<< Go Back

A Time to Leave (Great Lakes Romances) (Volume 10)

By Donna Winters

Order Now!

CHAPTER 1
Sac Bay, Michigan
Spring, 1885

Cold drizzle fell from heavy clouds, dampening four- teen-year-old Violet Harrigan’s curls and running in rivulets down her icy cheeks. She swiped at the moisture with the back of her hand as she maintained her focus on the open grave before her. How could Papa be lying in that coffin? Why did he let that tree fall on him yesterday? It just couldn’t be true, could it? But it was.
To her right, her stocky brother, Dan, age twelve, held the hand of their petite ten-year-old sister, Rose, who had been crying constantly since Papa’s death. Mama huddled close, attempting to calm Rose while struggling to hold beck her own tears.
Violet had never known Mama to be so distraught. Her bitter sobs upon hearing of Papa’s misfortune had been more than Violet could bear. Thankfully, Mama’s kin from Fayette, a few miles north, had come the moment word reached them, and had been very comforting.
The townsfolk had helped, too, preparing the grave, coffin, and body for burial and providing meals for the family. Violet shifted her focus to the opposite side of the grave.
How thankful she was for the presence of her lifelong friends and next-door-neighbors, Celina Legard, who was also fourteen, and her twenty-year-old brother Guy. Their blue eyes, normally sparkling with the joy of life, today appeared almost as gray as the sky. Twelve-year-old Joseph Legard, Dan’s good pal, was there, too, his narrow face looking glum. Their parents and four more brothers and sisters soon joined the other three Legards creating a sea of black berets attesting to their French Canadian heritage—all except Guy’s older brother, Lou-is. For reasons unknown, he had put off his beret in favor of a small black Stetson a couple of years ago. Until then, he and Guy had looked almost like twins with their matching hats and mustaches, and their strong, wiry build.
With the last of the mourners gathered near, Violet’s maternal grandfather, Angus McAdams, stepped to the foot of the grave, pulled his brown tweed cap from his balding head, and addressed the gathered company with a hearty, yet solemn voice.
“Let us bow our heads.”
But Violet seemed incapable of that simple act, her neck rigid—her whole body, in fact, frozen in a moment of fear for what was to become of her family without her beloved papa. Unbidden, her feet took flight, carrying her away from the graveside service, through trees and down a long, weedy path to the shore of Sac Bay. Just as a wave crashed on the beach sending sand into a swirl of confusion, a surge of anger exploded within.
Face skyward, she shook her fist in the air.
“Why, God? Why?”
Her only answer came from gulls crying and circling overhead.
With a prolonged shriek, she sank to her knees and let the tears come. Trembling with uncontrollable sobs, she ignored the splashing of foam and sand onto her black woolen skirt. Then a pair of strong hands began lifting her, Guy’s hands. He had been closer than a brother for as long as she could remember.
“Come, ma petite amie, my little friend.” He guided her to a beached log where they sat, her head against his neck, his arm about her shoulders until she could cry no more.
He dried her tears with his handkerchief, lifted her chin, and studied her. “Listen to me, ma petite amie.” He spoke tenderly. “Have I not been watching out for you from the beginning?”
She gave a slight nod.
“And it will be ever so. I promise.”

Order Now!

<< Go Back