A Love Restored Read online




  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Scripture

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  Thank you

  You Can Help!

  God Can Help!

  Free Book Offer

  A Love Restored

  Kelly J. Goshorn

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  A Love Restored

  COPYRIGHT 2017 by Kelly J. Goshorn

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated are taken from the King James translation, public domain.

  Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

  Prism is a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410

  The Triangle Prism logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  Publishing History

  Prism Edition, 2018

  Paperback Edition ISBN 978-1-5223-9760-1

  Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-5223-9759-5

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To the two most important men in my life: My Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, who wrote this story on my life, and to my husband, Mike, who lived it with me.

  And for every woman who has questioned her self-worth because of unkind words or the reflection she sees in the mirror. Know that you are treasured by a loving God who sees your immeasurable value.

  Acknowledgements

  Sharing my courtship in written word has been a rewarding and oftentimes challenging endeavor. There were so many times I wanted to close the laptop and quit. I’m so thankful for all those who have inspired and encouraged me to keep pursuing the dream God had put in my heart.

  First and foremost, my amazing God who surprised me with His answer to my prayer for a new passion in my life—writing a book! He has used this journey to grow my faith not only in myself, but more importantly, in Him.

  My precious family, a/k/a my biggest cheerleaders, my husband, Mike, who first suggested I share our story; my children, Madeline, Michael, and Noah; my sister, Cindy Criste Scott, and my precious mama, Martha Criste. Mama, I’m so glad you had a chance to read A Love Restored before you went home to be with Jesus! A special shout out to my youngest son, Noah, whose dream to be a published author inspired my own. Keep writing, Noah, and trust God to handle the rest!

  Chrissy Carr, Mike Goshorn, Alissa Hall, Cindy Kling, Tracey Levy, Becky Redman, Duane Scott, Cindy Criste Scott, Steph Sloan, and Lynn Whittington for accepting the challenge of reading and critiquing A Love Restored when I thought it was ready for public consumption! I’m so grateful for every suggestion and insight.

  Colleen Hoernke for reading and re-reading A Love Restored so many times I’m positive you know the story as well as I do. Where would I be without your amazing proofreading abilities and descriptive insights? There are no words to express my gratitude except, I love you, Bestie!

  For the amazing critique partners I found through American Christian Fiction Writers: Angela Couch, Jessica Konek Johnson, and Sarah Monzon, as well as the ladies of Scribes 204; Crystal Barnes, Linda Cushman, Tammy Kirby, and Jodie Wolfe. Thank you for making my story shine. I am forever grateful!

  The talented and hard-working staff at Pelican Book Group including my incredibly patient editor and sweet friend, Paula Mowery. Thank you for believing in me and in A Love Restored, and most importantly, for following your “God nudges.” Many thanks to Nicola Martinez for the beautiful cover design and to all those who have worked behind the scenes to bring A Love Restored to publication.

  And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten. ~ Joel 2:25a

  1

  Loudoun County, Virginia

  August 1873

  Land sakes it was hot.

  Ruth Ann Sutton peeled the black stockings from her legs and stuffed them inside her boots. If only she could do the same with her insufferable corset. She wiped her brow. Perspiration moistened her hairline, tightening the loose strands on her neck into corkscrews. Buddy’s tongue hung from the corner of his mouth as he meandered to the stream for a drink. She stooped beside him, running her fingers through his plush, red fur.

  “You must be hot today, too, boy.” He raised his head. Ears alert, mischief danced in his eyes, reminding her of the pup he’d once been. “You stay right there. You’ll splash around and get me all wet.”

  Rarely did a week go by from March to November when she didn’t visit this spot. She’d loved it from the first time Papa brought her fishing in the little nook sheltered among the dogwoods. If she remained absolutely still, she could hear Papa laughing as he cast his fishing line into the creek.

  The peaceful melody of the stream as it coursed around the bend beckoned her. What would Mama say? She glanced over her shoulder. Why not? No one was around. Gathering her skirts, she eased into the creek, mindful to avoid the mossy rocks that rested in the shade of the poplars. Cool water assailed her shins as she waded to the middle. Despite the gooseflesh forming on her skin, the knee-deep water offered respite from the sultry temperature and her sour mood.

  Her thoughts drifted to the conversation she’d had with her mother. She’d promised to write James about her new teaching position at the Freedmen’s School more than a month ago. How would she convince her beau to let her continue? No one else wanted to teach these children. They needed her, and in a way, she needed them. Wouldn’t she be a better wife and mother if allowed to pursue her passion before surrendering it at the altar?

  Tilting sideways, she skimmed her fingers against the current, spooking the dragonflies hovering above the water’s surface. She didn’t want to marry James. Truth-be-told, she didn’t want to marry anyone—yet. No one hired a married woman to teach. At twenty years of age, she had plenty of time for marriage and children.

  Or did she?

