Книга - A Child Shall Lead Them

A Child Shall Lead Them
Carole Gift Page


SWEET CHARITYWhen social worker Brianna Rowlands set out to locate an orphaned infant's next of kin, romance was the last thing on her mind. But the moment she met dashing attorney Eric Wingate, she was smitten–and so was his cooing newborn niece. If only the three of them could become a real family….Eric couldn't possibly squeeze fatherhood–or marriage–into his hectic agenda. Yet now that his arms had cradled precious baby Charity–and embraced the lovely Brianna–he found himself reluctant to let go. Perhaps somehow–Lord willing–he wouldn't have to….









“How can we be sure we make the right decision, Eric?”


His eyes took on that warm, crinkly look Bree loved. “Prayer helps. We trust God to bring us the right parents for Charity. And we trust Him to give us the wisdom to recognize them when we meet them.”

“You make it sound so easy.” Bree shifted in her chair. What she wanted to say was, When the time comes, how do I let Charity go?

“A penny for your thoughts,” mused Eric.

The heat rose in Bree’s cheeks. “It’s nothing. I was just thinking of Charity and how much I want the best for her.”

“So do I,” said Eric with a surprising little rumble of emotion in his voice.




CAROLE GIFT PAGE


writes from the heart about issues facing women today. A prolific author of over 40 books and 800 stories and articles, she has published both fiction and nonfiction with a dozen major Christian publishers, including Thomas Nelson, Moody Press, Crossway Books, Bethany House, Tyndale House and Harvest House. An award-winning novelist, Carole has received the C.S. Lewis Honor Book Award and been a finalist several times for the prestigious Gold Medallion Award and the Campus Life Book of the Year Award.

A frequent speaker at churches, conferences, conventions, schools and retreats around the country, Carole shares her testimony (based on her inspiring new book, Becoming a Woman of Passion) and encourages women everywhere to discover and share their deepest passions, to keep passion alive on the home front and to unleash their passion for Christ.

Born and raised in Jackson, Michigan, Carole taught creative writing at Biola University in La Mirada, California, and serves on the advisory board of the American Christian Writers. She and her husband, Bill, live in Southern California and have three children (besides Misty in heaven) and three beautiful grandchildren.




A Child Shall Lead Them

Carole Gift Page





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


The Lord your God in your midst,

The Mighty One, will save;

He will rejoice over you with gladness,

He will quiet you in His love,

He will rejoice over you with singing.

—Zephaniah 3:17


To my dear sister, Susan Gift Porter.

Susi, you are awesome! So talented, so caring,

so committed to our Lord. I love you with

all my heart, and I’m so proud of you.

You are my soul mate, my friend, my partner in

prayer. You bring joy to so many, especially when

you step out on stage and sing so vibrantly of your

Redeemer. Thank you for your constant love,

encouragement and support!


Dear Reader,

I hope you’re enjoying the continuing saga of Reverend Andrew Rowlands and his three spirited daughters. I know I’ve enjoyed making the Reverend the kind of devoted, fun-loving, larger-than-life daddy we gals dream of. And yet Andrew is human just like the rest of us. Even as he ministers to others, he struggles with heavy issues in his own life—problems that lead him to search for a closer walk with his Heavenly Father.

Andrew’s three daughters must confront their own complex issues, as well. This time, it’s Brianna’s turn. She faces a series of losses that threaten to overwhelm her. But each time she realizes afresh that God is there for her. Both Brianna and Reverend Rowlands come to know Christ better as they experience a roller-coaster ride of conflicting crises and emotions. They are reminded that Jesus loves them with perfect love…and perfect love casts out fear.

It’s a lesson for all of us to remember. When we look outward at our troubling circumstances, we may experience fear and anxiety. When we look inward at ourselves, we often feel inadequate. Only as we keep our eyes on Jesus can we experience His comforting presence and face life with confidence and joy. Trust Him, and He will fill you with His love, joy and peace!

I’d love to hear from you, my friend. Write me c/o Steeple Hill Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, New York 10017. And please keep reading! May God bless you with His very best!









Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue




Chapter One


Brianna stood in the doorway of the music room in an oversize V-neck T-shirt and stone-washed jeans, her tawny hair framing her luminous face, her large, velvet green eyes looking worried. “Daddy, are you coming downstairs to dinner?”

She had assumed a tentative stance, her head cocked just so, one hand on the doorjamb, her rosy lips pursed questioningly.

Andrew’s heart lurched. Something in his daughter’s winsome face reminded him of his beloved Mandy. Like mother, like daughter. He half expected to see Brianna cradling one of her scraggly strays in her arms—a mongrel pup, a scrawny alley cat, a wounded bird. Since she was three she had managed to drag home every lost and homeless animal within a ten-mile radius of La Jolla. Mandy had been the same way, nurturing and comforting every ragamuffin child, every downtrodden soul, every wounded spirit. It was what had made her a great minister’s wife.

“Daddy? Did you hear me? You look a thousand miles away.”

Andrew’s reverie broke. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I said dinner’s ready. It’s Friday, so Frannie made her usual spaghetti. Your favorite.”

“Sounds great, sweetheart.” Frannie, his youngest, had designated herself chief cook and bottle washer after Mandy’s death six years ago. In fact, all three of his daughters had appointed themselves their father’s keepers, mollycoddling him like doting little mothers. His three precious girls: Cassandra, Brianna and Frannie. What would he have done without them?

But now there were just two left at home.

He cleared his throat and said with more enthusiasm than he felt, “Tell Frannie I’ll be down in a minute, okay?”

Brianna lingered in the doorway, looking unconvinced. Yes, no doubt about it. His middle daughter, with her wholesome peaches-and-cream, girl-next-door attractiveness, was at heart a mother hen—a cross between Mother Teresa and Florence Nightingale. And now Andrew was the object of her overweening concern.

“You’re thinking about Cassie, aren’t you, Daddy.”

Andrew swiveled on the mahogany bench, his right hand remaining on the shiny black grand piano. Cassie’s piano. “You caught me, baby cakes,” he confessed. “I guess I’ve been thinking a lot about Cassie this week.”

“Oh, Daddy.” Brianna crossed her arms and rocked on one heel. “Cassie’s on her honeymoon. She and Antonio are so happy. I’ve never seen two people so in love…except you and Mom.”

“And I’m happy for her,” Andrew said quickly. “It’s just…well, this old house hasn’t seemed so empty since…”

“Since Mom died,” said Bree softly.

Andrew nodded, a painful knot in his throat. He looked away before his daughter read too much in his expression.

Too late. Her eyes brimming with sympathy, Brianna crossed the room and twined her slender arms around her father’s neck. In Andrew’s memory flashed the image of a jubilant child, running, skating, dancing, her hair flying in the wind. “It’s okay to feel sad sometimes, Daddy,” she whispered. “I miss Mom, too.”

Andrew ruffled his daughter’s silky hair. “I’m fine, doll baby. You go downstairs and tell your sister to get out the king-size bibs because I’m ready to eat spaghetti!”

“She already has them out, Daddy. One for each of us, like always.” Brianna drifted back to the doorway and fluttered her fingers in a wave. “Don’t be long, or the pasta will be cold.”

“One minute. I promise.”

After Bree had gone, Andrew inhaled sharply and turned his gaze to the family portrait on the piano, taken the year before Mandy learned she had cancer. They were at the beach, having a picnic, building sand castles, collecting seashells, frolicking like children. Looking like windblown, ragtag beach bums.

When a stranger offered to snap their picture, they laughed uproariously. Why not? It would be a silly, hilarious memento for posterity. So Andrew, his wife and daughters all stood arm-in-arm like disheveled comrades, smiling, on the verge of side-splitting laughter on that dappled, sun-washed beach. They had been oblivious to the horror lurking in the shadows, nipping at their heels.

For Andrew, those dark, devastating days seemed like another lifetime now…watching his beloved Mandy succumb moment by moment, inch by inch to that ravaging monster called cancer. Only his faith in God and his darling daughters had kept him sane. After Mandy’s death, his girls had rallied around him and gradually turned their grief-stricken house into a rollicking, joyous, fun-filled homestead again.

But as devoted as his lovely daughters were to him, over the years Andrew had grown increasingly concerned about them. It wasn’t right for three grown, vibrant young women to remain in their father’s house, putting their own lives on hold for his sake. Sure, each daughter had a fulfilling career, but they needed to be out dating, making the acquaintance of suitable young men. They needed to be setting wedding dates and getting married and bringing home precious grandbabies that he could spoil the way he had spoiled them.

That’s why, almost a year ago now, he had resolved to help things along, to give his girls a proper nudge in the matrimonial department. And, thank God, it had worked for his oldest daughter, Cassandra. Just last Saturday, hadn’t he himself, the proud papa, officiated at the most gorgeous wedding on earth? Hadn’t he choked with love and pride as his darling Cassie said her vows and became the radiant bride of the dashing Antonio Pagliarulo? Hadn’t he smiled with satisfaction and, yes, relief as Antonio whisked Cassie off to a Mediterranean honeymoon?

One down, two to go, as the saying went. Now he just had to find husbands for his two younger girls, Brianna and Frannie. And that would not be an easy feat, for both girls were too devoted to their careers even to give a man a passing glance—Bree with her work at the family counseling center and Frannie with her sculpting and painting. Both girls were entirely too entrenched at home, fussing like nursemaids over their widowed father, to realize that the world contained a vast array of eligible bachelors.

