The Still of Night
Copyright 2003
Kristen Heitzmann
Cover design by Lookout Design, Inc.
Scripture quotations identified NIV are from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978-0-7642-2607-6
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Heitzmann, Kristen.
The still of night / by Kristen Heitzmann.
p.cm.
ISBN 0-7642-2607-X (pbk.)
1. Illegitimate children—Fiction. 2. Adopted children—Fiction.
3. Birthparents—Fiction. 4. First loves—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3558.E468S75 2003
813’.54—dc22 2003014245
* * *
Contents
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
Epilogue
To Jim, for believing enough to become one
To Cathy, for the seeds
To Karen, for holding up my arms
To Kelly, for unflagging diligence and insight
Rather, living the truth in love, we should grow in every
way into him who is the head, Christ, from whom the
whole body, joined and held together by every supporting
ligament, with the proper functioning of each part, brings
about the body’s growth and builds itself up in love.
Ephesians 4:15, 16 NAB
DIAMOND OF THE ROCKIES
The Rose Legacy
Sweet Boundless
The Tender Vine
Twilight
A Rush of Wings
The Still of Night
Halos
Freefall
The Edge of Recall
Secrets
Unforgotten
Echoes
www.kristenheitzmann.com
KRISTEN HEITZMANN is the bestselling author of seventeen
novels, including Freefall and the Christy Award winner Secrets.
Kristen lives in Colorado, with her husband, Jim, and their family.
Prologue
Her legs still shook under the sheet, the smooth skin mottled and stained. The vise had released her, the arcing pain and frantic breaths. All that was past. But her arms would never forget this moment, wrapped around the warmed bundle, its weight transferred from within to her hesitant arms. So fragile, so tiny, yet … tenacious. And soon no longer hers. She allowed no internal argument; the ache was punishment enough.
The face beside her now spoke. “It’s harder the longer you wait.
They need these moments.”
She needed these moments. They would have a lifetime.
“You don’t want to bond.”
She knew it, yet it was beyond her to extend her arms and relin-quish…
“Let me.” Helping hands.
“No.” She clutched one last moment before raising the bundle her-self. Given, not confiscated … or destroyed. She would have that much.
CHAPTER
1
Inside the cushion-walled cubicle bathed in morning light, Jill watched Sammi’s euphoria dissolve into tantrum tears for the fourth time in less than an hour. The child’s medication was obviously out of whack, expressed by excessive displays of inappropriate behavior. They’d be lucky to keep her together until the final bell rang; never mind sending her out to regular classes, where she would overload and self-destruct.
Swiftly Jill snatched Sammi off the floor in a modified takedown motion before the kicking feet made contact with the other students in the special ed reading lab. As Sammi thrashed in her arms, Jill’s silent prayers started. Lord, give Sammi peace. Wrap her in your loving arms. Let her know you’re here in her struggle.
Classified SIED—severe intellectual emotional disability—Sammi, like most of the kids in Jill’s caseload, had the ability to learn and achieve, but her emotional upheaval sabotaged her efforts. How did one focus such a mind on phonics and structure when all her synapses were haywire? Might as well expect symphonic music from a nuclear reactor. Jill tried not to question why God made Sammi bipolar or why Joey sat in a world of his own until something irritated him out of it.
“Too loud!” Joey pressed his hands to his ears, ready to erupt.
Jill could hear his teeth grinding in conjunction with Sammi’s wails. She pressed Sammi’s face to her breast and confined her arm. Sometimes it seemed the tighter she held her, the more quickly she calmed. She would use a full takedown if it came to it, though she hated to, especially when it would go into the child’s report. Had her father forgotten today’s medication altogether? The call she had made to him was still unanswered—as usual. Please, Lord, comfort her. If Joey lost it, as well, she’d have to call for help. She could not contain them both at once.
She glanced at Pam, who looked over from her group under the window, ready if needed. Quickly assessing the situation as defusing, Jill nodded her assurance to Pam, who returned her focus to her own group. It was a judgment call, but she gave Sammi the benefit of the doubt.
Frequently they flew blind, taking each day, each child in stride— short staffed, underfunded, yet still required to provide free appropriate public education in the least restrictive environment for kids whose functionality would never allow the success Jill wanted so much for them. But she ran the program the best she could.
“Jesus loves you,” she murmured too softly for Sammi to hear. Yet it seemed to help. The wails became sobs, which didn’t violate Joey’s receptors as deeply. He rocked himself, refusing eye contact, and pulled the skin between his thumb and forefinger. It would be raw again before he stopped unless Jill could distract him.
