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A Family To Share
Arlene James


“Larissa, please listen. Listen a
minute. Daddy’s talking to you,”
Kendal Oakes said, trying to
comfort his screaming daughter.
Connie walked in, and all heads in the daycare center turned in her direction. Larissa stopped wailing long enough to see that someone new had arrived. The next instant the child launched herself, literally, out of her father’s arms and straight into Connie’s.
Grappling with the sudden weight of a flying body, slight as it was, Connie staggered slightly, as Larissa leaned her head against her and sobbed inconsolably. The sound of it tore at Connie’s heart, and by the look in Kendal’s cinnamon-brown eyes, it ripped him to shreds.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, but she shook her head and instinctively stepped back as he reached for his daughter.
“It’s all right,” she told him with a soft smile.

ARLENE JAMES
says, “Camp meetings, mission work and the church where my parents and grandparents were prominent members permeate my Oklahoma childhood memories. It was a golden time, which sustains me yet. However, only as a young, widowed mother did I truly begin growing in my personal relationship with the Lord. Through adversity, He blessed me in countless ways, one of which is a second marriage so loving and romantic, it still feels like courtship!”
The author of over sixty novels, Arlene James now resides outside of Dallas, Texas, with her husband. Arlene says, “The rewards of motherhood have indeed been extraordinary for me. Yet I’ve looked forward to this new stage of my life.” Her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her, as she’s been at it since the eighth grade!

A Family to Share
Arlene James


For we do not have a high priest who cannot
sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has
been tempted in all things as we are, yet without
sin. Let us therefore draw near with confidence to
the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and
may find grace to help in time of need.
—Hebrews 4:15–16
For the Stines, with much affection.

