It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Whitaker House (June 17, 2013)
***Special thanks to Cathy Hickling for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
The last thing Sarah Marshall wanted was to leave Chicago and travel the dusty Santa Fe Trail, but when her uncle demands she help her feeble aunt, she can’t refuse. Her aunt had taken Sarah in after her parents died. She becomes stranded at the Harper Stage Stop in Kansas, one of the first stops on the Santa Fe Trail, and her presence causes a stir. Ethan Harper’s well-ordered life is thrown into turmoil with his two brothers and every unmarried male in the county lining up to woo Miss Sarah whom Ethan views as an uppity city girl. Is it because she’s the wrong woman for his brother—or the right one for himself?
MY REVIEW:
... "I've got some folks here that are looking for a couple of wagons and teams of oxen."If you were going on the Santa Fe Trail and needed to be outfitted, who would you listen to? Your niece, who is assuring you that you only know about horses, or the outfitter who has determined the weight of your load ~ your large load, in fact? What about if his family has the last stage stop before the prairie? Lighten your load, but you will need to add grain to feed the horses you have the money for?
--Whispers on the Prairie, 41
"All right, then. Set me up with half a dozen mules and your best stock horses." Uncle Harvey turned to Mr. Harper. "Where are the wagons?"Hmm.... Interesting.
"Just down the street. You might want to consider getting another pair of mules for your freight wagon."
Her uncle pressed his lips together and shook his head. "Six will be enough."
--Ibid., 42
"What? Well, yes, this is the door to my home. A peril to your horses, you say?"
Okay, then. She selects the wagon too.
... "Your uncle has the list of supplies. You seem plenty efficient at purchasing things, so I'll bid you good day."
--Ibid., 46
"You can't always control circumstances. You have to learn to not fight the wind. God often uses unexpected situations to do good work in us."Sarah would do well to listen to Ethan Harper. Plus, he prays for her.
--Ibid., 57
Very enjoyable story. Explore Whispers on the Prairie for yourself. Sarah is easing in to who she is. You will like her. She is a quick thinker and changes are ahead for them. It is a soothing story of God's grace in the midst of turmoil. His peace is available to all who seek Him.
I am looking forward to the continuing trilogy. Call of the Prairie and Song of the Prairie will be released in 2014.
~*~
Product Details:Paperback: 272 pages
Publisher: Whitaker House (June 17, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1603748415
ISBN-13: 978-1603748414
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
March 1870 * Chicago
The toddler’s whimpers rose to an
ear-splitting scream as the little girl pushed against the chest of
the woman holding her captive.
“Here, let me have her, Abigail.”
Sarah Marshall reached for Mary, and her friend handed over the fussy
child. The girl persisted in her cries, so Sarah crooned to her,
swaying in time to a waltz playing in her mind as she rubbed circles
on the toddler’s back.
“I don’t see how you can have
such patience with her. That obstinate child cries more than all the
others in this orphanage combined.” Abigail bent down and reached
for a handsome three-year-old boy, who came rushing toward her with a
big smile that showed his dimples. “Personally,” Abigail raised
her voice over Mary’s ruckus, “I prefer the quiet ones.”
Sarah smiled. “I prefer the needy
ones.” She leaned her cheek against Mary’s head. “All is well,
little one. All is well.”
After a few more minutes, the wails
finally subsided, and the girl began to relax. She sniffled, her
whole body shaking as she finally fell into an exhausted sleep.
“Poor little one.” Sarah’s
heart nearly broke for the child, recently orphaned by the death of
her mother. At least, at such a young age, she stood a chance to
adapt more easily than Sarah had when her parents died. Though the
accident that claimed their lives had happened over a decade ago, she
still missed her father’s big smile and her mother’s comforting
arms.
“You’ll make a good mother one
day.” Mrs. Rayburn leaned against the door frame, looking tired.
“Are you sure you don’t want to move in here?”
Sarah smiled. “If my aunt was in
better health, you know I would take you up on your offer. And I do
hope to be a mother someday. If I’m good, as you say, it will be
only because I learned from the best.”
Mrs. Rayburn swiped her hand in the
air, but Sarah could tell the comment pleased her. If not for the
generous care of the well-to-do widow, the six orphaned children who
resided under her roof would most likely still be out on the cold
Chicago streets, begging for scraps to eat, working for some cruel
taskmaster—or worse.
