{"id":933,"date":"2008-12-12T18:41:21","date_gmt":"2008-12-12T23:41:21","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/\/?p=933"},"modified":"2008-12-12T18:41:21","modified_gmt":"2008-12-12T23:41:21","slug":"hannah-grace-by-sharlene-maclaren","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/?p=933","title":{"rendered":"Hannah Grace by Sharlene MacLaren"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>\"\"<\/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><\/div>\n
Sharlene MacLaren<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

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

Hannah Grace<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Whitaker House (January 30, 2009)<\/p>\n

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

\"\"<\/a>Sharlene Maclaren is an award-winning novelist , retired elementary school teacher, wife, mother, and grandmother.<\/p>\n

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

Product Details:<\/p>\n

List Price: $ 9.99<\/p>\n

Paperback<\/p>\n

Publisher: Whitaker House (January 30, 2009)<\/p>\n

Language: English<\/p>\n

ISBN-10: 1603740740<\/p>\n

ISBN-13: 978-1603740746<\/p>\n

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:<\/span> <\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

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

Sandy Shores, Michigan \u2022 August 1903<\/p>\n

The minute hand on the nickel-cased Waterbury clock ticked away the seconds as Hannah Grace Kane primped in the mirror. She leaned back and squinted with displeasure when her unruly, rusty-colored curls refused to cooperate, poking out all over like a bunch of broken bedsprings. \u201cAargh!\u201d she muttered, throwing down her comb and watching it bounce off the wood floor with a ping before landing on the braided wool rug.<\/p>\n

\u201cSupper\u2019s almost ready!\u201d wailed the youngest of the Kane sisters, Abbie Ann, from the foot of the stairs.<\/p>\n

\u201cAbbie Ann, you\u2019ll damage my hearing,\u201d Jacob Kane muttered.<\/p>\n

Even from the upstairs bedroom, Hannah heard her father\u2019s newspaper rattle and sensed that his tone bordered on brusqueness. She pictured him sitting in his plush blue velvet chair, as he always did at six o\u2019clock, the Sandy Shores Tribune spread in his lap, his reading spectacles perched low on his longish nose. \u201cWhy is it that at seventeen, you\u2019re still screaming like a banshee?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSeventeen, Papa? Have you forgotten that I turned eighteen in May?\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a lengthy pause. \u201cEighteen? Are you sure?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her high-pitched giggle drifted upward. \u201cOf course I\u2019m sure, silly. A lady never forgets her age.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, then, all the more reason to cease with your howling.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, Papa.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBesides, Hannah Grace isn\u2019t even eating at home this evening.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, how could I forget? That ol\u2019 Stuffy Huffy\u2019s coming to call. I suppose they\u2019ll take a long stroll in the moonlight. Blechh.\u201d Her voice danced with unrestrained sarcasm, and Hannah could only imagine the look of disapproval on her father\u2019s bearded face. \u201cI don\u2019t know what she sees in him, do you, Papa? If you ask me, he\u2019s boring and unfriendly.\u201d<\/p>\n

The newspaper crackled. \u201cAbbie.\u201d He heaved a breath, which echoed up through the register. \u201cDoctor Van Huff seems like a nice enough gentleman. There is no call for judging him. And besides, your sister seems to like him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not judging. I\u2019m merely expressing my view on things, which I happen to think is more fact than opinion. Personally, I suspect she just likes him \u2019cause he\u2019s just about the only eligible bachelor around.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hannah bent down to retrieve her comb and sighed in the process. Everyone knew sounds carried faster than a windstorm in this two-story, foursquare structure. Was there no respect? Why, had she wanted, she could have walked to the twelve-inch heat vent in the floor and peered through its narrow slats to give her sister a snarling glower, but she<\/p>\n

wouldn\u2019t, for that was exactly what Abbie wanted her to do. All three Kane sisters had played the \u201cspying game\u201d through that heat register as children, but Abbie seemed bent on continuing it till kingdom come.<\/p>\n

