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A Groom to Come Home To
Irene Brand
COMING HOME…Beth Warner had pledged she'd never return to Harlan County. But when a twist of fate brought the beautiful nurse home, she faced reawakened memories–and the only man who had ever won her heart….Clark Randolph hadn't changed. Handsome, strong and kind, he was still all Beth had ever wanted. Secure in his faith, he'd never given up on their hometown. Deep in his heart, he'd never stopped loving Beth….Now Beth was again faced with the same dilemma that had torn her apart as a teenager. And as she struggled to understand heaven's plan in bringing her home again, she prayed that it was not too late to embrace a future filled with Clark's love.
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u4a412769-7bb2-5a0c-88ee-fc6fe00b6bd4)
About the Author (#u7192a5fa-dfc7-5df6-a837-07ddb4134bb6)
Title Page (#u5c2978f1-b603-506a-a1ad-1dc4a9037fef)
Dedication (#u1cabc184-1d3b-530f-b067-0e3e0867c3f0)
Epigraph (#u0ecf2a56-ec1c-5273-af05-d77e0a4aeac4)
Chapter One (#u4dc9adec-b148-5bb7-a4ac-8eae2fe0da52)
Chapter Two (#u9f9e127e-594e-545f-841e-4b93e7914671)
Chapter Three (#u4a260295-6650-5299-9f05-95613d695aa0)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
IRENE BRAND
This prolific and popular author of both contemporary and historical inspirational fiction is a native of West Virginia, where she has lived all of her life. She began writing professionally in 1977, after she completed her master’s degree in history at Marshall University. Irene taught in secondary public schools for twenty-three years, but retired in 1989 to devote herself fulltime to her writing.
In 1984, after she’d enjoyed a long career of publishing articles and devotional materials, her first novel was published by Thomas Nelson. Since that time, Irene has published nineteen contemporary and historical novels and three nonfiction titles with publishers such as Zondervan, Fleming Revell and Barbour Books.
Her extensive travels with her husband, Rod, to forty-nine of the United States and thirty-two foreign countries have inspired much of her writing. Through her writing, Irene believes she has been helpful to others and is grateful to the many readers who have written to say that her truly inspiring stories and compelling portrayals of characters of strong faith have made a positive impression on their lives. You can write to her at P.O. Box 2770, Southside, WV 25187.
A Groom to Come Home To
Irene Brand
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To the following people who were helpful in my
research for this book:
Beth Loughner, fellow writer and nurse
Gladys Hoskins, Chamber of Commerce,
Harlan, Kentucky
The staff at the public library in Harlan, and
Kathy Wheeler, who provided research material
about the Kentucky Coalition of Nurse Practitioners
and Nurse Midwives.
How priceless is your unfailing love!
—Psalm 36:7a
Chapter One (#ulink_d61b6ca1-33cd-5172-b4e4-807ba5326ca3)
Long before she reached the top of Randolph Mountain, Beth Warner knew she had made a big mistake. Earlier in the day when she’d been heading westward toward Lexington, she should have resisted the impulse to visit southeastern Kentucky. She didn’t cherish any fond memories of this part of the country where she had lived for eighteen years of her life. When she’d left over four years ago, she’d hoped she would never have to return, but there was no other way to repay the obligation she owed Shriver Mining Company.
The January day was clear and crisp, but it had snowed recently, and as she turned off the paved highway, Beth looked in dismay at the quagmire that passed for a gravel road leading up the side of the mountain. Deep ruts marked the slippery clay surface of the wet, narrow track. Could her small car possibly negotiate that incline? When she had traveled this road in other years, it had always been on foot or in her father’s pickup truck.
Beth was afraid to tackle the hill, for she had owned the car less than a week, and she wasn’t an experienced driver. Her driving expertise had already been tested to the breaking point on the narrow, serpentine road crossing Pine Mountain from Whitesburg to Cumberland, but at least there had been guardrails along that mountainous stretch. Here, one false move could send her over an embankment. But while she wasn’t inclined to take any chances, she’d come too far to turn back now.
She started slowly, gripping the steering wheel with moist hands, and sat straight as a ramrod while she slowly and steadily maneuvered the compact automobile up the slippery road. She released her breath when she reached the summit. Her hands were clammy, and when she lifted her foot from the accelerator, her leg trembled.
