hope is that, like West, readers will also realize God doesn’t love us just because we do what He wants. He loves us unconditionally. I also hope that, like Vienna, readers will recognize their own inner strength and abilities, and that with God that strength can be magnified.
I love hearing from readers. You can contact me through my website at www.stacyhenrie.com.
All the best,
Stacy
To...give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.
—Isaiah 61:3
To all of the Love Inspired Historical team and readers
Thank you! It’s been an honor to be a part of this experience with you.
Contents
Near Big Horn, Wyoming, July 1901
Vienna Howe didn’t immediately take note of the knocking at the door. From inside the ranch house kitchen, she thought the pounding sounded more like the distant thwack of a hammer than anything else. She blew a breath upward to disrupt the blond hairs sticking to her damp forehead, her hands covered in pastry dough. The wranglers at the Running W Ranch never turned down her food—especially not dessert.
“Who’s at the door, Mommy?” Two-and-a-half-year-old Harriet, known as Hattie by everyone on the ranch, looked up from where she sat at the nearby table, pretending to feed her baby doll. The doll had been a gift from Vienna’s employers, though Edward and Maggy Kent had been and always would be her dear friends, first and foremost.
The thudding noise repeated and this time Vienna cocked her head to listen. “Is that the door? I thought the boys might be fixing a fence.” She grabbed a towel to wipe off her hands and headed for the door.
“I wanna see who’s there.” Gripping the doll about the neck, Hattie trailed her through the dining room and into the front hallway.
Remembering her apron at the last minute, Vienna untied it, hung it on the nearby hall tree and smoothed her hand down the front of her wrinkled white blouse and long skirt. She opened the door to find the sheriff standing there. Not the one from the nearby town of Big Horn, either. Sheriff Tweed, from seven miles away in Sheridan, looked relieved that someone had at last answered his knock.
“Just startin’ to wonder if no one was around, after all,” the man said as he removed his hat.
Vienna shot him an apologetic smile. “So sorry to keep you waiting, Sheriff. I was baking in the kitchen.”
“That’s
