Read Violets in February Online

Authors: Clare Revell

Tags: #christian Fiction

Violets in February

Table of Contents

Title Page

copyright

Dedication

What People are Saying

Glossary of Australian Slang

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

Thank you

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Violets in February

Clare Revell

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Violets in February

COPYRIGHT 2015 by Clare Revell

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

Contact Information: [email protected]

All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version
(R),
NIV
(R),
Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC

www.pelicanbookgroup.com
PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410

White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC

Publishing History

First White Rose Edition, 2016

Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-478-7

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

For Teddy Matinde, with grateful thanks for the Swahili translations.

What People are Saying

Saturday's Child

To say I was hooked with this book would be an understatement. You get pulled in right away with Farmer Field and his belief that he could do things without God. I couldn't put the book down in spite of the heavy demon content. The power of prayer is clear throughout. Right from the beginning it moves you to root for the safety of all the characters. ~ Janny (Amazon)

Aussie Christmas Angel

Do you like to visit new places? Do you like Christmas themed stories? Do you enjoy a sweet romance? Then you might want to check out this tale, based on a condensed version of a true story as explained in the author's note at the end of the book. The major take-home value of this short story is a great one! God can use anything and all circumstances to bring about His purposes. ~JoAnn Carter

Glossary of Australian Slang

Ace – excellent

Ant's pants – the bee's knees, think highly of yourself

Aussie – Australian

Av-a-go-yer-mug – traditional rallying cry usually at cricket matches

Back of Bourke – a very long way away

Bail out – depart angrily

Beaut – great, fantastic

Belt up – shut up

Billy – tin container used to boil water in the bush

Block – do your block, get angry

Bloke – man

Bludger – lazy person

Bogged – stuck in mud or deep sand

Bonzer – great, ripper

Bowl of rice, not my – not my cup of tea, I don't like it

Brekkie - breakfast

Bulldust – rubbish

Bung on – put on

Cheers mate - thanks

Crook – sick

Cuppa – cup of tea

Cut lunch – sandwiches

Digger – a soldier

Dill – an idiot

Don't come the raw prawn – don't try and fool me

Drongo – an idiot or fool

Dunny – outside loo

Earbash – nagging, nonstop chatter

Flick – get rid of something

Galah – foolish, silly person after the bird of the same name

G'day mate – hello, traditional Aussie greeting

Hang on a tick – wait a minute

How ya going – how are you doing?

Kangaroos loose in the top paddock – crazy

Klick - kilometer

Knickers - underwear

Mongrel – despicable person

No worries – you're welcome

Oldies – parents

Pom, Pommie, Pommy – English person

Rack off – get lost

Ratbag – mild insult, friendly term of abuse

Sacked – fired from work

Sanger – sandwich

Session – long period of heavy drinking

Sheila – woman, female

She'll be apples – everything is going to be OK

Shonky – unreliable, suspect

Shoot through – leave in a hurry

Spit the dummy – get very upset, throw a hissy fit

Strewth – darn it, for crying out loud

Strine – conversation with a lot of Aussie slang

Tracks – make tracks, go home

Tucker – food

Useful as an ashtray on a motorbike – unhelpful or incompetent person

Ute – utility vehicle, pick-up truck

Wag – skip school or work

Whinge – complain

Whoop whoop – the middle of nowhere

Wobbly – temper tantrum, throw a hissy fit

Wowser – spoilsport, old fashioned

Zonked – really tired.

Carnations in January shake the foundations

Violets in February are an aid to salvation

Daffodils in March bring betrayal and loss

Sweet peas in April consume all the dross

Lily of the Valley in May brings danger untold

Roses in June show hope in a heart filled with gold

Water lilies in July a town will submerge

Gladioli in August love from the ash will emerge

Forget-me-nots in September are on the front line of fear

Marigolds in October will test her career

Chrysanthemums in November show the burden of choice

Holly in December lets a broken family rejoice

The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. Psalm 18:2

1

Sunshine poured through the open window of the small medical facility in the center of the mission compound deep in the jungle. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, not providing much relief from the heat or oppressive humidity of the day. The walk-in clinic was, as always, packed with everything from sick children to knife wounds to animal bites. Word had spread about the medical health center with its free medicine, and people would walk for days to reach it.

Dr. Lucy Boyd ignored the sweat trickling down her neck and scrubs sticking to her back, as she examined the tiny baby. She raised her gaze, meeting the worried mother's eyes with a smile. “It's not cholera,” she said in the woman's native tongue, Swahili. “See here?” She pointed to a small mark on the baby's arm. “He's been bitten. I have medicine to help. He will be fine.”

