A Heart’s Home
Born in England and raised in India by her father after her mother's untimely
death, Asyra has been ostracized from her small village most of her life. News
of her impending marriage arranged by her grandmother back in England only
serves to confuse her further about who she is and where she fits in. When
Madras is attacked by the French before Asyra's ship sails, she must pretend to
be the wife of her grandmother's agent, who happens to be the elder brother of
her intended. Can she move beyond prejudice to find her place in the world?
EXCERPT:
Braddock sat for a long time, his head in his hands. Asyra had cleansed
his forehead with the cool water. Her image had wavered as he watched her walk
away and spread the blanket on the dirt floor. He heard her praying quietly,
wishing he was closer to overhear. He joined her with silent prayers, for them
to cast off safely from India…for Asyra…for his brother…and his own entangled
heart.
He moved from the chair, almost sliding to the floor and stumbled to the
bed. His head hit the hay, sharp ends digging into his face. He flipped to his
back and fell into a deep sleep.
When he awoke, all was quiet in the small house. He could hear gentle
snoring from Mrs. Campbell. The heat was oppressive, it clung to him and pushed
him to his feet. As he straightened, he noticed Asyra awake and seated in a
chair by a window at the back of the house. She had the burlap tucked up an inch
and her nose stuck out the window. He grinned at the childish gesture, coughing
quietly to announce his presence.
She turned, smoothing the burlap with her hand and met his gaze.
Braddock motioned to the blanket on the floor.
“Did you rest at all?”
“Yes, I slept just fine. You?”
“If I had awakened in heaven itself, I wouldn’t be surprised. I slept as
if I were among the dead.”
She laughed quietly at his description, a small dimple appearing in her
left cheek. She quickly sobered as she
saw Mrs. Campbell roll over.
“It looks to be late afternoon. The heat will ease.”
“We’ll be against the wind most of the way home and wishing for this heat
come November.” He spoke quietly, not wishing to break the spell of time with
her.
“Do you remember England at all?”
“I was but a babe. My father told me some of mother’s estate…the lush
gardens and green pastures. He said there were woods so thick you could get
lost.”
“It’s true. There’s an enchanting forest with its fill of plants, trees,
and fauna. There’s one spot in particular, just a small path to the south of
the estate that leads to a God-made haven, where honeysuckle climbs the trees
and carpets the forest.”
Asyra seemed to roll this over in her mind. “It sounds beautiful….a-and
what is fauna?”
“Animals native to our region….the migrant cuckoo, the roe deer.”
“I-I’m very interested in your herbs and flowers.”
“I’ll see you have books to study.” As she broke his gaze, he recalled
what she had said about reading. Her eyes clouded with worry.
“Asyra.”
“Yes?”
“I have your mother’s bible, in the bag. We’ll teach you to read before
we reach England.”
“That’s a high order.”
“We can do it…together.” The word slid over his tongue and his heart
responded. It expanded and seemed to hesitate in its beating. Together. He and
Asyra. His eyes fell to her white teeth worrying her lip. Her soft pink lips
parted. She caught his gaze and fell still.
“Th-thank you for bringing the bible.” She stood and walked to the door,
taking the bucket with the white willow over to the basin and placing it on the
ground. “And the willow.” She bent her head and he saw a tear fall as she took
a small cup, dipped it into the pitcher, and wet its roots.
Braddock felt like the air was being squeezed from his lungs. He crossed
the room and stood behind her. She barely stood as tall as his shoulder. He
looked down as an ankle skimmed into view, the bells quietly jingling. It was
funny how the sound had become so commonplace now, part of his days and his
memories.
He touched her arm and she turned, falling forward and against his chest.
He could feel her silent sobs being wrenched from her very soul. She gulped a
deep breath and put her face back against him so he couldn’t see her.
“I’m here. I won’t leave you.”
“Y-y-you can’t promise me that.”
“I can and I will promise you.”
BUY LINKS:
FIND OUT MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR: www.LauraJMarshall.com
AUTHOR BIO: Laura J. Marshall is a full-time mom of
five boys. When not on active duty, she is the best-selling author of The
Battle Cry Devotional series and inspirational fiction (historical romantic
suspense and contemporary romance). She operates a popular blog called The Old
Stone Wall which hosts and promotes Christian and clean books and encourages
interaction between authors and readers. See more at www.LauraJMarshall.com
