Be Still My Soul: The Cadence of Grace, Book 1

BOOK: Be Still My Soul: The Cadence of Grace, Book 1
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Praise for
Be Still My Soul

“The rugged charm of Appalachia is the perfect backdrop to mirror the hardship and beauty of Joanne Bischof’s tender, heart-tugging debut. The author’s lyrical voice drew me in; the rich detail and authentic emotion kept me turning the pages. Lovers of historical fiction and topsy-turvy romance will find much to rejoice about in this lovely story.
Be Still My Soul
is a delight from start to finish!”

—C
ARLA
S
TEWART
, award-winning author of
Chasing Lilacs
and
Stardust


Be Still My Soul
is a rare gem: a powerful and compelling story for every woman who’s known love’s real ups and downs. Author Joanne Bischof draws a poignant picture of a forced marriage and its challenges and heartache, followed by the healing and joy of transformative love. A refreshingly honest new voice makes a memorable debut!”

—R
OSSLYN
E
LLIOTT
, award-winning author of
Fairer than Morning
and
Sweeter than Birdsong


Be Still My Soul
is a wonderful debut from newcomer Joanne Bischof. If you grew up loving Janette Oke, you’ll want to read this tender tale of grace, forgiveness, and redemption.”

—S
USAN
M
EISSNER
, author of
A Sound Among the Trees

“Beautifully set in the Appalachian Mountains, Joanne Bischof’s debut novel is one of those rare finds that will keep you up burning the midnight oil. I literally couldn’t put it down! Her characters are engaging from the moment they walk onto the stage of your heart and so real you’ll remember them long after you turn the last page. As an author of two historical novels set in the Appalachian Mountains, I was enchanted by the setting and Joanne’s deft descriptions. I can’t wait to read book two of the series.”

—D
IANE
N
OBLE
, best-selling author


Be Still My Soul
gives readers a refreshing dip into nineteenth-century American Appalachian life, with a story that bubbles into the heart like a clear mountain spring. Ms. Bischof’s uplifting tale hits the palate as sweetly as the pancakes and honey her characters enjoy for breakfast. You’ll leave the book feeling you’ve made new friends you won’t want to forget.”

—L
INORE
R
OSE
B
URKARD
, author of
Before the Season Ends
and
The Country House Courtship

“A moving debut! More than just a love story,
Be Still My Soul
takes compelling characters on a journey of redemption in the dangerous beauty of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Joanne Bischof’s masterful and compassionate insight into human nature won me over. I can’t wait for the second book in the Cadence of Grace series!”

—S
ARAH
S
UNDIN
, award-winning author of the Wings of Glory series

“Joanne Bischof offers a heartrending tale set in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains, where two young souls must put away their past and accept life together as man and wife. The story is sometimes gut-wrenching, as the young couple must endure difficult trials that lead them to seek and find answers in the everlasting arms of Jesus.
Be Still My Soul
will stir your soul and will leave you thinking about the characters long after you’ve turned the last page.”

—D
EBORAH
V
OGTS
, author of
Snow Melts in Spring
and
Seeds of Summer

B
E
S
TILL
M
Y
S
OUL
P
UBLISHED BY
M
ULTNOMAH
B
OOKS
12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200
Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921

All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version and the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Joanne Bischof

Cover design by Kristopher K. Orr; cover photograph by Mike Heath, Magnus Creative

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House Inc., New York.

M
ULTNOMAH
and its mountain colophon are registered trademarks of Random House Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bischof, Joanne.
    Be still my soul : a novel / Joanne Bischof. — 1st ed.
        p. cm.
    eISBN: 978-1-60142-422-8
  1. Marital conflict—Fiction. 2. Life change events—Fiction. 3. Blue Ridge Mountains— Fiction. I. Title.
    PS3602.I75B47 2012
    813’.6—dc23

2012014168

v3.1_r1

To my parents, Mike and Janette Soffes
.

Contents
 

Weeping may endure for a night,

but joy cometh in the morning.

P
SALM
30:5

One

T
he night air brushed her arms, and Lonnie prayed autumn’s cool breath could whisper her off—carry her into another life.
Lord, help me
. She looked up at her pa and forced a tight smile. With his broad back to the moonlit sky, his scruffy face was hidden beneath the shadow of a floppy hat. Chestnut hair swirled against her cheeks, and she blinked, willing the breeze to calm her nerves.

Joel Sawyer arched a bushy eyebrow. “Don’t see what’s gotten ya so shaken up all a sudden.”

She lifted her chin. “I ain’t shaken.” Her eyes dared him to say otherwise. “I just don’t see why …” She bit her tongue at the tremble in her voice. Her thumb traced the fresh bruises on her wrist, each small dent the same size as her pa’s fingers.

“Because your ma’s got a headache.” Her pa’s growl was for her ears alone. His eyes bored into hers, even through the lie. “Can’t go lettin’ Samson down.” Sour breath hit her face. “Now get on up there and sing for these people.”

Lonnie swallowed and eyed the crowd that had gathered for an evening of dancing. With the first autumn leaves blanketing the forest floor, it was sure to be the last of the summer. She’d never sung for a
crowd before and, at seventeen, felt foolish when her heart pounded in her ears and her skin tingled with fear. If only Samson hadn’t asked that her ma sing this night.

Her pa had made it clear. No wife of his was gonna
snuggle up
that close to Samson Brown. Over his dead body, or so he’d said. Lonnie watched her pa descend the steps, shoulders hunched.

“Sorry about your mama’s headache,” Samson whispered. He smiled and his eyes crinkled.

Lonnie nodded, certain he knew the truth, yet fighting the urge to make a liar out of the man who’d just deposited her at the stage as if she were no more than a pawn.

Lonnie glanced to the sky, and even as night’s chill crept past her faded gingham dress, she prayed for a peace from the One who could help her through this. Her ma was the songbird. Not her. Folks were always going on about how Maggie Sawyer had the prettiest voice on any Sunday morning.

A gray-spotted dog tipped his ears when Lonnie stepped over him onto the makeshift stage. Her bare feet skirted around a pair of lanterns at the stage edge. Samson Brown, eyes twinkling, raised a banjo onto his lap. Lonnie took her place beside the trio’s mandolin player, Gideon O’Riley, and when their shoulders touched, she stepped sideways, nearly tripping as she did.

Gideon glanced at her, his expression unreadable until amusement flitted through his green eyes. Lonnie chided herself for blushing so easily. The fiddler tilted his instrument to his chin. The creases in his blacksmith hands were stained dark as coal. He nodded and waited, bow poised. Reluctantly, Lonnie returned the nod.

The hollow sound of his tapping boot echoed through the cracks of the porch. The bow slid across the strings slower than a cat stretching
after a good, long nap. Gideon struck the strings of his mandolin, and Samson’s banjo twanged, rambling as free as a holler. Lonnie watched in awe, bewildered by their confidence.

She clung to the shadows from the eaves overhead, but when her pa motioned for her to step into the moonlight, she scooted forward. Her bare toes reached the edge of the porch, and she glanced away from her pa’s smug stare. When the fiddle’s strings thickened in harmonies, Lonnie sang out the words. Her heart quickened, stunned by the sound of her own voice belting out a song she’d learned at her ma’s knee. She stared into the blur of faces as feet stomped and calico skirts swirled, revealing dozens of homemade petticoats and faded stockings. She forced her foot to tap in rhythm as men spun their girls around. Those without girls jigged up enough dust to make a body need a good bath.

BOOK: Be Still My Soul: The Cadence of Grace, Book 1
10.05Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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