Table of Contents
Synopsis
By the Author
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
About the Author
Books Available From Bold Strokes Books
Synopsis
Royal Duval is the pride of her grandfather, Duke, from whom she learned all about faith, ambition, and women. After her father passed, Royal inherited his part of the family business: running bootleg whiskey. The back roads of Georgia had been perfect for the dissemination of the much sought after illegal elixir until the local Baptist minister, Abraham Porter, decided to make prohibition his mission, and Royal the target of his evangelical wrath.
Lovey Porter, Abraham’s daughter, is the living embodiment of chaste beauty, until she meets the charmingly handsome Royal Duval. Their growing attraction for each other challenges every belief that Lovey holds dear and calls into question every truth she felt sure was absolute. Even if she must defy her father, in the end, Lovey has to find her own path to faith and love. She alone must decide whether that path leads to Royal.
Whiskey Sunrise
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Whiskey Sunrise
© 2016 By Missouri Vaun. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-520-6
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: February 2016
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Cindy Cresap
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Character Illustration By Paige Braddock
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
By the Author
All Things Rise
The Ground Beneath
The Time Before Now
Whiskey Sunrise
Acknowledgments
This narrative is by far the most personal story I’ve written. My great-grandfather was a Church of God minister and a moonshiner and saw no conflict between those two pursuits. When I walk the Appalachian Trail in north Georgia today, I can still find the stands of uniform poplars that grew over small gaps between the ridges where he used to raise corn for his still.
Special thanks go out to those who read early drafts of this book and helped me sharpen certain aspects of the story. Jenny, D. Jackson Leigh, Alena, and Vanessa, the writing process would be so much harder without your insights, feedback, and encouragement. Thank you to my beautiful and supportive wife, Evelyn, who is an ever-patient sounding board for scenes that I can’t quite figure out.
I’m continually grateful for the team at Bold Strokes Books. Radclyffe, Sandy, Ruth, Cindy, Sheri, the more I work with all of you, the more I like you and the more I appreciate the unique skills each of you brings to the publishing process. The community of writers you’ve fostered are now folks I consider good friends.
Many details in this book came from true events related to me by my father and grandfather. The demise of certain rural schoolteachers for saying the earth is round being one of them.
And lastly, I’d like to say thank you to my parents. They were able to move past their Southern Baptist upbringing to accept me fully for the person that I am. It took fifteen years after my initial “coming out,” but love triumphed, and for that I will be eternally grateful.
For Evelyn
Chapter One
Lovey pushed through the screen door onto the somewhat uneven boards of the long front porch. The air, warm and damp, carried the scent of honeysuckle. A chorus of jubilant cicadas cut across the shadows from the dense greenery that surrounded her father’s house. She stepped off the porch, and sharp tips of grass sorely in need of a trim tickled her ankles and the tops of her feet just below the buckled strap of her shoes as she crossed the lush lawn.
The radio had entertained her for a while, its glowing dial flickering like a lit candle in the darkening room, but even Glenn Miller’s orchestra couldn’t hold Lovey’s attention. Her legs began to ache for movement, like some itch she couldn’t quite scratch. She’d checked the kitchen clock before leaving the house. Ten thirty. Late by some standards, but Lovey decided to take a walk anyway.
Any autos that traveled the dirt road in front of her father’s place were long gone by this hour. All was quiet except for the tree frogs and cicadas. The complete darkness might have scared some women, but not Lovey. She felt consoled by the darkness, feeling some kinship for the black expanse overhead, as it seemed to echo the darkness she’d been laboring under for the past few months. Darkness felt familiar.
Her father, Reverend Abraham Edwards, was attending some clandestine Baptist deacon’s meeting the next county over, and she wasn’t sure when he’d return. She’d been alone in the house since early afternoon, moving restlessly from room to room before finally settling in the reading room, near the large oak-encased radio.
Having only just found herself in a situation where she was forced to once
