BROKEN THINGS
Faded Photograph series
Book One
By Andrea Boeshaar
BROKEN THINGS
© 2012 by Andrea Boeshaar
Revised from the original © 2003 by Andrea Boeshaar
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.
Cover photo by Madeline Parker
Cover art by Bentfield Photography
http://www.bentfieldphotography.com/
All rights reserved.
Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
“Broken Things,” Mac Lynch Copyright © 1995 by The Wilds. Lyrics used with permission. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used factiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
For more information about Andrea Boeshaar, visit the author’s website at: www.andreaboeshaar.com
Editorial Consultant: Anne McDonald
Table of Contents
Preface
Dedication
Prologue
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
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
HIDDEN THINGS Excerpt
Preface
I believe the Lord gave me the idea for this story after I watched with a broken heart as several Christians gave up on their faith. They stumbled in their walk, got lost in the darkness, and figured there was no way back to Jesus. Worse, they believed God didn’t want them back because of their blemished pasts.
How wrong they were!
While it’s true that our actions, and the consequences thereof, are our responsibilities, our burdens to bear, it’s also true that God will take us and our hurtful pasts, and use them all together for His good (Romans 8:28). This truth in no way gives us a license to sin, but I have seen God take the pieces of a broken life, put them back together, and create a thing of extraordinary beauty―and one that’s of service to Him.
God really does use “broken things.”
So if you’re reading this with a wounded spirit and your outlook on life is bleak, be assured that there is hope through Jesus Christ and that you are precious in His sight. Don’t let your tarnished past stand between you and shining future.
You are valuable, priceless, and you are loved.
DEDICATION
To the “lost boys.”
There is a way back to Jesus.
He’s waiting for you with open arms.
Special thanks to Mac Lynch and The Wilds organization
for allowing me to use the lyrics to “Broken Things.”
To Sally and Ruth―
your comments and advice proved most valuable.
And to my husband Daniel―
for loving me and praying me through this project.
BROKEN THINGS
Five broken loaves by Galilee’s shore,
Broken and scattered for thousands and more.
O what compassion, what joy Jesus brings,
Watch how He uses broken things.
–Mac Lynch, The Wilds
Prologue
May 1999
Allie hated moving. It seemed as though she’d moved a hundred times in her life, although in reality it was probably more like twenty-five or thirty. Nevertheless, she despised the uprooting and transplanting, all necessary evils in the course of a lifetime. But at least she’d become an expert at the sorting and packing that went with relocating. Unfortunately, she hadn’t gotten the hang of throwing stuff away.
Lowering herself onto a crate, Allie surveyed the contents cluttering the attic of the two-story home she once shared with her son Nicholas. She had purchased this house after her husband Erich died eleven years ago, but now with Nick married and moved out it made no sense to keep it. Instead, Allie much preferred a condo along the Pacific coast. Besides, her consulting business took her away a lot of the time―another reason to leave a high-maintenance house and yard for a carefree condominium. However, since her next job, which was supposed to have taken her to Seattle, Washington, had been postponed indefinitely, Allie now had the time to sort and pack and…move.
She glanced around the hot, dry attic at the heaps and mounds still waiting to be sifted through. Lord, she prayed, please give me wisdom. I want to keep it all, but I know that’s impossible. Leaning over, she picked up a warped tennis racket. No need to keep this…
The door below creaked open. “Hey, Mom, you up there?” Nick’s soft but masculine voice wafted up the attic stairwell.
“Yep.” Standing, Allie crossed the dusty, wood-planked floor and met her son on the landing. His face and sandy-blond hair glistened with perspiration from hauling boxes into the rented truck.
“What do you want to do with this?” He handed her a shoebox.
Allie opened its cardboard top and peered at the photos inside. “Where did you find it?”
“On the shelf in your bedroom closet. It was in the bigger box with my projects that you’ve saved through the years.” He grinned and a waggish gleam entered his brown eyes. “Just for a laugh, Jennifer and I started rummaging through the pictures I made when I was a kid and we found the shoebox. You’re quite the packrat, Mom.”
“Oh, hush.” She smiled and flipped through several faded photographs, when one caused her heart to skip a beat. Gently lifting it, she stared hard at the four people in the picture.
“Who are they?” Nick peered over the top of the photo in her fingers.
“This is me when I was nineteen.” She pointed to the teenager with long, blond hair, parted in the middle. “I’m standing next to...Jack Callahan.” She whispered the name.
“The policeman?” Nick turned the picture his way.
