Moonlight on the Millpond , livre ebook

All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible. Cover images Getty Images; George and Monserrate Schwartz/Alamy Images Cover by Terry Dugan Design, Minneapolis, Minnesota
The Author
L ORI W ICK is one of the most versatile Christian fiction writers in the market today. Her works include pioneer fiction, a series set in Victorian England, and contemporary novels. Lori s books (more than 4 million copies in print) continue to delight readers and top the Christian bestselling fiction list. Lori and her husband, Bob, live in Wisconsin and are the parents of the three coolest kids in the world.
MOONLIGHT ON THE MILLPOND
Copyright 2005 by Lori Wick Published by Harvest House Publishers Eugene, Oregon 97402 www.harvesthousepublishers.com Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Wick, Lori. Moonlight on the millpond / Lori Wick. p. cm. - (Tucker Mills trilogy ; bk. 1) ISBN 0-7369-1158-8 (pbk.) 1. Brothers and sisters-Fiction. 2. Massachusetts-Fiction. 3. Sawmills-Fiction. I. Title. II. Series. PS3573.I237M66 2005 813 .54-dc22
2004029889
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means-electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other-except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 / BP-CF / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For the newest members of the family: Max and Rachel. I love you.
CONTENTS
Wonderful people I wish to thank
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Epilogue
Glossary
Dear Reader,
Books by Lori Wick
W onderful people I wish to thank
Mary Margaret, who always rolls with the punches. We have rushed, and we have had time, and you re always up for it. Thank you, my friend, for your faithfulness in the Body, in our friendship, and in our working relationship. I never want to do this without you.
Dooner (Jeff Muldoon), for the loan of the name. It s one of my favorites of all time.
Abby, for the covered bridge. I so appreciate you and all your facets. The rare diamond that you are keeps presenting new ones, and each is a delight. Thank you for being both a friend and a daughter every step of the way. Also, thanks for going on that first trip. Those pictures are my favorites.
Phil, for all the great teaching and wonderful words, even those that wound. Your capacity for love and patience with the Body is precious. Thank you for teaching us what it looks like to pray for all men, for never giving up on us, and for loving a repentant heart as much as God does.
Tim and Matt, for being grown men who still seek their parents approval. You guys are so cool. I love you.
Bob, for not one trip to Massachusetts, but two. You re quite the travel partner, especially when the rain is dumping. Thanks for the amazing amount of work you did on this book. My mother once said that if she could have picked a husband for me from anywhere in the world, you would have been the one. I think we both have great taste.
Prologue
The street quiet, almost oddly so, she waited in the usual place. Their place. The strong emotions that always filled her heart at these times were different tonight. The feelings surging through her were just as strong, but the joy and anticipation were missing. She peeked around the corner to see if he was coming and told herself to breathe when his handsome face came into view.
He noticed nothing amiss until he stepped around the corner to take her into his arms, stopping when he saw the expression on her face.
The small blonde woman looked into the eyes of the man she loved, her heart pounding with grief, knowing that it was all true: She d been betrayed. She confronted him and then waited, clearly able to see the guilt he could not hide.
Is it true? she asked again, hating his silence but terrified of his answer. Are you married?
I can explain, he began hoarsely, but the woman shook her head, and he stopped.
What could you possibly say? she whispered. I love you. You told me you loved me and that we d be married someday. I was willing to wait forever.
We can still be together, the man tried again, desperate not to lose her. My wife need never know.
The hurt gave way to rage. Her blue eyes flashed fire as they drilled into his. Her hand itched to strike him, but she said and did nothing. Instead, she turned away, but before she could go two steps, she stopped. Turning back long enough to say one more thing, she commanded, Don t contact me or come near me ever again.
She held his eyes until his dropped with shame. Only then did she turn resolutely away. This time she did not stop or look back.
One
Tucker Mills, Massachusetts-1838
Jace Randall s gaze followed the consistent progress of the log as it moved through the saw blade, his eyes probably more watchful than they needed to be. All looked to be in order-he had done everything correctly-but his eyes never wavered from the saw blade or the huge log that was being transfigured methodically into boards.
Jace was new at the job. And his inexperience was causing him fear, fear that he would cost his uncle money rather than be the asset they both planned on. This sudden opportunity had come his way, and it was not one he wanted to squander.
Woody Randall, longtime owner of the Randall Sawmill in Tucker Mills, Massachusetts, had asked Jace, his only nephew, to come and work with him. Jace had read the letter over six times. Never at any point did his uncle ask him to make the trip to Tucker Mills so he could work for him. The word with was always used, and when Jace accepted the offer, he found out why.
Woody s health was in decline, and as much as that man wanted to live forever, recent events told him there was no chance. He had written to Jace, who lived in Pine River, keeping the letter a bit vague. As soon as Jace accepted, however, Woody s next letter detailed his plans to someday have Jace own the sawmill in Tucker Mills.
The offer wasn t without conditions, but Woody wrote to Jace that he knew him to be hardworking, and he was fairly confident that the younger Randall would have no trouble catching on.
You re attracting another crowd, Woody called out, lifting his voice slightly to be heard over the noise of the machinery.
Jace glanced behind him. Three of the young ladies from town were walking past the millpond at a snail s pace. Two of them were doing their best to see inside the mill and not be caught in the act. Jace turned away with little more than a glance.
I m here to work, not visit with the women.
Can t you do both? Woody asked, thumping him in the chest at the same time.
Jace s handsome face split with a grin that he threw in his uncle s direction, but he didn t comment further. If the truth be told, he was very interested in finding a girl, but his sister s last words as he left Pine River had stopped him cold.
The women like you too much, Jace Randall, and you don t always use your head. I know you ll go to Tucker Mills and fall for the first woman who smiles at you. You ll find yourself with a wife and six babies on your hands before you can blink.
Eden Randall, whose every letter asked if he d found a girl, was a sister ten years his senior who had practically raised him. She liked to be right. Jace savored the few times she was wrong. And so, if it took every fiber of his being to avoid being lassoed and married by one of the local girls, Jace would expend the energy. He d been in Tucker Mills for more than five months and had yet to give one of them a single glance.
Get ahold of that board, Jace! Woody shouted, and Jace realized that he d allowed his mind to drift. The men worked together for the next ten minutes before shutting down the operation and heading to the house. Almost noon. It was time for dinner.

