Livvie's Song
Forever on my favorites list, Sharlene MacLaren is one of those rare authors who write “real” historical romance that quickens the pulse and nourishes the soul! Her books are page-turners that keep you up long into the night, and Livvie’s Song is no exception—sleep deprivation at its very best! You won’t want to miss this first book in MacLaren’s newest series.
—Julie Lessman
Author, the Daughters of Boston series
In Livvie’s Song, Sharlene MacLaren once again weaves words in her own special way, drawing her readers into life in 1926 Wabash, Indiana. From the first page, you’ll walk off the street and straight into Livvie’s Kitchen, where you’ll feel right at home with the regulars. Sharlene brings Livvie, Will, and all the rest of her well-depicted characters to life in a way that pulls you into the story and holds you captive.
—Janet Lee Barton
Author of 16 novels, including her latest, I’d Sooner Have Love
A historically accurate setting, relatable characters, and a storyline guaranteed to grab your heart can be found in every Sharlene MacLaren novel. For an enjoyable read, treat yourself to one of her stories today.
—Kim Vogel Sawyer
Best-selling author, My Heart Remembers
Romantically inspiring and uplifting, Livvie’s Song gave me a new sense of nostalgia for Wabash, the town I call home. Heartwarming to my soul, this book was a true joy to read!
—Heather L. Allen
Archivist, Wabash County Historical Museum, Wabash, Indiana
Charming, fresh, and entertaining, Livvie’s Song will not disappoint. Sharlene MacLaren has penned another winner with a new set of compelling characters in book one of the River of Hope series!
—Miralee Ferrell
Author, Love Finds You in Tombstone, Arizona, and Finding Jeena
Publisher’s Note:
This novel is a work of fiction. References to real events, organizations, or places are used in a fictional context. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Holy Bible.
Livvie’s Song
River of Hope ~ Book One
Sharlene MacLaren
www.sharlenemaclaren.com
ISBN: 978-1-60374-212-2
Printed in the United States of America
© 2011 by Sharlene MacLaren
Whitaker House
1030 Hunt Valley Circle
New Kensington, PA 15068
www.whitakerhouse.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
MacLaren, Sharlene, 1948–
Livvie’s song / by Sharlene MacLaren.
p. cm. — (River of hope ; bk. 1)
Summary: “In Wabash, Indiana, circa 1926, widowed restaurateur Livvie Beckman and Christian ex-convict Will Taylor discover a recipe for romance when God works in their hearts”—Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-1-60374-212-2 (trade pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Widows—Fiction. 2. Restaurateurs—Fiction. 3. Ex-convicts—Fiction. 4. Wabash (Ind.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3613.A27356L58 2011
813'.6—dc22
2011013298
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical—including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system—without permission in writing from the publisher. Please direct your inquiries to [email protected].
To the fabulous “Baker Beauties,” composed of
Charity, my beloved sister-in-law,
and her three gorgeous daughters,
Jamie, Jill, and Wendy;
my marvelous “adopted” niece, Shelly;
and, of course, my lovely daughters,
Kendra and Krista.
Y’all are so much fun to “play” with.
I love you more than you know!
Tender Vow
Long Journey Home
Through Every Storm
The Little Hickman Creek Series:
Loving Liza Jane
Sarah, My Beloved
Courting Emma
The Daughters of Jacob Kane Series:
Hannah Grace
Maggie Rose
Abbie Ann
I first rode through the picturesque town of Wabash, Indiana, while on a road trip with my husband. Its tree-lined streets, attractive old homes, and charming, well-preserved historic buildings caught my attention and compelled me to ask my hubby to slow down so I could take it all in. It was the river running through town, though, that truly cinched it. No question, I had to write a series about 1920s Wabash and include colorful, exciting, God-fearing, upstanding characters (and some not-so-upstanding characters). Story ideas started flowing almost immediately, and not long after that initial ride through Wabash, I drew up three somewhat sketchy outlines for the books that would comprise my River of Hope series.
Writing any type of fictional series, particularly one of a historical nature, always requires research, so, sometime later, my husband and I set off on another road trip, this time with Wabash, Indiana, as our destination. There, I met some very lovely, cordial, and generous people who were more than willing to answer my myriad questions and provide useful information regarding Wabash history. While this series is entirely fictional, many of the streets, locations, businesses, stores, and other sites are real. Therefore, I would like to thank the following people for their helpful insights and resources:
Ware Wimberly III, director, Wabash Carnegie Public Library;
Ruth Lord, technical services manager, Wabash Carnegie Public Library;
Tracy Stewart, executive director, Wabash County Historical Museum;
Heather Allen, archivist, Wabash County Historical Museum;
Pete Jones, columnist for the Wabash Daily Plain Dealer and Wabash historian;
Bill and Tracy Wimberly and Susie Jones, for their historical input;
Tom Kelch of the Reading Room Bookstore; and
Mary Beth Dolmanet, for her tireless assistance in putting me in contact with all the right people.