Even now, as Andrew sat in the music room and studied the family portrait atop the grand piano, he knew his concerns were legitimate. If he let them, his remaining daughters would stay at home forever—at least until he went to be with his precious Mandy, or, heaven forbid, he took another wife.

He almost had. Taken another wife, that is. While Antonio was courting his sweet Cassie, Andrew had found himself enraptured with Antonio’s widowed mother—the audacious, unpredictable Juliana Pagliarulo. Her exotic beauty had tantalized him just as her flamboyant personality had captivated him. And, amazingly, she had seemed equally enamored with him.

But, of course, the timing wasn’t right for a serious romance. These days Juliana had her hands full helping her disabled daughter learn to walk again. And a fine job she was doing. Belina, a lovely, blossoming young woman, was well on the road to recovery. At Cassie’s wedding she had served as a bridesmaid, walking proudly, victoriously down the aisle on canes. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. In fact, Belina nearly stole the show from Antonio and Cassie, and no one could have been happier about it than they.

But it wasn’t just Juliana’s parental responsibilities that had nipped their romance in the bud. If Andrew was honest with himself, he was equally to blame. As much as he cared for Juliana, he still couldn’t quite relinquish his emotional hold on Mandy. He knew he was being foolish, holding on so desperately to his memories, finding his solace in a woman who had been dead for six long years.

A few times his daughters had caught him speaking aloud to Mandy, as if she were still alive, still in the room with him, listening to him unburden his heart. But his daughters’ concerned glances weren’t warranted. As eccentric as he might be, he wasn’t addled enough to believe Mandy could actually hear him (although wasn’t it possible she was listening from heaven’s portal?). The problem was that he had become so accustomed over the years to Mandy’s presence, her patient smile, her gentle voice, her listening ear. She was a hard habit to break. But, in spite of his grief, he wouldn’t wish Mandy back with him. Far better that she was with the Lord, free of pain and basking in His love.

Andrew heard a scratch at the door and turned just in time to glimpse his mongrel, mop-haired dog push the door open and bound inside. Ruggs half scrambled, half slid across the polished hardwood floor, his shaggy, hirsute form landing in a disheveled heap beside the piano bench. Andrew reached down and massaged the panting animal’s floppy ears. Ruggs rewarded him with a lick of his rough, wet tongue on Andrew’s chin.

“Well, Ruggsy boy, it looks like my daughters called in the troops…or should I say, one furry, four-footed storm trooper. “You go back downstairs and tell my girls I’m on my way.” He chuckled as Ruggs yipped eagerly. “Okay, boy, bark if you have to. They’ll get the message.”

Andrew followed the big, lumbering dog downstairs. Ruggs was one of Brianna’s foundlings—a neighborhood stray she had rescued nearly ten years ago from the clutches of an overzealous dog catcher. Bree had promised to find the starving pup a good home; the home turned out to be Andrew’s. Now Ruggs was as much a part of the family as anyone. The girls adored the ungainly pooch and forgave his every vice, including chewing Andrew’s leather shoes to shreds and pilfering steaks from the backyard grill.

With much howling, Ruggs announced Andrew’s presence in the dining room. Andrew took his place at the head of the table, flashing an apologetic smile at his two daughters. “Hope I’m not too late,” he said as he fastened Bree’s hand-stitched, terry-cloth bib around his neck. Bree had made him the enormous bib several years ago as a practical joke. Andrew was known far and wide for his clumsiness; he could never maneuver his way through a spaghetti dinner without strategically positioning a dollop of tomato sauce on his best dress shirt. So the bib was a welcome defense against all the loose spaghetti strands that threatened to attack.

Oddly, the bib idea caught on, and soon everyone in the family wanted one. Then guests who came to dinner began to expect them, too, so Bree gladly stitched a stack of them, customizing each one. The bibs became wonderful conversation pieces, always good for a laugh.

And a laugh is just what we need these days, Andrew mused to himself as he smoothed his bib over his starched white shirt. “Looks good,” he told Frannie as she set heaping bowls of pasta and spaghetti sauce on the linen-draped table beside a tossed salad and a platter of garlic cheese toast.

“Your favorites, Daddy,” she said, sitting down.

“You bet.” He reached for his daughters’ hands, bowed his head, and asked God’s blessing on the food, adding softly, “Lord, take special care of Cassie and Antonio, wherever they are tonight. Give them a wonderful life together. And fill this empty house with lots of life and laughter again.”

As they ate, Brianna gave Andrew several curious glances, as if she had something to say but didn’t know quite how to say it.

“What is it, Bree?” Andrew prompted. “Got something on your mind?”

Bree twirled a spaghetti strand on her fork. “I was just thinking, Daddy…”

“Thinking?” He chuckled knowingly. “Why does that sound like you’re about to spring a momentous announcement on me?”

“She’s probably bringing home another stray animal,” said Frannie lightly. “What is it this time, Bree? A wounded platypus? A homeless carrier pigeon? A dispossessed gopher?”

Bree scowled. “Don’t make fun of me, Fran. I’m serious.”

“Serious?” Andrew echoed guardedly. “How serious?”

“Just a little bit serious,” Bree said evasively.

Andrew looked her square in the eye. “Tell me, what are you cooking up, my darling daughter?”

“Nothing, Daddy. It’s just…this house has been so empty since Cassie moved out. All three of us have been feeling lonely, restless, at loose ends. It just doesn’t feel right, all these rooms with nobody to fill them.”

“And just who do you have in mind…to fill these rooms?” asked Andrew, helping himself to the garlic bread.

“Nobody in particular,” said Bree, “except maybe…”

“You might as well tell us,” said Frannie. “Just say it, and we’ll tell you if it’s one of your crazy, impossible ideas.”

Bree drew in a sharp breath. “There’s a girl I’ve been counseling at the clinic—”

“Oh, no!” cried Frannie. “Last time it was a woman with a bunch of rowdy kids. They invaded the sunroom, helped themselves to my paint and pelted one another with wet clay. They made my bust of Cicero look like Donald Duck! In ten minutes they nearly destroyed my entire art studio.”

“That was an unfortunate incident,” Bree acknowledged in a regretful voice. “But this client has no children…yet.”

“Yet?” quizzed Andrew. “Yet, as in…?”

“Three months.”

“She’s three months pregnant?” asked Frannie.

“No, her baby is due in three months.”

“What’s her story?” asked Andrew. “Her husband desert her?”

“Not exactly,” said Bree. “She’s a teenager. Almost nineteen. Her boyfriend broke up with her when he found out about the pregnancy, and it appears her parents want nothing to do with her. She’s all alone in the world…and she won’t admit it, but I know she’s scared. You should see her, Daddy. Trying to act like it’s no big deal when her world’s caving in. She needs a place to stay where she feels loved and accepted.”

Frannie poked at her spaghetti. “Can’t she stay at the shelter, Bree?”

“It’s mainly for battered wives. Besides, it’s full.”

Andrew cleared his throat. “Of course, the girl can stay here…if you think this is the place for her, Bree.”

“I do, Daddy.” Bree’s voice rose with excitement. “I really feel I can help her. We can help her. She may act blasé, even flippant at times, but I know she’s hurting inside. She thinks everyone has condemned her.”

“Well, then, let’s pray we can show her the love of God.”

“And she needs a job,” said Bree. “Something to make her feel better about herself.”

Frannie shook her head. “Who’s going to hire a woman about to give birth?”

“I thought of that,” said Bree. “That’s why I was thinking that maybe we could—”

Andrew smiled grimly. “Oh, oh, I’m not sure I like that look in your eyes, daughter.”

“But, Daddy, it’ll be perfect. I’ve got it all figured out. Marnie can work for you.”

“Marnie?”

“That’s her name. Marnie Smith—although I think she made up the Smith part.”

“What do you mean, she can work for me? I already have a secretary. You mean, work at the church?”

“No, Daddy. She can work right here. You’re always saying you wish you had someone here at home to help with clerical work—correspondence, filing, research for your sermons. If she’s staying here, anyway, she’ll have time on her hands, waiting for her baby to come. She can earn money to give herself and her baby a fresh start. Please say you’ll give her a chance.”

Andrew reached across the table and patted his daughter’s hand. “You win, dumpling. Have I ever said no when you’ve come home with one of your pet projects, your abandoned critters, your lost causes? Tell your young friend she has a home with us.”

But even as Andrew said the words, a niggling worry crept in. He had an uneasy feeling that this needy young girl might change their lives in more ways than any of them expected.




Chapter Two


Brianna brought Marnie home the next day, a balmy, late-June Saturday. The moment Marnie stepped inside the Rowlands’ house, she did a double take. “Wow!” she said with grudging admiration. “This is awesome. Not glitzy, like a rich person’s pad, but warm and homey. Like that retro Ozzie and Harriet stuff. A real home.”

“Thanks,” said Bree. “I think.”

“I like it,” Marnie went on, clutching a leather satchel in one hand and a canvas bag in the other. Tall and slender, with a coltish energy and grace, she looked like an ordinary teenager in her tank top and oversize bib overalls. No one would have guessed she was over six months pregnant.

“We can take your things directly up to your room, if you like,” said Bree, nodding toward the stairs.