Contents
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
Letter to Reader

Chapter One
“Lovely,” Sharon pronounced, backing away from the trail of ivory satin ribbon that she left curling around a tendril of ivy on the floor, the finishing touch to a canopy of cascading ribbons and greenery.
“It is beautiful,” Connie said, gently tugging on her left earlobe as she pictured her older sister, Jolie, standing beneath the canopy beside Sharon’s brother, Vince.
Jolie met tall, good-looking Vince Cutler after she’d moved into his old apartment. He’d forgotten to have his personal mail forwarded, and the two had met after he’d dropped by to pick up what the post office had sent to his old address. One thing had led to another and now the two were about to be married.
Connie couldn’t have been happier for her sister. God knew that Jolie needed someone like Vince, especially at that point in her life. The whole thing was terribly romantic. Every wedding was romantic, Connie supposed, but especially on Valentine’s Day when the couple were as much in love as Jolie and Vince. The wedding was still hours away, but there were already tears in Connie’s eyes.
Helen, one of the youngest of Vince’s four sisters, folded her arms and nodded decisively.
“I think it’s the prettiest wedding we’ve ever done.”
“Ought to be,” Donna, the youngest, cracked, “considering how much practice we’ve had.”
“And you know that if we’d left it up to Vince,” Olivia, the second-oldest sister, drawled, “he’d have hauled in a couple of hay bales, stuck a daisy in one and called it done.”
Everyone laughed, but it was good-natured teasing. All of the sisters were married and seemed delighted that their adored only brother had found his life mate, even if Jolie had decorated his house in Western style, or something between Texana and cowboy chic, as she put it. For the Cutler women, chintz and kitsch seemed to be the height of home fashion, but Connie certainly couldn’t fault their wedding decor.
In fact, Connie couldn’t have been happier with Jolie’s soon-to-be in-laws. They had even helped mend the rift that had existed between Connie and Jolie, a break that had resulted from a custody battle over Connie’s young son, Russell. Vince had pushed Jolie to reconcile with her family, and for that, Connie would be forever grateful. According to Marcus, Connie’s and Jolie’s brother, that just went to prove that God does indeed move in mysterious ways.
Marcus, who was the pastor of this endearing old church where the wedding would take place, had been accorded the happy privilege of performing the ceremony, and Connie knew that he treasured the very idea of it. No one had regretted the break with Jolie more than Marcus had, but since the family had been mended, he’d have the joy of officiating at his sister’s wedding ceremony. Wanting to look his very best on this momentous occasion, he had gone to the barber shop that morning for a professional shave and cut.
“Just think,” he’d said as he kissed Connie’s cheek before walking out of the door of the house they shared, “one day I’ll be doing this for you, too.”
Connie doubted that very much. Marcus, bless him, was so good that he couldn’t understand that most men would hold her past against her, at least the sort of man that she would even remotely consider as a father for her son. Jolie, on the other hand, deserved a kind, caring, upright man like Vince. Connie had cheated herself of that privilege, but she couldn’t be too maudlin about her situation; if she hadn’t made certain mistakes, she wouldn’t have Russell.
Thoughts of her eighteen-month-old son woke a quiet yearning for the sight of his sweet little face, and Connie glanced at her wrist to check the time. If she hurried, she ought to be able to give Russell his dinner in the kitchen at the parsonage before she had to start getting ready for the wedding.
As if she could read her thoughts, Sharon announced, “I think we’re finished here.”
“Better be,” Olivia said, gathering up her decorating supplies. “Mom’s hair appointment is in thirty minutes.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Helen gasped. “We’d better swing by the fellowship hall and pry her out of there ASAP.”
“I don’t know what she’s been doing over there all this time anyway,” Donna said. “All she had left to do was arrange a few relish trays.”
Sharon rolled her eyes. “That’s like saying all Genghis Khan had to do after he conquered Asia was ride a horse across it. She’ll have rearranged the serving tables and had the baker redecorate the cake by now.”
“She’d better not,” Olivia declared, heading for the door.
Olivia had spent hours that morning arranging those serving tables just the way she wanted them, but Connie wasn’t fooled into thinking that anything but the most best-natured arguments would ensue. The Cutler clan loved and treasured one another. They teased mercilessly, but since Jolie and Vince had gotten engaged at Christmas, Connie had not witnessed a negative expression stronger than a grimace from any member of the Cutler family. Nevertheless, Olivia made a hasty retreat in the direction of the church’s fellowship hall.
The other sisters followed her in rapid succession, waving at Connie and saying that they’d see her in a little while. Connie smiled, genuinely admiring the Cutler sisters, each in her own way. As the last one hurried off, Connie took a final measure of the chapel.
The white of the antiqued walls had aged to a soft butter-yellow, which complemented the gold carpet and pale, natural woods in the room. Tall, narrow stained glass windows glowed vibrantly in the afternoon sunlight, while brass gleamed overhead.
The altar had been draped in an ivory satin cloth and topped with a basket of bloodred roses and a gold cross. The canopy of ivory ribbon and greenery elegantly draped the brass kneeler before it.
A tall, heavy glass pedestal decorated with twining ivy stood to one side, holding an ornately carved unity candle. The Cutler sisters had crafted unique bouquets of greenery with lengths of red satin cloth gathered into soft, billowy clumps, which now adorned the ends of the pews. Connie found them especially appropriate for Jolie, who, though very pretty, was not, as Olivia put it, the “girly” type.
The final touch was an artful scattering of almost two hundred tiny votive candles in simple, clear glass containers, which Vince’s older nephews would light at the beginning of the ceremony.
The attendants’ dresses were a shade of pale yellow trimmed with green ribbon, which, oddly enough, brought the whole scheme together perfectly. When Jolie had first chosen that particular shade, all of the sisters had protested, but it hadn’t taken long for everyone to realize that Jolie had not only her own distinctive style but also a gift for putting colors together.
It truly was going to be a beautiful wedding.
Smiling, Connie went to pick up her son at the church’s day care, situated on the back corner of the grounds.
Rather than erect a shiny new building, the congregation had opted to purchase houses surrounding the historic old church, link them with covered walkways and renovate them for administration, education, fellowship hall and day care spaces. In doing so, they had created a quaint campus reminiscent of a gingerbread village with the chapel at its center. The result felt more like a community than a church, and Connie would be forever grateful for the haven she’d found here.
Snagging her tan wool coat from a peg in the foyer, Connie shrugged it on over her straight-legged, brown knit slacks and matching turtleneck sweater. She felt that the monochrome color scheme made her look taller that her mere five-foot-three frame and balanced her top-heavy figure.
In actuality, her neat, curvy shape was well proportioned to her height, giving her ultrafeminine appeal that her taller, leggier older sister had often envied. Connie, however, remained unaware of this fact, just as she remained unaware that her wispy, golden-blond, chin-length hairstyle often garnered more appreciative glances than her sister’s long fall of straight, thick, golden-brown hair.
The one trait that the two sisters shared, other than their jade-green eyes, was a simplicity of style. In Connie, that translated into an almost-elfin elegance that made her seem vulnerable and quintessentially female, as opposed to Jolie’s earthy, Amazonian womanhood.
Unfortunately, like many women, Connie tended to concentrate on her shortcomings. When she gazed into the mirror, she saw not a pert nose but a childish one, not a classically oval face but a too-sharp chin and wide cheeks, not a full, luscious mouth but a mundane one, not arresting, gold-fringed eyes like jade glass but odd-color eyes and lashes that were too pale.
As she tugged open the door and stepped onto the covered walkway, a cold gust hit her with the force of an icy slap. The wind had a wet, chilly feel to it, but the sky remained blue and clear overhead.
February usually yielded an ice storm that would paralyze north central Texas for at least a day or two, but so far so good. It could ice up tomorrow, she thought, right after Jolie and Vince head off to a beach in Mexico for a honeymoon.
She was thinking how lovely that beach was going to be as she walked up the ramp to the day care center and pulled open the door.
A late-model, domestic luxury car was parked beneath the drive-through cover, but Connie thought nothing of it. Parents came and went all day long, and from the sound of wails in the distance, some little one had either fallen ill or gotten injured. Of course, if it had been serious, an ambulance would have beaten the parent here.
Connie smiled at Millie, a spare, quiet, attentive woman whom everyone referred to as “The Gatekeeper,” and jotted her name down on the pickup sheet beneath that of Kendal Oakes.
Ah, that explained a great deal, she thought.
Mr. Oakes was a new member of the church, having just recently moved to the community, although he did not reside in Pantego itself. Sandwiched between Arlington and Fort Worth, Pantego, along with Dalworthington Gardens, was regarded as a small bedroom community. Landlocked by its larger neighbors, it had little opportunity for growth. As a consequence, many of the church’s members came from outside the community.
Unfortunately, Kendal Oakes’s young daughter had already earned a reputation as a problem child, and it was no wonder considering what she’d been through, poor thing. Connie felt deep compassion for the troubled toddler and her father. Marcus told her that Mrs. Oakes had died suddenly months earlier and that the child, Larissa, had suffered great trauma as a result.
Connie knew Mr. Oakes only in passing, but she’d had dealings with Larissa that past Sunday when she’d stopped by the church’s day care to check on Russell and found herself calming the shrieking child. The day care attendants—most of them older ladies—were beside themselves when she happened along, and their relief was painfully obvious when Larissa unexpectedly launched herself at Connie and held on for dear life. It took several minutes for the sobbing child to exhaust herself, but she was sleeping peacefully against Connie’s shoulder when her father arrived to gently lift her away.
Recognizing a deep sadness in him, Connie supposed that, like his daughter, he must still grieve his late wife dearly. He had whispered his thanks, and in truth Connie hadn’t minded in the least, but she’d come away from the experience more grateful than ever for her son’s placid—if somewhat determined—nature. It was a trait, or so Marcus insisted, inherited from Connie. It certainly hadn’t come from his biological father.
She pushed thoughts of Jessup Kennard to the farthest recesses of her mind as she walked along a hallway toward the toddler area. No good ever came of dwelling on anything to do with Jessup. She prayed for the man regularly, but she couldn’t help but feel relieved that he would very likely spend every day of the rest of his life locked behind bars. And yet, she’d have done much to spare her son the shame of carrying the name of such a father.
Wails of protest had turned to angry screeches by the time Connie turned the corner and came on the scene. Kendal Oakes was doing his best to subdue his child above the closed half door of the room, but while he attempted to capture her flailing arms and twisting little body, Larissa was alternately bucking and clutching at her teacher, Miss Susan.
For some reason, all of the day care workers went by the title of “Miss.” Only twenty and still a college student, the young woman looked as if she was near to tears herself, while Miss Dabney, the day care director, hovered anxiously at her shoulder.
Tall and whipcord-lean, Kendal Oakes looked not only agonized but also out of place in his pin-striped suit and red silk tie tossed back haphazardly over one shoulder. One thick lock of his rich nut-brown hair had fallen forward to curl against his brow, and the shadow of his beard darkened his long jawline and flat cheeks. He was speaking to his daughter in a somewhat-exasperated voice.
“Larissa, please listen. Listen a minute. Daddy is taking you to play with Dr. Stenhope. You like Dr. Stenhope. Larissa, Dr. Stenhope is waiting for us. Come on now.”
“Is she ill?” Connie wondered aloud, and for one heartbeat, everything froze.
All heads turned in her direction and Larissa stopped screaming long enough to see that someone new had arrived. The next instant, the child propelled herself out of her caregiver’s arms and straight into Connie’s, clapping her hands around Connie’s neck and grasping handfuls of Connie’s hair and coat.
Grappling with the sudden weight of a flying body, slight as it was, Connie staggered slightly. Larissa lay her head on Connie’s shoulder and sobbed inconsolably. The sound of it tore at Connie’s heart, and by the look in his cinnamon-brown eyes, it ripped Kendal Oakes to shreds.
For a moment, Connie saw such despair in those eyes that she mentally recoiled. She knew despair too well to wish further acquaintance with it.
The next instant, compassion rushed in. The poor man.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, but she shook her head and instinctively stepped back as he reached for his daughter.
Connie noticed that he had quite large hands, with wide palms and long, tapered fingers.
“It’s all right,” she told him softly, hefting the child more securely against her.
Larissa felt warm, her tiny chest heaving, but whether it was with exertion or fever, Connie couldn’t tell.
“Has anyone been able to take her temperature?”
Kendal shook his head grimly. “It’s not a physical ailment. Dr. Stenhope is a pediatric psychiatrist.”
Poor baby, Connie thought, rocking from side to side in a gentle swinging motion. Connie knew that the child had to be under two; otherwise, she would have been in a different class than Russell. So young and already under the care of a psychiatrist. It was heartbreaking.
Larissa’s weeping subsided to huffs and gasps. Connie reached up and instinctively patted the child’s back. Kendal stared at her hand as if he was studying just how she did it. He betrayed a patent desire to learn how to handle his daughter, and once more Connie’s heart went out to him.
After a moment, he glanced reluctantly at the thin gold watch encircling his wrist and grimaced.
“We really have to go.”
Cautiously, almost apologetically, he reached for his daughter, but as those big hands settled at her heaving sides, Larissa shrieked and arched her back, clutching on tighter to Connie. The one clearly in pain, though, was Kendal. Leaning closer, he pitched his voice low and spoke to the bucking child.
“Larissa, we have to go. Dr. Stenhope is waiting for us. Don’t you want to see Dr. Stenhope?”
What Larissa wanted was to hang around Connie’s neck like a necklace, and she fought for several moments, shrugging and twisting and clutching. Her father patted and cajoled and stroked, but Larissa screamed and flailed in sheer anger. Finally Kendal grasped her firmly by the sides and pulled her away from Connie.
“I am so sorry. She misses her mother still. She…” He gave up trying to speak over Larissa’s shrieks, turned her chest to his and gulped. “I’m sorry,” he said again before striding down the hallway, Larissa’s head clasped to his shoulder to keep her from hurting herself as she bucked.
“You don’t suppose…” Miss Susan murmured, breaking off before completing the thought.
Connie glanced at her, sensing what she was thinking, what they were both thinking, Miss Susan and Miss Dabney.
“No,” she said firmly. “I don’t believe he would harm that child.”
It seemed a logical conclusion, Connie had to admit, but she’d seen child abusers up close and personal during her many years as a foster child. She’d seen the children come in, battered in body and spirit, and watched as the state tried to retrain the parent and reunite the family. If the abuse had been mild enough in nature and the parent willing to work at it, the outcome had sometimes been good. Too often, it had not. More than once, a child of her acquaintance had died after reunification.
Everything she knew told her that the worst that could be said about Kendal Oakes was that he might not be a very skilled parent, but he was obviously trying to get help. It occurred to her that she might have handled this situation better herself.
“Miss Susan, would you get Russell ready to leave, please? I won’t be a moment,” she said crisply, turning to follow Kendal down the hall.
He was moving quickly and she had to run to catch up, but she was with him when they reached his car. He fumbled in his pocket for his keys. Larissa wailed, but she no longer struggled. When he had the keys in hand, he pressed the tiny button on the remote that unlocked the doors.
“Here, let me get that,” Connie offered, reaching for the door handle.
She pulled it open and stepped aside as Kendal bent down, clutching Larissa firmly. He deposited the child in her car seat, but when he attempted to pull the straps of the safety harness up over her shoulders, she crossed her arms and kicked him. He jerked back but said nothing, caught both of her feet in one hand and held them down as he reached for the harness straps with the other. Obviously, he wasn’t going to get it done with one hand.
“Can I help?” Connie asked.
“Would you mind?”
She heard the cringing in his voice, the shame at what he perceived to be his personal failure.
“Not at all,” Connie said brightly, squeezing into the open space beside him.
Larissa stopped crying the instant Connie drew near and allowed her to gently uncross her arms so her father could slide the harness straps in place and bring them together over her chest. Connie smiled and attempted to keep the child engaged while he fit together the two sections of the restraint system and pushed them into the lock.
“There now. That’s right,” Connie crooned. Larissa watched her avidly, as if she was memorizing her face. “What a pretty girl you are when you aren’t crying.” She stroked her hand over the child’s pale-blond hair and heard the lock click at last. “All ready to go see the doctor?”
Larissa blinked and jabbed two fingers into her mouth. Her nose was running, so Connie dug into her coat pocket for a tissue. She had second thoughts before she touched the tissue to that tiny nose, but Larissa turned up her chin and closed her eyes while Connie gently cleaned her nose. But then Connie pocketed the tissue once more and backed away. Larissa’s eyes popped open and she howled like a banshee, drumming her heels and reaching toward Connie.
Dismayed, Connie could only watch as Kendal closed the door on his daughter’s howls of protest.
“Oh, dear.”
“It’s all right,” he said, two bright red splotches staining the flesh drawn tight over his cheekbones. “When she gets like this…” He clutched his keys. “She’ll calm down in a few minutes. She likes Dr. Stenhope, I think.”
Connie couldn’t control her grimace and then had to explain it.
“I don’t have anything against psychiatrists. It’s just that your daughter is so young for that sort of care. I know the two of you must have been through a lot.”
The look that he turned on her said it all. The man was confused, harassed, deeply worried.
“I don’t know how else to help her,” he admitted bluntly. Then he cleared his throat and smiled. “I appreciate your assistance.”
“Anytime.”
He would have turned away, but Connie impulsively reached out a hand, setting it lightly on his forearm.
“I’ll pray for you,” she told him softly.
A muscle in the hollow of one cheek quivered as he lay his much larger hand over hers.
The next instant, he abruptly jerked away and stepped back, saying, “Please do.”
Quickly, he opened the front door of the car and dropped down behind the steering wheel. In the backseat, Larissa still reached for Connie, her cries both angry and desperate.
As the sedan drove away, Connie pictured the child inside.
She really was a beautiful little thing with her pale-blond hair and plump cheeks. She had her father’s cinnamon-brown eyes, but hers were rounder and wider, and something about the way Larissa looked at a person felt vaguely troubling. It was as if she constantly searched for something, someone.
Connie sensed the child’s fear, anger and frustration, emotions with which she could strongly identify. She had never known her own father and had few pleasant memories of her mother, but she remembered all too well being separated from her brother and then later her sister. Alone and confused, she had desperately sought comfort from those in whose care she had been placed, only to find herself also suddenly separated from them. That pattern had repeated itself over the years.
At times, the anger and neediness had overwhelmed her, but unlike her older sister, Jolie, Connie could not express herself in cold contempt or outright displays of temper. Instead, she tended to hide away and weep endlessly for hours, then blindly latch on to the first friendly person she could find. All too often, they hadn’t really been her friends at all. It seemed to be an unwritten law that the users of this world could recognize the neediest of their companions at a glance. Thank God that He had led her out of that.
Chilled, Connie folded her arms and turned back into the building. She smiled at Millie and walked down the hallway to her son’s room.
Russell was ready and waiting for her, his coat on, a sheet of paper to which cotton balls had been glued clutched in one hand. Miss Susan held him in her arms behind the half door, rubbing his nose against hers. He giggled, throwing back his bright-red head, and spied Connie.
“Mama!” he called gaily, his big, blue eyes shining.
He leaned toward her and she caught him up against her, hugging him close.
“Hello, my angel. Were you a good boy today?”
“Sweet as pie,” Miss Susan said.
Connie smiled in response. “Say bye-bye to Miss Susan.”
Russell raised a hand and folded his fingers forward. “Bye-bye.”
“Bye-bye, cutie. See you soon.”
“Thank you, Miss Susan.”
“Anytime. We’re always glad to see him.”
“Well, if I start school—or when, rather—he’s apt to become a regular.”
“That’d be fine,” Miss Susan told her. “He’s such a happy, little thing.”
Connie knew whom she had to thank for that.
Oh, it was true that Russell possessed a sweet, placid nature, but even the best-natured child would fret and act out in the grip of insecurity, and Russell could easily have been such a child. Being born in a prison was not the best way to start out in life, but Jolie, bless her, had seen to it that he had a loving, structured home until Connie, with the help of their brother, could see to it herself.
She and her son didn’t have much money or even a two-parent home, but they were blessed nevertheless.
Connie thought of Larissa Oakes and the turmoil that seemed to spill out all around her and she hugged her son a little closer.
Truly, they were blessed. They had Marcus and Jolie and now even Vince and the other Cutlers. Whatever terrors and shame her past held, whatever uncertainties and limitations clouded her future, her little boy would always know love and the security of family and faith to keep him strong and whole.
She couldn’t ask for anything more.

