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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?”
“I didn’t know she was so important.”
“Well, she was. You’re always complaining about your poor family background, but let me tell you, there has never been a finer woman walked the earth than Granny Warner or my own mother, for that matter. And my father’s people have served in every war this country has ever fought. As far as that’s concerned, you’ve got a lot of good ancestors among the Warners. Why, the family has been in this country since the founding of Jamestown!”
“My brothers don’t amount to much.”
“Well, that’s not Warner blood,” Mary said and her mouth snapped shut, as if she would say no more, for she had always been jealous of John Warner’s first wife.
“Tell me more about Granny Warner.”
“She was the best midwife ever lived in Harlan County—she’s the one who brought you into the world, as well as your sister and brothers. She traveled all over these mountains, any time of day or night, to help women give birth.”
“I’ll never forget the time Luellen was here and Granny came and helped deliver her baby. But women go to hospitals for delivering their babies now.”
“Not all of them—some women still prefer to give birth at home.”
“But I believe that my destiny is some place other than Kentucky.”
Mary continued as if Beth hadn’t spoken. “Granny Warner was trained by Mary Breckinridge, who recognized the need for midwives in the isolated areas of Kentucky, and she organized the Frontier Nursing Service back in the twenties. Your granny was proud to serve with her.”
“I could be a nurse and a midwife, too, I suppose, but it will still take more education than I have.”
Mrs. Warner sighed. “I wish you could be content with your life the way it is, but since you can’t be, do what you think best. It won’t be easy for you to go to high school. The bus line is over three miles away. You’ll have to walk there and back most days, Beth.”
“I wondered if I could stay with Grandma Blaine during the week. The bus passes right by her house.”
“I’ll ask her, but you’d better clear this with your daddy.”
Beth nodded, and she wandered out on the porch, mildly elated, for she didn’t expect any resistance from her father, who had idolized his youngest daughter since the day Beth was born on his sixtieth birthday. John Warner was tall and lanky, a smoothshaven man with bluish shadows beneath his dark eyes. John’s health had never been good after having been a prisoner of war during World War II, and since his retirement from the mine, he had been disabled by heart disease. His portable oxygen tank lay on a table by his side, for John didn’t dare go anyplace without it. Beth sat on the porch floor beside her father and took his hand.
“Why are you looking so serious, baby?” he asked.
“I want to go to school in the county seat this fall.”
“You’re such a smart girl—I figure you know everything now.”
Beth shook her head stubbornly. “Not enough to get me away from this hollow.”
A cloud passed over John’s eyes. “Anxious to leave your old pa, are you?”
She squeezed the bony hand she held. “No, not that, Daddy, but don’t you want me to have a better life than you’ve had?”
“Yes, I do, baby, even if it means you have to leave us. I can’t keep you here forever. I reckon it will cost a heap of money to go to school in the county seat, but I’ll give you all the help I can.”
“Thanks, Daddy, but my teacher told me that there are funds available through your union to aid children of disabled miners. She’s encouraged me to go on with school, and she’ll help me fill out an application.”
“You’ve got the makings of a great woman, Beth, and if you think you need more schooling, go ahead and get it. I wish I’d had more book learning myself. After the war, I could have gone to school under the G.I. Bill, but I didn’t. I’ve been sorry, too, that I didn’t” He started talking about his war experiences, and Beth listened halfheartedly. She’d heard the stories so many times, but she looked at him intently, even while her thoughts turned to the future.
Fortified by her parents’ agreement with her plans, Beth climbed the hill to her hideaway, a playhouse under a cliff that she’d used since she was a child. She always went there when she wanted to think, and she had a lot of thinking to do. She was sure that her maternal grandmother would welcome her, and if her father could contribute a little money, perhaps she could get the remainder she needed from the miners’ union if her former teacher could advise her how to do it.
And the woman did recommend Beth for a grant, which was awarded immediately. More practical help came from a friend, Pam Gordon. Pam had married Ray Gordon when she was fifteen and moved to Pineville in a neighboring county. When Pam heard about Beth’s plans, she insisted that Beth should pay her a visit.
“I’ll help you find clothes that won’t cost you a great deal,” she promised. “You won’t need to buy new things. Since Ray is going to Lexington next week to play with his bluegrass band, we’ll go along, and I’ll take you to a ‘second-best’ store where they have really nice name-brand clothing for much less than you can buy it in retail stores. What you need are jeans and shirts, and if they’re somewhat worn, it won’t matter. High-school kids like them better that way.” She laughed. Under Pam’s guidance, Beth had come home from Pineville with enough outfits to satisfy her school needs.
Now, as she listened to a blustery wind blowing snow around the motel, Beth remembered how frightened she had been on the first day of school when she’d stood in front of Grandmother Ella Blaine’s home and watched the yellow bus approaching.
For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to run back to the hollow and stay there for the rest of her life. She knew what awaited her at home, but if she stepped on the bus, an unknown future loomed ahead. But should she give up her dreams so easily? Florence Nightingale hadn’t.
Fortunately, Beth’s mind was diverted from her own problems when a couple of children, who lived in the house adjacent to her grandmother’s, came out their door. The little boy was walking on crutches, his right leg encased in a cast When they reached Beth’s side, his sister explained, “Bryce broke his leg last week and since this is his first day at school, he’s scared. Mom would have taken us this morning, but the baby is sick.”
Beth looked at Bryce, whose lips were trembling, and his hands were shaking on the crutches.
“Come on, Bryce,” she said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ll help you onto the bus.”
When the bus stopped in front of them, the driver swung open the door and smiled at Beth. She threw the strap of her knapsack over her shoulder and held Bryce around the waist as he awkwardly climbed the steps. The bus driver took the boy’s hand, and with his help, Beth settled him into a front seat beside his sister.
“You’ll be fine, Bryce,” she told him with a smile, and indeed, the boy did look less fearful now that he’d cleared the first hurdle. With that act of kindness, Beth’s future was launched—not only as a high-school student, but also as a care provider.
The bus lurched into motion before Beth found a seat, and she quickly surveyed the students on board. A few of the faces were familiar—teens she had seen at miners’ rallies on Labor Day—but no one greeted her. Perhaps they felt ill at ease, too. The first few seats were empty, but she moved farther back into the bus, hoping to find a friendly face.
One boy smiled, and said, “This seat is empty. You’d better take it. The bus will be full before we get to school.”
“Thanks,” Beth said, and as she sat beside him on the narrow seat, their shoulders touched, giving Beth a secure feeling.
“I saw you helping that little fellow onto the bus. Is he your brother?”
“No—I’ve never seen him before. I’m staying with my grandmother, and the children are her neighbors. He felt scared and needed a little help.”
“That was nice of you.” His words were simple but his appreciative glance conveyed much more. His brown eyes twinkled with love of life, and she liked his keen and serene expression. On that first day, she had noticed deep dimples in his cheeks when he smiled. He had a bronzed, lean face, with a firm mouth.
