A Home in Drayton Valley

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Mr. Tollison chuckled. “Well, Simon, that’s up to you. The orchard will be yours. I imagine a few of them won’t be interested—”

  Simon could surmise which ones.

  “—but you can hire whomever you’d like to work with you.”

  Simon knew who he’d ask first. “I don’t rightly know what to say, Mistuh Tollison.”

  “Say you’ll take care of the trees. My grandfather planted them, and my father tended them. He meant them to be my inheritance. But this foul consumption . . .” He coughed again, long and hard. When he finished, his face was white and his breath wheezed. “Prohibition is a blessing in disguise, Simon. I would never have left the place if I wasn’t forced to. Maybe my health will improve once I’ve left Kansas.”

  “Me an’ Ruth’ll sho’ be prayin’ fo’ that, suh. An’ me an’ mine, we’ll take special good care o’ them trees fo’ you an’ yo’ pappy.”

  Mr. Tollison laid his hand on Simon’s shoulder. “I know you will, Simon. I know you will.” He shifted in the seat, facing ahead. “Now let’s hurry this team. I want to see those two men who wreaked such havoc brought to justice.”

  When Tarsie finished testifying about what she’d experienced, she left the church. Joss, Emmy, and Nathaniel sat out on the steps, waiting for her. Joss rose when she emerged.

  “It’s over already?”

  “Just my part.”

  “You don’t want to stay . . . hear the verdict?”

  Tarsie shook her head. She’d stayed long enough. Too long. The past weeks had been sweet agony, caring for the children’s needs, fixing meals for Joss, teaching him the alphabet and celebrating words coming to life for him, feeling her love grow deeper day by day, minute by minute. Then watching him stride away every evening. Now that she’d fulfilled her obligation to the sheriff, it was time to pack her bag and go. It would break her heart to leave Mary’s family, but she knew the children would be well cared for.

  Joss’s ability to read had blossomed daily, as had his relationship with God. Many times tears filled her eyes as she received glimpses of God’s amazing transformation in his actions and speech. Between Simon’s example and Joss’s desire to change, he was becoming the kind of father Mary had always wanted him to be. Tarsie had been a witness to a miracle, and her heart rejoiced. But at the same time, she mourned. Because loving him and the children wasn’t enough. Being loved by the children wasn’t enough. She wanted Joss—this new, changed Joss—to love her, too.

  They walked to the house, the children scampering ahead, their giggles ringing. Tarsie memorized the sound, her heart aching. If she never had the joy of motherhood, at least she would have these memories to recall and treasure. She sighed, and Joss looked at her.

  “Glad it’s over?”

  She knew he meant the trial, but his words carried a deeper meaning for her. “Yes . . . and no.” How could one small heart hold so many mixed emotions? She sped her steps, eager to retrieve her belongings and leave so she needn’t prolong this torment.

  He caught her arm, drawing her to a halt. “Tarsie . . .”

  She didn’t want to look at him, but she couldn’t stop herself. Just as she’d tried to memorize the sound of the children’s laughter, she now memorized Joss in that moment. Always handsome with his thick hair, square jaw, and broad shoulders, the softening of his features only increased his attractiveness. He gazed down at her, his expression serious, a shadow of whiskers darkening his tanned skin. His fingers still held her arm, the touch as gentle as a summer breeze. Tarsie swallowed.

  “What is it you’re wantin’, Joss?” Please, say it and then let me go. Let me go. . . .

  He toed the ground, letting his hand slip away from her arm. “I know you said as soon as the trial was over you intended to move on. Start over someplace else. But . . .” He whisked a glance ahead to the children, who crouched in the dirt by the side of the road, examining something. “I wondered if I could talk you into . . . not going.”

  Tarsie took a deep breath, ready to argue.

  He hurried on. “Those two love you. Love you as much as they loved their ma. And they need you. I couldn’t find someone better to raise ’em right if I searched a hundred years. I know you love ’em. You said so in your letter.”

  Her eyes flew wide, and he nodded, his face serious. “Uh-huh, I read it. Every word of it.” Pride squared his shoulders. “But even if you hadn’t written it down on paper, I’d already know. I see it on your face every time you look at them.” His brow pinched. “Can you really leave ’em, Tarsie?”

  Tarsie gazed at the pair of blond heads close together, little shoulders hunched, whispers carrying on the breeze. Her heart constricted. “I have to.”

  “But what about that promise you told me you made to Mary?”

