Beauty From Ashes Read online

  THE WYLDHAVEN SERIES

  by Lynnette Bonner

  Not a Sparrow Falls - BOOK ONE

  On Eagles’ Wings - BOOK TWO

  Beauty from Ashes - BOOK THREE

  Consider the Lilies - BOOK FOUR

  Coming soon.

  OTHER BOOKS BY LYNNETTE BONNER

  THE SHEPHERD’S HEART SERIES

  Historical

  Rocky Mountain Oasis - BOOK ONE

  High Desert Haven - BOOK TWO

  Fair Valley Refuge - BOOK THREE

  Spring Meadow Sanctuary - BOOK FOUR

  SONNETS OF THE SPICE ISLE SERIES

  Historical

  On the Wings of a Whisper - EPISODE ONE

  Lay Down Your Heart - EPISODE TWO

  Made Perfect in Weakness - EPISODE THREE

  A Walk through the Waters - EPISODE FOUR

  The Trail of Chains - EPISODE FIVE

  The Joy of the Morning - EPISODE SIX

  Find all other books by Lynnette Bonner at:

  www.lynnettebonner.com

  Beauty from Ashes

  WYLDHAVEN, Book 3

  Published by Serene Lake Publishing

  Copyright © 2019 by Lynnette Bonner. All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Lynnette Bonner of Indie Cover Design, images ©

  periodstock.com, File: # DSC04578

  www.istockphoto.com, File: # 889050550

  www.depositphotos.com, File: # 9691538

  Book interior design by Jon Stewart of Stewart Design

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

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-942982-12-8

  Beauty from Ashes is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination.

  To the Weary and Broken:

  Do you feel like your life is nothing but ashes?

  There is One who longs for you to know the truth.

  Ashes are temporary.

  In fact, they are often used to fertilize ground that needs refreshing.

  From the ashes of hardship comes wisdom, prudence, and maturity.

  Out of burnt soil comes new life.

  God longs to take your ashes and give you beauty in their place.

  Do you know Him?

  If not, but you would like to know more

  please visit:

  www.peacewithgod.net

  Isaiah 61:1-3

  “The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon Me,

  Because the LORD has anointed Me

  To preach good tidings to the poor;

  He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted,

  To proclaim liberty to the captives,

  And the opening of the prison to those who are bound;

  To proclaim the acceptable year of the LORD,

  And the day of vengeance of our God;

  To comfort all who mourn,

  To console those who mourn in Zion,

  To give them beauty for ashes,

  The oil of joy for mourning,

  The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;

  That they may be called trees of righteousness,

  The planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Liora Fontaine stood in the yard of her newly constructed log cabin, hands propped on her hips, and satisfaction coursing through her. She admired the way the de-barked red cedar walls gleamed creamy-gold against the sun-kissed reds and ambers of the Cascade mountain valley. Soon the logs would gray and weather, but for today they still shone bright, just like her hopes and dreams for this place. God was going to do good things here. He was going to use her to do good things here.

  A pile of cedar chips, notched from the logs to form good tight corners, lay at her feet. She bent to pick one up and inhaled deep of the tangy, woodsy scent that embodied all her dreams. The crew who had been helping to add the finishing touches were just packing up their wagons, about ready to head to their homes. Tonight, she would spend her first night in her very own home, thanks to the generous-hearted men of Wyldhaven.

  A reminder flitted through her of the way Mrs. King’s eyes had narrowed when her husband had proclaimed his plan to help build Liora’s cabin. But she pushed away the discouragement the memory brought. She refused to let herself become disheartened at a time like this. Even if the men had in all probability only banded together to help her because of the urging of Deputy Joseph Rodante, she was going to choose to be thankful that they had.

  Her mind went back to the day this dream had all started. The winter of 1891 had been cold and blustery. Determined not to go back to working for Ewan McGinty as a bar-girl-and-more, there had been days at the beginning of that winter where she’d wondered if she would make it to the spring alive. She’d been surviving on odd jobs and scraps of food, and if she were honest, she’d been wondering if God really did care about her plight. But then, thanks to the urging of Miss Charlotte Brindle, Deputy Joseph Rodante had told her that Dixie Pottinger was looking to hire help. To this day, no one in town probably realized that job had been a literal life saver.

  That same winter, Parson Preston Clay had come to town. Back then, the town’s services had mostly been held in Dixie’s dining room. Occasionally on a sunny day, Parson Clay had held services across the street in the field where the church building now stood.

  Whether services had been outdoors or in, Liora had most often crept into the back of the gathering just as the services started, and then scooted out right as they ended, wanting so badly to be there and yet knowing most of the townspeople would frown on her presence.

  One such day, Parson Clay had spoken about the Lord being able to turn past sins into a beautiful testimony that could be used to reach others. In that moment, it had felt like a heavenly presence had wrapped her in a warm hug, and she’d suddenly known what she wanted to do with the property she’d inherited from her deceased outlaw of a father.

