Bending Toward the Sun
Read Bending Toward the Sun Online
Authors: Mona Hodgson
Tags: #Fiction, #Christian, #Historical, #Romance, #General
Praise for
Bending Toward the Sun
“Mona Hodgson’s
Bending Toward the Sun
captures Saint Charles following the Civil War so well. Quaid returns home—a man changed by the war. Emilie is a delight—a young woman pursuing her education, who knows her own mind. And even though the war has changed so many things, this story reminds us that some things, like love, never change.”
—D
ORRIS
K
EEVEN
-F
RANKE
, archivist, Saint Charles County Historical Society
“Mona Hodgson has written a warm, tender tale of family loyalties and forbidden love. When Emilie’s father objects to her seeing the handsome McFarland boy, recently returned from war, the couple struggles to do the right thing. But they are about to discover that God has another plan. Filled with charming characters and godly themes, this heartwarming story is pure delight.”
—M
ARGARET
B
ROWNLEY
,
New York Times
best-selling author of A Rocky Creek Romance Series and the Brides of Last Chance Ranch Series
“With believable characters, an historic setting, and a gripping love story, Mona Hodgson gives the reader an uplifting account of a time when our country was recovering from a dark period and looking forward to a brighter future.”
—M
ARTHA
R
OGERS
, author of the Winds Across the Prairie Series and the best-selling
Christmas at Holly Hill
B
ENDING
T
OWARD THE
S
UN
P
UBLISHED BY
W
ATERBROOK
P
RESS
12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200
Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921
All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version.
This is a work of fiction. Apart from well-known people, events, and locales that figure into the narrative, all names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
eISBN: 978-0-307-73144-9
Copyright © 2013 by Mona Hodgson
Cover design by Kelly Howard
Published in association with the literary agency of Janet Kobobel Grant, Books & Such, 52 Mission Circle, Suite 122, P
MB
170, Santa Rosa, CA 95409-5370.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House Inc., New York.
W
ATER
B
ROOK
and its deer colophon are registered trademarks of Random House Inc.
2013
v3.1_r1
Contents
Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.
Proverbs 4:23
Dedicated to my hubby, Bob Hodgson
The man whose heroic qualities inform and inspire all of the leading men in my stories
One
September 30, 1865
E
milie stood in one of her favorite places—Mrs. Brantenberg’s kitchen. Anywhere on the farm was, really. But this airy room, with the big window looking out on the back acres, plenty of cupboards and workspace, and two well-stocked sideboards, made cooking and baking a delight. Even better, today was the day she and
PaPa
came to the farm to help with the apple harvest. She and her friend Maren were hard at work preparing the feast for those picking in the orchard.
Emilie sprinkled the cinnamon-perfumed topping on the soft apple wedges, then slid her skillet apple crisp into the oven. Brushing a strand of brown hair behind her ear, she looked at Maren, who stood with her hands in the dish tub. “Have you set a date for the wedding?”
“Rutherford and I have spoken with Mrs. Brantenberg about February.” Her blue eyes sparkling at the mere mention of Rutherford’s name, Maren pulled a cook pot into the dishwater.
“That’s only four months away. Will you be ready?”
“I’m ready now.”
“You are?” Surprised by her friend’s tranquil response, Emilie slid a cooled loaf of Mrs. Brantenberg’s honey-wheat bread into a sack. “You don’t want a special dress or cake or feast? Where will you have the ceremony? How many guests? It seems there would be myriad details to look after.”
“I didn’t say everything
else
was ready.” Pink tinged Maren’s cheeks. “I meant that I’m ready to be Rutherford’s wife.”
“Oh.” A different set of details altogether occupied Maren’s thoughts. Warmth rushed up Emilie’s neck. She obviously had much to learn about that kind of love.
“Now that I’m living in town, I miss seeing him every day. Before I met Rutherford, I wouldn’t have believed it possible to love so deeply.” Drying her hands on her apron, Maren met Emilie’s gaze. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes.” Maren sighed. “You don’t want love in your life?”
