by J Nell Brown
Crying, she laughs last.
—THE END—
Fate whispers, “You cannot withstand the storm.” The warrior replies, “I am the Storm.”
—Anonymous
Letter to Reader
Dear Reader,
Thoughtful reviews about an author’s work are like a pay raise or a tip to employees in traditional jobs. If you enjoyed this short story—“She Laughs Last”—please take a moment to place a review wherever you purchased this short story, sharing with other readers what you’ve enjoyed. Your feedback is invaluable.
The A21 Campaign, a nonprofit organization to abolish the human trafficking of children, is my charity of choice. When you purchase a short story or novel in the Orphan Dreamer saga, ten percent of the profits will be donated to the A21 Campaign or organizations with a similar mission.
I look forward to saying hello to you on Facebook. Please like my page so you can keep up with my writing journey. Also, please sign up for my semiannual newsletter, and I will notify you about future releases, sales, and special events.
With gratitude,
J. Nell Brown
Excerpt
Orphan Dreamer and The Missing Arrowhead
Episode One of the Orphan Dreamer Saga
Prologue
One year before . . .
Thursday, April 1, 1993
Gainesville, Florida
Ever since I can remember, I have despised the loneliness, but I never asked for this kind of company.
Not then.
Not now.
Not ever.
It is true: I have begged God for a kindred spirit just like the deliciously independent orphan girl, Anne Shirley, who met and then fell into platonic love with Diana Barry—a beautiful crow-head girl—in Avonlea, the magical lands of Anne of Green Gables.
I am not anything to look at, but I am a crow-head. God drenched my curly locks with the same black ink that soaks a crow’s wings, and for that bit of goodwill, I am grateful.
But I’m running out of time to find my elusive friend and gift her my homemade friendship bracelet—a chevron pattern of emerald weaved next to black, then plum and lavender, and finally yellow, before starting at emerald again.
Because one night, they will take me in order to save you.
My rafiki—“friend,” a.k.a. my dad—told my mom last night. Who knows if I’ll be sleeping or awake when they come, but here’s hoping that tonight is not that night.
I sweep the butterscotch glow of my flashlight back and forth, searching the cattails by the pond in the middle of my backyard where I ate lunch earlier today. Did I lose the ancient arrowhead here? It’s black. An obsidian arrow.
How am I going to find a black arrow in the dirt?
I squint and keep searching. Honestly, I don’t remember ever possessing—much less losing—an ancient relic gifted to me by a prince. I’m not exactly the kind of girl a prince would even notice, unless he was the prince of nerds. But I have been a bit confused lately. It’s the new medicine. I think.
Suddenly, death warmed over stinks up the sticky air that clings to my skin.
Cattails rustle, whispering a warning. But I haven’t found the lost relic yet. I glance over my left shoulder.
Grody. To. The. Max. It’s a gator! Heart pounding, I clutch the handle of my quiver. Only one arrow left. It’s not ancient. Not special. Not gifted to me by a prince. But this arrow might save my life.
Beneath the yellow sweep of my flashlight, the cold-blooded reptilian belly crawler cursed with a mouthful of jagged and foul-smelling chompers charges out of the pond toward me. I would’ve been safer in Evergreen Cemetery, lost among moss-laden oak trees, headstones, tombs, and dead people.
Storm!
I bolt across the red wooden bridge that splits the four acres behind our stone cottage in half. Fire shoots up the back of my legs and settles into my calf muscles and thighs. Just two more acres to go. You can do it, Danny!
I have to.
Zigzagging, I slosh through a low-lying area of our backyard. Cold mud slings around my ankles, attempting to suck me into the quagmire. I keep pushing forward while focusing on my goal—home, a place of safety.
At least for now.
An amber glow flickers behind the windows of our stone cottage. Mom’s probably still up reading. I grit my teeth and propel myself through the ankle-deep sludge. Should I scream for help? Never. Wimps lose their marbles, then whine about it. The beast slaps its tail as it snakes its way through the mud, letting me know that it’s still on my trail.
One more acre to go.
My lungs scream.
I’m tired.
Time for Plan B.
I launch my body upward, reach up and grab an arm of a moss-draped oak, then scamper up the stairs of the treehouse anchored in the one-hundred-year-old giant’s crooked branches.
“Th-th-thanks, Grandpa.” Grandpa Cavanaugh died a few years ago, but his legacy—a Swiss Family Robinson fortress—remains. It was a birthday gift to me before he took his last journey to a faraway place. A place where more angels live in the neighborhood than people. In my book, it wouldn’t be a bad place to move to. What do angels look like? I sure could use one about now.
At the base of the tree, the gator waits for me. Hissing. Snarling. Seemingly shouting that my end lingers closer than I think. But if my end has arrived, then what about Mother and Father?
I need to survive.
For their sakes. Not mine.
I check my pulse. Not dead yet. Mission accomplished.
Acknowledgments
Yeshua, thank you for inspiring this book through my imagination at a time when I needed it most. You’ve always been faithful to me.
Special thanks to my late father, Chaplain Austin Brown; my mother, Mrs. Jeanette Brown; and my sisters and friends.
To my ancestors, thank you for your bravery.
To my editors, Ann Castro and Emily Dings at AnnCastro Studio, Faralee Pozo at Upwork.com, and Courtney Rae Andersson at Elevation Editorial—thank you all for your eagle-eye talents.
To my readers, thank you for loving this story. These characters exist for you.
Author Biography
J. Nell Brown, the daughter of a chaplain and a teacher, is a Florida native.
Her relationship with Yeshua (the Hebrew name for Jesus) is fused with experiences in life, travel, extensive Bible study, and people’s stories—all of which she combines to create characters, plots, and settings for her novels and short stories. An involuntary insomniac, Brown practices medicine and writes in her free time.
She is a self-proclaimed nerd and loves all things scientific. Her love of science is demonstrated by her research at Los Alamos National Laboratory, the site for the development of the atomic bomb. She graduated with honors from the University of Florida (U of F) College of Agriculture and received her medical doctorate from the same. After completing an anesthesia residency at The University of Chicago Hospitals, she began practicing in Florida.
Her heart overflows with compassion for people who are hurting, particularly children. A portion of the proceeds from this book will go to the A21 Campaign, a rescue charity for human-trafficked children, and Eastside Baptist School in Gainesville, Florida, a school of love, values, and solid educational curriculum for children whose parents would not otherwise be able to afford an alternative school education.
Her first nonfiction book, Shhh, My Father Is Speaking, and I Am Listening, is about her prayer journey. The Bible is her favorite literary masterpiece. You may follow J. Nell Brown on her author website: JNellBrown.com.
