Beauty for Ashes: Desert Manna, #1

By Karen Baney

Uplifting Historical Christian Romance Fiction set in Prescott, Arizona in 1871. Second chances. Starting over.

 

As a widow who lost her husband in Sherman's fiery march to the sea, Rebecca Elliot struggled to provide for her son. When she hears from her brother in Prescott, Arizona, she makes the journey west to start over. An unexpected tragedy on the last leg of her travels changes the trajectory of her heart and life as she never could have imagined.

 

Perry Quinn finally said goodbye to his late wife when his life is turned upside down. When he loses everything that he worked hard to accomplish, he must humble himself and start over while trying to find the answers to why he lost everything. Along the way, a kind woman steals his heart and reminds him that there is beauty in the middle of the ashes of his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Desert Life Media
• Release date: Mar 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798985820201

Karen Baney

Karen Baney is passionate about writing stories full of flawed characters. She enjoys weaving together stories of second chances, redemption, and overcoming personal trials. As a transplant to Arizona in the late 1990s, she loves researching the state's history and finding ways to seamlessly incorporate real history and real settings into her novels. In addition to writing and speaking, Karen works as a Software Development Manager for a Christian ministry. Her faith plays an important role both in her life and in her writing. Karen and her husband, Jim, make their home in Gilbert, Arizona, with their two dogs, Bella and Daisy. Both Jim and Karen are active at Rock Point Church in Queen Creek, Arizona.

Book preview

Beauty for Ashes

Desert Manna Book 1

Karen Baney

Copyright © 2022 Karen Baney

Desert Manna Book 1: Beauty for Ashes

By Karen Baney

Cover Design by Brian Ring Designs

Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are from The ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

All scripture quotations marked as NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®.  Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, at the address below.

Publisher:

Desert Life Media, LLC

Gilbert, AZ 85295

www.karenbaney.com

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN-979-8-9858202-0-1

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Epilogue

Author's Note

Dear Reader

About the Author

Books By This Author

Excerpt: Joy for Mourning

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,

because the Lord has anointed me

to proclaim good news to the poor.

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,

to proclaim freedom for the captives

and release from darkness for the prisoners,

to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor

and the day of vengeance of our God,

to comfort all who mourn,

and provide for those who grieve in Zion—

to bestow on them

a crown of beauty instead of ashes,

the oil of joy instead of mourning,

and a garment of praise

instead of a spirit of despair.

They will be called oaks of righteousness,

a planting of the Lord

for the display of his splendor.

—Isaiah 61:1-3 NIV

Chapter 1

Quinn Ranch, Arizona Territory

September 12, 1871

I t’s been a good year, Lydia. His late wife’s name left Perry Quinn’s lips on a whisper. His heart squeezed tight as his thick, calloused fingers lightly touched the sepia image of her face.

This year would have been real good for you and Carl. His voice cracked. Even after seven years his grief bubbled up. Today, especially. Had Lydia survived they would have celebrated their tenth anniversary. Carl would have been seven.

But his beautiful Lydia had not survived. They only shared three brief years together before she was taken from him.

Boss? Jack called out from the entrance of Perry’s cabin, pulling him from his sorrow. He thought his ranch hands left hours ago.

Hank sent me in to check on you.

Perry’s lips turned up in a half smile. Leave it to his foreman to remember what today was.

I’m fine. I’ll head on out in a bit. Just want to make sure the stage horses are ready to go. They should be here in an hour.

Jack nodded and left.

Perry returned his gaze to Lydia’s likeness. Then he pressed his lips to it.

I miss you so much, but it’s time to let you and Carl go.

He hated to admit it, but it really was. Seven years was a long time to hold on to her memory. And Carl…

He snorted. What an imagination Perry had. When Lydia died early in her pregnancy, hemorrhaging for hours before he found her lifeless body, he had no idea if the baby was a boy or a girl. In his grief he needed to give the child an identity, a name, or something. He couldn’t think of his child as no one with no name. That was more than he could endure.

He decided to think of his child as a boy, for he longed to pass on the family name that meant so much to him after his grandpa. Grandpa Carl was the man who taught him ranching. He taught him to love God and love his neighbors. He taught him how to be a man. If his child had truly been born a son, Grandpa’s legacy would live on through him, so the most fitting name was Carl.

