The Hope Jar

by Wanda E. Brunstetter

  © 2018 by Wanda E. Brunstetter

  Print ISBN 978-1-62416-747-8

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-68322-910-0

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-68322-911-7

  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 publisher.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All German-Dutch words are taken from the Revised Pennsylvania German Dictionary found in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design: Buffy Cooper

  Cover photography: Richard Brunstetter III, RBIII Studios

  For more information about Wanda E. Brunstetter, please access the author’s website at the following internet address: www.wandabrunstetter.com

  Published by Shiloh Run Press, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., 1810 Barbour Drive, Uhrichsville, OH 44683, www.shilohrunpress.com

  Our mission is to inspire the world with the life-changing message of the Bible.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Dedication

  To Dr. Wilkinson and Dr. Spates, who, through their wisdom

  and caring attitudes, offer their patients hope.

  Behold, the eye of the LORD is upon them that fear him,

  upon them that hope in his mercy.

  PSALM 33:18

  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

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Prologue

  Newark, New Jersey

  Tears streamed down Sara Murray’s face as she sat on the living-room floor, going through another box of her mother’s things. Mama had passed away two weeks ago after a short three-month battle with colon cancer. By the time she’d been diagnosed and treatment had begun, things were more advanced than anyone had suspected. It shook Sara to the core how quickly it all happened. Her mother never complained of any pain she might have had. When she started feeling under the weather, she made an appointment with the doctor, figuring it was only a virus.

  The agony of losing her mother was raw, and the hurt so deep Sara felt as if she were drowning in a sea of tears. She couldn’t help feeling bitter. At forty-three, Mama was too young to die. And Sara, who had just turned twenty-four, was too young to lose her mother.

  The task of sorting through everything in the boxes was difficult to endure, but many of the items brought back happy memories. Sara felt grateful her stepfather had let her go through Mama’s personal things, saying she could take whatever she wanted.

  Among the items Sara found first was a pretty scarf she had given Mama on her birthday last year. Sara had no idea then that it would be her mother’s final birthday celebration.

  She lifted the silky blue scarf, with little designs of black scattered throughout, and stretched the material out, remembering how pretty her mother looked wearing it around her neck. Even though Mama had several other scarves, for some reason she loved this one the most and seldom wore the other ones. She found so many different ways to wear the scarf and matched it with many of the outfits she wore, sometimes adding a pretty pin to hold the lovely item in place.

  Inhaling deeply and pressing the silkiness against her face, Sara breathed in the fragrance of her mother’s lily-scented perfume. If she closed her eyes, it almost seemed as if Mama was sitting right there beside her. Did her mother suspect when Sara gave her the scarf that it would be her last birthday? There were so many unanswered questions. Was Mama partial to the blue-and-black scarf because I gave it to her?

  Gulping in air and swallowing past the lump in her throat, Sara couldn’t hold back her tears any more than she could all the others she had shed since her mother’s death. Watching Mama slip away so fast had been hard, but the absence of her presence was like nothing she’d ever dealt with before.

  “Oh Mama,” Sara whispered, feeling more alone than ever. “I miss you so much. Why did you have to die?” She looked upward. “If there is a God, why did You take my mother?”

  Making it through the viewing and funeral service had seemed almost surreal—she felt nothing. Going through her mother’s things, however, brought back the agony of her loss tenfold.

  After several minutes, Sara’s sobbing lessened, and she pulled herself together, hiccupping a few times. Then she tied the scarf loosely around her neck.

  “Score one for Dean Murray,” Sara muttered, blowing her nose into a tissue she pulled from her shirt pocket. At least Dean realized Sara could never part with some of her mother’s belongings, like this simple but lovely scarf.

  For the first six years of Sara’s life, it had been just her and Mama. Then Dean entered the picture, and everything changed. He and Mama got married, and two years later Sara ended up with a little brother. She’d never felt close to Dean, and when a baby came along, things got worse. Kenny was the apple of his daddy’s eye and could do no wrong. Even now, Dean gave in to his son’s every whim.

  Sara bit her lip, drawing blood, as she reflected on the many times she’d questioned Mama about her biological father. Who was he, where did he live, and how come Mama refused to talk about him? Instead of providing answers to Sara’s questions, her mother would be evasive and change the subject. Now that Mama was dead, it was doubtful that Sara would ever know the truth of her heritage or find out who her real father was.

  Sara pulled another box across the room and took a seat on the couch. She still hadn’t found the Bible Mama told her about before she died and didn’t know if it was in any of the boxes Dean had filled with his wife’s personal items. For all Sara knew, the Bible Mama spoke of had been thrown out. If Sara understood her mother’s dying words right, there was a letter inside the Bible that she’d written to Sara.