  Her head zipped around to look up at him. “Don’t be throwin’ my promise at me, Joss Brubacher. You know I’ve done my very best to honor it! But Mary, she asked too much of me. I can’t do it anymore!”

  “Can’t . . . or won’t?”

  She folded her arms over her chest. A bird chirped from a tree nearby, and two gold leaves let loose and spiraled downward. Tarsie stared at them, their hue the exact color of Emmy’s and Nathaniel’s soft curls. And Mary’s hair. Tears burned behind her nose.

  “Why’d you stay as long as you have?”

  “You know why.”

  “Tell me.” Joss brushed his fingers from her shoulder to her elbow.

  Tremors shuddered through her entire frame. She hugged herself harder and whispered, “For love of Mary.” She swallowed. “And Emmy. And Nathaniel. And . . .” She couldn’t finish. Wouldn’t finish. Wouldn’t humiliate herself here in the sunshine on a glorious fall day.

  He leaned close, his voice dropping low. So low she almost thought she imagined its tenderness. So sweet it washed over her like a dew-kissed morning. “But you didn’t only vow to love Emmy and Nathaniel. You vowed to love me, too. The way God would love me—unconditionally. Isn’t that what you told me?”

  Mesmerized, she could only nod—one slow bob of her head.

  “Then are you leaving because of me? Because you can’t do as Mary asked and love me unconditionally?” Pain formed a sharp V in his brow. “I know I’ve wronged you. Lied to you. You have reason not to forgive me.”

  “But I have forgiven you!” The words burst out, shrill and louder than she’d intended. The bird shot from the tree, its wings beating the air. She ducked her head. “I’m not going because I’m angry with you, Joss. I’m going because . . .” Oh, Father, strength! Unless she told him the truth, he’d never let her go. Meeting his gaze, she drew back her shoulders and stated boldly, “Because I can’t be stayin’ here while I’m lovin’ you and not havin’ you love me in return. There! Now will you please let me go?”

  She marched forward, arms swinging, determined to reach the house and escape before she could suffer any further mortification. A laugh exploded from behind her. She whirled around to see Joss holding his stomach, his face crinkled in mirth. She jammed her hands on her hips. “Don’t you be makin’ fun o’ my feelings, Joss Brubacher! You an’ your stubborn ways. You just had to push an’ push until—”

  Three long strides brought him to her. That grin still stretching across his cheeks, he caught her by the upper arms, drew her up, and captured her lips in a kiss so strong and sure her head spun. He stood upright, his hands still holding tight, which was a good thing or she might have collapsed out of shock.

  Staring into his grinning face, she spluttered, “W-why’d you go and do that?” She wriggled her shoulders, a feeble attempt to free herself.

  His hands slipped to her shoulder blades, drawing her close. With her snug against his frame, he smiled down at her. A warm, tender, filled-with-promise smile that had an even greater effect on her senses than the kiss had. Which she hadn’t thought possible.

  “I’m not much of a man for words. It’s hard for me to say what I feel.” His breath brushed her cheek, his pa
lms roved her spine, and his eyes glowed with emotion. “But I don’t want you to go. That kiss was meant to say . . . stay.” His voice dropped to a throaty whisper. “Please, Tarsie. Stay.”

  She gathered the remains of her courage and placed her palms flat against his chest. Depending on what he said next, she would either draw him near or push him away. “To be your children’s caretaker?”

  “To be my wife.” He brushed a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Because I love you, Tarsie Raines.”

  Gliding her hands upward, she wove her fingers through the thick hair at his temples and pressed her cheek to his chest. His heart beat in her ear, the steady thrum as comforting as a lullaby. “Yes, Joss. I’ll stay.”

  Tarsie married Joss a week later, with Ruth and Simon as their witnesses, in the yard at Tollison’s place. Reverend Mann presided, and when he asked Joss if he would take Tarsie to be his wife, Joss’s lips twitched teasingly as he proclaimed, “For sure I do.” Then he winked at Tarsie, filling her cheeks with enough heat to inspire a rosy glow that would last a year at least.

  Tarsie scratched out the old date in her Bible’s marriage record and penned the correct date above. Joss signed his name with a flourish, planting a kiss on Tarsie’s lips immediately afterward with a whispered thank-you for teaching him to write it correctly. Mr. Tollison’s cook, who’d cried copiously throughout the entire ceremony, set out a buffet that ensured no one would want food again until the next evening, and a lean, white-haired black man played the fiddle so they could all dance. The merrymaking went on until dark, and then they returned to the little house where, together, they tucked the children into bed and Joss prayed with them.