Perry’s eyes burned. He pinched the bridge of his nose to keep the tears away.

It was time to say goodbye, not just for another year, but for good. He needed to move on, to move forward, to stop torturing himself year after year with regret, guilt, and shame.

Building the ranch was Lydia’s dream as much as it was his. Ever since they fell in love back in Texas, they both talked about starting their own ranch in the young territory of Arizona. News reached them about vast tracks of land with natural grass for the cattle. In the valley southwest of Prescott, the climate was ideal. Mild temperatures from season to season. Seasonal rains.

They planned for the move and when they arrived, Perry set about building the very cabin where he stood. He promised Lydia a home and a place to raise their family. He wasted no time keeping his word.

Perry sighed. It was going to be harder to let go than he thought. But he promised God that he would, and he was a man of his word.

Gently, Perry lowered the gilded framed picture into the trunk at the foot of his bed. Then he locked the trunk with a brass key. He squared his shoulders and stepped out of the one-room cabin. The place he spent many a cold night snuggled close to his wife. The place where she breathed her final breath. The place he learned to call home even without her there. He pulled the door closed behind him, the act seeming so final, yet he wasn’t going anywhere. He would return at the end of his day.

Perry walked toward the barn, past the corral next to the barn and looked toward the mountain. The sky was brilliant blue, not a cloud to be seen. The tall pine trees lining the side of the mountain at the horizon bathed it in a dark green hue.

He stepped forward and with all his pent-up grief, he threw the brass key towards the mountain. She is in your care, Lord.

So many years in the past he believed God was asking him for one last step of faith. He never followed through. That was the year he could. He would.

It is finished.

A light peace settled over Perry’s heart as he turned toward the barn. His tawny mare, Misty, snorted as he neared her stall. He smiled. Lydia was the one who named the mare. When Perry fussed about the name being too girly, Lydia smiled and reminded him the horse was a girl.

He shook off the memory. How could he really let go if he kept reminiscing?

Be with you in a minute, Perry said to his mare. He moved toward the stables where the horses for the stage stood. He fed them and brushed them down. He turned them out in the corral and the stagecoach driver and shotgun rider would hitch them up and leave the spent horses in the corral.

Agreeing to be a stage waystation was one of his better decisions. The work to care for the horses was minimal, but the pay was good. Since his ranch was near the halfway mark between Wickenburg and Prescott, it was the ideal place to change out fresh horses before the steep climb up the mountain. Like many of the stations along the stage route, he provided water for passengers and a place for them to stretch their legs while the horses were swapped out.

Just a little work for a large reward.

The best part was that he could leave the water for passengers on a small table near the barn. No need for him or his ranch hands to be there for the stage’s arrival. Which was good. One never knew the precise time it would arrive.

Perry finished caring for the stage horses and led them to the corral. Then he returned and readied Misty for the afternoon. She snorted and nickered when he got close.

I know. It’s a late start today.

Misty raised then lowered her head. She nuzzled his outstretched hand.

Perry smiled as he brushed down the mare. The scents and smells of the barn seemed more noticeable today. The sweet aroma of hay. The pungent odor of manure. Then a smell that did not belong.

Smoke.

Perry darted out of the stall. His eyes scanned the hay storage loft above him. No signs of smoke there. Then he looked around the barn. Smoke was starting to thicken. He tied his bandanna over his nose and mouth. He moved toward his workbench. Fire crackled, eagerly eating up the wall of the barn where the tack hung. Within seconds, it spread to the first stall.

He had to get the stock out of there.

Perry ran toward the barn doors and pushed. Nothing. He shoved harder. Still they would not budge. He backed up a few paces then ran full force. His shoulder connected with the rough wood. The side of his face smacked hard against the door and searing pain shot through his shoulder. The doors would not budge.

Frantically, he looked around the barn. The high pitches from Misty heightened his own fear. He had to get them out of there. What was blocking the doors? Why would they not open?

An ax. He could chop an opening in the door.

Dropping to his knees, he crawled along the floor of the barn. Misty’s screams sent shivers down his back. He continued forward to his workbench as fast as he could. Once over the threshold, he stood and searched for the ax. Smoke obscured his vision. His hand moved quickly over each object hanging on the wall. A saw. A hammer. A leather strap. The ax!

