The ten-year-old nodded, then knelt to help the little girl.
One thing Steven had noticed was how seldom he met any bullies living at the shelter. Oh, sure. These kids were far from perfect, and there was plenty of anger in more than a few of them. But they rarely seemed to take it out on each other, and the older ones almost always were protective of the younger, whether they knew them well or not.
He turned toward the opened back door of the church van and grabbed a battered cardboard box filled with baseball gloves he’d bought at several secondhand stores a couple of years back. Most were too big for these kids, but it didn’t matter much. He’d learned that having gloves, even ill-fitting ones, made them feel more like a real team.
“All right,” Chad called. “Let’s get these bases in place. Michael, Frank, pace it off from here.” He dropped the home-plate bag.
Steven set down the box, then squatted beside it and began to sort through the gloves.
“Some sermon yesterday, wasn’t it?” Chad commented.
To be honest, Steven didn’t think he’d heard a word at church. He’d been too preoccupied with Erika and that mystery letter. But he replied, “Sure was.”
“You and Ethan planning to go?”
Uh-oh. It seemed his lie had found him out rather quickly. “Not sure yet,” he bluffed. “What about you?”
“Yeah. Todd and I’ve never done a missions trip together.” Todd, a year younger than Ethan, was Chad’s eldest son. “Seems like a good idea. He won’t be at home much longer. Not likely to have another chance as good as this one.”
Steven wished he knew what his friend was talking about.
“And Vancouver’s not all that far away,” Chad continued, oblivious to Steven’s confusion. “Olivia wouldn’t worry as much with us just across the border in Canada. You know how protective mothers can be.”
Steven made a noncommittal grunt.
“Hey, Mr. Snyder,” Frank hollered from second base. “How’s this?”
“Looks good,” Chad called back. “Okay, everybody. Gather round. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Steven felt a twinge of guilt and a tug of relief at the same time. He didn’t much care for getting caught in a fib, but neither was he ready to tell his friend why he was totally clueless about a missions trip and Vancouver and why Chad’s wife, Olivia, wouldn’t be worried.
He stood and tried to listen as Chad gave instructions to the children, organizing two teams of five. But his thoughts quickly drifted to Erika and that letter and wondering again what she was keeping from him.
Kirsten Lundquist froze in midstride at the first strident ring of the telephone. Her letter had been scheduled for a Saturday delivery. Was it silly to hope she might hear something as soon as today?
With heart in throat, she lifted the receiver. “Hello?”
“Hey, Kir.”
Disappointment sluiced through her, and she let out the breath she’d been holding. “Oh, it’s you, Van.”
“Well, nice to hear your voice, too.”
“I’m sorry.” She sank onto a barstool, about the only empty chair in her apartment. Everything else was buried under boxes and items yet to be packed. “I’m glad you called. It’s just, I was hoping it was—” She stopped, afraid she would make matters worse.
“Your birth mother,” he finished for her, a hint of aggravation in his voice. “Don’t you think you’re expecting a lot? To hear from her this soon.”
“I don’t know what to expect. This is all new to me, too.”
There was silence on the other end of the line for several heartbeats, then her boyfriend said, “Want some help with the packing? I’ve got the day off.”
“To tell the truth, I’m down to the stuff I’m better off to do alone. Knickknacks and business papers and so forth.” Quickly she added, “But I’d love an excuse to get out for lunch. Would you join me at Trixie’s Diner? Say, one o’clock?”
“Sure. See you there.”
The line went dead, and Kirsten slowly returned the receiver to its cradle.
That Van thought she was nuts to leave Philadelphia was no surprise. It wasn’t as if she had some major position with Maguire & Son. She’d only been working full-time for the company since she finished her business school courses. With a little effort, she could have found a similar position here in Philly for the same or maybe even better money. She knew it and so did Van.
“Idaho!” he’d exclaimed when she told him. “What would you want to move there for? You’re a city girl, not a cowgirl.”
He could be right, but she was going all the same. Fate had brought about this merger between Maguire & Son and Turtle Associates just so she, Kirsten Lundquist, would have employment in Boise, Idaho. What else could it be but the hand of providence, all the stars falling into place, good karma, whatever?
Her gaze fell on the large notebook on the kitchen counter. She reached out and touched the cover but didn’t look inside. She didn’t need to. She knew the contents by heart.
She’d begun keeping this notebook the day she decided to search for her birth parents. That was nearly two years ago. She was younger than most adoptees who took up the search, and she’d made plenty of mistakes because of her inexperience. But eventually she’d found something: A name.
Erika Welby.
And more than anything, Kirsten hoped her birth mother would help Kirsten find what she’d never had and what she wanted most of all…
A father. Her father.
The house was as quiet as a tomb when Erika returned from her grandmother’s.
What is it I’m supposed to do, Lord?
Erika wandered from room to room, too restless to settle anywhere, too distracted to accomplish anything.
Perhaps the Lord had deserted her, for she received no answer to her prayer, no quiet voice speaking in her heart, no assurance that all would be well.
