Twice a Bride (41 page)

In keeping with my commitment as a storyteller of historical fiction, I’m required to play with facts and actual locations to best meet the needs of my stories.

Harper’s Bazar
, the magazine I feature in the series, offers a spelling twist. If you’re like me, you wanted to add another
a
after the
z
, but until the November 1929 issue, the magazine was spelled with only two
a’
s.

The Glockner Sanitorium, which was one of many tuberculosis or consumption treatment centers in Colorado during the 1800s, is where Willow’s father spent the last year and a half of his life. You might be tempted to fix the spelling of
Sanitorium
to the more common and modern spelling—
Sanitarium
—but my research shows the historical spelling featured more
o’
s than
a’
s.

While the Butte Opera House was most likely still called the Butte Concert and Beer Hall at the time this story takes place, I opted to adopt its current
title. Also, the manager I characterized was a fabrication to move Susanna along in her Cripple Creek experience.

I’ve enjoyed our time together in this four-book series. Excitement mingled with sadness as I neared the end of this last story. But I have big news! WaterBrook Press and I are partnering for a second set of stories, beginning with three novellas that form a prequel. More big news—at least two of our beloved Cripple Creek characters will join us in the new series. I can’t wait!

My prayer is that in whatever state you find yourself as you read, my stories will lead you to the Rock that is higher than you and I. Higher than any heartbreak or success. Higher than any circumstance.

Please plan now to join me in my next series. Until then, may you experience freedom in God’s grace, walk in His joy, and bask in His peace.

Your Friend
,

Mona

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

O
n some levels, writing is a solitary undertaking. But it is also a process requiring a team of supporters. Many people rallied around me in the various stages of this book and The Sinclair Sisters of Cripple Creek series.

• My hubby, Bob—my first reader, technical support, home manager.…

• My agent, Janet Kobobel Grant of Books & Such Literary Agency.

• My critique partner and writing bud, DiAnn.

• My editors, Shannon Hill Marchese and Jessica Barnes.

• The entire WaterBrook Multnomah—Random House team.

• My brainstorming and writing-retreat buds, Lauraine and Eileen.

• My sisters, Cindy, Tammy, and Linda.

• My prayer partners. Thank you, Mom, and all.

A big thank-you to all of these listed, and to all who aren’t, who made it possible for me to accomplish my dream of writing novels for you.

Now unto the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the

only wise God,

be honour and glory for ever and ever. Amen.

—1 Timothy 1:17

A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR

M
ona Hodgson is the author of The Sinclair Sisters of Cripple Creek series and nearly thirty children’s books. Her writing credits also include hundreds of articles, poems, and short stories in more than fifty different periodicals, including
Focus on the Family, Decision, Clubhouse Jr., Highlights for Children, The Upper Room, The Quiet Hour
, and the
Christian Communicator
. Mona speaks at women’s retreats, schools, and conferences for librarians, educators, and writers, and is a regular columnist on the
Bustles and Spurs Blog
.

Mona and Bob, her husband of forty years, have two adult daughters, two sons-in-law, and a gaggle of grandchildren.

Learn more about Mona, find readers’ guides for your book club, and view her photo album of current-day Cripple Creek, at Mona’s website:
www.monahodgson.com
. You can also find Mona at
www.twitter.com/monahodgson
and on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/Author.Mona
.

O
THER
B
OOKS BY
M
ONA
H
ODGSON

H
ISTORICAL
F
ICTION
Two Brides Too Many
Too Rich for a Bride
The Bride Wore Blue

C
HILDREN’S
B
OOKS
Real Girls of the Bible: A 31-Day Devotional
(Zonderkidz)
The Princess Twins and the Kitty
(Zonderkidz I Can Read)
The Princess Twins Play in the Garden
(Zonderkidz I Can Read)
The Princess Twins and the Tea Party
(Zonderkidz I Can Read)
The Princess Twins and the Birthday Party
(Zonderkidz I Can Read)
The Best Breakfast
(Zonderkidz I Can Read)
Thank You, God, for Rain
(Zonderkidz I Can Read)
Bedtime in the Southwest
(Northland Publishing)

For a complete and current listing of Mona’s books, including any out-of-print titles she may still have available, please visit her website at
www.monahodgson.com
.

C
OMING
F
EBRUARY 2013

A
N
O
RIGINAL
E-B
OOK
N
OVELLA

D
ANDELIONS
ON THE
W
IND

O
NE

Saint Charles, Missouri, 1865

S
hoo. Shoo.” Maren Jensen spoke the words as much to her own thoughts as she did to the chickens pecking at her bootlaces. She reached into her apron and tossed handfuls of potato peels and corn in a wide arc. The cackling chickens scattered to be first to the bounty. This was not the home she had pictured while traveling on the boat from Denmark nearly two years ago. But then she still had more of her sight. At least for now, the widow and her granddaughter and the quilting circle were her family.