Abigail glided to the center of the
bedroom that had been converted into a nursery, holding Tommy on her
hip, and pretended to dance with him. “Sarah may take a giant step
in the direction of motherhood this very night.”
“Abigail!” Heat marched across
Sarah’s cheeks as she thought of Walt and how he’d hinted at
proposing—again—at her birthday dinner tonight. “I don’t want
that news getting out.”
“Why not?” Abigail spun the boy
in a circle, eliciting a giggle. “You aren’t going to turn the
poor fellow down again, are you?”
Sarah glared at her best friend,
wishing she would learn when to hush. She hoisted Mary higher on her
chest and carried her to the adjoining bedroom. Stopping beside
Mary’s bed, she rocked the girl from side to side to make sure she
was asleep. Though she would never admit it to Abigail, the toddler’s
wails did grate on her nerves from time to time, especially when she
hadn’t slept well the night before. Holding her breath, she lowered
Mary into her bed and then pulled the small quilt over her.
Sarah kept her hand ready to pat
Mary’s back, should she stir. Thankfully, she didn’t.
Straightening, Sarah checked on the two napping babies. She then
tiptoed across the big room to adjust the blanket covering Ian, the
six-month-old whose father had deposited him on Mrs. Rayburn’s
doorstep last fall. The poor man had lost his wife and couldn’t
care for an infant. Sarah’s heart ached for each one of the
youngsters. She knew how hard life could be without parents. Still,
she counted herself among the lucky ones—she’d been taken in by
family, though she hadn’t lived in a house as fine as Mrs.
Rayburn’s mansion.
Bending, Sarah filled her apron
skirt with rag dolls, balls, and other toys, then deposited them in
the toy basket as the mantel clock in the parlor chimed two o’clock.
She tiptoed out of the nursery and back into the playroom.
“Time for you girls to head home.”
Mrs. Rayburn crossed the room and clapped her hands. “Tommy, would
you like to hear a story?”
The three-year-old lunged into the
older woman’s arms. She hugged him and then set him down. “My,
but you’re getting heavy.”
“Too much porridge, I imagine.”
Grinning, Sarah turned to Abigail. “Are you leaving now, too?”
“Yes, Papa is sending his driver
for me. See you tomorrow, Mrs. Rayburn.” Abigail waved good-bye as
she walked from the room. She stopped in the doorway and faced Sarah.
“Do you want a ride to your uncle’s shop?”
“Thank you, but I’ll walk.”
Tommy ran out of the nursery, lifted
his little hand, and waved. Mrs. Rayburn followed him into the
upstairs parlor and took hold of his hand. “I don’t know how I’d
manage without you girls and your friends who volunteer in the
evenings. I fear I’m getting too old to manage so many young
children.”
Mrs. Rayburn had said the same thing
for the past two years, and yet she hadn’t turned Mary away when a
neighbor had brought her last week. Still, Sarah couldn’t help
wondering if the day would come when the kind woman would feel it
necessary to close her door to the orphans. What would happen to them
then?
She and Abigail donned their cloaks
and left the warmth of the cozy home behind as they stepped out into
the blustery chill of March. The gusty wind off Lake Michigan whipped
at Sarah’s skirts, and the gloomy sky released a light drizzle.
Abigail’s driver stepped out from under the shelter of a nearby
tree and opened the door of her carriage.
“Are you sure you won’t let us
give you a ride? It’s a miserable day to be out.”
“Thank you, but I’ll be fine.
I’m headed home, anyway, and that’s the opposite direction for
you.”
“So, you’re not clerking for
your uncle this afternoon?” Abigail accepted her driver’s hand
and climbed into the buggy. “How did you get out of doing that?”
She sat, leaning toward Sarah, her eyebrows lifted.
“I’m going home to help Aunt
Emma get things ready for my birthday dinner.” Sarah turned so the
wind was at her back and wrapped her fist around the edges of her
cloak to hold it closed. “You’re still coming tonight?”
Abigail nodded, grinning. “I
wouldn’t miss seeing Walt propose again. I don’t know why you
don’t just accept. Your uncle will probably throw you out one of
these days, and then where will you be?” She motioned to her
driver, who closed the door and scurried up to his seat.
Sarah walked quickly toward State
Street. She hadn’t missed how Abigail had poked her with her barbed
comment about her uncle casting her out. That very possibility had
been in the back of her mind. Uncle Harvey had barely tolerated her
presence all these years. He’d never wanted children and wasn’t
happy when his wife’s only sister died, leaving behind a daughter.
