Donovan's Daughter

By Lori Wick

Lori Wick's bestselling series The Californians (more than 500,000 copies sold) has a fresh new cover design to delight avid Lori Wick fans and readers just introduced to Lori's beloved fiction.

When an angry snowstorm forces Marcail Donovan to seek shelter for the night at the town doctor's house, the pretty new schoolteacher is thrust into a scandal that threatens her career. The unfortunate but innocent circumstances bring harsh condemnation to Marcail, but the compassionate bachelor doctor offers her a way to remain the town's teacher. Now she must face an inner turmoil worse than any storm.

Is Donovan's Daughter willing to give up her own dreams to bring God's love to the children she teaches?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harvest House Publishers
• Release date: Mar 1, 2007
• ISBN: 9780736931410

Lori Wick

Lori Wick is a multifaceted author of Christian fiction. As comfortable writing period stories as she is penning contemporary works, Lori’ s books (more than 6 million in print) vary widely in location and time period. Lori’ s faithful fans consistently put her series and standalone works on the bestseller lists. Lori and her husband, Bob, live with their swiftly growing family in the Midwest.

Book preview

Dear Marcail

March 25, 1881

Santa Rosa, California

Dear Marcail,

Happy Birthday! It’s hard to believe that we’re not together on your nineteenth birthday; it’s the first time I can remember our being apart. You know my love and prayers are with you and Father. Let me know what the two of you did that was special. Tell Father I hope he baked you a cake!

Rigg sent your birthday box in plenty of time, so when you read this, you should be able to write and tell me if the dress fits. I know all-white is impractical, but you look so pretty in white.

The girls talk about you constantly. I tell them that you’ll come to see them when you can. Donovan is growing like a weed, and I so wish you could see him. The girls were nowhere near his size at this age. I think he’s going to rival Rigg before he’s done. And speaking of Rigg, you can’t believe the joy in his face when he holds his own little son. God is so good, Marcail.

I just couldn’t resist writing to you on your birthday. Write back soon and catch me up on all the news. I don’t know about you, but it feels to me as if you’ve been gone for three months, not three weeks.

Love, Katie

April 6, 1881

Visalia, California

Dear Katie and Family,

I love the dress. It’s beautiful and fits like a dream. Thank you so much. I’ve been saving a white ribbon, and now I have a dress with which to wear it. From whom did Rigg order the dress?

I wanted to take my time to tell you about Father’s gift to me, but I’m so excited I can’t wait. Father told me I could start taking the special studies class with my teacher, Miss Wilkins, and get my teaching certificate. It means staying after school every afternoon, but I should be done by midsummer and be able to apply for teaching positions this fall!

I can hardly believe it’s true, Katie—I’m finally going to be a teacher! It’s what I’ve prayed for and dreamed about for as long as I can remember. I think it was hard for Father when I told him I did not want to be married right away, but after he took some time to get used to the idea, I could see he was going to wholeheartedly support my decision.

I think his change in attitude might have something to do with his watching me tutor. He can tell I love to teach. I’m not sure if he can understand that it’s not the same as having my own class, but I am really enjoying it. Mitchell, the little boy I tutor every afternoon, has a crush on me and tells me he’s going to marry me. Renee, the little girl I teach, is just the opposite. She resents my presence, and I have to coax nearly every word out of her. Please pray for both of us.

Give Rigg and the girls my love, and kiss Donovan for me. I’ve found a pair of matching dolls for Gretchen and Molly, but I’m not going to send them. I’d rather bring them when I can visit, to see their faces when they open them. I might hold onto them until Christmas.

I wish I could tell you I’ll see you soon, but with my studies intensifying, I just won’t be able to get away. I hope this finds you all well.

Love, Marcail

May 28, 1881

Santa Rosa, California

Dear Marcail,

Well, summer is upon us. The weather is hot in the extreme and all the grass in Santa Rosa is already brown. Every window in the kitchen is open as I write this letter.