  Suitors weren’t exactly lining up at her door. While she had no trouble getting along with the opposite sex, as her bevy of male acquaintances attested, none pursued an attraction to her. If she delayed, she might lose her bloom, as mama suggested, and have more than her buxom figure prohibiting her from matrimony. Even if she could coax James into postponing an engagement, he would never allow her to teach Negroes.

  What could she say to persuade him?

  Did she even want to?

  Tipping her head back, she released her cares to the only one who had her best interest at heart. “Oh Heavenly Father, guide my footsteps. May your perfect will be done in my life.”

&n
bsp; Sighing, she waded toward the creek bank. Mud squished between her toes. She dreaded the return home so soon. She scanned the meadow before glancing to her canine friend.

  “Maybe just a bit longer. Huh, boy?”

  She withdrew a bulging handkerchief from her skirt pocket and deposited it atop a large rock overhanging the creek. With a hearty thrust, she hoisted herself up beside her prize. Anticipating the treasure within, she untwisted the purple stained cloth. Hard to believe she’d found a whole cluster of black raspberries the birds had overlooked. She popped one in her mouth, savoring its mildly tart flavor. Leaning back on her palms, she dangled her legs over the edge, relishing her extended reprieve as her feet sashayed in the cool water beneath her. Singing might lift her spirits.

  Besides, she really didn’t need to fret about James. God would direct her path. He’d never disappointed her yet.

  ~*~

  Benjamin Coulter cringed as the shrill tune hung in the air. That woman sure knew how to ruin a Sunday afternoon. Sounded like something was dying and needed to be put out of its misery.

  He shook his head. All he wanted to do was rest a while longer. His decision to go around his headstrong superior and talk to Mr. Farrell directly about his boss’s inaccurate measurements had made for a nerve wracking week. That decision could have cost him his job. Thankfully, his discovery had been received well, saving the struggling railroad both time and money.

  Benjamin leaned against the sycamore tree and tossed his line into the creek. A slight hint of remorse nicked his conscience. He now sat poised to guide the construction of the Washington & Ohio Railroad through the town of Catoctin Creek and over the Blue Ridge Mountains to Winchester, but he hadn’t intended to get his boss fired. If only the man hadn’t refused to admit he’d made a mistake.

  Yep, it was all coming together. Just the way he’d hoped it would when he agreed to leave Texas and take this apprenticeship in Virginia. All he had to do was pass that examination next spring and…

  He shuddered. The woman’s screeching escalated to a bone-grating pitch. She’d frighten the fish away for sure. Like most folks, Sunday was his day off, and he didn’t intend to spend it listening to her sing off-key.

  Wedging his pole in the mud of the creek bank, he set off to investigate. Her ear-piercing slaughter of The Merry, Merry Month of May led the way. He spied his first glimpse of the lyrical assassin through the thin limbs of a dogwood tree. Perched on a large, flat rock at the edge of the creek, she swirled her bare feet in the water. Behind the rock sat a pair of woman’s boots—fancy ones. Too bad she hadn’t spent some of her shoe allowance on singing lessons.

  Her voice cracked. “The skies were bright, our hearts were light, in the merry, merry month of May…”

  Benjamin winced. That was the fourth time in a row she’d sung that part. For the love of Pete, didn’t Miss Fancy Boots even know the words? He needed to put a stop to this so he could continue fishing—and napping. He stepped forward then stopped. The woman reached up and removed a pin from her hair, then another. Mounds of long chestnut brown ringlets spilled over her shoulders into the middle of her back.

  Curls. He groaned. Why’d she have to have curls?

  “The skies were bright. Our eyes were light...”

  Never mind. Curls or not, the woman’s voice could haunt the dead. Twigs snapped under his foot.

  A stubby-legged dog spun in his direction, barking relentlessly. The woman pulled her feet from the creek and hopped off the rock. “Who’s there?”

  He held his breath.

  She hummed her tune again, cautiously this time as her eyes searched the woods. She stepped around the dog and picked up a thick stick.

  He chuckled. Did she think she could fend him off with that?

  “It was probably just a rabbit, huh, boy?” She stroked the little fur ball behind his ears. Still clutching the improvised deterrent, she retreated to her perch. The dog wasn’t fooled. He stood, ears pricked and eyes fixed in Benjamin’s direction.

  Benjamin shook his head as she sang the same line of the song—again. He hadn’t meant to alarm her. He could fish another day.

  The fragrant woodbine tickled his senses. He pinched his nose. No use. “Ah-choo.”

  The dog charged.

  “I know someone’s in the brush.” She tightened her grip on the stick. “I heard you sneeze. Come out.”

  The feisty dog chased Benjamin into the clearing. His graying muzzle and deep bark contradicted the little scrapper’s size and enthusiasm.

  Miss Fancy Boots stood on the rock, holding the stick high above her right shoulder.

