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  RIBBON IN THE SKY. Copyright © 1991 by Dorothy Garlock. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  For information address Warner Books, Hachette Book Group, 237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017.

  A Time Warner Company

  ISBN: 978-0-7595-2280-0

  A mass market edition of this book was published in 1991 by Warner Books.

  The “Warner Books” name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  First eBook edition: April 2001

  Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from With Hope

  A Time Warner Company

  “Don’t ever forget that I love you,” he said in an urgent, husky whisper.

  “I wish you didn’t have to go,” Letty whispered.

  “Working in a logging camp may be the answer, sweetheart. I don’t make enough money to support us. Besides, when we marry, we’ll have to leave here. Your pa would make life miserable for us and for my folks if we stayed.”

  “You’re right. Kiss me again.”

  Tenderly he threaded his fingers in the hair on each side of her face. He bent his head and reverently kissed her forehead, then her lips. He was filled with indescribable love for her.

  “Turn around. I want to make sure there are no leaves or grass on your dress or in your hair. Here’s the ribbon.” Mike pressed the scrap into her hand. “Tie it in the bush if you can meet me.”

  “I love you.” Her back was to him. “Don’t forget me . . . ever!”

  “Five Stars!”

  —Heartland Critiques

  “Four and a half hearts—highest rating! An absolutely wonderful, homespun love story. . . . Her books are precious keepsakes, and this is another to add to the collection.”

  —Romantic Times

  “The story is one that covers the range of emotion—love and hate, compassion and ruthlessness. You will laugh with Letty and Mike, and you will cry with them.”

  —Rendezvous

  Books by Dorothy Garlock

  Annie Lash

  Dream River

  Forever Victoria

  A Gentle Giving

  Glorious Dawn

  Homeplace

  Lonesome River

  Love and Cherish

  Larkspur

  Midnight Blue

  Nightrose

  Restless Wind

  Ribbon in the Sky

  River of Tomorrow

  The Searching Hearts

  Sins of Summer

  Sweetwater

  Tenderness

  The Listening Sky

  This Loving Land

  Wayward Wind

  Wild Sweet Wilderness

  Wind of Promise

  Yesteryear

  Published by

  WARNER BOOKS

  This novel is dedicated

  with love to

  my daughter,

  LINDY,

  For her unswerving faith,

  and because . . .

  and because . . .

  and because . . .

  CHAPTER

  1

  It was almost time.

  The boy’s eyes, wild and dark, glanced at the sun dying in the west, then anxiously scanned the dirt road that curved around the schoolhouse. The south wind blew softly, stirring the willows where he waited beside the stream. When a limb brushed the black curls that tumbled on his forehead, the hand he lifted to hold it away from his face held a scrap of blue ribbon that fluttered in the breeze.

  This morning the ribbon had been tied to the lilac bush.

  Mike’s eighteen-year-old heart pounded with dread at the thought of the risk his sweetheart was taking. Her father would beat her—in the name of God, of course—for meeting any boy. Mike hated to think of what he would do to her if he found out she was secretly meeting one of those wicked, idol-worshiping Catholics. Reverend Pringle considered Catholics to be heathens. He was as sure that they were bound for hell as he was that darkness would come at the end of the day.

  Mike’s thoughts reached back seven years to the day Reverend Pringle and his family had come to town. Mr. Colson at the dairy had told him to take a complimentary pail of fresh milk to the new preacher. Mike was excited. It was his first day on the job. He ran up the walk to the house and, like a puppy who was all paws, stubbed his toe on the top step and sprawled on the porch at the man’s feet. As the pail flew out of his hand, milk splashed on the Reverend Pringle’s trousers and shiny black shoes. Mike remembered lying there for only a second or two before jumping to his feet. He forgot about his badly bitten tongue and the blood filling his mouth when he looked at the preacher’s stormy countenance. More than anything he wanted to run, but it was impossible because the heavy hand that fell on his shoulder held him in a firm grip.

  “What’s your name, boy?” The voice rolled like thunder.

  “Mike . . . Dolan, sir. I’m sorry—”

  “Who sent you?”

  “Mr. Colson . . . at the dairy. He said to welcome you and—”

  “Is your pa a member of my church?”

  “No, sir. We’re Catholic.”

  “One of those! I should have known!” The preacher pushed him so hard he staggered back against the porch rail. “Ah . . . yes. I heard about the wild Dolans as soon as I hit town. Wild and sinful! Drinking, playing cards, and dancing their way to hell.” He gave the milk bucket a kick and it rolled down the steps. “Brother Colson will hear of this. Now get off my porch and stay off.”

  “He didn’t mean to spill the milk, Papa.”

