“I can’t let her travel all alone to Oregon. I’ll go with her, no matter how stubborn she is. I don’t know why, but I feel this deep need to keep her safe…”
Burdened by her husband’s death and a failed ranch, Linda seeks a fresh start with a journey to find her brother. But the perilous trail is no place for a woman alone, and despite her protests, Calvin refuses to let her travel without protection…
A rugged man of faith, Calvin has buried his own grief beneath years of hard work raising two sons alone. When he learns that Linda, the widow of his neighbor, is setting out alone on a dangerous journey, Calvin feels compelled to ensure her safety—and perhaps find healing for his own heart along the way…
Bound by the shared pain of loss, Linda and Calvin’s faith is tested as they face the dangers of the frontier. Can love grow in the midst of hardship, as God guides them down unexpected paths?
Bayside, North Carolina, 1849
The cool breeze caressed Linda Harper’s skin, relieving it of the kitchen’s heat. Instead of being relieved, she shivered, her eyes darting to the window as a frown marred her smooth brow for a moment.
“Silliness,” she whispered into the wind as if it would change anything.
With a shake of her head, she focused on the gentle wind as it brought the scent of the sea, an ever-present mainstay even as far from the coast as the ranch was. She took a moment to breathe it in and appreciate how it added to the tranquility of the sunlit day.
Shouldn’t she be enjoying it instead of the dark clawing sensation gnawing at the pit of her stomach? The other time she had felt like this… no, she would not think about it. Those memories were best buried in the past.
With another calming breath, she concentrated on what was at hand. The kitchen’s rustic charm contrasted nicely with the quotidian yet wild beauty of the rolling land outside. Wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling and the scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the salty sea air. She glanced out the window again to where the sun cast a golden glow over the sprawling fields of their modest ranch.
A smile graced her lips, her striking green eyes taking in what she could see of the land her husband lavished so much care upon. Frank would soon be coming in for lunch, his rugged face wreathed in that smile that crinkled the corners of his clear blue gaze. She could almost hear his laughter, a sound that always brought warmth to her heart.
Just the thought of him lifted the strange mood she was in and brought a warm glow to her heart. From the moment she met him, there had never been another man for her. Linda was sixteen at the time, with Frank fifteen years her senior. She laughed as she remembered the lengths she had gone through to draw his attention.
She had thought of herself as a woman, raising her younger brother and running their household. Nick, their older brother, was already out in the world working to send them money. That meant no one was there to argue against her desire to marry Frank. Looking back, she remembered how untidy her chestnut curls had regularly been, how she had been all skin and bones. Not that she was any curvier now, but she had matured into a lovely trimness since then.
Her eyes fell onto the fields, a testament to Frank’s hard work and dedication. Each row of crops stood tall and healthy, a reflection of his meticulous attention and love for the land. Linda admired the way he poured his soul into the ranch, transforming it into a thriving oasis.
As she continued to set the table, she thought about the life they had built together. It hadn’t always been easy; the people of Bayside had looked askance at them when, at the young age of eighteen, she had married him. Most had called him shameful, but she and Frank hadn’t minded them. Through it all, moments like these made it worthwhile. The simple pleasures of a shared meal, the comfort of each other’s company, and the beauty of their surroundings were treasures she held dear.
Their afternoons were almost always the same. The sound of the back door opening would signal Frank’s arrival. He would step into the kitchen, his presence filling the room with a sense of calm and strength. “Hey there, pretty lady,” he would say, his voice warm and familiar.
“Hello yourself, good sir,” Linda would reply, her smile wide and full of the love that had never faded in all their twelve years together. “Lunch is almost ready.”
Frank invariably crossed the room to wrap her in a gentle embrace, his hands rough from work but his touch tender. “It smells amazing,” he would say, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I can’t wait to dig in.”
Opening eyes she hadn’t realized were closed, her smile widened as her hand went into one of the pockets in her apron. Her fingers closed around the flower he had given her just that morning. He knew she loved the scent of lavender and always made sure she had a fresh sprig in her apron pocket.