Chapter Two
No wedding could have been lovelier, Connie thought, walking slowly down the aisle while clutching a half-dozen red roses nestled in ivory tulle.
Vince was grinning from ear to ear and had been since he’d walked out of the side door of the chapel with Marcus and a trio of groomsmen. Both her brother and her soon-to-be brother-in-law were more handsome than any man had the right to be. One dark, one golden, they made an interesting contrast—Vince with his black hair, dressed in a simply tailored, black tuxedo, Marcus in the sumptuous ecclesiastical robe that he chose to wear on such occasions.
Marcus nodded subtly as Connie turned to take her place in front of the other attendants: Vince’s two younger sisters, Helen and Donna. Sharon and Olivia sat to one side, having taken other roles in the ceremony, while their husbands ably corralled the numerous Cutler children.
Connie took her position and gracefully turned, allowing the short train of the flared skirt on the long-sleeved, high-waisted dress to settle into an elegant swirl about her feet. A moment later, the flower girls stepped into view: Vince’s nieces, Brenda and Bets.
Brenda was a few inches taller than her cousin, but they were dressed identically in pale-yellow dresses with long-sleeved velvet bodices and short, full, chiffon skirts, white anklets edged in lace and black Mary Janes. Their hair had been caught up into sausage curls on opposite sides of their heads and each carried a small basket filled with rose petals, which they sprinkled judiciously along the white satin runner on which they walked. One of Vince’s nephews had unrolled the runner along the aisle earlier before two of his cousins had entered to light the many candles now glowing and flickering about the room, their light refracting against the stained glass windows.
The double doors at the end of the aisle closed behind the girls. Once they reached their assigned spots, the organist switched from Debussy to the wedding march and the crowd rose to its collective feet.
The doors swung open again, revealing Jolie on the arm of the man who would shortly become her father-in-law. Larry Cutler couldn’t have looked prouder walking his own daughters down the aisle, and none of them could have looked any more beautiful than Jolie did.
She wore her mother-in-law’s circa-1960s dress, and the simplicity of the Empire style, with its delicate lace hem, suited her well. A short, close fitting jacket of ivory velvet was added to make the sleeveless bodice suitable for a winter wedding. Along with the lengthy but fragile veil that rested atop Jolie’s head beneath a simple coronet and trailed along behind her, it lent an elegant air to what would have otherwise been a sadly outdated gown.
The bridal bouquet was made up of pale-yellow roses, their stems tied together with velvet ribbon. To please Vince, Jolie had left her long, golden-brown hair down, the coronet sitting just far enough back on her head to keep her bangs out of her eyes.
This was perhaps the first time Connie had ever seen her sister wearing makeup. Nothing heavy—a touch of blush, mascara and a glossy, pink lipstick that called attention to her pretty mouth. The effect was astonishing, though.
Vince looked absolutely stunned, entranced by the vision that glided toward him, and he didn’t snap out of it until Marcus announced in a clear, ringing voice, “I give this woman in marriage.” At which point, Larry kissed her hand and placed it in Vince’s.
Larry then did something that would stay with Connie for a very long time.
He leaned forward and hugged his son tightly.
It was unexpected, at least to Connie. She wasn’t used to seeing two grown men, father and son, masculine and strong, display a deep, easy affection for a special moment.
Connie couldn’t help but think that Russell would never have that.
Because of her—because of the mistakes she had made—her son would never know the love of a father so complete that embarrassment simply did not exist in the same sphere with it.
Tears immediately gathered in her eyes and she had to look away.
She wasn’t the only one crying at that point. Vince’s mother and oldest sister were already dabbing at their eyes. Sharon, in fact, had a difficult time getting through the Old Testament reading that she had chosen. Olivia delivered the New Testament portion more easily, but she was in tears, too, by the end of the music.
Marcus, bless him, elevated the ceremony from tear-filled to joyous simply by his demeanor as he delivered a short homily on the blessings and responsibilities of marriage and read the vows, which the happy couple spoke loudly and clearly.
In a small departure from the norm, it had been decided that it was best if the ring bearer—the youngest of Olivia’s three sons—make as short an appearance as possible in his formal role. This arrangement also gave him a real moment in the spotlight as he now came forward, carrying the actual rings attached to a small pillow by ribbons. Connie and the best man, Boyd, a friend and employee of Vince’s, met him at the head of the aisle and took the rings from him, then moved into position once more while shepherding the young boy into his spot among the groomsmen, who were his uncles.
The rings were exchanged.
Marcus lit two taper candles and passed them to the bride and groom, who together lit the unity candle while the organ played. Then they knelt at the altar and received their blessing.
Finally, the moment came when Marcus pronounced them man and wife, followed by the admonition “You may kiss your bride.”
To her shock, Connie found that she couldn’t watch.
It was ludicrous. She had seen the two kiss before, and she’d always felt such delight for her sister’s sake. She knew that Jolie deserved the kind of love that Vince showered upon her. Yet, in that moment when they publicly sealed their lifelong commitment to each other, Connie could not bear to witness it.
Somehow and very unexpectedly, it was as if a knife had been driven into her heart, as if she were witnessing the death of all her romantic notions, silly as they had been. Even as the newly married couple turned to be presented to the assembly as Mr. and Mrs. Vince Cutler, Connie could not look at them. She applauded along with everyone else and she truly was happy for them, but she suddenly felt as if a sob was about to break free from her chest.
She knew what it was, of course. She had felt envy before but never like this—never with this searing sense of pure loss—for surely this moment was as close as she would ever come to a wedding of her own.
Not even time could diminish the mistakes that she had made. Only in Heaven would she be able to say that it no longer mattered. As Marcus often said, God removes the consequences of sin in the hereafter, but in the here and now, our choices often yield terrible fruit.
The sad result of her choices was that no decent Christian man would ever want her for his wife, and that was as it should be. She thought that she’d faced and accepted that harsh truth, but suddenly she realized that deep down she harbored a very foolish hope, which now surely had been properly dashed.
It was all for the best, she told herself. She was not like Jolie. Unfortunately, she was much more like their mother, and this just served to prove it. No matter how much she had tried to deny it in the past, the emotional neediness of Velma Wheeler was very much her legacy to her youngest daughter.
Disgusted with herself, Connie fixed her smile and followed her sister and her new husband down the aisle. The best man—a perfectly nice, married gentleman—escorted her, but it was all she could do to hold his arm until they had cleared the room.
At once, she was swept into a joint hug by the newly married couple, and then it was fairly chaotic for several moments as the remainder of the wedding party joined them. Telling herself that she would be thankful for this reality check later, Connie allowed herself to be hurried into a side room while the photographer snapped candid shots and Marcus told the guests how to find the hall where the reception would be held.
After the guests had headed toward the reception site, the wedding party hurried back into the sanctuary for a few group photos. Then the attendants trooped over to the reception en masse while Jolie and Vince struck a few poses as husband and wife.
It was a happy, talking, laughing mob in the reception hall. Connie couldn’t have counted the number of hugs that enveloped her, and yet shortly after the new Mr. and Mrs. Cutler arrived, Connie found herself standing alone in a corner watching the festivities. She felt apart, solitary, sealed away behind an invisible wall of past mistakes.
Some prisons, she had learned, were not made of bars.
Squaring her shoulders, she scolded herself for letting regret stain this of all days. After sending a quick prayer upward, she fixed her smile and forced one foot in front of the other until she was in the midst of the throng once more.

