Doors of Promise

Doors of Promise

Kimberly J Heide

Copyright © 2012 by Kimberly J Heide

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 publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN: 978-1-4497-4449-6

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012905542

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This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

WestBow Press rev. date: 04/19/2012

Contents

A Promise of Redemption

Chapter 1 Illinois, 1849

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

Epilogue

A Promise of Grace

Prologue Illinois, 1827

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

A Promise of Mercy

Chapter 1 Illinois, 1893

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue One Year Later

All praise and honour always to my Heavenly Father, Who loved me, and gave Himself for me, and Who allows me to share His love through the written word.

Therefore will I look unto the Lord; I will wait for the God of my salvation: my God will hear me. Micah 7:7 KJV

A Promise of Redemption

For Dad and Mom, Dan and Rachel

Love you always

And for Ms. Davis

who knew I could do it.

Chapter 1

Illinois, 1849

O h, Kobuk, Sonny sighed deeply, letting the cold air fill her lungs as it bounded across the prairie, pulling the tawny beast of a dog closer to her side. The grasses swished around her, dancing in the late October winds and letting the sound of it lull her into the feeling of peace that so often eluded her grasp. Kobuk seemed to sigh with her and she buried her face in his thick winter coat. Winter always came earlier on the prairies, early and hard and strong, and she wished with all of her heart that she could leave it all behind but she knew she never would.

Her long golden hair danced in the wind and she let it out of the braid she had woven it into that morning. The wind would knot it into tangles beyond any doubt but she didn’t care. Just to feel free for once was worth this small inconvenience. Sonny had never considered herself pretty, but she knew that others did. Her yellow-golden hair was naturally curled and wavy; framing eyes so blue they appeared violet. Her features were even and her skin was clear and soft, despite several faint fine lines around her eyes. They were only visible if you looked for them, the scars of a hard life on the unmerciful prairie, scars of a home that was not a home at all.

She was long and slender, her walk graceful, and she knew that men watched her when she walked down the street, could feel their eyes on her, but after years and years of her own father telling her how ugly and worthless she was, she now almost clung to that as a shield, a barrier to keep away more suitors prone to break her heart. Not to mention, women were one for every twenty men on the frontier. A man could be looking at the south end of a north bound donkey and find it beautiful if he’d been away from civilization long enough, so she tried to think nothing of the looks she received. It was easier that way.

The sky was gray; the few prairie trees were bare and waiting for the snows of winter to lay over it like a blanket; the wild grasses that had been golden and green and strong in the summer had become withered and fragile and dead as they faced the strong winds of autumn, and she couldn’t help but think of Sam. Their love had been golden and strong and wonderful, but the winds had come and the cold had pervaded every corner, and slowly it became weak and fragile and eventually, it died. Some said it was because they were both so young, and in part, that was probably it. They’d been so young, obviously too young.

The winds howled around her and she knew that sitting out in the open wasn’t wise, the threat of an early storm always possible, but with faithful Kobuk by her side, she lingered where the cares and hurts of people couldn’t find her, singing an old hymn to herself, oblivious to the figure that came quietly behind her until she felt Kobuk stiffen and heard his low growl.

You have a lovely voice, Miss, the man said and she turned around, unable to mask her surprise. She was more than three miles out on the open fields nearly covered by wild grasses in the late October cold, certain that as usual, no one would venture so far from the roads and settlements when a storm could come up at any moment, besides her, of course. That was the appeal of the whole thing, the aloneness, the solitude. She was escaping and a surge of anger pulsed through her at the thought that someone, some man, should intrude on her.

Sonny ignored the deep voice, turning back to face the prairie and trying not to dwell too much on the vibrant blue eyes that had met hers. She didn’t know who he was and she didn’t care to know. She patted Kobuk’s strong head, scratching behind his ears and calming his growling. He was faithful and reliable and she knew that if there was any danger, he would protect her, so she relaxed and just as she had begun to drift back into her own little world, she felt a presence beside her and heard the grasses rustle as the stranger lowered himself to the earth next to her.

Can I help you? she asked frostily, hoping the chill of her words would send him on his way just as the cold and difficulty of the prairie winters had driven Sam away, but that was not to be.

You could keep singing, he suggested, a smile in his voice and she looked at him over Kobuk’s head. He was laughing at her! His blue eyes danced and she could see the corners of his lips lifting in a grin. She did her best to give him a frosty glare, but his smile only widened over a row of straight white teeth. But by the look you’re giving me, I’m just going to assume that won’t happen.

Is there a reason you’re sitting here? she asked, her hand still absently stroking Kobuk’s thick fur.

Well, seeing as you’re being so friendly, he said, emphasizing the last word with a sarcastic lift to his voice. I was just riding by, scouting the area for more settlers, when I heard singing. Seeing as there aren’t any homesteads or dugouts around here, I thought I would investigate. It’s not often you hear music this far out in the open prairie, when a storm could arise at any time. He was young and definitely handsome. She was only sixteen, but she knew she looked older than she was, and she knew men would pursue any female of marriageable age no matter how far to either ditch they were in a land where so few women were available. She was of marriageable age, and clearly she had drawn his attention. The last thing she wanted from any man.

