Deeanne Gist - The Measure of a Lady

The

MEASURE

of a LADY

Books by Deeanne Gist

A Bride Most Begrudging

The Measure of a Lady

Courting Trouble

Deep in the Heart of Trouble

The

MEASURE

of a LADY

DEEANNE

GIST

The Measure of a Lady
Copyright 2006
Deeanne Gist

Cover design by Brand NavigationBill Chiaravalle
Cover photograph by Steve Gardner, PixelWorks Studios, Inc.
Interior design by Eric Walljasper

Unless otherwise identified, Scripture quotations are from the New King James Version of the Bible. Copyright 1979, 1980, 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meanselectronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwisewithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN 978-0-7642-0073-1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Gist, Deeanne.
The measure of a lady / Deeanne Gist.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-7642-0285-5 (alk. paper) ISBN 0-7642-0073-9 (pbk.) 1. Brothers and sistersFiction. 2. San Francisco (Calif.)History19th centuryFiction. I. Title.

PS3607.I55M43 2006
813'.6dc22 2006007823

To my parents,
Harold and Veranne Graham,
who have given tirelessly
of their time, their wisdom, and their love.
Thank you so very, very much.
I love you. Dee

DEEANNE GIST has a background in education and journalism. Her credits include People, Parents, Parenting, Family Fun, and the Houston Chronicle . She has a line of parenting products called I Did It! Productions and a degree from Texas A&M. She lives with her husband, four teenagers, and two dogs in Houston, Texas, and loves to hear from her readers at her website.

Contents

I cannot seem to complete a manuscript without first visiting the actual locale in which the story takes place. Many thanks to Richard and Linda Alvarez for opening their home to me, for taxiing me around San Francisco and the surrounding area, for giving me the skinny that only the locals are privy to, and for enriching not just this novel but also my life. May God bless you tenfold to how you have blessed me.

My first novel, A Bride Most Begrudging, took me three years to write. Once I sold it to Bethany House, I was given one year to finish writing The Measure of a Lady . Nothing like a little pressure to send one into a complete panic. My saving grace throughout this project was my critique partner, Meg Moseley, whose input was invaluable. She encouraged me, prompted me, taught me, and prayed for me. I do not know what I would have done without her. Thank you, Meg. I am looking forward to many more years as professional colleagues and dearest friends.

I could not possibly close without thanking my team at Bethany House. What an incredibly talented group of folks they are, not to mention a good deal of fun. Special thanks to David Long for going above and beyond, and to Paul Higdon and his creative team. As far as cover art for books goes, the buck stops with Paul. And you must agree that the cover of Lady is one of the most incredible covers of all time. Thank you. I am truly blessed.

Love, Dee

T his Street Is Impassable, Not Even Jackassable . Rachel Van Buren reread the sloppily painted, dripping red letters splattered across the rickety sign. Even as she watched, its supporting post tilted forward, better exposing an endless blanket of mud stretching up behind it and beyond.

Where are the trees, Lord? Why, its nothing but mud and scrub brush .

With the Pacific at her back and a sea of mud before her, she hadnt even a dry spot to drop the valises she held in each hand.

What are we going to do? her sister asked, swiping a strand of golden hair from her face.

Im not sure, Lissa.

Her fifteen-year-old sister, fourteen-year-old brother and she were all exhausted from their two-month voyage. And all newly orphaned by the unexpected passing of their father, Jacob Van Buren.

The promise of easy gold in the California territory had seemed like an answer to her fathers woes. So, he had scrounged up what little capital they had and bought the family tickets on the Oregon with high hopes. Hopes lost in grief and stranding the three of them in a foreign territory with no guardian, no money to speak of, and no means of support.

We cant go back to the ship, Michael said. The crew has abandoned us.

Not only the crew, Rachel thought, but their fellow passengers as well. Shed never seen that many men move so fast. Glancing at the now-empty rowboat secured to the rustic wharf, Rachel decided they had no choice but to leave behind their traveling trunks which sat forlornly on the pier like little caskets destined for the graveyard.

Fog whipped in from the waterfront, swirling onward to the slopes of San Francisco peppered with rambling tents and shacks. Twilight had begun its final curtain call, ushering in the deeper shadows of nightfall. One-by-one, lanterns inside the distant canvas dwellings came to light, transforming the hills into fiery nuggets.

Rachel tightened her grip on the leather valises. Ill tell you what we are going to do, Lissa. She took a deep, fortifying breath. Were going to get muddy. Were going to get quite muddy.

But look how steep it is, Lissa said.

Rachel eyed the extreme incline they must traverse to get to what she assumed was the town square. Even if the road were packed hard, it would be a strenuous hike. But soggy mud? Near impossible.

Michael yowled with delight and raced right into the thick of it, slipping, sliding, and coating the bags he carried with the clinging goop. His feet way too big for his scrawny fourteen-year-old body, he landed on his backside before he was even a third of the way up. Ho, its slippery, girls. And deep.

He twisted around, flashing them a full-sized grin barely discernible in the fading light. If youll wait for me, Ill come back and give you piggybacks.

What do you think, Lissa? Rachel asked, quirking a brow.

Lissa worried her bottom lip. I will if you will.

Rachel hesitated, then shook her head. No, I think Ill try it on my own.

Her shoulders drooped at this introduction to San Francisco. She had donned her best dress for this momentous occasion, its skirt peeking out from beneath her three-quarter-length coat. She stepped into the murky ankle-deep mess, caking herself with wet, malodorous mud, and trudged up the incline.

Panting from exertion and shivering from the biting wind, she crested the hill and stood with her siblings in mute fascination. But fascination didnt cover the half of it. More like consternation. Disbelief. Shock.

Light poured from the open doors of the huge tents that lined San Franciscos plaza, crisscrossing the square like a swath of gingham. Signs tacked to the canvas shacks greeted them with that now familiar red paint, but with unfamiliar words in a variety of languages.

The muddy streets teemed with people. No, not people. Men . Oriental men with long braided pigtails. Dark-skinned men with colorful sombreros. Men with so much facial hair one couldnt even begin to guess from whence they came.