Linda’s apron was a cherished piece, a gift passed down from her grandmother. It was made of sturdy, cream-colored linen, with delicate embroidery along the edges. The intricate patterns depicted scenes of the sea—waves crashing against rocks, seagulls soaring in the sky, and tiny sailboats bobbing on the water. Each stitch told a story, a testament to her grandmother’s skill and love.
The apron had deep pockets, perfect for holding small kitchen tools and the wildflower. Despite its age, the fabric was soft and comforting. As Linda tidied the apron, she felt a sense of continuity and tradition. A grounding she was surprised to desperately need just then.
As she set the last plate on the table, her mind wandered to the stories her mother used to share about the sea. Linda smiled, feeling a pang of nostalgia. She couldn’t imagine a life without the sea’s whisper in the background, even if it was just a distant echo here.
Looking at the clock, though, Linda realized her husband was running a little late. That wasn’t at all like him. That cold touch of dread slithered its fingers down her back again. Shaking it off, she busied herself with a few things about the kitchen. Yet now, the ticking of the clock seemed akin to the sound of a hammer driving nails into her anxious thoughts.
She wiped her hands on her apron, glancing out the window toward the sprawling fields. There was no sign of her husband riding back from the pasture.
“Maybe he stopped to check on the cattle,” she murmured to herself, trying to rationalize his delay. Yet the thought did little to quell the knot tightening in her stomach. Linda moved to the window, peering out at the horizon. Dust kicked up in the distance could signal a rider, but all she saw were the grazing horses, peaceful and unaware of her mounting concern.
She turned back to the kitchen, glancing at the clock again. The tick-tock seemed to mock her with each passing second. Setting down the spoon she had been stirring with, she decided she couldn’t just wait any longer.
Maybe she was wrong to worry, but she had been complacent before, thinking that misfortune would never visit her life. That lesson had dealt its harsh truths with a swiftness unlike anything she had ever experienced before and, thankfully, never since. Unlike the beauty of this afternoon, that far-off day had been violent with the power of the storm. It had raged through the night, tearing at the barn and sending rain crashing against the windows like a thousand angry fists. Linda shuddered at the memory. The wind had howled like a wounded animal, and her heart had raced with a primal fear as she clung to her brother, praying for the storm to pass.
She had lost her family that night. Her mother and father were swept away in the flood-waters. Leaving her to care for her brother when she herself still needed to be looked after and guided. The grief of that loss had etched itself into her heart, a constant reminder that life was fragile, easily undone by nature’s wrath. Since then, she had vowed never to take a moment for granted, yet here she was, wrapped in worry again.
Pulling on her bonnet, she stepped outside, the warm air wrapping around her like a familiar embrace. The ranch was alive with the sounds of nature—birds chirping, the distant mooing of cattle—but all she could hear was the hollow echo of her husband’s absence.
With determination, she made her way toward the barn, her heart pounding with each step. “Maybe he just lost track of time,” she reassured herself, but the words felt weak as they left her lips.
Placing her hand over her heart to steady it, she looked up to heaven. “Please, God, let him be safe. I cannot survive another loss,” she murmured the quick prayer.
As she neared the barn, she caught sight of something—there, by the fence, lay his hat, brim turned up, as if he had only set it down for a moment. Her breath hitched. “Frank?” she called out, her voice steady but laced with urgency.
No answer. The silence stretched around her, thick and suffocating. She stepped closer to the hat, kneeling in the dirt, and suddenly, the world felt heavier, shadows creeping into her thoughts. What could have happened?
As she lifted the hat, she remembered that he had told her he would be fixing the mill that day. Relief washed over her as she realized she had been worrying for nothing. He must have simply lost track of time. Still, with the echo of the night she had lost her parents still haunting her, she could not be assured until she saw him. If he had lost track of time, she would tease him into coming back with her.
Rushing back into the kitchen, she took the stew off the stove and banked the fire within. Looking around to ensure there would be nothing to endanger the house without her attention, she rushed back into the barn.
Linda grew up around horses, and she quickly saddled up her trusted mare, Daisy. The familiar motions of tightening the girth and adjusting the bridle calmed her racing heart. With a final glance back at the house, she mounted and set off toward the mill, urging Daisy into a brisk trot.
