The Path Taken

By DK Abbott

Emily has been mourning the death of her intended and comparing every potential suitor to what she remembers as his faultless perfection. Her dreams tell a different story. Each night she's drawn toward a man she doesn't know, and her heart aches to find love again. When minister Noah Barton arrives in her small town, Emily sees the face of her dream.
But as Emily and Noah grow closer, gossip and small town accusations threaten their chance at happiness and leave Emily wondering if she can overcome the pain of the past and truly trust God and her heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: vinspirepublishing
• Release date: Jan 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311840011

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Reviewers Are Raving About The Path Taken

"D.K. Abbott wrote a wonderfully romantic story involving two people who desperately needed to find each other. Her characters were well written and you really got to know them while reading her book. THE PATH TAKEN gave me those feel good goose bumps! I would definitely recommend reading it. ~Romance Reader at Heart

D.K. Abbott did a beautiful job incorporating family secrets into the storyline that fascinated me and enables the reader to see the characters as real people with flaws and desires.—Chrissie Dionne (Romance Junkies.com)

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The Path Taken

D.K. Abbott

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.  This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.  If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.  If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Vinspire Publishing

Goose Creek, South Carolina

www.vinspirepublishing.com

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The Path Taken

Copyright ©2006 Donna Weaver

Cover illustration copyright © 2006 Patricia Foltz

Printed and bound in the United States of America. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web-without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, please contact Vinspire Publishing, LLC, 107 Clearview Circle , Goose Creek, SC 29445.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

ISBN: 0-9752868-0-3

PUBLISHED BY VINSPIRE PUBLISHING, LLC

www.vinspirepublishing.com

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This book is dedicated to my loving mother, Kathryn Brenneman Firl, whose love and guidance led me to the right path.

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Chapter One

Emily leaned back in the chair and rubbed her eyes. Writing under the faint light offered by the kerosene lamp bothered them, but she had no way to write in her journal any other time. Her days were busy with long hours in the family store and unending hours at church. She was lucky to get even a few minutes each night before prayers to enter her thoughts into the small booklet that mirrored her life.

There wasn’t much to write about, Emily admitted as she leafed through the pages. Her life was nothing but repetitive happenings five days a week, with weekends bringing church work as well as the endless stream of Sunday afternoon visitors and chit-chat. Bitterness welled up inside of her as she fought the fact there was a chance she’d live the rest of her life in the same way, waiting on her widowed father, serving others in the family store, and spending her nights alone.

Angrily, Emily shoved the chair as she stood up and walked to the windows that looked onto Franklin Street. The night seemed brighter for some reason, she thought, peering through the faded lace curtains. The coolness of the air reached her face through the open window, and she realized she had tears on her cheeks. Yet, there was something about an early spring moon, and that particular night it was full…casting long shadows on the lawns below.

This was Emily’s 24th summer, and she seemed to remember each one, even the first few when she was just a young child. It was as if everything was new, fresh. The air, the birds, the early tulips that seemed to smile at her as she walked in the freshly cut lawn, especially that first cutting–the smell invigorated her.

Movement from below caught her attention, and Emily moved further back into the room instinctively. From her second floor window, she watched as a young couple strolled hand in hand under the gaslights that dimly lit the path. How in love they seemed, their hands entwined as they spoke softly to each other, their words inaudible to Emily as she watched them slowly pass under her vantage point. She turned away, feeling guilty that she was watching such an intimate moment. Would she ever find herself walking with someone?

Her mind went back to Ben Grant. Although there were many beaus who visited her parents’ parlor during her school years, Ben Grant had spoken to her father about his intentions.

He had been a handsome boy, with a shock of black hair, deep-set eyes, and a square jaw. He had planned to be a lawyer. His family was of good stock, her father had told her, and she would be well provided for. But it wasn’t to be. The young man had traveled abroad briefly on business for the family and had become involved in some type of dispute. He never returned, remaining in a marked grave somewhere in France.