Marcus sauntered forward, free of his clerical robes, a cup of punch in one hand and a relaxed smile on his face. He glanced across the room to the table where Jolie and Vince were seated. Russell lolled on his aunt’s lap, playing with the edge of her veil, which she’d looped over one arm before taking her seat.
“I never expected this,” Marcus said, surprised when his sister jumped slightly. He shouldn’t have been. She held herself apart too much. It sometimes seemed to him that Connie had not yet left prison behind her.
“What?” she asked uncertainly.
He waved a hand. “This. Somehow, I never thought about it. There always seemed to be so much else to worry about, and now suddenly here we are, a real family doing just what real families do.”
“It’s the Cutlers,” Connie said. “They’re just so normal that they make you feel normal by association.”
“I don’t know,” he mused, his green eyes narrowing. “I think we might be more normal than we realize.”
“You, maybe,” she countered softly, then immediately amended that. “And Jolie. Definitely Jolie.”
He cocked his head. “Not you?”
“Not me,” she answered softly.
He looped an arm around her shoulders in brotherly support.
“You may be the most normal of us all, Connie.”
She shook her head and Marcus sighed inwardly. Sensitive and caring, Connie had suffered the most after their mother had abandoned them. As a result, she could not seem to stop punishing herself for past sins. She carried such needless guilt, such overwhelming shame. It was one of the reasons Marcus had convinced her to regain custody of her son. Going against Jolie had hurt him, but he had known Jolie would survive. He hadn’t been so sure about Connie, and yet here she was, as lovely and sweet as ever.
He followed her adoring gaze to her son. No longer entertained by the delicate edging of Jolie’s veil, Russell suddenly flopped over and tried to pull himself upright on Jolie’s lap by tugging at the bodice of her wedding gown. Vince immediately reached over and plucked him off Jolie, settling him in his own lap, but Connie was a very conscientious mother. She had a gift for it, frankly, if Marcus did say so himself.
She immediately started toward her rambunctious son, saying “Uh-oh. Someone is restless.”
Marcus followed in her wake, watching the way that Russell so readily came up into her arms.
“He looks so adorable in that little suit,” Jolie said, her eyes shining.
Her smile looked permanent, Marcus was thankful to note.
“Marcus insisted that he had to have one,” Connie said, sliding a look at Marcus. “He spends too much on us, doesn’t he, munchkin?”
“Don’t be silly,” Marcus scoffed. “If you’d let me pay you for keeping house—”
“You do pay me,” Connie interrupted tartly. “You’re putting a roof over our heads.”
“It’s more than a fair exchange,” Marcus argued.
“Somehow, I don’t think he minds,” Vince told Connie, smiling at Marcus and clasping Jolie’s hand in his.
Marcus saluted him with his punch glass.
“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Connie replied, “but I do. That’s why I’m intending to go to school and learn a trade of some sort.”
Marcus studiously kept a grimace off his face, even as Jolie sat forward, exclaiming “That’s great!”
“You have to know that we’ll help in any way that we can,” Vince assured Connie.
“Thanks, but that’s the point, isn’t it? I have to be able to help myself. Still, since you’re not working at the cleaners now, Jo, maybe you could watch Russell a couple of days a week? They won’t charge me to keep him here at the day care, but I know he’d rather spend some time with you. It would give him a nice change, at least.”
Jolie literally beamed. “That would be wonderful!”
Marcus smiled to himself, so very proud of both of his sisters.
While Connie had been in prison, Jolie had cared for Russell as if he were her own child, and in many ways he was. It was entirely understandable that Jolie hadn’t wanted to give him up, but once Connie had been released, Marcus had known that—for her sake as well as Russell’s—she had to take over guardianship of her son. She hadn’t believed herself worthy of mothering a child, but no one who knew her could say that now. Marcus’s one regret was that Jolie had gotten hurt in the process, and he had feared that the resulting break in the family would be permanent.
Thank God that had not been the case.
Vince had helped Jolie find a way to forgive and reconnect with her family. Considering that they’d fought a custody battle over the boy, Connie showed great compassion and wisdom in asking Jolie to help care for Russell. Thankfully, Connie understood that Jolie would always share a special bond with Russell and that he needed Jolie to be his aunt. Now, she could be.
Marcus only wished that Connie could forgive herself for her past mistakes as readily as she forgave others. He hated to think about Connie not spending her days with her son, but he understood why she felt that she had to go to school. Somehow, though, something told him that it wasn’t the right thing to do, not at this time. Still, he kept his opinion to himself.
One thing he had learned was that God always had a plan for His children, and Marcus had no doubts, that, when the time was right, God would reveal His plan for Connie.