“No, I’ll just set them here for now.” Marnie dropped her belongings beside the staircase and ambled across the entryway, her stacked sandals clicking on the marble floor. “This place beats some dreary women’s shelter.” She drifted into the living room and gazed around at the overstuffed sofa and chairs, the oak furniture, and the bay windows letting in sunlight. They could see a profusion of color from the rosebushes lining the front yard.

Marnie flashed a lopsided smile. She had an oval face with sharp features—a nose too pointed, lips too full, teeth a bit too large. Her long, umber-brown hair looked a bit bedraggled, as if she had got up in the morning and absently smoothed it back from her forehead with her hands. Marnie’s eyes—her most striking feature—were large, wide-set, shadowed at the corners, and a light spring-water blue. They seemed ageless, fathomless, melancholy, yet riveting, as if they were looking beyond the surface at something no one else could see.

“You sure your dad doesn’t mind putting me up for a few months?” she asked in an offhand voice that failed to hide an undercurrent of anxiety.

“I’m sure,” said Bree. “You stay as long as you need to.”

Marnie managed a hard-edged chuckle. “I guess him being a minister makes him want to do nice things for people, like taking in the poor and homeless…and pregnant.”

“He’s a neat guy,” said Bree. “Funny and warm and caring. You’ll like him.”

The two crossed the living room to the kitchen. It was roomy, with a sunny breakfast nook and garden window overlooking a sprawling backyard festooned with snow-white calla lilies, bright orange birds of paradise, pink azaleas in porcelain Ming pots, bougainvillea bushes, and a variety of tropical foliage.

“Are you hungry, Marnie?”

“Starved.” She smiled grimly. “I’m eating for two, you know.”

“Then, let’s raid the fridge.” Bree opened the refrigerator door and gazed inside. “Let’s see. We’ve got all sorts of mysterious concoctions hidden in butter tubs, but I’m not sure we want to risk our lives by sampling them.”

“I’m not fussy…as long as it’s edible and not growing little fuzzy green things.”

“I can’t vouch for most of this stuff. My dad believes you should never throw anything out until it’s clearly beyond redemption.”

“Not a bad philosophy,” noted Marnie with a hint of irony.

Bree nodded. “I never thought of it that way.” She retrieved a large plastic container and peeked inside. “Tell you what. We have spaghetti left over from last night. My sister Frannie makes the best pasta dishes in the world. She does this thing with basil and oregano. I’m no cook, so I have no idea how she does it, but it’s scrumptious.”

Marnie sat down at the oak table. “I love spaghetti.”

“Me, too. I’ll zap us some in the microwave.”

For the next half-hour they sat at the cozy table devouring the last of Frannie’s spaghetti and sipping diet colas. They engaged in idle chitchat for a few minutes, discussing the weather, the house, even Brianna’s job at the counseling center.

“What’s it like giving out advice and helping people all day?” Marnie asked. “Does it make you feel like a saint? Joan of Arc or something?”

Brianna smiled. “It’s scary and wonderful all at once.”

“How so?”

“Scary when I think I’m responsible for people’s lives. Wonderful when I know I’ve made life better for someone.”

“Someone like me?”

“Yes. Someone like you.”

Marnie lapsed into silence.

Brianna traced the rim of her cola glass. “I hope you don’t mind, Marnie. I don’t mean to intrude on your privacy, but now that you’ll be living here, I’ll need some information.”

Marnie twisted a strand of chestnut hair. “Like what?”

“General stuff. About you. Your family. Your plans.”

Marnie’s tone was guarded. “What do you want to know?”

“For starters, where your home is.”

“I filled out the papers you gave me.”

“You listed a San Diego hotel.”

“That’s where I was staying. Until I ran out of money.”

“What about your family? Where do they live?”

Marnie lowered her gaze. “That’s not important.”

“But it is. If we needed to reach them for some reason—”

“Leave them out of it,” said Marnie sharply. “They have nothing to do with me anymore.”

“Because you’re pregnant? Did they force you to leave home? That’s what you implied when you first came to see me.”

Marnie sipped her cola. After a moment she looked up, her eyes shadowed, her lips tight, as if she were willing herself not to speak lest she say too much.

“Marnie, if I’m going to help you, I need to know the truth. Please. I’m on your side.”

Marnie licked her chapped lips. Without makeup, she had a winsome, childlike face. She was still twisting her hair, so tightly that the tip of her finger had turned white. At last she met Brianna’s gaze. “Truth is, my folks don’t know I’m pregnant. When I started to show, I just wore frumpy clothes. No one could tell. I wouldn’t even admit it to myself until a couple of months ago. When I told my boyfriend, Sam…Sam Dillard—we were both sophomores at San Diego State—when I told him, he told me to get rid of it. Just like that. He didn’t even think twice about it. Just said he didn’t want anything to do with a baby. It was my problem.”

“Couldn’t you tell your folks?”

“You kidding? My parents are…you’d have to know them…they’re like, totally perfect. I mean, that’s how they act, like they can do no wrong. You should see them. Rigid and unbending as a ruler. They expect perfection from everyone. No one can please them. Especially me.” She gnawed on her lower lip, her gaze downcast. “Of course, my brother is another story.”

“Your brother?”

“Eric. He’s ten years older than me.” Marnie pulled a thumb-worn snapshot from the pocket of her bib overalls and handed it to Bree. “I keep his picture close to my heart. Makes me feel like he’s watching over me. Stupid, huh?”

“Not at all. That shows how special he must be.” Bree studied the photograph. The face staring back at her was one of the most compelling and captivating she had ever seen. As finely honed as a Michelangelo sculpture. A valiant face reflecting a startling paradox of strength and vulnerability, melancholy and mischief. And those dusky, half-moon eyes flashed lightning bolts straight into Bree’s heart. They seemed to read her very thoughts. She couldn’t tear her gaze from those eyes.

“This is…your brother?” she murmured, her voice catching. This was crazy. Her heart was doing a strange little pitter-pat dance. A self-conscious warmth spread across her face, flushing her cheeks, leaving her pleasantly dazed and distracted. What was wrong with her, reacting so viscerally? For heaven’s sake, if a person could fall in love with a mere photograph, she just had!

“Cute, isn’t he,” said Marnie offhandedly.

“That’s, uh…not the word for it.” Bree forced her eyes from the snapshot. Help me, Lord! I’m behaving like a tongue-tied schoolgirl. “What’s he like…your brother?”

“Oh, wow! He’s like every girl wishes her brother would be.” Marnie’s eyes grew misty, as if she were glimpsing distant, faded memories. “He was always looking out for me…always there when I needed him. When I was a little girl, he carried me around in one of those little snuggly things. On his chest. Like I was a papoose or something. Can you imagine? Him a big teenage boy carrying around his little sister? He took me everywhere. To his ball games and track meets. On bike rides and hikes. He always fixed me hot dogs and macaroni and cheese—his absolute favorites. When I was sick, he brought his friends in to do stupid animal imitations. Bugs Bunny. Donald Duck. We’d laugh our silly heads off. But what was so cool…he made me feel like one of the gang. He was never ashamed of me.”

Bree struggled to find her voice. She was falling harder by the minute. “He sounds like a…a wonderful guy.”

“The best.” Marnie cupped her cola glass with her palms. “He’s a lawyer now. One of the good guys. Not one of those greedy dudes chasing million-dollar lawsuits.” Marnie met Bree’s gaze. “Actually, he’s a lot like you, Brianna. Always helping people, championing some cause for the poor and downtrodden.”

“Then, why didn’t you tell him about the baby?”

“And see the disappointment in his eyes? No way! He’s the only one who ever stood up for me. When my folks got on my case, Eric always came to my defense. He’s the only person who ever really believed in me, who thought I was worth something.”

“Then all the more reason to take him into your confidence.”

“No way!” Marnie blinked back rising tears. “Don’t you get it? I don’t ever want to stop being special to him.”

Bree sat back and gave a relenting sigh. Reluctantly, she handed the photo back to Marnie. “Okay, if that’s how you want it. But he sounds like a fabulous brother.”

“He is. You’d love him.”

I already do! The thought stunned Bree. How could a stranger’s face leave her feeling so shaken and flustered?

“Trouble is, he’s too dedicated to his work. It’s his whole life. Doesn’t even have a girlfriend.” Marnie eyed Brianna knowingly. “I bet you’re the same way, aren’t you. Too busy with your work to have a special guy?”

Brianna grimaced. She might consider having a special guy if he were anything like Marnie’s brother. “We’re talking about your life, Marnie,” she said evasively. “Not mine.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it? No boyfriend?”

Bree assumed her quasi-professional voice. “That’s how I like it, Marnie. No man complicating my life.”

“Smart lady!” Marnie’s blue eyes darkened. She resolutely mopped back her hair with one hand. “If I’d had that attitude, I wouldn’t be in this mess now.”

“About your brother,” said Bree. Tell me everything, she wanted to say, but resisted the impulse. “You don’t want him to find out you’re pregnant. But you can’t just disappear without raising suspicions. Won’t your parents be looking for you?”

“No. Never in a million years.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Marnie flashed a sly smile. “I got it all arranged.”

“Arranged?”

For a moment Marnie looked as if she couldn’t quite decide whether or not to confide in Brianna. Finally she said, “Here’s the scoop. My girlfriend from school got a scholarship to study in Europe this summer. I told my parents I got a scholarship, too. Said I was going with her.”

“To Europe?”

