The Preacher's Lady Read online

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  HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS

  EUGENE, OREGON

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  Cover by Left Coast Design, Portland, Oregon

  Cover photo © Dragon Images / Shutterstock

  Published in association with the Books & Such Management, 52 Mission Circle, Suite 122, PMB 170, Santa Rosa, CA 95409-5370, www.booksandsuch.com.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  THE PREACHER’S LADY

  Copyright © 2016 Lori Copeland, Inc.

  Published by Harvest House Publishers

  Eugene, Oregon 97402

  www.harvesthousepublishers.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Copeland, Lori.

  The preacher’s lady / Lori Copeland.

  pages; cm. — (Sugar maple hearts ; Book 1)

  ISBN 978-0-7369-5655-0 (pbk.)

  ISBN 978-0-7369-5656-7 (eBook)

  I. Title.

  PS3553.O6336P74 2016

  813'.54—dc23

  2015021166

  All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s and publisher’s rights is strictly prohibited.

  Contents

  Also by Lori Copeland

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  Berrytop, Wisconsin

  1877

  Listen up, Wisconsin!” The young man inched farther out on the pine’s reaching branches and cupped his hands to his mouth to shout at the top of his lungs. “Bo Garrett is helplessly, don’t-care-who-knows-it in love with Elly Sullivan!”

  His words echoed over the snowy meadow. Deer scattered toward the far woods, where the heavy snows of Wisconsin lay on burdened limbs.

  Grinning, the young woman climbed to join Bo and shouted louder. “Elly Sullivan is madly, wildly, forever, out-of-her-mind in love with Bo Garrett!”

  The wind snatched her words and tossed them through a mist of swirling snow. Bo tipped his head toward the ground, and they climbed down together. He took her hand to walk to the leafless maple that stood atop the rise. He dug deep in his pocket for his knife and carefully etched the initials BG + ES in the trunk. Decades of carved vows covered the ancient bole. The permanence of Bo’s promise warmed Elly.

  The young couple couldn’t stay somber for long. They dissolved into laughter over their heady declarations and fell spread-eagle in the snow to stare at the pressing overcast sky. Even with the threat of another storm, Elly held the moment tightly. To hear Bo’s words, spoken with such surety, was sheer bliss. When Bo, this soon-to-be man, turned seventeen, they would get married, they would have beautiful babies, and life would be perfect.

  Rolling to his side, Bo playfully ruffled the chestnut curls that sprang from Elly’s bonnet, his eyes softening with a rare intensity. “I’m fifteen now, but in one year, nine months, thirteen days and”—he pulled a watch fob from his pocket and squinted—“eight minutes, you will be my wife.”

  She sat up and Bo helped her to stand. She stroked his wind-chapped cheek, where shoots of a reddish-blond beard sprouted. “Lots of kids get married earlier. Rose and Jack were barely sixteen, and they have a baby.”

  “That’s not the way to do it, Elly. I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready for babies yet.”

  “No.” She snuggled closer to his warmth. “Neither am I. But the babies could come later.”

  Shaking his head, he refused the notion. “I know they could, but I’m not settled enough. I’m still in school and I want to finish my learning. Pa says a man needs an education in order to get ahead these days.”

  “Not to raise cranberries,” she argued. The Garrett and Sullivan families owned two of the largest bogs in these parts, and Pa had barely finished sixth grade when he’d gone to work. Raising cranberries had been a Sullivan legacy for generations. Elly couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

  If she was patient, Bo would see the wisdom of following in the footsteps of their families. And on the day he turned seventeen, he would marry her, and like everybody around Berrytop, come fall they’d harvest cranberries. Fat little balls that bounced as high as a tabletop. They also stung like wildfire when thrown with enough velocity. She’d been Bo’s target in many a cranberry fight. The memory brought a smile to her face.

  She tightened her arms around him, feeling the warmth of him through her coat. If only time passed faster. Two years felt like centuries when all she wanted in life was to be his wife, the mother of his babies, the keeper of his heart.

  Gazes lifted to the sky to watch the dizzying dance of falling snow. Winter trudged on endlessly in these parts. Their last chance to be together would be the church social Saturday night, and after that who knew when they’d be able to do little more than wave at each other from their bedroom windows? “Think the weather will hold for Saturday night?” she asked.

  He smiled. “Sure hope so. So far it’s been right pleasant for January. This little storm isn’t going to be much. If we’re lucky—”

  “Why do you say lucky?” She lightly swatted his arm. “You should say blessed. The Lord has blessed us with decent weather.”

  “Blessed us?” He threw back his head and hooted, white teeth flashing. “Since when does Elly Sullivan talk about blessings?”

