- Home
- Bliss, Lauralee; Breidenbach, Angela; Cecil, Ramona K.
The Second Chance Brides Collection
The Second Chance Brides Collection Read online
Love in the Crossfire ©2017 by Lauralee Bliss
Daughter of Orion ©2017 by Ramona K. Cecil
The Substitute Husband and the Unexpected Bride ©2017 by Pamela Griffin
The Prickly Pear Bride ©2017 by Pam Hillman
The Widow of St. Charles Avenue ©2017 by Grace Hitchcock
Married by Mistake ©2017 by Laura V. Hilton
Fanned Embers ©2017 by Angela Breidenbach
From a Distance ©2017 by Amber Stockton
What the Heart Sees ©2017 by Liz Tolsma
Print ISBN 978-1-68322-246-0
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-68322-248-4
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-68322-247-7
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the authors’ imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in Canada.
Table of Contents
Love in the Crossfire
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Daughter of Orion
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
The Substitute Husband and the Unexpected Bride
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
The Prickly Pear Bride
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
The Widow of St. Charles Avenue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
Married by Mistake
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Fanned Embers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
From a Distance
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
What the Heart Sees
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
Epilogue
Love in the Crossfire
by Lauralee Bliss
Acknowledgments
To all our veterans, past and present, you are true heroes and patriots.
Thank you for the freedom you preserve.
With thanks to Tamela Hancock Murray and Grace Hitchcock for allowing me to be a part of this collection.
Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.
2 CORINTHIANS 3:17
Chapter 1
1776
Near Trenton, New Jersey
Why must you leave?”
She waited what seemed like a lifetime for the answer, even as she watched him clean his musket, check his cartridge box, and fill a haversack with biscuits, still warm from the morning’s baking. Finally he turned, his stark blue eyes she once found so engaging narrowed by fierce determination, reflecting the orange flame of the candle resting on the table. His lips she once felt on her own let out a sigh of resignation. His crop of blond hair stood on end. His hand reached out to caress her cheek as he murmured, “You know why, Gretchen. It is my duty.”
Gretchen shook her head at the words uttered from the lips of her fiancé, Rolf Braun, before he left to join up with the Hessian troops in pursuit of the colonists near Brooklyn. Now she gazed at the parchment reporting his death in battle some weeks ago. Instead of grief, anger burst forth from her soul. All his words of duty, of bravery, of fighting for a cause she now questioned. What had it brought but his death at the hand of those whose cause she now contemplated?
“Ach, very sad,” her papa murmured, pointing to the parchment on the table. “You must be so grieved, liebste Tochter.”
Gretchen liked hearing his endearment of her. “Thank you, Papa. I will leave my sadness in Gott’s hands.” She would do as she did every day—immerse herself in the daily chores and try not think of Rolf or the war ravaging the countryside. Yet the scars of war were everywhere. It was seen in the faces of people, in the news whispered about, in the weary men marching off to battle, many of whom never returned. Fear lay thick in the air, as did the uncertainty. Before Rolf left, Gretchen hid from her fiancé the parchment she owned: a formal Declaration against the mother country, signed this past summer, and forwarded to the king of England. She was able to obtain a copy from a printer in Trenton and couldn’t help but feel pride at the words. She thought Rolf believed in the cause of Independence, until one day when she broached the subject.
“What they have done by this Declaration amounts to treason!” he scolded. “We have signed our death warrants to pompous frivolers of Philadelphia who know nothing of the cost of war. England is the most powerful nation on earth. We can never be independent of the mother country that gave us life and love, no more than one can separate from their own mutter.”
Gretchen wanted to discuss it more but found Rolf’s staunch opposition in word and deed overpowering. Instead she silenced her tongue and bowed her head. Inwardly she gave a private voice to the words that spoke about the injustice suffered as subjects of England, the promise of a new way of life apart from tyranny, the hope of freedom. But a soon-to-be bride dared not contradict her fiancé, even if her heart felt differently. Instead it fueled her doubt over marrying the headstrong Loyalist sympathizer.
She gazed once more at the news of Rolf’s death. Now there was no need for any doubt but only wonder for the future. How she wished life could be as easy to follow as the writings in a book. Even now she gazed at her mother’s Bible sitting on the table beside the parchment. There were always the sacred words, giving her the answers to her questions, a peace in her heart, the joy of gladness for sorrow, and hope for a new future even if everything looked bleak. It was those words she must cling to, even if all else failed.