It was a miracle the stingy man had agreed to let her live with them
in the first place.
She blew out a sigh of relief at the
sight of the horse-drawn trolley, just a block away. Hurrying to the
middle of the street, she waited until it drew near, then grabbed the
rail and stepped aboard. The sides of the carriage blocked the wind,
to a degree, but the chilly air still seeped inside, bringing with it
the aromas of baking bread and roasting meat.
The rain picked up, and she was glad
she’d decided not to walk home. She stared out the window at the
Chicago city streets, teeming with horses and buggies, fancy
carriages, freight wagons, and even a man pulling a handcart. Busy
people bustled up and down the boardwalks. She loved this town and
hoped never to have to leave it.
If she married Walt, most likely she
wouldn’t. Yet she struggled with the notion of being his wife. He
was a good friend, yes, and she’d hate to disappoint him. Still,
shouldn’t a woman have stronger feelings than friendship for the
man she married?
Her uncle would be beside himself if
she turned Walt down again. Maybe she should just say yes this time.
At least then she’d be assured of having a home of her own—and of
freeing herself from the heavy sense of owing her uncle. One would
think the hours she’d spent doing chores in his home and clerking
at his watch repair shop would be sufficient to cover any debt she
owed, but she could never do enough to please Uncle Harvey. Still,
she was grateful to have lived in his home these last twelve years.
She should be satisfied and not wish for more.
And yet she did. She longed to marry
a man who made her laugh like her papa had, one whose broad shoulders
were strong enough to protect her. But she hadn’t yet met that man.
Maybe she never would. Maybe she needed to give up on wishing and
just be satisfied with Walt.
*****
Sarah sat back and rested her hands
in her lap, smiling in satisfaction with the meal. She stole a glance
at the sideboard loaded with food she’d helped her aunt and the
cook prepare—roast leg of mutton and currant jelly, mashed
potatoes, creamed spinach, fried parsnips, and glazed carrots. Just
the thought of it all made her stomach ache, and they had not even
served dessert yet.
Walt wagged a finger at the servant
standing at attention.
The servant hurried to the table
from his post in the corner of the room. “Sir?”
“Bring me some more of those
parsnips.”
Sarah winced at his commanding tone,
then looked to the head of the table. Uncle Harvey was seated next to
a stranger—Mr. Gibbons—who’d appeared at the door just before
they’d sat down to dinner. The two were having a private
discussion, but Sarah had overheard enough to know it was about the
benefits of living on the western frontier. She couldn’t imagine
what anyone found interesting about the untamed prairie, with its
wild Indians and abundance of dust.
At the other end of the table,
Lizzie Monahan and Betty Phillips engaged her aunt in a lively chat
about the latest styles in fashion, while Abigail sat infatuated with
Howard Shibley, Walt’s best friend, who babbled on about a recent
report that the population of Chicago had reached 300,000. Sarah
nearly rolled her eyes.
“What was that look for?” Walt
dabbed his lips with his napkin.
Sarah leaned closer to him, so not
to be heard. “If Howard has any hope of winning Abigail’s heart,
he should find a more interesting topic of conversation.”
“I doubt romance has even entered
his mind.”
“Obviously.” Sarah shook her
head.
Walt rested his chin in his palm and
caught her gaze, his hazel eyes gleaming. His ash-blond hair had been
slicked down and combed back from his forehead. “Speaking of
romance, are you ever going to agree to marry me?”
She sucked in a sharp breath and
glanced around the table once more. Nobody cast an odd look her way,
so she assumed that no one had overheard the oh-so-unromantic
proposal. She had pretty much made up her mind to say yes, but his
casual manner of asking made her want to shake her head. Schooling
her features and straightening her posture, she replied. “I don’t
know.”
Walt blinked, obviously taken aback.
Seconds later, he scowled, then glanced across the room and motioned
to the servant again. The man rushed to his side. “I seem to be out
of parsnips again.”
Why couldn’t Walt have just kept
quiet? She liked him well enough, but his frequent proposals were
producing the opposite of their intended effect; they made her more
inclined to avoid him than marry him. She snuck a glance at Abigail,
still trying so hard to get Howard to notice her, while the man,
clearly oblivious, just kept spouting his knowledge.