  She gave him another punch accompanied by a dour look. Teasing about such things seemed dangerous.

  “You know I don’t hold with religious talk,” he said. “You sound like the preacher’s wife.” Reverend Ed and Myrtle Richardson (dubbed “Reverend and Mrs. Righteous” by the younger crowd) were always harping on the proper use of words.

  Reverend Ed had roared from the pulpit, “There is no such thing as luck! You receiv
e a blessing from the Almighty!” Sweat rolled down his temples, and his face turned fiery red. Often he shouted so loud that windows slammed shut. Old Mr. Vaughn patiently got up, shuffled to the panes, and lifted them back into place.

  One day Vaughn got the idea to cut some strong wooden sticks to prop the panels open. From then on there hadn’t been anything to deter the Reverend from his pious fury.

  Grinning, Elly breathed in the scent of smoke, coffee, and bacon from Bo’s coat, putting church out of her mind. She still had two whole days to steel herself for the coming wrath of Reverend Richardson’s sermon. “Promise me one thing, Bo Garrett. Promise me you’ll never be a preacher,” she whispered.

  Chuckling, he tightened his arms around her. “Do I act like a preacher to you?”

  “No, but you make it through Richardson’s sermons without running for your life.”

  “Are you telling me that big, loud man scares you?” He playfully tweaked her nose.

  She wasn’t amused. “Yes, he scares me. Scares me half to death, Bo. Makes me wonder… If God is so petulant and so out to get me, I wonder why I should even worship Him.”

  “Now come on. God isn’t petulant or out to get anyone. Just because Richardson likes to hear the sound of his own voice doesn’t mean God isn’t what He claims to be. If Richardson makes Him sound tough, well, I suppose He is if His children disobey, but since He created us I guess He has the right to do what He wants.” Pushing his hat back, he fixed his blue eyes on her. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re afraid of God?”

  “I’m very serious. Pastor terrifies me. I would rather stay home Sundays and not feel so threatened.”

  His grin faded. “You believe in God, don’t you?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure anymore, but I’d never let Pa hear me say it.”

  Shaking his head, he pulled her close. “Elly Sullivan. What is the world coming to? I’ve never heard you doubt God’s existence.”

  “I’m dead serious.” She broke the embrace and brushed at the snow accumulating on her shoulders. It felt good to tell Bo her feelings. All her life she’d gone along with the ritual: church on Sunday and Wednesday night, weather permitting. But lately Richardson’s sermons had been grating on her; made her doubt her belief. “Who in their right mind would believe in a mystical being that makes people miserable?”

  “That isn’t God’s intention.”

  She didn’t like defending herself against God, but the words spilled out. “How can you say that? All that pounding and screaming and yelling from Reverend Richardson makes me feel like I’ve spent two hours in the very hell he claims is my ultimate destination.”

  “Well, some folk have a way of getting riled up about the message.” He pulled her collar up and tightened her scarf. “Me, I believe what he preaches. Take this snow, for instance, and the trees—the way they seem to die in the fall only to come back to life in the spring, radiant with new growth. Take the workings of the human body. Who but God could make anything so intricate?” He opened his arms to frame the expanse of sky. “All of this is far beyond man’s ability.”

  She shook her head. Bo had sat through the same sermons she had, Sunday after Sunday, hearing nothing but doom and gloom, certainly very little about blessings. She met his lake-blue eyes for some hint of teasing. There was none.

  Struggling to her feet, she stomped to pulse some warmth into her feet. “Do you really believe there is such a God, that there’s a special—I don’t know, something or someone—who sits on high and watches over us, someone who would give His own flesh to spare our sinful souls?” She snorted her disbelief.

  “I do, Elly. I believe every word of the Bible. I still have questions, but the story does make you stop to think.”

  “Who can think with all that screaming and hollering going on from the pulpit? It makes me want to run and hide in shame.”

  He gathered her close and kissed her long and sweet.

  “Bo,” she whispered against his lips, “you didn’t agree not to be a preacher.”

  Laughing, he kissed her again. “I think that’s a pretty safe wager.”

  “Better not let Richardson hear you say wager.”

  “Right, I’ll only mention blessings when he’s around.” Their lips met and lingered. Soft, loving touches on the neck, at the base of the ears. Snow began to fall in earnest now. He gazed at her. “I love you so much it hurts.”

  Nodding, she whispered, “Two years is a long time. Will you promise me one more thing?” she asked.

  “Anything you want.”

  “Promise to never love another?” She knew asking him for such a pledge was unfair and most highly speculative, even with all their talk of forever love and marriage. What she felt now would never change, but Bo could change.

  His gaze fastened to hers. “I will never love anyone but you, Elly Sullivan. I promise.”

  “Do you want the same promise from me?”