  But it doesn’t make sense. If Mama wanted me to know something, why didn’t she tell me in person, instead of writing a letter?

  Sara reached into the box and pulled out two photo albums, filled with pictures of her when she was a baby. Some of the photos had Mama in them too. She looked so pretty with her long auburn hair.

  Not like mine. Sara touched her long wavy hair. I wonder if my father’s hair was also blond.

  After flipping through the albums, she noticed an envelope with more photos inside. These were several recent pictures, some from last year. Shuffling through a few of them, Sara stopped at one in particular that had been taken on her mother’s birthda
y. It was funny how a single photo could take you back to the exact moment it had been snapped.

  Sara smiled, looking at her mother, posing like a model with the new blue-and-black scarf around her neck. She remembered her own words exactly, asking Mama to “pose pretty for the camera,” right after she opened the gift bag with the scarf tucked neatly inside.

  Sara wiped her nose as she continued to look at other photos. Most of the pictures had the date they were taken, embedded right into the photo. On some of the others, her mother had written the dates on the back. “I’ll have to buy more albums, so I can arrange these other pictures in order.” Sara swiped at a few more tears trickling down her cheeks. Then she returned to the box and took out a small, velvet-lined container. Nothing but costume jewelry in there, so she set it aside. Underneath that were the scarves Mama used to wear regularly before receiving the one from Sara.

  Sara had hoped Dean would have given her Mama’s wedding ring. What was he planning to do with it anyway? Perhaps he was saving it to give to his son’s future wife someday.

  She swallowed against the thickening in her throat. If she weren’t in the middle of taking business classes at her local community college, she’d consider leaving town. With Mama gone, why should she stay?

  Sara thought about her part-time job at a local dentist’s office. She enjoyed working there when she wasn’t in school, but being a receptionist wasn’t something she wanted to do for the rest of her life.

  Sara pulled the other miscellaneous scarves out of the box and gasped. Hiding underneath was a Bible. With trembling fingers, she lifted it out and held it against her chest. Why had she never seen this before?

  Sara began thumbing through the pages, until she spotted an envelope tucked between the books of Matthew and Mark. She tore it open and read her mother’s letter out loud.

  “Dear Sara,

  If you are reading this letter, it’s because I am gone. There aren’t enough words to say how much you mean to me. And with what you are about to read, please know I was never ashamed of you. The actions I chose to take when I was old enough to know better are where my guilt lies. You, my sweet daughter, are special. Don’t ever forget that.

  After all the years you have asked about your heritage and I’ve refused to reveal anything, I now want you to know the truth. My maiden name was Lapp. I changed it after I left home when I was eighteen.

  My parents, Willis and Mary Ruth, live in Strasburg, Pennsylvania, and here is their address. Hopefully, someday you’ll get the chance to meet them. If you do, please tell my mom and dad that I love them and always have. Tell them I’m sorry for all the things I said and did to hurt my family before I ran away from home all those years ago.

  Please let your grandparents know I was too ashamed to tell them about you. I didn’t know what they would think of me, being unmarried and pregnant.

  I am telling you this now because you have the right to get to know them, and they you. I hope and pray someday you will make peace with Dean and your brother. While my husband may not have been the perfect father figure for you, he has been a good provider, and did the best he could.

  All my love,

  Mama”

  Sara nearly choked on the sob rising in her throat. Oh Mama, why couldn’t you have told me all this sooner? If you really wanted me to know my grandparents, then why’d you wait till now? We could have visited them together.

  She read her mother’s letter several more times before setting it aside. While Mama had written her parents’ address on the back of the letter, there was no phone number included. Surely they must have a phone.

  As Sara held the letter close to her heart, she made a decision. She would write to Willis and Mary Ruth Lapp, saying she’d like to come in June, but it might not be until July 5th or after because she had summer classes to finish. If they wanted to see her, she would pay them a visit, and maybe make the trip by bus as far as Philadelphia. Perhaps then she would learn the identity of her real father.

  Chapter 1

  One week later

  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

  Michelle Taylor stared at the contents of her wallet and groaned. She barely had enough money to buy groceries this week, much less pay the rent that was due five days ago. She’d lost her job at a local coffee shop a month ago and hadn’t been able to find another position. What little money she had saved went to pay last month’s rent. Soon Mr. Henson would be hounding her for June’s rent, and if she didn’t come through, he’d probably throw her out in the street, like he had the last tenant.

  Michelle looked around her shabby studio apartment. It came fully furnished but didn’t include more than the basics—a few dishes and cooking utensils, a small kitchen table with two chairs, a well-used sofa, and a bed that pulled down from the wall. In the cramped kitchen area, peeling linoleum held little appeal, nor did the water-stained ceiling. The vinyl on the wall near the kitchen table had been ripped, and the chipped cabinet doors where she kept her canned goods hung askew. The rust-stained sink and crooked blinds on the window completed the gloomy picture in this room, not to mention the hum of the old refrigerator that just about drove her batty.

