Inside the house, he found a blue-tinted Mason jar in the cupboard by the sink, filled it halfway with water, and stuck the daisies in. It was a paltry offering maybe, but it was all he had. He glanced at his recliner in the living room, then at the stairs. His mouth went dry. Had she meant what she said?
“Here goes nothing,” he whispered.
He headed for the stairs, flower jar in hand, and hesitated. Wait. There was one more thing he needed to do.
In the mudroom, by the door, he stared down the blue-and-white suitcase. It had frightened him the first time he saw it. Angered him many times after that. It had told him more than any words Hannie could’ve spoken. But its time was up, its services no longer needed, because he knew everyone was right where they belonged.
He bent his stiff back and grunted, reaching for the suitcase handle. His fingers wrapped around it, and he lifted.
The suitcase gave easily, swinging freely in the air.
It was empty.
A hundred memories flashed through his mind. Memories of Hannie sitting on his lap while he drove the cab tractor around the field. Of her belly swollen in pregnancy, face aglow. Of her brushing her honey-colored hair back when it was as long as her waist.
Of her tears at Luke’s funeral.
Of the plates of food left for him to find long after everyone else had gone to bed.
Of her standing in the doorway, holding a blue-and-white suitcase.
He carried his simple yet profound gifts to the bottom of the stairs and looked up—yes, things were looking up.
And he smiled.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my mom for never once doubting this day would come. You’re the best.
Thank you to all the men and women who have dedicated their lives and their land to feeding the world. Long live the family farm.
Thank you to my first readers, Sarah Carson and Janice Parker, and my second readers, Kerry Johnson and Emily Conrad. Thank you to Jim and Carol Ashby for your generous hearts. Thank you to my many friends in the writing community for your support and encouragement, and to my QTs for hanging out in the hallway with me. Thank you to my agent, Keely Boeving, for believing in me, and to Steve Laube for showing me the way.
Thank you to everyone at Bethany House, from those who helped me fill out paper work to those who coordinated this book’s release into the world to everyone in between. Special thanks to Dave Long for giving this book a chance, and to Luke Hinrichs for pushing to make it the best it could be.
Thank you to my husband, Andy, for doing all those dishes while I worked and refusing to let me give up. I love you.
And all thanks, honor, and glory to God: Creator, Sustainer, and Author of the greatest story of all.
About the Author
Katie Powner grew up on a dairy farm in the Pacific Northwest but now calls Montana her home. She’s worked alongside her husband in youth ministry for over a decade and is a mom to the third power: biological, adoptive, and foster. In addition to writing contemporary fiction, Katie blogs about family in all its many forms and advocates for more families to open their homes to children in need. The Sowing Season is her debut novel. To learn more, visit her website at www.katiepowner.com.
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Table of Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Contents
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Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ad
Back Cover
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