Excerpt of Love Finds a Home by Wanda E. Brunstetter

Chapter 1

August 1879

All aboard!" The conductor’s booming cry pulled Glenna Moore to her feet. She glanced down at her father, slouched on the wooden bench outside the train station in Central City, Nebraska. His head was supported only by the unyielding plank wall, and his mouth hung slightly open.

Glenna bent down and gave his shoulder a good shake. "Wake up, Daddy. The train’s here, and we’ve got to go now."

Her father groaned and swiped one hand across his unruly goatee. "Leave me alone, girl. I wanna sleep."

Glenna dropped back onto the bench with a heavy sigh, making no effort to conceal her disgust. "You can sleep all you want once we’re on the train." She poked him in the ribs with a bony elbow. "You don’t want to be thrown in jail, do you?"

Glenna’s harsh reminder of their dire circumstances seemed to be enough motivation for Daddy. He opened one eye, then the other, yawning widely as he attempted to stand up. His equilibrium was not what it should have been, however, and he was forced to grab hold of Glenna’s arm in order to keep from falling over.

Allowing Daddy to lean on her small frame, Glenna complained, "If you just hadn’t been so determined to finish that bottle of whiskey, you might not be in such a state right now!"

The empty bottle was lying on the floor by their bench, and she sneered at it as though it were her worst enemy.

"Needed it," her father mumbled. "Was dealt a raw hand."

No, Daddy, Glenna lamented silently, it was you who dealt the bad hand. Ever since Mama died in childbirth, along with her little brother, Glenna had been Daddy’s girl. She needed him as much as he needed her, so she would make every effort to bridle her tongue where his problem was concerned.

"If we don’t get on board that train heading west, it’s going to leave without us." Glenna shuddered. "And if we stay here, the law will either put you in jail or some sidewinder’s bound to shoot you."

Her father snorted and gave the empty whiskey bottle a hefty kick with the toe of his sable-colored boot. "Humph! Can I help it if I’m better at poker than most of those snakes in the grass?"

In all her eighteen years, Glenna could never remember her daddy admitting he was wrong about anything—not even cheating at the card tables. She was well aware of Daddy’s special vest, with a single strip of elastic sewn inside. She’d seen those marked cards he kept hidden there, too. Glenna had no right to complain or judge her father though. After all, he protected her and took care of her needs. Well, most of them anyway.

Glenna glanced down at her dark-green, cotton day dress with its formfitting bodice and tight, short sleeves. The lower part of the gown consisted of both an underskirt and an overskirt, pulled slightly up in the back, giving it a somewhat bustled look. While it had cost a tidy sum when she’d purchased it a few years back, it was now quite out-of-date. Daddy hadn’t done too well at his trade recently, and new dresses weren’t a priority—at least not to his way of thinking.

Smoke and cinders belched from the diamond-shaped stack on top of the Union Pacific’s mighty engine. The imperious screech of the locomotive whistle and another "All aboard!" drove Glenna’s troubled thoughts to the back of her mind. "We’ve got to board that train, Daddy."

Her father bent down and grabbed his well-worn suitcase, and Glenna followed suit. Due to their rapid departure, they were traveling light. Since they had no additional luggage, there wasn’t a need for anything to be placed in the baggage car.

Gripping Daddy’s arm, Glenna guided him toward the conductor.

"Tickets, please!" the gray-haired gentleman barked, thrusting out his hand.

Glenna set her suitcase down and fumbled in her handbag. She retrieved the tickets and handed them to the conductor, just in time to grab her father’s arm before he toppled over.

"Too bad you’re not in a private Pullman car," the conductor said with a sympathetic look. "Granger, Wyoming, is a ways off. It appears as though your traveling companion could do with a bit of privacy."

Glenna gritted her teeth and offered the man a curt nod as he helped her board the train. No one wished more for a private car than she. Funds were low just now, and spending what little they did have on something so unnecessary was not a good idea. Until they got settled in the town of Granger, their money must be spent wisely. That meant riding in a dismal, overcrowded emigrants’ coach for third-class passengers who soon would become a congregation of aching spines and flaring tempers.

Visions of more affluent times flashed into Glenna’s mind. Just thinking about their present situation sent a chord of defiance through her soul. She hoped things wouldn’t always be like this. Daddy kept assuring her that someday he would hit it really big. Then he’d build a house they could call their own, buy lots of fancy clothes, and give Glenna a horse and buggy fit for a princess. It would probably never happen, but dreaming of better days was all that kept her going.

Her father had already stumbled up the steps and was slouched against one wall when Glenna joined him moments later. "We must find a bench," she said in a voice laced with frustration. If Daddy kept standing there like a disfigured statue, they’d not only have trouble securing a seat, but they would probably be the laughingstock of the entire coach!

With another one of his pathetic groans, Daddy pulled away from the wall. Grabbing Glenna’s free arm, he began shuffling down the aisle.

Glenna felt, rather than saw, the curious stares from the other passengers as they awkwardly made their way toward a vacant wooden bench. She kept her eyes focused on her goal so she wouldn’t have to view the pity or disgust from those nearby. Why couldn’t Daddy have stayed sober today? Why must she suffer the humiliation of his actions?