Connie tacked her smile into place and took her son to find his sippy cup and something appropriate with which to fill it. She loved her sister, and she had no doubt that it was wise to have Jolie watch Russell whenever she could, but she felt stretched thin at the moment. She had not expected this day to be so hard for her. That it was seemed irrefutable proof that she was not the person she should be.
Father, forgive me, she prayed silently. I want to be better. I really do. It was a familiar but heartfelt refrain, and she determinedly set out to enjoy her sister’s wedding reception.
Russell was yawning by the time the bride and groom cut the cake. It finally seemed acceptable for Connie to make her escape. The Cutler sisters, however, would hear nothing of it. The bridal bouquet was yet to be tossed, they declared, and Connie was one of only four unmarried ladies present over the age of twelve. She couldn’t very well refuse to line up with the others. It was her only sister’s wedding, after all.
She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole when she actually caught the thing, though caught was too fine a word for what happened.
As was usually the case, the florist had made a replica of the bridal bouquet for the traditional toss. That way, the bride could keep her real bouquet and the lucky, next-to-be-married recipient could keep the silk copy. The silk flowers were quite lightweight and sailed merely a few feet over Jolie’s shoulder before bouncing off Connie’s chest.
The bouquet plopped to the floor, as Connie had made no real attempt to catch it, but Russell, who was at her feet, promptly snatched it up and presented it to her, proud as a peacock. Everyone laughed and Connie felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment because surely too many knew how ridiculous the idea was that she would be the next to marry.
A great deal of effort went into her smile for the photos, and when she left the room a few minutes later, a sleepy Russell snuggled against her chest, she felt like the worst sort of ingrate. God had blessed her, despite her mistakes, and she told herself firmly that she would not allow envy and regret to rob her of gratitude. Nevertheless, she was glad to finally get away.
Draping her coat over her shoulders, she pulled the edges together around her son and carried him swiftly across the compound. By the time she reached the neat little house that they shared with her brother, her feet were killing her and her arms felt like lead weights. It was a great pleasure to kick off her satin pumps, deposit the silk bouquet on a handy shelf and gently lower Russell onto the changing table.
Russell was sleeping already, but he roused as she changed him. Softly singing a lullaby, she kept her movements slow and easy as she removed his wedding finery and slipped him into footed pajamas. She dropped down into the bedside rocker with him. Moments later, he was deeply asleep again without a care in the world, his face sublime.
Then it came, the sense of awe, the vast relief.
How could she feel envy when she was here in this warm, cozy house instead of a cold, impersonal cell? She had her son with her—not only an empty ache in her heart—and she had just come from her dear sister’s wedding. Moreover, her kind, generous big brother would be home shortly, still beaming, no doubt.
“Thank you, God,” she whispered, blinking back tears as she lay her son in his crib.
Perhaps she would never have what Jolie did, but she had more than she deserved. It was enough.

Kendal gently closed the door to his daughter’s room and leaned against it, sighing with relief. Bedtime had not been the ordeal that he had feared it would be this evening, which was not to say that the day hadn’t been difficult enough. The session with Dr. Stenhope had not gone well.
Usually, Larissa tolerated the grandmotherly psychiatrist with cool indifference. Today, however, she had wailed and struggled until Dr. Stenhope had yielded the direction of her exercises to a younger assistant. Kendal didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell him that his child was fixated on younger women, women who apparently reminded her of her mother on some level, women such as Connie Wheeler.
He turned off thoughts of the petite, compassionate woman, allowing himself instead to indulge a remnant of the rage that he’d felt since the death of his wife. Intellectually, he knew that he was as much to blame for this situation as Laura was and the great guilt that he carried quickly eclipsed the anger. True, she’d shut him out after Larissa was born, but he’d allowed it to happen. It was as if Laura hadn’t known how to be both a wife and a mother at the same time, and he hadn’t known how to overcome his own hurt and disappointment to help her.
He now realized how selfish and convenient that had been. Oh, he’d told himself that, as Larissa grew older, Laura would relax and allow him to take a hand in raising their daughter, but Larissa had needed him then as much as she did now. He could not escape the fact that he had been as unfair to his daughter as Laura had been to him.
It had been horribly easy to take a backseat. His mortgage brokerage had burgeoned with the lowering of interest rates and he’d been focused on turning it into a real player in the field. That, too, had been a convenient excuse.
The ugly truth was that his marriage had never been what he’d hoped it would be. Even before Larissa was born, the relationship had shriveled into cold politeness. He should have fought harder to breach Laura’s defenses of silence and impersonal interaction. He should have been the husband and father that God had meant him to be, even if Laura hadn’t been capable of being the wife and mother he’d envisioned.
Now, it was too late to be a husband to Laura.
Who could’ve imagined that she would die so abruptly, especially from something as seemingly innocuous as a few ant bites? It was Larissa who needed him now.
To think that Larissa had been there, alone, with Laura at the time of her death was bad enough, but for the child to have spent the next day and a half wailing in her crib, waiting for her mommy to come and get her…
He shuddered at the memory. As long as he lived, he’d never forget how Larissa had fought and struggled, reaching for her mother as the ambulance crew wheeled the body from the room.
He hadn’t even handled that part of it well.
Yes, he’d been in shock himself, but a real father would have instinctively protected his child from such a sight. Nearly nine months later, he was no closer to being an adequate father. His little girl merely tolerated him, preferring even a strange woman to him, and all Dr. Stenhope could say was that he shouldn’t take it personally!
At times, he wondered if making the move from Tulsa to Fort Worth had been wise. He was willing to do anything—anything—to help Larissa. All the doctors and literature said that Dr. Stenhope was the foremost authority on detachment disorders in the entire southwestern part of the country, but Stenhope’s treatment didn’t appear to be making any headway with Larissa. She certainly hadn’t offered him the level of counseling and advice on parenting that he’d expected. Yet, he’d had other reasons for making the move—specifically, Laura’s parents.
He was too tired to even think about the Conklins right now. Sometimes he thought he was too tired to breathe. Nevertheless, he still had papers to look over and dinner to clean up after, if hot dogs and canned corn nuked in the microwave could be called dinner.
Off to the kitchen, he scraped ketchup from the plates and stacked them in the dishwasher before wiping down the table, floor and wall. Larissa’s table manners left much to be desired, but he dared not do more than sit stoically while she slung food around the immediate vicinity. He could imagine what she’d do if he actually reprimanded her.
After the domestic chore was accomplished, Kendal moved to the home office that he’d set up next to his bedroom and opened his briefcase. Rubbing his eyes, he settled down behind the mahogany desk to peruse the documents that had been handed to him that day. The new office was up and running, but they weren’t yet fully staffed, so these days he wore several hats as far as the business was concerned.
Any other time, he’d have been thrilled that things were going so well, but now he had more pressing matters on his mind, so much so that the numbers just didn’t want to compute tonight. After a couple of hours, he gave up and went to check on Larissa.
She didn’t even look peaceful in her sleep. Her eyes twitched beneath her closed lids, and her mouth was constantly pursed. As if she were aware of his disappointment, she sighed and flopped from her side onto her back. Her little hands flexed and then she sighed again and seemed to relax. Kendal bowed his head.
God help her, he thought. Please help her.
He meant to say more, but the words wouldn’t come out. They felt too trite and repetitive to make it beyond the ceiling, let alone to God’s ear. That, too, was his fault. His mom used to say that if he felt far from God, he was the one who had moved.
He missed his mom.
Ironically, that was something that he and his daughter had in common, if only she could know it. His own mother died when he was twelve, having contracted a viral infection that had attacked her heart, and the sadness had never really left him. He understood Larissa’s pain more than she could possibly realize, but that seemed of little value at the moment.
Slipping out of her room, he wandered around the dark, silent house. In the few months that they’d been here, he’d come to like this place, situated as it was in a safe, gated community on the eastern edge of Fort Worth. The residents could bike or run around the common green or even ride horses and picnic beside the small lake or creek. There were tennis courts and a weight room, too, but no community pool, as most of the homes, including this one, had their own.
When he’d purchased the property, he’d envisioned Larissa having pool parties and class picnics in a few years. It made a nice contrast to imagining his daughter institutionalized, which was what he really feared would happen.
Too exhausted to keep those fears at bay, he shut himself into his bedroom, where he collapsed onto his pillow. The house felt cold and empty, even though he could hear the central heater running and knew that Larissa slept just across the hall. Or was it that the coldness and emptiness were inside him?
He didn’t know how this had happened. He’d never meant to move so far from the God of his youth, never expected to be so unhappy in his marriage, so inadequate a father. Only God knew how desperately he wanted to fix it, but he simply didn’t know how. He tried again to pray, but he’d said the words so often that they no longer seemed worthwhile.
Gradually, he began to slide toward sleep. As he felt his body relax, his rebellious thoughts turned to a subject he had hoped to avoid: Connie Wheeler.
The minister’s wife was a kind, considerate woman. She was also lovely—all soft, dainty femininity. He sensed a gentle, willing spirit in her. Larissa was certainly taken with her, and she seemed to have a way with the child. Was it possible that she could somehow help them? Maybe, he mused, as awareness drifted away, that was why God had led him here, to this place and to that church.
He slept on that hope, more comfortable than any pillow, and by morning it had become a notion with a life of its own, a growing part of his consciousness. He tried not to give the idea more credence than it deserved, but throughout the difficult morning, he found himself returning to it, clinging to it, comforting himself with it, even praying that it might be so.
Larissa didn’t want to eat and didn’t want to take her bath or have her hair brushed. She didn’t want to be changed, and she certainly didn’t want to be dressed. Forcing her into her clothes, he prepared her for the day as best he could. In his desperation, he wasn’t above bribing her.
“Don’t you want to go to nursery school? Don’t you want to see Miss Susan? How about Miss Connie?”
He had no idea whether the minister’s wife would be around today or not, but he’d have promised the child Santa Claus if it would have stopped her from fighting him. But it didn’t help. Larissa remained distraught.
She quieted as soon as they pulled into the parking lot of the day care center, though, and his relief fought with his resentment. His daughter would rather spend the whole day at nursery school, where she wasn’t even particularly happy, than two hours with him. The worst of it was, he’d rather be apart from her, too. As he dropped her off, he was aware of a shameful eagerness on his part. He couldn’t wait to get to the office, where people actually smiled at him and at least pretended to be glad to have him around. He knew what he was doing there, what was expected of him, and he didn’t have to feel that he was inflicting himself on anyone.
How pathetic was he to let a toddler hurt his feelings so much that he wanted to turn away? It was one thing to feel that way about one’s spouse, but one’s child?
Father, forgive me, he prayed, driving away. I know I disappoint You as much as I disappoint her. And forgive me for that, too.
The words seemed to bounce off the windshield and sink heavily into his chest, weighing down a heart already heavy with woe.

