge bear hug, his arms nearly wrapping around them both.
“Welcome home, Mr. and Missus Ranslett. I got your letters while you’s gone.” His grin stretched wide and was true to the man he was. “Them letters was just like sittin’ round the fire, talkin’ to you both. ’Cept your letters didn’t go on as long as you do in person, Missus Ranslett.”
She nudged him in the arm. “Plainspoken truth . . . I’ve missed that from you.”
“There ain’t no other kind, and I reckon I’s too old now to change.” He dipped his head. “Sure is good to have you back, the both of you. This place ain’t been the same with you gone.”
Daniel motioned to a bench and stool. “Can we sit for a minute, Josiah, and talk?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Ranslett, sure we can. I likes to hear all about your trip. Missus Ranslett told me in her letters that you done real good in Washington ’fore all them important white men.”
Daniel smiled, settling on the bench beside her. “They were more impressed with Elizabeth’s photographs than they were with me. Which is as it should be.”
She scoffed. “That’s not true. Daniel did a marvelous job. I was so proud of him.” She briefly described that day, giving Josiah the high points.
“That sounds real fine, ma’am. Maybe someday, sir”—he turned to Daniel—“you might give me that speech you gave that mornin’. I sure like to hear it.”
“Uncle Daniel—” Mitchell appeared in the doorway. “Uncle James wants to know if you can help him with something for a minute.”
“I’ll be right there.” Daniel turned back. “I kept a copy of the speech for you. We’ll read it together after dinner tonight.” Slowly, he stood and extended his hand. “I’d consider it an honor . . . Josiah.”
Josiah stared, and Elizabeth could see the power of Daniel’s simple invitation reflected in Josiah’s response. Josiah’s composure wavered; then he stood and gripped Daniel’s hand. “Thank you, Mr. Ranslett. I be lookin’ forward to it, sir.” Daniel left and Josiah eased his weight back down. “You gots yourself a good man there, ma’am.”
“Yes . . . I do. And I’m looking at an equally good man right here.” Enjoying his grin, she took another breath and let it out slowly, half wishing Daniel were still there for this part. “Speaking of my husband, there’s something I’d like to tell you.” She watched Josiah’s face. He was a perceptive man with a discerning spirit, and it wouldn’t take him long to understand.
“After we returned from Mesa Verde, Daniel wrote letters to plantation owners who lived in Franklin during the war, and to those still in the area today. Neither of us said anything to you at the time because . . . we didn’t want to raise your hopes needlessly. Daniel checked everywhere, Josiah. He went from home to home and searched every plantation’s private deed book he could find. He talked with all the owners or their heirs, and—” Her voice broke, thinking of all Daniel had undertaken, and to what end. She watched Josiah’s expression cloud and reached out to him.
Josiah’s work-worn hands covered hers. “That’s all right, ma’am. I understand what you’s sayin’. And I appreciate what you done for me—same for your husband.”
A creaking drew their attention, and without conscious thought, Elizabeth rose. She looked toward the door. Josiah followed her gaze, and slowly, unsteadily, he came to his feet. Tender yearning softened his rugged features.
Daniel stood in the doorway, with Belle. He covered her hand on his arm and drew her forward with him. “Belle, may I present Mr. Josiah Birch of Timber Ridge, Colorado Territory. And Josiah . . .” Daniel’s eyes grew moist, his voice more gentle. “It is with deepest honor that I present . . . your wife, Mrs. Isabelle Birch of Franklin, Tennessee.”
For a moment Josiah’s lips moved, but nothing came out. He blinked, tears coursing down his cheeks. His broad chest rose and fell in quick succession. “Belle . . .”
His wife took the first step, her eyes radiant with love for her husband. He took her in his arms and held her for the longest time. When they finally parted, Belle gently touched his face. “After all these years,” she whispered, “I’m finally home.”
Elizabeth looked across the room at Daniel and found him watching her. What she felt in her heart, she read in his eyes. After all these years, she, too, was finally home.
A NOTE FROM TAMERA
Dear Friends,
Thank you for journeying back in time with me to experience the adventures of those whose spirit and determination helped forge this great country. Their sacrifices, accomplishments, and collective memory echo around us even now. Yet we don’t often reflect on just how much their contributions impact us.