Rigg’s mood has been nothing short of nonsensical tonight. He keeps coming through the kitchen and giving me messages for you. The last one was that a man was here, a doctor, seven feet tall, and he was asking for your hand in marriage. Honestly, Marc, he certainly can be outrageous when he makes up his mind!

Business picked up at the mercantile, and I was able to order a new rug for the girls’ bedroom. You remember how worn the old one was. I know Rigg hated to see it go since it had been his grandmother’s, but Molly’s foot catches on the loose threads time and again, and I’m afraid she’s going to hurt herself. I cut them, but I can’t seem to stay ahead of it.

We painted your bedroom a soft peach color. It really brightened things up. Wish you could see it. (That was a hint, in case you didn’t catch it.)

I’m glad your studies and tutoring are progressing well. We’re praying for you, Mitchell, and Renee. I have every confidence you’ll have your certificate in record time. I’m so proud of you. Write me soon.

Love, Katie

June 17, 1881

Visalia, California

Dear Katie,

I stood at Miss Wilkins’ side today and watched her sign my teaching certificate. I can’t really explain the way I felt, except to say that I was excited and scared all at once.

I knew that the Lord would want me to trust Him, as you trusted Him so many years ago the first time you taught in Santa Rosa without Mother’s help. I loved the schoolhouse there, and I love thinking back to your gentle way of teaching; so often you reminded me of Mother. I think she would be thrilled with the decision I’ve made.

I don’t believe for a moment that I would be receiving my certificate if you hadn’t been such an encouragement to me. Thanks, Katie, for all you’ve taught me, and for being the pillar of love and strength you’ve been in my life.

Love, Marcail

July 25, 1881

Santa Rosa, California

Dear Marcail,

I prayed this morning about the perfect teaching position for you, and then found myself asking God to open the doors here in Santa Rosa. Then I realized that I was trying to help God with your life, and I was not trusting.

This letter is to inform you that I’ve given you over to the Lord and His tender care. Here are some verses that I know you love and have shared with me in the past. As I read them this morning, I found them a real comfort. Thanks, Marcail.

Isaiah 55:8,9, For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.

All my love, Katie

August 12, 1881

Visalia, California

Dear Katie,

I’ve received letters from three school boards who have seen my credentials and want to hire me. Father and I talked and prayed before finally deciding on the school in Willits, which is only about five hours from Santa Rosa by train.

I’ll be coming through Santa Rosa on August 25, on my way to Willits. I can’t stay any longer than the train does, but if you’re at the station around 10:00 a.m., we’ll have a few moments.

The conduct and dress code laid down by this school board is very strict, but I think that’s part of the reason Father liked it; that and knowing how close I’ll be to you and Rigg. I know he wants peace of mind over how I’m being cared for.

Father can’t get away to come up with me, but he asked me to tell you he’s planning on coming to Santa Rosa for Christmas, and we’ll all be together then. If this won’t work for you, be in touch. I won’t write again before I leave, but don’t forget to write me once I get to my new home. Thanks for all your prayers.

Love, Marcail

prologue

Santa Rosa, California

August 25, 1881

Marcail Donovan waved from the window as the train pulled away from the Santa Rosa station. Her sister, Kaitlin, brother-in-law, Marshall Riggs, and nieces, Gretchen and Molly, all waved furiously in reply. Her nephew, eight-month-old Donovan, sitting comfortably on his father’s arm, was too busy working on the thumb in his mouth to notice his aunt’s departure.

When the train station was out of sight, Marcail settled back against her seat with a smile and a sigh. How good it had been to see them, however briefly. It was an unexpected blessing amid numerous blessings of late from the Lord.

If Marcail had had the luxury of time, she would have loved to stay and visit, but knowing her teaching position awaited her further up the tracks was enough to keep Marcail’s mind from how deeply she missed her family.