She pulled to one side of the road and parked on the soft needles in a grove of hemlocks. The wind swept briskly across the mountaintop, whipping the branches of the tall evergreens and buffeting her car. Beth slipped off her shoes and pulled on a pair of wool-lined boots, wrapped herself in an insulated coat, and tied a wool scarf around her long, straight, chestnut hair before she looked for the path that would take her to the brink of the mountain. Briers, thick vines and small trees barred the path’s entrance, but Beth walked around the underbrush and into the deeper woods where the trail was more distinct.
A ten-minute walk brought her to the edge of a rock cliff, and from that vantage point, she had an unobstructed view of the rugged mountain hollow where she had been born.
“Just as ugly and wretched as I remember,” she muttered.
Her eyes followed the crooked roadway leading into the small valley that showed no sign of life except for two crows perched in the leafless branches of a poplar tree, their harsh, strident cries echoing from one mountainside to the other. The towering cedars in the family cemetery where her parents were buried stood like watchmen over the hollow. A sparse snowfall had dusted the barren ground and the roofs of the deserted, ramshackle buildings, making the whole scene more desolate than it would have appeared in another season.
Even during the days when she had yearned to leave this hollow, Beth had always been sensitive to its beauty—the flowering redbud and dogwood trees in early spring, the green of the deciduous trees in the summer, and their yellow-and-red foliage in autumn. Today, however, she couldn’t summon any nostalgic thoughts of the past; all she saw was ugliness.
Her birthplace hadn’t changed a great deal from the way she first remembered it; in fact, Beth doubted that it had changed much since her ancestor had built a log cabin here soon after the Revolutionary War. During a rare period of prosperity, when Beth had been a toddler, her father had put siding over the logs and paneled the interior, but otherwise the four-room cabin with a full porch across the front seemed untouched by the years.
The scene was so deeply etched in Beth’s memory that she wouldn’t have been surprised to see her work-weary mother step out the door and draw water from the well in the backyard. Nor would it have seemed unusual to observe her invalid father, John, sitting in his favorite rocker on the front porch with a shotgun across his knees, his keen eyes searching the landscape for any unwelcome intruders in general, and Randolphs in particular. But except for the two crows, and Beth’s poignant memories, the hollow was deserted. After John Warner’s death, her half siblings had sold the property to a Shriver mining company, who wanted the land for the minerals lying beneath its surface.
A cold wind blew up from the hollow, indicating that more snow was a possibility. Beth shivered and headed back to her car. She had intended to go down to the house, but one glance at the road had discouraged her. The difficulty she’d had climbing Randolph Mountain was minor compared to the danger she would encounter on that narrow path. It would be foolish for her to attempt to drive into the hollow, for she couldn’t risk being stranded overnight without shelter.
Beth had often heard, “You can’t go home again,” but she decided that a more accurate adage would be, “You shouldn’t go home again.” She’d yielded to a questionable whim to come here, but it had profited her little. Beth broke into a run as she left the overlook. Warner Hollow was too full of memories disturbing to her peace of mind, and she wanted to leave it as quickly as possible. She raced along the path, determined to escape the past—especially her heartbreaking relationship with Clark Randolph, who had rarely left her thoughts since that day she had first seen him over seven years ago.
As Beth left Randolph Mountain, recollections of the past persisted, and she concluded that she might as well deal with the bitterness she harbored and lay it aside forever. So, all during a sleepless night at a motel in Harlan, Kentucky, she reviewed the chain of events that had brought underprivileged Beth Warner from that stark mountain home and made her into Beth Warner, advanced registered nurse-practitioner and midwife, who tomorrow would be in the employ of Shriver Mining Company.
“Why do you want to go to high school, Beth? You’ll be sixteen in a few months—you can quit school then. Why can’t you be like the other girls around here?” Mary Warner asked in querulous tones. Mary was a quiet, submissive wife. Beth had inherited her petite, finely-structured body, but there the resemblance between mother and daughter ended.
“I don’t know, Mom, but I can’t. You know how I’m always feeling sorry for people who have trouble and wanting to help them. I want to prepare myself to help others, and I can’t do it without more education than I have now.”
“What’s put all of this into your head? Some book you’ve been reading?”
“Maybe…. The teacher loaned me a book on the lives of great women in history, and I can’t get the story of Florence Nightingale out of my mind,” Beth confided. “She overcame all kinds of opposition to become a nurse and she helped so many people.”
“Then you want to be a nurse?”
Dreamily Beth said, “Not necessarily, although it would be a profession where I could reach out and help others, and I can’t do that if I don’t go to school somewhere beyond these mountains.”
“If you want to pattern your life after someone, why don’t you use Granny Warner for a model?”