“I have love in my life.” Emilie tucked a second loaf of bread into the sack and carried it to the crate. “My father loves me and I love him.”
“A father’s love is not at all the same.”
She didn’t doubt that. But as full as her life was with PaPa, the store, and now college, there was no time or energy left to even entertain the thought of such foolishness. One man in her life was enough to keep her busy. “Maren Jensen, you have become a hopeless romantic.”
“Perhaps. But don’t be too surprised if you discover that romance can be contagious.”
Not for her. Having her father and the store to take care of had made her immune to romantic notions. And that was best.
Maren glanced out the window, and Emilie followed her gaze. Mrs. Brantenberg’s wagon bumped up the road from the orchard.
“I know you’re extra busy with your college classes these days.” Maren added a butter crock to one of the crates. “Is there more I can do for you at the store?”
“It’s been wonderful having you there the past few weeks, almost like having a sister. But soon you and Rutherford will marry, and he’ll want you here on the farm. Not working in town.”
A shadow crossed Maren’s face. “If he decides to stay in Saint Charles.”
“If? I thought—”
“He received a letter from a childhood friend, a Mr. Garrett Cowlishaw, who is coming to lead the caravan of wagons west in the spring.”
“Oh.” Emilie had heard about the caravan, of course, but … “You think Rutherford will want to join him? Take you and Gabi and Mrs. Brantenberg on the trail?”
“He has not said as much, but I would not be surprised.”
“My father and the Rengler brothers were talking about the caravan.” Emilie pulled the cast-iron skillet from the oven, inhaling the sweet scent of baked apples. “He seemed drawn to the idea and asked me what I thought.”
Maren tucked a strand of blond hair into her coiled braid. “I had my fill of traveling, coming from Denmark only four years ago. I’m content in Saint Charles. On the farm. How do you feel about leaving town and the store?”
“Leaving my classes behind is a temptation, but I feel no compulsion to go west.”
“I agree. Unless the man I love decides to go.”
Emilie pulled tin cups from the shelf. PaPa wouldn’t insist on going, would he?
They had the three crates loaded when Mrs. Brantenberg walked through the kitchen door and stopped at the worktable.
Maren smiled at the older woman. “Emilie and I have all the food prepared and ready to go.”
“Good. Many hands make the work short.” Mrs. Brantenberg lifted a crate off the worktable and walked to the door. “Our pickers are hungry enough to eat tree bark if we don’t feed them right quick.”
The two young women set the remaining crates in the back of the wagon and climbed onto the seat behind Mrs. Brantenberg.
“Rutherford and George are already working the press.” Mrs. Brantenberg lifted the reins from the floorboard.
“We’ll have fresh apple cider with our meal.” As the wagon jerked forward, Emilie looked ahead to the tables set up left of the orchard. It appeared that her father was seated there. Hopefully he hadn’t done too much and worn himself out.
“Emilie and I were discussing the wedding,” Maren said. “She thinks the notion of love and romance is all a bit silly.”
“The wedding plans, or the way you and Rutherford are distracted beyond all reason?”
Emilie giggled. “Both.” As the wagon rolled to a stop, she watched neighbors and friends fill a constellation of baskets with apples.
“Who will haul the baskets to the dock?” Maren said. “Will Rutherford do that?”
“He arranged for McFarland Freight to do the hauling again this year.”
No doubt it would be the elder Mr. McFarland, or Brady, his oldest son, doing the pickup. They’d been delivering freight from the steamboats and barges to the store.
But it was the youngest McFarland boy Emilie was curious about. From all the talk at the checkerboard, she knew Quaid had returned, but she hadn’t so much as caught a glimpse of him in town. The last time they’d seen each other was Christmas in ’61. The memory of Quaid slipping several of Mrs. Brantenberg’s
zimtsterne
into his coat pocket made her smile. That was after he’d already enjoyed a few of the cinnamon stars. Not long afterward, he joined the Union Army and marched off to war.