Abigail
Chesney has it all; a husband more loving than she could have dreamt, three
healthy children, and a house on thriving farmland. She’s happy in her little
world until it crashes down around her.
Losing almost
everything tests Abby in ways she never expected. Can she learn to accept what
she can’t change and trust those she loves? Relying on help from the people of
Fitch’s Eddy, a tiny Catskill logging town, Abby discovers her own strength. Will
Fate’s cruel blows crush her? Or will
love give her a new reason to go on?
Abigail’s
Journey – travel back to Colonial America, 1786, with this heartfelt,
sweet, historical romance, where the flavor of the past leaps off the page.
What readers are saying...
“5 stars. This is a great read for sweet romance lovers and for fans of American historicals.” A.V.
”5 stars. I LOVED this book. The characters were well
developed and likable. I gasped, cried and held my breath at different scenes.
Did I mention that I loved this book? I can't wait to read more in this series.
So well done!” P.M.
5 stars
“I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It's
well-written and takes the reader back to a time when life was a physical as
well as mental struggle to survive. Abigail is a strong woman, as pioneering
women had to be. Faced with an unbearable loss she keeps her head high and does
what she has to do to care for herself and her children. In a time when a
marriage built on love was a luxury Abigail is fortunate to find Caleb though the
angst of giving her heart a second time rings true for the time period.
This is a great read for sweet romance lovers and for fans of
American historicals.” A.R.
READ AN EXCERPT:
May 1786
“Pack up and get out, Chesney. I’m moving in.”
No sooner were the words out of the scoundrel’s mouth than
George Chesney hit him square on the jaw. The man exploded in rage and landed
two on George before bystanders pulled him away. Chesney had never been much
for fighting to settle a dispute. However, when the welfare of his beloved
family hung in the balance, he’d gladly trade fisticuffs with the devil
himself.
Leaving the Danbury Inn, he wiped the blood off his nose.
Tramping through town, he breathed deeply. The bell of the town crier stopped
him.
“Seven o’clock and all is well.”
He compressed his lips together as bitterness soured his
mouth. It might be seven o’clock, but all was not well, not for the Chesney
family. Old Luke Morton had gambled away the deed to their farm. He had been
Morton’s tenant, working the farm for the past ten years. He figured to own it
outright in another five. Luke’s one whiskey too many and his losing hand at
cards smashed George’s dream to bits.
Laughing in his face, the winner had dashed any hope of
staying to farm the land. So, he’d lashed out at the man who’d threatened his
future but had come out the worse for it in the end.
Fear spiked in George’s chest, slowing his pace. For once,
he dreaded returning home. Since he was late, his beautiful wife would have
kept a plate of dinner aside for him. She’d be wondering where he was. How
could he tell her Morton didn’t own their farm anymore and they had to pack up
and leave?
As he struggled to find words, his heartbeat sped up. Sweat
poured off his forehead and soaked his shirt. He wiped his face with his sleeve
and shivered in the chilly May wind under the cold light of a full moon. The
sweet smell of freshly turned earth met his nose. Crops were already planted,
but he’d not be around to harvest them. Where would they go? Farming was all he
knew. How would he make a living and feed his family?
It didn’t help that his face had swelled and the flesh
around his eye throbbed. Gently, he fingered his nose and flinched in pain. He
grew angry. It wasn’t his fault Morton was an old, drunken fool.
Seemed like bad luck had dogged his steps lately. They’d
lost a goat through a hole in the fence. Fox killed two chickens. He figured it
was timing. He’d had the best fortune in the world to win lovely Abigail’s
hand. And the three wonderful children she’d given him had brought him much
joy. Now he was thirty-six years old, maybe his luck had turned.
As he drew near to the little farmhouse he’d called home,
emotion choked him. How could he tell his family they’d have to leave the life
they loved—the only life they knew?
Smoke curled up from the chimney and the aroma of burning
logs drifted his way. Yep, his son, Samuel, had remembered to bring in wood. He
could almost taste his wife’s fine stew and smell the freshly baked bread his daughter,
Sarah, had put up in the afternoon.
George directed his gaze upward and uttered a prayer as he
approached his home. He stopped halfway up the path to swallow hard and wipe
his cheek. The wetness wasn’t blood, but tears. He took a deep, shuddering
breath. No nice way to break such bad news. They were losing their home—he’d
come right out with it.
He pushed the door open.
“George! I’m so glad you’re home. Where were you? We were
worried.”
Speech eluded him. He stood, solid, feet spread slightly,
and reached for words that wouldn’t come. His gaze hopped from his wife to each
of his children in turn. They stopped what they were doing. She approached and
put her hand on his arm.
The smile faded from her face. “You’re bleeding. What
happened? Are you all right?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m not. And nothing is going to be
all right again for a very long time.”
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