The Healing Season
Книга "The Healing Season", автором которой является Ruth Morren, представляет собой захватывающую работу в жанре Зарубежные любовные романы. В этом произведении автор рассказывает увлекательную историю, которая не оставит равнодушными читателей.
Автор мастерски воссоздает атмосферу напряженности и интриги, погружая читателя в мир загадок и тайн, который скрывается за хрупкой поверхностью обыденности. С прекрасным чувством языка и виртуозностью сюжетного развития, Ruth Morren позволяет читателю погрузиться в сложные эмоциональные переживания героев и проникнуться их судьбами. Morren настолько живо и точно передает неповторимые нюансы человеческой психологии, что каждая страница книги становится путешествием в глубины человеческой души.
"The Healing Season" - это не только захватывающая история, но и искусство, проникнутое глубокими мыслями и философскими размышлениями. Это произведение призвано вызвать у читателя эмоциональные отклики, задуматься о важных жизненных вопросах и открыть новые горизонты восприятия мира.
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Praise for
RUTH AXTELL MORREN
and her novels
DAWN IN MY HEART
“Morren turns in a superior romantic historical.”
—Booklist
“Morren’s tales are always well plotted and fascinating, and this one is no exception. 4½ stars.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
LILAC SPRING
“Lilac Spring blooms with heartfelt yearning and genuine conflict as Cherish and Silas seek God’s will for their lives. Fascinating details about 19th-century shipbuilding are planted here and there, bringing an historical feel to this faith-filled romance.”
—Liz Curtis Higgs, bestselling author of Whence Came a Prince
WILD ROSE
Selected as a Booklist Top 10 Christian Novel for 2005
“The charm of the story lies in Morren’s ability to portray real passion between her characters. Wild Rose is not so much a romance as an old-fashioned love story.”
—Booklist
WINTER IS PAST
“Ruth Axtell Morren writes with skill, sensitivity and great heart about the things that matter most…. Make room on your keeper shelf for a new favorite.”
—New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs
“Inspires readers toward a deeper trust in the transforming power of God…[Readers] will find in Winter Is Past a novel not to be put down and a new favorite author.”
—Christian Retailing
For Justin, Adája and André.
Thanks, guys, for putting up with a writing
mom. When I dotted the final i and crossed
the final t on this one, André said,
“Great, that means you won’t be on the
computer 24/7 anymore.”
Only until the next story beckons…
But unto you that fear my name shall the sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings.
—Malachi 4:2
The Bible is a book of reversals. Old things become new, the dead come to life, the lost are found. Even those who were the vilest of sinners are now empowered by grace to become the virgin bride of Jesus Christ.
—Francis Frangipane,
Holiness, Truth and the Presence of God
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
Questions for Discussion
Author’s Note
Chapter One
London, 1817
The sight that greeted Ian Russell as he stood in the doorway of the dark, malodorous room gave him that sense of helplessness he hated. It was in stark contrast to those times when he was setting a bone or stitching up a wound, knowing he was actively assisting a person in his recovery.
This situation was the kind where he knew his pitifully small store of skills would be of little use.
Here, only God’s grace could save the pathetically young woman lying on the iron bed in front of him, her life ebbing from her like the tide in the Thames, leaving exposed the muddy rocks and embankments on each side.
Blood soaked the covers all around the lower half of the bed. Ian crossed the small room in a few strides and set down his square, black case at the foot of the bed.
The women were always young: fourteen, fifteen, twenty, sometimes even thirty—if they lived that long. Women in their prime, their lives snuffed out by the life growing within them. This one didn’t appear to be more than seventeen or eighteen.
As he began drawing back the bedclothes, he looked at the only other occupant of the dim room—a young woman sitting beside the bed.
“Will…will she be all right?” she asked fearfully. He spared her another glance and found himself caught by her breathtaking loveliness. Large, long-lashed eyes appealed to him for reassurance. Strands of light-colored hair framed delicately etched features as if an artist’s finest brush had been used to trace the slim nose, the fragile curve of her cheek, the pert bow of her lips.
He blinked, realizing he’d been staring. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly before clearing his mind of everything but saving the life of the pale girl lying on the sodden bed.
“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked, attempting to determine whether it was a miscarriage by nature, or a young woman’s attempt to abort an unwanted life.
As he lifted the girl’s skirts and measured the extent of dilation, he listened to the other woman’s low, hesitant account.
“She had…tried to drink something…several things, I think…but nothing worked. I think she grew desperate and tried to get rid of it herself.” She raised her hand and showed him the knitting needle. “I found this beside her.”
It didn’t bode well. Blood poisoning could already have set in. If the girl contracted a severe case of fever, she’d be dead in a few days. He prayed she hadn’t punctured anything but the membranes.
Sending a plea heavenward, Ian set to work to stop the bleeding.
“Can you remove her stays?” he asked the young woman sitting by the bed. Would she be able to handle what was in store, or was she too squeamish?
The young woman stood and gingerly approached him. As she hesitated, he repressed an impatient sigh. Pretty and useless. Probably a lightskirt, he decided, like the one lying unconscious. His heart raged with the familiar frustration at how easily a young woman’s virtue was lost in this part of London.