  For the first time Mike noticed the small girl sitting in the porch swing. She was dressed in white from head to toe. The skirt of her dress was spread out and as she spoke she absently ran her hands along it, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles. Her white-clad legs were crossed at the ankles, and white-buttoned shoes dangled above the porch. Fat curls the color of his brother’s sorrel horse bounced around her shoulders. A large, flat bow lay across the top of her head and freckles spread a path over her nose. What Mike noticed the most were her eyes: round with fear, looking at her father as if she expected a slap for what she had said.

  “Get in the house. I’ll deal with you later.”

  The curt words sent the child scurrying off the swing. She slipped around the corner of the wrap-around porch. But before she disappeared she paused and looked at Mike.

  “I know you didn’t mean to,” she said with tears in her voice and in her eyes.

  Mike was unaware of it at the time; but years later when he thought of how much courage it took for Letty to speak up for him, he was certain it was at that moment he had lost his heart to her.

  The screen door was flung open wide. An older, taller girl came out onto the porch to stand beside the preacher. She was also dressed in white. The curls that framed
her small, pinched face hung to her waist, but they were skinny and mousy brown. Mike glanced at her before he bolted down the steps. She stuck out a pointed tongue and wiggled it. That nastiness could not go unanswered! Mike stopped short at the bottom of the steps, spread his mouth with his thumbs, poked out his tongue, and crossed his eyes.

  “Did ya see that, Papa?” the girl screeched and pointed a finger. “He made a face at me!”

  Mike picked up the bucket and ran, sure that he would be fired and never earn enough money to buy his own horse; but Mr. Colson didn’t fire him, and since that time he’d worked after school and during the summer at the dairy. When he finished school last spring, Mike was given a full-time job, but it didn’t pay enough for him to support a wife. Good-paying jobs were scarce in central Nebraska. Two of his brothers had gone west to find work in the logging camps and had urged him to go with them, but the thought of being away from the girl who meant the world to him was too painful for him to even consider it.

  With a little groan of anguish, he wished that he could marry Letty and take her away from that crazy old Holy-Roller preacher and her equally fanatic sister. Cora was three years older than Letty and claimed that she had been “called” to preach the Gospel to sinners and save their souls from hell. She and Letty had been trained from childhood to sing duets to inspire the worshipers. When the crowd was sufficiently worked up, Brother Pringle would preach a hellfire and brimstone sermon, haranguing his flock for their sins, moving a chorus of voices to shout, “Amen! Glory hallelujah!” Since Mike had been raised as a Catholic and was used to quiet chants and tinkling bells, this frenzied religious display seemed bizarre to him.

  Now, as he sat resting his back against a tree, he mulled over the problems the style of worship had made in his life. Suddenly he saw a flutter of something white. She was coming. His sweetheart was graceful and slender, gentle and soft. His heart leaped at the sight of her. He watched her come along the path as if she were on the way to the privy behind the empty schoolhouse. The hem of her skirt swished about the tops of her high-laced shoes. She had told him that her father thought the newer skirt length of three inches above the ankle to be worldly and immoral. He had even made such immodesty the topic for one of his Wednesday-night sermons and urged his flock to be aware of the sins of the flesh.

  Rich auburn hair tied at the nape of Letty’s neck framed a face that was not exceedingly beautiful, but Mike adored every feature and every freckle that dotted her nose. She was his love, his life, and he loved her with every beat of his young heart.

  Letty stepped behind the screen of hollyhocks that grew beside the privy. Out of sight of the road she began to run toward him, her feet making no sound on the path.

  “Mike! Mike!” She jumped lightly over a fallen log that lay between them and threw herself into his arms. Mike lifted her off her feet, swinging her around.

  “Ah . . . sweetheart! I love it when you run to me!” His voice was husky and tender, his lips nuzzled her ear.

  The feel of her soft body against his and the sweet-soap scent of her filled his head. It was both wonderful and painful to be in love. Letty filled every corner of his heart.

  “Fifteen, almost sixteen and never been kissed by anyone but me,” he teased and kissed her long and hard.

  “I’m scared, Mike!” she said when she could get her breath.

  “Scared?” He held her away from him and looked down into her worried face. “What is it, honey? What’s scaring you?”

  “Papa’s talking about pulling up and going out on a soul-saving revival crusade. He says we’ll be in the war soon. He says President Wilson will drag us into it, and he needs to save as many souls as he can before the troops are sent to fight the Kaiser.”

  “Why doesn’t he ask God to keep us out of the war? He claims to be able to talk directly to him.”

  Mike’s angry dark eyes met her brown ones without flinching. She knew his opinion of her father. Mike usually managed to keep it to himself but sometimes he just exploded when she talked about her father’s beliefs and his domination of her.

  “Your pa says it’ll be his plea to God that’ll get prohibition voted in to make it against the law to buy and sell whiskey in Nebraska.” Mike’s voice was husky with sarcasm.

  “Are your folks for prohibition?” she asked after a pause.

  “No. My pa and brothers don’t like it at all.”

  “And you? Will you be a slave to demon rum like your pa and brother?”

