Gail Martin - Upon a Midnight Clear

Protectively, Callie’s hand clutched her robe. “Me? Why?”

He shook his head. “You’ll never know how much you mean to me, Callie. All you’ve done for us here. You’re like a breath of spring after a long winter.” A wry grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Pretty poetic for the middle of the night, huh?”

She couldn’t speak. She struggled to keep her eyes from widening any more than they already had. “But that’s why you hired me. To help your daughter.”

“But you’ve done more than that.” He reached across the table and laid his hand on hers. “You’ve helped me, too. I feel alive again, like a man released from prison, his life restored.”

Callie looked at his hand pressing against the back of hers. Though her initial thought was to recoil, she enjoyed the warm pressure against her skin. She wanted to touch his unshaven cheeks with her palms. Everything in her cried out to tell him her own secret, but she pushed the urge deep inside her, praying this time the pangs would stay there.

lives in Lathrup Village, Michigan, with her husband, Bob, a great supporter and proofreader. Raised in a Christian family, she wrote poetry and Nancy Drew type mysteries as a child, but only pursued publication after retiring from her career as a high school English teacher and later a professional licensed counselor. Those experiences help Gail portray real emotion in her stories. Her first novel was published in 1998.

Besides writing novels, Gail is a freelance writer with many worship resource books in publication. She is presently an adjunct instructor of English at Detroit College of Business and is involved in various church programs. When she has time, Gail sings with her church choir and is a member of Detroit Lutheran Singers in metropolitan Detroit, and she and Bob love to travel. “God has blessed my life fully,” she says.

Gail loves to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 760063, Lathrup Village, MI, 48076-0063.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. And you will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart.

—Jeremiah 29:12-13

Dedicated to my sister, Jan, who knows the sorrow of losing a child.

And in loving memory of her infant daughters, Lisa Marie and Beth Ann, who live with Jesus.

Thanks to my husband, Bob, for his devotion, support and hours of proofreading. To Flo Stano for her nursing expertise, and to the Bedford Chamber of Commerce for their invaluable information.

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

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

Letter to Reader Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

Callie Randolph scanned the employment ads of the Indianapolis News. Her eyes lit upon a Help Wanted entry: Special child, aged five, needs professional caregiver. Live-in. Good wage. Contact David Hamilton. 812 area code. Southern Indiana, she assumed. “Live-in,” she wanted. But a child?

She raised her head from the ad and caught her mother, eyeing her.

“You’ve been quiet since you got home,” Grace Randolph said, resting back in the kitchen chair. “Tell me about the funeral.”

“It was nice, as funerals go. But sad, so close to the holidays.” Ethel’s death, coming as it did on the footsteps of Christmas, jolted Callie with the memories of a birth six Christmases earlier. Pushing away the invading thoughts, Callie shifted in her chair and focused on her mother. “More people than I would expect at the funeral for someone in her nineties, but I suppose most of the mourners were friends and business acquaintances of Ethel’s children. The family has a name in the community.”

“Ah yes, when we’re old, people forget.”

“No, it’s not that they forget. When we’re that old, many of our own friends and acquaintances have already died. Makes coming to a funeral difficult.” Callie hoped to lighten Grace’s negative mood. “It’ll feel strange not taking care of Ethel. She had the faith of a saint and a smile right to the end. Always had a kind word.” She raised her eyes, hoping her mother had heard her last statement.

Grace stared across the room as if lost in thought, and Callie’s mind drifted to the funeral and the preacher’s comforting words. “Ethel lived a full and glorious life, loving her Lord and her family.” Callie pictured the wrinkled, loving face of her dying patient. Ethel’s earthly years had definitely been full and glorious.

In contrast, Callie’s nearly twenty-six years had been empty and dull. Her dreams had died that horrible March day that she tried to block from her memory. Her life seemed buried in its own tomb of guilt and sorrow.

“So, about the funeral—?”

Callie slammed the door on her thoughts and focused on her mother.

“Tell me about the music? Any hymns?” Grace asked.

Callie eyed her, sensing an ulterior motive in her question. “Real nice, Mom. Organ music and hymns.”

“Which hymns?”

