{"id":321,"date":"2008-08-20T11:57:07","date_gmt":"2008-08-20T16:57:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/\/?p=321"},"modified":"2008-08-20T13:57:51","modified_gmt":"2008-08-20T18:57:51","slug":"the-bride-bargain-by-kelly-eileen-hake-first-wild-card","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/?p=321","title":{"rendered":"The Bride Bargain by Kelly Eileen Hake – FIRST Wild Card"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

It is time to play a Wild Card<\/span>!<\/strong> <\/span>Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour<\/a>. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his\/her book’s FIRST chapter!<\/p>\n

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Today’s Wild Card author is: <\/strong><\/p>\n

KELLY EILEEN HAKE <\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

and her book:<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

The Bride Bargain <\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Barbour Publishing, Inc (September 1, 2008)<\/strong><\/p>\n

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:<\/h3>\n

\"\"<\/a>Life doesn’t wait, and neither does Kelly Eileen Hake. In her short twenty-three years of life, she’s achieved much. Her secret? Embracing opportunities and multitasking. Kelly received her first writing contract at the tender age of seventeen and arranged to wait three months until she was able to legally sign it. Since that first contract five years ago, she’s reached several life goals. Aside from fulfilling fourteen contracts ranging from short stories to novels, she’s also attained her BA in English Literature and Composition and earned her credential to teach English in secondary schools. If that weren’t enough, she’s taken positions as a college preparation tutor, bookstore clerk, and in-classroom learning assistant to pay for the education she values so highly. Currently, she is working toward her MA in Writing Popular Fiction. No matter what goal she pursues, Kelly knows what it means to work for it!<\/p>\n

Kelly’s dual careers as English teacher and author give her the opportunity explore and share her love of the written word. A CBA bestselling author and dedicated member of American Christian Fiction Writers, Kelly is a reader favorite of Barbour’s Heartsong Presents program, where she’s been privileged to earn numerous Heartsong Presents Reader’s Choice Awards; including Favorite New Author 2005, Top 5 Favorite Historical Novel 2005, and Top Five Favorite Author Overall 2006 in addition to winning the Second Favorite Historical Novel 2006!<\/p>\n

Her Prairie Promises trilogy, set in the 1850s Nebraska Territory, features her special style of witty, heartwarming historical romance. Barbour plans to release the first of this collection, The Bride Bargain, in fall 2008.<\/p>\n

Visit the author’s website<\/a>.<\/p>\n

Product Details:<\/p>\n

List Price: $10.97<\/p>\n

Paperback: 288 pages<\/p>\n

Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc (September 1, 2008)<\/p>\n

Language: English<\/p>\n

ISBN-10: 1602601755<\/p>\n

ISBN-13: 978-1602601758<\/p>\n

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:<\/h3>\n

Chapter One<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>Nebraska Territory, Oregon Trail, two weeks journey past Fort Laramie, 1855<\/p>\n

\u201cThat does it!\u201d Clara Field gritted her teeth and tugged harder on her leather glove, which was currently clamped between the jaws of a cantankerous ox. She didn\u2019t know whether to laugh or cry.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll get him in a headlock for you, Miss Field, and cut off his air so he\u2019ll open his mouth.\u201d Burt Sprouse sauntered over. \u201cThat should take care of things quick enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, choking him wouldn\u2019t be the right answer.\u201d Clara struggled to hide her disgust at the very suggestion. \u201cI have to marvel at how similar animals and humans can be. Neither group likes to be forced into anything, and try as I might, I can\u2019t seem to convince him we\u2019re trudging toward freedom.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I reckon I could knee him in the chest to make him let go.\u201d Sprouse shuffled closer. \u201cHickory\u2019s got an eye on you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, Mr. Sprouse. I\u2019ll handle this.\u201d Clara waited until the burly ex-lumberjack wandered away before pleading with the ox. \u201cYour antics are going to get us kicked off the wagon train, Simon!\u201d<\/p>\n

At the sound of his name, the ox perked his ears and his mouth went slack, allowing Clara to yank away her glove. How an ox had a taste for leather escaped her, but bovine cannibalism counted as the least of her worries at the moment. She held up the mangled thing and sighed.<\/p>\n

Thank You, Lord, that I brought an extra pair just in case I lost one. Her lips quirked at the tooth marks on the leather. Though I never thought things would come to this.<\/p>\n

