Each Shining Hour (A Novel of Watervalley)

Each Shining Hour (A Novel of Watervalley)

  Welcome to the timeless charms of small-town Watervalley, Tennessee—where young Dr. Luke Bradford is beginning to feel at home… When he comes to the aid of a woman at the grocery store, Luke is fascinated to learn she is Estelle Pillow, the cheery sister to his prickly housekeeper, Connie. Estelle wants to open a bakery in town—and Connie’s disapproval of the venture stirs up a whirlwind of emotions between the siblings. But Luke’s attention is soon diverted when he learns about a long-ago double murder.… During World War II, an unknown traveler arrived in town, and before the day was over, he and the local baker lay dead near the bandstand at the local lake. The incident has since been exaggerated into Watervalley lore—with the newcomer rumored to have been a German spy. As Luke pieces together exactly what happened, he realizes that the consequences of this event have rippled painfully into the lives of townsfolk he has come to know. As winter gives way to spring, Luke keeps busy at the medical clinic and enters a tentative, exhilarating romance. And when his support of Estelle’s bakery collides with new revelations about the old murder, Luke witnesses the true power of reconciliation working in the hearts of those he holds dear—a revelation that will change his life. READERS GUIDE INCLUDED Praise for Each Shining Hour “Heart-warming, refreshing, and often amusing, this touching novel about a likable yet conflicted new doctor sent to a rural Tennessee town is a rare gem.”— New York Times bestselling author Karen White “A young doctor, marking time until he can leave a somnolent farm town for the bustle of a big city, finds more excitement in Watervalley than he bargained for… Each Shining Hour kept me reading far into the night hours!”— New York Times bestselling author Ann B. Ross “Heartwarming and tender, Each Shining Hour is a bright and lovely story.”—Lynne Branard, author of The Art of Arranging Flowers Praise for More Things in Heaven and Earth , the first Watervalley novel “[Jeff High’s] love of his native Tennessee and the human race shines from every page.” —Patrick Taylor, MD, New York Times Bestselling Author of the Irish Country Novels “The best of small-town Americana…this story warmed me, made me laugh, and then kept a smile on my face.” —Charles Martin, New York Times Bestselling Author of Unwritten and When Crickets Cry  “One of the best books I’ve read in years…High has a gift for capturing the humor of small town life… [of] the joy and richness of living where your family has sunk roots deep into the soil. As I read this novel, I fell in love with Watervalley and its citizens.” — Southern Literary Review   After growing up on a farm in rural Tennessee, Jeff High attained degrees in literature and nursing. He is the three-time winner, in fiction and poetry, of an annual writing contest held by Vanderbilt Medical Center. He lived in Nashville for many years, and throughout the country as a travel nurse, before returning to his original hometown, near where he now works as an operating room RN in open-heart surgery. He is the author of the first Watervalley Novel, More Things In Heaven and Earth . PRAISE FOR Books in the Watervalley Series   PRELUDE Watervalley, Tennessee April 28, 1944 The grass was taller here, moist and cool in the dark April night, only a few sloping steps away from the road. He would rest for a while, keeping his hand pressed firmly over the small bullet hole above his right hip. But the handkerchief . . . the handkerchief was getting soaked. “It must have been a low-caliber pistol,” he whispered. “Perhaps a twenty-two.” It was only a small wound, barely penetrating the soft tissue. He had been running. His suit was drenched with sweat. As he lay in the fresh, delicate grass, steam rose from him and drifted elusively into the soft air. He breathed in great heaving gasps, staring up into the vast, silent sky, an eternal canopy pulsing with a million radiant stars. It was the telegram. He had come back for the telegram. He’d thought it was with everything else. But when he’d buried the box, he hadn’t found it. In his agony, he whispered softly: “Oh Elise; dear, precious Elise.” He would tell her everything. Explain everything. His mind drifted. His eyes wanted to close. Then, down the far reaches of the road toward town, he heard the long, slow wail of a police siren. He stiffened. His thoughts raced. They were coming. Someone at one of the farmhouses must have heard the gunshot. He flattened himself deeper into the tall grass. The car blew past, flying headlong toward the lake and stopping in the distance, the headlights pouring across the bandstand. No one had seen him. He would have to wait before moving again. Once more he stared briefly into the infinite heavens. But now the stars were fading. “Elise; darling, beloved Elise. I will . . . I will tell you . . .” His breathing slowed. His eyes were surrendering. They grew tir