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Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN-13: 978-0-7642-0063-2 ISBN-10: 0-7642-0063-1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Oke, Janette, 1935-
Beyond the gathering storm / by Janette Okc.
p. cm.—(Canadian West ; bk. 5)
Summary: “A novel of two entwined love stories set in the majestic Canadian West.
A brother and sister, siblings by more than blood, risk broken hearts“—Provided by publisher.
ISBN 0-7642-0063-1 (pbk.)
1. Royal Canadian Mounted Police—Fiction. 2. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 3. Edmonton (Aha.)—Fiction. 4. Police—Canada—Fiction. 5. Mounted police—Fiction. I. Title. II. Series: Oke, Janette, 1935- Canadian West ; bk 5
PR9199.3.038B49 2005
813’.54—dc22
2005005856

Dedicated
to the
many readers
who have asked
for another
story about the
Delaney family.

JANETTE OKE was born in Champion, Alberta, to a Canadian prairie farmer and his wife, and she grew up in a large family full of laughter and love. She is a graduate of Mountain View Bible College in Alberta, where she met her husband, Edward, and they were married in May of 1957. After pastoring churches in Indiana and Canada, the Okes spent some years in Calgary, where Edward served in several positions on college faculties while Janette continued her writing. She has written over four dozen novels for adults and children, and her book sales total over twenty-two million copies.

The Okes have three sons and one daughter, all married, and are enjoying their dozen grandchildren. Edward and Janette are active in their local church and make their home near Didsbury, Alberta.

CHAPTER
One

The cold rain and wind did not make for the kind of morning she would have chosen for the day’s venture. Though she did her best to shield herself with the borrowed umbrella, it was impossible to keep either wind or rain from penetrating her clothing. It wasn’t the weather itself she found hard to endure. The fact that distressed her was her father’s having just spent three days with her as she carefully chose a new, though limited, wardrobe. Was it to be ruined on her first day and all that time wasted? Her father had not complained, but she was sure he thought the decision making could have been compressed just a bit.

She had been nervous enough when leaving her small room in the boardinghouse, and the weather did not help. “I wish Dad could have stayed—or Mama could have come with me,” she whispered to herself.

She remembered her mother’s parting reassurances, even though the tears streaming down that familiar face had seemed to belie them.
“God will be with you. Never forget that. And we’ll be praying. Every day,”
her mother had whispered.

That thought had a steadying effect, and she clutched the umbrella more tightly and prepared to cross the street.

She had lifted a foot to step out when she heard an approaching auto. Automatically her head turned and she paused, still amazed and amused by the noise and the speed with which these modern conveyances traveled. This one was dark blue with a fancy piece of statuette embellishing the hood. The man at the wheel was poking his head out the open window, obviously for better vision than through the rain-spattered windscreen. Dark goggles covered his eyes and a long scarf dangled from his neck, threatening to whip away in the wind.

She could not help but stare, a bemused smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Momentarily she forgot the rain and her nervousness, so taken was she with the car speeding along the sloppy, rain-drenched street.

She shifted her umbrella so it would not block her view and stepped to the edge of the sidewalk.

Too late she recognized her mistake. A spray of dirty rainwater splashed over her skirts as the automobile shot by. She scrambled back in alarm, but the damage had already been done. She looked from her dripping garment to the departing auto. The driver thrust his head out the window again to cast a backward glance her way. Maybe he was going to pull over and rush back to apologize. He merely shrugged his shoulders in an exaggerated fashion, then had the nerve to grin and wave. She could not believe his rudeness. This would never happen back home. She was sure her new clothes were ruined, and this man seemed to think the whole thing was some harmless lark.

“Oh dear,” she exclaimed as she looked in dismay at her wet skirt. She was to have a job interview—in the building just across the street. Her father had arranged it, had hoped to accompany her, but duty had called and he’d had to leave the city. Now here she was, her clothing a mess, her shoes soaked, and no time to go back to change.

“What do I do now?” she asked aloud, her eyes wide with consternation. “I can’t—” She shook her head, then started to laugh. “Well—I’ll have to. There’s nothing else to be done. I guess I’ll just have to make the best of it.”

She studied the street carefully to make sure there were no more approaching automobiles, then darted across, the umbrella trailing along over her shoulder. She was already such a mess that a little more rain was not going to make much difference.

She pushed through the heavy lobby door and stood disconsolately gazing around. No one seemed to be in sight, and she wasn’t quite sure which of the doors leading off this wide entry was the one she should be taking. She closed the umbrella, placed it in the stand, and tried vainly to shake the water from her skirts. “Mama always said that life can bring some nasty surprises and one has to learn to just make do,” she whispered to herself as she smoothed her dark hair back under her hat. “Well, I’m not quite sure how to ‘make do’ this time.”

She brushed at her coat the best she could, noting that it had taken the worst of the muddy splash, though her new gray skirt also had a dark streak across the front panel.

She removed the coat. She could turn the worst where it would not be seen. With a fresh hankie she wiped the raindrops from her face and again patted self-consciously at her damp hair. She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath, willing the assurance of her mother’s prayers. Then she cast another quick look around.

She had taken only a few steps when she thought of the umbrella. It was borrowed. What if someone thought that the umbrellas in the stand were for public use? And maybe they were. She had no idea about city ways. She turned and retrieved it from the stand, though it was difficult to carry both the dripping umbrella and her damp coat.

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