Callie pulled her shoulders back, feeling the muscles tightening along the cords of her neck. “‘Amazing Grace,’ ‘Softly and Tenderly.”’

“I can hear you singing that one. So beautiful.”

Callie fought the desire to bolt from the room. She sensed an argument heading her way. Instead, she aimed her eyes at the newspaper clutched in her hands.

Grace leaned on an elbow. “So what will you do now?”

“Find a new job, I suppose.” She hesitated, wondering what comment she’d receive about her newest resolve. “But I’ve made a decision.” Callie met her mother’s eyes. “I’m not going to give elderly care anymore. I’ll find something else.”

“Praise the Lord, you’ve come to your senses. Callie, you have a nursing degree, but you continue to waste your time with the deathwatch. You need to live and use the talent God gave you.”

Deep creases furrowed Callie’s forehead. “Please don’t call it the deathwatch. Caring for older people has been a blessing. And I do use my talents.” She shook her head, amazed at her mother’s attitude. “Do you think it’s easy to nurse someone who’s dying? I use as many skills as I would in a regular hospital.”

Grace fell back against the chair. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to belittle your work, but it’s not a life for a young woman. Look at you. You’re beautiful and intelligent, yet you spend your life sitting in silent rooms, listening to old people muttering away about nothing but useless memories. What about a husband…and children? Don’t you want a life for yourself?”

She flinched at her mother’s words. “Please, don’t get on that topic, Mom. You know how I feel about that.”

“I wish I knew when you got these odd ideas. They helped put your father in his grave. He had such hopes for you.”

Callie stiffened as icy tendrils slithered through her. How many times was she reminded of how she had helped kill her father? After his death three years earlier, the doctor had said her dad had been a walking time bomb from fatty foods, cigarettes and a type-A personality. Though guilt poked at her, she knew she hadn’t caused his death. Yet, she let her mother rile her.

Grace scowled with a piercing squint. “I think it began when you stopped singing,” she said, releasing a lengthy, audible sigh. “Such a beautiful voice. Like a meadowlark.”

“Stop. Stop, Mother.” Callie slammed her hand on the tabletop. “Please, don’t call me that.”

Grace looked taken aback. “Well, I’m sorry. What’s gotten into you?” She gaped at Callie. “You’re as white as a sheet. I only called you a—”

“Please, don’t say it again, Mother.” Callie pressed her forehead into her hand.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you.” Grace sat for a moment before she began her litany. “I don’t know, Callie. I could cry when I think of it. Everyone said you sang like an angel.”

Callie stared at the newspaper, the black letters blurring. Her mother wouldn’t stop until she’d made her point. Callie ached inside when she thought about the music she’d always loved. She struggled to keep her voice calm and controlled. “I lost my interest in music, that’s all.” Her fingernails dug into the flesh of her fisted hand.

“Your father had such hopes for you. He dreamed you’d pass your audition with the Jim McKee Singers. But his hopes were buried along with him in his grave.”

Callie modulated her pitch, and her words came out in a monotone. “I didn’t pass the audition. I told you.”

“I can’t believe that, Callie. You’ve said it, but everyone knew you could pass the audition. Either you didn’t try or…I don’t know. Being part of Paul Ivory’s ministry would be any girl’s dream. And the Jim McKee Singers traveled with him in the summer all over the country, so it wouldn’t have interfered with your college studies. And then you just quit singing. I can’t understand you.”

“Mother, let’s not argue about something that happened years ago.”

“But it’s not just that, Callie. I hate to bring it up, but since the baby, you’ve never been the same.”

Unexpected tears welled in Callie’s eyes, tears she usually fought. But today they sneaked in behind the emotions elicited by Ethel’s death, and the memory of the baby’s Christmas birth dragged them out of hiding.

Callie had never seen the daughter she bore six years earlier. The hospital had their unbending policy, and her parents had given her the same ultimatum. A girl placing a child for adoption should not see her baby.

She begged and pleaded with her parents to allow her to keep her daughter. But they would have no part of it. She struggled in her thoughts—longing to finish an argument that held weight. In the end, her parents were correct. A child needed a secure and loving home. Adoption was best for her baby daughter. But not for Callie. Against her wishes, Callie signed the papers releasing her baby for adoption.