He grabbed it and ran toward the doors. Standing squarely in front of the barn doors, he swung the ax. It connected with the door and a small chip flew over his shoulder. He swung again and again.

Misty’s frightful moans grew louder, overpowering the neighs of the other horses. A loud splintering sound came from behind him. As he swung the ax, his body slammed hard against the doors. The ax slipped from his hands. He groaned and fell to the ground, his head pounding.

Another insane howl came from Misty. Then the doors flew open, flapping on their hinges as Misty bolted from the barn.

Perry fought against the pain pulsing in his head. He stumbled to each stall as flames lapped at the ceiling. He let each of the remaining horses and the milk cow out of their stalls, giving them a swat on their hind quarters so they would run from the burning building.

The smoke was thick and black. His lungs burned. The rafters creaked. Perry ran toward the doors and escaped just as the ceiling collapsed. A whoosh of air and flame knocked him to the ground.

Flames chewed through his sleeve and bandanna, searing his flesh. The pain hit his gut, doubling him over. He dropped to his knees, unable to stifle a howl.

Water. He had to get water.

The heat was too much to endure. He stood and ran to the water trough outside of the demolished barn and jumped in. The flames died, but his flesh still stung.

Energy faded from his muscles. He heaved himself out of the trough landing on the hard dirt with a thud. Flames shot out overhead. He was still too close.

Lying on his belly, he pulled himself further away from the greedy fire and closer to the small cross near the cabin.

Am coming.

He stopped crawling as a cough consumed all the air around him. When the coughing subsided, he inched closer to the cross.

Lydia.

Just a few more feet.

He kicked his feet along the dusty path. One hand in front of the other digging into the dirt. He was almost there.

Perry squinted and reached out one more time. His hand touched the dry, splintering wood of the cross that marked Lydia’s grave.

The will to live slipped from him.

I’m coming home, darling.

The words left his lungs on a light breath. He closed his eyes, and his muscles went limp.

Chapter 2

J osiah. Rebecca Elliot stared down her son as he squirmed in his seat on the stage, bumping against her.

How much longer? he whined as he looked at her, dropping his shoulders.

She frowned. I assure you we will be there soon.

But that’s what you said an hour ago.

She sighed. She could not be too harsh on her son. After all, they had been on the journey for what seemed like an eternity to a nine-year-old’s way of thinking.

If Rebecca was honest with herself, she was weary of traveling too. The town of Prescott in the Arizona Territory was a great distance from their home in Hopkinsville, Kentucky. It had only been a month since they left, yet it seemed like years ago. Perhaps it was really their slow decline from wealth to poverty that caused her exhaustion.

She slid her arm around Josiah’s shoulders. We will be at Uncle Alexander’s by tonight. I promise.

Josiah ducked out from under her arm, something she did not wish to get used to, yet he seemed intent to push away her affection.

Sorry for your loss, ma’am, one darked-eyed cowboy said.

Thank you for your kind words, Rebecca replied as she stretched word kind until it almost broke.

She hated the mourning gown. It seemed quite silly to her to wear it. Any reason she had for sorrow was in her very distant past. Josiah’s father, her husband Morgan, passed on during the war between the states. Seven years ago. She was long past publicly mourning her beloved, and yet so far from letting go of his memory.

But Alexander was wise. He suggested she play up her state as a widow for the journey. How had he phrased it in his letter? Ah, yes. The wild men of the West still respect a widow, even if she must travel without an escort.

She held back a groan. The idea that she and her son were in a position to pay for an escort was laughable. The funds Alexander sent were not enough for such a luxury. She suspected he thought her more well off than she really was. Thankfully, Mother had left a meager sum to her after her passing in April. That money was long since gone. Rebecca purchased new shoes for Josiah’s constantly growing feet.

What’s Uncle Alex like?

Alexander, she corrected.

Alexander. She did not have to see her son’s face to know the tone of voice came with exaggerated eye rolling.

He is an attorney, Rebecca said trying to imagine what Alexander was like now. It had been over ten years since she had seen her older brother. Why he could be an entirely different person altogether than the one she remembered as a young woman.

I know that. Josiah huffed. Do you think he has a horse? Maybe he could teach me how to ride one. I always wanted to ride a horse.

I am unsure if he owns any animals.

Alexander’s letter gave her few clues as to his current circumstances. He stated