Having grown up in the South, I’ve long held a love for its history, much as living in Colorado led me to appreciate its rich heritage. Weaving those two passions into one story was pure priv
ilege. In writing From a Distance, I learned much about the early days of photography, and how arduous and painstaking it was to take even a single photograph! With our modern world of disposable and digital cameras, not to mention cell phone photography, we snap pictures left and right, rarely giving thought to the pioneers in this field and how their life’s work now enriches our lives.
That appreciation goes to a far deeper level when we reflect on the sacrifices men and women made in the Civil War. The Battle of Franklin referenced in this story took place on November 30, 1864. Often referenced as “The Gettysburg of the West,” it was one of the few battles fought at night. The battlefield was only two miles long and one and a half miles wide, and though the battle lasted only five hours, some 9,500 soldiers were killed, wounded, captured, or missing. Nearly 7,000 of that number were Confederate. The battle centered largely around the Carter House, which still stands today. If ever you’re in Nashville, I’d encourage you to take the time to walk those grounds and tour the home. The Carnton Plantation mentioned in this story is also a historic landmark. The Confederate Cemetery at Carnton (where Daniel’s brother, Benjamin, is fictitiously buried) is the largest privately owned military cemetery in the nation, and walking those grounds is a moving experience.
Lastly, I pray that as you’ve read this book, you gained a glimpse of what power lies in giving God your dreams. Elizabeth’s journey and the lessons she learned along the way are familiar to me, and I’m so thankful God loves us enough to intervene in our dreams—only to give us even bigger, better dreams. His dream for our lives.
As always, I’d love to hear from you. Please stop by my Web site at www.tameraalexander.com and leave me a comment on my guest-book. You’ll also find discussion questions for all my novels there.
Until next time,
Tamera Alexander
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My thanks . . .
First and always, to Jesus—who gives me undeserved life, both here and in the hereafter.
To Joe, Kelsey, and Kurt—without you guys, none of this would be doable. Much less, worth doing.
To Natasha Kern, my agent—my gratitude and highest respect. God’s ways surely are higher than our own.
To Karen Schurrer, Charlene Patterson, Helen Motter, Sharon Asmus, and Ann Parrish, my editors at Bethany House—your insights are treasured and I look forward to writing many more books together. Special thanks to Karen, for donning your photographer’s hat and for capturing Kelsey’s curls for this cover. That was such a fun afternoon spent “dodging the sun.”
To Deborah Raney, my writing critique partner—I cannot imagine this journey without you, friend.
To Doug and June Gattis, my parents, and Fred Alexander, my father-in-law—I appreciate your reading through the manuscript before publication. Your comments, catches, and suggestions were so helpful, and your encouragement . . . so timely.
To my Uncle Ben and Aunt Lyda (Mullins)—thank you for the summers spent with you on your farm in Dellrose, Tennessee. Those were exciting times for a city girl from Atlanta, and are treasured memories to me now. Aunt Lyda, I know you’re looking forward to joining Uncle Ben “at Home,” but I’m so grateful you’re still with us here. I love and appreciate you.
To the CdA women—I look forward to our plotting, playing, and praying together every summer.
And to my readers—how could I have known that the sweetest thing about writing would be connecting and interacting with you? You’ve given me so much through your notes and e-mails. Connecting with you “through these characters” is a joy I’d not expected and that is so fulfilling!
Join me again in spring 2009 for Beyond This Moment, the next book in the Timber Ridge Reflections series.
Tamera Alexander is a bestselling novelist whose deeply drawn characters, thought-provoking plots, and poignant prose resonate with readers. Having lived in Colorado for seventeen years, she and her husband now make their home in Tennessee, where they enjoy life with their two college-age children and a silky terrier named Jack.
Tamera invites you to visit her Web site at www.tameraalexander.com or write her at the following postal address:
Tamera Alexander
P.O. Box 362
Thompson’s Station, TN 37179
MORE FROM BESTSELLING AUTHOR
Tamera Alexander
In the FOUNTAIN CREEK CHRONICLES series, three couples carve out a new life in the wild, untamed Colorado Territory. Each person will be called upon to stand on nothing more than faith, risk what is most dear to them, and turn away from the past in order to detect God’s plan for the future. By the time Colorado becomes a state, will they be united by love or defeated by adversity?
FOUNTAIN CREEK CHRONICLES
Rekindled, Revealed, Remembered
by Tamera Alexander
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Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 01] Page 36