Saturday Morning

Praise for
Saturday Morning

“I didn’t just read this book; I devoured it, reluctant to put it down until I knew the outcome. This beautifully written story of friendship and faith will leave you a little more sure of two things: the goodness of God and the power of prayer.
Saturday Morning
is Lauraine Snelling at her very best.”

—ANN TATLOCK, Christy Award-winning author of
All the Way Home

“I loved this book! I love the way Lauraine Snelling weaves together the lives of four disparate persons who are brought together by time and circumstance. It was funny. It was profound. It was a delight to read. It ministered personally to me.”

—LINDA HALL, author of
Steal Away
and
Chat Room

“
Saturday Morning
is a joy of a read. Lauraine crafts a compelling story of four women whose lives converge in San Francisco. These believable characters, through individual struggles and a common goal, grow in trust and grace. Lauraine’s writing is both humorous and convicting—a perfect combination that kept me thinking about Hope, Andy, and J House long after I turned the last page. Thank you, Lauraine, for a delightful novel!”

—LESLIE GOULD, author of
Beyond the Blue
and
Garden of Dreams

“Once again, Lauraine Snelling delivers a moving story, with great characters, real problems, and a satisfying ending. Enjoy it with a friend!”

—BETTE NORDBERG, author of
A Season of Grace
and
Detours

Years ago, I belonged to a study/prayer group at Saint Andrew’s Lutheran Church in Vancouver, Washington. We decided to take God at His Word and see what happened. Ever since then I have truly believed in miracles, the power of prayer, and our Father who loves and listens and still acts today Someday I’ll see you all again. I wish everyone a “Girl Squad.”

a cognizant original v5 release october 16 2010

Acknowledgments

How grateful I am for friends who give their time and expertise to help a book become. Chelley Kitzmiller went far beyond the norm in helping me rewrite this book and make it work. Thanks, my friend, I will be forever in your debt. Kathleen Wright can ask questions like no other in order to help me understand who the characters really are and what they want and need. This is no little gift that she shares so generously. Chelley, Nanci, and Karen, thanks for reading and commenting to help me pull out the best for this book. I am convinced I have the best support group possible. Thanks to all of you for your prayers, wise counsel, and constant encouragement. Oh yes, and the brainstorming, too. Bonnie Line is my tea and scone expert. Thanks, Bonnie.

Thank you, Cecile, who hired on as an assistant and did not know, nor did I, how your editorial skills would grow and blossom. You do the work of three people, and I know my editors appreciate you too.

Dudley Delffs and all those at WaterBrook Press, thanks for believing and pursuing excellence. What a team you are. Thanks for being part of my life. Thanks, Laura Barker, for encouraging me to write this book.

Thanks to Brian and Brian and for your stories and information about San Francisco and encouragement; to Rose Liggon who gave me the idea for Hope; to Woodeene for taking me to the Lavender farm in Eugene; to Brian at Speedy’s, best wishes for all success at your store. I love farmers’ markets and shop there whenever I can. I thinkthat comes out in this book, so thanks to all those who’ve made markets so enjoyable. You get an A+ for sharing recipes and knowledge.

Mark Bittner wrote a book of his experiences with the Wild Parrots of San Francisco. Thanks, Mark, for all you shared, and the movie was pure pleasure. One of the highlights of research for this book was seeing the flock of parrots fly overhead and watching them land and chatter in the trees of Mrs. Marchant’s Garden. What a delight.

And always, husband, partner, researcher, and best friend, Wayne, the research trips on this one were wonderful fun. You were so patient as we figured out exactly where and why things should happen for this story. We do enjoy San Francisco, but like Andy, we find visiting good, and we’re glad to go home again to our mountain valley and to all the critters who make our life complete.

Thanks, God, for letting me write and tell stories that I pray bring You glory.

Lavender Meadows

Medford, Oregon

“We did it! We did it!”

Andy Taylor threw the purchase order in the air, leaped from her chair, and whirlwind dance-stepped around the workshop barn of Lavender Meadows. “We finally made it.” She switched from shouting to singing, making up words as she went. “We’re in the money. From now on every day will be sunny. Give lavender sachets to your honey. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.”