“Yeah. You should have seen how happy they were, thinking I got this humongous scholarship worth thousands of dollars. Thinking I was going off to study in Europe. What a hoot! That’s the picture they have of me—the daughter they want. Not some stupid girl who gets knocked up by her first boyfriend.”

“Your family really thinks you’re in Europe studying?”

“Yeah. Would you believe? I even wrote postcards for my friend to mail from Europe. Me raving to my mom and dad about what an awesome time I’m having in Paris. And all the while I’m right here, a half-hour away, in some minister’s house…a charity case, waiting to have a baby.”

“You’re no charity case. You’ll be earning your keep.”

“For sure? How?”

“I told you. Doing secretarial work for my dad.”

“I figured you just said that so I wouldn’t feel so bad about sponging off your family.”

“No, my father can really use your help. You can type letters…you did say you can type, right?”

Marnie nodded. “Yeah, that’s one thing I’m good at.”

“And maybe help him with some research on his sermons.”

“Sermons?” Marnie’s eyes widened. “Listen, girl, I’m not one of those religious types. I mean, my family went to church now and then, but it was more for show, you know?”

“Marnie, I’m not asking if you—”

“Okay, so my brother’s into this church thing. He goes to a church my parents totally disapprove of. What a hoot, huh? I went with him once. They meet in a school. No piano or choir. Just a ragtag band. Guitars and drums. Doesn’t matter what you wear—jeans, tees, sandals. No one cares if you’re rich or poor.”

Bree finished her cola. “So tell me. Did you enjoy going?”

“Yeah, I did. Weird, huh? The people were kinda nice—down to earth, you know?” Marnie poked at her last strands of spaghetti. “Eric wanted me to keep going, but I was with Sam at the time, and Sam wanted no part of church.”

Bree met her gaze. “The truth is, Marnie, while you’re living here, my dad expects you to attend church with us.”

She shrugged. “I can handle it. Your dad’s the preacher, right? If he’s as cool as you say, it shouldn’t be so bad.”

“You might even like it. My dad has a way of telling the truth so you want to hear more.”

Marnie glanced around, as if expecting someone to appear suddenly. “Maybe I should get my stuff upstairs before your family gets home.”

“No hurry,” said Bree. “My dad’s at the church, Frannie’s teaching an art class at San Diego State, and Ruggs, our dog, who rules the house, is in the backyard, probably burying his favorite bones in the flower garden.”

Marnie laughed lightly. “I love dogs. But my parents wouldn’t let me have one. Said an animal would mess up their house. But if I had my own place, I’d have a dozen dogs running around. And maybe a couple of cats, too.”

Now it was Bree’s turn to laugh. “Sounds like a regular menagerie. How about a bird? And monkeys are fun.”

Marnie stifled a chuckle. Her eyes were merry again, her cheeks ruddy. “Guess I’d need a farm, huh? Cows, horses, pigs, sheep. Nice little place far from California, where the land goes on forever and the stars are so bright they wink at you.”

“Sounds marvelous,” said Bree, “if that’s the kind of life you’re looking for.”

Marnie twisted another strand of hair. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

“You must have some plans…dreams…”

“Nothing. Except get through the summer and have my baby.”

“What then?” asked Bree. “Will you take your baby home?”

Marnie looked up reproachfully, her eyes welling with tears. “I can’t. My family can never know. My baby…I’m giving her up. I gotta find a good family to adopt her.” Marnie sat forward, her elbows on the table, her voice filled with sudden urgency. “You’ve gotta help me find a good home for my baby. A family to love her and accept her as she is, not make her feel she can never be good enough. Will you help me?”

Brianna reached across the table and clasped Marnie’s hands. “I’ll do what I can. But maybe you’ll change your mind and decide to keep your baby.”

Marnie’s eyes hardened to an icy blue. “No, I can’t keep her. I’ve got to pretend she never existed. I’ve got to go home at the end of the summer and go back to school and act like nothing ever happened. I’ve got to get my education and pray someday I can make my parents proud of me.”

“You’re asking a lot of yourself, Marnie. Are you sure about your parents? Maybe once they got used to the idea, they’d welcome a baby into the family.”

Marnie pushed back her plate. “Not my parents! They don’t want me…and they sure don’t want my baby.”

“Okay, forget I mentioned it.” Bree stood up and took the plates and glasses over to the sink. “If you’re ready, Marnie, I’ll show you to your room.”

Marnie hoisted herself from the chair and suddenly clutched her abdomen. “Oh, wow!”

Brianna pivoted. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The baby.” Marnie moved her hand slowly over her rounded belly. “Man, she’s kicking like mad. Feel, Brianna.”

Gently Marnie placed Brianna’s hand on the spot where the baby was moving. Sure enough, Bree could feel the fluttering kicks against her palm. Rhythmic little thumps. The sensation was amazing…as if this tiny, unseen child were reaching out to her, trying to make contact, entreating her for help.

Don’t worry, little one, Bree promised silently. I’m going to take care of you and your mommy. I’ll make sure you have a wonderful family to love you…if it’s the last thing I do!




Chapter Three


Andrew Rowlands hadn’t been on a real date in months. And this wasn’t really a date, either, he reminded himself. On this balmy August evening he and Juliana Pagliarulo were having dinner together at a little Italian bistro in Del Mar. Nothing to it. Longtime friends simply having a pleasant evening together.

Then why was his heart pounding now with excitement as he gazed across the table at her? Why were his palms perspiring? Why did he feel like a teenage boy out on his first date? It wasn’t as if he and Juliana hadn’t had plenty of dinners together before. Hey, they were practically related, now that her son was married to his daughter. Andrew had even kissed Juliana in the moonlight a time or two. They had talked about having a future together, and then they had decided…he had decided…that they should just be friends—no entanglements, no commitments, no romance. Just friends.

The only problem was that since he had made that decision, he couldn’t get Juliana out of his head.

Couldn’t stop remembering those kisses. Couldn’t stop yearning for more.

For six long years he had managed to remain faithful to Mandy, to her memory. He had convinced himself there would never be another woman in his life. He had had the perfect marriage. Okay, not perfect, but as close as two flawed human beings could get. Even after Mandy’s death he had still felt a connection with her. He had done an amazing job of keeping her alive in his head, in his heart. His love for her had never dimmed.

But lately, his emotions were betraying him. He couldn’t summon memories of Mandy the way he used to, couldn’t visualize her face, her eyes, her smile. It was as if she were slowly, inevitably retreating from him, quietly vanishing into the shadows. How could that be? How could he be losing her again?

Whatever it took, he couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t stand to lose Mandy twice in one lifetime. Hadn’t he already grieved enough? Hadn’t he remained stalwart and unshakable in the face of grief? It had taken more strength than he had imagined to reconcile himself to living with mere memories, but he had done it. Had become surprisingly comfortable, in fact.

But now everything was changing. A wellspring of long-suppressed emotions was erupting in his soul, mushrooming up, supplanting his placid memories of Mandy, replacing them with confusing feelings, unexpected yearnings, unsettling desires. And they all focused on one woman—the lovely, loquacious Juliana Pagliarulo.

“Andrew? Andrew, are you still here?”

Startled, he gazed over the flickering candles at Juliana. She was wearing a stylish, red, belted sheath that accentuated her hourglass figure, and her raven-black hair was swept up in an elegant twist. The candlelight danced in her dark, sultry eyes and gave her bronze complexion a breathtaking radiance.

He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. “I’m sorry, Juliana. What did you say?”

She leaned forward, a smile teasing her red lips. “I said, here I am having dinner with a very handsome man, and he’s a million miles away. Am I losing my touch?”

He grinned, red-faced. “No, not at all. My mind wandered for a moment. I apologize.”

“Dare I ask where it wandered?”

He flinched. He didn’t want Juliana thinking he was still mooning over his dead wife after all these years, especially when he was on a date with her.

Before he could respond, she murmured gently, “Is it Mandy?”

He lowered his gaze. This lady could read him like a book. “Foolish of me, isn’t it? How can I be thinking about the past when the present company is so delightfully enchanting?”

Her smile widened, a slow, mysterious Mona Lisa smile. “How can I take offense when you say such endearing things?”

Their repartee was interrupted when the waitress brought their Caesar salads. Andrew reached across the table for Juliana’s hand and held it as he bowed his head and asked a blessing on the food. They ate in silence for a moment; then, making conversation, Andrew asked, “So how are the newlyweds doing?”

Juliana blotted her lips with her linen napkin. “Oh, Andrew, they are so in love. You should see them together. They have eyes only for each other.”

Andrew nodded, beaming. “I’m glad they’re happy.” He didn’t want to admit it to Juliana, but he had been a little concerned about his daughter moving into the Pagliarulo estate and beginning her marriage with her mother-in-law and sister-in-law already in residence. With two other women there, Cassie could hardly be the woman of the house. Cautiously he ventured, “How is it working out with all of you under one roof?”

Juliana waved her hand gracefully in the air. “Oh, there is no trouble. We all get along very well. Sometimes I cook, sometimes Cassie cooks, sometimes we cook together. But if you ask me, I think she is just as happy when I take charge.”

“Cassie never was one to cultivate her culinary skills. She was always glad Frannie did the cooking in our house.”

“Well, she and Antonio live such busy lives, I don’t mind taking care of the household chores.”

