Serendipity by Cathy Marie Hake Read Free Book Online Page A

that worked out right fine. Lo and behold, God’s Word instructs a man to love his wife. It’s his duty. Turned out cherishing Maude was the easiest thing I ever did.”
    “But the bagpipes?”
    A plethora of memories flickered across her uncle’s face as he stood and reached for an old book. “A handful of years later your granddaddy done went and spilled the beans. He told Maude about me not writing her name on my paper, and Maude ran home shrieking like a banshee. Before I could explain, she grabbed my axe and made kindling of my bagpipes.”
    Insatiably curious, Maggie took the slip of paper he handed to her.
    I’ll take any woman as long as she’s godly.
    I’ll learn to love her.
    Bible tells me to, and I will – heart and soul.
    Bocephus Carver
    “I was livid that day. Not because of what Maude did, but at myself because she wasn’t convinced of my devotion. I never replaced those bagpipes to prove something to her: They were just bags of wind – but she was my very breath and heartbeat.”
    “Oh, Uncle Bo! You more than proved yourself. You adored each other.”
    His eyes shimmered, and his voice trembled. “You said you’d listen. Harken to the voice of God and of that Valmer man. If marriage comes up, I approve. You’d be going to the same kind of arranged marriage your aunt and I had, and a finer, richer marriage there never was.”
    “Has he said anything?”
    “Not a word. Not yet.” Embracing her, he urged, “But I’m sure he will.”
    As she finished rinsing the sheets, her uncle left her to her thoughts. Did she want Mr. Valmer to say anything? Or to stay silent? It was so confusing. Year on end, she’d been content. And as soon as he left, life would go back to normal. Or would it? This is silly. Uncle Bo’s wild notion and nagging have addled my wits. I’m not going to fret. Well, that wasn’t quite true. She said she’d listen to God or groom. I have no reason to think Mr. Valmer is my groom. And God hasn’t said anything. . . .
    Not yet.

    Tonight was the night he and Ma should have arrived in Texas. Instead, Ma’s furniture would be unloaded at the Gooding train station with them nowhere in sight. Folks would reckon he’d been delayed.
    Delayed? Todd shoved the saw with such force, the teeth cut through four inches of the board. The train wouldn’t come through again until next Monday. He was stranded for a whole week while his farm withered. With telegraph strung across the entire nation for thirty years, it was reasonable to assume every place had one. But nothing about this situation was reasonable: Carver’s Holler didn’t have a telegraph. For him to remain silent for an entire week . . . folks back home would know something bad happened. Maybe even deadly.
    His neighbors would probably parcel out his beloved horses – the ones he hoped to someday use for his breeding stock. He’d get the horses back, but the chickens and hogs were a different story. With so many mouths to feed, some neighbors might slaughter a hog even though it wasn’t fat enough for butchering. They could fry up his chickens, too. He had to provide for Ma now, and they’d need eggs, chicken, pork, and lard. . . .
    The next train won’t get us home until eleven fifteen Thursday night. I’ll be gone a full eleven days. He couldn’t help imagining the disaster awaiting him – scorched wheat, withering alfalfa, and missing tools. By now he should have planted sorghum, but that field remained an unplowed patch of dirt. Whoever said “time is money” must have been a farmer. Lack of time on the farm equated with a huge loss of money. A hired hand’s help would probably turn the tide, but Todd couldn’t promise to pay someone when every last cent went toward the mortgage. The stack of boards grew higher as he sawed out his frustration.
    Finally, he went back inside to check on Ma. A mouthwatering aroma hit him as he entered. “Mmmm!”
    “Last night’s stew and tonight’s roasts are from a