But Sammi first. If she could only control everything that might set them off. In a perfect environment she could even teach them to read. As it was, she’d feel grateful to accomplish Sammi’s goal of initiating and maintaining one healthy social contact, and to overcome Joey’s lack of receptive language.
Lord, you balance the whole universe. Help me to balance these needs. As Sammi calmed, Jill watch
ed the erupting forces in Joey subside, as well. She glanced at the other two students. Angelica was labeled SLIC: significant limited intellectual capacity. She had brain function that simply couldn’t match her desire to learn. Her type A personality would not let her give up, and Jill longed for her success, especially when getting the brighter, more capable kids to even try was a challenge. Some days Angelica was truly her saving grace. She was well named.
And there was Chris. Jill suspected his condition was more likely sleep deprivation than low functionality. The domestic strife in his home was heard all down the block at all hours, and his blank, semicomatose refusal to perform could be partly attributed to that. Even in the midst of Sammi’s tantrum, he looked glazed.
“All right, pay attention. I want to read you a story.”
Angelica’s round brown eyes found her immediately. She loved stories and curled her legs up under the pink skirt that matched the many pink barrettes clipped onto tiny coarse black braids. Sammi’s sobs became gulping breaths.
Jill used a firm, soothing tone. “Do you want to hear the story, Joey?”
He kept rocking but stilled slightly when she said, “It’s about a rocket. And a monkey.”
Sensing peace, Jill risked loosening her hold on Sammi. The girl was big for eight, a possible growth disorder in addition to her chemical imbalances. Sammi glared at Chris, who had expended the energy to set her off in the first place by making fun of her reading. Climbing down, Sammi deliberately kicked his knee.
“Ow!”
Chris kicked back, and Sammi charged him. As Jill moved to intervene, he pulled a fishing knife from his pocket. Jill lunged for the knife, gripped Chris’s arm, and took him down. Chris, who hardly had energy to write his name, fought until she trapped and subdued the scrappy nine-year-old. Jill’s heart pounded. This was not some innercity school where kids knifed each other; this was small-town, middle America farm country—probably why it was a fishing knife and not a switchblade.
Within moments, Pam had hold of Sammi, and they pulled the children apart, still kicking and hollering.
“Too loud!” Joey pressed his hands to his ears.
Jill couldn’t worry about that now. She jerked the knife from Chris’s hand. “Where did you get this?”
“It’s mine.”
“Not anymore.” With the knife in one hand and the child in the other, Jill marched for the office. Presenting herself in this sort of situation to Principal Fogarty would not be pretty, but she had no choice. Her kids were rarely armed but invariably volatile. It came with the territory, but somehow Ed Fogarty always saw it as her fault. Still, she had no choice. School policy left no ambiguity in this situation.
As the stress drained, she realized Chris had grown soft in her grip. Why did he carry a knife? Protection? She frowned down at him. “Don’t you know better than to bring a knife to school, Chris?”
He had retreated into his stare.
He would be automatically suspended. She could possibly advocate against expulsion, due to his independent educational program. Even so, she would probably not see him until next school year. Disappointment and failure threatened her resolve. But there was no way around things now. She just hoped Pam had kept Joey from harming himself. Pam was a good teacher, but the kids didn’t always respond as well to her somewhat abrasive style.
As they approached the office, Chris held back. Jill stopped and turned. “I’m sorry, Chris. You made a really bad choice. Not only did you bring something dangerous to school, you used it as a weapon.”
“He’ll kick me out.”
Jill nodded. “Yes, for a while. You should have known that would happen.”
His eyelids drooped. “I’ll have to stay home.”
Jill heard the anxiety behind his dull words. “Yes, you will. Unless your parents make other arrangements.”
He didn’t answer, but his eyelids flickered.
“Is there a problem with staying home, Chris? Something I need to know?” She’d checked all year for signs of abuse, given him chances to talk, but he never did. Now he just stood there without so much as a headshake.
She took his shoulder gently. “We have to go in.” She opened the door and propelled him into the office. Mr. Fogarty responded to her with all the grace she expected—that of a bull on a tightrope. At least he blew it out with her, and by the time Chris’s mother arrived from her job, he was diplomatic and presented a gracious front. The woman looked as dull as Chris, took Fogarty’s explanation with hardly a word, then jerked Chris out by the arm. Jill sighed. The best she had managed was to keep things open for Chris next year.