A great big thank-you to all of you!
May 1926
Wabash, Indiana
“Praise ye the Lord. Sing unto the Lord a new song.”—Psalm 149:1
Smoke rings rose and circled the heads of Charley Arnold and Roy Scott as they sat in Livvie’s Kitchen and partook of steaming coffee, savory roast beef and gravy, and conversation, guffawing every so often at each other’s blather. Neither seemed to care much who heard them, since the whole place buzzed with boisterous midday talk. Folks came to her restaurant to fill their stomachs, Livvie Beckman knew, but, for many, getting an earful of gossip was just as satisfying.
Behind the counter in the kitchen, utensils banged against metal, and pots and pans sizzled and boiled with smoke and steam. “Order’s up!” hollered the cook, Joe Stewart. On cue, Livvie carried the two hamburger platters to Pete and Susie Jones’s table and set them down with a hasty smile. Her knee-length, floral cotton skirt flared as she turned. Mopping her brow and blowing several strawberry blonde strands of damp hair off her face, she hustled to the counter. “You boys put out those disgusting nicotine sticks,” she scolded Charley and Roy on the run. “How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t allow smoking in this establishment? We don’t even have ashtrays.”
“Aw, Livvie, how you expect us t’ enjoy a proper cup o’ coffee without a cigarette?” Charley whined to her back. “’Sides, our saucers work fine for ashtrays.”
“Saucers are not ashtrays,” stated old Evelyn Garner from the booth behind the two men. She craned her long, skinny neck and trained her owl eyes on them, her lips pinched together in a tight frown. Her husband, Ira Garner, had nothing to say, of course. He rarely did, preferring to let his wife do the talking. Instead, he slurped wordlessly on his tomato soup.
Livvie snatched up the next order slip from the counter and gave it a glance. Then, she lifted two more plates, one of macaroni and cheese, the other of a chicken drumstick and mashed potatoes, and whirled back around, eyeing both men sternly. “I expect you to follow my rules, boys”—she marched past them—“or go next door to Isaac’s, where the smoke’s as thick as cow dung.”
Her saucy remark gave rise to riotous hoots. “You tell ’em, Liv,” someone said—Harv Brewster, perhaps? With the racket of babies crying, patrons chattering, the cash register clinking as Cora Mae Livingston tallied somebody’s order, the screen door flapping open and shut, and car horns honking outside, Livvie couldn’t discern who said what. Oh, how she wished she had the funds to hire a few more waitresses. Some days, business didn’t call for it, but, today, it screamed, “Help!”
“You best listen, fellas. When Livvie Beckman speaks, she means every word,” said another. She turned at the husky male voice but couldn’t identify its source.
“Lady, you oughtta go to preachin’ school,” said yet another unknown speaker.
“She’s somethin’, ain’t she?” There was no mistaking Coot Hermanson’s croaky pipes. Her most loyal customer, also the oldest by far, gave her one of his famous, toothy grins over his coffee cup, which he held with trembling hands. No one really knew Coot’s age, and most people suspected he didn’t know it, himself, but Livvie thought he looked to be a hundred; ninety-nine, at the very least. But that didn’t keep him from showing up at her diner on Market Street every day, huffing from the two-block walk, his faithful black mongrel, Reggie, parked on his haunches under the red and white awning out front, waiting for his usual handout of leftover bacon or the heels of a fresh-baked loaf of bread.
She stooped to tap him with her elbow. “I’ll be right back to fill that coffee cup, Coot,” she whispered into his good ear.
He lifted an ancient white eyebrow and winked. “You take your time, missy,” he wheezed back before she straightened and hurried along.
Of all her regulars, Coot probably knew her best—knew about the tough façade she put on, day in and day out; recognized the rawness of her heart, the ache she still carried from the loss of her beloved Frank. More than a year had come and gone since her husband’s passing, but it still hurt to the heavens to think about him. More painful still were her desperate attempts to keep his memory alive for her sons, Alex and Nathan. She’d often rehash how she’d met their father at a church picnic when the two were only teenagers; how he’d enjoyed fishing, hunting, and building things with his bare hands; and how, as he’d gotten older, his love of the culinary arts had planted within him a seed of desire to one day open his own restaurant. She’d tell them how they’d worked so hard to scrimp and save, even while raising a family, and how thrilled Frank had been when that dream had finally come to fruition.
What she didn’t tell her boys was how much she struggled to keep her passion for the restaurant alive in their daddy’s absence. Oh, she had Joe, of course, but he’d dropped the news last week that he’d picked up a new kitchen job in a Chicago diner—some well-known establishment, he’d said—and he could hardly have turned it down, especially with his daughter and grandchildren begging him to move closer to them. Wabash had been home to Joe Stewart since childhood, but his wife had died some five years ago, and he had little to keep him here. It made sense, Livvie supposed, but it didn’t make her life any easier having to find a replacement.