Marcail suddenly thought of her father, Patrick Donovan, and again she smiled. It wasn’t every girl who had a full-time father for the first nine years of her life, saw him only occasionally for the next ten years, and then had him come back into her life to stay when she was nearly 19.

It had taken some weeks, but father and daughter had become close. At first Patrick had struggled with the fact that his little girl was now a grown woman, and there were times he had treated her like a child. But he was always swift to apologize when he saw the disappointment in her eyes. He soon saw that her manner of life, and the loving way she responded to his affection and counsel, showed that Marcail was level-headed enough to know what she wanted.

And what Marcail wanted was to teach school. Patrick’s first reaction when she expressed this desire had been enthusiastic, until she informed him that she was willing to travel anywhere in the state to acquire a position.

Wouldn’t you like a teaching position here in Visalia? he’d asked her in some surprise.

Yes, I would. It would be wonderful to teach close enough to live here, but if nothing is available, then I’m going to look for a position somewhere else.

Marcail could see that her words surprised her father, and she did not push the point. She also did not tell him that she felt it was time to be on her own. Marcail knew that if he was totally against the idea of her teaching elsewhere, she would drop the subject, but as she hoped and prayed, he came to her a few days later and told her to follow her heart.

And follow her heart was just what Marcail did. She began submitting her resume whenever she found a school board advertising for a teacher, and in a surprisingly short amount of time, several responded.

Marcail had been careful to consult her father on all the correspondence she received, and in just a matter of days, Patrick advised her to take the job in Willits. It was a long way from where they were now living in Visalia, but not too far from Katie and Rigg. And with the strict code of dress, Father was certain the townspeople would be upright and moral.

Marcail had plenty of time to grow nervous as the train drew ever closer to her destination. She had prayed for most of the journey and worked at overcoming her anxieties. There was so much she could panic over if she allowed her mind to wander; little things, like living alone for the first time, taking care of all her own finances, and being the sole authority in the classroom.

Marcail had known responsibility for numerous tasks over many years. She had always risen to the occasion and seen to every need, but she suddenly found herself asking, what if something entered her world that was beyond her control? What if she became sick or the schoolhouse burned down?

Marcail realized she was working herself into a fine frenzy and immediately prayed for calm. It was true that any of those things could happen, but worrying about them would change nothing. If and when the time came to handle any and all disasters, she knew the Lord would lead and guide her to His good work.

She was completely calm by the time the conductor called Willits as the next stop. As the town came into view, however, Marcail’s heart began to pound once again. This time there was no fear, only excitement.

one

Marcail peered through the window as the train pulled into the Willits station. There was nothing unusual or remarkable about what she could see of the small town, but the fact that it was her new home made it, along with the moment, a thing to be treasured.

The train came to a complete stop. Marcail stood in the aisle, her carpetbag in one hand. As she stepped forward, her heart beat against her ribs so hard she was certain the fabric on her dress was moving. She glanced down at her simple black gown with the long sleeves and high collar, and suddenly found herself hoping it would hold up under the censuring eyes of Willits’ school board members.

There were a few other people disembarking with her at the train station. Marcail, wanting to soak up every person, every nook and cranny of this small town, smiled and greeted anyone who met her eyes.

Her letter of introduction, held firmly in one hand, said she was to locate a Mr. Stanley Flynn. He was, the letter explained, the local banker. Because Marcail’s only piece of luggage was her one overstuffed bag, she carried it in one hand and the letter in the other.

More than one shop owner stepped to the boardwalk in front of his store as she passed, and Marcail took time to smile and greet each one. She didn’t tarry long, however. Her desire to meet Mr. Flynn gave her a singleness of purpose that took her swiftly to the door of the bank and over the threshold. Once inside the small building, Marcail approached the single clerk who stood behind the counter.

May I help you, miss? Marcail noticed he was very businesslike, his speech and manner proper in the extreme.

Yes, thank you. I’m looking for a Mr. Stanley Flynn.