  Then there was the pathetic bathroom. The toilet ran unless she shook the handle a couple of times. Chipped grout, blackened in places with sickening mold, made the faded tile behind the tub/shower combination anything but pleasing. Hard water stains covered the shower door, and some of the tiles on the floor had begun to buckle. The sink faucet dripped constantly, even though Michelle had tried several times to fix it—a job her landlord should have taken care of. There was nothing high class about this dwelling, but at least it gave Michelle a roof over her head—same as it did for the rest of the building’s occupants. No one in this building was high class, most certainly not Michelle.

  Emotionally and physically exhausted, she moved from the kitchen area and sank to the outdated, black, imitation-leather sofa. Leaning her head back, and using her fingertips, she massaged her throbbing forehead. What I should do is get out of Philly and make a new start somewhere else. Guess I could go back to Ohio and see if Al and Sandy will take me in again. Course, it’s been so long they might have moved, or at the very least, taken in more foster kids, so they wouldn’t have room for an unwanted guest.

  Michelle hadn’t seen her foster parents since she graduated from high school and went out on her own six years ago. She hadn’t called or even sent a postcard to let them know where she was or how she was doing. “They probably wouldn’t care anyhow,” she muttered. “Truth be told, Sandy and Al were probably glad to get rid of me.”

  Michelle squeezed her eyes shut, wincing as her headache worsened. Shoulda kept my grades up in school. I may have had a chance at a college scholarship and might be workin’ at a decent job by now. Guess this is what I get for being a know-it-all and running off the minute I got out of high school.

  When Michelle left Columbus, she’d gone from town to town, taking whatever menial jobs she could find. When things went bad, or she ran low on money, she moved on, always searching—always hoping—wishing she could put down permanent roots. All Michelle had ever wanted was to feel loved and accepted—to feel like she truly belonged. Of course, it was only wishful thinking. At the rate things were going, she’d never have a place she could call “home” and mean it. It was doubtful Michelle would ever know what the love of a caring family was all about.

  Her head jerked when someone pounded on the door. Oh great. I bet that’s Mr. Henson, coming for the rent I don’t have. If I don’t answer, he’ll think I’m not here and go away. She sat perfectly still and didn’t make a sound.

  The pounding continued. “Michelle! Come on, sweetie, I know you’re in there, so open this door.”

  Relieved that it wasn’t Mr. Henson after all, she called, “Coming, Jerry.”

  Michelle jumped up and hurried across the room. Jerry had been kind of edgy when he came to see her last night, and she didn’t want him to make a scene outs
ide her door. A few times before when she’d refused to let him in because he’d been drinking too much, he’d become loud and boisterous. After some of the other tenants complained about the noise, the grumpy landlord warned her that she would have to leave if it happened again.

  Another loud knock on the door, and Michelle jerked it open. “Said I was coming. Didn’t you hear me through the paper-thin door?”

  Jerry’s eyelids lowered as he stepped inside and slammed the door shut. “Yeah, I heard ya.” He reached out and pulled her close.

  Michelle smelled the rotten-egg scent of beer on his breath as soon as he kissed her, and she nearly gagged. Michelle had never acquired a taste for alcohol or appreciated the smell of it. The same thing held true for cigarette smoke. It wasn’t that she thought she was too good for those things. They just made her feel sick.

  “How’d your day go?” Jerry held Michelle so close she could barely breathe. “Did ya find another job yet?”

  “No, I did not. Nobody seems to be hiring right now.” Michelle pulled on her shirt collar. “And if I don’t find something soon, I’ll be kicked out of this apartment building for not paying the rent.” She didn’t let on that Jerry’s yelling outside her door could also get her kicked out. He wouldn’t think twice about threatening the landlord.

  Jerry released his hold on her and sauntered across the room to the nearly empty refrigerator. “Ya got any beer?”

  “No, and I hardly have any food either. If my luck doesn’t change soon, I could end up living on the streets with all the other homeless people in this town.”

  Jerry raked his fingers through the ends of his curly brown hair. It looked like he hadn’t washed it in several days. “You ain’t gonna end up on the streets, sweetie, ’cause I want ya to move in with me. I told you that last night, remember?”

  Michelle did remember. How could she forget? After she’d declined his offer, they’d had a big argument that ended with Jerry grabbing her so tight, she’d been left with bruises on both of her wrists.

  “Michelle, did ya hear what I said?” Eyes narrowing, he got right in her face.