With Love from Bliss (Saskatchewan Saga Book #2) by Ruth Glover

uncomfortable, even guilty at times. And, at times, he felt like a miserable milksop—the very thing he criticized in his father—hiding behind his father rather than facing up to his mother’s unreasonableness. But it was so much more peaceful that way . . . he was, he guessed, more like his father than he had realized.
    Buggy was the preferred mode of travel on Sunday, which meant that Dudley rode alongside, the one-seater buggy not accommodating more than two unless a person stood behind the seat. The weather being pleasant, numerous rigs could be seen making their way toward the hamlet called Bliss and the schoolhouse, which also served as the place of worship for the community. Here, people were alighting—some gracefully, some awkwardly; women holding skirts away from the rig’s wheels, children jumping over; men greeting one another with hearty handshakes; women, at times, planting a kiss on a proffered cheek. Bibles and quarterlies were gathered up, and the adults made their way into the small white building to look for seats that would accommodate their bulk. Children lingered outside as long as they could.
    Pulling up to the fence, Henley brought the buggy to a halt. Jumping out, he moved to the mare’s head, looking back to see if Della had gotten safely out of the rig. Dudley waited alongside, still mounted.
    Immediately both Henley and Dudley realized that Della was stiffly upright on the buggy’s seat, her reproachful eyes on her husband.
    As many times as Henley had been called upon to help her alight, it seemed he still managed to forget. And always in a public place, because it was only in public places Della insisted on the gentlemanly gesture. At home she leaped out by herself, with no hesitation, and this made it difficult for Henley to remember to offer aid at other times. He realized he was sorely at fault this morning for his oversight.
    “ Hen, dear,” she caroled brightly, “I’m waiting,” and only her husband and son heard the unspoken, “Dolt!”
    “Watch the mare, son,” Henley said quietly, for the horse was skittish amid the noise and confusion of the moment and needed to be checked. Henley made his way back to the side of the buggy.
    “Sorry, hon, I should have been more thoughtful,” he murmured apologetically, taking her outstretched hand and helping her down.
    Not only was Della seething at his oversight, but she was highly embarrassed, for several people had noted the little interchange and were obviously hiding grins. And an embarrassed Della was a fount of fury. The brightness of her smile and the coldness of her eyes sent chills down Dudley’s spine.
    She spoke far, far too sweetly: “Thank you, Hen. ”

T he Sabbath as a day of rest was strictly observed in backwoods Canada, and nowhere was this more true than in the community of Bliss in the Saskatchewan Territory. The few places of business in the small hamlet—blacksmith shop, general store and post office, grain elevator—closed for the day. Almost without exception entire farm families, in direct obedience of the commandment “Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy” made the seventh day a time of rest. Of course there was always the “ox in the pit” clause that allowed for necessary labor.
    Physical bodies, weary of their labors, attested to the necessity of a day of rest; souls, though as needy, sometimes ignored the Bible’s additional injunction of “not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together.” Church attendance, however, was the practice of most, and this day was a fine example. The little schoolhouse was packed.
    Just inside the entrance was the cloakroom area where the children’s lunch pails were kept in a closet, where the water pail sat on a shelf, the communal dipper hanging alongside, and where, on both walls, wraps were hung. Below these hooks were long supply cupboards; with the lids down they made excellent seating. It was here the young people of the community sat during