\u201cAbbie Ann, you mind your manners. Hannah will hear you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Well, it\u2019s about time someone thought of that, Hannah mused, thankful for her grandmother\u2019s scolding tone. Helena Kane, Jacob\u2019s mother, had tirelessly tended to the entire family since shortly after the girls\u2019 own mother had succumbed to pneumonia and died just days short of Abbie\u2019s second birthday. \u201cRalston Van Huff is a fine, upstanding citizen, and you had best show your respect.\u201d Even after all these years in Michigan, her British accent still lingered like a fresh aroma.<\/p>\n

\u201cI do, I do,\u201d Abbie insisted. \u201cBut he\u2019s always talking about himself and that stupendous medical practice he runs. After a while, one grows downright weary of it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jacob snapped his paper and exhaled noisily. \u201cThe man is doing his best to make a success of himself. I would think taking on the task of town physician would require a bit of ambition\u2026speaking of which, shouldn\u2019t you be out in the kitchen helping your grandmother and sister?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll second that,\u201d said Grandmother. \u201cTake the napkins out of the bureau, Abbie.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you suppose he\u2019s a true Christian, Papa?\u201d Abbie asked, ignoring his inquiry.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I would hope so. Hannah Grace wouldn\u2019t settle for anyone who didn\u2019t claim to have a faith of his own. May I please read today\u2019s news now, Abigail?\u201d<\/p>\n

Keeping one ear to the conversation downstairs, Hannah picked up her comb and resumed her hair-styling task.<\/p>\n

\u201cI, for one, think Dr. Van Huff is charming.\u201d Maggie Rose spoke up for the first time that evening. From the kitchen wafted her habitually melodious voice\u2014melodious in that she spoke in pleasant tones rather than melodious from a musical standpoint, that is. Sadly, Maggie thought she could carry a tune quite well, but after years of sitting beside her in church, Hannah knew otherwise. \u201cHe picked two roses from our garden last week and gave one to Hannah and one to me. I\u2019d call that rather sweet.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, poke me with a stick!\u201d Abbie whined. \u201cHe should rather have picked flowers from his own garden\u2014or bought some at Clara\u2019s Flower Shop.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbbie Ann Kane, stop being so persnickety,\u201d Grandmother said. \u201cMy goodness, what side of the bed did\u2014?\u201d<\/p>\n

A deafening scream sounded through the house when something metallic made clanging contact with the linoleum floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy giddy aunt, what a gobblin\u2019 mess we have here! Don\u2019t burn yourself, Maggie!\u201d Grandmother screeched. \u201cAbbie, come in here this minute and lend a hand. Noodles are everywhere.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s happened?\u201d Jacob asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt looks like a pig\u2019s breakfast just landed on our kitchen floor. Oh, forevermore and a day! Supper will be delayed, I\u2019m afraid.\u201d<\/p>\n

Abbie\u2019s uncontrollable giggles lent to the clamor of rushing feet, running water, Grandmother\u2019s stern orders to stop laughing and fetch some rags, and Maggie\u2019s pathetic verbal attempts to vindicate her clumsiness.<\/p>\n

From her cushioned bench in front of the vanity, Hannah stifled a smile, glad to be upstairs and away from<\/p>\n

the commotion. She leaned forward to study herself in the mirror. After this close scrutiny, her slightly upturned mouth curled into a pout. Grayish eyes, neither true blue nor clear green, stared back at her as she viewed her thin, longish neck and narrow shoulders, pointy chin, square jaw, and plumpish lips. To top matters off, she had a skinny frame with very little up front to prove her womanhood. As a matter of fact, she\u2019d thought more than once that if she wanted to pass as a boy, she could pile all her hair under a cap, if ever there was one big enough, don a pair of men\u2019s coveralls, work boots, and a jacket, and no one would be the wiser.<\/p>\n