  “They take a drink now and then, but they’re not slaves to it,” he said crossly. Then to take the bite out of his words, he shook her gently, then hugged her to him. “Demon rum! That sounds like something your pa would say.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Her lips moved against his neck when she spoke. “The Bible says to honor thy father and thy mother. It’s wicked of me to go against them and sneak out to meet you. But, oh, I love you so!”

  “And I love you, darlin’ girl.” He kissed her mouth softly, lovingly, again and again. “I was outside the church last night and heard you and Cora sing.”

  “I wish I’d known you were there.”

  “And I wish I could take you away from here and take care of you.” He held her tightly, his hands stroking her back with long, slow caresses until she was molded so closely against him that she could scarcely catch her breath for the excitement that beat through her.

  “Cora is urging Papa to go on the crusade.”

  “I’m not surprised. What does your mother want to do?”

  “Oh, Mama will do whatever Papa wants. I think she likes the revival meetings under a brush arbor, sleeping in strangers’ houses, and having them wait on her almost as much as she likes listening to everyone praise Papa.”

  “When is he planning to go?” Mike asked, dreading her answer.

  “He’s looking for a preacher to take his church. If he can’t find one in the next couple of weeks, he’ll wait and go early in the spring. Oh, Mike, I don’t want to leave you.”

  Mike pulled her down on the soft grass beneath the willow.

  “I don’t want you to go. We’ll think of something. Right now I just want to be with you and hold you.”

  “I could hardly wait for the day to go by. You’re my sweetheart, but you’re also . . . my dearest friend.”

  “How were you able to get away this time of day?”

  “Papa went out to the Hendersons. I think old Grandpa Henderson is dying. Mama and Cora went to read scriptures to Granny Wilder. She can’t see to read anymore.”

  “Granny Wilder’s kids are pretty upset about her plans to leave her house to the preacher. Is that why Cora is being nice to her?” Mike instantly regretted his cynical remark when he saw the flicker of a frown cross Letty’s face.

  “I told Mama I was sick so I wouldn’t have to go. I had to stick my finger down my throat and throw up to prove it.”

  “It’s been a week since I held you, kissed you.” Mike’s words came out in a sort of trembling sigh.

  Letty unbuttoned his shirt and slid her hand inside along muscles that quivered at her touch. “I know. I know.”

  “Sweetheart, I love you and . . . want you!” Muttered words tumbled from his lips as he pressed fevered kisses along the soft skin of her throat and the beginning swell of her breast.

  She heard his harsh breathing and the hoarsely whispered words. Not daring to open her eyes, she unbuttoned the bodice of her dress. She wanted to lie under his searching lips and forget everything but him. It was wicked how much she loved him. At times she thought she loved him more than God. More than Jesus. He was the only person she had ever been close to, close enough to share her thoughts, her dreams. His lips moved slowly along the side of her neck, then she felt his mouth on her breast, warm and wet, tongue caressing, sucking at her nipple. He groaned a muted, strangled, incoherent sound and began to tremble.

  “Tell me to stop!”

  Letty’s eyes were soft with love. “I don’t want you to stop.
I want to give back to you as much as you’ve given to me.”

  “Oh, sweet girl! I don’t want you to give to me. I want you to want me as much as I want you.”

  “I do! Oh, I do!”

  “But . . . what if you get . . . caught?”

  “I didn’t the last time.”

  Her arms held him closer, her body strained against his. He covered her face with kisses, releasing his pent-up desire with each touch of his lips. His hand moved under her skirt and between her thighs, stroking the soft inner skin, then moved upward. She gave a muffled, instinctive cry as his fingers found the slit in her drawers and probed gently.

  Letty knew perfectly well that what she was doing was a sin. But when she was with Mike, the reality of everything seemed to slip away from her, leaving her in a wonderfully happy world. Her mouth answered his hungrily, feeling the familiar longing in that hidden place between her legs, pressing against him, her breasts tingling as they accepted his caresses. Her excitement mounted. She forgot who she was, where she was, and opened her legs, letting him have his way. Her body writhed and strained upward, aching for what she knew would come with their union.

  When Mike entered and filled her, Letty flew off somewhere high and exquisite. She floated along with her feelings, wanting to scream out with the joy of it. How could this be wicked when it felt so good?

  “Letty . . .” Her name was a caress on his lips.

  She murmured his name as her lips glided over his straight dark brows, short thick eyelashes, cheeks rough with new whiskers, and to his waiting mouth. All of her unspent adoration was lavished upon him now.

  When it was over, the tears came because it had been so beautiful.

  “My precious girl—” He kissed away the tears, understanding why she cried. He pulled her skirt down over her thighs and legs and cuddled her to him. “Don’t ever forget that I love you,” he said in an urgent, husky whisper.

  “Thank you for loving me.”

  “We’re going to spend our lives together,” he promised.

  “What are we going to do?”