You look tired, Doyle, Cathy Shephard said to her husband of many years, watching him eat the midday meal she had brought to him in the store.
I think I am a little, he said, his tone telling more.
Cathy debated her next comment. He didn t want to discuss his health, of that she was sure, but his skin color was off and his eyes didn t have their usual gleam.
He was rarely irritable or in a poor humor, and Cathy couldn t imagine a man more easy to live with than Doyle Shephard. She had fallen in love with him when she was still a teen; he was five years older. And she still loved him and knew he loved her in return. But right now she wanted to ignore the tone in his voice and press him over the way he felt.
Doyle had opened the store at 8:00 as usual, but there was something missing in his step this day. Cathy didn t work in the store- at least not on a regular basis-but she d been over that morning to collect some goods and had watched her husband in action. He usually enjoyed the start of each day and greeted customers with enthusiasm, but not today. Today his smile had been just as kind, but his voice lacked strength and his eyes showed strain.
I can handle things this afternoon, Cathy said midmeal.
Why would you need to do that?
Because you look like you need to rest.
I ll be all right, Doyle told her, but there was little conviction behind the words.
Cathy let the matter drop. Knowing that her work at home could wait, she made a promise to herself to find excuses to be around the store off and on for the rest of the day. But she wisely kept this plan to herself.

Where have you been? Alison Muldoon asked of her 16-year-old daughter when she came in the door a little late.
Hillary Muldoon rolled her eyes. Greta and Mercy insisted that we crawl past the sawmill so Greta could get a glimpse of Jace Randall.
Alison looked patient and then conce