Relief crossed the woman's face, color returning to her dark cheeks. “Thank you, daktari.”

Lucy smiled. She'd been in the mission field here in the Congo for two years now. Despite being the only doctor for the last six months, she loved it. This was far more varied than anything she'd seen as an ED doctor back home. Most importantly this was where God wanted her and where she could serve Him the best. If they tried sending her home, she'd refuse.

She dreaded her upcoming furlough later this year. Maybe she could defer it again. There was nothing and no one in England she particularly wanted to see. Here she'd be of some use.

Just as the last patient for the morning left, the all too familiar roaring engine of the supply truck filled the compound, accompanied by the usual heavy metal music blasting at full volume. She sighed. It could only be one person.

Jed Gorman. The most irritating and intimidating heathen man the Good Lord had seen fit to put on the face of the planet.

He was the type of man she'd avoid like the plague given half the chance. And she definitely wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley. The only blessing was the fact she merely had to see him for a few minutes every two weeks when he brought the supplies. And even better, she was never alone with him. Just the thought of that turned her stomach in dread.

She peeked through the window as the usual gaggle of children surrounded the truck, laughing and calling.

The driver turned off the engine, opened the door and unfolded his tall frame from the truck. His long dust-filled brown hair needed washing, never mind cutting, and his white shirt and khaki trousers, which had seen better days, could do with the same treatment. The sun glinted off the metal stud in his left ear, and his beard looked even more unkempt than it had two weeks ago.

“G'day! How ya going?” His familiar, over cheery greeting made her shudder.

“Angels and ministers of grace defend us,” she whispered as she shook her head.

He handed out sweets to the waiting kids. He'd be better off giving them toothpaste. She tugged the top of her scrubs down, praying he'd remembered the vaccines this time. And the other things she needed.

The kids scattered, and as Tim Lawrence, mission director, made his way across the dusty compound to the truck, Lucy turned away from the window. She headed back to the exam table to start clearing up.

The less time she spent in Jed Gorman's presence, or thinking about him, the better. Picking up a cloth, she began to wipe down the surfaces with antibacterial spray. She liked to keep her surgery spotless—far safer for all concerned, that way.

Heavy booted footsteps clomped up the wooden steps outside and across the verandah. The door swung open, and he crossed the room, no doubt bringing in dust and sand to cover her newly swept floor. She could smell him from here. The intoxicating mix of pine and woods and mint that almost conflicted with the tough guy image Jed Gorman held out around him like a shield.

“Dr. Boyd.” His Australian accent rang through the clinic. “What's a good looking sheila like you doing in back o'Bourke hole like this?”

“Working, Mr. Gorman. The same thing that you are.” Her answer, just like his greeting, never changed. She turned and ran her gaze over him. His sleeves were rolled up to just above his elbows, exposing well-tanned, muscular arms wrapped around a crate. There was something about the man's arms and the way the long vein from elbow to wrist stood out, that set her heart pounding.

But enough of that. Her mind shouldn't go in such directions. Besides, Jed Gorman didn't count as a man or eye candy or anything other than a menace.

He grinned at her. “Where do you want me?”

Lucy jerked her head at a surface she hadn't scrubbed down yet. “Over there. Did you bring the vaccines this time?”

Jed hefted the wooden crate onto the counter and brushed his hands on his trousers, sending a further shower of sand everywhere. “I sure did. Along with every other item on your list. Oh, and a personal package as well.”

Lucy smiled and pulled out the brown parcel. She ripped the paper, exposing the packaged gift wrapped in pink paper and well-padded to protect it. She opened it, ripples of pleasure making her smile widen. Dried violets, pressed into a glass frame. Along with a birthday card. She'd have to hide that or everyone would know.

“So, who's sending ya flowers? Boyfriend?”

She slid the card into her scrubs pocket. “My mother. I love violets, but they don't travel well.” She set the frame down and continued to unpack the box.

Jed leaned against the doorframe, his eyes following her every move. “Don't you get bored out here, Dr. Boyd?”

She glanced up at him. “I don't have time to get bored. There's always plenty to do.”

“Makes sense.” His eyes glinted wickedly, and he ran his tongue over his lips. “I mean, with you being the only woman in a camp full of men.”

She scowled. “That is not what I meant. There are far too many sick people who need my help.”

His grin turned into a smirk, and he shot her a comment that had her reeling back a step or two, wondering if she actually heard him correctly.

“I should slap you for even suggesting that,” she managed.

He roared with laughter. “Like it rough then, darl'?” He turned on his heel and clomped back across the verandah to his truck.

Lucy waited until he was out of earshot before shutting the clinic door—firmly. She screamed with frustration. How could he do that to her, every single time?

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