She thought about her sisters\u2019 attractive looks\u2014Maggie\u2019s fair-haired beauty and Abbie\u2019s dark eyes, olive complexion, and flowing, charcoal hair. Assuredly, they both outshone her pasty features by a country mile, Abbie\u2019s assets originating from their mother\u2019s Italian heritage, Maggie\u2019s coming from their Grandmother Kane\u2019s long line of elegant features. To be sure, Helena was an aging woman in her sixties, but anyone with an eye for beauty could see that with her high cheekbones, perfectly set blue eyes, well-chiseled nose and chin, and remarkably smooth skin, she must have been the picture of youthful elegance and charm.<\/p>\n

But where did she, Hannah Grace, fit into the picture? Certainly, she\u2019d inherited her grandmother\u2019s curly hair, but where Helena\u2019s lay in perfect, gentle waves, gathered into a tidy silver bun at the back, Hannah\u2019s crimped and frizzed atop her head like a thousand corkscrews. And nothing she did to tame it seemed to work. She\u2019d even lain her head on an ironing board some years ago, like a sacrificial hen, and allowed her sisters to straighten it with a hot iron\u2014until they came too close to the skin and singed her scalp. The silly recollection made her brow crinkle into four straight lines.<\/p>\n

She pulled her shoulders back, dipped her chin, and tried to look dignified in her ivory silk afternoon gown with the button-down front and leg-o-mutton sleeves.<\/p>\n

\u201cHannah Grace Van Huff,\u201d she whispered, testing the name aloud and wondering how it would feel to say it for the rest of her days.<\/p>\n

Tonight, they would dine at the Culver House in downtown Sandy Shores, and, afterward, perhaps walk down to the harbor to watch the boats come and go. Along the way, they would pass the closed shops on Water Street and probably do some window gazing. Ralston would speak about his practice and tell her about the patients he\u2019d seen that day\u2014the broken bones he\u2019d set, the wounds he\u2019d wrapped. He would tell her about his dreams of constructing a new building\u2014one that would allow him to relocate his practice away from his residence. Not for the first time, he would mention his hopes for a partner with whom to launch this undertaking, someone who shared his passion for medicine, of course, and had the financial wherewithal to pitch in his fair share. There would be a placard above the door and maybe a more prominent sign in the front yard. They would hire a nurse, of course, and, down the road, a bookkeeper to keep the multiplying records straight.<\/p>\n

He would ask Hannah about her day at Kane\u2019s Whatnot, her father\u2019s general store, and inquire as to how sales had gone. She would be vague in her answer, knowing that the details would bore him to tears. Nevertheless, he\u2019d smile and nod, appearing deeply interested, but then quickly resume speaking about his medical practice.<\/p>\n

Perhaps Abbie was right in calling Ralston stuffy and boring, if not a trifle selfish, but he had ambition on his side, and Hannah admired that. Even Papa recognized it. Besides, she\u2019d reached the ripe age of twenty-one, and hadn\u2019t Grandmother once said that when a woman reached her twenties, her chances of finding a genteel fellow slimmed considerably? It was best not to listen to Abbie\u2019s foolish musings. What did she know about the subject? Dr. Ralston Van Huff would make a fine catch for any woman.<\/p>\n

\u201cHannah wouldn\u2019t settle for a man who didn\u2019t claim to have a faith of his own.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her father\u2019s words circled in her head, almost like a band of pesky mosquitoes out for blood. Well, of course, Ralston had an active faith. She\u2019d met him at a church gathering, after all. True, he rarely speaks about the Lord, but these things come with time and practice, she told herself. One doesn\u2019t grow strong in faith overnight.<\/p>\n

As the racket continued downstairs, Hannah proceeded to pile her mass of red curls on top of her head, using every available pin to hold them in place.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank heaven for hats,\u201d she muttered to herself.<\/p>\n

Gabriel Devlin tipped his dusty hat at the woman he passed on the narrow sidewalk, then scolded himself for stealing a glance backward after she passed. What was he doing? He was done with women! And he had Carolina Woods to thank for that. No, I can thank the Lord for bringing our impending marriage to a halt, he rephrased in his head.<\/p>\n