The path to the mill wound through the tall grass, the smattering of clouds casting dappled shadows on the ground. As she rode, the rhythmic clip-clop of Daisy’s hooves echoed in her ears, grounding her thoughts. Linda focused on the landscape, the beauty of her ranch providing a stark contrast to the anxiety that had gripped her moments earlier.
But as she neared the mill, a feeling of unease returned. The air felt different here, charged with an energy that set her senses on edge. The old wooden structure loomed ahead, its wheel turning slowly, but there was no sign of Frank.
“Frank!” she called out, her voice carrying over the gentle rush of water against the mill’s wheel.
No answer. Just the sound of the mill creaking and the distant rustling of leaves. She dismounted and tethered Daisy to a post, her heart pounding as she approached the entrance. She looked to the heavens, beseeching God to let her find Frank safe.
Inside, the mill was dim, the only light filtering through gaps in the wood. The familiar scent of grain filled the air, but the absence of Frank’s presence weighed heavily on her.
“Frank!” she called again, a note of worry creeping into her voice. Silence greeted her call, and her anxiety rose even more. “Where are you? You said you’d be fixing the… windmill.” She finished her sentence and then laughed. “Linda, you old fool, he said he’d be at the windmill, not the mill.”
Rushing back out, she took up Daisy’s reins and remounted. Even though a part of her thought she was being foolish for worrying so much, she pressed Daisy into a gallop. The mare responded eagerly as they raced across the familiar path toward the windmill.
The windmill came into view, its sails turning slowly against the sky. As she approached, she spotted most of the ranch hands crowding below it. The knot in her stomach tightened again as she realized their expressions were serious, faces drawn with concern. She pulled Daisy to a halt, anxiety clawing at her insides.
“Frank!” she called, her voice rising above the murmurs of the men. She dismounted quickly, her heart racing as she pushed through the group.
“Mrs. Harper, wait!” one of the ranch hands said, reaching out to stop her.
“What’s going on?” she demanded, fear creeping into her voice. “Where’s Frank?”
A hush fell over the group, and finally, the foreman emerged from the shadows of the windmill, his face smudged with grease and dust but visibly shaken. He looked at her, eyes wide, his face stark, and her heart sank.
“No,” she whispered, a part of her already knowing something had happened to her beloved husband. Please, God, no!
“Mrs. Harper… ma’am,” the foreman said, his eyes sorrowful.
“What happened? Where’s my husband? Where’s Frank?” she demanded.
“The windmill’s gear slipped,” he explained, glancing back at the structure. “Mr. Harper was trying to fix it when it suddenly started to tilt. I shouted for everyone to get back, and they did—just in time. But… it was too late.”
“No!” she shouted again. “Where is he?”
“It’s just happened, ma’am,” the man continued as if he hadn’t even heard her. “He was focused on getting it fixed before he went in for lunch and didn’t realize how unstable it had become. I sent a hand to fetch you—”
Panic surged through her, and she pushed past the foreman, her heart pounding in her chest. “Frank!” she called, her voice trembling. The thought of him injured, or worse, was unbearable.
“Stay back!” another of the ranch hands warned as she approached the structure, but the urgency in her heart drowned out his caution. She couldn’t just stand by. She had to know if he was alright.
“God, please save him for me.” she prayed as tears filled her eyes.
“Frank!” she shouted again, desperate. “Can you hear me? Hold on! I’m coming!” She didn’t wait for a response, racing toward the entrance. The ground felt unsteady beneath her, but she forced herself inside, her eyes adjusting to the dim light.
The air was thick with dust, and the smell of oil and wood filled her senses. She could see the shadow of the gears looming above, their metallic forms twisted and precarious. “Frank!” she called, moving deeper into the structure.
Then she saw him. He lay so still as if he were a child’s broken doll carelessly discarded. Two of the ranch hands were with him, their eyes sorrowful when they turned to her.