After two turns around the twenty-by-twenty workspace, Andy stopped, caught her breath, then retrieved the purchase order from the plank floor where it had landed. Her hands trembled as she read it again, this time committing each word to memory, beginning with the Nordstrom store letterhead. When she got to the signature, she squealed in delight. She hadn’t imagined it. It was real. Mike Johnson, the head buyer, wanted the entire line of lavender-based products: soaps, hand and body lotions, sachets, tea—even the cookbook—for all his California stores.

Andy sank into the closest chair and stared at the paper. She felt
tears gather in her eyes. All the hard work was finally starting to pay off. It had been a long, hard transition from the apple and pear orchards, which had been her parents’ livelihood until the competition had beaten them out, to the fields of lavender, which had no competition at all because nobody thought it was a crop worth growing.

She focused on the quantity column and whistled. This was just the beginning. She knew how retail worked. Once the products were in the store and the other chains got wind of them, there would be calls from other buyers and more orders. Now that was the kind of competition she welcomed.

She tried to mentally calculate the profit on this first order. Numbers flashed in front of her eyes like a calculator gone berserk. She would have to put pencil to paper, but she was sure there would be enough profit to stash a few thousand into her parents’ retirement account as well as to buy or lease the equipment she needed to produce essential oil of lavender.

Andy wrapped her arms around her middle and squeezed herself. She could hardly wait to give her parents the good news.

From the day she’d begged them to become her business partners, telling them that she really needed their experience and help, they had been behind her with encouragement and support. If they had ever seen through her intentions, they never let on.

She wished her husband was half as encouraging and supportive as her parents. He loved her and admired her, of that she had no doubt. He often told her she had “many fine qualities.” But as far as he was concerned, Lavender Meadows was and always would be just a “nice little hobby.” Why last year’s balance sheet hadn’t made him see Lavender Meadows’ potential, she didn’t know, but surely this order would wake him up, make him see now what the rest of them saw.

Andy’s thoughts raced. Martin. How would she tell him? What would she say? “Dear, I have something to tell you.” She shook her
head. Not enough punch. “Martin, I think you should sit down.” Scratch that. Too dramatic. “Martin, you know how you’ve always called Lavender Meadows my
little hobby?”
She mentally handed him the purchase order and imagined his eyes widening and the corners of his mouth teasing into a smile.

“Andy, dear, where are you?” Her mother’s voice came from the walk between the house and the barn.

Martin’s stunned face faded into nothingness. While the idea of flaunting the order in his face was fun to think about, she would never do it. Not in a million years. Instead, she would tell him the news via e-mail, with words carefully chosen so they wouldn’t sound like she was saying, “I told you so.”

“In here,” Andy called back, putting Martin to the back of her mind. She knew her mother always stopped at the sundial garden where the flagstone path divided in a Y, one arm to Andy’s house, the other to the refurbished barn-turned-studio, office, production, and shipping center. A half-dozen roses surrounded the sundial, the only roses on the farm. Her mother’s favorite was the tea rose named Double Delight. It had a creamy center with petals tipped with the pinks and reds of a brilliant sunrise. She didn’t have to see her mother to know she was bending over and inhaling the rose’s potent fragrance.

“That rose is blooming more this year than ever before,” Alice said from the doorway, where she paused until her eyes could adjust. Ever since her cataract surgery, she was more careful about going from the bright daylight into the dimness of the refurbished barn. At length she moved away from the door, walking as gracefully as she had twenty years ago. It was all in her posture, Andy reminded herself, a posture her mother had learned and practiced faithfully throughout her years as a dancer.

“You say that every year.”

“I know, but here it is September, and the meadows are covered
with blossoms.” Alice closed her eyes and sniffed the air. “Between roses and lavender, I always feel like I’m on a scent-sational high.”

Andy smiled at her mother’s unique use of their advertising slogan. “Clever. Very clever.”

“Yes, I thought so too,” Alice said with a laugh.

In years past, Andy and her mother had more than once been accused of being sisters, not only because they sounded so much alike but also because they looked alike, with straight hair cut just below their ears, broad brows, strong chins, and clear hazel eyes.