Seasons of Bliss (Saskatchewan Saga Book #4) by Ruth Glover Page B

thought that he was waiting for Alice’s death.
    When this realization sprang full blown in Robbie’s mind, he almost gasped aloud, so stricken was he by the truth, the miserable truth. It had sounded so good on the surface: help Alice; be there for the boys; be bighearted; do a generous act of kindness. But even the kindness aspect faded when he thought further about the boys, who were, he admitted, beginning to turn their affections toward him, looking to him as a father figure in their lives, and who might yet be disappointed. Surely there was more selfishness than wisdom in what he was doing.
    Under the sound of the gospel message as delivered by Parker Jones that morning, arrows of conviction struck and stayed and quivered in Robbie Dunbar’s heart.
    The sermon was based on the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians, “The love chapter,” Parker Jones called it, and faithfully pointed out the “more excellent way.”
    “Charity [or love, Parker substituted] . . . doth not behave itself unseemly.”
    In the light of the Scripture and the sermon, what Robbie had done was not only unacceptable but reprehensible . . . unseemly! And try as he would to think calmly about it, the idea that he had behaved toward Alice, and toward Tierney, in a most unacceptable way, could not be excluded any longer from his thinking.
    What a fix to be in! What could he, honorably, do? Alice was innocent, needy, depending on him. And he had given his word. By agreeing to marry her he had done one dishonorable thing; he’d not compound it by another.
    Shaking hands at the close of the service, smiling, talking, heart beating heavily all the while, Robbie thought he was, after all, just “sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal,” and no real man. And certainly not a man of God, a man of principle.
    Bowing his head over the mane of his horse as he rode home—with Tierney quiet and reserved in the Bloom wagon, her eyes hurt and avoiding his glance—Robbie Dunbar prayed what was probably the first serious, earnest prayer of his life. It was preceded by the thought “Only God can get me out of thismess that I’m in.” And not himself only; Alice Hoy and Tierney Caulder were deeply affected by his actions, by his choices.
    O God! Please solve this terrible situation . . . please show me what to do , he prayed.

    Well, that’s ready, Tierney said to herself, stepping outside the small shack that was the quarters of the Blooms’ hired man. She had spent an hour cleaning it thoroughly after Ahab’s departure, sweeping the board floor, shaking the rag rug, plumping up the pillow on the rocker beside the small heater, stripping the bed, turning the mattress, and putting on clean sheets and blankets. Any moment now the new man, Quinn Archer by name, would arrive. Arrive in time to do the evening chores. Without Ahab the last few days, Herbert had roused himself to unusual activity and had milked and watered and fed the animals by himself, though with a good deal of “Ahemming” sprinkled throughout his conversation all day long. Herbert felt put upon, doing his own work.
    In the house, where the hired man ordinarily took his meals along with the family—though he could, if he wished, do so on the small stove top in his shack—special preparations were underway. First impressions were important! One needed to impress the hired man, after all. Good help was hard to find! Or so Lydia told Tierney every once in a while, with a solemn shake of the head followed by a kind smile.
    “Whatever would we do without you . . .”
    “It wasn’t nearly so good before you came!”
    And just flat out “I’m so glad you came to be with us!”
    Lydia saw the two horses and their riders from the kitchen window. “That must be him—that Quinn fellow,” she said to Tierney, who stopped beating the cream for the top of the pie and came to stand beside her.
    “And that’s Herkimer with him,” Lydia continued. “You met Herkimer at church, you