Marc’s impatience grew until dirt rained on his head. The sudden spray sent adrenaline coursing through his veins. The sense of danger brought no fear, but an incredible rush of excitement at the thrill of trying to outwit the men looking for them. He was almost fooled by the sudden quiet above them, but Steel’s warning hand on his arm made him refocus all his senses on detecting movement in the shop.
His mother’s hair brushed against his cheek, and his thrill dulled as he considered his mother’s safety. Her presence scared him, and he was suddenly glad Steel found them in the marketplace. If anyone could get them out of this predicament, Steel was the man to do it.
He greatly admired the confidence and strength both Steel and his father exuded. More than anything he wanted to be like them. These men were silent soldiers for their country. Their actions saved countless lives and many international interests, and they made a difference in the world few people could claim. It didn’t seem to matter to them that no one knew who they were, that no one would ever know their contribution to the world around them. The fact that they had an impact on the ways of the world—that was enough for them.
Another hail of dirt broke into his thoughts. Scuffling sounds came from near the door, and he sensed Steel tensing in anticipation. He held his breath when Steel pulled his gun. He eased back the hammer as the door opened. Marc blinked in the blinding light.
Chapter Three
“So.” Hamad grinned as he saw Steel’s drawn gun. “You would shoot your friend without a hesitation, yes?”
“Where have you been?” Steel holstered his pistol and glared at the man hovering above them.
Jennifer ignored Steel’s words and pushed past him, eager to escape their cramped quarters. Her legs trembled as she climbed the ladder, but she forced herself onward, knowing freedom was just above her. Hamad reached a hand down to help her and in seconds she was stepping from the ladder back into his dingy shop. Unable to bear the cellar for another second, she moved as far away as possible. She cast a quick glance out the door, noticing that the rebels for the most part had moved further east, heading away from the direction of the compound. Heather and Joey were alone with no one to care for them other than Moses and Elizabeth. Both of their Ugandan employees were devoted to the family, but they were elderly and would be of little use if the rebels should attack the compound. Fresh waves of panic washed over her, and she turned back to the men standing in the middle of the shop.
“We’ve been down there for ages.” Steel stepped from the ladder and allowed the trapdoor to fall back in place. “You know I was supposed to be out of here hours ago! What took so long?”
“They left a guard.” Hamad shrugged. “For some reason they do not trust me. So I went home to eat the noon meal.”
“You left us down there while you took a lunch break?” Marc frowned at Hamad.
“I could not rescue you while the guard was here. If Hamad does not hesitate to leave while the guard is here, then they know that there is nothing here which Hamad is hiding. And if Hamad fears not to go home and eat, then they know there will be nothing to be gained by suspecting him.”
“Quick thinking.” Steel slapped him on the arm. “Not only did you save us, but you probably regained their trust as well.”
“This is true, Steel.” Hamad grinned. “It always pays to cultivate the trust of those in power.”
“So now what?” Marc sounded eager for the next part of the adventure.
“Now we go home,” Jennifer said. “Thank you.” She dismissed the men standing before her. “We really appreciate your help.”
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Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
A Little More
So sorry to leave you hanging! We were traveling towards the end of last week and I had no opportunity to blog. Several people have asked for a little more of my book--and I'm happy to post a little more. Hope you enjoy.
Steel tucked his gun back into his waistband, but kept one hand poised on the grip as he listened to the sounds over their heads. Faint shouts and gunfire drifted down to them, but the rioters had not yet entered Hamad’s shop. They wouldn’t find the cellar. But if the worst happened, he was prepared for whatever it took to protect Brad’s wife and son.
He shook his head over the position in which he found himself. He should have been miles from here by now, but when he spotted Jennifer’s red hair gleaming in the marketplace, he couldn’t leave without getting them to safety first. Why in heaven’s name were they in the market today of all days anyway? Brad had known what was coming, and he was supposed to have gotten his whole family out of the country before this. Why were they still here?
