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  Praise for

  A Silken Thread

  “Kim Vogel Sawyer is an amazing storyteller who crafts each of her stories with page-turning excitement and rich character development. I’ve known Kim for many years and can honestly say that her books are some of the most satisfying and delightful I’ve read. I feel confident my readers will enjoy her novels immensely.”

  —TRACIE PETERSON, best-selling author of more than one hundred fiction titles, including the Golden Gate Secrets series

  “Kim Vogel Sawyer wove a story as strong and beautiful as the finest silk. Her characters; the background of the Atlanta Exposition; and the threads of racism, social classes, and the threat of modern inventions on old industries create a cloth of great beauty found in a riveting, fast-moving story. It has Sawyer’s trademark gentle heart, wisdom, and hope. And a happily-ever-after that will leave me smiling for a long time. Rarely have I been drawn into a book the way A Silken Thread drew me.”

  —MARY CONNEALY, author of The Reluctant Warrior

  “A Silken Thread will carry readers back to the 1895 Atlanta Exposition with a wonderful story that blends romance, family drama, and heart-tugging secrets, all while exploring the power of God’s grace to overcome prejudice and social-class differences. I was captivated by the intriguing characters and cheering for them to find a path forward through their struggles. Kim Vogel Sawyer’s novels always touch the heart, and I’m sure this one will be enjoyed by her faithful readers and those who are just discovering her writing.”

  —CARRIE TURANSKY, award-winning author of Across the Blue and Shine Like the Dawn

  “Kim Vogel Sawyer is not afraid to address the challenging subjects of racial and class conflict, and she weaves these themes with a beautiful tale of romance and redemption in A Silken Thread.”

  —HANNAH ALEXANDER, author of the Hallowed Halls series

  “Kim Vogel Sawyer has done it again—captured my heart and attention in this newest book, A Silken Thread. Because the story is so beautifully written and told with such historical accuracy, I could not flip the pages fast enough. Laurel and Willie are beloved characters. Well-written characters contribute to the story’s believability, and the spiritual thread woven throughout this wonderful novel fed my reader’s soul. A Silken Thread is another winner!”

  —SHARLENE MACLAREN, award-winning author of the Forever Freedom series and the Tennessee Dreams series

  “Kim Vogel Sawyer’s A Silken Thread is set during the Atlanta Cotton Exposition of 1895. Middle-class Laurel Millard is hired as a silk weaver at the expo, where she hopes to make money and meet the man of her dreams. But Laurel’s expectations get turned around when she witnesses racism firsthand. This book captured my heart since I grew up in Georgia and lived in Atlanta for several years. The story, set well over one hundred years ago, reflects today’s society in a way that shows the importance of real family love and listening to God’s Word. We all can take a lesson from that. Truly an exquisite, well-researched, well-written story that is a testament to the silken thread that connects God to His people. What a treat!”

  —LENORA WORTH, author of Her Amish Child

  BOOKS BY KIM VOGEL SAWYER

  Ours for a Season

  Beneath a Prairie Moon

  Bringing Maggie Home

  Echoes of Mercy

  Grace and the Preacher

  Just As I Am

  The Grace That Leads Us Home

  Guide Me Home

  Room for Hope

  Through the Deep Waters

  What Once Was Lost

  When Grace Sings

  When Love Returns

  When Mercy Rains

  A SILKEN THREAD

  All Scripture quotations and paraphrases are taken from the King James Version.

  The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

  Trade Paperback ISBN 9780735290129

  Ebook ISBN 9780735290143

  Copyright © 2019 by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Cover design and photography by Kelly L. Howard

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States by WaterBrook, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  WATERBROOK® and its deer colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Sawyer, Kim Vogel, author.

  Title: A silken thread : a novel / Kim Vogel Sawyer.

  Description: First edition. | Colorado Springs : Waterbrook, 2019.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018029046 | ISBN 9780735290129 (pbk.) | ISBN 9780735290143 (electronic)

  Subjects: | GSAFD: Love stories.

  Classification: LCC PS3619.A97 S55 2019 | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/​2018029046

  v5.4

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  Contents

  Cover

  Books by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Author's Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Readers Guide

  Acknowledgments

  For Connie and John

  with appreciation for your southern hospitality

  As ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise.