A horse whinnied and kicked up a swirl of dirt as it galloped by, carrying its rider through the street, a barking dog on its heels. Since stores closed at precisely five o\u2019clock in this<\/p>\n

small but thriving community of Dutch settlers known as Holland, Michigan, the dog and horse were about the only sounds he heard as he made his way toward an open restaurant, stepping down from the rickety-planked sidewalk and crossing the heavily trodden, dirt-packed street in the middle of town. He removed his hat and slapped it across his leather-clad thigh, letting loose a cloud of dust he estimated was almost as big as the horse\u2019s. Setting it back on his head of sandy-colored hair, he stepped up onto a slab of newly laid concrete and saw that one entire block of sidewalk looked freshly poured. Evidently the town council had started a beautification project, at least on this side of the street. He surmised the other side would follow, perhaps before the first blast of winter weather.<\/p>\n

He passed several storefronts, glanced in a few windows, and then saw something out the corner of his eye that brought his steps to a halt as his gaze fell on the object of interest. Across the street and another block over, a young lad was crawling out from under a tarp that was stretched over the back of a wagon. He put his hands on his hips and twisted his body from side to side, stretching as if he had just awakened from a long nap. Then, he rubbed his neck and looked at the trees swaying overhead. The horse that was hitched to the front of the wagon turned and granted the boy a disinterested glance, then swished its mangy tail.<\/p>\n

Wondering what the boy was up to, Gabe feigned interest in a window display, embarrassed to discover that it was laden with feminine wares and frilly garments. Still, he kept up the fa\u00e7ade so as not to miss the boy\u2019s next move. With deft hands, he was plundering through the items under the canvas, stuffing things into every pocket, front and back.Hannah Grace ? 17<\/p>\n

Instinct told him to yell at the lad, for surely he was stealing from some unsuspecting citizen, but something held him back\u2014the tattered clothing hanging off his skinny shoulders, the uncombed mop of black hair, the spattering of dirt and grime on his face and arms, and those shoddy-looking boots.<\/p>\n

When the little vagabond had filled his pockets with who knew what, he took off on a run down an alley between two buildings, disappearing within seconds like a fox daunted by daylight. Gabe shook his head, vexed at himself for not caring more but feeling too exhausted after his long day\u2019s ride to muster up much indignation. Maybe once he crammed his stomach with beef stew and bread and gave his horse and mule a period of rest at the livery, he\u2019d go looking for him to see if he could figure out his story.<\/p>\n

Pfff! Who was he kidding? After a quick bite and a bit of respite, he planned to finish his trip, following the path along the railroad tracks to Sandy Shores, his final destination. There\u2019d be no time to look for a tattered boy who couldn\u2019t have been a day over nine years old.<\/p>\n

A few restaurant patrons cast him curious looks when he found a window seat in the smoke-filled room, but most kept to themselves, faces buried in newspapers or hovering over their suppers. They were likely accustomed to summer tourists, although, by all appearances, he probably resembled a bum more than anything else.<\/p>\n

Certainly not Sandy Shores\u2019 newly appointed sheriff.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat can I do for y\u2019, mister?\u201d<\/p>\n

He gazed into the colorless eyes of an elderly woman whose hard-lined face, slumped shoulders, and pursed mouth denoted some unnamed trial of the past. Gray hair fell around her stern countenance, straight and straw-like, reminding him of a scarecrow\u2014the kind whose expression would chase off the meanest bull.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll have a bowl of beef stew and a slice of\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlumb out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo beef stew?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou hard o\u2019 hearin\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cChicken noodle?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo soup atall.\u201d With hooked thumb, she pointed behind her. \u201cMenu\u2019s back there.\u201d<\/p>\n

