“The sound of wagon wheels on the road, coming closer. They stopped. From where she lay, fallen amongst the bushes, she could see a horse’s legs, then a man’s legs.
“Here, missus,” a voice said. “Let’s get you back into the house.” Strong arms lifted her up, trying at the same time to draw the afghan around her body against the wind and rain. “You’re in a bad way, I’ll get --- “
She couldn’t make out his words, pain shooting through her heavily pregnant body, the wind howling in her ears, the rough earthy scent of the man’s jacket as he held her close, each step toward the DeLaurier farm house increasing her pain …
[after the birth] … she felt herself drifting deeper and deeper toward sleep [her] thoughts grew more and more confused into dim fragments. They seemed to cover so much time, space, and emotion. The air around her vibrated with whispered memories, the old house itself seemed alive with them. Still, what comfort it was, thinking about all those families sitting together over supper in the big kitchen downstairs, the women who’d cooked on that iron stove, who’d enjoyed the bounty of gardens and orchards. Spring summer, autumn, winter. The cycle of life …Whispers, pp. 68-69, © Laurel Means

Excerpted from Whispers Through the House © Copyright 2012 by Laurel Means. Reprinted with permission by North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc.. All rights reserved.