By the day’s end she had earned a caramel Frappuccino. It wouldn’t spoil her appetite for the evening, just replenish her drained energy. She normally eschewed caffeine, but Dan would come for her in a little more than an hour, with some special plans he’d alluded to. Suggesting she dress up had been especially significant, since they spent more time together in sweats and running shoes. Tonight, she didn’t want to look like something dragged through the drain.
She was just to the makeup stage when the phone rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Dan, Jill. Do you mind meeting me at Marchelli’s?”
Marchelli’s? She smiled to herself. And it wasn’t even a meaningful occasion. “Running late?” She rubbed a smear of moisturizer into her neck.
“We’re on a call. I’m not sure how long it’ll take. Could be serious.”
She heard radio noise over his phone. “Go ahead, Dan. I’ll hold down the table till you get there.” She could hardly get upset over his doing his job, keeping Beauview safe and honest.
After an hour and a half of raspberry Italian sodas, the first thing she said to Dan when he arrived was, “I need the ladies’ room.”
“I’m sorry, Jill.” He’d obviously changed in a hurry. His tie was askew and one side of his collar bent up.
“It’s all right.” But she had spent the hour and a half worrying about Chris. Maybe his inattentiveness was a defensive posture. Maybe … She shook her head. It was time to let it go and enjoy the evening with Dan. They’d only dined at Marchelli’s once before, on her birthday.
When she came back to the table, Dan had straightened his tie. His bulky neck wanted out of the collar. Not all men looked better in a suit. But she appreciated the significance.
She sat down. “Okay, here’s my day in a nutshell. Chris was suspended for possessing and wielding a weapon in the classroom. Sammi’s meds were wacko, and Joey had a serious regression in the use of bathroom facilities, probably due to the antagonism between the aforementioned pair. Mr. Fogarty indicated that I do not have control of my caseload and informed me that, contrary to policy, I must reapply for my position as coordinator next year, and I will be considered along with all other contenders, including a new hire I have yet to meet.”
Dan frowned appropriately at that. She’d made it all sound comical, but it was starting to eat her up. She gave the best she had to her kids, fought for them, hurt for them. And days like today left her searching for the reason. She closed her eyes and sighed. “I just thought I’d get that out of the way.”
Dan laughed softly. “Makes my foot chase of a teenage burglar sound tame.”
“Was that the call?”
He nodded. “He was quick, too. Or I wouldn’t have been so late.”
“Did you work up an appetite?”
Dan raised his brows. “Hungry?”
She pushed aside the menu she had read word for word, including the gratuity policy on parties over eight and the accepted credit cards. “I was too worried about Chris to eat lunch. I haven’t had anything but Frappuccino and Italian sodas since dawn.”
“I thought I detected caffeine. You either need to become a regular user or avoid it altogether.”
“It’s more effective on a haphazard basis. Keeps the shock effect at full voltage.”
The waiter approached with an air of stiff annoyance at having had his table held up
with nothing yet to show for it. “Are you ready to order?”
“Desperate to.” She chose manicotti with half clam alfredo and half sun-dried-tomato marinara. Dan ordered the peppered steak marsala. He detailed the chase for her as they nibbled breadsticks and thick, spicy minestrone. It had been one of the more serious calls he’d handled lately. The young man had broken into a home in one of the nice neighborhoods, loaded his car with electronics, and started on the gun collection by the time the private security system brought Brett and Dan to the scene. Brett covered the car to make sure the suspect couldn’t double back and escape while Dan chased him down on foot. Dan could run forever, but his speed was not that great. Still, he cornered the kid and took him down, not unlike what Jill had been forced to do with Sammi.
She shook her head. “Do you think it was something in the air?”
Their entrees arrived, and the heavy starch neutralized the caffeine before she was halfway through. She settled down to enjoy the second half. “You haven’t told me what we’re celebrating.”
For answer, Dan pushed aside his plate and looked at her for a long moment, then reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a photograph. He slid it face up with one finger to the middle of the table between them. Jill looked at the modest house in the photo: some character, but not overly picturesque. She looked back at Dan.
“It’s for sale. I was thinking … maybe we could do a joint mortgage, fix it up nice, and if things were working out well …”
“Things?” Was he actually saying what she thought?
He pulled a slow half smile. “We’ve had ten great months and …”
“And what, Dan?”
“I’m ready for the next step.” He pulled his tie loose and opened the top button of his shirt, then gave her his direct cop gaze. “Jill, I know you have reservations. So do I. That’s why this is a good—”
“What exactly are you proposing, Dan?” He winced. “I’m a little leery of that word. I think if we worked into it, made sure we were—”
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