Sarah peeked at Walt again. He
wasn’t particularly handsome, but he wasn’t ugly, either. He
would be a good provider, being the sole heir to his father’s shoe
factory, but she had a feeling that life with him would be just as
boring as their evenings together. She wanted to marry—to finally
be free from her uncle’s overpowering presence and stern glare—but
she wanted a man who thought she was the only woman in the world for
him. Yes, Walt seemed to feel that way, but something held her back.
Was there something wrong with her?
An hour later, she stood at the door
to see Walt on his way. Everyone else had already gone.
Walt hung his head and twisted his
hat in his hands. “I…uh, won’t ask you again.” He lifted his
gaze to hers, pain evident in his eyes.
She’d hurt him, and that was the
last thing she’d wanted to do.
“I’m twenty-nine, Sarah. I’m
ready to marry and start a family. I need to know if there’s any
hope that you’ll say yes one day.”
“And I just turned
nineteen—today.”
He closed his eyes and exhaled a
heavy sigh. “All right. I’ll give you a few more months to make
up your mind.”
Sarah bristled. What if she still
didn’t have an answer? “And then?”
He stared at her with a serious,
no-nonsense expression she’d never seen before. “And then I’ll
be forced to look elsewhere. I mean to be married before I turn
thirty.” He slapped his hat on his head and stepped out into the
blustery evening wind.
She watched him jog down the steps
with more purpose than usual. He wanted to get away from her, and
that was just fine, as far as she was concerned. She shut the door.
Some birthday party that had been.
The sound of raised voices drew her
to the parlor. Her aunt and uncle rarely argued, mainly because Aunt
Emma’s chronic illness made her too weary to fuss over trifles.
“Harvey, please. You can’t be
serious about this.”
Sarah held her breath, all manner of
ideas racing through her mind.
“You might as well come in here,
Sarah. I know you’re out there.”
She jumped at her uncle’s stern
command and was tempted to slither away, but her curiosity forced her
to do as bidden. “I was just saying good night to Walt,” she
explained as she entered the room.
“Sit down. I have something to
tell you.”
Aunt Emma didn’t look up from the
sofa but anxiously wrung her hands.
Sarah sat next to her and laid a
steadying hand over her aunt’s.
Her uncle paced in front of the
fireplace, where a cozy blaze heated the front half of the room.
Still, a shiver clawed its way down Sarah’s spine. Whatever news
she was about to hear, it wouldn’t be good, from the looks of it.
Uncle Harvey stopped in front of the
hearth, rested one hand atop the mantel, and stared into the flames.
“You met Gibbons tonight.” He straightened and stared at her, an
unreadable expression in his brown eyes. “He’s a wagon master.
Been leading wagon trains down the Santa Fe Trail for the past twenty
years.”
Sarah’s thoughts whirled. Again
she wondered about her uncle’s interest in such a rugged man as Mr.
Gibbons. He hadn’t even worn proper attire for a dinner party.
“Oh, dear. Oh, dear.” Aunt Emma
fanned her face. “I fear I’m not feeling well.”
Sarah’s uncle narrowed his gaze at
his wife. “You may be dismissed as soon as I’m done.”
Aunt Emma gave him a meek nod,
keeping her head down.
Uncle Harvey cleared his throat,
drawing Sarah’s gaze again. “The truth of the matter is that my
brother has written me from Kansas City to inform me that he’s
moving his family to the New Mexico Territory, by way of the Santa Fe
Trail.”
“New Mexico?” Sarah pressed her
lips closed, knowing her uncle wouldn’t appreciate her outburst.
She sidled a glance at her aunt. Why was she so distraught? Turning
her attention back to her uncle, she voiced the question that
wouldn’t go away. “Why would your brother want to move to such an
uncivilized place?”
Uncle Harvey’s nostrils flared,
and Aunt Emma uttered a pitiful moan.
“Because there is great
opportunity there,” her uncle insisted. “Bob says that one day,
the New Mexico Territory will become a state. He has been to Santa Fe
and plans to return to open a mercantile there.”
Sarah blinked as she absorbed the
information. The truth finally dawned, and she gasped, staring
wide-eyed at her uncle. “Surely, you don’t mean to go there,
too.”
He lifted his chin, revealing his
wrinkled, white neck from its hiding place beneath his beard. “I
most certainly do. Chicago has dozens of watchmakers. According to
Bob, Santa Fe doesn’t have a single one. I plan to set up shop next
to his store. We’ll build a door between the two, so that we can
assist each other when things get busy.”
