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Honor

By Angela D. Shelton

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Prologue

Caleb Worthington opened his eyes to nothing but blackness.
He blinked twice, thinking he must not be fully awake. Still
black. His head pounded with the worst headache ever. When
he tried to raise his hand to massage the ache, he couldn’t.
Someone had bound them together.

His heart raced as his throat dried and choked him. He tried
to rise, but they’d tied his feet as well. What was going on here?
Where was he?

Stop. Think. What’s the last thing you remember?
He’d been at market day. Mom was minding the table with
their neighbor, Mrs. Boswell. Jan, Renee, and Lizzy had
taken Jacob on a hunt for a lamb. Dad, Mr. Boswell, and Mr.
Tilbrook were at the auction to see what price their heifers
would bring in.

At least, Caleb could remember these specific details, even
though he couldn’t remember where he was or how he’d gotten
here. He wasn’t full-on amnesiac. He knew he just turned
nineteen. And he had a girlfriend. Sort of.
Man, it was dark in here—and hot. Had someone stuck him
into a huge oven? Like the fairy-tale witch who planned to
bake Hansel and Gretel.

Okay. Now you’re losing it, dude. It is highly unlikely you are in
a fairy tale.

Dad would tell him to think his way out of the problem and
not go all “bull in a china shop.” Time to rethink the situation.
Slow deep breaths, in and out. What did he know about his
surroundings?

He was lying down somewhere hot, bound hand and foot.
The floor felt like wood, and he’d swear that was a splinter
in the back of his hand. No noises offered to help him with
location. Not even a breeze or other air movement, so he had
to be inside something. A cabin, perhaps? Whatever it was, it
had no air conditioning, but few places had electricity these
days.

He squirmed and tried to sit up. Success!

Now to figure out where he was. He inchwormed a foot or
so until he reached a wall. It scratched like plywood against his
cheek. Perhaps a shed? But how did he land in a shed, tied up,
with a massive headache? He pushed his head against the wall
to steady himself and turned to use the wall to lean against.
Shoot! As the back of his head contacted the wall, a raised welt
throbbed. That explained the headache.

Perhaps someone was nearby, waiting for him to wake up.
Should he announce he was awake by calling out? Probably
not a good idea. After all, if he was tied up and someone was
waiting for him, it wasn’t for a surprise party. Especially with
the love tap on his head.

Dad would say he should pretend to be asleep and see if he
could surprise whoever showed up.

Mom would tell him to pray. She had such a deep faith.
Whenever something bad was going down—whether illness,
injury, or wayward actions—she jumped right in with prayer.
Even when Dad needed supplication, Mom prayed for him
and ignored his unbelief.

Man, it was hot in here. Wherever here was.

Caleb wasn’t sure what to believe since Dad was silent in
his protest against God, the exact opposite of Mom’s vocal
devotion. He sure wanted to believe right now, though.
If God existed, he wasn’t happy with Caleb. He’d sure messed
things up.

Conversely, prayer couldn’t hurt anything. Especially if it
was a whispered one.

“God, if you are out there listening, I could use a hand here.
Not sure how I got into this wooden furnace, all trussed up
like a Thanksgiving turkey. I’d sure appreciate a way out. If
it’s okay with you, I’m going to hold off on ending this prayer,
so I’ll save the amen for later, when this is over.”

He put his ear to the wall and listened. Nothing. Next, he
lay back down and rolled to his side to listen on the floor. Still
nothing.

Shoot. This wasn’t helping. He needed to think. What was
the last thing he remembered doing at the auction?
Thinking hurt, but he powered through the pain. Engage
your brain, Caleb!

He’d helped unload the heifers Dad planned to sell today. At
least he assumed it was still the same day. Hard to tell in this
pitch-black room.

After they’d unloaded, they’d gotten the receipt from the
attendant. Since the auction was going to start soon, he’d gone
to grab a seat at the highest bench overlooking the auction pit.
When he’d sat down, someone joined him. Someone he was
happy to see. Who?

Sweat was rolling down his brow, and his mouth was cottony
dry. It was so hot. Had someone put him in here to bake him
to death? Why else would they leave him in this heat with no
access to water? Why tie him up and lock him in a room? It
made little sense.

Who had he met up with? That had to be important.

Head hurts. Thirsty. Hot.

Emma! Figures. The word hot would remind him of her.
With her curly blond hair and bright blue eyes, she was
stunning. He could spend all day thinking about her, holding
her hand, or gazing into her eyes. Hello! Earth to Caleb. Get
back to the problem, man.

Emma had sat with him. She’d run up the stairs to say hello
and then joined him through the bidding. There weren’t many
heads to sell today, if it was still today, so the sale had ended
quickly. They’d gotten a good price for the heifers too since
there weren’t many to buy. Dad would be happy about that.
Would be happy or was happy? The sale was over a long time
ago, maybe. Was Dad looking for him now?

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