Gretchen sighed and moved to the table to finish rolling out the day’s biscuits and then make the dough for a delicious kuchen dessert that Papa liked so well. Cutting out the biscuits, one by one, brought back the memory of Rolf filling his haversack with a dozen before he left to join the troops. “These will keep me and more. There is nothing like your biscuits, Gretchen.” A smile lit his face. He turned to head out the door.
“Gott sei mit derr,” she had murmured, whispering a prayer for him before the heavy wooden door closed.
Now he was gone forever. A page in her life’s book had turned.
Gretchen began gathering the ingredients for the cake. Flour, brown sugar, leavening, spices, and then she noticed the empty egg basket. I forgot to gather the eggs today! She would need several for the kuchen, and for Papa’s midday meal.
Wiping her hands on a towel, Gretchen took her heavy cloak from a hook on the wall. Hopefully the hens were still laying. It amazed her they still had chickens, what with the ongoing conflict. She had heard of people who surrendered their farms and their livelihood to soldiers from both sides. Some had their homes confiscated for use as hospitals or officers’ quarters. Others had livestock taken to feed the hungry soldiers. But the battlefield was far from them, except for a small garrison of Hessian soldiers in the nearby town of Trenton. They were there to keep the peace and not cause problems, Papa had explained.
A cold wind whistled as she gingerly stepped outside, cutting through the cloak she clutched around her. A few silvery snowflakes spiraled down from the graying skies. She hurried over to the henhouse, praying there were some eggs. The henhouse was a finely crafted little building Papa had fashioned out of short plank boards. She heard the faint clucking and scratching of the hens inside. Nearby stood the barn and the horses safely sheltered within.
Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw a dark shadow pass before the open doorway of the barn. Raw cold swept over her, and not from the December chill. She glanced again at the door but saw nothing. It must be my mind playing games, she reasoned, forcing herself to concentrate on her duties.
“Chick, chick, chick!” she softly called, throwing dried corn. The chickens swarmed at the seed, allowing her time to stir through the nests of straw in search of eggs. When she finished her duty, she turned and again saw a dark shadow before the barn entrance. This time the shadow did not disappear but instead came into the light of day. A man stood there, wearing a wool coat with large buttons and a tricorn hat. In one hand he held a musket.
Her knees weakened. She grabbed the doorway of the henhouse. “Oh dearest Gott, help me.”
“Please! I won’t hurt you.”
She retreated into the henhouse, not caring that one of the hens now began pecking at her leg, tearing a hole in her woolen stocking. Please, dear Gott, save me!
The man now came before the entrance to the henhouse. “P–please, I only need s–some food.” He was shivering so badly, the words became muddled.
Gretchen forced herself to relax, especially when she saw he had left his musket behind. Slowly she exited the henhouse yet remained a good distance from him. “I–I’m making biscuits. They will be ready soon.”
“Thank you. Do you have a blanket to spare as well?”
Gretchen hesitated. She knew from his manner of speech he was not of the garrison of Hessians guarding Trenton. He had no German accent. His tricorn hat and simple coat showed him a part of this land, maybe even of the Continentals themselves. How could that be? she wondered. The last she’d heard, the Continental Army was somewhere in New York. She shook her head, trying again to silence the fear clawing at her. She glanced around, wondering if there were more men lurking about, men who would force themselves into their home, steal their food and the horses, and leave them destitute.
“I’m alone, I assure you,” came his answer to her unspoken question. His voice trembled. “I’m so cold. P–p–please, can you help?”
“I—I will fetch some food and blankets Stay inside the barn for shelter.” She hastened for the house, stopping short to look back at the barn. How could she ask him to find shelter among their prized horses? What if the man was here to steal from them? Or perhaps another of his friends lurked in the shadows, even if he said he was alone? She should alert Papa, and together they could fend off the enemy with the long rifle they had in their possession. But something in the man’s trembling voice and pleading gaze told her he was only here because he could go no farther. The bitter cold had sapped his strength. He only needed warm tea, biscuits, and maybe a night’s rest before he felt strong enough to travel. It will be all right, she reasoned, as long as she could keep the knowledge of the stranger’s existence from Papa.
When she returned to the house, Papa gazed at her above his wire-rimmed spectacles and the book he had been reading. “The chores are taking you much longer to do these days.”
“I…uh…” She hesitated. “Ya, gathering the eggs does take time.”