Finding herself in her bedroom again, she sank onto the edge of the unmade bed and opened the top drawer of her nightstand. The corner of the letter that had started it all was poking out from beneath a book. After crumpling it yesterday morning, she had smoothed it as best she could, folded it in thirds, and stuck it beneath her devotional journal, a book that had remained untouched last night and this morning.
She closed the drawer.
O God, I’m sorry, but I don’t know if I want to meet her. She’s a stranger to me. What can I give her? I don’t have anything to offer. Wasn’t it better the way it was, both of us with our own families? Why’d she have to write to me now? Why’d You let this happen to me?
She rose and left the bedroom, eventually wandering into the backyard. Motley, the family dog—an ugly mutt of questionable breed—ran up to Erika, racing circles around his mistress, ears flopping, happy to have company.
“Sit, Motley.”
The dog, eyes hidden behind bushy bangs, obeyed.
Erika stroked his head. “What would you do, boy?”
He panted, tongue lolling out one side of his mouth.
“Some help you are.”
Unexpectedly, tears flooded her eyes. She sank onto the ground and began to beat the grass with her fists, feeling fury and frustration by turns.
“It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair. It isn’t, it isn’t, it isn’t.”
Motley managed to lick her salty cheek a couple of times before Erika pushed him away.
Didn’t You forgive me, Jesus? Didn’t You wash away my sins? Where’s Your help now, when I need it most? How can You make something good out of this mess?
She was angry, angry at God, and it frightened her. She’d thought the Lord was supposed to give believers the measure of faith they needed when they needed it. Well, she was coming up dry.
She recalled the words she’d read in James a few days before: Whenever trouble comes your way, let it be an opportunity for joy.
That was a nice quotation with wonderful spiritual overtones, but how was a person supposed to be joyful at a time like
this? James obviously hadn’t foreseen her circumstances when he wrote it.
Erika rubbed the bridge of her nose as she squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I want this to go away. That’s all I want. Just make it go away.”
Nine
Someone was knocking, knocking, knocking on the door. The corridor leading to the entrance of this house—hers but not hers—was long and filled with shadows. She hurried toward the door at the end of the hallway, but she couldn’t seem to reach it. The door moved farther away with every step she took even as the pounding grew louder and louder and louder.
She ran and ran and ran. She had to stop the knocking before it woke Steven and Ethan. She had to stop the noise before it drove her mad.
If she didn’t…
If she didn’t…
If she didn’t…
Erika came awake with a start, her heart pounding. She turned her head on the pillow. Steven slept, undisturbed, beside her.
O God, make it stop.
She rolled onto her opposite side and looked at the clock: 5 A.M.
Why is this happening? Why?
She closed her eyes and willed her pulse to slow, willed the memories to go away. She didn’t succeed at either.
Like an unwelcome guest, a similar dream replayed in her memory. A dream that had plagued her sleeping hours in the week before her wedding. A nightmare warning her that one day her secret would be found out. But she hadn’t paid attention to the warning. She’d gone to Steven on their wedding night with her dark secret tucked deep in her heart, fearing discovery but convinced silence was the better way.
Erika looked at Steven once again, caressing her husband’s face with her gaze, feeling the guilt afresh.
I should have told you, Steven, but I was so afraid of losing you again. What if I’d told you I’d been pregnant and given the baby up? What if you’d left me? I loved you too much to take that chance.
Tears blurred her vision, and she rolled away, slipping out of bed. She grabbed her cotton robe and put it on as she walked from the bedroom. Seeing Ethan’s door ajar, she stopped and looked in.
Her son lay on his back, one arm slung over his eyes. The blanket and top sheet were on the floor at the foot of the bed. She smiled. He’d always done that. Even as a baby he’d kicked off his covers.
She wondered if Kirsten did the same thing.
I can’t allow myself to wonder. I can’t meet her. What about Ethan? What about Steven? It would hurt them too much. Don’t I have to think about them more than myself or even Kirsten? She said in her letter she was not unhappy. She implied she’d had a good home. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.
Later that morning, Steven sat at his desk, staring at a sheet of paper filled with columns of numbers. He couldn’t seem to make sense of them. Not while his thoughts kept drifting to Erika.
Before leaving for work, he’d tried again to get her to open up, but all he’d done was make her mad.
“I’m fine, Steven,” she’d snapped.
It wasn’t like her to be moody. It wasn’t like her to keep things from him either. The two of them shared everything—their deepest secrets, their hopes and dreams. They were truly soul mates.
He frowned as he let the paper drop to his desk.
Erika had claimed a headache last night and gone to bed early. It was rare that they didn’t end the day with a brief sharing of Scripture and a prayer. There was definitely a problem. Why, then, wouldn’t she tell him about it? The phone rang, and Steven picked it up. “This is Mr. Welby.”
“And this is Mr. Hurst.”
“Hey, Dallas.”
“Haven’t talked to you since the party. Thought I’d check in and see how Ethan’s doing with that new car of his.”
Steven grinned, glad to think about something besides his wife’s worrisome behavior. “He’s treating it like the royal steed.”
Dallas laughed, then said, “That’s what I figured.”
“Brings back a few memories, seeing that Chevy parked in the driveway.”