  “Nah.” A smug smile spread across his wind-chapped features. “You’ll wait for me. Who in their right mind would let me go?”

  She playfully swatted his shoulder again. “You conceited boor. How do you know someone won’t come along and sweep me off my feet? Gideon Long, Hank Martin, Rex Pierson…? Who knows? I might forget all about you, Mr. Garrett.”

  Catching her hands, he clutched them tightly to his chest, where she could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat. He spoke from a deep place. “This heart beats for you and you alone. You asked if I believe in God? I believe this much: You and I are meant to be together, here, on this earth. You will be the mother of my children. As long as this heart beats in my chest, it will belong only to you.”

  Lifting her face to his, they sealed the promise with an extended kiss.

  Nothing in this world would, or ever could, separate them.

  Chapter 1

  Berrytop, Wisconsin

  1884

  Elly ran a finger down her shopping list. With her mother nursing Auntie back to health in Minnesota, household duties at the Sullivans’ cranberry farm fell to her. She’d already burned more food than she’d prepared for the table, so she had to keep the menus simple but edible. Pa warned her to stick to the basics.

  Adele Garrett, her best friend, leaned in, her eyes bright with conspiracy. Such glee had been a stranger to Adele’s face. First morning sickness had gripped her, and then the sorrow of her husband, Ike’s, untimely passing. Seeing Adele more like herself lowered Elly’s guard this morning.

  “Guess what?” Adele whispered.

  Elly had waited years—what seemed like a lifetime—to see the truth of what she’d dreamed in Adele’s face. “Bo’s back,” Elly said as she tried to reconcile why his return would be more painful than his leaving. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Somehow she would get through this.

  Adele crooked a reddish-blonde brow and frowned, obviously disappointed. “You’ve seen him?”

  “No, and I hope I don’t have to.” Uttering those words to Bo’s sister was the most hurtful thing she could have spoken. Adele, with her awful loss and troubles, didn’t deserve Elly’s bite. But Bo sure did.

  Elly reached for her friend’s hand. “I’m sorry. I can be so hateful. But you know Bo stopped writing years ago. I heard nothing for all these years—seven years, Adele. How would you feel? For all I knew, he could have been dead.” She stopped, swallowed, and dropped Adele’s hand. “For all I know he’s married and has children.” She stepped around Adele and reached for a box of salt. The mere thought of Bo with another woman set her teeth on edge. Would it have killed him to write more often?

  For years, maybe all of her life, that boy—correction—that man had dominated her life. Bo was full-grown now, not the silly love-struck kid who had turned on her like a snake and become a… Her mind chaffed at forming the word.

  Preacher.

  Bible thumper.

  Harp polisher.

  Adele shrugged and looked crestfallen. “Sorry. I thought I
should warn you.”

  Elly could not let Adele’s tender condition sway her from getting the shopping done and back home, where she could work out her anger on a kneading board. “Consider me properly warned.” She slapped the box of salt into her basket. Forewarned was forearmed.

  “You don’t want to know why he’s back?” Adele pressed.

  Elly slung a bag of flour into the basket. “Not really.” This morning she entertained more worthy thoughts than Bo Garrett. The berries were starting to pink up. That meant harvest wasn’t far off. From now until the end of November, she would have nary a thing on her mind but plain old hard work. Most folks around Wisconsin parts tapped maple syrup, but not the Sullivans or their neighbors across the road, the Garretts. The Sullivans grew cranberries. Acres of dry, sandy bogs surrounded their operations, and right now the marshes were mushrooming with berries.

  Adele tugged Elly’s sleeve. “You honestly don’t want to see him?”

  “I seriously do not, Adele. I don’t care if I never see him again. Will you hand me that tin of coffee?”

  A familiar baritone from the front of the mercantile startled her. “Miss Sullivan? If you could speak up a bit? I don’t believe the folks outside caught your disdain for me.”

  Someday, when I’m old enough, I’m going to marry you, Elly Sullivan.

  Heat flooded Elly’s cheeks. She swung toward the door to see the speaker. His eyes had taken on the brilliant hue of a summer sky. Right now they twinkled at her mischievously. He still stood a good head taller than she—enough that she had once balanced on tiptoes to meet his lips. Thick, sandy-colored hair touched his collar, and he looked the part of a rogue from the stubble of his light beard. Rogue though he be, he still wore denims and a blue-and-white checked shirt. The years had been overly kind to Bo Garrett.

  He was still the best-looking man in Berrytop. The world, actually.

  She stiffened with resentment and checked her reaction. She could not allow something as inconsequential as a comely face make her forget how he had shattered her heart. Taken it and slammed it against a rock and then took the heel of his boot and ground it into the dirt like a roach.