Her other suitors had paled in comparison. She had continued to share the swing on her parents’ porch or sip tea with her young gentlemen callers in the front room but found the subjects of her suitors boring.

She continued to compare them to Ben, who in her mind, had lost all his flaws and weaknesses in death. She reflected on his good traits, forgetting he, too, had his faults.

Gradually, those suitors sensed her disinterest and paid less visits, electing to visit the other eligible girls in the neighborhood. Her friends married, had babies, and settled into domesticated lives. She was invited to gatherings to celebrate weddings and births, but she seldom attended, using her position in the store as an excuse. For as happy as she was for each of their futures, it only compounded the loneliness of her own life.

The path below was empty now, and she moved from the window to her bed, where she kneeled at the side, clasping her hands as she was taught as a young child.

She often wondered if her prayers truly reached God—if He cared about this nondescript person who strived to please everyone, who gave of herself so willingly. If He did, why would He give her such a useless life? Would He ever lead her to happiness?

Her prayers completed, Emily climbed into her feather bed, allowing the soft mattress to engulf her as a lover might have at one time. It had been a busy day, and she had still a busier one tomorrow.

She thought again of Ben, wondering what her life would have been like had they married. Perhaps they would have a child by now, maybe two - a boy with his father’s dark features, a girl with whom Emily could share secrets, and make doll clothes, and bake ginger cookies.

From downstairs, she heard her father’s voice and that of her younger brother. Emily strained to hear the conversation and then gave up. Her bed was too comfortable for her to leave it just to adjust the register. Solely, a large wood-burning stove in the middle of the kitchen on the first floor heated the large house. Each of the bedrooms on the second floor had their own large register that opened to that room, allowing the heat in the house and any conversations to reach those on the second floor.

Emily thought of the hundreds of times she had heard another voice from that warm, loving kitchen–her mother’s. Emily felt a catch in her throat as Althea’s face formed in her mind. It had only been six months since the fever had taken her, a beautiful woman with soft eyes and a loving smile.

Her hands, adorned only with the wedding band from her husband, worked tirelessly from morning until night. They were cool hands that touched Emily’s brow when she was sick. They were gentle hands as she stroked her daughter’s long black hair, braiding it gently into on the back of Emily’s head.

Emily always thought her mother had the most beautiful smile, yet it never seemed to reach her eyes. Even in the happiest of times Althea seemed to hold back, as if protecting herself from too much happiness. Emily often wondered if perhaps her mother wasn’t as happy, as content as she pretended. Then she would chide herself for looking for something that really wasn’t there. People showed happiness in different ways.

Althea had a loving family, a dedicated husband; Emily would tell herself and then dismiss her suspicions as looking for something that really wasn’t there.

During the months of her mother’s illness, Emily worked tirelessly caring for her. There was the daily bathing, the countless cold compresses in a desperate attempt to break the fever. The doctors had no cure other than a few tonics that seemed only to take more life from her mother each day.

At the height of the illness, when the fever had reached her mother’s brain, Emily thought she had heard Althea softly call out a name. Emily had been sitting with her, wiping her forehead and extremities with cool water, and although it was just a whisper, she had glanced sharply at her mother’s face. The incident was forgotten at the time, but she mentioned it to the doctor.

We know nothing of what the fever does to the brain. Perhaps she was remembering an incident from her past. We doctors have much to learn. I wouldn’t worry myself with it, child. Dr. Masters told her.

In the end, Emily found peace in knowing that her mother now had no fever, no pain. Emily knew that Althea was now resting with the others who had gone before her.

Emily felt the familiar tears of frustration forming behind her eyes, and she didn’t fight them. This was the only place she could grieve for her loss – not only for her beloved mother, but for herself - for her lost youth, and the death of her dreams.

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Chapter Two

A Walk in the Woods

The store was open six days a week, but on Saturdays, Emily’s father took her place. He would do inventory, order supplies, and considered it his day with the men of the town. Usually, Emily would use the