Serendipity
Authors: Cathy Marie Hake
Tags: #Fiction, #Christian, #Historical, #General, #Religious, #ebook, #book
Serendipity
C
ATHY
M
ARIE
H
AKE
© 2010 by Cathy Marie Hake
Published by Bethany House Publishers
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287.
E-book edition created 2010
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, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-1187-3
Library of Congress Cataloging-In-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
Follow Me.
– Jesus
Put on the whole armor of Christ.
– St. Paul
So far, I’m okay. But leave it to me to need a little more. Namely, bubble wrap.
In the past year and a half, I’ve fallen three times – broken an ankle, broken my foot, broken my right wrist, and got a walloping concussion that’s hanging on.
Special people have surrounded me in my brokenness. My editor, Sarah Long, deserves a halo for her patience and kindness. Tracie Peterson ought to have a jewel in her heavenly crown for her steadfast praying. My hubby gets a duct tape helmet for protecting me. And Dr. Serge deserves a golden stethoscope for patching me together because I’ve fallen to pieces. And readers who have written me precious encouragement – God, grant them wings!
I might not be doing too well at staying on my feet, but you all help me stay balanced. This book is for you!
Contents
C
ARVER’S
H
OLLER
, A
RKANSAS
1893
“Hoo-ooo-ie, she’s het up!”
Margaret Rose shook a spatula at the men in her kitchen. “If you plan to eat supper, you’ll not be egging him on.”
All three bearded jaws dropped.
“I mean it.” Never once had she made that threat. In her five years of cooking and caring for a baker’s dozen ragtag of old men, Maggie managed to tolerate plenty. Love made it easy to dote on them and overlook blunders. Most often, her “uncles” showered her with affection, appreciation, and endless amusement. Today, however, was different. Their discussion frayed the edges of her patience so badly, a tattered sock would have looked brand-new by comparison. She didn’t often rue being the only woman in Carver’s Holler, but this counted as such a time. “After being hounded for six days, I deserve some rest.”
“You’d get more rest as a married woman,” Uncle Bocephus encouraged. “As a wife, you’d feed and doctor only one man. Not thirteen.”
“Nonsense!” She nibbled on a broken cookie. “I’d have fourteen men.”
“All the better reason.” Paw-Paw rose from the table. Breath hissed though his teeth and his features tightened. “Thirteen’s unlucky.”
Alarm shot through her. “Paw-Paw, you’re hurting! What’s a-wrong?”
“Wood leg’s giving my daddy fits,” Jethro tattled. “Wore a hole in the stump sock, and now he’s going to rub a raw spot on what’s left. He doesn’t want to tell you so.”
“Mercy’s sake, Paw-Paw. Take off your leg and pass over the sock. I’ll have it darned in a trice.”
Paw-Paw plopped down and yanked up his pant leg. “Take it from an old man, Maggie. Life is full of surprises.” He gestured in a wide arc to the view out her window. Meager beams of sunlight snuck through the heavy gray clouds, the sky promising a rare snowstorm. Maggie had seen all of three snowstorms in her whole life, and the wicked chill sweeping through the holler promised a mean fourth. “Even the critters know a change is on the wind, lass. They’re planning ahead for what’s to come. You should, too.”
She laughed. “I am! I’m planning on having thirteen hungry men at my supper table. Sure and for certain,
they
won’t change one bit. They’ll all come early because of the weather. The Flinn twins will give us a storm update and Mr. Collier’s suspenders are going to be twisted,” she predicted.
Uncle Bo let out a sigh powerful enough to flip over a sack of potatoes. “Don’t you see, girl? Deep as this holler – that’s my love for you. Only things that matter a whit to me are tramping in God’s footsteps and doing what He wants – especially regarding you.” His Scots-Irish accent grew thicker as emotion built. “My callin’ is to walk you down the aisle and see you waltz off with a good man. The Lord’s got the right one for you, and I’ll not bind you here to me. We clung to each other in our sorrow after my Maude went to the bosom of the Almighty – ”
“And in His infinite mercy, the Almighty gave us one another to lean on.” She gazed adoringly at Uncle Bo, her only living relative.
“Lass, grief mellowed into sweet memories, yet we’ve leaned ourselves right into a rut.”
“Rut! I know you’re not talking about emotions, because you just said our grief has mellowed. You taught me resilience and even moved me into my own house so I’d stand on my own.” Slapping away Jethro’s hand as he tried to sneak his fourth cookie, Maggie frowned. “Surely you aren’t calling my pretty house a rut, not when I’m happy as a magpie in her nest. You’d crush my feelings!”
“Feelings cloud the senses, and I’ve come to mine at long last.” Uncle Bo pointed at her. “The time’s a-comin’ for you to meet the future God has planned for you.”
“You ain’t gettin’ any younger, Maggie.” Paw-Paw arched a scruffy brow and didn’t even have the grace to look guilty.
“I’m shocked! Back when your wives were with us, bless their souls, you would never mention a lady’s age!” As she turned to add almost seven dozen oatmeal cookies to the goodies in her pie safe, laughter tinted her voice. “Time must be sneaking up on you just as fast as it’s creeping up on me.”
Wagging his head side to side, Jethro folded his arms on the tabletop and sagged forward. “Old age took us captive the moment we picked up our rifles and fought for the Confederacy.”
“Since we forfeited our larking years,” Uncle Bo shared a glance with the others, “we reckon time owes you a few extra.”
He considered it a mark of honor to shield her from the soul-deep burden he carried from the War Between the States, so Maggie pretended not to hear the sadness dragging at his voice. “First you said I’m getting old, but now you’re telling me I’m still young and owed more youth.” She made a show of tapping her chin with her forefinger as though deep in thought. “That must make me an old maid, Uncle Bo. I’m sure keeping me underfoot makes for a heavy burden, but this will shore you up.” She handed a mug of steaming chicory to him.
Maggie brewed chicory special for him. Everyone else in Carver’s Holler, Arkansas, drank coffee, but she’d do just about anything to make her uncle happy – other than getting married. She held firm to the belief that marriage ought to be grounded in faith and promises of love. The only grounds she could claim swirled in the bottom of a chicory pot.
“You don’t listen any better than those bullheaded Belgians out in the barn,” Jethro grumbled about the draft horses. “Ornery things only do one thing: eat!”
Neither Adam nor Eve would do a thing for anyone but her, so Maggie couldn’t disagree with that part of the comment. “I do listen. You’ve told me I’m tottering on the edge of decrepitude, so let’s not waste our limited days nattering about something that isn’t going to change.” Pleased with how she’d put an end to the conversation, she turned away to get the silverware.
“It is gonna change.” Uncle Bo stepped up beside her. “That’s what I’m a-tellin’ you. Plain and simple, I’ve got it pressing on my heart to ask God to send a man for you.”
The drawer came out completely when she yanked it, flipping silverware into the air as though the cutlery wanted to slice through her hopes of changing the topic. “How many times have you told me just because I pray for something, it doesn’t mean God’s going to follow my wishes?” She handed him the empty drawer and knelt to pick up the mess. “You taught me to pray for His will, not for my wants – but now you’ve turned it around.”
“Nothing’s turned around a-tall. Told you it’s been pressing heavy on my heart. Sure as can be, God’s easing me into letting go of you.”
“Nonsense!” She sorted through silverware and conversation, picking which pieces best served her. “I’m where I belong, with the people I love, right in the center of God’s will for me.”
Her uncle gave her his don’t-try-my-patience look. “Can’t expect the Creator, who has an imagination big enough to build this whole wide world, is going to stop putting things together or pulling them asunder. Our lives change at His bidding.”