“I bet.” Another chuckle. “Hey, you free for a round of golf later this afternoon? We could be done by six or six-thirty so you wouldn’t be too late for dinner.”
He thought of Erika. “No, I’d better not.”
Dallas must have heard something in his voice. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much,” he fudged.
“You sure?”
“Sure, I’m—” He stopped when he realized he was doing exactly the same thing to Dallas that Erika was doing to him. “No, that’s not true. Something is wrong.”
“You’re not sick, are you?”
“No,” he answered. “It’s Erika.”
“Is she sick?”
“We’re both physically fine.” He switched the receiver to his other ear, then swiveled the chair toward the window behind his desk. “Some old friend wrote to her. Somebody I don’t know, never heard of. Anyway, whatever was in that letter upset Erika, but she won’t talk about it.”
“Whew,” Dallas breathed. “You had me going for a second there, bud. Sounds to me like a woman thing. You know. PMS or something.”
But Steven knew better. He’d never seen his wife act this way before.
“You’re worried about nothing,” Dallas added. “I’ll bet you lunch on it.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“Okay. So we miss that round of golf this afternoon. You go home and get things cleared up with your wife. Then we’ll meet for lunch tomorrow and you can tell me how you’ve been worried about nothing, and I’ll pick up the tab. Deal?”
“Deal.” He felt a little better, his mood lifted by Dallas’s confidence. So he issued his standard invitation. “Then maybe you can join me on Thursday morning for Bible study.”
“Fat chance, friend, but you get points for tenacity.”
Barb Dobson sat at Erika’s kitchen table, a large spiral-bound notebook open before her. The two women—who both served on the women’s ministry board at Harvest Fellowship—had been discussing plans for their church’s women’s retreat for the past hour.
“Sara Connors wants to know if her daughter’s old enough to attend this year. Brenda just turned thirteen.” Barb lifted her coffee cup and took a sip, then said, “What do you think?”
“I’m not sure,” Erika replied. “The focus of the retreat is on God’s plan for marriage, and it just might—” Her voice broke and tears sprang to her eyes. She rose from her chair and turned away.
Too late.
Barb was quickly beside her. “What’s wrong? What is it?
All Erika could do was step into her friend’s embrace, cling to her, and weep.
Barb began to pray. “Lord, I don’t know what’s wrong, but my sister’s hurting.”
O God, help me know what to do, Erika begged silently.
Barb prayed on, gently rubbing Erika’s back until, at last, the storm had passed. Then she led Erika to her chair at the table. “I’ll get the Kleenex,” Barb said softly. When she returned with the box of tissues, she sat next to Erika rather than across from her. “Care to talk about it?”
Erika shook her head as she dabbed her eyes.
“Anything specific I can be in prayer about?”
She swallowed hard, then managed to whisper, “That I’ll do God’s will and not my own.” She looked at her Bible, resting on the table before her. “That I won’t be afraid.”
Steven awakened at four the following morning and was instantly aware that he was alone in bed. He got up and went looking for Erika, determined that they weren’t going to let the silence continue between them. He found her in the living room, their wedding album open on her lap, her cheeks streaked with tears.
It made for a disturbing image.
“Erika, we’ve got to talk about this,” he said from the living-room doorway.
“Yes.” She didn’t look up. “We do.”
He wanted to sit on the sofa beside her, but ever since Sunday, there’d been an invisible barrier around
her that forced him to keep his distance. He sat on the chair instead.
Erika moved the album off her lap, then folded her hands tightly, as if in prayer.
A knot formed in the pit of his stomach.
“Steven…” She stopped, drew a deep breath, let it out. “Steven, I need you to promise that you’ll listen without interrupting. What I have to say isn’t going to be easy.”
“Whatever it is—”
“Just promise not to interrupt.”
The knot in his belly hardened. “All right. I’ll do my best.”
She looked at her hands. “It begins a long time ago.” Her voice lowered. “A lifetime ago.”
Say it, Erika. Whatever it is, just tell me.
“Do you remember when you went away to college?”
He narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out where she was headed.
“I was lonely after you left,” she went on. “I was so in love, I thought I’d die with you gone.”
“You were sixteen.”
She looked at him, scolded him with her eyes for interrupting, shook her head.
“Sorry.”
“I was in love, Steven. As only a sixteen-year-old girl can be, I suppose. But you went away without asking me to wait for you. I was certain I’d lose you to some sophisticated college girl, one who wouldn’t… refuse you.
“Dallas missed you, too,” she continued, her gaze dropping to her hands again. “He’d hung around with you for so many years, he didn’t know what to do with himself once you were gone. He and I spent a lot of time together, just like the three of us did before you left. Mostly we talked about you.”
Steven felt a twinge of impatience. What did any of this have to do with that letter?
“Do you remember Nora Calloway?”
“Sure.” He ran his hand through his hair. “She was Dallas’s girlfriend the summer after graduation.”
“They broke up that November. It happened at a party. Dallas caught Nora with another guy, and he exploded. He wasn’t used to being dumped by a girl. Everybody thought there’d be a fistfight.”
Firstborn Page 5