  Listening to her husband pray with the children was the most joyous moment of her life. Until they crept beneath the covers together and she discovered in a completely new way how much Joss loved her.

  Sunday morning, Joss awakened her early with a gentle nuzzle behind her ear. “I’d like pancakes for breakfast before we leave for service.”

  Tarsie giggled. “Then you’d best be fetchin’ the eggs instead of tickling your wife.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled.

  Their morning passed quickly, with much laughter, and when the little hand on Mary’s clock pointed to nine, they headed out their door in their nicest clothes. The early fall breeze was crisp but not cold, the air scented with smoke from cookstoves and nature. Tarsie breathed deeply, savoring the delicious scent of this Kansas September. She stopped to pluck up a particularly beautiful leaf that lay in her pathway, and Joss and the children kept going.

  She straightened, poised to catch up, but then she paused, watching, as Emmy and Nathaniel each caught one of Joss’s hands and the three fell into step together. They walked, hands swinging, Kansas sunlight glistening on one dark head and two blond ones, little feet skipping and Joss’s larger boots moving purposefully. Guiding the children in a direct path to the church steps.

  Tears flooded Tarsie’s eyes, turning the sweet scene into a dreamlike vision made all the sweeter because it was real. “Oh, Mary,” she whispered, joy and grief exploding in one rush of emotion through her heart, “how I wish you were here to be witnessin’ this miraculous sight.” Then peace eased its way through her frame. She aimed her gaze to the endless blue sky above. “You know, don’t you? Somehow, you know . . .” She turned her attention back to Joss and the children in time to see them stop at the bottom of the steps.

  Joss looked over his shoulder. An endearing smile curved his lips. “Are you comin’?” He and Emmy dropped hands, each extending their palms toward her in invitation.

  A bubble of joy rose from Tarsie’s chest and erupted as a giggle. She nodded. Then, with a prayer of thankfulness filling her heart, she joined her family.

  Acknowledgments

  To Mom, Daddy, Don, my girls, and my precious grandchildren—Thank you for your support and encouragement. I could not meet the demands of this ministry without your assistance.

  To my mom-in-love, Shirley Sawyer—This was the first manuscript completed without a phone call from you asking “How’s the writing going?” I missed that, but I suspect you’re marching around heaven telling everybody about my books, just like you did down here. Thanks for always being one of my best encouragers.

  To my wonderful critique partners, Eileen, Connie, Margie, Darlene, and Donna—Thank you for your suggestions, your prayers, your cheers, and especially your friendship. What would I do without you?

  To my choir and church family—There are too many of you to list, but you know who you are. Your prayers and encouragement are so precious to me. When I am weak, you hold up my arms. I appreciate you more than you know.

  To my traveling buddy, Beverly—Thanks for making that trip to the far corner of Kansas. The day was hot, windy, and long, but I had such fun and it helped so much. I appreciate your willingness to accompany me.

  To my editor, Charlene, and all the wonderful folks at Bethany—What a delightful journey we’ve had together. I am so grateful to be a member of this publishing house and to partner with you in the ministry of my heart.

  Finally, and most importantly, to God—You fill me in every way, meet my every need, and hold me in Your capable arms. Thank You for working in and through me. May any praise or glory be reflected directly back to You.

  Kim Vogel Sawyer is the bestselling author of more than twenty novels, which have sold more than one million copies. She has won the Carol Award, the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence, and the Inspirational Readers Choice Award. Kim is active in her church, where she leads women’s fellowship and participates in both voice and bell choirs. In her spare time, she enjoys drama, quilting, and calligraphy. Kim and her husband, Don, reside in central Kansas and have three daughters and nine grandchildren. Learn more at

  www.kimvogelsawyer.com

  writespassage.blogspot.com

  Books by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  * * *

  FROM BETHANY HOUSE PUBLISHERS

  Waiting for Summer’s Return

  Where the Heart Leads

  My Heart Remembers

  In Every Heartbeat

  Where Willows Grow

  A Promise for Spring

  Fields of Grace

  A Hopeful Heart

  Courting Miss Amsel

  A Whisper of Peace

  Song of My Heart

  When Hope Blossoms

  A Home in Drayton Valley

  Sweet Sanctuary

  Resources: bethanyhouse.com/AnOpenBook

  Website: www.bethanyhouse.com

  Facebook: Bethany House