Sarah could see her well-ordered
life spiraling out of control. She’d already lost her parents. How
could she stand to lose Aunt Emma, too? Sarah stood and started
pacing the room. “You already have as much business as you can
handle. And how could you expect Aunt Emma to endure such a difficult
trip?”
“I’ve talked to the doctor, and
he says the warmer climate will be much better for her. Lydia will be
there to take care of her if she falls ill.”
Falls ill? Didn’t he realize his
wife was nearly always unwell? She’d been sickly ever since she’d
survived a bout of scarlet fever a year before Sarah had come to live
with them. The sickness had left her frail and had robbed her of her
hearing in her right ear.
Sarah doubted Aunt Emma could
survive such a rugged journey. “Won’t you reconsider, Uncle?”
He shook his head. “My mind is
made up.”
“And what about me?” Could she
stay in this big house alone? He’d always expected her to pay her
own way, and she could hardly afford a place as nice as this
two-story brownstone.
He shrugged. “I expect you to
marry Walt, and then you’ll be his responsibility. I’ve already
sold the house, so you can’t stay here.”
Her aunt gasped and stood. “How
could you do such a thing without consulting me?”
Sarah’s heart ached for her aunt.
How could Uncle Harvey be so insensitive?
“Now, Emma. It’s my place to
make such decisions. You’ll see once we arrive in Santa Fe that
this move was for the best.”
Emma screeched a heart-wrenching sob
and ran from the room, her dark green silk dress swishing loudly.
Sarah had never once stood up to her
intimidating uncle before. This time, concern for her aunt stiffened
her spine, and she turned on him. “How could you be so selfish?
Such a trip will probably kill Aunt Emma! Is that what you want?”
His nostrils flared. “She is no
concern of yours.” He walked to the dark window and stared out
through the panes. “I never wanted you to come here, you know. I
never wanted children. They’re nothing but a nuisance. I will
concede that you’ve been good for Emma, but she needs to learn to
get along without you.” He turned back to her, his eyes narrowed.
“Marry Walt. He’s a decent fellow.”
She’d always known her uncle
hadn’t wanted her, but hearing the words spoken out loud pained her
as badly as if she’d been stabbed in the heart. Out of respect for
her aunt, she didn’t lash out at him as she wanted to. “I’m not
ready to marry yet.” Uncle Harvey may have housed her all these
years, but that didn’t give him the right to force her to wed a man
she didn’t love. “I…I can find a boardinghouse to stay in.”
He smirked. “And how do you intend
to pay for it?”
A wave of panic washed over her. She
had a few coins her aunt had given her—nowhere near enough to live
on, even for a short time. “I’ll find another job. Since I’ve
worked for you for so long, I’ve honed my office skills and have
plenty of experience.”
“Hmpf. What employer would hire a
female clerk when he can so easily find a man to do the task?”
Sarah dropped back onto the sofa,
realizing the truth of his statement. What would she do? Where would
she live? How could she manage without her aunt’s loving guidance?
The last time she’d felt as empty and confused as she did now was
when she’d learned that her parents had died.
Quick footsteps sounded outside the
room, and Sarah and her uncle both looked to the door. Her aunt had
returned, her eyes damp, her face red and splotchy. With a trembling
hand, she held a handkerchief below her nose. Sarah longed to embrace
her aunt, but she would wait until her uncle left them alone.
“I see it’s too late to change
your mind,” she said, her voice quavering. “You’ve wounded me
deeply, Harvey. I hope you know that.”
He started toward her, his
expression softening, and took her hands. “Haven’t I always taken
care of you, darling? Have you ever lacked for anything?”
Her aunt didn’t respond, but Sarah
could tell by her expression that she didn’t share her husband’s
perspective. Steeling her gaze, Emma stared up at him with rare
determination in her eyes. “I won’t go without Sarah.”
“What?” Sarah and her uncle
exclaimed at once.
“I won’t go unless she goes,
too.” Emma hiked her chin.
Sarah didn’t know what to say.
This was the first time she had seen Aunt Emma stand up to her
husband, and she couldn’t bear to tell her that her efforts were
wasted. But the last thing Sarah cared to do was leave Chicago and
travel on a wagon train to Santa Fe.
Even marriage to Walt would be
preferable to that.
I love your method of reviewing! It's a great story and I am looking forward to the next two books, as well :)
ReplyDeleteAnne, Thank you for your comments on my blog. They are uplifting and appreciated. I so enjoy your photography. Kathleen
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