  It had taken her eighteen months of hard work at Dixie’s boardinghouse, and saving every penny she could during those months, but it had all paid off. And now she couldn’t wait to get started with her mission.

  She spun in a circle, taking in not only the log cabin, but the garden plot she had staked out. The area where she would soon have a chicken coop built, and the small lean-to barn—nothing more than a pole hung between two trees with a thick layer of pine boughs leaning against it—that would at first only house a few goats and maybe a sow if she could afford one.

  Yes. This was all such a dream come true. She felt her lips tilt into a smile.

  “You’re looking happy.” Deputy Joseph Rodante stopped next to her, slapping a pair of gloves against one palm. He didn’t glance her way, but focused instead on the shake roof he’d spent the day nailing down.

  “I’m so very happy. I couldn’t have done this without your help, Joe.” She would have liked to have thrown her arms around the man’s neck in a platonic show of her gratitude, but knew she didn’t dare. Once the men got home and told their wives what she’d done, there would be no end to the wagging of tongues. And she valued Joe’s friendship too much to tarnish his reputation in such a manner. She settled instead for clasping her hands behind her back.

  Joe pulled a face and looked back to where the wagons were starting toward town.

  Liora waved an arm over her head to the departing men. “Thanks again!” she called.

  Several men acknowledged her thanks with return waves.

  “Lots of townsfolk pitched in. I think you’d have done ju
st fine without my help.” One lock of his dark hair, which was trimmed short and close at the sides but a bit longer on the top, poked out at an angle, making her want to reach over and smooth it.

  Liora returned her hands to the firm clasp against her spine. “It was your work that cut most of those logs out of the back half of my property. Your urging that got the crew together. Your management that made the construction go so smoothly. Even your idea to give it an indoor pump and working powder room.” She felt her face flame at the slip.

  With his usual thoughtfulness, Joe let the impropriety pass without so much as a hitch. “Anyone in town would have done the same. I just stepped up first, is all.”

  She looked at him then, wondering if he knew how much she valued his friendship. She’d thought about telling him many times, but had never been able to come up with the right words. She didn’t want him to think she wanted more than simple friendship. “Yes. You did.”

  His gaze darted to hers for the briefest of seconds before he turned his focus back to the cabin. “Turned out real nice.”

  “It’s the most beautiful home ever built!”

  He chuckled at that and started tugging on his gloves. “I’m glad you like it. You sure you’re going to be all right out here all on your own?”

  “It’s only a few miles from town. Besides, how many times did you test the lock on that door?” Liora quirked a brow.

  He rubbed the back of his gloved hand over his chin. “Yeah, I guess I did check it out pretty thoroughly. It’s a good strong deadbolt.”

  “Indeed. And I have the pistol you gave me.” She wouldn’t admit that she had no idea how to work the thing. But if it came down to it, maybe just pointing it at someone would have the desired effect.

  He still looked uncertain.

  “And I’ll be at Dixie’s for work first thing in the morning, just like always.”

  “I can come out and give you a ride into town, mornings.”

  She took in the way his feet shuffled, knowing how much that offer had cost him. “It won’t take me more than three quarters of an hour to walk in, and the weather’s been beautiful. Now that I have the cabin built, I plan to start saving up for a horse and buggy so I won’t have to walk that far for long.”

  He tipped a nod of acquiescence, without argument.

  Was it a relief to him that she’d declined? Probably. The man had been politeness itself since the first time she’d met him, but he’d never crossed the line into anything that could be mistaken for interest, which was why their friendship had flourished.

  Though he was obviously ready to ride out, he still stood quietly by her side. “Dixie says that you’ve asked for evenings off?”

  Liora swallowed. Tread carefully. “Yes. I have another…project I’ll be taking on in the evenings.”

  His gaze snapped to her, and even though she kept her focus on the cabin, she could see from the corner of her eye that his lashes lowered searchingly. “Another project?”

  Yes, Deputy Rodante, and I won’t be telling you a thing about it until I absolutely have to. Out loud all she said was, “Something to keep me busy. ‘Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,’ as Mrs. King would say.”

  Joe slacked one hip, his scrutiny still calculated. “Mrs. King would do better to quote proverbs about wagging tongues.”

  He said it so dryly she knew he hadn’t meant it humorously, but she couldn’t help but chuckle. “Perhaps. At any rate, I’ll see you at Dixie’s in the morning for breakfast?” She needed to urge him on his way before he pried any further into her business, for he would surely try to talk her out of her mission.

  He hesitated for a long moment, gaze still fixed on her as though he knew she was keeping something from him. Then finally he tipped her a nod. “See you in the morning.”

  Liora watched him unhook his Stetson from the saddle horn, mount up, settle the hat on his head in that unhurried way of his and, finally, give it a tug in her direction before riding away toward town.

  Her heart constricted. She usually shared everything with Joe and it somehow felt underhanded to keep this mission from him. Yet she knew without a doubt that he would try to talk her out of it. And dangerous though it might be, she also knew that God had called her to it.