  —LUKE 6:31

  Dear Reader,

  In 2015, my husband and I spent a week in Georgia with some friends. While there, we visited several museums, and in one I came upon a huge photograph with the heading Atlanta Exposition 1895. I immediately experienced “author tingles.” Before I came home, I purchased a few books about the exposition, and a story began to take shape in my head.

  I admit I was nervous about including a thread about racism, even though it was historically accurate for that time and place. It’s so easy to offend
, and I did not want to do so. I wanted to use the elements of story to show the injustice and unfairness of treating people differently based on differences in appearance.

  Talking about racism isn’t easy, but it’s a topic that needs to be addressed. Racism—bigotry—is ugly. Treating people unkindly because of their skin color, their religious practices, or how much money they have (or don’t have) is, simply put, wrong. It contradicts the biblical instruction in Luke 6:31, “As ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise.”

  While writing this story, and especially the part about Willie and Quincy’s friendship, I couldn’t help but think back to my childhood in Garden City, Kansas. My family lived in what we would call today an ethnically diverse neighborhood. All my brother and I knew then was that we had a lot of playmates. And play we did! Our favorite family was the Browns. Of the four children, the middle two—Chipper and Crystal—were just the right ages for Brad and me. We were in and out of each other’s house, their aunt was our favorite babysitter, and their Grandma Jennings became like a surrogate grandmother to us.

  I will never forget the day my mom, with my brother and me in the back seat of the car, drove past a playground where Chipper was engaged in a football game with several other boys. Brad gasped and exclaimed, “Mommy! Chipper’s face is brack [black]!” Not until Brad saw Chipper in a group of white children did he realize his friend’s skin color was different from his own. Because in Brad’s eyes, Chipper was just Chipper, his friend.

  It may seem simplistic, but I think the key to overcoming bigotry is becoming acquainted. When we take the time to get to know the person underneath the clothes or the skin or whatever else might seem different to us, we discover that most people have commonalities. We all have the same desire Laurel has in the story: to love and be loved, to belong, to matter. God values humanity. As His followers, should we not emulate Him?

  I truly hope this story will provide you a few hours of entertainment, and—admittedly—I also hope it helps you view the world a little differently: through God’s eyes of love and acceptance.

  May God bless you muchly as you journey with Him,

  Kim

  Sunday, September 1, 1895

  Pine Hill neighborhood, Atlanta, Georgia

  Laurel Millard

  Laurel swung her feet from the armrest of the sofa to the floor and sat up. The book she’d been reading slid from her lap and landed with a soft thud on the faded square of carpet that formed an island in the middle of the scuffed hardwood floor. Ordinarily, retrieving a book—a precious thing to both her and Mama—would take precedence over all else, but the mutter of voices from the porch and the click of a key in the front door stole her attention. Which of her siblings had chosen to disturb Mama’s afternoon nap?

  The door creaked open, and her brother Alfred, the oldest of the Millard siblings, stepped over the threshold with his usual air of importance. Their sister Nell followed him in. Worry smote Laurel, and she bounded to her feet. There must be a family emergency if both pompous Alfred and strong-minded Nell, who couldn’t even sit together on the Millard family pew in the Episcopal church without breaking into an argument midsermon, had come together.

  “Alfred, Nell, what—” Laurel’s jaw dropped. Eugene, Raymond, and Mayme trailed in behind Nell. Never before had all five of her siblings shown up at the same time, no spouses or children in tow, for a visit. Her knees gave way, and she plopped onto the sofa’s center cushion, gaping in both confusion and apprehension.

  Alfred fixed his unsmiling brown-eyed gaze on her. “Is Mama sleepin’?”

  What else would Mama be doing at three thirty on a Sunday afternoon? Laurel kept the question to herself. Nineteen years her senior, Alfred tended to construe nearly everything she said as insolence. She nodded.

  “Good.” Alfred flicked his hand at the others, and they removed their light cloaks and hats and draped them on the hall tree beside the door. Nell pressed her finger against her pursed lips, her frown giving a warning, and then they all chose seats—Alfred in what Laurel always called Papa’s chair, although she had no memory of her papa sitting in it, Nell in Mama’s rocker, Eugene on the round stool in front of Mama’s loom, and Raymond and Mayme on either side of Laurel on the sofa.

  Her stomach fluttered. Was this how a rabbit cornered by a pack of hungry coyotes felt? Needing to do something to calm her jumping nerves, she leaned forward and reached for the book.

  Raymond clamped his hand over her knee and shook his head.

