Love's Story
Authors: Kristin; Dianne; Billerbeck Christner
Love's Story
(previously titled
Storm
) ©2000 by Dianne Christner
Strong as the Redwood
©1997 by Kristin Billerbeck
Print ISBN 978-1-63409-901-1
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-68322-036-7
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-68322-037-4
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, OH 44683,
www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in the United States of America.
Prologue
New York, 1899
T
he storm that blew through the offices of
McClure's
magazine was five-foot-four and brunette. Meredith S. Mears's middle initial stood for Storm. Whether her parents named Storm after her personality or whether her personality took shape around her name, the other reporters knew not, but one thing stood certain, the name accurately described her as she strode past.
Several pairs of male eyes followed the green skirt that swayed around tiny black-heeled lace-up boots. She marched to a door with a nameplate that read A
SA
S
MYTHE
, E
DITOR
, and her small hand shot up and knocked. They watched her hesitate, then turn the knob. The door opened and closed. One reporter cocked an eyebrow, another frowned, and the men returned to their work.
Meredith straightened to her full height and cleared her throat.
The comb-slicked top of a gray head whipped back, a deep voice broke the silence of the room. “What can I do for you, Storm?”
She slapped down her latest article on his desk. “I want a real assignment.”
The editor did not flinch, only nodded his head toward the chair that faced his desk. “Why don't you sit down, and let's discuss this matter like two civilized people.”
Meredith seated herself, planted both feet firmly on the floor and clasped her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. The man across the desk, with nerves like steel, was not only her editor, he was the one person who knew how to help her keep her goals in perspective and meet them. To be a journalistâin a man's world in the year 1899âwas not an easy thing. Asa Smythe made it easier.
“Now then, what determines a real assignment, Storm?”
“Covering a subject that makes a difference in the world, writing something other than the society column, fashion reviews, or advertisements.”
“Did you ever stop to think that your position at
McClure's,
in and of itself, is doing just that for the advancement of women?”
“That's not my purpose here, and you know it.”
“It may not be your purpose, but it is the issue.”
“This is not about women. It is about me doing something worthwhile.”
Asa straightened the paperwork on his desk. “And what are these pressing concerns that you harbor?”
She leaned forward. “You know how I hate it when people or animals get mistreated or hurt.” The fine lines on Asa's face deepened. It was true, she could not stand seeing any living thing hurt.
“I've read some of John Muir's writings,” she continued. “Last week I had the chance to hear him speak on the issue of conservation of the western forests. He portrays the tree as a living thing. His speech has been nagging at me all week. Something needs to be done before the loggers use up all the good timber out West, as they have in the East.”
“Oh no.” Asa shook his head. “You cannot even think that I would send you on such an assignment.”
“It is exactly what I'm thinking. It would be perfect for me.” She stood and paced the room. “Think about this angle, a woman's view of the backwoods, the Wild West. It would be romantic.”
“Romantic! What are you thinking?”
“It would make a great series! I could get inside the heads that fell the trees, the minds that make the money. From a female perspective, I could⦔
“Stop right there. Do you have any idea what a loggers' camp is like?”
“Well, no. That's just it. Neither does the average person. I could make this story come alive. I know I could.”
“It is impossible. Why, once a man becomes a logger, his life expectancy is only seven years.”
She shook her head, and a dark strand worked loose from her upswept hairdo. Her slender fingers hastily tucked it back into place. “What has that got to do with anything?”
“It means, young lady, that your life expectancy in such a place would probably be about seven days.”
“Exaggerating a wee bit, aren't we?”
“How would a woman with your good looks survive in such an uncivilized place? Where would you stay?”
Her chin rose. “I've done a bit of research myself. I'll choose a camp that's close to civilization, and I'll take along a male photographer.”
Asa groaned something incoherent, then said, “No. It is out of the question. I am sure we can find something safer that would suit you.”
Meredith placed both palms on the desk across from him, her face close to his. “I can do it. Please, Asa. It is something that I need to do, either for
McClure's
or on my own, but I'd rather do it for you.”
“Go away. Let me think.”
“Yes sir.” Before she reached the door, she turned back. “One more thing. I have in mind the California logging camps. I could take the Overland Limited all the way to San Francisco. It's only a three-day trip from Chicago, and going by rail is ever so safe these days.”
“Storm.”
“Yes?”
“Please, go away.”
Another nod, and Meredith was out of the editor's office. She whisked past the other reporters with a smug smile, her thoughts already far away.
Hmm, what clothes will I need in San Francisco?
Before Meredith packed any clothes, however, she had an unpleasant chore to attend to, another call to make.
She knocked at the door of the house where she was raised. The door creaked open, and her father's hazel eyes rested on her, then closed like iron gates. The lines around his eyes and mouth sagged. He shrugged stiff shoulders and left her standing on the stoop. Because she was expected to follow him, she did. The way he hunkered down at the paperwork strewn on the kitchen table, it was obvious he didn't want to be bothered. But Meredith tried. She placed the latest edition of the
McClure's
on the table beside him. He merely glanced at the printed intrusion and left it lay.
A pot of coffee warmed on the stove, so she poured them each a cup. “I have an assignment.” Instead of giving her a reply, her father took a swig of his drink. “I'm going to California to do a story on forest conservation.”
He eyed her over the rim of his cup, and Storm took a gulp of the bitter liquid while she waited. Her father picked up the
McClure's
issue and squashed a fly with it, then tossed the magazine on the floor by his feet. “If you go west, then you're a bigger fool than I thought.”
Meredith slammed the cup down with a rattle; coffee splattered her father's paperwork.
“I need to get far away from you. You never have loved me.” With tears welling up, she strode past him and slammed the door on her way out.
Inside the house, her father's arm lashed out and swept across the table. Papers scattered and floated down to the floor over shattered glass. His head dropped into his hands, and he combed his fingers through his hair, wondering how his life had gotten to such a low point.
She's right.
He leaned his old bones over the side of his chair and groped for the magazine that mattered so much to Meredith.
T
he train screeched, iron scraping against iron, and lurched forward to start Meredith on her westward journey. Without a bit of regret, she watched the depot disappear from view. After coughing up cinders, the locomotive clacked up momentum, eventually settling into a comfortable rhythm of motion. Beside her, Jonah Shaw thumbed open a red-and-white cloth-covered book entitled
An Adventure in Photography.