Following the first Sunday service in January, Abigale stood at the back of Divide’s small church, clutching a “bouquet” of young blue spruce and lodgepole pine sprigs, tied with the handkerchief Seth had given her the week before. His grandmother had carried the delicately trimmed hankie at her wedding, Ida had told her, and Abigale had marveled at the words stitched into its center.
My times are in Thy hand.
Nothing could have been more fitting.
And nothing encouraged her more for dealing with the Blackwell’s pilfering come spring. Pop had often said a three-fold cord was stronger than any other, and she, Seth, and the Lord made three.
Ida had accompanied her to her grandparents’ ranch to collect a blue dress Abigale saved for special occasions and her good button-top shoes. And this morning, she’d seated Abigale before her dressing table as she did up her hair with surprising dexterity. The girls at Wolfe Hall would be stunned that a high-country rancher’s wife had such skill.
“I can read, you know,” Ida had spouted when pressed about her ability. “Godey’s and a few other magazines offer fine instructions as well as illustrations.”
“Emmy is blessed to have you,” Abigale said.
A final pin slipped into place, and Ida patted Abigale’s shoulders. “And we are blessed to have you.”
Movement at the front of the church drew Abigale’s nervous attention back to the moment. The pastor signaled the piano player. Seth rose from the first pew and turned to face her. The green scarf was tied proudly at his throat and his best shirt fit snugly over his broad shoulders.
He had asked to borrow the ring for the ceremony, and she’d gladly slipped it on his little finger.
“I love you, Abigale,” he’d said, kissing her with a tender passion that shivered all the way down to her toes.
Seth Holt had been surprising her most of her life, doing or saying the unexpected, and she had no doubt he would continue to do so.
There was that little word again. The word she longed to say once she reached the front of the church and stood before all the parishioners who had stayed to wish her well. Mams had stitched the word years ago, but only lately had Abigale realized its significance.
“I do trust You,” she whispered on her way to stand beside her handsome, rough-cut cowboy.
And when the moment came, she looked into his meadow-green eyes and said it again out loud. “I do. With all my heart, I do.”
~~~
Thank you for reading Seth and Abigale’s story.
I would so appreciate a brief review on your favorite book sites and/or social media.
Reviews help me reach other readers like you.
And thank you for allowing me literary license regarding the great little community of
Divide, Colorado – not quite as developed in 1875 as I have depicted it in my story,
but a unique high-country town that survived and thrives today.
Continue reading for the second High-Country Christmas novella, Snow Angel.