by Myra Johnson
A bubble of warmth swelled under my breastbone. “No, Micah, it was your willingness to finally let go of the past.”
“Okay, but it was your love that made the difference, pushed me into realizing I wanted to change.”
“Well, maybe, but . . .” My warm, fuzzy feeling fizzled into a fog of indignation. “Now just a cotton-pickin’ minute. Pushed? Don’t you ever go telling people I set out to change you. We may have had a few differences of opinion, but you know I’ve always loved you for yourself. Please! Like anybody could ever—”
He gave a frustrated groan. “Will you just let me say this, please?”
My mouth fell open and immediately snapped shut. Leave it to me to start running off at the mouth when my nerves kicked in. Was I ready for what came next?
Another deep breath. He took both my hands in his. “Like I said, I was going to do this on New Year’s Eve—you know, the whole ‘new year, new beginning’ scenario—but seeing how happy Sandy and Clifton are, I realized I don’t want to wait a minute longer.”
Still holding my hands, he dropped awkwardly to one knee, and my heart flip-flopped. “Julie Pearl Stiles,” he began, his voice growing husky with emotion, “will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
I swallowed—hard. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out except this little tiny squeak that had to suffice for something halfway between Oh my goodness, is this a dream? and Grandpa, get the preacher back in here, pronto!
Mrs. Monroe’s laughter and twangy voice rang out from the kitchen. “Oh, my heavens! We’ve finally found the man who can leave our Julie Pearl speechless.”
~~~
Planning a wedding—me? How many years had I doubted this day would ever come, much less that I’d meet the man who could claim my heart, soul, and spirit so completely. Micah’s love had somehow quieted the lifelong hunger to find the man who’d fathered me. But even with Katy Harcourt and Sandy’s mom stepping in to help with the wedding stuff, I couldn’t help missing all over again the mother I barely remembered. And I thought I detected the same regret in Grandpa’s eyes.
Then one day in April, as I was on my way to meet Micah at the florist shop to pick out our wedding flowers, I pulled up next to the Swap & Shop mailbox to retrieve the day’s mail. I flipped through several bills and advertising flyers before a richly textured cream-colored envelope caught my eye. The letter was postmarked Little Rock. The return address, engraved on the back flap, was Renata’s.
My hand trembled as I slid a fingernail under the seal. Since the night of Renata’s attempted suicide, I’d tried hard to put her out of my mind. I’d learned through Geneva Nelson that Larry Channing had committed his wife to a mental hospital. It broke Geneva’s heart to see her only living niece reduced to such a condition, but at least Renata would finally get the help she’d needed for longer than anyone wanted to admit.
Still, a letter from Renata, after all this time? What could it mean? My throat ached with the memories of last summer and fall.
I slipped a stiff, creamy sheet of personal stationery from the envelope, and with it another envelope, sealed and folded in thirds, with my name typed on the front. I tucked it behind the letter while I read the message penned in Renata’s graceful script.
Dearest Julie,
I doubt you ever expected to hear from me again—and maybe you never wanted to. As you may have heard, I’ve spent the past several months at Rosewood Acres Mental Hospital. Part of my therapy has been to face up to the wrongs I’ve done, and—where possible—to make amends.
But how can I begin to apologize for how I’ve hurt you? Words will not suffice. Instead, I offer you this gift—the answer you were seeking when you first came to me last summer. True to my word, I have never looked inside, never needed to, never wanted to. My answer, my truth, lies in my heart.
Whatever your truth may be, rest assured of this one thing: My Jenny could not have been more loved, could not have grown up to be more lovely, could not have lived a happier, more fulfilled, more perfect life than what you have known.
Julie Pearl Stiles, you are the woman I would have wanted Jenny to become. You are a treasure beyond worth.
Always,
Renata
Eyes welling, I held the letter to my face, certain I could detect a lingering scent of the spicy Oriental perfume Renata always wore. Despite how angry I’d been with her, how much I regretted everything that had happened between us, I’d forgiven her long ago—for my own sake and for Micah’s.
With a steadying breath I tore off the end of the sealed envelope and shook it gently. A folded sheet of white paper slid out.
The DNA results.
CHAPTER 42
December, 24 years earlier
Tulsa, Oklahoma
Angie rocked the listless child and glared at the gruff old man whose knees vied with hers in the cramped space between the rows of chairs. The free-clinic waiting room teemed with patients, many whose racking coughs, festering wounds, or twisted limbs probably should have sent them straight to the ER. Angie could only shield little Julie Pearl’s face and pray they didn’t leave here with something far worse than what they arrived with.
“Stiles? Julie Stiles.” The beleaguered nurse behind the front desk scanned the waiting room through smeared bifocals.
“Here.” Angie waved the clipboard with the paperwork she’d been filling out. Balancing Julie Pearl on her bony hip, she worked her way over to the desk. The nurse took the clipboard and gave it a perfunctory glance before directing Angie through a side door.
Another nurse, this one noticeably more compassionate, showed Angie into an examining room. “What’s the problem with this sweet little thing?” she asked in her lilting Oklahoma drawl.
“She’s just so weak. Losing weight, no appetite, pale as a white cotton sheet.” Angie stroked Julie’s hair—or what remained of it. The few downy-soft strands barely covered the little girl’s head anymore. “I’ve tried to take good care of my baby”—she sniffed, her lower lip trembling—“but I’m scared I’m doing something awfully wrong.”
The nurse gave her an appraising, but not unkind, look. “Let’s see what’s going on with your little one.” She shook down a thermometer and tucked it under Julie Pearl’s armpit. “I’m sure the doctor will want to run some blood work, maybe a few other tests. You have time to stay awhile?”
Angie bent over her precious little girl and kissed the cool, dry forehead. “We got no place in the world to be but here.”