  Laurel pointed at the book. “But I only wanted to—”

  “Hush.” Mayme retrieved the green-fabric-covered volume of Verne’s Cesar Cascabel, smoothed the rumpled pages, and closed it, then placed it on the table next to the beautiful hand-painted oil lamp Papa had gifted Mama on their last wedding anniversary before his death over fifteen years ago.

  The moment Mayme released the book, Alfred cleared his throat. As if it were a secret signal, everyone—Laurel included—folded their hands in their laps and turned their attention on him. He crossed his legs. “We’ve come about Mama.”

  Laurel’s mouth went dry. “Is somethin’ wrong? Is she ill?”

  Of course Mama was fine. If she had been stricken with some sort of disease, Laurel would have noticed. After all, she lived with Mama, worked with her side by side at the loom or on stitching projects, and sat with her in the parlor every evening, taking turns reading aloud from one of the books on their single, overstuffed shelf. It had been only the two of them since Mayme, the closest in age to Laurel, married and moved into her own home ten years ago, so Laurel would know better than anyone the state of Mama’s health.

  Nell made a sour face. “Of course not, Laurel. Don’t be dramatic.”

  Did she mean more dramatic than all of them swooping in at once? “Then what?”

  Alfred bounced his foot. Sunlight from the uncovered parlor windows flashed white on the toe of his highly polished boot. “Mama turns sixty next week.”

  Laurel wrinkled her nose. “Yes, I know. But she’s already told me she doesn’t want a party, so if y’all are here to help organize one, then—”

  “She’s getting up in years”—Alfred, probably viewing her comment as an interruption, gave her a severe look—“and shouldn’t be left to take care of the house and yard on her own.”

  Nell pressed her lips together and tsk-tsked. “Ideally, she would have a husband to help her.” The room was stifling despite the open windows, but even so, Nell’s icy stare sent a shiver down Laurel’s spine. “Had you not chased off the only prospect, we wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation.”

  Would they never forgive her for crying every time Mr. Davis paid Mama a visit? Laurel held her hands wide. “I was barely three years old.”

  Nell rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. After your caterwauling, he abandoned the attempt at courtship, and Mama has been alone to this day.”

  Eugene, always the quietest of the group and Laurel’s favorite of all her siblings, twisted back and forth on the stool. “At her age, it’s not likely another chance for marriage will come along.” He glanced at Alfred, as if questioning whether he’d gotten his lines right. “So that one chance she had with Mr. Davis…”

  Laurel gritted her teeth. She couldn’t even recall Mr. Davis, let alone her reason for bawling when he looked at her. If Mama hadn’t confirmed the story, Laurel would suspect Mayme or Raymond had made it up to have another excuse to torment her.

  She had come along late in Mama’s life, following the loss of three babies in a row, and the others always accused her of being Mama’s favorite. After all these years, she wouldn’t change their opinion, so she didn’t waste her breath by defending herself. But, oh, how hard to stay silent against the unfair accusation. She pinched a loose strand of hair falling from the nape of her neck and coiled it around her finger.

  Eugene seemed to have run out of word
s, so Laurel turned to Alfred. “What is it you’re trying to tell me?”

  Alfred uncrossed his legs and leaned forward slightly, his dark brows descending. “Someone will need to care for Mama into her dotage, and we believe the rightful person is you.”

  Laurel’s mouth fell open. She touched her fingertips to her bodice in silent query.

  Nell nodded so hard the knot of dark hair atop her head lost a pin. “That’s exactly right. Mama risked her life bringing you into this world. She nearly died along with your twin.”

  Sadness struck with such force that tears stung Laurel’s eyes. How could she so deeply mourn someone she’d never met? She’d spent her life missing two important people—her papa and the twin her parents had named Lily.

  Nell continued in a strident tone, unaware of—or, perhaps more accurate, unconcerned by—Laurel’s inner pain. “Why, at forty-two she should have been preparing to spoil her first grandchildren, but instead she was suckling you at her breast. You owe her a debt of gratitude, Laurel, and you can repay it by agreein’ to remain here with Mama until that day we lay her to rest next to Papa.”

  Laurel released a disbelieving laugh. “You can’t mean that.”

  Mayme folded her arms over her chest and peered down her nose at Laurel. “Oh, she does. We all do.”

  “It only makes sense,” Raymond said. “The rest of us have our own homes.”

  “And our own families,” Mayme added.