He gestured to her empty hands. “And where’s the basket of eggs?”
“Oh, how foolish of me. I left it inside the henhouse. I’ll go back in a minute.” She stole a glance out the frosted window toward the barn, thinking of the man hidden inside, shivering as he tried to stay warm. She inhaled a deep breath before casting a glance at Papa, immersed in his reading. Anxiety began to gnaw at her. She hummed a hymn from the recent church meeting, hoping to draw peace and wisdom. While the man might need bread for nourishment, she needed the one true Bread, the scripture, to calm her fear when a bedraggled soul came seeking assistance. In the least it was good Christian charity to provide for one in need. She warmed the kettle to brew tea, glancing once more at Papa to find him drifting off to sleep.
Praise be, Gretchen thought. After a few more minutes, she placed hot biscuits, ham, and a small pot of tea in a basket and then grabbed some blankets. Balancing it all, she crept toward the door and quietly opened it, praying Papa would not awaken. Carrying the items and the contents of the basket with steam swirling in her face, she wondered what she would say to the stranger. Reaching the barn door, she tried balancing the items for a free hand to open the latch, when the door creaked open to reveal the stranger brandishing his musket. She inhaled a sharp breath and nearly fled, but she followed the motion of his hand to come inside. He quickly shut the door and put the musket away. He had lit a lantern, sending a golden glow across the stalls. The four horses inside calmly gnawed at the bale of hay Papa had put out earlier in the morning.
“Thank you,” he said as she served him the tea and biscuits with ham.
“I—I hope you will be strengthened soon. Papa doesn’t know you are here. The sooner you leave, the better.”
“Does he fear I will commit some terrible deed?” he inquired, chuckling.
“Should he have anything to fear?”
He set down his ham biscuit. She felt a chill then and began sidestepping toward the door.
He held out his hand. “Of course not,” he said gently. “Please forgive my foolish words. I owe you so much for giving me food and a place to stay.”
“You—you can only stay the night. With the winter weather, we rarely have need for a ride, except to town for supplies, so Papa should not enter the barn now. But he still must care for our horses in the morning.”
“I can help with the horses,” he offered. “I will gladly tend them tonight and in the morning.”
Gretchen wondered how she would tell Papa a stranger, now occupying their barn, had offered to care for their prized herd. “How can you possibly…”
“Just tell him you did the chores, if you wish. I come from a large farm in Virginia. We have many horses.” He reached over and stroked the muzzle of the mare they called Goldie. “They’re beautiful animals. I can see you care for them well. At times I was called on to tend the general’s horse. He trusted me.”
“The general?”
“General Washington. He doesn’t allow just anyone to tend his horse, either. He is quite particular. He said, ‘Yes indeed, Jacob, you have a way with them.’ After this war is over he even invited me to come to Mount Vernon and assist with his horses.”
Gretchen sucked in a breath. Was the man with the Continentals? “I thought the army was far away from here…”
“Not that far. We escaped Long Island and…” He paused. “I shouldn’t say anything more.”
“I’m not the enemy.”
“No. Far from it. Might I ask your name?”
“Gretchen Hanson.”
“I’m Jake Rawlings. A pleasure to meet you. Have you lived here all your life, Miss Hanson?”
She shook her head. “No. Like many, we came here seeking a new life. But we also still cling to the old ways and the old country.”
Just then Gretchen heard footsteps. Jacob hurried to hide in the rear of the barn. Papa appeared, vivid lines crisscrossing his face, his eyes wide in alarm. “What on earth ails you, liebste Tochter? I was so worried something happened to you. You have been gone a long time.”
“I’m sorry, Papa. I was checking on the horses. They–they’re fine.”
He looked over the herd and nodded. “I fear, though, we are going to get more snow. My bones are telling me so. Maybe I should add another bale of hay.”
Gretchen thought of the man Jake, hidden somewhere within, and a bale of hay tossed on him. Or worse yet, he and Papa staring face-to-face in a look of astonishment, or even anger. “Oh, I can do it, Papa. You looked so tired. And I’m already dirty.”
“Very well. But come in soon. The wind is picking up, and it is turning colder.”
Gretchen nodded and closed the barn door after him. She then gazed into the dim surroundings. After a bit the straw stirred and Jake stood. “Is he gone?” came his hoarse whisper. He brushed away the bits of straw from his clothing and replaced the tricorn hat on his head.
“Yes, but now you can help me with the bale, as I promised Papa.”