“We aren’t promised tomorrow, so there’s no sense in ruining today with anger or blame or regrets. We need to tell people we love them and make our apologies when we need to and just...welcome every potential source of love that crosses our path.”
“It sounds as if you’ve got things figured out,” Nita said.
“Well,” Meg said with a crooked smile, “I’m at least getting there. And I’ve made up my mind what to do about Ace.”
“And?”
Meg straightened her shoulders as if she were preparing to go to battle. Maybe she was. “He’s taught me so much about forgiveness and regaining faith and trust. I don’t think I would be where I am today without his steadiness.”
She faced Nita with tears shimmering in her eyes. “We love each other, and that is a rare and wonderful thing. It may never happen to either of us again, and I’m not going to let him toss it away because of what people might say. We have to trust that the Lord will give us enough love and courage and patience to weather any storms that come our way.”
Nita laughed at the determination in Meg’s voice. “I think my son is a fool if he doesn’t realize how fortunate he is to have you.”
Meg blushed. “Thank you,” she said almost shyly. “And I want to say that in very different but equally important ways you have helped my heart to heal. You have been more of a mother to me than my own ever was, and for that, I will always love you, Nita Allen.”
* * *
Despite the cold, dreary day that threatened rain, Georgina’s graveside service was better attended than Meg had expected. Friends and people from town and church who had offered Meg work and friendship despite her mother or her marriage came to sing and listen to the minister’s final remarks. These gentle souls wanted to show their support for Meg if nothing else.
She was flanked on one side by the Gentry brothers and their families, and by Colt and Dan with their fiancées on the other. For some crazy reason, Meg expected that Ace would miraculously show up to help her through this latest trial. Even though she’d stood on the porch every day since Thanksgiving with her arms outspread in welcome, she’d seen no sign of him and he’d made no effort to contact her.
She couldn’t help her disappointment, but she didn’t really have any proof that he was anywhere in the vicinity except that the morning after she’d placed the mistletoe on the arm of the bell bracket, it was gone. So Meg swallowed her unhappiness and managed to be gracious to those who came to offer their condolences after the short service.
Thankfully, Ellie had closed the café for the afternoon. There was so much food, Meg and her small family could never hope to eat it before it went bad, so she invited those at the cemetery to join them at Ellie’s and asked that she and the preacher see to it that the remainder was divided among the needy families in town.
By the time Meg got back to the house, the spotty showers had moved through the countryside and the weather had turned colder. She was glad she’d taken up Nita on her offer to stay at home with Teddy and Lucy since the weather was so inclement. The day would have been far too cold and exhausting for them.
She unhitched and cared for the horse and then grabbed the two baskets of food she’d brought home. The weak afternoon sunlight was making a valiant effort to push aside the clouds, a subtle reminder that this dark time would pass and the sun would shine on her again.
As she made her way up the back steps, she couldn’t help wondering again if Ace was nearby. If only there were some sign that he was back, she could breathe much easier.
She saw it just before she reached the door. There, where she couldn’t miss it, the sprig of mistletoe hung from the doorknob by a piece of soft doeskin. Meg set the baskets down and untied the thin strip of leather carefully. The small leaves were a little drier, and the berries were a bit more shriveled.
For a moment, she just stood there while pure joy bubbled up inside her. He was back, if he’d ever gone. Did this mean he was willing to talk, to meet her halfway, to at least discuss the possibility of loving each other without looking for problems that might never arise?
She reached for the door handle and stopped. Was he inside? Wearing a wide smile, she pushed through the door and stepped into the kitchen. Nita, who was rocking Lucy, looked up.
Teddy, playing with his blocks near the fire, saw her and leaped to his feet. “Mama!”
Meg barely had time to set the baskets on the table before he flung his small body at her and grabbed her around the knees. She knelt down and hugged him, but her hopeful gaze rested on Nita.
Nita knew what she was asking. “I haven’t seen him since the day your mother died. He came while you were gone and we talked,” she confessed.
Meg pressed her lips together, wondering what that meant. Why did he refuse to speak to her? Would he leave again?
After giving Teddy and Lucy the attention they felt they deserved after her absence, she carefully placed the mistletoe on the mantel. Trying her best to mask her misery, she unpacked the food and set it on the narrow table.
Talking to Nita would be futile. Meg doubted his mother knew much more than she did. Ace was too good at holding his cards close to his chest. She sighed and told Nita she would tend to their animals for the night. Changing into an everyday skirt and shirtwaist, she grabbed her shawl and tromped through the soggy grass to the barn. To her surprise, she found that the pig, which still hadn’t been butchered, was munching on dried corn. All the other animals had full buckets of water, feed and a little hay.
Annoyance warred with a cautious joy. What on earth was he doing? Meg wondered, planting her hands on her hips and turning to look around the small enclosure. What kind of game was he playing? Why did he refuse to show himself?
