“. . . to have and to hold, from this day forward . . . for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part . . . according to God’s holy ordinance . . . and thereto I plight thee my troth.”
“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.” Rev. Pritchard’s grin seemed about to split his face. He’d confided this would be his first wedding conducted in Salton, since he’d only started his circuit the year before.
Adam enveloped Forsythia in his arms with a kiss that swept her boots off the plank floor.
A flurry of embracing and congratulating, then everyone proceeded to their wagons and made their way to the doctor’s new house just outside of town. Forsythia and Adam drove ahead in his buggy.
“I can hardly believe we are really—that I am really Mrs. Doctor Adam Brownsville.” Forsythia smoothed the skirt of her blue-sprigged lawn dress, sewed specially for the wedding. “Can you?”
“I’ve waited long enough.” Adam covered her hand with his and smiled into her eyes, letting the horse find its own way on the familiar path.
They pulled up at the house, and Adam lifted her from the buggy. She slipped her hand through his elbow as they walked up to the broad front porch of the two-story white frame house that still smelled of paint and freshly sawed beams.
“Oh, Adam, it’s lovely.” Tears stung her eyes. “A real homeplace.”
“For us and for the children.” He put his arm around her and hugged her close. “And any more God chooses to add to our family.”
“And Jesse.” She looked up at him.
“Always Jesse.”
The rattle of wagons announced their reception guests’ arrival.
“I nearly forgot.” Adam quirked a teasing grin, then scooped Forsythia up in his arms.
She squealed. “What are you—?”
He hurried up the porch steps and flung open the front door. “Carrying you over the threshold, of course. I did promise.”
Soon beloved family and friends filled their new home, bearing food and gifts of dishes, pots and pans, and linens. Jesse presented a beautiful rocking chair for the sitting room with his characteristic shy grin, and her sisters laid a large bundle wrapped in a sheet in Forsythia’s arms.
“What is it?” She stared at it, feeling the soft weight.
“Open it.”
She unwrapped a large quilt, patterns of flowers stitched all over it in loving hands, each block bearing a different flower in an appropriate color.
“It’s Ma’s garden, see?” Lilac touched a square of primroses. “We embroidered the names of each flower and herb next to it.”
“So you did.” Forsythia caressed the block for rosemary. “It’s beautiful. How did you ever manage to keep it a surprise?”
Lark rolled her eyes. “Let’s just say we were glad for every hour you spent working at the store. Or that we could get Adam to spirit you away.”
They all laughed.
Soon the guests drifted away with well wishes and tired children. But with Adam’s blessing, Forsythia had one more journey to make before bidding her sisters good-bye and truly beginning her new life.
Adam drove her in the buggy, following the Nielsen wagon back to the sisters’ homestead, only a little over a mile from the Brownsville residence. The fields waved green, and the shoots in the cornfield near the house were just beginning to sprout above the dark earth. Ma’s rosebushes bloomed against the soddy, soon to be replaced by a frame house also, hopefully. But sweetest of all was the flower garden on the other side of the house, still small, but already blooming lavender, pink, and yellow. A foretaste of what would someday be, Lord willing.
“You don’t need to drive all the way up, Adam.” She touched his arm. “I’ll only be a minute.”
Lark stopped at the end of the lane, and Adam halted their horse too. Her sisters piled out of the wagon with the children, who would be staying here for a few days, until Adam and Forsythia got settled.
Holding her husband’s hand, Forsythia climbed down from the buggy and joined her sisters at the turning from the road to the Nielsen lane.
Lark lifted the engraved wooden sign from the back of the wagon bed, and Lilac pounded the iron signpost into the dirt.
“I hereby christen our homestead”—Lark held up the plaque for them all to see— “Leah’s Garden.” She hung the sign on the iron hooks.
It swayed gently in the late spring breeze, the curling letters and carved flowers around the words seeming to evoke Ma’s gentle presence.
“I love it.” Lilac threw her arms around Del. “It feels like we’ve truly come home at last.”
Adam stepped up beside Forsythia, and she leaned her head on his shoulder with a full heart. Truly this had been such a season of change. Yet here in this new land, surrounded by those she loved, in many ways she knew her journey was just beginning.
Lauraine Snelling is the award-winning author of more than ninety books, fiction and nonfiction, for adults and young adults. Her books have sold more than five million copies. Besides writing books and articles, she teaches at writers’ conferences across the country. She and her husband make their home in Tehachapi, California. Learn more at www.laurainesnelling.com.
Kiersti Giron grew up loving Lauraine’s books and had the blessing of being mentored by her as a young writer. Now it is her joy and honor to collaborate with Lauraine on this new series. Kiersti holds a lifelong passion for history and storytelling, seen in her award-winning novel manuscripts, and loves writing about reconciliation, healing, and God’s story weaving into ours. She lives in California with her husband, their lively young son, and two cats.
Sign Up Now!
Instagram: Bethany House Fiction
Resources: bethanyhouse.com/AnOpenBook
Newsletter: www.bethanyhouse.com/newsletter
Facebook: Bethany House
Table of Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Books by Lauraine Snelling
Title