May I tell him who is calling?

Feeling much younger than her 19 years, Marcail gave her name and watched the bank clerk walk to a private office at the rear of the building. She looked around admiringly at the elegant surroundings of the compact room, taking in the gleaming woodwork. She thought she defected the faint odor of linseed oil.

Moving to the windows that looked out over the street, Marcail spotted a cobbler shop, hotel, dry goods store, and what appeared to be a doctor’s office. When she heard footsteps behind her, she turned with a ready smile. A man was approaching, his smile cordial but his eyes watchful. He extended his hand to Marcail, who was well aware of his scrutiny. She was quite conscious of the fact that she looked like a girl on the threshold of womanhood, and not a woman fully grown. But Marcail was confident of her ability to teach, and in her posture and the very tilt of her head she unconsciously relayed just that.

Miss Donovan, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Stanley Flynn must have liked what he saw because his manner became very solicitous, his smile genuine.

Marcail smiled in return. It’s a pleasure to be here, Mr. Flynn.

She might not have been so confident or ready to smile if she could have read the banker’s thoughts, the first of which was that she was beautiful. The second was that she looked innocent enough to be malleable. It would be some time before Marcail would find out that she was Willits’ ninth school teacher in three years.

Ten minutes later Mr. Flynn put Marcail’s bag in his buggy and drove Marcail to her house. As they appeared to be headed out of town, he explained that the builder of the schoolhouse and teacher’s home, some 30 years before, had not liked how noisy children could be. It had been his opinion that the school should be located on the outskirts of town. Since he had supplied most of the funds, the town had acquiesced.

Willits was larger now, and the last houses on that end of town were within sight of the school. Still, a small group of trees on the town’s side of the school gave it a very distinct feeling of isolation. Marcail spotted one small farmhouse in the distance, but she asked no questions concerning the owner. She was much too captivated with her first glance at the small house into which Mr. Flynn was now leading her.

Mr. Flynn did not tarry. Only five minutes passed before Marcail saw him to the front door, waved to him after he was back in his buggy, and shut the door. She turned back to the room, her hands going to her mouth, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. This was her house, her own little home! And some 50 feet away was the schoolhouse where she would start work on Monday.

Marcail’s gaze roamed the room with pleasure. It couldn’t have been more perfect if she’d designed it herself. The main room of the house was spacious, with a kitchen in one corner. The one doorway led to a small bedroom. It was a house intended for one person, holding only two kitchen chairs at the table and a rocking chair near the stove.

Marcail moved into the bedroom. The bed she found was very small, but then so was she, making her feel that everything was all the more perfect. The curtains on the window and the quilt on the bed were both a soft, sky-blue plaid.

After throwing the curtains back to let in the sunlight, she went to work unpacking her single bag. She hung her other two dresses and put her undergarments in the drawers of the small dressing table. Her entire outer wardrobe consisted of three dresses—one brown, one dark blue, and the black one she was wearing.

She set a few of her personal books on the nightstand, and put the others on the bed to be taken to the school. A picture of her mother as a young girl went on the dressing table, as did a picture of herself and her siblings taken in Santa Rosa. Marcail smiled at the homey touches.

She stopped before the mirror that hung opposite the bed to check her hair. She was not accustomed to wearing it up because of its length and thickness, but her hairstyle and the dark-colored clothing were all a part of the stipulations set down in her contract.

The last item Marcail removed from her bag was her Bible. She sat on the bed and held it in her arms, and then prayed aloud in the stillness of her home.

Thank You, Father, for bringing me to this place. It’s more wonderful than I could have dreamed. Marcail didn’t speak again, but sat quietly and dwelt on verses from Psalm 46: Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the heathen; I will be exalted in the earth. The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge.

two

Marcail spent the next hour inspecting every inch of the schoolhouse. It was spotless and well equipped. She had brought along a few of her books and stood for a long time just looking at the way they sat on her desk. The platform in front of the blackboard, on which her desk sat, was raised about eight inches from the rest of the schoolroom floor. Marcail, whose height and frame were so diminutive, was very pleased.

