Prologue

Silver Sagebrush, Montana, March 6, 1869

Grace Pearson sat beside the fire on a chilly spring evening, darning socks for members of her father’s congregation. Her mother, Villa, worked alongside her, while Richard paced back and forth throughout the room, making last-minute touches to his sermon for the following morning. This was their regular routine, and so was the story that Villa told as she sewed.

“It was the cold of winter, and you had only a thin, worn blanket wrapped around you when we found you on the church doorstep.” Grace had heard the story of her adoption a hundred times since she had first learned at eight years old that she was not their natural-born daughter. Still, she listened again in silence, forcing a smile so that her mother would not know how much the story hurt Grace to hear.

Villa’s black hair, touched with silver at the temples now, and her dark gray eyes were a stark contrast to Grace’s pale features. Grace’s hair was light blonde, and her eyes were blue like the sky. Her face did not match either of her parents’, with a small nose and narrow mouth that she tried to hold a smile on whenever she thought of it.

Richard had darker features than her as well, brown hair and eyes, which should have given Grace a clue that she did not fit in with them. Still, that innocent eight-year-old Grace had been shocked to the core when one of the other children at church had mentioned that she had been an abandoned baby, taken in by the pastor and his wife out of some sense of obligation.

“Although we could not be certain for how long you had been waiting there in the frigid air, we knew it was a miracle from God that you had survived out there as such a new baby.” Villa smiled, her eyes glistening with emotion as she continued, “After your father and I had spent so many years praying for children of our own, you were our miracle, too. And we’ve loved you from that very first moment on, more than words could express.”

Grace stooped over her work, hoping that they could not see her own emotions through the happy facade she put on. She knew that her parents told her that story as a testament to their love for her and their gratefulness to God, and she felt that as well. However, knowing that her birth parents had abandoned her and that she would never know why—or even who they were—felt like a stab in the heart some days.

“That’s why… no, that’s how we should… should or could?” Richard muttered to himself from the other side of the room. Grace looked up at him, taking a break from the needlework that had started her fingers aching over an hour before. He seemed more on edge than usual, sweat making the firelight reflect off of his forehead, although the room was not overly hot even as close to the fire as she was.

She worried for him, sending up a silent prayer to God to ease her father’s burdens as she considered what might be bothering him. He was the pastor of the local Baptist church of Silver Sagebrush, Montana, and everyone in the town relied on him heavily. Richard Pearson was the picture of a godly man to everyone who knew him, and he would have given his life to help those in need, without hesitation.

Grace aspired to be like him one day, if only she could get past the selfishness that she felt held her back from serving others the way God intended. She was eighteen years old and should have been beyond such childish things. Yet, the fear of being abandoned all over again ate away at her thoughts when she ought to have been focusing on the things above.

Villa set down the final sock in her pile, stretching her fingers with a contented smile. “Well, I think that about does it for the night. You can save the rest for later, Grace. You’ve done so many already.” Grace looked at the bag still half full of unrepaired clothes that she was meant to have fixed up for those in need. Despite her mother’s almost constant reassurances, Grace did not feel that she had done nearly enough.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I think I’ll do one or two more before bed.”

Villa sighed lightly. “All right then, if that’s what you want. But don’t stay up too late. We can’t have you falling asleep in the front pew tomorrow, can we?” Her chuckle signaled that she had said it all in good fun, but the thought of falling asleep during church filled Grace with anxiety. She was the pastor’s daughter, adopted or not, and she felt as though she were under the magnifying lens more than most when it came to appropriate behavior.

“Oh,” she whispered, glancing at Richard, who by then was shuffling his notes and looking across the room at her. Although the thought of falling asleep the following morning was horrifying, she also knew she would not sleep peacefully while the rest of the bag of clothes loomed over her. “I’ll be all right,” Grace told Villa, then stood up just long enough to kiss her goodnight.

Villa leaned over to give her a kiss on the forehead and then told her, “I know you will, sweetheart, but don’t worry too much about it. They’ll be finished when they’re needed. We can have faith in that.” Turning to leave Grace to her thoughts, Villa kissed her husband on the lips, then pulled away with her eyes still closed and a contented smile. Grace smiled to see them, but she also felt guilt for her envy of what they had.

She wanted to love like that someday, although she knew that her focus should remain on the church and all that they were doing in the community. There was no time for frivolous crushes, even if anybody around there had caught her eye. Perhaps that was part of her problem, she thought sadly. She had lived her whole life in a small town where everybody knew everyone, and there was no sense of something to strive for beyond that small-town life.

With a sigh, she shook her head and stretched her sore fingers. Then she got to work on another sock, being careful to keep its match nearby for better organization. Keeping her hands busy did not stop her mind from continuing to run, though. God had blessed her so far beyond what she could count, and she felt that it was wrong of her to be discontent in any way.