“Just the same,” warned Andrew, “don’t let her take advantage of your kindness. One of these days she has to learn what being a homemaker is all about.”

“Oh, I’m sure she will learn in time. But for now my son and your daughter feel as if they are still on their honeymoon.”

Andrew finished his salad and set down his fork. “How is your daughter adjusting to the new living arrangements?”

“Belina is very happy to have Cassie living with us now. The two have become good friends. Now that Belina is out of her wheelchair and walking again, she spends little time in her room. She’s discovering a whole new world outside the walls of our home. Cassie and Belina go shopping and take walks together. Cassie has even convinced Belina to enroll at the university.”

“Really? I’m amazed.”

“So was I. It’s hard to believe my daughter who refused to leave her room a year ago is taking classes and meeting people.”

“I know how much that means to you,” said Andrew. “And I’m glad Cassie could have a part in helping her.”

“A very large part, Andrew. I am so grateful to her.”

They paused as the waitress brought Juliana’s manicotti and his veal parmigiana and replenished their basket of garlic bread.

Juliana helped herself to the bread and broke off a crust. “Andrew, the doctors have set a date for Belina’s surgery.”

“Surgery?”

“The side of her face where she was burned in the accident…they have a new technique to remove scar tissue and replace it with skin from another part of her body. So, if all goes well, she will no longer have to live with her disfigurement.”

“Wonderful,” said Andrew. He had liked Belina from the first time they met; he had seen her potential and felt her pain over her scars and physical handicap. Now she was walking again and soon would be as beautiful outside as she was inside.

“Will you come with me to the hospital?” asked Juliana softly. “When Belina goes to surgery?”

Andrew reached across the table for Juliana’s hand and squeezed it firmly. “Of course I will. You know I’ll be there.”

Tears welled in Juliana’s eyes, but she smiled brightly in spite of them. “I had hoped that’s what you would say.”

He sat forward with a confidential air, as if he were about to impart a secret. “You know, Juliana, that I will be there for you whenever you need me. Just say the word.” He felt a sudden impulse to say more, to confess how much he cared for her, how much he needed her, how he was wrong to let their blossoming relationship slip away, but he caught himself and nearly bit his lower lip to keep the words back. Juliana had enough to deal with, without him getting unduly sentimental and burdening her with impossible expectations.

How could he suggest they resume a romantic relationship when it couldn’t possibly lead anywhere? It wasn’t as if they were two lovesick teenagers who could run off and get married and forge a single destiny for themselves. He and Juliana had lived very different lives; they both had obligations, responsibilities that neither could ask the other to surrender. They each had a well-established household to run. Juliana had her daughter to care for, and Andrew had two of his still at home.

He couldn’t imagine asking Juliana to give up her glamorous, independent life in her fancy Del Mar estate to marry him and move into his comfortable but admittedly provincial home. And the idea of the feisty, flamboyant Juliana Pagliarulo performing the humble duties of a minister’s wife was preposterous, prompting him to laugh aloud.

“What’s so funny, Andrew?” asked Juliana with a quizzical smile on her lovely face.

He cleared his throat self-consciously. “Funny?”

“You just laughed, as if someone had told you a joke. What were you thinking about?”

He rubbed his jaw awkwardly, his face warming with embarrassment. Juliana had caught him. There was no way he could tell her the truth—I was laughing at the idea of you being a minister’s wife—and no way he could lie. All he could do was stall or divert the conversation. “How is your manicotti?” he enquired.

She smiled knowingly. “Delicious. But you are avoiding my question. Why did you laugh suddenly?”

He shook his head. “It was nothing…a silly thought. Okay, you asked for it. The truth is, I was thinking about us…how different we are.”

“Is that so bad?” she asked in her most alluring voice.

“I suppose not. Opposites attract, as they say.”

“Is that true for us, Andrew? The attraction part, I mean.”

He poked absently at his food. “You know the answer to that one, Juliana.”

“I thought I did,” she murmured, lowering her gaze. He couldn’t miss the disappointment in her voice.

They both slipped into an unsettling silence that made Andrew’s stomach churn. He had intended this to be a casual, uncomplicated evening, some good food and pleasant conversation between friends, nothing more; surely nothing heavy or awkward. And now they were both precariously close to dredging up unresolved emotions and unfulfilled expectations. Neither had ever admitted it, but he knew they both wanted more from this relationship.

And they both knew it was impossible.

Try as he might, Andrew couldn’t think of a thing to say to neutralize the tension-filled moment.

Thankfully, Juliana recovered quickly and flashed a brilliant smile. “Andrew, you haven’t told me how things are at your house.”

“My house?”

“Yes. With Brianna and your new houseguest. What’s her name?”

“Marnie. Marnie Smith…if that’s her real name.”

“Why would she mislead you?”

“Her family doesn’t know she’s pregnant.”

“I see.” Juliana took another slice of garlic bread. “The girl is working for you, isn’t she? Or did I hear wrong?”

“You heard right. She’s doing secretarial work for me at home. Letters, filing, research. A good worker and a genuinely nice girl. Pleasant. Kind. Caring. Plays a mean game of Monopoly. To tell you the truth, I’ll miss her when she goes.”

“And when is that?”

“After the baby comes. It’s due early in September. From what Bree tells me, Marnie will give the baby up for adoption and then return home, supposedly with no one the wiser.”

Juliana shook her head, her eyes clouding. “What a painful thing to do. She must be a very brave girl to carry a baby for nine months and then be willing to let it go.”

“She feels she has no choice. Meanwhile, both she and Brianna are caught up in the pregnancy. Bree is even taking Lamaze classes. She plans to be Marnie’s coach.”

“Oh, Andrew, I can’t imagine it. Childbirth is so different these days. Girls have such modern ideas.”

“Actually, I find it a little disconcerting. Brianna is so excited, you’d think she’s the one having the baby.”

“From what you’ve told me, she’s always been the little mother, bringing home lost and needy animals…and people.”

“That’s my daughter,” said Andrew. “Trying to mend the hurts of the whole world. But this is different.”

“How so?”

“I’m not sure.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I haven’t said this to anyone, but I’m worried about Brianna.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s just…well, she’s become so emotionally involved with Marnie and her baby. I’m afraid Bree is going to feel a real loss when they leave.”

“She’ll handle it, Andrew. Look how strong she’s been all these years since her mother died.”

“You’re right. So why do I have this nagging fear that one more significant loss might send her over the edge?”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“Not that she would be a basket case. But another loss could make her erect more fences. She’s thrown herself heart and soul into helping others, but she has no personal life. She rarely dates. How is she going to find a suitable husband if she keeps a lock on her heart?”

Juliana laughed lightly. “Oh, Andrew, you’re playing matchmaker again, just like you did with Cassie and Antonio. Haven’t you learned your lesson? It doesn’t work. We are fortunate that our children found each other in spite of our fussing and scheming. You must trust your daughter to do what’s right for her, and trust God to bring the right young man into her life at the proper time.”

“In other words, you’re saying I should be patient? I should just sit back and let whatever happens, happen?”

“Yes. You are a man of faith. Have faith in your daughter.”

“I’m trying.” Andrew lapsed into silence. What he didn’t want to tell Juliana was that his misgivings were growing every day. He couldn’t even say why. He just had an uneasy feeling about Marnie and her baby. He sensed there was trouble ahead, and that somehow his caring, unsuspecting Brianna was going to be in the thick of it.

Now, if he could just figure out a way to protect his darling daughter before it was too late.




Chapter Four


It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, and the golden August sun was flooding the Rowlands’ house with shimmering light and warmth. An old-time movie was playing on the big-screen TV and a half-eaten bag of microwave popcorn lay on the family room floor where Brianna and Marnie were ensconced, practicing Marnie’s breathing exercises. Ruggs crouched between them, panting, too, his furry chest heaving.

“Hooo-hooo-heee!” Marnie puffed, while Ruggs licked his chops, dangled his tongue, and bobbed his head, huffing like a trooper.

Marnie laughed. “Ruggs has this breathing thing down better than we do.”

Brianna rubbed the shaggy dog’s ears, laughing, too. “This old boy always was good at wheezing, but not much else.”

“And he doesn’t even have to go through labor,” Marnie exclaimed, sitting back in her loose dungarees and patting her ample middle. “Oh, man, these Braxton-Hicks contractions are getting bad. Can you believe? I’ve got just one month left to get this Lamaze thing right.”

“You’re doing fine,” Bree assured her as she reached for the popcorn.

And it was true. In the two months since Marnie had come to stay, she had blossomed in every way—physically, of course, as her pregnancy advanced, but also emotionally and spiritually. She wasn’t the same edgy, brooding girl who had first come to the counseling center seeking a place of refuge. Now she was a cheerful, welcome member of the Rowlands’ household, eagerly entering into family activities, helping Brianna’s father in his home office, attending church services, and whispering excitedly whenever Reverend Rowlands used some of her research in his sermons.

Marnie was still chuckling as Ruggs edged over beside her, panting heavily. He nudged her hand with his wet nose, seeking another ear massage. Marnie pulled the big hairy oaf into her arms and gave him a bear hug. “You silly old dog! I should make you my coach. Wouldn’t you give the doctors a run for their money in the delivery room!”

“No way,” said Bree, scooping up a handful of fluffy popcorn kernels. “I’m your one and only coach.”

“And don’t you forget it!” Marnie’s expression grew serious and her blue eyes glistened. “I don’t know how I could get through this without you, Bree.”