After she finished at the schoolhouse, she went home to make out a complete list of all the supplies she thought she might need. She was eager to take a walk into town. The schoolhouse and her home sat on the west edge of the community. A quick scan out the schoolhouse window had earlier confirmed that the only visible structures beyond were the small house and barn that she had spotted on her arrival.

It didn’t take long for Marcail to reach the houses of town, but the shops were a bit further. She was flushed from the weight of her dress, as well as the warmth of the day, by the time she reached a storefront that said Vesperman’s General Store above the entrance. The building appeared to be half the size of Riggs’ Mercantile in Santa Rosa, but once inside there did not seem to be any lack.

Marcail’s eyes took in pins and measuring cups, fly traps and thread, composition books and soap flakes, eggbeaters and blotters, cookie cutters and bibs, fabric and shoes, checkerboards and muffin tins. She chose a basket near the door and began to shop. Not until she was near the candy counter did Marcail meet the proprietor. He was a smiling man with a sandy mustache, who introduced himself as Randy Vesperman.

Marcail liked him instantly. He answered all of her questions and informed her that his children, Erin and Patrick, would be in her classroom Monday morning. The friendly sparkle in his eyes confirmed that she had made her first friend. He encouraged her to take the basket in order to carry her purchases home.

Marcail’s next stop was the bank. The tutoring she had done in Visalia for the two children who, for different reasons, were unable to attend the schoolhouse, allowed her to come to Willits with something of a financial cushion. She spent a fair amount in gaining supplies for the next month, but with the exception of a few coins to get her by, she deposited the rest into a savings account.

It soon became obvious that the townspeople knew who she was. Several people approached her in the bank. One couple, the Whites, introduced themselves and their children, allowing Willits’ new schoolmarm to meet two of her students.

Marcail was moving toward the door when it opened and a woman of immense proportions, both in height and width, swept in. She was dressed in black crepe, and Marcail felt instant sympathy for her mourning. It took her a moment to realize that the woman was not going to let her pass, causing her to finally look up into her eyes.

You must be Miss Donovan. The voice was cold.

Yes, ma’am, Marcail replied and swallowed hard. The woman had the hardest eyes she had ever encountered.

I am Cordelia Duckworth, the woman said, as if this explained everything. I trust that Mr. Flynn made you aware that I’m expecting you for lunch tomorrow?

Yes, Mrs. Duckworth. I was planning on it.

Well, see that you are. I’ll finish your interview then.

Mrs. Duckworth moved toward the teller without giving Marcail a chance to reply. Marcail left feeling a bit dazed. Interview.

Reviews for Donovan's Daughter

[sarahgracegrzy · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I actually enjoyed the story more than the rating would make you think, but there was a fair amount of content I was uncomfortable with, hence the lower rating.

I loved the character of Marcail! I have ever since the first book. She's so sweet, and gentle, yet still tough, but not in a feministic way. I love her gentle shyness and demurity. I also ADORE Dr. Montgomery!! He is pretty much the only male interest in a romance book that I actually LIKED. He is just so sweet, and kind, and thoughtful . . . seriously, and he's a DOCTOR! (No wonder I liked him. :P) I just loved the story overall, except for some content.

What made me uncomfortable was the amount of intimacy, or rather, talking about intimacy. While it wasn't *wrong* especially because they were, after all, married, it still made me feel awkard and cringe at times. Nothing super explicit, but definitely pretty clear what they are talking about. Can we have a romance novel that isn't super romancey and doesn't have any explicit stuff!?! Is that too much to ask? Oh wait! Somebody DID write such books! Read Lauraine Snelling if you are looking for clean, non-explicit romance! And while this wasn't *explicit*, it was enough to make me uncomfortable, as I said.

So anyway! Great story, not happy with the content.