She drew in a deep breath, then blew it out with such force she felt the tiny curls across her forehead bounce. As far back as she could remember, things had been this way where Daddy was concerned. She hated to admit it, but barring some unforeseen miracle, she knew things would probably never be any different.

Daddy dropped his suitcase and gave it a good kick under their seat. Then he flopped onto the hard bench. Glenna placed her own piece of luggage next to his and slid in beside him, thankful they would no longer be viewed by the entire car. Maybe now she could find a few moments of peace.

David Green pulled methodically on the end of his recently trimmed beard as he studied the young woman in the seat directly across the aisle. Dark ringlets framed her oval face, and her high-necked dress, though slightly outdated, fit just right. He couldn’t help but notice her flushed cheeks, wary expression, and the obvious tension in her body. She probably had her hands full with that man who sat beside her. Was the drunkard her father, perhaps an uncle, or even a much too old husband?

David shook his head. Surely this delicate beauty could not be married to such an uncouth fellow! Those long, ebony curls and fetching brown eyes could easily have wooed a younger, more distinguished, and pleasant man than the one sitting next to her. Why, the paunchy, middle-aged man was slouched in his seat as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

How despicable. Then a verse of scripture popped into David’s mind. "Judge not, that ye be not judged." He swallowed hard. Thank You for reminding me, Lord. But for the grace of God, there go I.

David’s thoughts were pulled aside as the man who shared his seat spoke up. He blinked. "What was that?"

"I said, ‘When do you think the train will pull out?’ " the young man asked. "We’ve already had several delays today, and I’m getting anxious to see this trip come to an end."

David turned his full attention to his chum—a name given to those who shared seats on the emigrants’ coach. The man was already onboard the train when David got on in Omaha, Nebraska. He’d introduced himself as Alexander P. Gordon, a Scottish author and poet. He boasted of having a modest reputation as a "travel writer."

Before David could open his mouth to reply to Alexander’s question, the train whistle blew three quick blasts, and their humble coach began to rock from side to side. The swaying motion was almost gentle and lulling at first, but as the train picked up speed, David could hear the familiar clickety-clack, slap-slap-slap of the wheels. Soon their car began to bounce like a rolling ship at sea.

David tried to ignore the distraction and smiled at his companion. "Guess that answers your question about when we’ll be leaving Central City."

Alexander nodded. "Yes, indeed."

A boisterous hiccup from across the aisle pulled David’s attention back to the lovely young woman and the inebriated man whose head was now leaning on her slender shoulder. She looked so melancholy—almost hopeless, in fact. His heart went out to her, and he wondered what he might do or say to make her feel better. After all, it was his calling to minister to others.

"Tell me about this place where you have been called to serve, Reverend Green."

David turned back toward Alexander, but the man’s attention seemed to be more focused on his red, irritated wrists, which he kept scratching, than on what he’d just said to David. Alexander had told him earlier that he’d acquired a rather pustulant itch. Probably from the cramped quarters aboard the train he’d ridden before meeting up with David.

"I’ll be shepherding my first flock in a mining town known as Idaho City," David replied, averting his gaze from Alexander’s raw, festering wrists back to the woman across the aisle.

"Hmm. . .that would be in Idaho Territory, if I’m not mistaken."

David nodded. "Quite right."

"And you said you recently left divinity school?"

"Actually, it was Hope Academy in Omaha. I just finished my training a few weeks ago."

"Ah, so you are what some Americans refer to as a ‘greenhorn’?"

David chuckled. "Some might say so. However, I have had some experience preaching. In fact, I spent a few years as a circuit rider before I decided to attend the academy and further my ministerial studies."

"I see. So, are you married or single?"

David’s eyebrows shot up. "I’m single. Why do you ask?"

Alexander frowned. "Most men of the cloth are married, aren’t they? I would think it might even be a requirement."

"Why’s that?"

"Too many temptations. The world is full of carnal women who would like nothing better than to drag a religious man straight to the ground."

David chewed on his lower lip as he pondered this thought. Perhaps Mr. Gordon was right. It could be that he’d been too hasty in accepting this call from the good people of Idaho City Community Church. He thought about the letter inside his coat pocket. It was from one of the church deacons, and as he recalled, it made some reference to him being married. In fact, the deacon’s exact words had been: "The ladies here are anxious to meet your wife. I’m sure she will feel quite welcome in our church and soon become a part of our growing community as well."

I wonder what could have given them the idea that I’m married, David reflected. Perhaps Alexander is right. It could be an expected thing for the shepherd of a church to have a wife.

A deep rumbling, followed by a high-pitched whine, drew David’s attention back to the young lady across from him. The man’s loud snoring was clearly distressing to the woman, and she squirmed restlessly in her seat.

If only my chum would keep quiet a few moments, I might think of something appropriate to say to her.

Though more than a bit irritated, David listened patiently as Alexander began a narration of the many illnesses which had plagued him all of his twenty-nine years. David was twenty-six, and he hadn’t had half as many ailments as this poor chap.

As though by divine intervention, Alexander suddenly became quiet. David cast a quick glance in his direction and found that his chum had drifted off to sleep. Drawing in a deep breath and sending up a quick prayer, David made a hasty decision. He would get out of his seat, walk across the aisle, and see if that young lady was in need of his counsel.