His eyes scanned the chalkboard behind the counter where someone had scrawled several words with creative spellings: \u201cChikin liver and onyuns \u2013 50\u00a2; potatos and gravy on beef \u2013 75\u00a2; cheese sanwich \u2013 25\u00a2; pork sanwich on toasted Bred \u2013 35\u00a2; Ted\u2019s specielty \u2013 50\u00a2\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s Ted\u2019s specialty?\u201d He had to ask.<\/p>\n

\u201cFish. You want it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs it cooked?\u201d<\/p>\n

She gave him a scornful look. \u201cWhat kind o\u2019 lame-brained question is that? \u2019Course it\u2019s cooked.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know. Some people eat raw fish.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot \u2019round these parts they don\u2019t. Where you from?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOhio. Columbus area.\u201d<\/p>\n

She sniffed. \u201cLong ways from home, ain\u2019t ya?\u201d<\/p>\n

He grinned. \u201cIt\u2019s taken me a few days\u2019 ride.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lifting one brow as if to size him up, but keeping her thoughts to herself, she asked, \u201cYou want the fish? It\u2019s fresh out o\u2019 the big lake, pan-fried.\u201d<\/p>\n

His stomach had been growling ever since he walked through the doors, and, in spite of the grit and grime beneath his feet, the dark and dingy walls, and the fetid odors of burnt onions and cigarette smoke, he had a feeling this Ted fellow could cook.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll try the fish.\u201d He smiled at the killjoy, but, as expected, she just nodded and turned on her heel. \u201cCan I have some coffee, too?\u201d<\/p>\n

Another slight nod indicated she\u2019d heard him.<\/p>\n

\u201cOhio, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n

From the table next to him, a man sporting a business jacket, string bow tie, and white ruffled shirt, lowered his newspaper. A half-smoked cigar hung out the side of his mouth directly under his pencil thin moustache. He removed the cigar and laid it on an ashtray. \u201cWhat brings you to these parts?\u201d<\/p>\n

Always wary of shysters, Gabe examined the fellow on the sly. Experience had taught him not to trust anyone until he\u2019d earned that right. \u201cWork,\u201d he replied.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah?\u201d The man massaged his chin, and Gabe knew he was getting equal treatment, a careful scrutiny. Suddenly, the stranger reached across the four-foot span that separated their tables and offered his hand. \u201cVanderslute\u2019s the name. George.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gabe stuck out his arm and they shook hands. \u201cGabriel Devlin. Good Dutch name you\u2019ve got there.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vanderslute chuckled. \u201cYou\u2019re definitely in Dutch territory. Pretty near half the town, I\u2019d say. Maybe more.\u201d He looked out over the small, dimly lit eatery. \u201cNot Ted, though. He\u2019s English, through and through. That there was Eva, his<\/p>\n

aunt. She owns this place, has for thirty years.\u201d He leaned forward. \u201cShe comes across as an old crank,\u201d he murmured in hushed tones, \u201cbut on the inside, she\u2019s nothing but mush. Known the two of them since I was this high.\u201d He stretched a palm out level with the tabletop. \u201cUsed to stop by here on my way home from school. Depending on her mood, Aunt Eva\u2014that\u2019s what everyone calls her\u2014would pass out free cookies. On good days, that is.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vanderslute took a sip of coffee, then took a giant drag off his cigar and placed it back on the tray. Gabe felt the tension roll off his shoulders. He glanced out the window and spotted the little ragamuffin again, his lean frame bent over a barrel as he rifled through the garbage within. \u201cWho\u2019s that little waif over there?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cHuh? Where?\u201d Vanderslute pitched forward to peer out the smudged glass.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, him. He\u2019s been hanging around for a few days. He\u2019ll move on. \u2019Spect he jumped the back of a train coming from Chicago area. Vagabonds do that from time to time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVagabonds? He\u2019s just a little kid. Hasn\u2019t anyone tried to help him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe runs off every time. Like some wild pup. Some of the ladies leave bowls of food on their doorsteps, and he\u2019ll run and get them whilst no one\u2019s watching, providing some mongrel mutt doesn\u2019t beat him to it.\u201d He laughed, as if what he\u2019d just said was unusually funny.<\/p>\n