Chapter Three
Connie opened the door to the church’s administrative building and smiled at her brother’s secretary, Carlita.
“Hola, Miss Connie.”
“Hello, Carlita. How are you?”
“Muy bien. Do you wish to see the pastor?”
“Yes, I do, actually.”
“Go on back. He’s been in conference with Miss Dabney for some time now. Surely, they are just about finished.”
Connie slipped past Carlita’s desk and moved toward the hallway off of which several offices opened, saying “If they’re still talking, I’ll wait outside the door.”
“If you like, I’ll bring you a chair,” Carlita offered.
Connie shook her head. “Not necessary. Thanks.”
“De nada.”
Carlita went back to her typing, her long, black braid swinging between her plump shoulder blades as she turned her head toward the computer screen.
When Marcus had hired the single mother of four, she had spoken little English, but her need had been great and corresponded precisely with her efforts. Little more than a year later, Carlita was a model of cheerful, dependable efficiency and another of Marcus’s success stories.
Stepping into the hallway, Connie saw that the door to her brother’s office was only partially closed. She paused a moment, bending her head in an effort to discern whether or not the meeting was coming to an end. She hoped that it was. She had made a decision this morning, and she wanted to speak to Marcus about it before she lost her resolve. Just then, a familiar voice spoke with unexpected sharpness.
“But the child is simply unmanageable.”
“When she’s frustrated,” Marcus replied calmly. “That’s what you said a moment ago—that she’s unmanageable when she’s frustrated and that she dislikes men. I’m not sure that’s cause for dismissal.”
“It wouldn’t be if she wasn’t frustrated so much of the time!” Miss Dabney argued.
“All children get easily frustrated. You’ve told me so often.”
“But they don’t all throw thirty-minute temper tantrums on a routine basis!”
“Is she a danger or an impediment to the other children?” Marcus asked, the very model of patience.
Miss Dabney’s answer sounded grudging. “I suppose not, but she demands a lot of time and attention from the staff.”
“I know it’s difficult,” Marcus said soothingly, “but I’m sorry, Miss Dabney I’m not comfortable dismissing Larissa Oakes. Please, can’t you be patient a little longer? Her father is trying to help her.”
“If you ask me, he’s half the problem,” the day care director retorted.
“I’m sure he’s doing the best he can under the circumstances.”
“She ought to be sent home for the day at the very least,” Miss Dabney grumbled, sounding fairly frustrated herself. “She’s simply out of control, and I’m afraid she’s going to make herself sick if she keeps on the way she is right now. In fact, we have her in the nurse’s room.”
Marcus sighed. “All right.” From the sound of it, he picked up the telephone. A moment later, he dialed a number and only seconds later began speaking.
Connie bowed her head while the call was being made. She’d heard a commotion coming from the infirmary when she’d dropped off Russell a few minutes earlier, but she’d assumed that a child had scraped a knee or something equally innocuous. Probably distance and a closed door had muffled the sounds.
Remembering how distraught little Larissa had been the previous times that she’d dealt with the girl, Connie felt an immediate, almost visceral, impulse to go to her, but it was not her place to do so.
What, she wondered, would Kendal Oakes do if the church didn’t provide day care for his daughter?
Poor child.
Poor father.
Suddenly, the door swung wide open and Marcus halted in mid-step, jerking his head up.
“Sis! Oh, hi. Did you want to speak to me?”
“It can wait,” she told him, backing up.
He held up a finger, almost in supplication.
“One moment.”
Stepping into the hallway, he addressed the secretary. “Carlita, would you call down to the nurse’s station on the intercom and have Larissa Oakes brought up here, please?”
“Sure thing, boss. Pronto.”
“Thank you.” He turned back to Connie. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Why would you think something was wrong?”
“Well, you usually wait to talk to me at home, that’s all.” He smiled and patted her shoulder. “Let me rephrase that. What’s so important that it couldn’t wait?”
She shook her head, now oddly reluctant to broach the subject of returning to school.
“Uh, nothing actually. We can discuss it later.”
“But—”
“Excuse me if I was eavesdropping just now,” she hurried on, “but is there a problem with Larissa Oakes?”
Before Marcus could answer, Miss Dabney appeared in the doorway, arms folded.
“You’ve seen how she reacts,” the day care director said.
“Yes,” Connie replied, “it’s very sad.”
“Sadder than either of you even know,” Marcus added.
“I know she’s experienced trauma in the past,” Miss Dabney stated, “and I’m not unsympathetic to the child’s situation, but it’s very tiring dealing with these scenes day after day.”
Connie felt sure that causing those scenes was equally exhausting for Larissa, but she didn’t say so out of respect for the director. The whole thing was very puzzling. Connie didn’t know if Larissa was hypersensitive, frightened or just spoiled. Perhaps all three.
“Do you know what set her off this time?” she asked Miss Dabney pensively.
“Davy Brocha’s dad came at naptime and Larissa had picked up this stuffed tiger of Davy’s that he had dropped. Well, Mr. Brocha was in a hurry and maybe he was a little abrupt, but he wanted to take the tiger with him, so he let himself into the classroom, went over and plucked it out of her grasp.” Miss Dabney lifted both hands in puzzlement. “She screamed and fell over backward. You’d have thought he’d shot her. Of course, he wasn’t even supposed to be in there, but with any other child it wouldn’t have mattered. With Larissa, it means at least half an hour of uncontrollable screaming. He tried to comfort her and that just made it worse.”
Concern furrowed Connie’s brow. So Larissa really was averse to men in general, she mused, not just her father.
“I see.”
She didn’t really. What could cause such a reaction in a child so young? Whatever it was, Miss Dabney was right about one thing: Larissa clearly was out of control. Connie could hear her shrieks long before the staff nurse carried her into the office.
“Oh, my,” Marcus murmured, and he hurried forward to comfort the child. “Why are you crying, sweetie? Don’t you know that no one here will hurt you?”
He reached out a hand to pat her back, but Connie stopped him.
“Marcus, don’t.”
He never touched the child, but she twisted out of reach anyway, nearly throwing herself out of the nurse’s arms.
For a moment, it was pandemonium as everyone rushed to contain the thrashing child before she could hurt herself. Then suddenly, a sharp clap brought everyone to a freezing halt.
“Stop that!” Carlita ordered, her hand still on the book she’d slapped down on the desktop.
The sudden silence felt deafening in its intensity. For an instant, they all stood locked in that silence. Then Larissa’s mouth opened up into a howl.
The next instant, the howl became a pathetic burble as the girl spied Connie. She threw out her little arms beseechingly, crying something inarticulate.
Connie did the only thing she could: She hurried to take the shuddering child into her arms.
Larissa wrapped all four of her limbs around Connie and dropped her head onto Connie’s shoulder, sniffling and gasping with her tears.
Marcus raised both eyebrows.
The nurse—a young, normally cheerful woman with an infant of her own—looked from Carlita to Connie and drawled, “One of y’all is a genius.”
The remaining three looked at Carlita, who shrugged and said matter-of-factly, “With my kids, first you got to get their attention.”
“Words of wisdom,” Miss Dabney muttered to Connie, who was rocking Larissa from side to side.
The atmosphere had lightened considerably. Larissa took a deep, shuddering breath, but she was quiet.
“Why don’t we take her into my office?” Marcus suggested softly, lifting a hand.