Yanking on the length of rope she\u2019d tied around Simon\u2019s neck, Clara urged him toward the makeshift corral the trail boss had set up for the night. The obstinate animal refused to budge, his eyes fixed on her glove with a greedy gleam.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s lots of good forage and fresh water,\u201d she tempted. \u201cAnd plenty of rest.\u201d Oooh, how good that sounded. A verse from Psalms floated into memory: \u201cHe leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.\u201d<\/p>\n

For it being a river, the Platte came as close to still water as any running water could ever hope. Wide, shallow, and dark with mud, it was their constant guide and water source. Clara tried not to compare it to babbling brooks, flowing streams, or any other clear, flowing water with a friendly rush of sound.<\/p>\n

As for the earlier part of that scripture. . .well, they\u2019d only just stopped for the night. Until she got this last ox to the corral, gathered enough fuel for the campfire, and cooked dinner for herself, Aunt Doreen, and the blessedly helpful Burt, she wouldn\u2019t be lying beside anything.<\/p>\n

But we\u2019re one day closer to Oregon. Eleven miles farther toward a new start. Not even Simon\u2019s snacking can take that away.<\/p>\n

Tension eased from her shoulders as Simon ambled toward the enclosure. She and Aunt Doreen had already lost two oxen on the trail, and when they settled in Oregon, the remaining stock would be used for food or trade. The sadness creeping over her at the thought explained, at least in part, why Clara wasn\u2019t an accomplished driver. Even after weeks on the trail, she couldn\u2019t bear to use a whip harshly.<\/p>\n

With Simon safely tucked away with the rest of the train\u2019s livestock, Clara began hunting for buffalo chips. The tall, dry grass rustled around her skirts as she searched. Typically, the prairie held a large and ready supply of the quick-burning fuel. But the recalcitrant ox had cost her valuable time. The areas closest to the circled wagons were picked over by the other women on the train whose husbands saw to the animals. She needed to go farther, though never too far, to scrape together a fair-sized load.<\/p>\n

By the time she got back to camp and started their fire, Aunt Doreen already had vegetables\u2014the same supply of potatoes, carrots, and an onion that they\u2019d been using since the stop at Fort Laramie\u2014chopped and in the pot for cooking and the batter ready for Petecake. Once the fire burned hot enough to heat the Dutch oven and cook the stew, Clara gratefully sank down beside the makeshift kitchen.<\/p>\n

A healthy breeze carried away the smoke from the fire, bringing welcome coolness as the sun faded. The moon came into view, its modest glow bathing the plains in whitish blue light.<\/p>\n

\u201cGrub ready yet, Miz Field?\u201d Burt Sprouse\u2019s head tilted forward as he sniffed the air like a hopeful bear. In exchange for their cooking, alongside a bit of washing and mending, the ex-lumberjack provided them with fresh meat whenever possible, took on the night watches assigned to their wagon, and lent a hand when he could.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot quite, Mr. Sprouse.\u201d Apologies wouldn\u2019t make the rabbit cook any faster. \u201cI had difficulty finding enough buffalo chips tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLooked like the oxen gave you some trouble tonight.\u201d Burt\u2019s voice held no censure as he squatted down. \u201cI\u2019ll take on your watch tonight, like we agreed, but Hickory\u2019s getting antsy about having you and your aunt in your own wagon. You were last in the row and last to set up camp tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSure were.\u201d The trail boss, Hickory McGee, stomped over to glower at them. Disgust filled his tone. \u201cSame as every day on this trail. I warned you gals I didn\u2019t want to take on two women with no menfolk to shoulder the night watches, wagons, and livestock. You know the law of the trail\u2014pull your weight or be left behind.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe know.\u201d Clara forced the words through gritted teeth. Men who believed women to be inferior in every way put up her back as little else could. If you spent more time helping and less time harping, things would get done faster. As it is, you accomplish nothing with threats, yet Aunt Doreen and I hold things together in spite of them. A true gentleman\u2014the kind of man a mother would be proud to raise and a woman would be glad to claim as husband\u2014would be respectful and helpful.<\/p>\n

She kept the thoughts to herself. Speaking her mind was a luxury she couldn\u2019t afford if it angered the trail boss. A quick prayer for patience, and she swallowed her ire.<\/p>\n

