Based on historical characters and events, A Sweetness to the Soul recounts the captivating story of young, spirited Oregon pioneer Jane Herbert who at the age of twelve faces a tragedy that begins a life-long search for forgiveness and love. In the years that follow, young Jane finds herself involved in an unusual and touching romance with a dreamer sixteen years her senior, struggles to make peace with an emotionally distant mother, and fights to build a family of her own. Filled with heart-warming insight and glimpses of real-life pain, A Sweetness to the Soul paints a brilliant picture of love that conquers all obstacles and offers a powerful testimony to the miracle of God's healing power. “Jane Kirkpatrick’s particular gift is for capturing the authentic feel and flavor of frontier life; A Sweetness to the Soul is absolutely true to the people and the land as they once were. This is a novel that calls up a period early in the history of Oregon marked not only by hardship, sudden death, spiritual fortitude, and physical endurance, but also by community, one person reaching out to help another so that they might all survive.” - Molly Gloss , winner of the Whiting Writers Award and author of The Hearts of Horses “This book portrays a love that conquers all obstacles and offers testimony to the miracle of God’s healing power.” - Bookstore Journal “In A Sweetness to the Soul , Kirkpatrick offers a testimony to God’s ability to fulfill our dreams, in spite of our human propensity to question the why and how of situations. Through the eyes of Jane Sherar, readers come to recognize that blessings are hidden in the midst of everyday life and often only understood within the context of the passing of time.” - Cascades East Magazine “With profound skill, Jane Kirkpatrick weaves a tale of place and time. While entertaining, she teaches me history; while making me laugh, she unfolds significant soul lessons. The only good thing about coming to the end of Kirkpatrick’s superbly crafted book is knowing she is writing another.” - Mary Anne Radmacher , artist and author of Lean Forward Into Your Life and Live Boldly for A Sweetness to the Soul “Her research gives the book depth; her empathy gives it a soul.” - The Sunday Oregonian Jane Kirkpatrick is an Oregon author whose work includes the three novels Love to Water My Soul, A Sweetness to the Soul, and Homestead. A Sweetness to the Soul earned the author and publisher the Wrangler Award from the Western Heritage Center as the "Outstanding Western Novel of 1995." Her award-winning essays have appeared in over fifty magazines and newspapers across the country. She is a clinical social worker, speaker, and teacher. Jane and her husband, Jerry, live on a remote ranch in Eastern Oregon. A Gathering of Finches is the third book in her compelling historical novel series. Chapter 1: Close Encounters Like the slow rising of the river after an early snow melt in the mountains, he seeped into my life, unhurried, almost without notice, until the strength and breadth of him covered everything that had once been familiar, made it different, new over old. It was the summer after the tragedy. I date everything from that time, but isn’t that often how it is with catastrophes? And I guess, for me, that’s when it all began. I recall little of our initial encounter, really, though in years since he has told me details enough to make me think I remember it well. But I don’t. At least not his part in it. Lodenma says I was mourning grievous injustices that summer. At twelve, I doubt I’d have used those words, but Lodenma, my lifelong friend, who is still eight years older than I, had three years of marriage beneath her chemise by that year–1861 it was–so knew first hand about grievous injustices. No, I would have used words such as “smoking mad” or “hotter than a hijacker’s pistol” or just plain “flamin’ furious,” words that fit my frustration with the mules refusing to enter the pole corral that day. That alone told Lodenma I was grieving or mad, for every Oregon Territory child knows mules will not go where there is danger and attempting to force them is a waste of morning victuals. We should all be so wise. The milling mules’ dust first attracted Mr. Sherar’s attention– that and the smoke from my small cooking fire. From a distance (he is fond of relating) he spied the powdery volcanic dust drifting like mist through the pines and firs and junipers. He wondered what created it. He stopped his horse, pulled his telescope from the saddlebags. Through the glass, he eyed a small boy, he thought, waving his arms while mules bolted on either side of the opening to a corral he could barely see for the dust. “Surprised me,” he told me later. “Didn’t expect to see anyone so far from settlement, let alone a small boy pushing stock in the shadow of Captain Hood’s mountain. Wasn’t until I rode closer that I saw you were a little bit of a girl. Still are, just a b