5* Review.What a great story. I really like how Dana pulled history into this modern day romance. The characters were great and really pulled me in...I'm amazed at how in depth the family history was and how enjoyable it was getting to know all about them. I can't wait to read the next book!! Brenda J.
One of Torie's Travels. Torie inhabits the body of her great grand aunt Mahala Wyman.
Dr. Jacob Krout and family
I became aware of the weight, as a person sat down beside me and I looked over to see a man dressed in a black suit. He put a stethoscope in his ears, unbuttoned my gown and placed the disc over my chest, listening to my heart. He was Dr. Jacob Krout. He had been the doctor in Fremont for more than forty-three years. He looked young, and was probably in his early thirties. I had seen several photographs of him which people had added to his online memorial. He was buried in Cedar with his family. His wife Mary Alice was a Dinsmore.
He quietly listened to my heart as I studied his
kind face.
“Take a deep breath Mahala,” he requested. “And
another. Good.” He smiled kindly at me and buttoned my gown. “I will be making
the rounds to see your sister Ivy when I leave here. She and Joshua are sure
looking forward to that little one. I don’t think I have ever seen a couple more
anxious for a child.”
The doctor looked from me, to some point at my
left and I became aware that someone was holding my hand. My great-great-grandma
Rose was sitting beside me, in a chair.
“We are all looking forward to that new grand
baby,” Rose said, patting my hand. “I think Mahala more than anyone. How is your
family, Dr. Krout? Mary Alice and little Erma,”
“Everyone is just fine. Erma will be going on
ten years next month.”
The doctor looked back to me and smiled. “I will
stop again tomorrow,” he assured, rising and taking his stethoscope from his
neck to place it into his medical bag on the floor beside him.
“I’ll see you out, Doctor,” Rose
offered.
“I can see myself out, Rose.” He patted her
shoulder and walked to the door. “Until tomorrow,”
Rose turned her attention back to me as the
bedroom door closed softy and I noticed she had a bible open in her lap. She
began reading to me from some chapter. I have no idea what chapter it was. The
good book wasn’t one of those on my book shelf. I hadn’t cracked a bible since I
was confirmed at thirteen years old. Rose finished the passage and then lifted
my hand and kissed the back gently.
“Mahala, you are the light of my life,
sweetheart. I want you to know that. I love you so much. We will read and pray
every day until you are well. I have faith in God. You need to have faith and
believe.”
“I will, Mother.
Mother, what day is it?”
“Friday, April
10.”
“What
year?”
She looked at me as
though fearing I was having a fit or something. She touched my forehead gently,
searching for fever. I was almost certain I knew the year because the doctor
mentioned Ivy being anxious to deliver Katie, but I just wanted it
confirmed.
“Eighteen ninety-one,
sweet,”
Mahala Wyman died on
April 11, 1891.
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