Irene Brand
COMING HOME…Beth Warner had pledged she'd never return to Harlan County. But when a twist of fate brought the beautiful nurse home, she faced reawakened memories–and the only man who had ever won her heart….Clark Randolph hadn't changed. Handsome, strong and kind, he was still all Beth had ever wanted. Secure in his faith, he'd never given up on their hometown. Deep in his heart, he'd never stopped loving Beth….Now Beth was again faced with the same dilemma that had torn her apart as a teenager. And as she struggled to understand heaven's plan in bringing her home again, she prayed that it was not too late to embrace a future filled with Clark's love.
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u4a412769-7bb2-5a0c-88ee-fc6fe00b6bd4)
About the Author (#u7192a5fa-dfc7-5df6-a837-07ddb4134bb6)
Title Page (#u5c2978f1-b603-506a-a1ad-1dc4a9037fef)
Dedication (#u1cabc184-1d3b-530f-b067-0e3e0867c3f0)
Epigraph (#u0ecf2a56-ec1c-5273-af05-d77e0a4aeac4)
Chapter One (#u4dc9adec-b148-5bb7-a4ac-8eae2fe0da52)
Chapter Two (#u9f9e127e-594e-545f-841e-4b93e7914671)
Chapter Three (#u4a260295-6650-5299-9f05-95613d695aa0)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
IRENE BRAND
This prolific and popular author of both contemporary and historical inspirational fiction is a native of West Virginia, where she has lived all of her life. She began writing professionally in 1977, after she completed her master’s degree in history at Marshall University. Irene taught in secondary public schools for twenty-three years, but retired in 1989 to devote herself fulltime to her writing.
In 1984, after she’d enjoyed a long career of publishing articles and devotional materials, her first novel was published by Thomas Nelson. Since that time, Irene has published nineteen contemporary and historical novels and three nonfiction titles with publishers such as Zondervan, Fleming Revell and Barbour Books.
Her extensive travels with her husband, Rod, to forty-nine of the United States and thirty-two foreign countries have inspired much of her writing. Through her writing, Irene believes she has been helpful to others and is grateful to the many readers who have written to say that her truly inspiring stories and compelling portrayals of characters of strong faith have made a positive impression on their lives. You can write to her at P.O. Box 2770, Southside, WV 25187.
A Groom to Come Home To
Irene Brand
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To the following people who were helpful in my
research for this book:
Beth Loughner, fellow writer and nurse
Gladys Hoskins, Chamber of Commerce,
Harlan, Kentucky
The staff at the public library in Harlan, and
Kathy Wheeler, who provided research material
about the Kentucky Coalition of Nurse Practitioners
and Nurse Midwives.
How priceless is your unfailing love!
—Psalm 36:7a
Chapter One (#ulink_d61b6ca1-33cd-5172-b4e4-807ba5326ca3)
Long before she reached the top of Randolph Mountain, Beth Warner knew she had made a big mistake. Earlier in the day when she’d been heading westward toward Lexington, she should have resisted the impulse to visit southeastern Kentucky. She didn’t cherish any fond memories of this part of the country where she had lived for eighteen years of her life. When she’d left over four years ago, she’d hoped she would never have to return, but there was no other way to repay the obligation she owed Shriver Mining Company.
The January day was clear and crisp, but it had snowed recently, and as she turned off the paved highway, Beth looked in dismay at the quagmire that passed for a gravel road leading up the side of the mountain. Deep ruts marked the slippery clay surface of the wet, narrow track. Could her small car possibly negotiate that incline? When she had traveled this road in other years, it had always been on foot or in her father’s pickup truck.
Beth was afraid to tackle the hill, for she had owned the car less than a week, and she wasn’t an experienced driver. Her driving expertise had already been tested to the breaking point on the narrow, serpentine road crossing Pine Mountain from Whitesburg to Cumberland, but at least there had been guardrails along that mountainous stretch. Here, one false move could send her over an embankment. But while she wasn’t inclined to take any chances, she’d come too far to turn back now.
She started slowly, gripping the steering wheel with moist hands, and sat straight as a ramrod while she slowly and steadily maneuvered the compact automobile up the slippery road. She released her breath when she reached the summit. Her hands were clammy, and when she lifted her foot from the accelerator, her leg trembled.