Keeping her movements slow and gentle, Connie preceded Marcus past Miss Dabney and through the hallway into his private office, where she took a seat in the corner. The day care director followed while Marcus instructed Carlita to expect Kendal Oakes and send him right in. Finally, he joined the two women and the child in his office, skirting around behind the desk between Miss Dabney’s chair and the bookcase.
The room was small but well arranged, and Marcus enjoyed the view of the chapel in the compound square a great deal. The world seemed a fine place from his office window. Marcus often took comfort in the view during difficult moments. He gave himself a brief moment to do so now before turning to his guests.
“You certainly do have a way with her,” he whispered to Connie.
It seemed to him that she had a way with children in general. What a pity that her record kept her from formally working in child care. He’d broached the subject with Miss Dabney early on and had been saddened to learn that Connie’s situation effectively prevented her from being licensed to work with kids in most states, including Texas. He firmly believed that Connie had gotten a raw deal, but what was done was done.
Marcus glanced at the curly-haired toddler who sat with her cheek against Connie’s chest. Larissa was asleep. Obviously, she had exhausted herself with her tantrum. Marcus hoped she wouldn’t become too warm, as she was wearing her coat. Evidently, the nurse had expected Kendal to be there when she arrived with the child.
“She certainly seems fascinated by you,” Miss Dabney said softly.
“I wonder if you look anything like her mother,” Marcus mused.
Connie looked to those blond curls again, murmuring, “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“You don’t,” said a voice flatly, just before Kendal Oakes walked through the open doorway.

“Well, maybe a little around the eyes,” he said a few minutes later, leaning forward from the edge of the pastor’s desk. “And I suppose you’re about the same size.”
When he’d first heard the question and realized who it was being asked of, he felt a spurt of denial so fierce that it had momentarily rattled him, but then he took a look at his daughter, sleeping against Connie Wheeler’s chest, and the feeling had fizzled into gratitude.
Larissa seemed at peace for the first time in memory. It had occurred to him that, sitting there together, the pair really could have been mother and child, and for the first time, he let himself really study Connie Wheeler.
She was beautiful.
Laura had been pretty in her own way. When they were dating, he’d thought her facial features were neat and symmetrical; later, they had seemed sharp and cold to him.
He couldn’t imagine Connie Wheeler that way.
He shouldn’t be imagining her anyway, especially not with the good parson sitting right behind him.
Kendal realized that he really liked Marcus Wheeler. Moreover, Marcus and Connie made the perfect couple. Even their coloring was complementary. Both were golden, despite the minister’s slightly darker hair.
Kendal rubbed his hands over his face, appalled at himself, and fixed his mind on his daughter.
“What happened?”
Miss Dabney explained, keeping her voice low, and despair swept through Kendal, followed swiftly by anger.
“I thought parents were supposed to remain outside of the classroom.”
“Yes, they are,” Miss Dabney admitted, “but it’s a rule, not a law, and easily dealt with all in all. Larissa, on the other hand…”
The day care director darted her eyes at the minister.
Kendal closed his eyes, knowing what was coming even before the minister had cleared his throat. Larissa had already been dismissed from one day care center since they’d arrived in the Fort Worth area.
“We may not be best equipped to deal with her,” Marcus said gently.
Kendal swallowed and rose from the corner of the desk, putting his back to the bookcase to face the others.
“I’m aware of Larissa’s…special needs. I told you when we came that she’s in treatment.”
“Private care might be best,” Miss Dabney said bluntly.
“I’ve tried that!” he said, struggling not to raise his voice.
The last thing he wanted was to wake his daughter and have her prove how difficult she could be, but the painful truth was that, in the months since her mother’s death, they’d been through four private sitters, only one of whom had seemed able to control Larissa. Then he’d found out that she’d been giving his daughter sleeping pills! That was the closest he’d ever come to becoming violent.
“I’d stay home with her myself if I thought it would do any good,” he admitted bitterly.
“Is there no one who could help you?” Connie asked softly. “No one you could trust?”
Kendal shook his head. He couldn’t ask his stepmother to take over raising his daughter, and he wouldn’t ask his late wife’s mother. That would be the worst possible thing he could do.
All right, not the worst possible. The doctor suggested that residential care might be a solution, but Kendal couldn’t even think of it. His daughter didn’t need to be locked away, for pity’s sake. She must already feel abandoned by her mother. How would she feel if he sent her away?
The idea that she might actually feel relief was almost more than he could bear.
If only he could somehow reach her, make her understand that he loved her and wanted to help.
“I simply don’t know what to do,” he admitted softly.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a look that passed from Connie to Marcus.
“Let’s pray about it diligently for a few days,” Marcus suggested after a moment, “and see what accommodations we can make.”
Kendal nodded, aware of a lump in his throat. It was only a reprieve, of course, and Miss Dabney wasn’t looking too pleased about it, but at this point he’d take anything he could get.
He straightened away from the bookcase and looked to Connie, trying his best to remain impassive.
“Thank you. I’ll take her home now.”
“Let me help you get her into the car,” Connie whispered, sliding to the edge of her seat and starting to rise.
He stepped forward automatically, helping her to her feet with his hands cupped beneath her upper arms. Only when she fully stood up, his daughter cradled against her chest, did he realize that they were standing much too close. Abruptly, he released the woman and stepped back.
Larissa shifted, then seemed to settle once more as Connie carried her smoothly from the room. A glance in the pastor’s direction showed no obvious signs of any connotation other than simple courtesy being applied to his actions. Nevertheless, Kendal felt guilt shadow him as he followed Connie.
The day care director returned to the day care center, leaving the pastor to bring up the rear.
Larissa grumbled when the bright sunlight and cold air hit her, but at least she was wearing her coat. Next time, she might not be. He made a mental note to put a blanket in the car for such occasions.
Opening up the car door, he stood aside as Connie went through the arduous task of getting a toddler into a car seat. Not surprisingly, Larissa awoke in the process. It was too much to hope that she wouldn’t, of course, but once again it meant driving away with his daughter screaming for the woman.
A part of him felt the same way that Larissa did. When he looked into his rearview mirror before turning onto the street and saw Marcus and Connie Wheeler standing there arm in arm, watching his progress, his very soul seemed to plunge to the deepest level of despair.

