Rainy Day Dreams

Lori Copeland, Virginia Smith

Description

Beloved Christian fiction authors Lori Copeland and Virginia Smith team up once more in the second volume of the Seattle Brides series. When the Burgert family moves to Seattle in 1852, Kathryn is convinced her father has destroyed her life. The backwoods settlement offers none of the comforts and culture she loves in San Francisco. She cares nothing for the new sawmill the townsfolk are so excited about. That is, until she meets Jason, a lumberjack with dreams for a bright future. As she comes to know Jason, Kathryn can't help catching his vision.But the future they hope for is anything but secure. There are some who see Seattle as a threat and will stop at nothing to make sure the sawmill fails. With the harsh and rugged weather, at times it seems even the land itself is determined to thwart Seattle's very existence. Kathryn and Jason's plans for a happy future become entwined with Seattle's struggle to survive in the midst of adversity, both manmade and natural.A gripping story of love, tenderness, and survival in the rugged Pacific Northwest.

Sujets

• Historical romance
• Romance

Informations

• Publié par: Harvest House Publishers
• Date de parution: 01 avril 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780736954006
• Langue: English

Extrait

HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Cover photos Chris Garborg; Vincent Louis, p.lange / Bigstock
Cover by Garborg Design Works, Savage, Minnesota
Published in association with the Books Such Literary Agency, 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 authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
RAINY DAY DREAMS
Copyright 2014 by Copeland Inc. and Virginia Smith
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Copeland, Lori.
Rainy day dreams / Lori Copeland and Virginia Smith.
pages cm.-(Seattle brides ; book 2)
ISBN 978-0-7369-5349-8 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-7369-5400-6 (eBook)
1. Brides-Fiction. 2. Seattle (Wash.)-History-19th century-Fiction.
I. Smith, Virginia, 1960- II. Title.
PS3553.O6336R35 2014
813 .54-dc23
2013037888
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
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
A Note from Lori Virginia
Discussion Questions
About the Authors
A Bride for Noah
He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the L ORD , He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.
P SALM 91:1-2
One
Seattle, Washington Territory Monday, January 7, 1856
A n unkempt sailor, scraggly and reeking of fish, pitched the steamer trunk from the ship s gangway to the pier as though tossing a salmon onto the deck. Instead of flopping wetly on the wood, Kathryn s trunk landed on the platform with a sickening thud that did not bode well for the contents.
Here! She charged down the sloping plank, skirts swishing around her cloth-topped boots, and fixed the man with an outraged glare. What do you mean, heaving my things about like that? There are breakables inside.
Footsteps pounded the wooden dock from behind and the captain drew up beside her. Is there a problem, ma am?
She whirled to face him. The problem is my mother s fine porcelain basin and pitcher, which are packed inside my trunk and probably in shards due to careless handling.
The sailor snatched the cap off his head and ducked to reveal a pink, balding scalp. Sorry, ma am. That s a heavy trunk, that is. It slipped plumb out of my hands. His gaze slid upward toward his skipper, as though to test the reception of his explanation.
Hmm. Kathryn didn t believe him. With her own eyes she d watched him pitch the trunk rather than carry it the extra ten steps down the gangway. On the other hand, the large number of books with which she d lined the bottom no doubt made her portmanteau heavier than most.
Accidents do happen, ma am. The captain offered the explanation with a hopeful smile.
An answering retort rose to her lips, but she bit it back. What benefit would come of arguing? If the washbasin had been broken, the deed was done. She d have no recourse, regardless of the exorbitant price her father had paid for her passage. Nor would she seek redress and risk offending the captain. She needed to remain in his good graces in order to ensure her place on a return voyage to San Francisco the next time the Fair Lady put into port in Seattle. Besides, she cared little for the breakable items inside the sturdy chest. Her library and art supplies were of far more import, especially here in this forsaken wilderness. And they could withstand a fair amount of rough handling.
She forced a smile and shone it on both captain and crewman. I m sure there has been no harm done.
Relieved, the sailor planted the cap back on his head and stepped lightly up the plank, presumably to manhandle another passenger s luggage. Having seen the exchange, a middle-aged woman stood on the gently swaying deck near a pile of trunks, clutching a valise in both hands and watching anxiously as the man headed her way.