She pulled to one side of the road and parked on the soft needles in a grove of hemlocks. The wind swept briskly across the mountaintop, whipping the branches of the tall evergreens and buffeting her car. Beth slipped off her shoes and pulled on a pair of wool-lined boots, wrapped herself in an insulated coat, and tied a wool scarf around her long, straight, chestnut hair before she looked for the path that would take her to the brink of the mountain. Briers, thick vines and small trees barred the path’s entrance, but Beth walked around the underbrush and into the deeper woods where the trail was more distinct.
A ten-minute walk brought her to the edge of a rock cliff, and from that vantage point, she had an unobstructed view of the rugged mountain hollow where she had been born.
“Just as ugly and wretched as I remember,” she muttered.
Her eyes followed the crooked roadway leading into the small valley that showed no sign of life except for two crows perched in the leafless branches of a poplar tree, their harsh, strident cries echoing from one mountainside to the other. The towering cedars in the family cemetery where her parents were buried stood like watchmen over the hollow. A sparse snowfall had dusted the barren ground and the roofs of the deserted, ramshackle buildings, making the whole scene more desolate than it would have appeared in another season.
Even during the days when she had yearned to leave this hollow, Beth had always been sensitive to its beauty—the flowering redbud and dogwood trees in early spring, the green of the deciduous trees in the summer, and their yellow-and-red foliage in autumn. Today, however, she couldn’t summon any nostalgic thoughts of the past; all she saw was ugliness.
Her birthplace hadn’t changed a great deal from the way she first remembered it; in fact, Beth doubted that it had changed much since her ancestor had built a log cabin here soon after the Revolutionary War. During a rare period of prosperity, when Beth had been a toddler, her father had put siding over the logs and paneled the interior, but otherwise the four-room cabin with a full porch across the front seemed untouched by the years.
The scene was so deeply etched in Beth’s memory that she wouldn’t have been surprised to see her work-weary mother step out the door and draw water from the well in the backyard. Nor would it have seemed unusual to observe her invalid father, John, sitting in his favorite rocker on the front porch with a shotgun across his knees, his keen eyes searching the landscape for any unwelcome intruders in general, and Randolphs in particular. But except for the two crows, and Beth’s poignant memories, the hollow was deserted. After John Warner’s death, her half siblings had sold the property to a Shriver mining company, who wanted the land for the minerals lying beneath its surface.
A cold wind blew up from the hollow, indicating that more snow was a possibility. Beth shivered and headed back to her car. She had intended to go down to the house, but one glance at the road had discouraged her. The difficulty she’d had climbing Randolph Mountain was minor compared to the danger she would encounter on that narrow path. It would be foolish for her to attempt to drive into the hollow, for she couldn’t risk being stranded overnight without shelter.
Beth had often heard, “You can’t go home again,” but she decided that a more accurate adage would be, “You shouldn’t go home again.” She’d yielded to a questionable whim to come here, but it had profited her little. Beth broke into a run as she left the overlook. Warner Hollow was too full of memories disturbing to her peace of mind, and she wanted to leave it as quickly as possible. She raced along the path, determined to escape the past—especially her heartbreaking relationship with Clark Randolph, who had rarely left her thoughts since that day she had first seen him over seven years ago.
As Beth left Randolph Mountain, recollections of the past persisted, and she concluded that she might as well deal with the bitterness she harbored and lay it aside forever. So, all during a sleepless night at a motel in Harlan, Kentucky, she reviewed the chain of events that had brought underprivileged Beth Warner from that stark mountain home and made her into Beth Warner, advanced registered nurse-practitioner and midwife, who tomorrow would be in the employ of Shriver Mining Company.
“Why do you want to go to high school, Beth? You’ll be sixteen in a few months—you can quit school then. Why can’t you be like the other girls around here?” Mary Warner asked in querulous tones. Mary was a quiet, submissive wife. Beth had inherited her petite, finely-structured body, but there the resemblance between mother and daughter ended.
“I don’t know, Mom, but I can’t. You know how I’m always feeling sorry for people who have trouble and wanting to help them. I want to prepare myself to help others, and I can’t do it without more education than I have now.”
“What’s put all of this into your head? Some book you’ve been reading?”
“Maybe…. The teacher loaned me a book on the lives of great women in history, and I can’t get the story of Florence Nightingale out of my mind,” Beth confided. “She overcame all kinds of opposition to become a nurse and she helped so many people.”
“Then you want to be a nurse?”
Dreamily Beth said, “Not necessarily, although it would be a profession where I could reach out and help others, and I can’t do that if I don’t go to school somewhere beyond these mountains.”
“If you want to pattern your life after someone, why don’t you use Granny Warner for a model?”
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