“Somebody get the doctor!” she shouted to those outside. “Hurry!” A part of her could reason the hysteria in her voice, the part that was aware of things her mind was not ready to face. “Who went to get the doctor?” she demanded.
“It’s too late ma’am,” the foreman, who had followed after her informed her in a gentle yet sorrowful voice. Linda’s heart sank as the words hit her like a cold wave.
“What do you mean it’s too late?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment.
The foreman stepped closer, his face lined with sorrow. “We tried, but he… he didn’t make it. He fell too fast. We didn’t have enough time.”
“No,” she breathed, denial wrapping around her like a shroud. “No, he was just here. He was fine. Frank!” She fell to her knees beside him, cradling his head in her lap, her fingers brushing through his hair, seeking any sign of life. But his skin was cold, and the light in his eyes had gone out.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, each one a silent testament to the love they had shared, the dreams they had built together on this land. “Frank, please,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You can’t leave me. We were supposed to grow old together. You promised.”
The ranch hands stood a respectful distance away, their own grief palpable in the air. The foreman put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off, lost in her sorrow.
“Ma’am,” he said gently, “we need to move him. We can’t leave him here like this.”
“No!” she cried, clenching her fists. “I can’t. I can’t let go of him.” The weight of her loss felt unbearable, a crushing force that threatened to consume her whole.
“Let us help you,” another ranch hand said, his voice steady. “We’ll take care of him. You don’t have to do this alone.”
The thought of letting go felt like a betrayal, but deep down, she knew she couldn’t stay there forever, lost in her despair. With shaking hands, she reluctantly nodded, allowing them to carefully lift Frank’s body, her heart shattering with each movement.
As they carried him away, she felt an emptiness in her chest that she knew would never fully heal. The world around her blurred, the vibrant colors of the ranch fading into dull shades of gray.
“Where will you take him?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“To the barn for now,” the foreman replied softly. “We’ll lay him to rest properly, I promise. One of the lads has already gone to call Mr. Turner.”
She nodded. Calvin Turner would know what to do. He was Frank’s friend, and he always seemed to know what to do. Linda had no idea about any of it.
Numb, she followed behind them, each step heavy with grief. Memories of their laughter and love flooded her mind—working side by side on the ranch, sharing dreams under the stars, and loving the warmth of his embrace.
With her heart aching and tears streaming down her face, Linda knew her life would never be the same again. Frank had taken the last of any rays of sunlight life had ever given her. She now had nothing.
Closing her eyes, she recited a verse her mother used to love, “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh…” She just wished she could understand His will in taking the man she loved.
Bayside, North Carolina, 1850
Spring arrived with a vibrant burst of life, the world around Linda transforming into a canvas of blooming flowers and lush green fields. Yet, for her, the season felt bitter. As she moved through the ranch, the beauty of spring was a stark reminder of the warmth she had lost.
No longer were the fields neatly tilled into neat rows as in past seasons. Now dried grass and the remnants of last season’s parched crop were interspersed with new grass and shoots of the hardy plants Frank had planted.
The majestic oak tree by the river, where they had laid Frank to rest, stood tall and strong, its branches swaying gently in the breeze. She often found herself drawn to it, sitting under its shade, feeling the cool earth beneath her as she remembered the laughter and love they had shared. It was the only thing that kept her going most of the time.
The ranch hands, loyal and compassionate, had worked alongside her, helping to keep the farm running. Each day had been a struggle, but they were determined to honor Frank’s memory by continuing the work he had loved. Only things had gone downhill.
She had had to sell some of the stock to keep afloat. One by one, the ranch hands left for greener pastures until she was left only with old man Ryan and his wife. They were too old to find work anywhere else, even too old to do much for the ranch Frank had loved so much.
“Frank,” she whispered, feeling the familiar ache of longing. “I miss you every day. I don’t know how to do this without you.”
Yet she knew there was no other choice for her. Life carried on regardless of her grief, and the ranch needed her. She learned to navigate the rhythm of life alone, finding strength in routine. Each morning, she rose with the sun, tended to the few animals left, mended fences, and planted seeds in her garden—it made no difference to the state of affairs.
