The Brush of the Dove's Wings

Melody S Deal

Description

It’s the story about a woman of faith who in 1908 helps her family and her rural Indiana farming community navigate the triple dramas of murder, mystery, and matrimony.
In the fall of 1907, Teddy Roosevelt occupied the oval office, the Cubs won the World Series, the Lusitania made her maiden voyage, and Oklahoma was admitted as the Union’s 46th state. Amidst all this, life in the rural farming community of LaFontaine, Indiana was calm and serene—until it wasn’t. Sarah, the matriarch of the Whitcome clan, leans on her faith in God and draws from her reservoir of wisdom to help her husband, Doctor Ben Adams, their children, and neighbors navigate the triple dramas of mystery, murder, and matrimony. The continuing saga of life in the close-knit small town will have you laughing at the antics of the children and quirky townsfolk while, at times, reaching for a handkerchief to commiserate as they struggle over loss and grief.

Sujets

• Religion
• Christianisme
• Vie de famille
• Relations familiales
• Christian novel
• Christian
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Balboa Press
• Date de parution: 25 avril 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9798765241004
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Brush of the Dove’s Wings




Melody S Deal








Copyright © 2023 Melody S Deal.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.



Balboa Press
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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well- being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.



ISBN: 979-8-7652-4099-1 (sc)
ISBN: 979-8-7652-4100-4 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 04/24/2023



Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements

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Dedication

To the townsfolk of LaFontaine, Indiana, who in the 50’s and 60’s provided a close-knit community that allowed this child to play, learn, laugh and grow in an environment that I’ll forever remember as one that was blessed.



Acknowledgements
To Maxine, who inspired the creation of the Sarah’s trilogy; to my husband Robert, whose encouragement never faltered; to Alice, Pat, and Tysa, who critiqued my writing with honesty; to my friends, who provided emotional support; to Wednesday Women who cloaked me in prayer, and most of all, to The Dove who always hovers nearby.



1
The boy lifted his face to the sky as he walked the road in front of his family’s farm. The warmth of the sun brought a measure of comfort to his troubled soul. He tried to focus his mind on baseball. He’d recently turned eleven and was eligible to play on the town of LaFontaine’s team. Although it was near the season’s end, the coach had agreed to let him join in as they finished their remaining scheduled games. He was a good runner and could catch better than most. But his passion was pitching. When he woke on that September Saturday morning, he’d felt the promise of a good day. He’d hoped to talk his brother into helping him practice by catching to his pitching.
Morning chores went smoothly. But about half an hour after he’d finished the milking, it started. He was adept at recognizing the symptoms. Pressure in his head followed by a sense of restlessness—then the dreaded urge. He hated it when the feelings came. He didn’t understand them, was embarrassed, and felt helpless to stop their overwhelming power over his body.
He’d tried to resist by slipping away from the farm to take a long walk. A mile down the road the tension and anxiety increased. He reached up and pressed the palms of his hands against his temples. “Stop, stop. Why can’t these thoughts go away?” No one was near to hear.
He broke into a run, his feet kicked up dust and debris. Dirt particles stung at his eyes and brought tears that ran willy-nilly down his cheeks.
Sarah walked to the kitchen window and looked out. Her four-year-old twins, Henry junior and Naomi, were under the large maple tree playing in the dirt pile with their six-year-old sister, Hathaway. The soil, accustomed to years of little hands working it, turned easily as they toiled over make-believe tasks. The girls were making mud pies while Henry shoveled dirt and loaded it into a miniature farm wagon.
Sarah dried her hands on her apron and walked outside. It was a warm fall day. The sun’s bright beams targeted her auburn crown, accentuating the golden highlights, belying her age of thirty-eight. A light breeze blowing from the east played at the errant strands of hair that had escaped her braided coiffure, forming wispy curls at her temples that complimented her fine chiseled features.
Along with the breeze came the scent of freshly turned soil. Sarah breathed it in, savoring what to her was not a smell, but a fragrance. Her love of the farm ran deep. She looked toward the barn and the nearby garden patch. Abe, her oldest, now sixteen, was plowing under stocks from the sweet corn they’d enjoyed that summer.
Sarah walked to the maple tree with far-reaching branches that monopolized the family’s front yard. For all the years she’d lived on her farm it had provided shade and shelter to their home. Being a tall woman, she didn’t have to stretch to reach and pluck a leaf. She examined its scalloped edges and saw not even a hint of color change.
The Farmer’s Almanac predicts frost the first week in October, Sarah thought as she gave the tree’s large trunk a pat. In another month, your branches will be aglow with color so bright I’ll be shielding my eyes while I take in your glory.
She released the leaf to the breeze that tugged at her fingers. As she did that, her shawl fell from her shoulders revealing her slender frame.
S arah looked at the flowers that skirted the family’s home. Chrysanthemums in shades of yellow, burnt orange, and white provided a welcomed contrast against the house’s weathered wood plank siding. Come October, she’d cut them back in preparation for their winter’s sleep. The next summer the warm sun would beckon the perennials to wake and by August, blooms would appear and again grace the house with color and cheer. The dependable cycle of nature, and the wonder of the soil to bring forth life-sustaining sustenance as well as beauty, brought her comfort.
She surveyed the expanse of acreage that framed their farm. As she looked, she reflected on the discussion she’d had with her four oldest sons Abe, Josh, Luke, and Zeke, back in March, about that coming season’s crop planting. They were still children, but Sarah used the management of the farm as a means for teaching them responsibility and the importance of planning.
Galatians 6:7 was a scripture that Sarah had been taught as a young child. The excerpt whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap had made an indelible impression on her. She understood that God was using the metaphor of the soil to reveal the deeper message—the way we treat others has a direct correlation to the way others will accept and treat us. That aside, she’d taken the literal meaning to heart and early on understood the importance that planning, and projecting crop yield played in successful farm management.
As usual, it had been Abe who brought well-thought-out plans to the discussion table. He’d been successful in garnering support from his brothers and her. Their fields of seed corn had already been picked. The yield had been good, they’d made a nice profit when they’d sold the harvest. Their acres of soybeans would begin to mature in a couple of weeks. By mid-October, the now green leaves would have passed through shades of yellow to brown. When they started falling off, the matured pods of soybeans would be exposed and ready for harvest. If all went according to plan, come the second week in November, those fields too would lay barren.
Abe had inherited the love of farming from both of his parents. It had been five years since his father’s death. As the oldest boy, he was the one who’d spent the most days working in the fields with him. Eleven-year-old Abe, nine-year-old Josh, and seven-year-old Luke had all three been at their pa’s side harvesting hay when in 1903, he had the sunstroke that eventually took his life. Zeke, at age four had begged to tag along too, but due to his young age, his request was denied. In the heat of Indiana’s unrelenting August sun and within the period of an afternoon’s labor, the family lost the “muscle” that tilled the farm’s soil, the father that nurtured its children, and the husband that loved the woman who knitted it all together.
In Henry’s absence the farm had fallen on hard times. Abe’s suggestion for their financial dilemma had been to diversify and add egg production and sales to their farming plan. Without the success of that venture, they would have lost the farm, their home, their only means for supporting themselves. The remembering sent a chill down Sarah’s spine.
Naomi called from the dirt pile, “Ma, come have pie with us. We got us a plenty.”
Her youngest daughter’s voice penetrated Sarah’s thoughts and she shook her head t