\u201cI haven\u2019t completely mastered the art of unhitching the oxen,\u201d Clara admitted before staring him down. \u201cBut Mr. Sprouse makes sure our watches aren\u2019t shirked, and you know it.\u201d She cast a grateful look at Burt.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou ain\u2019t the ones doin\u2019 it,\u201d Hickory groused. \u201cNo call for a man with his own wagon and responsibilities to shoulder yours.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t mind taking the extra watch in exchange for their cooking,\u201d Burt put in.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t recall askin\u2019 you, Sprouse.\u201d Hickory turned his glare from Clara to the lumberjack. \u201cBut anyone causin\u2019 problems can be left behind.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWorse comes to worse\u201d\u2014Mr. Sprouse shrugged\u2014\u201cI can sear some meat. Got an iron stomach, I do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGlad to hear it.\u201d The guide returned his attention to Clara. \u201cYou\u2019re lagging behind as it is. Not being able to control your animals is one more hassle to endanger the train. One rampaging ox can set off a stampede.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe managed to sort it out.\u201d Aunt Doreen tugged a bucket of water toward them. \u201cWe always do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt didn\u2019t put anyone else out.\u201d Clara shoved aside her remorse over Mr. Sprouse\u2019s late dinner. \u201cWe\u2019ll be ready to pull out at dawn, same as everyone else.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBetter be.\u201d The disagreeable guide punctuated that statement by launching spittle toward their cookfire. It hissed as he stalked away.<\/p>\n

When we get to Oregon, it will be worth it, she vowed to herself for the thousandth time since they left Independence and started out on the trail. The Lord will see us to a new life and a happy home.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe johnnycake should be about ready.\u201d Clara pushed the ashes off the top of the Dutch oven with her ladle handle, wrapped her hand in a dishcloth, and lifted the lid. The sweet smell of warm cornbread wafted toward them. \u201cLet me slice a piece for you to have now while the stew finishes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMmmph.\u201d A moment later, Mr. Sprouse plunked himself down and set to munching the hot bread. His obvious enjoyment didn\u2019t soothe Clara as it usually did\u2014not when he\u2019d made it clear that their agreement wasn\u2019t as strong as Hickory\u2019s warnings.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere, Aunt Doreen.\u201d Clara made sure her aunt got a large portion. After weeks on the trail, not only did their simple dresses boast enough dust to plant a garden, but the calico also hung from her aunt\u2019s thin frame. After a grueling day of travel, any moment they could use for a good night\u2019s rest was another small loss her aunt didn\u2019t deserve to bear. Unacceptable.<\/p>\n

Aunt Doreen passed Mr. Sprouse another piece before he asked. Their success on the trail depended on keeping the man well fed. So long as they did that and kept pressing onward, the trail boss couldn\u2019t leave them behind.<\/p>\n

Clara filled a tin with the steaming stew. Onions came from their supply, greens they\u2019d gathered along the way, and the rabbit came courtesy of Mr. Sprouse\u2019s shotgun. If it weren\u2019t for their little arrangement with him, she and her aunt would be surviving on jerky.<\/p>\n

\u201cBest deal I ever made.\u201d His grunt made both of them smile. Burt made no bones about the fact he liked to eat but couldn\u2019t cook. Another\u2019s misfortune was rarely cause for prayers of gratitude, but. . .<\/p>\n

\u201cI was just thinking the same thing.\u201d Clara knew Aunt Doreen\u2019s reply came from the heart, to say the least.<\/p>\n

Until now, Mr. Sprouse was just one more example of how the Lord watched over them and would see them through this arduous journey, which had become more wearing than Clara anticipated. A continuous stream of mishaps drained their supplies and energy. And they\u2019d yet to make it past the prairie to the hardships of the mountains.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen we reach the mountains, things will go more slowly.\u201d She meant the words as a comfort to her own aching bones and her aunt\u2019s worries, but Burt Sprouse didn\u2019t see it that way.<\/p>\n

\u201cYep. Snow can make us lose days, get off the trail, have so many delays food runs out and animals freeze. Everything\u2019s harder once you hit the Rockies.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOur oxen are too ornery to freeze.\u201d Clara couldn\u2019t help smiling even as she muttered the words.<\/p>\n

\u201cEven so, we\u2019ll all probably lighten our loads.\u201d Burt shrugged. \u201cI hear the mountains are littered with furniture and heirlooms abandoned by travelers so they can get free of a snow bank or make it up a steep pass.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her aunt\u2019s gasp made Clara wrack her brain for something positive to say.<\/p>\n

