By Kim Vogel Sawyer
A Compelling Pioneer tale From Bestselling writer Kim Vogel SawyerFed up with the bad caliber of existence in 1880 manhattan, Tarsie Raines encourages her pals Joss and Mary Brubacher to maneuver with their youngsters to Drayton Valley, Kansas, a booming city hailed within the guidebook because the land of chance. She bargains to aid with charges and to deal with Mary and the youngsters as they commute west by way of wagon teach. but if tragedy moves at the journey around the prairie, Tarsie is thrown into an association with Joss that leaves either one of them wondering God and their goals for the long run. As their money dwindle and not anything is going as deliberate, will Tarsie and Joss surrender and move their separate methods, or will God use their time in Drayton Valley to show their hearts towards him?
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Extra info for A Home in Drayton Valley
A brown moon-shaped face with thick black eyebrows and hair curling crisply about a forehead with many horizontal wrinkles rose from the deck on the other side of Fuselli. ” came the deep voice again, and the dark eyebrows contracted in an expression of sympathy. “Funny, I’d have my sixshooter out if I was home and you told me to look like they was askeered somebody was going to hit ‘em. ” “Well, what d’ye expect of you guys who live in the city all your lives and don’t know the butt from the barrel of a gun an’ never straddled anything more like a horse than a broomstick.
Two fellers died this mornin’ in that there room,” said turned the knob the door flew open and he was in the full sweep of the wind. The deck was deserted. The wet ropes strung along it shivered dismally in the wind. Every other moment came the rattle of spray, that rose up in white fringy trees to windward and smashed against him like hail. Without closing the door he crept forward along the deck, clinging as hard as he could to the icy rope. Beyond the spray he could see huge marbled green waves rise in constant succession out of the mist.
I’ve really started now,” thought Fuselli to himself. ” 50 John Dos Passos * * * The bare freight car clattered and rumbled monotonously over the rails. A bitter cold wind blew up through the cracks in the grimy splintered boards of the floor. The men huddled in the corners of the car, curled up together like puppies in a box. It was pitch black. Fuselli lay half asleep, his head full of curious fragmentary dreams, feeling through his sleep the aching cold and the unending clattering rumble of the wheels and the bodies and arms and legs muffled in coats and blan- from the blast of cold air that blew up through a crack in the floor.
A Home in Drayton Valley by Kim Vogel Sawyer