“You don’t have to. I’m with you all the way.” After a pause, Brianna added, “And you have the Lord, too, you know.”

Marnie ran her fingers through her long chestnut hair, her countenance darkening. “Do I?”

Bree nodded. “If you ask Him, He’ll be there for you. He loves you, Marnie.”

Marnie lowered her gaze, absently rubbing Ruggs’s floppy ears. “I’m not like you and your family, Bree, always doing the right thing.” Her voice was quiet, tentative. “Being religious comes naturally to all of you.”

Bree let out a whoop. “Is that how you see us? You haven’t been looking closely. We have our problems, our faults, our squabbles. We make mistakes. We don’t always see eye to eye.”

“But you have your faith. I see it in everything you do.”

“And you can have that, too, Marnie.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not good enough. Look at me, the way I’ve messed up my life. Pregnant, alone, running from my family. What would God want with a loser like me?”

Bree put the popcorn bag aside and scooted closer to Marnie. Gently she squeezed her shoulder. “If you’ve been listening to my dad’s sermons, you know God doesn’t accept us because of how good we are. None of us, no matter how hard we try, can ever measure up to God’s glory.”

“I know that, but…”

“Then you know the rest of the story, too. God loved us so much He sent His Son to die for us. Jesus paid for our sins with His own life so we could have fellowship with God. All we have to do is accept His gift. Invite Christ into our lives.”

“I want to,” Marnie conceded, “but it seems…too easy.”

“It is easy,” said Bree. “Anyone…everyone can do it, no matter how bad they’ve been in the past, no matter how many mistakes they’ve made. Christ can wash away their sins and make them clean, as if they’d never sinned. Sometimes, when I think about it, I get excited just imagining how much God must love us to do what He does for us. Think of it, Marnie. When we trust Him, God accepts us as His own precious children.”

Marnie’s fingers still kneaded the fur around Ruggs’s ears. “It sounds way cool, Bree. But my own parents would disown me for messing up. So how can I expect God not to condemn me?”

“Because God says He will remember our sins no more, and God doesn’t lie.” Bree smoothed Marnie’s long, dark hair.

In these two short months she had come to love Marnie like a sister. Somehow she had to make the road ahead easier for her. “Believe me, Marnie, placing your faith in God and walking with Him day by day is the most amazing experience you can have on this earth. Think of it. Feeling cherished and loved by the God of the universe. Nothing else even comes close to that.”

Marnie sat quietly for a long while, rocking, one hand on her rounded belly, the other smoothing Ruggs’s fur. Her lower lip trembled. Finally she looked up with bright, tearful eyes and said, “Help me, Bree. Help me pray and say the right words, so I can know God the way you do.”



On Monday afternoon, the last week of August, Marnie asked Bree if she could borrow her car for a couple of hours to take care of an important personal matter. Bree agreed, nearly dying of curiosity, but as she handed Marnie the keys she refrained from asking questions. If Marnie wanted her to know her business, she would tell her when the time was right.

The time was right that very evening. After dinner, while Brianna’s father retired to his study and Frannie escaped to the sunroom to work on her latest sculpture, Marnie and Bree cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. They worked in a companionable silence for a while. Then Marnie broke the stillness.

“Bree, I got a favor to ask.”

Bree kept working. “A favor? Sure, what is it?”

“It’s a big one.”

Bree stopped and looked at Marnie. She didn’t like the seriousness in her tone. Something was wrong. “How big a favor are we talking about?”

“The biggest,” said Marnie with a little catch in her voice. “I…I want you to keep my baby.”

Brianna stared dumbfounded at Marnie. Surely she hadn’t heard right—and yet from the poignant, sad-hopeful look on Marnie’s face, Bree knew she had. “Keep your baby?”

Marnie nodded, sudden tears rolling from her eyes. “Please, Bree, say you will! I’ll owe you forever.”

Bree wiped her hands and sat down at the table. “Why me?”

Marnie sat across from her and leaned forward with a fierce urgency. “Because you care about me…and I know you would love my baby.”

“I already do, but…” Bree shook her head, her thoughts reeling. “Look at me. I’m a single career woman with a full-time job, and not a husband in sight. And babies…I don’t know the first thing about them. You want your baby to have a real family, parents who would be devoted to her, a father and a mother.”

“That’s what I thought at first. But now I know your family is just what my baby needs. You all love each other so much. You don’t put each other down. Your house is great—the happiest place I’ve ever known.”

“I-I’m glad you’ve been happy here,” Bree stammered. “We all want to help out and be here for you. But that doesn’t mean this is the place for your baby.”

“But it is, Bree!” Marnie brushed awkwardly at a tear. She was about to become a mother, and she herself looked like a lost child, a forlorn little waif, her tousled dark hair framing her desolate face, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. “This is totally the place for my baby. I can’t take her home. I can’t let my family know about her. Don’t you get it? Once she’s born, I can’t ever see my baby again. But giving her away to strangers…I just can’t do it.”

“Then don’t, Marnie. Keep your baby. Take her home.”

“No way, Bree. If my folks got hold of her, they’d make her feel as bad about herself as I’ve always felt. But if you took her, I’d know she was happy. I could picture her here in your house, surrounded by love. You’d teach her about God’s love, too. Knowing she had you, I could let her go.”

Bree rubbed at a spot on the polished oak table. Somehow she had to make Marnie see how impossible her request was. But nothing she could say would dissuade Marnie while she was in such an agitated state. Maybe it was best to drop the subject for now. In a day or two Marnie would come to her senses.

“You don’t think I mean it, do you,” Marnie challenged.

“I think you’re feeling a little emotional right now, but when you’ve had time to think things through—”

“I won’t change my mind.” Marnie stood up. “I’ll prove how serious I am.” She strode out of the kitchen, and Bree heard her hurried steps on the stairs. A minute later she was back. She slapped several official-looking documents on the table.

Bree stared blankly at the forms, not really seeing them. “What are these?”

Marnie sat back down and said solemnly, “They’re legal papers. It’s official. I’m relinquishing my parental rights…and making you my baby’s temporary legal guardian. Later you can file a petition to adopt her.”

Bree stared incredulously at Marnie. “What have you done?”

Marnie smoothed out the papers. “I…I saw your father’s attorney, Martin Cohen. Now he’s my attorney, too.”

“But how?”

“I got his name from your dad. I figured he must be a good person. Someone who could help me. So I phoned him and told him what I wanted to do, and he drew up the papers. I met with him today to sign them.”

“But how did you know how to go about it?”

Marnie smiled wanly. “You forget. My brother is a lawyer. I’m not my brother’s sister for nothing. I learned a lot from him, just listening and paying attention. I want all my bases covered. I even had Mr. Cohen contact Sam, my baby’s father. Sam signed off his rights, too, so it’s all settled, Bree.”

“No, it isn’t!” Brianna exclaimed, pushing the papers back at Marnie. “You can’t do this!”

“I’ve already done it.” Marnie sat with her arms wrapped protectively around her enormous middle. She looked so forlorn and vulnerable, and yet absolutely determined. “The papers are legal, Bree. Sam and I already signed them. I’ve designated you to be my baby’s guardian. If you’ll accept her, she’s yours.”

Brianna shook her head, dazed. She felt like the fabled Alice at the Mad Hatter’s tea party. The moment struck her as illogical, preposterous. “I can’t take your baby, Marnie.”

Marnie scooped up the papers and held them to her breast. She looked crestfallen. “You don’t have to decide now. There’s still time. Just think about it.”

“I can’t promise anything…”

Marnie’s eyes were searing, desolate. “If you can’t keep her, at least help me find a loving family to adopt her.”

Bree nodded, her relief tinged with guilt. “Yes, of course, I’ll be glad to do that. Don’t worry, Marnie. We’ll find the right family for your baby.”

There didn’t seem to be much else to say after that. Marnie was clearly disappointed by Bree’s attitude, but what could Brianna do? What could she say? She was certainly in no position to raise someone else’s child.

They both went to bed early, Marnie complaining of mounting discomfort and exhaustion. Bree had a feeling the brooding girl just wanted to be alone to nurse her disappointment.

Sometime in the night Brianna heard a knock on her door. She sat bolt upright in bed and peered through the darkness as the door creaked open and Marnie peeked inside. “Bree, something’s wrong,” she said with alarm. “Something weird’s happening. I went to the bathroom and there was a gush of water. I…I think my baby’s coming.”

Bree threw back her covers and jumped out of bed. “Get dressed. I’ll wake my dad. He’ll drive us to the hospital.”

By the time Marnie was checked into her hospital room, it was nearly 5:00 a.m. Her contractions were coming five minutes apart.

“It’s too soon,” Marnie lamented as she paced the floor in her shapeless maternity gown, massaging her distended abdomen. “My baby’s not due for another month.”

The nurse, a lean, bony woman with short, gray hair, jotted something on Marnie’s chart. “Your baby’s eager to make his appearance, dear. But don’t worry. He has a good, strong heartbeat. Try to relax. You’re both going to do fine.”

Marnie kept pacing. “How long will it be?”

“Could be hours yet. But walking will help your labor progress. Dr. Packard will be in to check you shortly. And I’ll be back from time to time to monitor your contractions. Meanwhile, remember, no food, no water. Just ice chips.”