Marcus placed the bowl of mashed potatoes on the table and took up his fork.
“Looks good,” he said, surveying his full plate. “I always thank God that they taught you how to cook at that group home.”
Connie smiled. “You always find something to be thankful for in every situation.”
“I try,” he admitted, cutting into his pan-grilled chicken breast. “I’m having a little trouble with the Oakes situation, though.”
Connie steepled her hands over her plate, elbows braced against the tabletop.
“Marcus, you can’t just put her out.”
“I know. Unfortunately, I have to do something. I spent the afternoon talking to every other day care provider in the area and all of them said that it isn’t fair to subject the other children to Larissa’s problems, but how do we, as Christians, turn her away?”
“It is such a tragic situation,” Connie commented, looking to her son with deep gratitude. Perhaps her own life had not been easy, but Russell was wonderful.
Thank God for Jolie!
Connie leaned forward and caught a dollop of mashed potato in her hand before it hit the floor. Russell grinned and shook his spoon again, sprinkling mashed potato on the tray of his high chair before tossing the spoon overboard and going after his dinner with his fingers. Connie patiently picked up the spoon, cleaned it and lay it aside. They would practice with it later once he’d knocked the edge off his hunger.
“You’ve no idea how tragic, really,” Marcus said.
It wasn’t the first time he’d made such a comment.
“Can you tell me?” Connie asked, aware that he was bound by ethical considerations.
Marcus thought it over and said, “I can tell you this much. Mrs. Oakes died from an allergic reaction while Kendal was out of town on business and Larissa spent nearly two whole days by herself before he returned.”
Connie gasped. “Two days?”
“She was just over a year old at the time,” Marcus went on. “I think it traumatized both father and child, and I don’t think either one of them was prepared to deal with it. In the nine months since, I think it must have gone from bad to worse, but he’s desperately trying. He moved here from Oklahoma because a certain doctor here was recommended to him. He opened a new branch office of his company and everything. My understanding is that the child has been diagnosed with some sort of detachment disorder.”
“Oh my,” Connie said, remembering that Kendal had mentioned a doctor earlier. “Isn’t there anything that we can do?”
Marcus sighed. “There has to be a solution, but frankly, I haven’t found one yet. We’ll just have to keep praying about it.”
“Yes, I will,” she vowed, feeling a little guilty because lately her prayers seemed to have been all about her.
At least, she’d found a solution to her situation. She hoped she had anyway.
Broaching the topic with her brother at last, she waited anxiously for his reaction.
“What do you think?”
He wiped his mouth with a napkin and studied his plate for a long time.
“I’m all for education, Connie, you know that. But are you sure that dental hygiene is the right field for you?
“Why wouldn’t it be? It pays well and the hours are flexible.”
“Those are good points,” he agreed, “but I can’t help thinking that you should pursue something that you’re really passionate about.”
She spread her hands. “Such as what?”
Marcus shrugged. “I don’t know. You tell me. What do you feel most passionate about in your life?”
That was easy to answer, but it clearly offered no solution to her dilemma.
“I’m most passionate about being a mother,” she said, “but that means that I have to do something to properly support my son.”
“But there’s no hurry,” Marcus argued. “We’re not hurting for money.”
“It’s your money, Marcus. I have to start earning my own way sometime.”
“You already do. Just look at this fine meal you’ve cooked for me,” he pointed out. Spreading his arms, he went on. “This was just a house before, Connie, somewhere to sleep and change my clothes. You’ve made it a real home for me.”
“And what happens when you marry?” she asked pointedly.
He snorted and went back to his meal, muttering “That’s not likely to happen anytime soon—if ever.”
“You don’t know that! Just look at Jolie and Vince. Six months ago, they didn’t even know each other existed.”
“Is that what this is about?” he asked with some exasperation. “Jolie’s wedding has you thinking that I might be next? Connie, I haven’t even been out on a date in…ages.”
“And aren’t likely to as long as I’m underfoot,” she retorted.
He rolled his eyes. “That’s not true.”
“Then why aren’t you dating?”
“I could ask the same thing of you,” he pointed out.
“Me?” She thumped herself in the chest with her knuckles. “And who would date me?”
“Any man with eyes in his head.”
“Any decent man would run fast in the opposite direction as soon as he found out about my past.”
Marcus frowned. “You can’t believe that.”
“Okay, let me put it this way. I don’t want anyone who wouldn’t be upset by my past.”
“Connie!” He dropped his fork. “Think about what you’re saying. You’re limiting God with that attitude. You realize that, don’t you?”
“I’m not limiting God. I’m just being realistic,” she argued.
“Connie, listen to me. You can’t just shut yourself off from possibilities. I mean, we just don’t know what God has in store for us. Think about it. Jolie would never have even met Vince if he had forwarded his mail before she moved into his old apartment! If God can use something that simple, surely He can use anything to bring whatever or whomever it is we need into our lives.”
“I understand your point,” Connie conceded, “and believe me, if God sends me a man who can overlook my past and be the father—”
“And husband,” Marcus interrupted pointedly.
“And husband,” she amended, “that Russell and I need, I’ll be forever grateful.”
“Excellent,” he said, picking up his fork, “except I think it’s when not if, and in the meantime, I hope you’ll reconsider that school thing. I’d really like to see you find something you can be more passionate about than dental hygiene.”
“Unfortunately,” she pointed out with a sigh, “being a mom is not something about which the world is very passionate.”
“Tell that to Larissa Oakes,” he muttered.
Connie caught her breath. What if she could…but no. She shook her head.
Child care was not a viable option. Not even the day care center at her brother’s church could hire her because of her record. She’d do better to go on to school. There were worse things than dental hygiene—much worse—and who knew, once she got into it, she might discover a passion for it. And so what if she didn’t? She had Russell. He was all she needed.
For the moment, she dropped the subject of school, but she wasn’t yet willing to let go of it entirely. Marcus meant well. Marcus always meant well because that’s the kind of person her big brother had always been.
She, on the other hand, had made grave mistakes that she would have to pay for the rest of her life. Expecting anything else would be not only unrealistic but also presumptuous. After all, how much could a woman in her position expect? God had already blessed her much more richly than she deserved.

Chapter Four
“Baby, don’t,” Kendal pleaded, trying to pry Larissa’s arms from around the day care teacher’s neck.
His daughter hadn’t been happy for a single moment in his company since she’d awakened after Connie Wheeler had belted her into her car seat the day before. Other times, he’d been able to distract her with music or books or food, but since yesterday, she’d howled every moment that she was awake and in his presence. He tried not to take it personally—he really did—but it was hard not to when his own daughter gave every sign of hating him.
Maybe I should give her up to her grandparents, he thought again, but everything in him rebelled against the idea. She was his daughter. He loved her and wanted her with him.
Besides, Laura’s parents were cold, stiff people who, in his opinion, had scarred his late wife emotionally. He didn’t want them doing the same thing to his daughter.
He supposed that his father and stepmother would take Larissa if he asked, but since his father’s retirement, they had become passionate about traveling. He had never been comfortable asking Louise for anything anyway.
He had been fourteen when his father married Louise. She had two daughters older than him and neither had ever paid him much attention. Louise had always been pleasant, and Kendal had long ago accepted that she made his father happy, but he could never think of her as his mother.
Exasperated by the whole situation, he momentarily stopped trying to take his daughter into his arms. Larissa hung on to Miss Annette like a leech, but she stopped howling when he stopped trying to take her from the teacher.
He shoved a hand through his unruly hair. The woman was a substitute, for pity’s sake. She wasn’t even her regular teacher. Larissa couldn’t have formed a real attachment to her in such a short time. He could understand Connie Wheeler, but not her.
Swallowing his pride, he surrendered to the inevitable.
“Is Mrs. Wheeler around?”
Annette gave him a blank look.
“Connie Wheeler,” he clarified. “Is she working today?”
“Oh, Miss Connie doesn’t work here,” Annette stated flatly.
He was surprised. She always seemed to be around. Perhaps she worked elsewhere on the church grounds, as a secretary or something.
“Where does she work?”
“I don’t think she works anywhere,” the day care teacher replied, screwing up her face as if thinking required much effort. “I heard she was looking for something, though.”
Kendal glanced at his watch, filing that information away. Ministers didn’t usually make very much money, and he assumed that the Wheelers could use a little extra income. That, however, was not his problem.
Looked like he was on his own.
Mentally fortifying himself, he reached for his daughter again. She bucked, arched her back and screamed. Resigned to another difficult evening, he physically pulled the child into his embrace. She thrashed for several seconds.
She stopped fighting him by the time he got her to the car and he prayed all the way home that this would be an end to it, at least for the evening.

Connie lifted her chin, pasted on a smile and did her best to set aside her troubling thoughts.
Her afternoon interview at the school had not gone as well as she’d hoped. The counselor had warned her pointblank that many prospective employers would not consider hiring her because of her record. He suggested that she consider a field that did not touch on medicine or the administration of drugs in any form, and he hadn’t altered his advice one whit when she explained her situation.
Heartsick, Connie surveyed the school’s course offerings again, but nothing that the counselor suggested had seemed workable.
She indulged in a bout of tears as she drove herself back to the church to pick up her son.
She wasn’t even inside the building when she heard the commotion, and to her shock, Millie was not at her post. The frail woman came running the instant she heard the chime that signaled the door had been opened, and the look on her face said that the uproar had been going on for some time.
“Miss Connie!” she gasped. “Your brother is even back there.”
“Larissa Oakes?” Connie guessed and Millie nodded, her mouth set in a distraught line.
“She didn’t want to eat her lunch—not one bite—and when Miss Susan tried to feed her, she started to cry. Then Miss Dabney scolded her and she’s been carrying on ever since.”
“Is her father here?” Connie asked, already turning toward the hall.
“Yes, and if you ask me,” Millie said, “that has only made matters worse.”
Connie sent her a disapproving frown as she hurried away.
Anyone could see that the man was doing the best he could. She, for one, was tired of the implication that he was causing this.
Rounding the corner at a near run, she came to a sudden halt, taking in the chaos.
Larissa stood against the wall next to the infirmary door with both arms around the nurse’s leg. She was trembling from head to toe, red in the face and wailing, nose and eyes running like faucets while Kendal Oakes and Miss Dabney glared at each other and Marcus and the nurse looked on helplessly.
“Just because she doesn’t like corned beef is no reason to label her mentally deficient!” Kendal declared hotly.
“I’m only saying that we can’t have her disrupting everything constantly!” Miss Dabney countered. “We have other children here—well children.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Kendal demanded. “Are you implying that my daughter is mentally ill?”
“This isn’t helping!” Marcus insisted with steady authority. “Everyone just please calm down.”
Miss Dabney swallowed whatever she was about to say, folding her arms mulishly. Kendal clamped his jaw, his hands at his waist. Even Larissa shut up, but Connie saw the child’s eyes bulge.

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