Free Beyond Hope's Valley: A Big Sky Novel by Tricia Goyer Page A

might never wish to return—even for a visit. Marianna's lips compressed. She placed the letter on her lap and wiped a hand across her forehead. Even though she hadn't pursued her relationship with Ben, as Mem had with Mark, she understood the depths of where one's feeling could plunge.
    Marianna wilted against the pillows on her bed. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she let the memories carry her back for just a moment. Talking to Ben at the auction. The tight hug he'd given her at her father's birthday party. The way he'd tried to save Ellie's color-book from the puddle within five minutes of their meeting.
    She had other memories of Aaron, more memories. Aaron walking barefoot in the creek and the smile of a freckled-nosed boy of thirteen. Yet, how come the thoughts of him did not stir her in the same way?
    "Love is a choice," she told herself. She would love Aaron. She did love Aaron. The love she had for him was something that would last—not the swelling emotions brought on by a man who had no right to her heart.

    The scent of his loafing shed welcomed Aaron as he entered. With winter set, the cows and young cattle nestled inside. Taking a look around, he saw a fresh calf was in the stall box along with hogs and chickens tucked in their spots. It was good to be here—to have his own space. Although he appreciated the extra time to get to know Marianna in Montana, nothing about that place appealed to him. The mountains were beautiful, but he missed the wide open plains and rolling hills. He did not like the friendships between the Amish and Englisch. Did not like Ben Stone being anywhere near Marianna.
    He wasn't blind. He'd seen the way Ben and Marianna's eyes found each other across crowded rooms. Aaron considered giving Marianna the rest of the letters he'd written when she first left Indiana for Montana. He'd given her two already and he'd seen her response. After she read them all, she'd be even more committed to their marriage and all thoughts of Ben would vanish. Yet part of him held back. They shared more inside than he'd ever shared with another person.
    After we're married, he convinced himself.
    The door to the loafing shed opened, and Aaron's eyes widened as his mother walked in. He could count on one hand the number of times he saw her in the "menner's territory." He studied her face, hoping nothing was the matter.
    "Mem?" He raised his eyebrows.
    "Do ya want to tell me what's on your mind? What's going on with you and Marianna? You were so happy when you left to show her the house and you returned not so happy."
    He cast her a glance and then filled the feeding bins with ground ear corn and silage.
    "Aaron?"
    "Nothing. It may be my leg, the pain, that's the problem." He rubbed it for emphasis.
    " Ja , well if there is a problem . . . I offer a listening ear. I wouldn't blame ye if you need to talk. Everyone speaks of a difference in Marianna already."
    "Everyone? Who's had a chance to see her? She's hardly left the house yet. Has her aunt been saying things?"
    "Well now, I'm not one to be speaking what I have no business to say."
    Not in front of me, that is.
    Aaron knew his mother had no qualms about sharing her "concerns" with friends.
    When Mem left, Aaron braced an arm on the wall and hung his head. The truth was he didn't know what bothered him. He'd waited to show Marianna the house for so long and finally had the chance. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he'd dreamt about it for too many nights. Maybe he'd put too many expectations about how Marianna should react. Maybe it was what he hid that bothered him even more than what he'd revealed.
    Should he have told her the truth about Naomi?
    Marianna had assumed she'd been the only woman who'd sat on that bed and enjoyed the view. He didn't have the heart to tell her that Naomi had done so . . . more than once. It would lead to too many questions.
    Questions about things he didn't want to think about . . . let alone confess.

Dear Marianna,
I wonder