The next few hours crept by with an exhausting tedium. Bree finally sent her father home to catch a few winks of sleep. But she stayed by Marnie’s side, timing her contractions, massaging her shoulders and back, and walking the floor with her in a slow, strolling saunter—the awkward, agonizing dance of the laboring mother. When the contractions came, Bree held Marnie up, their arms entwined as they went through their paces. When the pains got too bad, she helped Marnie climb into the large hospital bed and reminded her to practice her breathing exercises. Hoo-hoo-hee! Hoo-hoo-hee!

At about 10:00 a.m., Dr. Packard announced that Marnie was dilated to nine centimeters and in transition. Two attendants helped her onto the gurney and wheeled her into the delivery room, while Brianna slipped a sterile gown over her clothes. With pounding heart, she entered the stark gray room with its pale moons of light.

“I’m so glad you’re with me,” Marnie whispered through clenched teeth as she gripped Bree’s hand. She was trembling, her hand cold as ice, her face and hair damp with perspiration. “Help me, okay? I’m not doing so well with the breathing.”

“I’m right here.” Brianna positioned herself by Marnie’s head. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to do this together.”

Marnie tensed. “Oh no, I’ve got to push!”

“It’s okay,” Dr. Packard assured her. “On the next contraction, give it all you’ve got.”

After pushing through several contractions, Marnie lay back, panting, exhausted, tears coursing down her cheeks. “I can’t do it. I just can’t!”

“Yes, you can,” said Dr. Packard. “Rest a minute, then we’ll try again.”

“I’m too tired.”

Brianna stroked Marnie’s forehead, gently smoothing back the damp tendrils of hair. “You’re doing great, Marnie. Almost there. Don’t give up.”

Dr. Packard moved in closer, working deftly, one hand pressing Marnie’s abdomen. “Okay, young lady, here we go. Push! That’s it. More. Come on. You can do it! Good, good, good! You’ve got it! The baby’s head is crowning. Okay, relax, take a deep cleansing breath, and then one more good push should do it.”

Marnie’s face turned red with pushing. She made a low, guttural sound and squeezed Bree’s hand until Bree winced with pain.

Suddenly a baby’s choking, gurgling, high-pitched squall filled the room. As a nurse suctioned the infant’s mouth and nose, Dr. Packard bent forward, his brown eyes crinkling above his surgical mask. “You’ve done the hard part, Marnie. We have the head. Now push that baby out.”

On the next contraction the baby’s shiny body slipped out effortlessly. The child raged in the doctor’s sturdy hands—the most beautiful music Brianna had ever heard—followed closely by Marnie’s laughter. “I did it, Bree. What a hoot! My baby! Look, my baby!”

“It’s a girl! She’s a little one, but she wants the whole world to know she’s here.” Dr. Packard placed the slick, squirming infant on Marnie’s chest and proceeded to cut the umbilical cord. Both Marnie and Bree stared transfixed at the bawling baby.

Marnie wept. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she, Bree?”

Suddenly Brianna was laughing and crying, too. “She’s a little angel. Absolutely perfect!”

The baby was more than perfect. She was like a miracle. Tiny, yet plump and pink, with round, red cheeks and silky blonde hair on the top of her adorable head. And, flailing her taut little arms and legs, she was bursting with marvelous energy and life.

“I’m calling her Charity,” said Marnie breathlessly. “Because I want her life to be filled with love.”

“It will be,” said Bree. “Who could help but love her?”

The baby began to gasp and sputter.

“Time to weigh her in, warm her up and get her in her Isolette,” said Dr. Packard.

A nurse swept the infant up in her arms and took her to a table across the room.

Marnie leaned up on her elbows, her face pale, her blue eyes blazing. “Where are you taking my baby? Is she okay?”

Dr. Packard placed a soothing hand on Marnie’s arm. “She’s small and may need some extra attention. As a precaution, we’ll put her in an Isolette and send her to the intensive care nursery, where the pediatrician can examine her.”

Moments later, as an attendant wheeled the portable crib out of the room, Marnie looked urgently at Brianna. “Go with her. I don’t want my baby being alone. Stay with her. Watch over her.”

Bree hesitated. “I can’t leave you yet, Marnie.”

“Yes, please, go! Make sure my baby’s okay.”

Dr. Packard nodded. “Go ahead. We shouldn’t be much longer.”

Brianna felt an odd reluctance to go—but Marnie had insisted, so what else was she to do? She leaned over, caressed Marnie’s face and kissed her cheek. She drew back, startled. Marnie’s skin felt strangely clammy, her forehead feverish. Her face was pallid, her eyes glazed. “Are you okay, Marnie?”

“Never better,” Marnie mumbled thickly, her eyelids heavy.

“I love you,” Bree whispered. Gently she squeezed Marnie’s hand, then crossed the room to the door.

“Tell Charity…her mommy loves her,” Marnie murmured with a weary smile. Her voice was faint, her breathing labored. “Tell her…”

Dr. Packard broke in. “Marnie, I need another push. I’m delivering the placenta. That’s a girl. We’re almost done.”

Brianna lingered by the door, watching, as Marnie laid her head back and closed her eyes. She was trembling so fiercely that her teeth chattered. “I don’t feel well,” she whispered. “My chest hurts. And I’m so cold.”

“Her pulse is rapid,” warned the nurse.

Dr. Packard’s voice erupted in a strangled bark. “Confound it! She’s hemorrhaging!” He sprang into action, kneading Marnie’s abdomen as another nurse joined them. “Massage the uterus! Come on! Vigorously! Don’t stop!”

“It’s not helping, Doctor.”

“Try bimanual compression!” Dr. Packard muttered something under his breath about the placenta separating prematurely. His voice was urgent, shrill. “She’ll need a transfusion!”

“Doctor, she’s going into shock.”

“Get a cardiologist in here! We need help!”

“Doctor, what’s wrong?” Brianna broke away from the door and crossed the room to Marnie. “Is she okay?”

Dr. Packard looked at Brianna as if he had forgotten she was there. His face ignited with vexation. “Get her out of here! Now!”

Before Brianna could protest, an attendant—a tall young man in green scrubs—swiftly ushered her out the door and pointed the way to the critical care nursery.

Bree held her ground, her gaze riveted on the closed double doors of the delivery room. “What about Marnie? Will she be all right?”

“They’re doing all they can.” The attendant looked as shaken as she. “Go look after the baby,” he said miserably, as if he already knew the news would be bad. “That’s what she wanted, isn’t it?”

Brianna nodded, her thoughts reeling. “I’ve got to call my father. He needs to be here.” They were all going to need him…his presence, his comfort, his prayers.

The baby was in trouble. Marnie was in trouble. And Brianna couldn’t imagine losing either one of them.




Chapter Five


“I’m sorry, Miss Rowlands. We did everything we could.” Dr. Packard’s small dark eyes glistened starkly in his lean, blanched face as one corner of his mouth twitched. He was still wearing his surgical greens, but he seemed slighter—his frame more diminutive, his manner less commanding—than Brianna had perceived him during surgery an hour ago. It struck her suddenly that he was as shocked and unnerved as she.

“Marnie’s…dead?” Bree repeated numbly, as if she might somehow prompt a different response. It couldn’t be! Baby Charity was hardly more than an hour old, and already she had lost her mommy. Bree swayed, the air sucked from her lungs, the fluorescent lights glaring against her rising tears. How could her dear Marnie, the girl she had nurtured and laughed with and loved as a sister, be gone so swiftly, so senselessly?

“We’ll need to contact her next-of-kin,” Dr. Packard was saying. “I understand she was living in your home. Perhaps the call would be less painful coming from you or Reverend Rowlands. Would he consider making a personal call on the family?”

Brianna nodded stiffly. “Yes. I just phoned my father. He’s on his way over.”

But how could she tell the doctor that she had no idea how to contact Marnie’s relatives? Marnie had refused to confide any pertinent information about her family’s whereabouts. Bree wasn’t even sure Smith was Marnie’s real last name.

Bree should have made it a point to learn more. She would have to go home now and search Marnie’s room for clues to her family background—a driver’s license or an address book, perhaps. Surely there would be a clue among Marnie’s things.

Within the hour Brianna’s father arrived, talked briefly with the doctor, then drove Bree home. Neither of them spoke until her father pulled into the driveway. He stopped the car, swiveled in his seat and gave her his most benevolent smile.

“Honey, I’ll go with you to break the news to Marnie’s parents. I don’t want you facing them alone.”

Fresh tears flooded her eyes. “Thanks, Daddy, but first we’ve got to find them.”

Once inside the house, Bree went directly to Marnie’s room and began her search, riffling through her closet and drawers. A wave of nausea attacked as she touched Marnie’s familiar garments, her toiletries and cosmetics, her personal possessions. There wasn’t much to go on. Marnie had arrived with virtually nothing and had accumulated few belongings during her two-month stay. A Bible, a few books and favorite CDs. And, of course, the dog-eared photograph of her handsome brother, Eric, smiling that special smile of his. Brianna winced. Wherever Eric was, he had no idea he had just lost his sister.

As Bree blinked back a fresh stream of tears, she noticed Marnie’s backpack lying beside the bureau. Marnie had forgotten it in their haste to get to the hospital last night. Tentatively Brianna picked it up and opened it—the simple brown canvas bag that still had the feel of Marnie about it. Amid the tissues and toiletries, Bree found a wallet and opened it with awkward fingers, fighting a twinge of guilt. She had worked so hard to build Marnie’s trust, and now she was trespassing, invading Marnie’s private world. What if Marnie walked in and caught her? She would feel wounded, betrayed. But no, Marnie couldn’t walk in. Marnie was…gone.