“God, how could you have taken him?” she asked as she had over the months. “Why would you take him? I don’t understand.”
Nights were the hardest. The quiet felt heavy without Frank’s laughter echoing through the halls or the warmth of his presence beside her. Without the distractions of endless tasks, she often found herself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, searching for solace in the memories they had created together.
Today, the morning was cold, the stars still twinkling overhead. As always, she came to the oak tree first thing. She knelt beside the flowers, watering them carefully, the rhythmic splashes of water soothing her restless heart.
While everything else on the ranch was falling apart, this garden was flourishing. Was it because Frank was laid to rest here? He had always been good at everything he lay his hand on. It would make sense that even after he was gone, his resting place would be the same.
“Do you remember our plans?” she murmured to him. “We dreamed of expanding the ranch, of having a family. I wish you were still here with me. I’ve lost hope. You were always the one who gave it back to me. What am I going to do without you?”
Linda thought she was all out of tears after the crying she had been doing in the past months. But as she spoke, fresh tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks like rain on parched earth. Each drop was a release, a way of honoring the love they had shared and the dreams that now felt so distant. “I don’t know how to face tomorrow,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Or even today.”
The gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze seemed to respond, and for a moment, it felt as if Frank was there beside her, wrapping her in a warm embrace. “I need you,” she said. Her heart ached with the weight of her loneliness.
The stillness of the morning enveloped her, and she closed her eyes, allowing the sounds of nature to comfort her. A soft croaking of frogs, the distant hoot of a late owl, and the whisper of the wind through the trees created a melody of solace.
But deep down, Linda knew that surrendering to despair wasn’t an option. It would be disrespectful to what they had shared, to whom her husband had been.
Taking a deep breath, she wiped her tears with the back of her hand and stood up, determination beginning to stir within her. With her voice cracking, she told him, “I don’t want to let your dreams die. I carry them with me every moment of the day, but I’m failing. I can’t make our ranch thrive. I don’t know what to do.”
Suddenly, she felt a soft brush against her leg. Looking up, she smiled as Daisy nudged her, seeking affection. “I know, girl. We’ve got to keep moving forward, just like Frank would want us to.”
With a forced smile, she patted Daisy’s neck and stood up. “Let’s go for a ride,” she decided, wanting to feel the freedom of the open land beneath her.
She mounted Daisy once more, feeling the familiar sense of freedom as they rode along the riverbank. The rising sun danced on the water, illuminating her path forward. With each step, she felt the weight of her sorrow begin to shift, replaced by a quiet resolve. Even as she enjoyed the moment, she knew the shroud of despair would come back again. It always did.
As confused as she was, Linda never doubted God had a purpose for her. It hurt that He had taken Frank, but she knew at the end of the day, He was all-knowing and wise.
With a sigh, she turned the horse toward her home. It was time to prepare for church. As she made her way back, the familiar sights of the ranch came into view—the barn, the corral, the fields stretching out under the expansive sky. Each landmark felt like a piece of her heart, a reminder of the life she and Frank had built together.
Church day always brought a mix of emotions. It was a chance to gather with the community, to share stories and support one another, but it also reminded her of the empty seat beside her. Frank had always been her partner in faith, and the thought of facing the congregation alone filled her with trepidation.
Arriving at the house, she dismounted and tied Daisy to the post, taking a moment to collect herself. The scent of blooming flowers filled the air, mingling with the warmth of the sun. Linda stepped inside, the familiar creak of the doors welcoming her as she moved through the rooms.
She found her Sunday dress hanging by the door. With a deep breath, she slipped it on, fastening the buttons and smoothing down the skirt. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—there was still a flicker of the woman she used to be.
Her face was gaunt now, though, the freckles on her pale skin were more pronounced. Her chestnut brown waves framed her face and seemed to highlight the sorrow etched deep in her green eyes. When Frank was alive, he called her a ravishing beauty, and she secretly agreed. Now, she was a shell. With a sigh, she moved away from the mirror and finished dressing.