  Benjamin held up his hands as he moved toward her. “I intended to leave before your mutt ferreted me out. My apologies. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  Raising her chin, she edged backward. “I’m not scared.”

  The tailless critter nipped at Benjamin’s heels then zigzagged around him. “Call off your...dog, Miss. If you can call that runt of a critter a dog.”

  Fear shifted to indignation as her dark eyes narrowed. “He’s a corgi—a herding dog, from the finest breeding stock England has to offer.”

  “What’s he herd? Rabbits?”

  Resembling a batter for the Cincinnati Red Stockings, she readjusted the position of the stick. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to stop your caterwauling so I can enjoy my Sunday afternoon.”

  She lowered her makeshift weapon and rested her hands on her hips. “My caterwauling? First, you insult my dog, now my singing. I suppose you could do better?”

  “Decidedly better.” His attention shifted to the stocky animal nipping at the leg of his dungarees. “Your dog, Miss.”

  “Buddy, come.” The dog ambled to the base of the rock where she stood. She angled her head, brows furrowing. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here? Are you from up north?”

  “Born and raised in Pennsylvania.”

  “Do you work for the railroad?”

  “More or less. Is that a problem?”

  She stiffened. “Not if you keep your distance.”

  “C’mon down from there before you slip.” Benjamin moved toward the rock but halted when she raised the stick again.

  “Don’t come any closer.”

  Maybe he should leave since she still had concerns about him. He scratched his scraggly beard. His raggedy appearance no doubt added to her apprehension. He diverted his attention to her dainty shoes. She had no reason to worry. While her curls were definitely attractive, he had no designs on a woman like her. Marcy had cured him of an eye for women with a taste for the finer things in life.

  Still, he couldn’t just leave and risk her falling in the creek.

  Stepping forward again, Benjamin held his hands high where she could see them. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The woman crept backward. “Keep your distance.”

  “I’d be careful if I were you, Miss. You’re awfully close to the edge.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She inched back. “You just stay put.”

  The lady was feisty and tenacious—qualities he might like if she weren’t threatening to pummel him. Too bad she couldn’t carry a tune with a handle on it. “Let me help you down before you slip.” He reached up to take her hand. “Then I’ll be on my way.”

  “I told you to keep your distance.”

  The stick swished through the air. Benjamin ducked, the limb narrowly missing his head.

  Splash.

  He straightened and peered over the side of the rock. She sat bent-legged in shallow water—skirts knee-high, water dripping from her nose. The waterlogged woman glanced at him through damp lashes. What a sight. Benjamin clamped his lips together in a futile effort to contain his mirth. He knew enough about females to know Miss Fancy Boots would be fuming mad. Even more so if he laughed at her predicament. Despite his best effort, a hearty guffaw escaped him.

  Until her glare silenced him.

  Benjamin waded into the creek.
“May I help you?”

  “No, thank you.” She searched the creek bed for the stick. “I can manage.”

  The dog sat at the edge of the water, the nub where his tail should be wagging playfully.

  “I think he wants to join you.”

  As if Benjamin’s observation had been a personalized invitation, the critter jumped in, splashing his mistress.

  “Buddy, no!” She shielded her face in vain.

  Bringing his fist to his mouth, he feigned a cough to stifle his laughter. Poor woman. This just wasn’t her day.

  She struggled to her feet and swiped wet tresses from her eyes. Without a glance in his direction, she lifted her soggy skirts and edged around him toward the creek bank.

  “Watch your—”

  Arms flailing, she wobbled as her foot slipped on a mossy rock.

  Benjamin lunged forward and grabbed her waist, steadying the drenched woman. Mere inches apart, his gaze lowered to her rosy lips. He hadn’t noticed those before. “Allow me to assist you?”

  She sighed. “I guess I have no choice. I lost my stick when I fell.”

  With one arm wrapped around her waist, he grasped her elbow with his free hand and led her from the water.

  Once on dry ground, she twisted the fabric of her skirt. Water pooled in the dirt beneath her. “Look what you’ve done!”

  “What I’ve done?”

  “Yes, I’m a mess.” Mud-caked toes peeked out from underneath the hem of her dress.

  A beautiful mess. Dark, wet curls plastered themselves against her creamy skin. Yellow flecks in her eyes sparkled like gold in the sunlight. She may be rounder than the other women who’d sparked his interest, but she was by far the prettiest.

  “You probably could use a little putting back together.” So could he. Benjamin rubbed his hand over wiry whiskers. Why hadn’t he trimmed his beard?

  Now that she was out of the creek, wet fabric cleaved to her ample curves. He shouldn’t be staring. Averting his gaze, he cleared his throat. “Wait here, Miss. I’ll be right back.”

  He returned with his fishing pole, three speckled trout and a wool blanket. He leaned the rod against a nearby tree. “The dog won’t eat my fish, will he?”