Seasons of Bliss (Saskatchewan Saga Book #4) Read Online Free PDF Page B

home, was being forced by the land enclosures to board starvation ships and seek a new life elsewhere; shaking his cream into butter, he knew that the Irish were starved out of their ancient home. Canada’s population, it seemed, was derived almost entirely from people whose causes had been lost elsewhere. There waslittle or no future at home; there was hope and opportunity in abundance here.
    Robbie thanked God for the shove—his father’s edict—that had thrust him into a place of such possibilities. Here men and women of varying cultures were working together in harmony, united by doggedness and purpose; here a great democracy would arise above the differences of religion, language, or blood. It was exhilarating to be a part of it.
    “Le Bon Dieu est Canadien!” was the expression the French Canadians used to express their faith in their country’s future, and Robbie shared their confidence. Robbie could feel the expectancy in the very atmosphere, along with the inevitable bowing to bitter sacrifices in order that the dream might be realized. And for those with a will to hold steady, it would come true.
    “All right, old girl, we’ll call it quits for today,” Robbie said, rising from the small, three-legged stool he had cobbled together and giving the tried and tested Daisy a pat on the rump.
    Walking with the brimming pail to the house, the cat Whiskers trotting at his heels meowing piteously for his share of the milk, Robbie glanced around with all the satisfaction of a good beginner and all the hopes of a dreamer.
    His thoughts turned again to Tierney’s unexpected appearance, and his blood quickened. How Tierney would appreciate everything he had accomplished! How he looked forward to showing it to her!
    And then, remembering how he had stumblingly put off having supper with her and the Blooms, and the reason for it, his joy faltered.
    “She’ll understand, when I tell her,” he told Whiskers. “She’ll understand.”
    But would she?

W hat an exceptionally pretty young woman , was Molly Morrison’s thought as she pulled away from the Bloom buggy and her brief conversation with Herbert Bloom and the new arrival, Tierney Caulder. Perhaps she and I can be friends. It’ll be nice to have another single girl around .
    Not that there weren’t a few. And Molly’s brow darkened at the thought.
    Vivian Condon. Bly Condon’s niece. Come to visit with Bly and Beatrice. Come to visit for the summer and already making one and all aware of her presence, and spring was still saying a lingering farewell.
    Molly took a deep breath and determined, not for the first time, to adjust her first reaction, if not her opinion. The tall and stately, beautifully coifed and gowned, assured and vastlyself-possessed young woman, first turning up at church two Sundays ago, was sending waves of fascination down the lanes and tracks and country roads of Bliss, into quiet backwoods spots where any news was of interest, and this was of more interest than most.
    Bly and Beatrice, a reserved couple, had introduced his niece to the community that Sunday with, even then, a hint of apology, as though recognizing and needing to explain the splash her presence made, as though a peacock had settled among the partridges of Bliss. Beatrice had, rather anxiously, explained in an aside to a few people that Vivian had suffered through a painful relationship back home and was in need of recuperation and restoration.
    As was the Morrison custom, Bly and Beatrice and their niece had been invited home for Sunday dinner. Kezzie, the Morrison grandmother and “Mam” to many, too frail to stand the jouncing of a buggy or wagon, could rarely make it to church but always tended the stove and the oven’s contents, ready for any number of people at the big Morrison table.

    Of course Cameron, son of Angus and Mary Morrison, was present, and Margo, the girl he was to marry. Present also, this Sunday as most Sundays, was Parker Jones, pastor of the Bliss