  And follow her calling, she must.

  Mist rose around Joseph Rodante as though night were releasing its soul at the first touch of sunlight. Dewdrops, hanging fat and full like berries just waiting to be picked, glinted bright, shattering sunrays into shards. A chorus of birds chirped their morning adulation.

  He hung back just far enough inside the edge of the trees for Liora not to see him, but close enough for him to keep an eye on her. His well-trained horse didn’t make a sound. It wasn’t safe for a beautiful woman like her to be walking this road alone, especially this early in the morning. But it wasn’t his place to make her see reason. And he couldn’t escort her into town without setting tongues aflame with insinuations about where he’d spent his night.

  His jaw clenched at that. No matter how many years had passed since Liora had worked for Ewan—and for two short weeks at that—the townsfolk had long memories and small penchant for accepting her as an upstanding Christian woman. He needed to protect both her current reputation, and his own.

  Liora was singing “I Hear My Savior Saying,” the hymn they’d sung in services on Sunday.

  He maneuvered his horse around a fallen tree and searched his memory. He hadn’t remembered seeing her there, but she must have been, because according to Parson Clay, the hymn had been written by his personal friend James Kirk only recently, and wasn’t in any psalters yet.

  Joe considered on that. He was fairly observant. His job had taught him that. So he would have noticed even if she’d eased onto a back pew just after services started.

  He checked the road behind her—still all clear.

  Back before the church was built, he used to see her slip up to the back of the crowd and then leave again right before the service ended. But he hadn’t seen her at church since the building had gone up. Why had he thought that meant she had quit coming?

  O Lord, I’m so glad Thou dost love me so,

  To deign to walk with me here below;

  Thy sweet, tender love has won my heart,

  And now we shall never, never, never part.

  His horse brushed up against a bush and he jerked the animal to a stop, holding his breath. That was what he got for letting his mind wander. Had she heard?

  Out on the road, Liora stopped walking and turned to face the forest. Her eyes were wide and searching.

  He thought through his options. Could she see him? He might not want to give the townsfolk something to gossip about, but even more, he didn’t want to frighten her.

  He urged his mount forward and rode it out into the light.

  Liora pressed one hand to her chest. “Land’s sakes, Joe! You nearly scared a year off my life!”

  He felt a little sheepish and swept a hand over his face. “Sorry about that. I just wanted to make sure you got to town safe, is all.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You can’t ride out here every day to ensure my safety! I know you have late rounds. You’ll never get any sleep!”

  He fiddled with the reins. She was right about that. This early morning jaunt had cost him two hours of a night that had been short on shuteye already. But instead of replying, he merely dismounted and motioned for her to mount.

  At his silence, she crossed her arms. “You can’t be seen escorting me into town.”

  Didn’t he know it. And yet the truth of her words irritated him. He jutted his jaw to one side. “Doesn’t mean I can’t escort you most of the way.”

  “And if someone comes riding along the road?”

  “My horse is a good mountain-bred mustang. He’ll let me know if someone is coming.” He motioned her closer.

  Liora searched the road up and down before finally giving in and stepping close to the saddle.

  He c
urved his hands around her waist, swallowing away the tightness in his chest at the feel of her so small and close. He hoisted her onto the saddle. She didn’t weigh much more than half a sack of grain. He let her go as soon as he felt certain she had gained her balance.

  His horse wasn’t used to skirts flapping at his flanks, or to a rider sitting sideways, but after a couple of balking steps and a bob or two of his head, he settled down and Joe set off, leading the mustang down the road.

  After they’d gone several paces in silence, Joe tossed a look at Liora over his shoulder. “That hymn you were singing—we sang it in church last Sunday.”

  She shifted uneasily as he searched her face.

  After a moment, she lifted her chin. “So, not only were you spying on me, but eaves-dropping too?”

  He scrubbed a hand at the smile that wanted to break free at her indignation. “Wasn’t spying. Just keeping you safe. And I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop either. I was simply surprised to learn that you’d been to the service, since I didn’t see you there.”

  She squirmed in the saddle and refused to meet his questioning look.

  “You’ve been coming, but staying out in the entry, haven’t you?”

  She took a moment to tug at the cuffs of her coat. “Maybe I learned the hymn somewhere other than church, did you think about that?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You can’t have, because Preston—Parson Clay—said that the hymn was written by his friend and wasn’t even in any books yet.”

  Her gaze flicked to his, surprise reflected there.

  This time he did let his grin slip free. She’d obviously snuck into the back of the building after the parson had told that story. But as he thought over the ramifications of why she felt the need to hide her church attendance from everyone else, a hard knot of anger settled into his stomach and the smile slid from his face. “You have just as much right to be in church as anyone else, you know.”

  Her shoulders seemed to slump, even though she hardly moved. “I just don’t want to cause trouble, is all.”

  “If it causes trouble for a repentant soul to enter God’s sanctuary, then Parson Clay has more problems on his hands than you can solve by hiding in the entry.”