Forever by Your Side (Willamette Brides #3) - Tracie Peterson Page 0,50

seeking to poison you.”

“It must be poison. My family is sick. They can’t keep anything down,” one man declared.

“Neither can mine,” another yelled, and soon everyone was protesting their situation.

Clint waved his hands and called to them. “I can’t help you if everyone talks at once.” One by one, the people fell silent. “Thank you. Look, a lot of things can happen to flour barrels during transport. I can’t tell you why your people are ill, but I will look into this. In the meantime, bring back the flour you think is bad. We’ll send for a new batch, and while you wait, I’ll see that your returned flour is credited to your account. As for the sick, if your own healers are overwhelmed, let me know, and I’ll get the reservation doctor to come.” He paused and looked at Adam. “Or I’m sure Mrs. Browning will be more than willing to help nurse the sick.”

“Absolutely,” Adam agreed. “You know that we care deeply for the people here. We will do whatever we can to get you what you need.”

There was a great deal of murmuring and muttering, but the people finally began to disperse.

Clint looked at Adam and shrugged. “I hope that means they’ve accepted my offering.” He heaved a sigh.

“I hope so too. I’ll let Mercy know what’s going on, so if someone does want her help, she won’t be caught off guard.”

“Good. That way she can have her things ready.” Clint smiled. “Maybe make a new batch of vinegar.”

Adam smiled. “You joke, but my wife swears on it. Says it will cure a great many ailments.”

“Yes, well, she can put her faith in vinegar. For the time being, however, I’ve got to figure out what was done to this barrel of flour and get a replacement in here immediately.”

Tom sat on the Brownings’ small porch and thought about everything that had happened since he’d come to Oregon. His main purpose had been to see Connie’s folks cleared of suspicion so Connie could stop worrying about them and maybe, just maybe, put her attention on him.

He’d been in love with Connie almost from the first moment he’d met her, despite their six-year age difference. Connie had always been mature for her age. She found Washington politics fascinating but took just as much interest in her uncle’s work on the ancient world. Tom remembered one year when her uncle and aunt had taken Connie with them to the Holy Land. She had long given up talking to him about Jesus by then, but upon her return, she was reenergized in her passion for learning everything she could about the Bible. She even tried her hand at learning Greek.

Tom thought about his conversation with Connie’s father. Mr. Browning had never once tried to force his religion on Tom. The things he said were very different from those Tom had grown up hearing in his father’s church.

He frowned. The very thought of his father put him in a foul mood. His father had only cared about his success in business and making sure his friends and family seemed perfect. There was never any room for error, and when one was made, Tom’s father was thoroughly condemning. During one particularly severe whipping, Tom’s father had declared that God Himself had instructed that he punish Tom. Maybe that was where Tom’s dismissal of God had its origins.

An owl hooted somewhere off to his left. Tom wondered at the species and wished he’d studied harder to learn more about birds. There were a good number of them he wasn’t familiar with.

“I thought I might find you out here,” Adam Browning said, joining Tom on the porch. He sank into his wife’s rocker and smiled. “I can see why she loves this chair so much. I may have to find another one for myself.”

Tom looked at Connie’s father, although the darkness obscured his features. “I was just thinking of the time your sister and her husband took Connie to the Middle East. They invited me to go along, but I couldn’t manage the time away. Connie came back so excited about everything she’d seen and heard. She was already strong in her faith, but that trip seemed to further stimulate her desire to learn.”

“That was about three years ago, wasn’t it?” Mr. Browning asked.

“Yes.” Tom nodded. “She was just nineteen, and I was twenty-five. I was working for the Bureau of Indian Affairs as a lowly office clerk, and it was impossible to leave because

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