The Meeting Place
The Meeting Place
© 1999 by Janette Oke & T. Davis Bunn
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
E-book edition created 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansâelectronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwiseâwithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-5855-8725-4
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
Cover by Dan Thornberg.
“Blessed are the peacemakers;
for they shall be called
the children of God.”
M
ATTHEW
5:9
Books by Janette Oke
Return to Harmony  â¢Â Another Homecoming
Tomorrow's Dream
A
CTS
OF F
AITH
*
The Centurion's Wife  â¢Â The Hidden Flame  â¢Â The Damascus Way
C
ANADIAN
W
EST
When Calls the Heart  â¢Â When Comes the Spring
When Breaks the Dawn  â¢Â When Hope Springs New
Beyond the Gathering Storm
When Tomorrow Comes
L
OVE
C
OMES
S
OFTLY
Love Comes Softly  â¢Â Love's Enduring Promise
Love's Long Journey  â¢Â Love's Abiding Joy
Love's Unending Legacy  â¢Â Love's Unfolding Dream
Love Takes Wing  â¢Â Love Finds a Home
A P
RAIRIE
L
EGACY
The Tender Years  â¢Â A Searching Heart
A Quiet Strength  â¢Â Like Gold Refined
S
EASONS OF THE
H
EART
Once Upon a Summer  â¢Â The Winds of Autumn
Winter Is Not Forever  â¢Â Spring's Gentle Promise
S
ONG OF
A
CADIA
*
The Meeting Place  â¢Â The Sacred Shore  â¢Â The Birthright
The Distant Beacon  â¢Â The Beloved Land
W
OMEN OF THE
W
EST
The Calling of Emily Evans  â¢Â Julia's Last Hope
Roses for Mama  â¢Â A Woman Named Damaris
They Called Her Mrs. Doc  â¢Â The Measure of a Heart
A Bride for Donnigan  â¢Â Heart of the Wilderness
Too Long a Stranger  â¢Â The Bluebird and the Sparrow
A Gown of Spanish Lace  â¢Â Drums of Change
www.janetteoke.com
*with Davis Bunn
Books by
T. Davis Bunn
The Book of Hours
The Great Divide
Winner Take All
The Lazarus Trap
Elixir
Imposter
Lion of Babylon
All Through the Night
My Soul to Keep
A
CTS OF
F
AITH
*
The Centurion's Wife  â¢Â The Hidden Flame
The Damascus Way
S
ONG OF
A
CADIA
*
The Meeting Place  â¢Â The Sacred Shore
The Birthright  â¢Â The Distant Beacon
The Beloved Land
H
EIRS OF
A
CADIA
â
The Solitary Envoy  â¢Â The Innocent Libertine
The Noble Fugitive  â¢Â The Night Angel
Falconer's Quest
*with Janette Oke    â with Isabella Bunn
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 forty-eight novels for adults and another sixteen for children, and her book sales total nearly thirty million copies.
The Okes have three sons and one daughter, all married, and are enjoying their fifteen grandchildren. Edward and Janette are active in their local church and make their home near Didsbury, Alberta.
T. DAVIS BUNN has been a professional novelist for twenty years. His books have sold in excess of six million copies in sixteen languages, appearing on numerous national bestseller lists.
Davis is known for the diversity of his writing talent, from gentle gift books like
The Quilt
to high-powered thrillers like
The Great Divide
. He has also enjoyed great success in his collaborations with Janette Oke, with whom he has coauthored a series of ground-breaking historical novels.
In developing his work, Davis draws on a rich background of international experience. Raised in North Carolina, he completed his undergraduate studies at Wake Forest University. He then traveled to London to earn a master's degree in international economics and finance before embarking on a distinguished business career that took him to more than thirty countries in Europe, Africa, and the Middle East.
Davis has received numerous literary accolades, including three Christy Awards for excellence in fiction. He currently serves as Writerin-Residence at Regent's Park College, Oxford University, and is a sought-after lecturer on the craft of writing.