Just then, Eva brought a steaming cup of coffee to the table and George slid back in place. When Gabe looked out again, the boy had vanished\u2014like some kind of apparition. He blinked twice and shook his head.<\/p>\n

Silence overtook the two for the next several moments as George dug into the plate of roast beef and potatoes Eva had dropped off at his table when she\u2019d deposited a mug of coffee under Gabe\u2019s nose. Gabe\u2019s mouth watered, his stomach grumbled. He sipped on his coffee and ruminated about the boy.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s your trade, anyway?\u201d George asked between chews.<\/p>\n

Gabe took another slow swig before setting the tin mug on the table. \u201cYou ever hear of Judge Bowers?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEd Bowers, the county judge? \u2019Course I have. I work the newspaper. I\u2019m a line editor, not a reporter, but I read the headlines before anybody else does. I hear he just appointed a new interim sheriff up in Sandy Shores\u2014someone from\u2026\u201d A light seemed to dawn in his eyes. \u201cOhio.\u201d Gabe grinned. \u201cYou wouldn\u2019t be\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou should be a reporter,\u201d Gabe said. \u201cYou\u2019ve got the nose for it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou learn, you know. Well, I\u2019ll be. Too bad about Sheriff Tate, though. He was a good man, honest and fair. Heard his heart just gave out.\u201d George shook his head. \u201cThe law business is hard on the body. Good thing you\u2019re young. What are you\u2014twenty-four? Twenty-five?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTwenty-eight.\u201d<\/p>\n

George nodded, as if assessing the situation. \u201cYou can handle it. Most of what happens in these parts is petty crimes, but there\u2019s the occasional showdown. Not often, though,\u201d he added hastily. \u201cYou watch yourself, young man. You\u2019ll do fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks. I appreciate that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Not a minute too soon, Eva returned, this time plopping a plate of pan-fried fish in front of Gabe. On the side were cooked carrots drizzled with some sort of glaze and a large helping of applesauce. The most wonderful aromas floated heavenward, and his stomach growled in response. \u201cEva, you are an angel.\u201d He smiled at her and felt a certain pleasure to see one side of her mouth quirk up a fraction and the tiniest light spark in her eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cPfff,\u201d she tittered. \u201cGo on with you.\u201d She swiveled her tiny frame and hobbled off toward the kitchen, still looking like a scarecrow, but with a little less severity.<\/p>\n

As he always did before delving into a meal, Gabe bowed his head and offered up a prayer of thanks to God. Then, he draped a napkin over his lap, knowing George Vanderslute\u2019s eyes had taken to drilling holes in his side.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re a praying man, I see.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gabe took his first bite. \u201cI am. I pray about everything, actually.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHuh. That\u2019s somethin\u2019.\u201d Seeming stumped, George forked down the rest of his meal in silence, the smoke from his cigar making a straight path to the ceiling.<\/p>\n

As much as he would have liked taking his sweet time, Gabe wolfed down his plate of food, thinking about the miles of road that still stretched out before him. If he didn\u2019t arrive before nightfall, he\u2019d have to camp alongside the tracks again, and the thought of one more night under the stars didn\u2019t set well with him.<\/p>\n

The image of the mysterious little imp who\u2019d stolen from the back of a wagon, rummaged through a waste barrel, and disappeared down an alley materialized at the back of his mind. Would he be shivering in some dark corner tonight, half starved? Gabe swallowed down the last of his coffee, determined to chase him out of his thoughts.<\/p>\n

Protect him, Lord, he prayed on a whim, suppressing the pang of guilt he felt for not taking the time to search for him.<\/p>\n