That was the grim reality that would take ages to accept.

Seizing Marnie’s driver’s license, Brianna anxiously scanned the name and address. Just as she had suspected, Marnie’s last name wasn’t Smith. The license read Marnie Wingate and listed a Solana Beach address. Bree flipped through the wallet, looking for additional clues. There were several creased photographs…smiling strangers…people who must have known and loved Marnie…friends…relatives. A distinguished older couple, surely Marnie’s parents. Also, several more photos of her brother (even better looking than in the faded snapshot). And one exceptional color portrait of Marnie and Eric when they were children: he stood as tall as a little soldier, the proud older brother with his arm protectively around his baby sister.

If only he could have protected her this time!

And there was a business card. It read: Eric Wingate, Attorney-at-Law, and also listed a Solana Beach address. She turned the card over in her hand, then gazed again at Eric’s photographs spread over the bureau. So this is the man with whom I’ve felt such a strong emotional connection these past few weeks—the man I’ve fallen in love with in my fantasies!

I’ve got to see Eric first, Bree decided. I’ll break the news to him, and then together we’ll tell his parents.

Brianna quickly showered, applied a touch of makeup and changed into a sedate pantsuit, a pale charcoal gray, as bleak as the news she was delivering. She ran a brush through her long straight hair, then twisted it into an austere chignon. She was the bearer of bad news and might as well look the part.

On her way out the door, her father stopped her and enquired where she was going at a time like this. She told him, and shook her head when he again offered to drive her. “No, Daddy, I’ve got to do this myself. Marnie was my friend. Her family deserves to hear the news from me, not from some anonymous voice from the hospital, and not even from you.”

“I’m not saying you can’t go and break the news yourself,” he protested. “Just let me drive you, honey.”

“No, Daddy. I’ve got to keep busy and keep my mind off Marnie. I’ll feel better driving myself.”

She wasn’t even sure that was the truth; she just knew she had to carry out this mission alone. Having her father drive her would make her feel like a little girl again, too soft and helpless. She was going to need all the grit and courage she could summon to face Marnie’s family.

It took her less than a half-hour to drive to the oceanfront business plaza where Eric Wingate had his office. It was a modern three-story complex of stucco and brick, with a red tile roof and expansive floor-to-ceiling tinted windows. Flanking the parking area was a manicured lawn studded with graceful palm trees and colorful flower boxes. An appealing place to work.

Brianna entered the lobby and found the appropriate office at the end of the hall on the second floor. The sign on the door read, CRAWFORD, WINGATE AND ASSOCIATES. So Eric was already a partner in the company—a successful man by anyone’s standards.

She entered gingerly, her breath catching, heart pounding. What would this man be like that she had met only in her dreams and forged solely in her imagination? How could she break this terrible news to him? What could she say to ease his grief?

“May I help you?” asked the receptionist, a sophisticated woman in her late twenties. Bree’s face warmed with embarrassment as she realized she had been standing there for several moments lost in thought. “I’d like to see Mr. Wingate.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I need to speak to him. It’s very important.”

The receptionist looked at her appointment book. “I can schedule you for tomorrow at nine-thirty.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Bree rushed on miserably. “I’ve got to see him now. It’s a…a personal matter.”

The receptionist was obviously well-trained in screening clients and fending off peddlers and solicitors. “What did you say your name was?”

“Brianna Rowlands. But he doesn’t know me. Please, I have some important information for him.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Rowlands, but whatever you’re selling—”

“I’m not selling anything!” Bree exclaimed, too loudly.

An office door opened suddenly, and a tall young man in a three-piece suit stepped out and flashed a quizzical glance.

Eric Wingate! She would know him anywhere! The same riveting eyes and sculpted features that she had memorized from Marnie’s photographs.

“Is there a problem, Natalie?”

“No, Mr. Wingate. This lady wants to see you, but she doesn’t have an appointment.”

As Eric Wingate turned his gaze on Brianna, she felt her knees weaken. She reached out for the corner of the desk. Eric Wingate was far more than his photographs. Easily the handsomest, most imposing man she had ever seen. With the tanned, ruddy glow of a California surfer, he looked as if he had stepped from the pages of a sports magazine. Yet intelligence and sensitivity were etched in his strong masculine features…a solid jaw, patrician nose, and dark brows crouching over intense mahogany-brown eyes. His thick dark hair was stylishly cut, but looked tousled, as if he had a habit of raking his fingers through it while perusing a contract or brief.

“You want to see me?” he enquired in a deep, resonant voice.

“Yes, Mr. Wingate, I do. I…I’m Brianna Rowlands.” Still clutching the edge of the desk, she felt light-headed, woozy. The room was warm and the events of the day were catching up with her. When had she last eaten? She couldn’t recall. Was it really just this morning that she had lost her cherished friend?

Brianna’s knees buckled.

In that instant Eric Wingate sprang forward and caught her in his arms. “Hold my next appointment, Natalie.” Masterfully he swept her up, holding her against his solid chest, and carried her into his office. He eased her gently into a plush leather chair and brought her a cup of cold water from the water cooler. She drank haltingly, on the verge of tears and fighting waves of shame and dread. She wasn’t handling this situation well at all. Instead of approaching Eric Wingate from a position of dignity and poise, she had collapsed at his feet in a pitiful bundle of nerves. She had never felt more vulnerable or exposed.

Eric presented her with his monogrammed handkerchief, then sat down at his immense mahogany desk. He didn’t take his eyes off her. “How can I help you, Miss Rowlands?” he asked with genuine concern.

“You can’t help me,” she said, blotting her eyes with the linen handkerchief. “This isn’t…it’s not about me.”

He sat forward and tented his sturdy fingers, his gaze more piercing than ever. “Why don’t you tell me what this is about.”

“It’s Marnie,” she managed to say at last.

His eyebrows shot up. “Marnie?”

“Your sister.”

He frowned. “My sister is in Europe studying.”

Bree swallowed a sob. “No…I’m afraid she’s not.”

“Of course, she is. I got a postcard from her last week.”

“She wanted you to think she was in Europe, but she’s been right here in California all summer.”

Eric’s dark eyes narrowed. “That’s impossible. You must have my sister confused with someone else.”

“No, Mr. Wingate. There’s no mistake. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Why? What’s going on here?”

She blotted her eyes again. “I’m handling this badly. I…I have some bad news for you. I wanted to tell you myself. I didn’t want it coming from strangers, although I realize I…I’m a stranger, too….” She let her voice drift off.

It dawned on her that she was memorizing his face, the glint of bafflement in his eyes, the curve of his lips, the rugged cut of his chin. In a moment everything would change and he would never be the same again. She held that power in her hands—to turn his life upside down with her words. Dear God, help me! I don’t want to do this. Don’t make me say the words that could destroy this man!

His brows lowered, shadowing his eyes. “What on earth are you talking about, Miss Rowlands? Bad news? What news?”

“Your sister…Marnie…she died this morning.” There, the words were out! In little more than a whisper.

Eric’s face blanched, and he sat back as if he’d been struck. A tendon throbbed along his jaw. After a moment he rallied and leaned across his desk, eyeing her with a steely intensity that made her flinch. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “I didn’t want to do this. But you need to know what happened. And how sorry I am.”

Eric stood up and crossed the room to the window. He forked his fingers through his thick hair. “Why should I believe you? What do you have to do with my sister?”

Slowly, brokenly, Brianna poured out the entire story, the words jumbled, awkward on her lips, mingled with tears.

After she had finished, Eric stared at her for what seemed forever, his gaze searing her to the bone. “You’re telling me my sister was pregnant and had a baby?” he said through clenched teeth. “You’re saying she died in childbirth? This morning?”

Brianna nodded, fresh tears flowing.

Eric slammed his fist on the desk, startling her from her chair and sending a dozen papers fluttering in the air. “I’ve never heard anything so outrageous! If you think you can just walk in here and start spouting outrageous lies about my sister…I don’t believe you for a moment!”

With trembling fingers Bree handed him a slip of paper. “Here’s the hospital’s phone number. Ask for Dr. Packard in Obstetrics.”

Eric snatched the paper and dialed the number, his lips tight, his jaw clenched, his dubious eyes challenging the veracity of her words. After a minute, he swung his chair around to the window, his back to Brianna, and spoke quietly into the receiver. Gradually his voice grew louder and more animated, broken finally by a deep, guttural sob, and then long moments of silence as he struggled to compose himself.

Bree looked away, feeling like an intruder, even though she couldn’t see his face, could detect his despair only in his drooping shoulders and bowed head. Finally he wheeled back around to his desk and dropped the receiver into its cradle. As if he had forgotten she was there, he put his head in his hands and sobbed convulsively, his shoulders heaving, the sounds erupting raw and ragged and deep.

Bree watched with growing misgivings. She wanted to get up and run out the door; she also wanted to rush to this grieving man, wrap her arms around him and comfort him. She did neither. She waited with growing mortification until Eric Wingate choked back his sobs and struggled to compose himself. She considered offering him the handkerchief he had given her, then dismissed the idea and sighed with relief when he produced a box of tissues from his desk drawer.





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