The Quilter's Daughter
The Quilter's Daughter
“It had been a fairly pleasant day, with most of their family gathered around the table sharing a delicious Thanksgiving meal. Fannie had put on a happy face, cooking the dinner, with Naomi, Nancy, and Mary Ann’s help, and then serving it as though everything was normal. However, Abraham knew, even though his wife smiled on the outside, she hurt on the inside. He was sure Fannie missed Abby and wished her daughter could have been with them today. Fannie was a good mamm, and if she could shield A...bby from the trials of life, he knew she would. But that wasn’t possible. Fannie needed to rely on God and leave things in His hands the same way Abraham had done countless times.
He opened the woodstove door, tossed the log inside, and then moved across the room to check on the bopplin—first his youngest granddaughter, asleep in her portable crib, then his twin sons, lying in their cradles. “So young and innocent,” he murmured. “I pray none of you will ever know the heartaches I have had to endure.MoreLess
He opened the woodstove door, tossed the log inside, and then moved across the room to check on the bopplin—first his youngest granddaughter, asleep in her portable crib, then his twin sons, lying in their cradles. “So young and innocent,” he murmured. “I pray none of you will ever know the heartaches I have had to endure.MoreLess
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