After a quick breakfast of bread and jam, she prepared a small basket of goodies to share with the congregation—homemade biscuits and jam, a reminder of the warmth of the community. She also needed the comfort and hope the word of God brought her. Today, the heavy burden of her life seemed to be crushing in on her more than usual.
She quickly hitched the buggy and set her basket on the passenger seat before taking the driver’s. With the ease of familiarity, she gave the horse its lead and made her way toward the church, the path so familiar that she didn’t need to concentrate all that much.
Their small church was at the edge of town, overlooking the ocean against the backdrop of hardy rocks the sea crashed against. Bayside was a town that hugged the ocean, the docks and fishing warehouses on the ocean side, and all the other businesses across from it.
While most seaside towns stank of rotten fish and the filth people tossed into the sea, the sheriff punished the guilty parties with cleaning up the bay. The results rewarded them with a fresher town than many people would expect.
As she parked her buggy and got out, the sounds of laughter and conversation filled the air as families gathered. Her heart quickened with both anticipation and dread.
Upon entering the church, the pastor, a kind man with gentle eyes, approached her. “Mrs. Harper, it’s good to see you. We’ve missed you in the last two weeks.”
“Thank you,” she replied, her voice steady but laced with emotion. “I’ve missed being here, too. The church is always a comfort.”
The pastor smiled at her, a serene smile that uplifted her. “As it should be.” he agreed.
After exchanging a few words with her, the reverend excused himself, leaving her standing alone. All of a sudden, Linda became aware of the tension underlying the laughter and conversations within the church. Linda’s eyes darted around the room, catching snippets of hushed exchanges and sideways glances her way. The once comforting warmth of the church now felt stifling, the air thick with unspoken words. She could feel the weight of the congregation’s collective anxiety pressing down on her.
Having lived her whole life here, she recognized every single person whispering about her, giving her reproving looks. As she did, she acknowledged those who gave her an encouraging smile in the midst of the hostility. Most of the former had a family member who had been employed at her ranch at one point. Had Linda fooled herself into thinking her former hands found greener pastures? From the reproving looks she was getting, she was sure that wasn’t the case. The men who had left their jobs with her must not be doing well, but how could they not see the struggle she was facing?
Her mind swirled with thoughts of every shared meal, every friendly chat over the years. These were the people who had celebrated with her and Frank, who had shared in their joys and triumphs. And now, it felt as if they were standing on the sidelines, waiting for her to stumble, waiting for the ranch to fail.
Taking a moment to steady herself, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Her failures might be glaring for everyone to see, but she would not be bowed low, not in the house of the Lord. As the service began, she settled into her seat, the familiar hymns wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. The congregation sang, their voices rising together in harmony, and she felt a sense of connection wash over her.
When it was time for the sermon, the pastor read from the book of Ruth. He spoke about hope and renewal, about resilience in the face of loss. Each word resonated with her, weaving through the fabric of her doubts and fears. Linda felt a flicker of warmth in her chest, a tiny ember of hope that refused to be extinguished. She glanced around the congregation, seeing those same familiar faces softened by the pastor’s words. For a moment, the weight of their judgment seemed to lift, replaced by a shared sense of understanding and compassion. Perhaps, she thought, there was still a chance for redemption, for mending the broken ties that bound her to this place.
“Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people, and your God my God.” The words that Ruth had said to Naomi touched her in a way they had never done before.
Was it because of the hardship she had faced, the poverty she had endured that led her to a God-given blessing? Was Linda hoping for something similar? She shook her head at the thought. She had found her happiness with Frank. Surely, there was nothing else but hardship now in store for her.
As the service concluded and people began to gather in small groups, Linda felt a disconnection within her, as if these people she had known all her life were strangers. She smiled as she shared her biscuits, accepting kind words and embraces from those around her.
“How have you been since Frank went to be with the Lord?” her former schoolteacher, Mrs. Carpenter, asked with the same compassionate look Linda knew so well. She laid her hand on Linda’s shoulder, her touch bringing the same warmth she remembered from when she was a little girl.
Linda’s smile was a little strained, but it was still there. “I’m taking it one day at a time, ma’am.” The habit of a lifetime was hard to break.
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