Once all of the clothes were ready for the people who most needed them, Grace was sure she would feel much better about her day. That needed to be her focus. It was just a matter of getting to that point that she worried about as she took another long look at all of the garments she had left.

Grace heard Richard set his papers down on the desk and then walk over to sit across from her. Given how much he was already sweating, she grew more concerned about him taking a place so close to the fire, but before she got the chance to say so, he spoke.

“You really don’t have to worry so much about this stuff, you know.” His voice was low and soft, the kindest tone always present, even during those rare times when she knew he was unhappy about something. Glancing up to meet his eyes, she found him giving a sad smile, and she regretted her part in making it so.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” she whispered.

Richard laughed, “Oh, no, Grace. Please, don’t be sorry.” With a small sigh, his tone returned to its former seriousness. “I know you take a lot on your shoulders, both in physical work and in spirit. You do so much for everyone, without ever complaining or even, I think, being honest about how hard it is on you.”

A tear rose in her eyes, but she dared not let it fall. She could not guess why he was talking about all of that, or how he had come to that conclusion. Richard did have a knack for being able to see what words people needed to hear, which often meant his sermons touched everyone deeply at just the right time. For her, though, his timing was confusing.

She was doing what should have been done hours ago, no matter how hard she felt it was. Villa had done her share in half the time, so clearly the work was not too difficult. Grace felt that if she were honest about how much it took out of her, then nobody would look at her the same or ever respect her again.

Forcing a smile, she shrugged and answered, “I’m the pastor’s daughter. This is what I’m meant to be doing.” She did not say it out loud, but she was thinking that her position meant that everyone was watching and the moment she slipped up it would reflect terribly on him and his ministry. Surely he understood that already, but he was simply too kind to say so.

Richard shook his head slowly. Then with a laugh, he said, “That you are. Perhaps you’re too much like me.” The smile vanished from his face, and in a somber tone, he muttered, “But you have the chance to be smarter than me. You won’t fall into the same traps. You’ll take care of the town, really take care of them, not taking the easy route that leads to destruction.”

Her heart beat faster as she wondered what had come over him. It was unlike him to talk like that, as he was usually optimistic. He looked somehow older then, as he stared into the fire that reflected off of the sweat forming drops on his forehead. “Are… are you all right?” she asked softly.

Looking back at her with a smile, he answered, “Oh, I will be. Don’t worry about me.” Pushing himself up from the chair with a groan, he joked, “That’s just what happens when you get old.” Once he was standing, he stepped to the side toward the hall. “Now, I don’t want you to stay up all night worrying about these things. Go to bed. Everyone is clothed enough for one more day, as you and your mother have seen to.”

Taking a sweeping glance about the room, where canned goods and donations filled one corner, bags of clothing that had been or were about to be repaired, and her father’s desk scattered with notes and books all stood to show what she and her mother had been doing for the people. It was also a reminder that she had everything she needed from that small town.

They all took care of each other, just as her parents took care of her, out of love. She could be grateful for all of that and tried not to take her life for granted. With a genuine smile, she looked up at her father. “Goodnight. I love you.”

“I love you too, Gracey. See you in the morning.” He turned away and walked out of the room while Grace set aside her newly started sock. There would have been time to finish just the one, surely, but she was making a genuine effort not to care too much about it until the next time she was able to work on the repairs. Besides, her fingers would be grateful for the rest.

She stood up, the old wooden chair creaking from the motion, and walked the length of the largest room in their cottage, which had been the center of their charity work for years. Leaving the workroom behind, she went down the short, bare wood hallway to her own bedroom, the smaller of the two rooms in the pastorate cottage that sat beside the church.

Her bed lay in the far corner so that the sun bathed her face every morning to wake her, topped with a handmade quilt that contained scraps of all her dresses over the years. Most of them were made from some variety of plain, flowery, or gingham patterned blue to match her eyes. Her favorite color was pink, but her mama sure did love to see her in blue, so Grace simply never said what she would have preferred.

The curtains were her baby blankets, the ones from her adoptive parents since the one she had been abandoned in was not suitable for much of anything. They were a soft yellow. Everything in that house was either handed down by generous townsfolk, repurposed to death, or both. The pastor was not well-paid and had no love of money or earthly possessions, just as it should have been. Grace, however, had to quiet the selfish voice inside herself that longed for beautiful things—even just one thing that was new, just for her.

She stood at her old vanity, the wood stained with age, the mirror tarnished and cracked in one corner, and brushed her flaxen hair while humming a hymn softly. There were countless people in the world who had it so much worse, she knew, and therefore she had no right to want anything more. Praying silently that God would help her, would guide her selfish heart toward the gratefulness she ought to be feeling, she finished with her hair and set the aged brush back into its place.

Taking her blue work dress off for sleep, she hung it over a hook on the back of her door to air out for another day of wear. Too much washing would have ensured that the fabric was worn through and wasted for a second purpose. She was not likely to grow much more at her age, but there might still be enough fabric for children’s clothing in the skirt once the bodice was no longer serviceable, as long as she was mindful.