\u201cAfter that rough river crossing, we already lost several items.\u201d She quelled the sense of loss that overcame her at the memory of her childhood trunk, filled with her doll and doll\u2019s clothes. The last thing her father gave her, lost in the Platte forever. \u201cSo we probably won\u2019t need to leave anything else behind.\u201d She forced a smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cFor all those reasons, you have to be careful not to get on the trail boss\u2019s bad side.\u201d Burt waved his spoon in the air. \u201cWe won\u2019t make it without him, and he\u2019s dead serious about leaving behind anyone who causes problems.\u201d<\/p>\n

He does care. Surely Burt said that nonsense about having an iron stomach just to placate Hickory. She eyed him fondly as he made his way back to his own wagon. Who would have thought a burly ex-lumberjack looking to make his fortune gold mining would be their saving grace?<\/p>\n

\u201cYou go on ahead and get to bed,\u201d Clara encouraged her aunt after they\u2019d eaten their fill. \u201cI\u2019ll clean up and join you in a few moments.\u201d<\/p>\n

Aunt Doreen\u2019s lack of protest and grateful nod spoke of her weariness more eloquently than if she\u2019d carped over the long day. Yet the older woman never uttered so much as a word of complaint. Not that she ever had, even throughout the long years of living under Uncle Uriah\u2019s thumb.<\/p>\n

No matter how many verses her uncle warped out of context, how often he misinterpreted her own words or actions, Clara held firm to the conviction that Uriah\u2019s chauvinism was personal prejudice, not truth. Oft-repeated lectures against the frail values and fragile mindsets of the so-called weaker sex only underscored the quiet strength of the woman who\u2019d raised her.<\/p>\n

The few months when she\u2019d had Doreen\u2019s sole attention soothed her soul, pulling her from the endless cycle of guilt and anger over Ma\u2019s and Pa\u2019s deaths. Clara owed everything to the self-sacrificing love of Doreen. Then she\u2019d married Uriah Zeph, and their world tilted once more. For the worse.<\/p>\n

Hopes ahead; regrets behind. Grandma\u2019s saying had become their motto over the years and seemed more appropriate with each passing day. Tonight, as Clara fell into her quilt, she added one more phrase. . . .<\/p>\n

And God alongside.<\/p>\n

Outskirts of Baltimore<\/p>\n

Filth everywhere. Dr. Saul Reed shook his head as he made his way from the room he rented to the area of the Baltimore outskirts that housed businesses. Brackish water and mud splotched the street. The odor of stale urine in the alleyways fought for dominance over the smell of stewed cabbages and onions.<\/p>\n

To think, this was the better area of town, where most of the residents had roofs over their heads and cabbage to eat at all. There were others less fortunate, left to burrow under garbage or be chased away from bridges until pneumonia or fever took them away. The illness he could treat, the neglect of hygiene and sanitation he could fight, but all he could do was pray for the indifference neighbors showed for one another.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s why he\u2019d chosen this place. A cozy practice in a whitewashed building in the heart of Baltimore would bring affluent clients, respectable standing, and a nice living. Here, though, he could put his knowledge to the best use. These were the areas where people otherwise denied medical attention needed his help.<\/p>\n

If only You will open their ears, Lord, he prayed as he entered the post office. His youth became an impediment in the eyes of some, who saw more value in years than in his Edinburgh education. They didn\u2019t take into account the school\u2019s reputation as he had when making his choice. The university\u2019s renown for technological advancement didn\u2019t transmit beyond the medical community.<\/p>\n

\u201cLetter come for ya, Doc.\u201d The post office worker thrust the note at him.<\/p>\n

\u201cAny packages?\u201d Saul peered into the cubbyholes behind the desk to no avail. \u201cThose forceps I ordered should be coming in any day now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAny day ain\u2019t today.\u201d The man chewed his tobacco before sending a thick stream of sludge onto the floor beside an obviously oft-missed spittoon. \u201cWhile yer here an\u2019 all, though. . .\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s ailing you?\u201d Saul prayed the man wouldn\u2019t do as he had the last time he\u2019d asked for help and pull down his britches to display a carbuncle on his hip.<\/p>\n

\u201cM\u2019 mouth.\u201d The tobacco tucked into his cheek, he opened wide.<\/p>\n

