Book Spotlight and Excerpt: On Bur Oak Ridge (Sheltering Trees: Book Three) by Jenny Knipfer

“The plot has its twists and turns to keep readers intrigued…to the very end. A great comfort read that will soothe the spirit with renewed hope and faith.” Readers’ Favorite five-star review

A HISTORICAL NOVEL OF FINDING HEALING AND A SECOND CHANCE AT LOVE

In the early 1900s, quiet and reserved Molly Lund finds refuge from her past at the Nelsons’ farm in Minnesota. In an attempt to turn a new page in her life, Molly works at making peace with her losses and coming to terms with the disfiguring burns on her face.

Samuel Woodson, the Nelsons’ hired hand, carries his own cares. Split from his family and bearing a burden of misplaced guilt for an act that haunts him, Samuel–seeing past Molly’s scars–draws her out of her self-protective shell.

Molly and Samuel form a friendship, but just as their hearts lead them deeper, an unexpected guest comes calling, demanding what’s his.

Will Molly and Samuel find a way to be together or will they be separated, due to impediments beyond their control? Can they trust in God’s plan and travel a path that heals the hurts of the past? 

Readers of historical fiction, Christian historical fiction, and Christian historical romance will delight in this beautifully wrought story of the healing power of love.

“A heartwarming story of healing from external and internal scars. Through some of life’s harder lessons the characters learn to trust, forgive, and find second chances out of the ashes of pain and loss.”

Anne Perreault, author of eighteen inspirational novels, including the Yellowstone series

Trigger Warnings:

Grief, trauma from burns, accidental death, time in an insane asylum

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Excerpt

Samuel

Mabel appears out of nowhere, a huge smile on her face. “Samuel! Just the person we need.” She wipes her hands on her ever-present apron. “You have a guest, a visitor.”

She waits expectantly.

“Wh-who?” I stutter out.

I can’t imagine who could have come calling for me. No one I know from home knows where I am. At least, I don’t think they do. Sitting on the bench, I yank my boots off and peel off my coat.

Mabel’s eyes twinkle in the lamplight as she leans against the door jam. “You’ll never guess.”

I shake my head and shrug, waiting for her to tell me.

“Your mother. Isn’t that nice? I bet you’ve missed each other. And there’s nothing like being with family for the holidays. Thanksgiving will be upon us before we know it.”

Her words fade as one thought fills my mind: Mother is here. It’s been months, but I’m not ready to talk to her yet and definitely not ready to forgive her, or myself for that matter.

“Samuel?” Mabel places a light hand on my shoulder. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

Her lovely features wrinkle.

I shake my head, slow and purposeful. “Didn’t Linc tell you?”

She lowers her voice and one brow. “Tell me what?” 

Swallowing, I say, “Of our...difficulties.” I don’t want to reveal too much.

She places one hand over her heart and pats the back of her head with the other. “Of course, he mentioned your father’s death and your grief, but…”

We catch each other’s gaze in the seconds of uncomfortable silence between us.

My mother’s head appears around the corner of the doorframe to the kitchen. “Samuel?”

She’s changed. Her once prim but happy smile and flashing, gray eyes only reflect the pain of burying one husband right after another.

I sit up straight and clear my throat, grubbing out, “Mother. I didn’t expect to see you.”

Forcing myself to look into her eyes, I hold steady. Out the corner of my vision, Mabel slips back into the kitchen without a sound.

Mom sighs. “I gather you didn’t.” She dabs at her nose with the hankie she's pulled out of her lace-edged, black sleeve and sniffs loudly. She has always known how to cook up a thick amount of theatrics. “How could you go off and leave me all alone? I just don’t understand it.”

Mother keeps her eyes cast down in martyr mode, playing her usual victim card.

Anger brings me to my feet and my voice rises in volume before I can tamp it down. “How on God’s green earth would you expect me to stay?” A stream of ire bursts forth “After giving the farm away to that money-grubbin’...” I slap my hand on my thigh and step closer to her until her face is inches from mine and spit out my accusations. “And to see you preening to him like a peahen before Pa was even cold in the ground.”