Sandy Shores came into view at exactly a quarter till ten, three hours after he left Holland. It had been the slowest, steepest, and most precarious leg of the entire trip, requiring him to navigate gravelly slopes in the light of the moon. Not for the first time, he thanked the Lord for his sure-footed mule, Zeke the Streak, who could not run if his life depended on it but still had strength enough to pull a redwood from its roots; and for Slate, his dapple-gray gelding, calmly bringing up the rear but possessing the speed of a bullet if the situation called for it.<\/p>\n

A cool breeze was coming off the lake, bringing welcome relief from an otherwise long, hot day on the trail. Gabe cast a glance out over the placid lake, amazed once more by its vastness. At first glimpse, one would never suppose its distance across to be a mere one hundred miles; it seemed more like an ocean. Gentle waves licked the shoreline, making a whooshing sound before ebbing back into the chilly depths. The Sandy Shores lighthouse, sitting like a proud mother at the end of the pier, flashed her beacon for incoming fishing boats and steamers.<\/p>\n

Electric streetlights lit the way as Gabe turned east off the railroad path onto Water Street, which led to the center of town. On the corner to his right stood the three-story Sherman House, the hotel he would call home until he found permanent housing suitable for his budget, if not for his taste. According to Ed Bowers, who had made all his room arrangements, he had a view of the Grand River Harbor and the big lake from his third-floor window. Nice for the interim, he thought, but not a necessity for my simple lifestyle. He\u2019d grown up in affluence and decided he was ready for humbler circumstances. His father\u2019s money had been well-earned, and it had reaped him warranted respect in the community and surrounding areas. Even so, Gabe couldn\u2019t live off his father\u2019s wealth and still respect himself. Besides, he\u2019d had enough of women pursuing him for his family money\u2014Carolina Woods, for one\u2014and it was high time he moved away from Ohio, where the Devlin name didn\u2019t make such an impact every time folks heard it mentioned. Furthermore, a smaller town meant smaller crimes, he hoped\u2014the kind that didn\u2019t require gunfire to resolve them.<\/p>\n

Boisterous piano music and uproarious laughter coming from a place called Charley\u2019s Saloon assaulted his senses after two hours spent with nary a sound, save for Zeke\u2019s occasional braying, some sleepy crickets\u2019 chirps, and a gaggle of geese honking from the lake. Gabe wondered if he should expect a run-in or two with a few of Charley\u2019s patrons.<\/p>\n

His eyes soaked up the names of storefronts\u2014Jellema Newsstand, Moretti\u2019s Candy Company, Hansen\u2019s Shoe Repair, DeBoer\u2019s Hardware, Kane\u2019s Whatnot\u2014and he wondered about the proprietors who ran each place. Would they accept him as their new lawman, particularly since the late Sheriff Watson Tate had held the office for well over twenty years?<\/p>\n

When he spotted Enoch Sprock\u2019s Livery on the second block, he pulled Zeke\u2019s reins taut. Slate snorted, his way of exhaling a sigh of relief for having reached their destination.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know what you mean, buddy,\u201d Gabe muttered, feeling stiff and sore himself. He threw the reins over the brake handle and jumped down, landing on the hard earth.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou needin\u2019 some help there, mister?\u201d<\/p>\n

A white-bearded fellow with a slight limp emerged from the big double door.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou must be Enoch.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn the flesh.\u201d The man extended a hand. \u201cAnd who might you be?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGabriel Devlin.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAh, the new sheriff. We been expectin\u2019 ya\u2019. Hear your room\u2019s waitin\u2019 over at the Sherman.\u201d They shook hands. \u201cNice place you\u2019re stayin\u2019 at.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gabe grinned. \u201cNews gets around, I take it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Enoch snorted and tossed back his head. \u201cThis ain\u2019t what you call a big metropolis.\u201d He took a step back and massaged his beard even while he studied Gabe from top to bottom. \u201cAwful young, ain\u2019t ya?\u201d<\/p>\n