Allie nodded and a rush of questions flew into her mind. Where was he now? What was he doing? Was he happy?
Over the course of the last three decades, Allie had severed ties and burned bridges, deciding that her life in the Midwest was better forgotten. However, she’d heard Jack had gotten married, become a father, and had been divorced, all within eighteen months’ time. That was some twenty-five years ago, but Allie still recalled how the news had shocked her.
Shocked and heartbroken.
“Is he a friend or family member?” Nick wanted to know.
“Friend. That is, he was a friend.” Nostalgia enveloped her along with pangs of regret. “He was a good friend.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Who are the others?”
“Wendy Chadwyk and Blythe Severson…just look at that picket sign
Wendy’s leaning against.” Allie paused and sadly shook her head. “I don’t even know where they are or what they’re doing now. The three of us girls were rather troubled souls, and Jack kept us all in line. But we lost touch after I moved to California.”
Allie couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from the photograph, her eyes fixed on the handsome police officer whose arm was draped across her shoulders. And Wendy and Blythe…those two were the quintessential “flower children” of the ‘60s.
“Just look at us.” She shook her head and stared at the picture. “The three of us girls were so young, and we thought we knew everything. But the truth was we still had so much to learn.”
A swell of remorse lodged in her chest as remembrances emerged, unfettered for the first time in dozens of years. She had certainly made her share of mistakes. At age eighteen, Allie had been a new believer in Christ.. Within a year, she’d had some Bible studies but she couldn’t focus on growing spiritually because she’d been so consumed with all the turbulence in her life. When she left Oakland Park, Illinois, she hadn’t parted on a good note with anyone, be it family member or friend.
But what if she phoned Jack―and maybe looked up Wendy and Blythe while she was at it? And her stepfather and stepsisters―were they alive and well? Would any of them want to hear from her?
Allie pondered the idea. On second thought, phone calls wouldn’t do.
She had to go back…
Chapter One
August 1999
Chicago. Allie hadn’t been here in over thirty years. Braking at a stoplight, she glanced up and down bustling Michigan Avenue through the windshield of the rented Chevy Cavalier. The tall buildings blocked out the sunshine, creating an almost cavernous effect, and yet it shouldn’t seem like such a wonder. It was the same with every big city and Allie should know. She’d seen them all.
But Chicago was different. She’d been raised here. Then, after her mother remarried, she moved Oakland Park, a small northeastern suburb.
The light turned green, and Allie stepped on the accelerator, nearing her destination―the Sheraton Hotel. It would be home for the next few days until the extended-stay suite became available. While she clearly knew that returning to Illinois was God’s will, one might question her decision. She had no family here. Her mother had died when she was a senior in high school, leaving Allie with her stepfather and stepsisters. Since she’d been so close to graduating, she convinced her natural father to allow her to finish school and stay with her stepfamily.
Regrettably, what had been a tumultuous home became a virtual battleground.
After her mother’s death, Allie’s emotions ran high. She missed her mother. So did her stepfather and stepsisters, but she’d never considered their feelings. Likewise, they didn’t know how to deal with their loss, their pain. Allie began arguing with her stepfather and over days and weeks the fights intensified until one night, in a fit of rage, he slapped her. Adding insult to injury, his daughters took his side. They said Allie deserved it. Later, all three apologized, but Allie refused to forgive them. She packed her bags and moved in with her friend Blythe Severson. Because of her age, however, her stepfather notified the police. Although she probably wouldn’t have gotten caught if the Seversons’ neighbors hadn’t summoned the cops due to the racket all the teens in the house at the time were making. Since Allie was deemed a “runaway,” she was taken into custody.
That was her first brush with the law and a young, rookie officer named Jack Callahan.
The second incident occurred months later in 1968 during the Democratic convention here in Chicago. Riots and protests had broken out in the streets. Allie fought the crowd in a desperate attempt to make her way home after working as a downtown waitress. Upon graduating from high school, she’d been bent on independence. Doing things her own way. Relying on herself. But that night, she’d gotten tangled in the shuffle, and her self-sufficiency hadn’t done her a lick of good. In fact, it worked against her. She suddenly realized she had no dependable friend or caring family member within a fifteen hundred mile radius whom she could phone for help should she be accosted by a demonstrator, a police officer or a drunk on the street. And for the first time, Allie began to feel as though she was truly alone in the world.
Then Jack pulled her from the mob.
At first Allie had been scared to death. She saw the police brutality around her and figured she was about to get clobbered over the head with a nightstick. But as she peered up into the familiar face, etched with compassion, her fears began to ebb.