That’s because you aren’t listening, she said before she realised she was taking part in this ridiculous conversation. He was a stranger and worse yet, he was a man.

Is that so? he said, and she knew he was watching her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his long legs sprawled out in front of him and the rest of his body leaning on his arms as he made himself comfortable. Care to explain?

No, I don’t, she replied. He looked to be settling in for a long conversation, and realising a faint flutter in her chest as she met his eyes for a fleeting moment, Sonny rose and brushed off her deep navy skirt as she turned away from him and began walking back toward the road. It would certainly be a long walk, and she looked longingly at the horse the man had ground tied several feet away but she kept her stride determined and her step sure as she walked quickly away.

But her short step was no match for his long one, and in no time at all, she heard heavy footfalls behind her accompanied by the sound of hooves of the cold earth. She muttered under her breath, wondering what in goodness’ sake had possessed the man, and then she remembered what he had said about scouting. No doubt he hadn’t seen a decent woman for days, maybe weeks, and a feeling of discomfort settled in her stomach like a ball of lead.

Women were scarce on the frontier and so, consequently in high demand. She didn’t care to be the object of some desperate man’s attempt at finding a wife, and straightened her shoulders as she walked, hoping her stand-offish posture would deter him.

I would think a proper lady such as yourself would at least have the manners to answer a simple question, he taunted her, and she felt her face burn. Her proper Bostonian mother would have been ashamed if she could have seen her Sonny then, and with that in mind, she stopped and turned to the man. He pulled up short beside her, clearly pleased that his words had had such a quick response but the fire in her eyes immediately dampened his sense of victory.

And one would think a real gentleman would have the decency to introduce, or at least announce himself and wait for said lady to invite him to sit down, and so seeing as there is no such a gentleman present, I feel no need whatsoever to answer your question. Snapping her fingers sharply and turning on her heel, Sonny marched steadily away with Kobuk at her side, systematically erasing the stranger’s charming smile, enthusiastic blue eyes and handsome face from her mind. But as she came to her family’s small house on the outskirts of the settlement and closed the door behind her, she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that the man hadn’t followed after her.

Chapter 2

S onny! the familiar booming voice called from the kitchen and Sonny automatically tensed. He was drunk, again, and she could hear the shards of something on the floor. Probably another one of the whiskey bottles that he had smashed on the hard wooden planks in his drunken disposition. Sonny could not remember a time when her father had been sober, or kind. Mama said there had been a time when he had been kind and loving, but if there had, she had been too young to remember. Her memories of her father always included yelling, fear and the sense of helplessness as she watched him slowly self-destruct.

She looked like her mother more than her father, but her temperament was much like his when he was in a good humour. She was head strong, determined and not the least bit gentle or meek unless she was dealing with Papa when he was far into his cups. She had always wondered how he could be her father and she bear no physical resemblance to him, and then she would shrug off the question in her mind and count it a blessing she hadn’t inherited much from him. But the question was always there, always waiting for an answer, and she always pushed it away.

Yes, Papa, she said, removing her boots and coat and stepping into the kitchen. What do you need?

A strong hand caught her across the face and she winced, trying not to cry out in pain. Don’t speak to me like I’m some little child! he bellowed, and as she opened her mouth to reply, he hit her again. And don’t contradict me! Now get over here and make yourself useful for once. There’s a mess all over the floor, clean it up before I cut myself.

Yes, Papa, she replied meekly, taking a cloth from the rack by the hearth and using it to pick up the wet pieces of glass. Her cheek burned from the impact of his work hardened hand across it and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying, and soon realised she was drawing blood. She grimaced at the taste of iron in her mouth, but held her silence. It was better than being struck again, and in a few minutes she had the floor cleaned up and started working on supper.

She could hear Mama upstairs, crying softly into her pillow, and Sonny knew she was trying to keep it muffled so Papa wouldn’t be upset, but she could hear her. Just like she could hear her every night after the front door slammed shut and Papa went to visit the local brothel. She had once heard Mama ask why, and seen Erik McLean’s contemptuous glare as he replied simply, You make me sick to look at you.

Mama had become sick shortly after Sonny was born, and though she had regained health, after losing three babies in a row, Molly McLean had never been the same and neither had Papa. He was mean now, and drank his problems away every day and night. At least, that was the story she had created in her own mind. It was the only thing that made sense. Mama didn’t talk much of how things used to be, so Sonny had to take what little she knew and piece it together until it made sense, but she could never get rid of the feeling that she had things wrong.

Sonny was reminded of her father’s irresponsibility every time she picked up her clothing to get dressed and faced the threadbare fabric and holes in her shoes. She tried to stay thankful, tried to stay meek, but it was so hard. She knew hers was not the worst lot in the world, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear.