The captain returned to his conversation with a handsome young man to whom she had been introduced during the voyage and whose name she had promptly forgotten.
She scanned the shore. The pier where the Fair Lady was moored extended into the water from a wide wooden dock. From there a muddy street stretched inland, lined with buildings made of rough-cut timber. Signs suspended above doorways identified a variety of businesses including a livery, a laundry, and even a dentist. The thick forest she had seen from the ship s deck as they glided parallel to the shoreline this afternoon grew right up to the structures, leafy heights towering high above. In fact, trees surrounded the dock area on two sides, so thick she could barely see a few feet beyond the tall trunks of the first few. The forest ended abruptly to her right in a clearing that laid bare the shoreline all the way to a riverhead and beyond. A building sat on the shore at the mouth of the river, white clouds billowing from a tall smokestack. Ah, the famous steam mill. Before she left San Francisco, Papa had insisted on describing it in enthusiastic detail.
Imagine, Kathryn! You ll live near the only steam-powered sawmill in the northwest. That mill was the making of Seattle, you know. Without it, the town would be nothing but a handful of pioneers trying to scratch out a life in the forest. Mr. Yesler is a forward-thinking gentleman, to be sure. And his vision has made him rich. Admiration had gleamed in Papa s eyes, and then his gaze turned speculative. A shame he is married. Perhaps you ll meet someone like him in Seattle.
Kathryn had lowered her eyes in what may have been interpreted as meekness. In reality she hoped to mask the scorn that his ill-concealed enthusiasm stirred. Truthfully, Papa cared little for the bankroll of her prospective beaux, so long as they weren t destitute. Actually, he probably wouldn t mind a penniless son-in-law either, so long as the young man relieved him of the responsibility of his unmarried daughter. His insistence that she find a husband was downright insulting, as though a grown woman of modern times was incapable of surviving on her own.
I m surprised he hasn t placed an advertisement in the Chronicle offering a sizable dowry so he can be rid of me quickly.
The thought drew a bitter smile. What need had he in placing an advertisement when he could send her to Seattle and accomplish the same end with much less expense? She scanned the area, taking note of the people who scurried down the covered walkways or stomped through the wide, muddy avenue. Men, every one of them. Not a woman in sight, except her and the few female passengers who had accompanied her on the Fair Lady. The rumor circulating among the patrons at the San Francisco Center for Fine Arts must be true. Imagine, one woman to every hundred men.
And several of them openly staring at her at this very moment. She returned the direct and curious gaze of a man standing in the doorway of an establishment halfway up the street, beneath a sign identifying the place as Hop Sing Washing Ironing. With a prim look in his direction, she turned her back.
Excuse me, ma am. A nearby voice drew her attention to a wiry man with threadbare clothing and an eager expression. Can I tote your bags for you?
She hesitated only a moment. She couldn t very well lug her own trunk through the mud, could she?
Yes, I think so. She cocked her head and fixed a narrow-eyed stare on him. Do you know the Faulkner House?
I know the place. His gaze became speculative and roved over her from head to toe. You planning on working there, are you?
With a hot flush, she thrust her nose into the air. Was the question a judgment on her apparel, as if she didn t look wealthy enough to board there? The proprietress, Mrs. Garritson, is my cousin.
You don t say. His lips pursed as he studied her a second more, and then his expression cleared. Twenty-five cents. And I ll treat your trunk like it was made of glass too.
Obviously he d overheard her exchange with the captain.
Done. She jerked a nod to seal the deal, and then went on with a concerned glance around the area. None of the buildings in the vicinity looked like proper hotels. Is it far?
Just up the hill a ways. The man grabbed a handle of her trunk, tested the weight, and then hefted it up onto his back as though the heavy case were packed with feather pillows. Foller me, miss.
Kathryn started out after him, her heels pounding soundly on the plank walkway. She d gone no more than three steps when a deep voice from behind halted her progress.
Pardon me, but did I hear you mention the Faulkner House?
She turned to find the young man with whom the captain had been speaking standing at her elbow. He wore an expression of polite inquiry, his square jaw set. Something about his expression put Kathryn off. Perhaps it was the way he slanted his shoulders away from her, or the way his gaze darted in her directi