“Don’t I know you?” A quizzical frown had marred his dark brown brows.
“Sort of. I used to live in Oakland Park. Now I have an apartment here in Chicago.”
“You’re Mr. Bracken’s daughter.”
“Stepdaughter. My last name is Drake. I’m Allison Drake.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. It’s coming back to me. You were one of the kids at the Seversons’ place.” Jack took hold of her upper arm and pulled her off the street and toward his police car.
“Hey, are you arresting me…again?” His actions had alarmed her.
“No, I’m giving you a ride home so you don’t get hurt.” He’d grinned. “I just got off a twelve-hour shift.”
“Oh...” Allie regarded the young officer with something akin to guarded curiosity. Why did he want to help her? Could she trust him?
After a quick glance over the mob scene, she decided she didn’t have a choice. They climbed into the car and Jack started the engine. Soon Allie’s inquisitive nature got the best of her.
“If you’re one of Oakland Park’s finest, what are you doing in downtown Chicago?”
“Several officers from surrounding suburbs were called in to help with crowd control here in the city.” He gave her a cynical little grin. “And aren’t we doing a fine job?”
She’d laughed. Jack’s sarcastic wit always had a way of amusing her.
The Sheraton came into view and Allie snapped out of her reverie. Pulling into its circular drive, she paid the valet to park the rented vehicle while a bellhop transported her luggage and led her into the hotel. After checking in at the desk, she made her way up to her room on the twentieth floor. As she entered, the fragrant scent of roses greeted her.
Allie smiled at the sight of the large, red bouquet while tipping the young man who had assisted her with her suitcases. Once he’d gone, she closed the door, kicked off her blue and white high-heeled pumps, and strolled toward the roses. Lifting the card, she read:
Glad you arrived safely, Ms. Littenberg. Looking forward to working with you.
Sincerely, Evan Jacobs
Allie’s smile broadened. How kind of Evan. A sharp, capable young man, he was the CEO for Lakeland Enterprises, the largest owner of long term and interim medical care facilities in the state of Illinois. She’d have to be sure to thank him for the flowers when she saw him on Monday, except she had a hunch they would talk sometime this weekend.
When Evan had phoned in June, asking if Allie would come to Chicago to reorganize a facility his firm had acquired, she sensed God’s affirmation and call back to this city. She didn’t have another job lined up and since the Seattle arrangement fell through, Allie needed the work. But, in truth, her purpose for being here was multifaceted. Ever since Nick had found that box of faded photographs, Allie couldn’t seem to get her mind off Jack, her former friends, and family members. Restitution needed to be made, fences mended. This assignment seemed like a divine opportunity. Recognizing it as such, she accepted the job with Lakeland Enterprises.
Walking to the windows, Allie gazed eastward over the blue-green expanse of Lake Michigan. From her vantage point, she could also see Navy Pier with its high Ferris wheel, quaint carousel, busy restaurants, and shops. She grinned, deciding she’d have to make a point to get over there and do a bit of sightseeing.
Turning away from the spectacular view, Allie began unpacking. Afterwards, she showered and slipped into her comfy terryclo
th bathrobe. Then, unable to deny the desire any longer, she picked up the telephone book that lay on the oak desktop and flipped the pages until she found Callahan. Running her finger down the listings, she chided herself. Goose, you’re probably stirring up trouble. However, the self-berating didn’t stop her from searching for Jack’s name.
Minutes passed and Allie still didn’t find his number, but she thought she’d located his younger brother, Steve. Should she call him? Ask about Jack?
Nibbling her lower lip, she debated. Thirty years changed a person. They had certainly changed her. She’d once been a confused young woman, a product of a broken home, and one who’d suffered through a horrible marriage. But over the years, she’d become a strong Christian and a successful businesswoman with a grown son. The very thought of Nick brought a smile to her lips. She was so proud of him. Tall, handsome, and with a heart as big as the moon, he felt called to the ministry when he was just a freshman in high school. Recently, he’d married a young woman named Jennifer and Allie sensed the two had a bright future together. Would Jack want to know that?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Allie slapped the phone book closed, still pondering, still wistful. But wasn’t this part of the very reason she’d come to Chicago? To see Jack? Why the hesitation now?
To this day, she could recall his warm, brown eyes that shone like liquid brown sugar when he smiled, and his thick walnut-colored hair that he kept neatly and uniformly short. She remembered how his quick wit left her laughing until she couldn’t breathe, and she remembered his serious side, too―the side that had begged her not to go.
Broken Things (Faded Photograph Series) Page 1