With a contented sigh, she knelt down beside her bed to say a proper prayer before turning in for the night. There was so much to be done and so much to be grateful for, that a talk with the Lord helped to clear her mind of distractions, she found. “Thank you, Almighty Father,” she began, as her papa always did, “for Your loving-kindness to us and for all the blessings that You shower upon us daily.

“Grant us hearts to love You and those You love and minds to think upon Your Word. Give us hands that are eager to do good works and feet that will carry the Good News to all the world.” Grace paused then, wondering how much of the world she was ever meant to see. Her family’s mission seemed firmly in Silver Sagebrush, after all. Even if she could not leave the town to minister to new people, she would have liked for somebody, anybody, new to come there and add some amount of excitement to small-town life.

Shaking her head, she continued, “Please help me to stay focused on what truly matters, in furthering the Kingdom, and not on selfish desires. Please help me to be the daughter my parents deserve and to be a good role model to those who might look up to me as the pastor’s daughter.” She squeezed her eyes shut a little tighter as she whispered, “Please don’t let them know that I’ve been having such ungrateful thoughts.”

After drawing in a deep breath, she finished by saying, “Please help Papa with all of his responsibilities, and please help us to do what we can to ease his burden as well. In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen.” Pulling herself up to stand, she blew out her candle and climbed into bed. Her feet were already chilled from the floor, and she rubbed them together beneath her quilt as she adjusted on her straw-stuffed mattress. Soon, she was comfortable enough to drift off.

***

“Goodbye,” Papa said from behind the wooden pulpit. “It’s time to say goodbye.”

That was a strange way to preach a sermon, Grace thought from her usual place in the front pew. She glanced around her to see if anyone else had any idea what she had missed, and she saw Mama beside her, wearing a black dress, with tears streaking down her agonized face.

“Mama?” Grace asked, growing more frightened by the second. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Everyone was crying or looking solemn, and Grace wondered with a gasp what could have possibly made everyone react that way on an ordinary Sunday.

She should not have been talking during the service, she knew, but the confusion had made her forget herself. When she turned back to look at Papa, she could not find him. The front of the church was empty, and he had gone without a trace.

“Papa?” Grace called, standing up to search for him frantically. “Papa, please! Don’t leave me! Papa, come back! I need you!”

Chapter One

March 7, 1869

Grace awoke with a start, sitting straight up with a gasp. She found her heart beating and her eyes watering as she panted for breath. She could not have said why the dream had felt so real or bothered her so deeply, but it must have touched on a very real fear of losing her father. Taking a deep breath and calming herself as much as she could, Grace turned to the window to see that dawn had begun.

It was as good a time as any to get ready for church, so she slipped out of bed and washed up with her water basin. Over her plain muslin chemise, she donned her church dress. It was a slightly darker blue than her usual and was of a higher quality. The fabric had been a birthday gift for her from the general store owners, Doc Johnson and his wife, because it had a manufacturer error that caused a few blemishes in the dye.

Although she would not normally have accepted such generosity without a fuss, she had been in sore need of a new dress worthy of Sunday worship. Villa did not have much to give, being the wife of a pastor, but she often gave her labor as gifts, and for Grace’s eighteenth birthday, she had used that beautiful, royal blue fabric to make the dress.

The style was not too old-fashioned but was a bit behind the other girls Grace’s age. Most of them wore a crinoline under the skirt to hold it out in a perfect circle, as well, which she did not. She had only her work corset for support and modesty and a petticoat to go over her pantaloons.

The dress had a full, even-length skirt with minimal ruffling around the lower part of it and a bodice that buttoned all the way up to the throat, where she could pin a collar to add decoration. Attached to the dropped shoulders were fitted sleeves that just allowed the white underdress to peek out the ends. They too had buttons to allow for her hands to fit through.

It was the nicest, newest thing Grace owned, and for that she loved it. As much as she hated to think it, though, she still found herself wishing that it had been pink. While brushing and putting up her hair, she could hardly focus on how she felt about anything besides her dream. She prayed under her breath that God would ease her fears, but that did not help much. It had felt so real, it was as though she were living it even still.

There was only one thing for it, she thought as she finished pinning her hair into a bun. She would have to go talk to her father about the dream and see if he had any guidance or words of comfort for her. With it being Sunday morning, however, she was not entirely certain that she should bother him with such things. Still, it could not hurt to at least talk to him over breakfast and calm her worries by seeing beyond a doubt that he was perfectly fine.

Once she was ready for the day, she exited her room and went past the workroom into the small kitchen, where the dining table sat. On a usual Sunday morning, they would have breakfasted as a family on something delicious that Villa whipped up, then gone next door to the church for services. On that morning, however, only Villa was waiting in the dining room.

“Where’s Papa?” Grace asked, attempting to hide the worry she felt at his absence.