Well, two could play his cat-and-mouse game, she thought crossly. “I know you’re here somewhere, Ace Allen, and just so you know, I will find you. You can’t run or hide from what I feel for you or what you feel for me any more than either one of us can escape our pasts.”
She strode out into the gloom of the approaching dusk and headed for the chicken house. The chickens were already shut up, and just inside the door she saw the small basket she used for egg gathering. It was full. Picking up the basket, she left the henhouse and closed the door behind her.
Halfway to the house she stopped and called out in a testy voice, “I’ve learned to stand on my own two feet, just the way you said. I can do my own laundry.” It took her longer without his help, but it got done, just as it had before.
“And I can figure out how to get things done I can’t do or don’t know how to do,” she called out. “I certainly don’t need anyone to feed my animals. Not that I don’t appreciate it,” she added.
“In short, I don’t need a man to take care of me, but I want one. I want you. I want you for my husband and a father for the two children I have and for any that we might have.”
Nothing but silence greeted her. She gave a little growl of annoyance and stomped through the mire to the house. At the bottom of the steps she turned.
“I’ve forgiven my mother and Elton and even myself for the stupid things I’ve done. God has forgiven me, too. So I have a clean slate, and starting tomorrow, I’m rebuilding my life, my home, just like that squirrel you showed me. I want you to be here to build it with me.”
With that, she turned and went up the steps. At the top, she turned once more. “I’ve even forgiven you for acting like a ninny and going away.”
* * *
From where he watched her in the haymow, Ace smiled. This was what he’d wanted from the first. This Meg was well on her way to being whole, perhaps for the very first time. Uneasiness over the future churned in his gut, yet he was eager to see what it would bring. Wherever she went, however she chose to start her new day, Ace knew he would be there.
* * *
Morning dawned cold and crisp
. It was far too chilly for Meg to sit on the porch with her coffee as she’d grown accustomed to doing; those days were probably over until spring.
She’d lain awake throughout the night, reliving every conversation she’d ever had with Ace, trying to remember the things he’d told her, the tenderness of his actions.
She knew he cared for her, and she felt as if she could make him see that it was pointless to fight their feelings—if only he would give her a chance to tell him the lessons she’d learned from her mother. Nevertheless, she had a plan.
Careful not to wake Teddy, she washed up in the gray light of dawn. She dressed in her prettiest blouse, brushed her long hair up into a loose coil atop her head and cleaned her teeth. Then she slipped on her sturdy shoes, since she’d be making a trek up to the plateau.
Ace was a creature of habit in many ways. Her heart told her that that was where he’d be, waiting for the sun to rise on a new day. Just before she left the room, she picked up the piece of mistletoe and nestled it in the swirl of hair pinned on top of her head, grabbed her Bible and left the house.
* * *
The cold air made it harder to breathe, and by the time Meg got to the top of the hill, she was panting a little. She’d timed her ascent just right. The sun was just painting the morning sky and the wisps of cloud in a glorious pink, gold and lavender palette.
She stopped at the edge of the woods and drew her coat more closely around her. He wasn’t there.
For a moment, disappointment shot through her, and then, knowing that this was her best time to find him, maybe her only time, she strode briskly to the big boulder. She flipped through the pages until she found the passage she’d marked the night before. Then, in a faltering voice, she read loudly, “‘In his favor is life—weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.’”
Very carefully, she closed the Bible and placed it on the rock. She spread her arms wide to the sun as it climbed over the treetops, and then she turned slowly, a gesture of love and welcome, for the new day and what it held. And for Ace.
* * *
And Ace, who was watching from the cover of the trees, knew that having the love of this strong, unbreakable woman would be well worth any pain that might come with it. He smiled when he saw the mistletoe in her hair, an invitation if he ever saw one. He couldn’t wait to hold her and to give her those nine kisses. Maybe more.
Giving a little whoop of joy, he ran to her.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from HIS PRECIOUS INHERITANCE by Dorothy Clark.
Dear Reader,
I hope you’re enjoying our time in Wolf Creek. I certainly am. I appreciate so much all your wonderful comments on the books so far. Lord willing, I’ll keep trying to write about imperfect people who may have lost their way but find it again, stories that uplift and resonate with you in some way.
Wolf Creek Widow deals with a very serious topic. Domestic violence/spousal abuse is not new to society but a plague that’s been around since the beginning of time.
Meg Thomerson has been crying out to have her own story ever since she was introduced as a walk-on character in the first book. The problem was finding the right man and the right circumstances to bring her happiness. As I got to know Ace Allen better and started thinking about the challenges he’d dealt with in his life, I realized his circumstances made him the perfect man to help her on her road back to joy and real love. I hope I’ve handled this subject in a way that shows its seriousness while also offering hope.
If you know someone suffering from spousal abuse, the National Domestic Violence Hotline is available 24/7 and has a list of 5,000 agencies and resources across the country to provide help and support.