When supper was ready and keeping warm in the oven for whenever Papa decided he was hungry, Sonny crept quietly to Mama’s room and rapped gently, receiving Molly’s quiet thump on the nightstand to come in before entering the dark room. The light hurt Mama’s eyes, so she kept all the curtains drawn and the door closed most of the time, but Sonny couldn’t stand the darkness. Too much could happen in the darkness that people didn’t know about, too much could be hidden and the thought made her shiver.

Hello, Mama, Sonny said, lying down next to her mother and cradling her in her arms as though she were the mother and Mama was the child. She could feel the dampness in the pillows from Mama’s tears, and she stroked the hair gently from her face, placing a kiss on her temple. Her pulse was so weak, and she was so frail, it frightened Sonny to think that soon, her poor little mother would waste away to nothing, and she would be alone with Papa.

Hello, sweetheart, she said with her lips, no sound coming from her tired throat. Sonny remembered the last time she had heard Mama speak. It had been a long time ago, the memory faint and fuzzy now, but she clung to it, playing the sound of Mama’s beautiful sky lark voice in her mind over and over. She had been singing a lullaby to her when she was younger, at least five years ago. It had been an old one that Sonny had never tired of no matter how many times she heard it.

Mama had sung her to sleep, her lovely voice filling the room and ushering Sonny to a place where nothing could hurt her and nothing could disappoint, but the next morning when she awoke, Mama couldn’t speak anymore. She had thought maybe it would go away and her voice would come back, but it never did and Mama hadn’t spoken since.

The few times she had been able to get to church, the only leisure activity Papa allowed, several people had commented that she had a voice just like her mother’s, but Mama hadn’t left the cabin in years, for as long as Sonny could remember. Few people remembered her any more, and most thought she was dead.

Sonny lay next to her and told her about her day, the cold wind that seemed to dance in the grasses, carrying the winter with it already, and of the way the sky outside seemed to stretch on forever, never ending but never getting anywhere. She told her about the farm, how everything looked as life faded away to make room for the time of sleep, for winter. She told her about her chores and what she was thinking as she did things, and she read to her from a worn old Bible on the nightstand.

Mama loved to hear about everything that went on outside her room, to have the chance to imagine she was part of it again, but more than anything, she loved to hear the Bible read to her, for some reason Sonny could not understand. The Bible had never saved Mama; God had never given them a miracle and healed her mother. What was the point of holding onto a hope that would only wither and die like the grasses in the open fields, like the life she had dreamed of with Sam, like love? Finally her mother fell asleep in her arms and she left the room, after tucking the covers carefully around her and placing a kiss on her cheek, whispering an I love you before leaving the room.

A terrible sadness settled in Sonny’s stomach as she closed the door behind her, and she knew, as she thought back to the way she had struggled for every breath and fought to keep her eyes open, her pulse faint and weak, that Mama would not last much longer, maybe not even through the night. Unable to leave her, even to call a doctor that she knew could not do anything to save her mother, Sonny unlatched the door and lay back beside her Mama, holding her in her arms. She fell asleep that way, fully dressed, arms around her mother’s weak, tired old body, and only smiled when her mother stirred and woke her, looking wonderingly at her. I love you, Sonny whispered to her, and her mother smiled, her frail hand fluttering next to her heart and Sonny knew what she could not say.

Tucking her more firmly into her arms, she wrapped the blankets more snuggly around them, and in one last desperate attempt to save her mother, she tried to will her energy to go into her, to bring back the woman of the past that she barely remembered. But as she woke in the wee hours of the morning, Mama did not stir, and Sonny knew her mother would never sing again.

Chapter 3

It had been two weeks since the funeral, two weeks of endless days and longer nights, and Sonny wondered if there was anything worth the pain she felt. Her mother had read the Bible whenever she could find the strength and when she could not Sonny would read it to her, but Sonny knew better than to believe the fairy tales of the old leather-bound book. It hadn’t helped Mama any, had it? So what good would it be to her?

Sonny was in the kitchen, preparing the noon meal, wondering if Papa would bother coming home today or not. He had been to town even more now that Mama had died, and Sonny knew by the heavy scent on his breath that he had been spending their hard-earned money at the saloons and brothels, filling his mouth with whiskey and slaking his lust. There was no other person she felt more contempt for than her father, but this was his house and his land and what could she do? She had nowhere else to go and no way else to live and she knew it.

A knock sounded on the door just as she picked up a knife and was about to slice a piece of dried rabbit meat for the watery stew. Wiping her hands on her apron, she went to the door, checking the hall mirror to make sure she didn’t have any flour on her nose and paused to take in the threadbare patches of her dress. She received hints and whispered disapproval from many of the wise older women of the town for not dressing appropriately for her mother’s mourning, but Sonny knew Mama would have wanted her to go on with life, not waste time crying for her when she had truly believed she would be in a much better place after she passed from this world and Sonny couldn’t bring herself to wear the sombre black dresses she had received from others. Mama wouldn’t have wanted it.

As she opened the door, Sonny couldn’t speak. Before her, hat in hand and boot toe prodding at a plank of wood in the old porch, stood the stranger who had found her singing in the field that day…could it have only been three weeks ago? It seemed a lifetime had passed since that cold