Family
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What readers are saying about KAREN KINGSBURY’S books
“Don’t miss this book! This whole series is so good! She has a great way of capturing your interest to the point you think the characters are real and an actual part of your life. Amazing author and amazing book!”
Sherri
“I just finished Family today. I loved it—it was amazing! I could not put the book down! These series of books have encouraged me so much that God has a plan for our lives and He truly cares for us.”
Tiffany
“If you are looking for a good Christian book about family, you will truly love this series. I cannot say enough good things about Karen Kingsbury.”
Ronda
“Once again Karen Kingsbury writes beautifully, drawing in the reader, making us feel like we know the characters. She writes from the soul and she ministers to mine. I truly feel closer to my faith when I am involved with her books.”
Dawn
“Thank you, Karen, for writing so well and delivering a God-given and God-centered story with ‘real’ people who make mistakes.”
Tony
“This book is awesome! Like the other books in Karen Kingsbury’s series about the Baxter family and friends, this book refreshes your soul and leaves you feeling like you can’t wait for the next one!”
Sharon
“I just can’t get enough of the Baxters. I feel like they are part of my family. Karen Kingsbury does a wonderful job of showing life’s ups and downs and how God is with us through it all.”
Melissa
“Karen Kingsbury’s books are filled with the unshakable, remarkable, miraculous fact that God’s grace is greater than our suffering. There are no words for Ms. Kingsbury’s writing.”
Wendie
“Karen Kingsbury truly has a gift for writing and blessing others. She is by far my favorite writer, and my mother and I are going to read all her books.”
Debbie
“Another awesome book by Karen! I’m hooked on the Baxter family!”
Joy
“Thank you for your beautifully written books. They make me laugh, they make me cry, and they fill my heart with a love that can only be God once again touching my heart and soul.”
Natalie
“The words God gives you in your stories have such power to reach my emotions. No other author has been able to do that!”
Diane
Visit Tyndale online at www.tyndale.com.
Visit Karen Kingsbury’s Web site and learn more about her Life-Changing Fiction at www.KarenKingsbury.com.
TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
BAXTER FAMILY DRAMA is a trademark of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Family
Copyright © 2006 by Karen Kingsbury. All rights reserved.
Logo illustration copyright © 2003 by David Henderson. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of woman copyright © by Clayton Bastiani/Trevillion. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of shoreline copyright © by Eddie Granlund/Naturbild/Corbis. All rights reserved.
Author photograph copyright © 2008 by Dan Davis Photography at dandavisphotography.com. All rights reserved.
Designed by Jennifer Ghionzoli
Edited by Lorie Popp
Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version,® NIV.® Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com.
Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kingsbury, Karen.
Family / Karen Kingsbury.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-8423-8746-0 (pbk.)
1. Domestic fiction. I. Title.
PS3561.I4873F37 2006
813′.54—dc22 2006021998
Repackage first published in 2011 under ISBN 978-1-4143-4979-4.
Build: 2013-04-04 08:48:32
Contents
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A Word from Karen Kingsbury
To Donald, my Prince Charming
In this season of life, with you working as full-time teacher here at home for our boys, I am maybe more proud of you than ever. I am amazed at the way you blend love and laughter, tenderness and tough standards to bring out the best in our boys. A second season of homeschooling? Wow! Don’t for a minute think that your role in all this is somehow smaller. You have the greatest responsibility of all. Not only with our children but in praying for me as I write and speak and go about this crazy, fun job God has given me. I couldn’t do it without you. Thanks for loving me, for being my best friend, and for finding “date moments” amidst even the most maniacal or mundane times. My favorite times are with you by my side. I love you always, forever.
To Kelsey, my precious daughter
You are just newly seventeen, and somehow that sounds more serious than the other ages. As if we jumped four years over the past twelve months. Seventeen brings with it the screeching of brakes on a childhood that has gone along full speed until now. Seventeen? Seventeen years since I held you in the nursery, feeling a love I’d never felt before. Seventeen sounds like bunches of lasts all lined up ready to take the stage and college counselors making plans to take my little girl from home into a brand-new big world. Seventeen tells me it won’t be much longer. Sometimes I find myself barely able to exhale. The ride is so fast at this point I can only try not to blink, so I won’t miss a minute of it. Like the most beautiful springtime flower, I see you growing and unfolding, becoming interested in current events and formulating godly viewpoints that are yours alone. The same is true in dance, where you are simply breathtaking onstage. I believe in you, honey. Keep your eyes on Jesus and the path will be easy to follow. Don’t ever stop dancing. I love you.