Is this how folks would view him? Young, inexperienced, still wet behind the ears? He supposed few knew he\u2019d been responsible for bringing down Joseph Hamilton, aka \u201cSmiley Joe\u201d\u2014a murderous bank robber who wielded his gun for goods throughout Indiana, Ohio, and parts of Kentucky. His last spree was on February 4, 1901, when Gabe received word in his office via telegraph that undercover sources determined Smiley Joe had plans to rob the Delaware County State Bank at noon that very day.<\/p>\n

It hadn\u2019t made national headlines, but every Ohioan had the best night\u2019s sleep of his life after reading the next day\u2019s headlines: Gabriel Devlin, Delaware County Sheriff, Takes Down Notorious Middle-West Bank Robber!<\/p>\n

Having watched the entire robbery out of the corner of his eye while pretending to fill out a bank slip, Gabe, who had placed two plainclothes deputies at the door in case the villain tried to escape, confronted him while the deputies aimed their guns. \u201cSmiley! It\u2019s the end of the line for you, buddy,\u201d he said coolly. \u201cDrop the bags and turn around slowly, hands in the air.\u201d<\/p>\n

At first, it appeared Smiley would comply. His shoulders dropped and he started to turn. \u201cDrop the bags!\u201d Gabe yelled. \u201cHands to the sky!\u201d<\/p>\n

Other deputies, all placed strategically around the bank, surrounded him. The bank stilled to funeral parlor silence as customers scattered and backed against all four walls, terror pasted on every face.<\/p>\n

But Smiley Joe wasn\u2019t one to surrender, and, in a rattled state, he went for the eleventh-hour approach: he drew his gun. Wrong move. Shots were fired, and, when it was over, one wounded customer lay sprawled on the floor, groaning and bleeding from the shoulder, while Smiley Joe Hamilton lay dead, Gabe\u2019s gun still hot from the bullet he shot through his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s all right by me, you bein\u2019 young,\u201d Enoch was saying. \u201cTime for some new blood \u2019round here. \u2019Sides, any friend o\u2019 Judge Bowers is a friend o\u2019 mine.\u201d A slight accent from the British Isles colored his tone.<\/p>\n

\u201cI appreciate that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWant I should take your rig inside and tend to your animals?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019d be mighty nice of you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gabe made a move to retrieve his money pouch, but Enoch stopped him. \u201cYou just get what you need out o\u2019 your rig, and we\u2019ll settle up in the mornin\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have no idea how good that sounds.\u201d Gabe reminded himself to retrieve his carpetbag from the back of the wagon. All he needed was a change of clothes for tomorrow, his shaving gear, a bar of soap, and some tooth powder. Right now, nothing sounded better than a soft bed. Shoot, I might even sleep through breakfast, he mused. Ed Bowers didn\u2019t expect him in his office until mid-afternoon.<\/p>\n

Slate sidestepped the two as they went to the back to remove the tarp. When they did, they got the surprise of their lives.<\/p>\n

\u201cWull, I\u2019ll be jig-swiggered. What is that?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gabe stared open-mouthed at the bundle of a body curled into a tight ball.<\/p>\n

\u201cLooks to be a sleeping boy,\u201d he murmured.<\/p><\/div>\n

MY REVIEW:<\/h3>\n

Sharlene MacLaren is a new author to me but I can’t imagine why. If her previous books are as well crafted and enjoyable as Hannah Grace<\/a>, then I want to read them all! MacLaren’s characters are so realistic that they could almost walk off the page. The story line moves at the perfect pace with plenty of humor, suspense, and drama to satisfy all but the most picky reader.<\/p>\n

Hannah Grace was happy with her life – she thought! She enjoyed working in her father’s store and had settled for a possible future with the town doctor (much to her sister’s dismay). When Gabe Devlin and his stowaway came to town, Hannah Grace suddenly found her world topsy-turvy. Only when she finally turned her future over to the Lord was she able to find the answers she so desperately needed.<\/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-933","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-books"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/933","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=933"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/933\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":936,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/933\/revisions\/936"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=933"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=933"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=933"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}