Young wife, Gracie yearns for newlywed innocence. Abiathar wants to secure it for her. Their trek has been anything but blissful. Stomach their journey. Strengthen your faith through their experience. Glimpse miracles and tribulations of future pioneers as you live vicariously through this young family.Genre: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / General
The Amazon Kindle edition of this book usually hovers around the top 900,000 paid in the Kindle Store. The print edition has sold a total of about twelve copies in four months.
Copyright © 2013 Ilyan Kei Lavanway
All rights reserved.
Gracie smiled. Her amber eyes sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window. A hint of lemon fragrance tickled her nose as she squeezed dish soap onto the sponge. She sang to herself, her voice a whisper. A tattered backpack, a heavily scuffed, fully automatic AR-15 assault rifle with broken bayonet still affixed, and a pair of severely nicked kukri swords, their leather sheaths cracked and torn, leaned against the cabinet doors near the refrigerator.
The life-size display on the refrigerator immersed Gracie in time one year ago to the day. A solitary temple spire glistened in morning rays. Her white wedding dress seemed almost too bright to behold against lush Saint Augustine grass. Hope rekindled. Gracie yearned for a return to newlywed innocence.
We've traveled so far, endured so, so much. Cherish this.
Her mouth watered at the sweet tartness of strawberry cheesecake. The firm warmth of Abiathar's hand engulfed her hand. Her heart leapt as he smiled at her.
Eternity. Will it be long enough for him to enjoy me, and me him? Long enough for us to discover each other? Long enough to enjoy posterity?
Beads of sweat ran down her brow and mixed with tears welling up in her eyes. The thermometer near the kitchen window indicated an outdoor temperature of 105 degrees Fahrenheit, unusually hot for early April in what was once Independence, Missouri. Stranger still was the silence outside. No birds chirping. No dogs barking.
Gracie finished the dishes and dried her hands, wiped her brow and rubbed away her tears. She turned and bent down. From the dusty backpack, she took a few dented cans of what was left of their food storage and set them on the counter near the stove. The labels had long since disintegrated.
Already translated. Translated by Alexander Powell
Good communication with author. Thank you for your work.