To Tyler, my beautiful song
Can it be that you are fourteen and helping me bring down the dishes from the top shelf? Just yesterday people would call and confuse you with Kelsey. Now they confuse you with your dad—in more ways than one. You are on the bridge, dear son, making the transition between Neverland and Tomorrowland and becoming a strong, godly young man in the process. Keep giving Jesus your very best, and always remember that you’re in a battle. In today’s world, Ty, you need His armor every day, every minute. Don’t forget . . . when you’re up there onstage, no matter how bright the lights, I’ll be watching from the front row, cheering you on. I love you.
To Sean, my wonder boy
Your sweet nature continues to be a bright light in our home. It seems a lifetime ago that we first brought you—our precious son—home from Haiti. It’s been my great joy to watch you grow and develop this past year, learning more about reading and writing and, of course, animals. You’re a walking encyclopedia of animal facts, and that, too, brings a smile to my face. Recently a cold passed through the family, and you handled it better than any of us. Smiling through your fever, eyes shining even when you felt your worst. Sometimes I try to imagine if everyone everywhere had your outlook— what a sunny place the world would be. Your hugs are something I look forward to, Sean. Keep close to Jesus. I love you.
To Josh, my tender tough guy
You continue to excel at everything you do, but my favorite time is late at night when I poke my head into your room and see that—once again—your nose is buried in your Bible. You really get it, Josh. I loved hearing you talk about baptism the other day, how you feel ready to make that decision, that commitment to Jesus. At almost twelve, I can only say that every choice you make for Christ will take you closer to the plans He has for your life. That by being strong in the Lord, first and foremost, you’ll be strong at everything else. Keep winning for Him, dear son. You make me so proud. I love you.
To EJ, my chosen one
You amaze me, Emmanuel Jean! The other day you told me that you pray often, and I asked you what about. “I thank God a lot,” you told me. “I thank Him for my health and my life and my home.” Your normally dancing eyes grew serious. “And for letting me be adopted into the right family.” I still feel the sting of tears when I imagine you praying that way. I’m glad God let you be adopted into the right family too. One of my secret pleasures is watching you and Daddy becoming so close. I’ll glance over at the family room during a play-off basketball game on TV, and there you’ll be, snuggled up close to him, his arm around your shoulders. As long as Daddy’s your hero, you have nothing to worry about. You couldn’t have a better role model. I know that Jesus is leading the way and that you are excited to learn the plans He has for you. But for you, this year will always stand out as a turning point. Congratulations, honey! I love you.
To Austin, my miracle child
Can my little boy be nine years old? Even when you’re twenty-nine you’ll be my youngest, my baby. I guess that’s how it is with the last child, but there’s no denying what my eyes tell me. You’re not little anymore. Even so, I love that—once in a while—you wake up and scurry down the hall to our room so you can sleep in the middle. Sound asleep I still see the blond-haired infant who lay in intensive care, barely breathing, awaiting emergency heart surgery. I’m grateful for your health, precious son, grateful God gave you back to us at the end of that long-ago day. Your heart remains the most amazing part of you, not only physically, miraculously, but because you have such kindness and compassion for people. One minute tough boy hunting frogs and snakes out back, pretending you’re an Army Ranger, then getting teary-eyed when Horton the Elephant nearly loses his dust speck full of little Who people.Be safe, baby boy. I love you.
And to God Almighty, the Author of life,
who has—for now—blessed me with these.
Acknowledgments
This book couldn’t have come together without the help of many people. First, a special thanks to my friends at Tyndale, who have believed in this series and worked with me to get this fourth book to my readers sooner than any of us dreamed possible. Thank you!
Also thanks to my amazing agent, Rick Christian, president of Alive Communications. I am amazed more as every day passes at your sincere integrity, your brilliant talent, and your commitment to the Lord and to getting my Life-Changing Fiction out to readers all over the world. You are a strong man of God, Rick. You care for my career as if you were personally responsible for the souls God touches through these books. Thank you for looking out for my personal time—the hours I have with my husband and kids most of all. I couldn’t do this without you.
As always, this book wouldn’t be possible without the help of my husband and kids, who will eat just about anything when I’m on deadline and who understand and love me anyway. I thank God that I’m still able to spend more time with you than with my pretend people—as Austin calls them. Thanks for understanding the sometimes-crazy life I lead and for always being my greatest support.
Thanks to my mother and assistant, Anne Kingsbury, for her great sensitivity and love for my readers. You are a reflection of my own heart, Mom, or maybe I’m a reflection of yours. Either way we are a great team, and I appreciate you more than you know. I’m grateful also for my dad, Ted Kingsbury, who is and always has been my greatest encourager. I remember when I was a little girl, Dad, and you would say, “One day, honey, everyone will read your books and know what a wonderful writer you are.” Thank you for believing in me long before anyone else ever did. Thanks also to my sisters Tricia and Susan and Lynne, who help out with my business when the workload is too large to see around. I appreciate you!