She looks up then, eyes hard and icy.

“Shush your mouth!” she whispers fiercely and glances toward the kitchen, where I vaguely hear Mabel loudly clinking dishes. “You should know me better than to think I, in any way, acted improper with Alfred. We’d been friends for many years, and he comforted me and supported me when your father took his turn.”

Grabbing at her black, lace collar, Mother looks up at me. Her small, thin, drawn face gives me a prick in the ribs.

She is my mother, after all.

Her skinny index finger presses against a shirt button on my chest. “And you with your pointing finger. I might point mine right back at you.”

The old guilt rears its head again. I swallow, my ears buzz, and a weariness at the same repeated battle with Mother knocks at my brain.

I brush her finger away and turn. “Mabel’s getting supper on the table. Lincoln should come in any time.”

We still stand in the entryway, awkward and opposed, and I have no desire to keep bickering with Mother in front of Linc and Mabel, much less Molly. I wonder where she is.

Her mouth relaxes and her eyes soften. “Yes, well. I missed you, Samuel. A mother wants to see her son.”

“How did you find me?”

“Paul Richardson saw you at a dance and mentioned that he had.”

That old schoolmate of mine. Leave it to Paul, gossip itself and worse than an old lady at a quilting bee. “Ah. Well, I didn’t see him.”

“No. He mentioned that your eyes were fixed…elsewhere.”

Great. That’s all I need: suspicions about a supposed romance.

Lincoln steps into the house, his gaze down until he sees us. “Supper on yet?” He removes his crusty barn cap and nods at Mother. “Excuse me, Mrs. Woodson...ah, that is, Mrs. Skaggs now; Sam has informed me.” He grins and extends his hand, then thinks better of it and wipes it on his side. “It’s been some time since I saw you last. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Mother nods her head and offers the briefest of smiles.

“Thank you. You’re looking well, Lincoln.”

Mabel appears around the corner. She looks to Lincoln.

“There you are.”

It’s getting much too tight of quarters for me, and I wedge past Mabel. “We should make our way in and let Lincoln have room to get his barn things off.”

I motion with my hand toward the kitchen to Mother. “Yes, of course,” Mother says, stepping by Mabel as well.

I point out the dining room and head to the washroom. Her voice comes from behind me. “Samuel.”

I stop but don’t turn. “Yes.”

“I...” Her voice cracks. “I don’t know how to fix what’s broken between us.”

The breath I didn’t know I held fizzles out of me.

“Ya, me either,” I admit, and I go to wash the last remains of barn smell from my hands and arms and pray for God’s mercy for the rest of the evening.

Jenny Knipfer

Jenny lives in Wisconsin with her husband, Ken, and their pet Yorkie, Ruby. She is also a mom and loves being a grandma. She enjoys many creative pursuits but finds writing the most fulfilling.

Spending many years as a librarian in a local public library, Jenny recently switched to using her skills as a floral designer in a retail flower shop. She is now retired from work due to disability. Her education background stems from psychology, music, and cultural missions.

All of Jenny’s books have earned five-star reviews from Readers’ Favorite, a book review and award contest company. She holds membership in the: Midwest Independent Booksellers Association, Wisconsin Writers Association, Christian Indie Publishing Association, and Independent Book Publishers Association.

Jenny’s favorite place to relax is by the western shore of Lake Superior, where her novel series, By The Light of the Moon, is set.

She deems a cup of tea and a good book an essential part of every day. When not writing, Jenny can be found reading, tending to her many houseplants, or piecing quilt blocks at her sewing machine.

Her new historical fiction, four-part series entitled, Sheltering Trees, is set in the area Jenny grew up in, where she currently lives, and places along Minnesota’s Northern Shore, where she loves to visit. She is currently writing a four-part novella series entitled: Botanical Seasons and a three-part fantasy series entitled: Retold Fairy Tales.

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