~~~
The late-afternoon sun slanted through the streaked front window, casting garish shadows on the few remaining clinic patients. While Julie Pearl dozed in Angie’s lap with her thin legs stretching onto the empty chair next to them, Angie struggled to keep her eyes open. Surely the nurse would call for them soon. She wouldn’t leave here without answers.
The inner door creaked open. Angie’s head snapped up. The tall, sandy-haired doctor who’d examined Julie Pearl that morning frowned in their direction. “Ms. Stiles, bring Julie on back.”
This time Angie hugged her baby girl close as she perched on the edge of a pink molded-plastic chair. “What’d you find out, doctor? Is it serious?”
The doctor cocked his hip against the side of the examining table and heaved a sigh. His drawn expression registered frustration, disappointment, accusation. Angie shrank back.
It was true. Whatever was wrong with her baby was all her fault.
“Things could be a whole lot worse, Ms. Stiles, but your daughter’s condition is treatable. Bottom line, she’s malnourished. She’s suffering from a severe vitamin deficiency.” He selected several brochures from a display rack attached to the inside of the door, then passed them to Angie one by one as he explained the information she’d find within.
From a cupboard on the opposite wall he retrieved several sample packs of children’s vitamins and slipped them into a small paper bag. “One a day, with breakfast. A healthy breakfast, not leftover French fries or whit
e bread and jelly.” With a stern look, he added, “By all rights I should report you to Child Protective Services. This borders on child abuse.”
“No, please! I’ll do everything you said, I promise. I love this baby like—oh, doctor, Julie Pearl’s my whole life.” Tears streamed down Angie’s face. She should have known she wasn’t cut out to be a mother. Things had gotten bad enough while Ray was still around. But alone, broke, living in shelters? What chance did she have?
And the headaches sure didn’t help. They just kept getting worse. She ought to ask the doctor about them. Maybe he could give her something.
No, if he knew she was sick, he’d have CPS take her baby away for sure. First get Julie Pearl all better, then Angie would worry about herself. She ran a trembling hand over the pale pink scalp. “What about her hair? Will it grow back all pretty again once she’s better?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” A tiredness tinged the doctor’s voice, suggesting he’d seen cases like this too many times to count.
~~~
“Okay. I’ll be home soon, Daddy.”
Outside the 7-Eleven, Angie gazed down at the green-eyed toddler clutching her leg and lightly touched the soft, springy fuzz of golden curls. Oh my Julie-love, my precious little turtle dove.
The doctor in Tulsa had been right—a couple months of vitamins and healthy eating, and Julie Pearl’s hair had grown right back, only instead of soft and straight, it came in all curly and thick, so much like Angie’s now that no one—especially not Daddy—would ever guess the baby wasn’t her own natural child.
CHAPTER 43
Present Day
I don’t know how long I sat there at the end of the driveway, the VW engine rumbling, exhaust fumes drifting through my open window on the cool April breeze. Did I really care what this flimsy sheet of paper could tell me? As Renata had always insisted, she didn’t need a piece of paper to tell her what her heart already knew.
So what difference could it make, seeing the results for myself after all this time? I knew with more certainty than ever that it couldn’t change who I was, or who I was about to become—Mrs. Micah Hobart. Above all, it wouldn’t change my identity as a beloved child of God.
But curiosity got the better of me. With clumsy fingers and a trembling heart, I unfolded the report.
And when the tears finally subsided—tears of grief, tears of relief, I honestly couldn’t say—I refolded the page and methodically tore it into confetti-sized pieces. With my left hand dangling out the driver’s-side window, I hit the accelerator. I spread my fingers wide and watched the fragments float away in my rear-view mirror . . . float away on the breeze like a hundred weightless pearls.
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ABOUT MYRA JOHNSON
Award-winning author Myra Johnson writes emotionally gripping stories about love, life, and faith. Her Heartsong Presents romance Autumn Rains (November 2009) won Romance Writers of America’s 2005 Golden Heart for Best Inspirational Romance Manuscript. Myra is also a two-time finalist for the prestigious American Christian Fiction Writers Carol Award.
Myra’s writing career was launched with her first short story sale in 1985. Since then her stories, articles, and devotions have appeared in more than 30 publications. Abingdon Press released her debut novel, One Imperfect Christmas, in 2009.
Myra and her husband of 42 years have two married daughters and seven grandchildren. Originally from Texas and most recently Oklahoma, the Johnsons moved to beautiful North Carolina in 2011, where they share their home with two cuddly (and very spoiled) pooches. Myra writes full-time and is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers, serving as the 2013-2014 president of ACFW-Charlotte Chapter. She is also a member of Romance Writers of America and the online RWA chapter Faith, Hope & Love. Myra is represented by the Natasha Kern Literary Agency.
Myra publishes a quarterly e-newsletter with the latest news about her books. Subscribe through her website at www.MyraJohnson.com.
OTHER BOOKS BY MYRA JOHNSON
FROM HEARTSONG PRESENTS
Autumn Rains
Romance by the Book
Where the Dogwoods Bloom
A Horseman’s Heart
A Horseman’s Gift
A Horseman’s Hope
FROM BARBOUR PUBLISHING
Gateway Weddings
(3-in-1 comprising Autumn Rains, Romance by the Book,
and Where the Dogwoods Bloom)
FROM ABINGDON PRESS
One Imperfect Christmas
When the Clouds Roll By (Till We Meet Again: Book 1)
Whisper Goodbye (Till We Meet Again: Book 2)
Coming Fall 2014:
Every Tear a Memory (Till We Meet Again: Book 3)
Myra’s Author Page on Amazon
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
PROLOGUE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Thank you for reading
About Myra Johnson
Other books by Myra Johnson