And to Olga Kalachik, whose hard work helping me prepare for events allows me to operate a significant part of my business from my home. The personal touch you bring to my ministry is precious to me, priceless to me. . . . Thank you with all my heart.
And thanks to my friends and family who continue to surround me with love and prayer and support. I could list you by name, but you know who you are. Thank you for believing in me and for seeing who I really am. A true friend stands by through the changing seasons of life and cheers you on not for your successes but for staying true to what matters most. You are the ones who know me that way, and I’m grateful for every one of you.
Of course, the greatest thanks goes to God Almighty, the most wonderful Author of all—the Author of life. The gift is Yours. I pray I might have the incredible opportunity and responsibility to use it for You all the days of my life.
Katy Hart couldn’t find her way to daylight, couldn’t draw herself from the strange deep sleep that held her in its grip.
She was holding Dayne Matthews’ hand, lost in the feel of his skin against hers. But something wasn’t right. Dayne felt more like a stranger than a friend, and even though the sun had set, the sand beneath them felt hot. Too hot. Dayne was looking at her, losing himself in her eyes, making her forget how strange it was to be sitting on a private beach in Los Angeles next to one of Hollywood’s biggest heartthrobs, and he was saying, “I never planned on being a star.”
The air grew colder, and snowflakes mixed in the wind. Snowflakes big enough to hold in her hands, with designs and intricacies that took her breath away. Dayne was saying it was time; they should get going, get her back to the hotel.
When they stood, the snow disappeared and sand stretched out as far as they could see. Sand and a large clump of dense bushes, and suddenly there was a click. And another. Four more. Dozens at the same time. Cameras. Everywhere she looked, there were cameras and lots of people. Thousands of people, all of them whispering, This is the price for fame . . . the price for fame . . . the price for fame. . . . And Dayne was leading her toward the bushes, closer . . . closer.
In a rush of motion a yellow-haired woman jumped from the clump of green and grabbed Katy from behind, holding her by the arms.
Katy screamed, loud and shrill, but before Dayne could do anything to help, the woman whipped out a knife. No, not a knife, a sword. A long, curved sword.
“Don’t move or I’ll kill you,” the woman hissed at Katy. She pressed the blade hard against Katy’s throat. Harder and harder still, until Katy couldn’t swallow or yell for help or utter even the slightest whisper.
Dayne . . . she wanted to shout at him, but she couldn’t. Dayne, help me! Katy’s body trembled and stiffened.
And he was coming closer, closer. He didn’t speak, but his expression said he wanted to help Katy, was desperate to help her.
If only Katy could catch her breath. But the blade pressed even tighter against her throat, tight enough that her windp
ipe was closing off. Stay back, Dayne! She’s going to kill me. . . . I can feel the knife on my throat. The words built in her mind, her heart, but she couldn’t speak them, couldn’t squeeze them past the pressure of the shiny blade.
“Hussy!” the hissing voice spat at Katy’s cheek. “You’ll feel the knife more than that in a few minutes.”
Dayne was whispering something, and suddenly a yellow Honda Civic came tearing down the sand straight for them, its engine revving louder, louder as it came.
Behind her, Katy could feel the woman’s anger turn to rage, sense her shaking with hatred.
Dayne reached out his hand, but something sliced down the length of her arm and blood began to drip down her fingers. Dear God, where are You? Help me, please! Dayne . . . she’s going to kill me! Her screams echoed in her soul and clambered for a way out, but there was none.
The people with cameras grew in number, clicking, clicking, clicking. Every lens focused directly on Katy. There were so many now that Katy couldn’t see past them or around them. They formed a tight circle, and inside the circle the drama continued to escalate.
That’s when it happened. The waves grew still. Utterly still. Katy felt the insane woman lower the knife a few inches. Dayne was running toward them in slow motion, but it was as fast as he could go, and Katy knew—she knew with every heartbeat—that he wouldn’t reach her in time. The cameras caught every step, every movement. The clicking grew louder . . . louder than her own heartbeat. Dayne kicked the knife with all his strength, and it went flying and became a seagull, squawking and flapping its wings and soaring fast and far over the Pacific Ocean.
Dayne landed hard against the woman, knocking her to the ground and planting himself firmly on her back. The yellow Honda was ten feet away, its engine howling, its presence menacing. Dayne shouted, “Run, Katy . . . run for your life.”
But it was too late. The woman’s eyes became dark and flinty. The seagull fell from the sky and became a knife once more, and the witch grabbed it and plunged it straight into—
“Ma’am.” The voice was calm, kind.