Inside the stifling hot coop, Maren dodged the roost and reached into the first of the five nests along the back wall. With all of the eggs gathered, she felt for the pole and ducked under it, taking the most direct route out of the smelly henhouse. She pressed her bonnet against her ear to stop the onslaught of hot August air and stepped into the chicken yard, through the gate and into the ruts leading to the barn. The parching wind stung her eyes and whipped her apron.

She folded one of the double-hinged barn doors and clamped it open, then stepped inside, squinting against the near darkness. The strong, sweet smell of damp hay filled her nostrils. The cow scent was strong and not so
sweet. Both reminded her of the farm her family had lost in Copenhagen. And the farm Orvie Christensen had promised her in his letters.

After Maren hung the basket of eggs by the door, she climbed the wooden steps to the hayloft. Cows bawled and horses whinnied below while she tugged hay from a stack and tossed it over the edge and into the swinging mangers at the stalls. She repeated the task on the other side, flinging hay into Duden and Boone’s stall. She dropped a couple forkfuls of hay onto the center of the barn floor before climbing down to attend the cows. Her stomach growling, she realized too many hours had passed since her bowl of oatmeal porridge. Hours filled with domestic work, music, and a spirited four-year-old.

Maren stopped at the top of the ladder and brushed her hands together to dislodge any remaining hay stems from her woolen gloves. She would feed the hogs and mules, milk the cows, and then go inside for her dinner. She had planted her boots on the first two rungs of the ladder when a raspy baritone voice split the still air.

“Good day, ma’am.”

Maren jerked and her boot slipped, causing her chin to strike a step. Wincing, she released her grip and fell backward. Fear caught a scream in her throat. The hay she had thrown down broke her fall, but still she landed flat on her back. She fought to recover her breath and gather her wits. A staccato heartbeat pounded in her ears. The deep voice did not belong to George Williams who ran the farm for Mrs. Brantenberg, or to anyone in the Williams family.

Blinking, she willed her eyes to focus in her limited circle of vision. Brown curls swerved every which way on the head of a man she did not recognize. Scrambling to right herself, she edged toward the wall near the cow stall.

“Ma’am.” An American accent. Not one of Mrs. Brantenberg’s German neighbors. “Are you well?”

“Yes.” She felt along the wall for a makeshift weapon. When she found the shovel, she lifted it off its nail and held it up.

“I mean you no harm.”

Holding the shovel steady, Maren widened her shoulders and raised her smarting chin.

“I apologize. I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what, sir?” This man may be harmless, but he was no less a nuisance. “You did not mean to burst into my barn and cause me to take a topple?”

“You are not Mrs. Brantenberg.” Confidence supported his statement.

Did he know Mrs. Brantenberg, or had someone in town told him to expect an older woman?

“I am Maren Jensen.” When soldiers had chosen to camp on the farm last year, Mrs. Brantenberg taught her the less said the better. She could not make out his facial features in the shadows, but she did see one arm in a sling. “And you are?” Silence ticked off the seconds.

“People call me Woolly.”

He moved closer, and while repositioning her heavy weapon, she blinked to focus her vision.

“With a name like Jensen, and that accent, I’m guessing you’re from Denmark.”

“Yes.”

He removed his cap. “I do apologize for the disturbance, ma’am, or is it miss?”

Of course, it was Miss. No one would have her. Not as she was.

“
Ja
, Miss Jensen.” Her employer had never mentioned anyone named Woolly. He had to be a drifter looking for work. And with work to finish she had no time to waste. “You’ll find Mrs. Brantenberg at the house.”

“Thank you, Miss Jensen.” His voice held a pleasant tone, although it
sounded a bit gravelly, like he’d been out in the weather for a long spell. She should be nicer to the gentleman, but she couldn’t afford to be. Chores were obligatory and niceties with strangers were not.

He turned to leave the barn and quickly faded into darkness. Maren lowered the shovel and listened as the door closed behind him. If she ever did have a home of her own, it wouldn’t sit beside a well-traveled road. Especially not during or immediately following a war.

Two sisters.
Two missing misters.

Kat and Nell Sinclair are headed west—away from the manicured lawns of Maine to the boisterous, booming mining town of Cripple Creek, Colorado to start new lives for themselves as mail-order brides. But when they arrive, neither fiancé is there, leaving both sisters questioning their dreams and the hope for true love.

Read an excerpt from this book and more on
WaterBrookMultnomah.com
!