Holding his breath to avoid the foul blast of air, Saul tilted his head and surveyed browned teeth, yellowed gums, and a sore the size of his thumb on the man\u2019s tongue. Saul pulled back to a safe distance and inhaled.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve got an open sore on your tongue.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHeck, Doc, even I knowed that much.\u201d The man rolled his eyes. \u201cWhat can I do about the thing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll make you a rinse of witch hazel to clean it out. Be sure to drink a lot of water and use the rinse after you eat anything.\u201d Saul set his jaw. \u201cMost of all, you must stop using the tobacco.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWha\u2019?\u201d His jaw gaped, treating the doctor to another view of that open sore and losing the tobacco altogether. It landed with a soft thud on the dusty floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood. The tobacco is what\u2019s causing the problem.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNaw.\u201d The man stooped down, scooped up the wad, dusted it off as best he could, and plopped it right back in his mouth.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d Saul closed his eyes. \u201cThough taking things from the ground and putting them in your mouth doesn\u2019t help, either.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDirt don\u2019t hurt.\u201d Crossing his arms over his chest, he rolled the chaw in his mouth, sending another stream toward the ground. This time it landed perilously close to Saul\u2019s boot. \u201cEven a quack\u2019d know that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPeople track in more than dirt.\u201d Saul\u2019s voice became more stern. \u201cThe more you chew, the worse it\u2019ll get. Keep on, and you\u2019ll see more sores until they spread down your throat and you can\u2019t speak.\u201d<\/p>\n

The man\u2019s laughter followed Saul outside\u2014another example of the ignorance that ruled this area. How can I make a difference if they won\u2019t let me? What do I have to do, Lord, to make them see how to take care themselves? Give me the chance to make a difference.<\/p>\n

As he rounded a corner, a shaky voice sounded. \u201cYoung and untouched. I\u2019ll give ya a good time, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d He made to move on, but her gaunt face stopped him in his tracks. The girl couldn\u2019t be more than eleven. Shadows smudged her eyes, and bony wrists protruded from beneath too-short sleeves.<\/p>\n

\u201cI swear it\u2019s true.\u201d She drew closer, obviously misinterpreting his pause for interest. In the brighter light, livid bruises bloomed along her throat. Whether they\u2019d been pressed there by a violent customer or an enraged pimp was impossible to say.<\/p>\n

\u201cStay there.\u201d He held out a hand to stay her progress. Between her youth, her assertion of innocence, and those bruises, he couldn\u2019t walk away. \u201cWhat is your name?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhatever ya like.\u201d She raised a nervous hand to the marks on her throat. \u201cWhatever ya want.\u201d<\/p>\n

Enraged pimp then. Saul peered down the alleyway to see if the brute lingered behind. No one there.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat can you do\u2014no, not that.\u201d He stopped her hastily as she prepared to speak. \u201cCan you sew? Cook? Clean?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d Astonishment replaced the desperation in her gaze.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know a lady who runs a boardinghouse and is in need of some help.\u201d Saul kept his voice muted. \u201cIf you\u2019re an honest sort and not afraid of solid work, you might do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI sews real fine\u2014it\u2019s what he used to have me do.\u201d The glow of pride left her abruptly. \u201cHe\u2019d find me.\u201d The whisper almost floated past him unheard, but when her hand fluttered toward her neck again, Saul understood her fear.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere is he now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPub.\u201d She jerked her head toward a side street.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome with me now, and he\u2019ll never know.\u201d Saul shifted his doctor\u2019s bag so it came into a more prominent view, hoping the symbol of trusted authority would put her at ease.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re one of them what purges babes when one of us gets unlucky?\u201d Suspicion blazed to life in her pinched face. \u201cLike him that came last night? He took the baby, right, but m\u2019 sister hasn\u2019t stopped bleeding since.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbsolutely not.\u201d Saul closed his eyes at the image she evoked. \u201cWhere\u2019s your sister?\u201d Obviously the woman needed immediate help\u2014if it wasn\u2019t too late.<\/p>\n

\u201cInside.\u201d She backed away a step. \u201cBe on yore way, sir. M\u2019 sister don\u2019t need any more help from no doctors. She didn\u2019t want the first one to come, but he didn\u2019t give \u2019er no choice.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe quack who did that to her was no doctor.\u201d Rage boiled in Saul\u2019s chest. \u201cIf she keeps bleeding, your sister will die.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I\u2019ll be alone wif\u201d\u2014her gaze darted in the direction of the pub she\u2019d indicated earlier as her voice went hoarse\u2014\u201chim.\u201d Though Saul wouldn\u2019t have thought it possible, her face became even more pale. \u201cHe said he\u2019d take care of us, but he turned Nancy out within a week. After last night he said I\u2019d have to take her place.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, you won\u2019t. Take me to Nancy.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his\/her book’s FIRST chapter! You never know when […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-321","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-books"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/321","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=321"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/321\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":332,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/321\/revisions\/332"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=321"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=321"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=321"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}