I love to hear from readers. If you have comments or questions, please contact me at [email protected].
Blessings always,
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.
You find illumination in days gone by. Love Inspired Historical stories lift the spirit as heroines tackle the challenges of life in another era with hope, faith and a focus on family.
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His Precious Inheritance
by Dorothy Clark
Chapter One
August 1878
Chautauqua Lake, New York
“What is amusing you, Clarice?”
Clarice Gordon met her mother’s gaze in the mirror and her smile turned into a grin. “I was remembering the flabbergasted look on the milliner’s face when I refused to have any adornment put on my hat.” She settled the brown felt forward of the thick knot of hair at the back of her head and anchored it in place.
“Some brown-eyed Susans would add a touch of color. A cluster of them at the front would look pretty.”
A wistful note shadowed her mother’s voice. “No doubt. But I’m not interested in looking pretty, Mama.” She adjusted the three tabs of fabric that fell like a flat cravat from the base of her high stand-up collar, then tugged the hem of her bodice down to straighten the row of buttons that marched from beneath the tabs to her narrow waist. Plain and serviceable. Perfect. She smoothed her hands over the front of the long skirt and turned from the mirror. “I’m a career woman. I want the men I encounter in my endeavors to take me seriously, not to court me.” She left the rest unsaid.
“Not all men are like your father and brothers, Clarice.”
The resignation in her mother’s voice plucked at her heart. Yet the mention of her father and brothers chased any commiseration away. “I suppose not, Mama.” It was the best she could do by way of capitulation.
The hardness in her heart would not yield to any appeal for softening. One look at her bedridden mother assured that. It also affirmed her determination to never marry and put herself under the grinding thumb of a man.
She pulled on her half gloves and walked to the bed. “Lean forward and I’ll fluff your pillows before I leave.” She pulled them from behind her mother, pummeled and replaced them. “Let’s see, you have fresh water to drink... And Mrs. Duncan will come in throughout the day with meals and to help you with your private needs...”
“Stop fretting, Clarice. I’ll be fine. I’m not used to being fussed over.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. But that’s the reason I brought you here to live with me, Mama. So I could take care of you.” She looked down at her mother’s work-worn hands resting against the quilt that covered her legs and tried for her sake to swallow back the bitterness. A wasted effort. The resentment she held against her father for working her mother into a frail, bedridden woman was a part of her. Her brothers were as bad with their selfish demands. But her father’s cruelty was the example they followed.
Her face drew taut, as it always did at the memories. Her father and brothers had treated her mother as their personal slave. And they’d tried to do the same to her.
God bless Miss Hartmore for rescuing her and making her education possible! If her teacher hadn’t whisked her away from her father’s tyrannical grasp, she would still be tending the garden and chickens and pigs and scrubbing piles of their filthy oil-coated work shirts and pants and socks with no hope of escape.
And for Miss Hartmore saving her mother all these years later. When she thought of her mother lying on the grass by a basket of wet laundry and unable to rise...and of her father declaring he had no use for a cripple and want
ed no part of the burden of caring for one! His own wife, who had destroyed her health carrying out his demands.
She spun from the bed and walked through the archway to the desk in the small turret that formed the outside wall of her room, trembling from head to toe. She supposed she should be grateful for her father’s callous attitude, as he’d made no objection when Miss Hartmore took her mother into her home. That had made it easy for her to go and bring her mother back here to the boardinghouse where she could care for her. If only she could have done so sooner! But the train fares had taken all she’d been able to set aside for the purpose and a bit more. Her stomach churned. How was she to manage her mother’s care? How was she to pay for the increase in room and board?
She snatched her writing box off the desk and headed for the bedroom door, the short train of her skirt bouncing across the floor with her jerky stride.
“You need to let go of the anger, Clarice. You need to—”
“Please don’t talk to me of forgiveness, Mama!” She whipped around and stepped to the bed. “You’re lying there unable to walk because your husband and sons worked you to the point of crippling you. They are cold, cruel, heartless men. They don’t deserve forgiveness!”
“If they deserved it, they wouldn’t need it.” The hard calluses on her mother’s fingers and palms rasped against the soft skin of her hand. “It’s not for their sake you need to forgive them, Clarice. It’s for yours—and mine. I couldn’t bear it if the anger you hold inside ruins your life.”
“The way my father tried to?” She choked back a torrent of useless words. “The anger won’t hurt me, Mama. It has driven me to succeed, to become a teacher, like Miss Hartmore.” She took a calming breath and curved her lips into a smile. “And I truly enjoy writing articles for newsletters and magazines. I’m hoping that one of my articles will one day favorably impress the editor of a daily newspaper, and he will offer me a job as a journalist.” Her smile faded. “Though that’s not likely. It’s a man’s world—at present.”
Wolf Creek Widow (Wolf Creek, Arkansas Book 4) Page 22