Table of Contents
Lieutenant Andrew Harrow clicked to his horse and moved down the trail to a break in the trees. In the distance, smoke rose from what he knew was Fort Edward, his destination and his home. His heart beat like a drum calling to quarters. But whether his excitement came from seeing his home again, or dread over the news he carried, Andrew could not tell.
After four long days of marching through primeval forest, the first sight of his home village made the blood thrum through his veins. Yet danger lurked nearby, and the reports he carried were equally ominous. War was brewing in the home countries, and though a broad ocean separated England and France from this peaceful land, he and his countrymen might well be caught up once more in the sport of kings. Such a time was not ideal for making plans to wed. But as the colonials were wont to say, the world kept turning whether they liked it or not. Andrew's wedding day was soon to come.
His horse tossed its head, as though it too could feel his anticipation. Andrew ran a hand down its withers, patted the sweaty neck, and murmured, “Not long now.”
He turned at the commotion of two dozen soldiers in full kit rounding the bend behind him. “Sergeant Major!” he called.
“Sir!”
“Ten-minute water break. See the men keep their weapons at the ready.”
“Ten minutes it is, sir.” The ramrod-straight man with bristling mustache stomped about and roared, “Water boy!”
The heavily laden wagons clattered into view. Andrew pressed his knees into the horse's sides and moved away from the soldiers and the clamor. The noise level was a major difference between new arrivals and those who had served longer in the colonies. The seasoned colonials learned from the natives and the forests. They moved with such stealth that a battalion could pass without disturbing the birds.
But these were soldiers fresh off the boats from England, and they masked their nervousness with noise. The forests and the empty reaches had already left their mark. Four days they had traveled since disembarking, and in that time they had not seen a soul. Such emptiness was unheard of back home. Here in the provinces of Acadia, however, only the thin strip of land between the sea and the forests had been cultivated. Farther inland the interior was all mystery and danger. The Micmac Indians who lived there had never been counted. Not even the number of their villages was known.
Andrew now rode a ridgeline of hills steep enough to have been called mountains in his native Somerset. But here they were mere shadows to the spine rising in the heart of this strange land. Stranger still that he, Andrew Harrow, younger son to the seventh earl of Sutton, would have come to call this land home.
Andrew lifted his hat and ran a grime-streaked sleeve over his heated brow, his gaze taking in the full sweep of land exposed to his view. Under the morning sun, the earth descended like giant steps, and each level told a story. Below the forested hillside spread the broad ledge of cultivated land. Scores of farmhouses dotted the meadows. Smoke curled from countless chimneys, and faint cries of animals and children rose upon the gentle June breeze.
A village of stone and wood lay directly beneath him, a village they would do their best to skirt. Andrew's eyes moved across the lanes and market square, but he saw no signs of danger. No matter how eager he might be for what awaited at the end of his journey, still he studied the terrain like the soldier that he was.
The village of Minas below him was French. Nowadays the French were rumored to be allied with the Micmac Indians, and together they posed a possible threat. Or so his generals claimed. Personally, Andrew was not so sure. Two years he had been stationed in this scarcely tamed land, and neither the French nor the Indians had signaled any threat at all. Not within his territory. Andrew had discovered that as long as he treated both with respect, they responded in kind. But such attitudes were called treasonous by his superiors, and he had learned to keep his opinions to himself.
“Beg your pardon, sir, care for a drink?”
Andrew turned in the saddle. “Thank you, Sergeant Major.” He accepted the heavy metal dipper and drank deeply, then flung the remnants toward the trees and handed back the ladle. “Much obliged.” A foot soldier lifted a dripping bucket to his thirsty horse.
The sergeant major, new to the garrison but a ten-year veteran of the New England colonies, pointed with his blade of a chin. “That a Frenchie village down below, sir?”
“Minas, yes.” Andrew nodded toward the scattering of hamlets surrounding Cobequid Bay. “Almost every second village you see here is French.”