A small sound drew his attention back to the two he was protecting. “Quiet,” he whispered. The woman’s breathing was shallow, and he could feel her trembling from head to foot. She had reached out and grasped his hand just after Hamad closed the cellar door. He hoped his firm grasp reassured her, but now he realized her panic was building. With slow, calm movements he stroked her hair until she rested her head against his chest. If she didn’t get some control, she was going to blow their hiding place. She stood rigidly for a moment, but then he felt her slowly relax against him. Apparently she decided to trust him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and clung to him, trembling.
Dirt shifted down on his head. The rebels were in Hamad’s shop. The rebels wouldn’t harm Hamad because, although he was secretly working with Steel, he was publicly known as a follower of the rebels’ cause. He was safe unless they caught him hiding Americans.
Brad would be frantic with worry for Marc and Jennifer. Unfortunately, now it would be hours before either could hope to return to the relative safety of the compound. Why hadn’t he moved his family as planned, and why on earth had he allowed these two out into the market? What had gone wrong?
The walls of their hideout vibrated as a truck rumbled by. The noise of shouting drifted down, but he couldn’t make out the words. No doubt Hamad was complaining about them wreaking havoc in his shop. Jennifer shuddered, but Steel wasn’t sure if she was shaking from fear of the rebels or fear of their hiding place. Eventually the tramp of boots told him the rebels left the shop, but still Hamad did not raise the trap door. Had the rebels taken him with them?
As quiet settled once again, Steel sensed Marc’s restlessness. “Steady,” he whispered. “Not yet.”
Total silence reigned when the sounds of the riot disappeared. Marc started to move again, but Steel stopped him with an outstretched hand. It isn’t safe. If Hamad hasn’t released us there is a reason.
The trio made no further movements as the minutes ticked by. Brad would have trained his family well for such an event as this. Both Marc and Jennifer knew enough about Brad’s activities they wouldn’t take a warning for silence lightly.
A slight shower of dirt rained down on his shoulder, snapping him to attention. Someone was still in the shop. Was it Hamad? If so, why didn’t he open the trap door? More dirt, followed by footsteps. Those weren’t the sliding sound of Hamad’s sandals, but the tramp of boots. Was a rebel still waiting above, hoping his silence would draw them out?
Here's some more!
Steel tucked his gun back into his waistband, but kept one hand poised on the grip as he listened to the sounds over their heads. Faint shouts and gunfire drifted down to them, but the rioters had not yet entered Hamad’s shop. They wouldn’t find the cellar. But if the worst happened, he was prepared for whatever it took to protect Brad’s wife and son.
He shook his head over the position in which he found himself. He should have been miles from here by now, but when he spotted Jennifer’s red hair gleaming in the marketplace, he couldn’t leave without getting them to safety first. Why in heaven’s name were they in the market today of all days anyway? Brad had known what was coming, and he was supposed to have gotten his whole family out of the country before this. Why were they still here?
A small sound drew his attention back to the two he was protecting. “Quiet,” he whispered. The woman’s breathing was shallow, and he could feel her trembling from head to foot. She had reached out and grasped his hand just after Hamad closed the cellar door. He hoped his firm grasp reassured her, but now he realized her panic was building. With slow, calm movements he stroked her hair until she rested her head against his chest. If she didn’t get some control, she was going to blow their hiding place. She stood rigidly for a moment, but then he felt her slowly relax against him. Apparently she decided to trust him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and clung to him, trembling.
Dirt shifted down on his head. The rebels were in Hamad’s shop. The rebels wouldn’t harm Hamad because, although he was secretly working with Steel, he was publicly known as a follower of the rebels’ cause. He was safe unless they caught him hiding Americans.
Brad would be frantic with worry for Marc and Jennifer. Unfortunately, now it would be hours before either could hope to return to the relative safety of the compound. Why hadn’t he moved his family as planned, and why on earth had he allowed these two out into the market? What had gone wrong?
The walls of their hideout vibrated as a truck rumbled by. The noise of shouting drifted down, but he couldn’t make out the words. No doubt Hamad was complaining about them wreaking havoc in his shop. Jennifer shuddered, but Steel wasn’t sure if she was shaking from fear of the rebels or fear of their hiding place. Eventually the tramp of boots told him the rebels left the shop, but still Hamad did not raise the trap door. Had the rebels taken him with them?
As quiet settled once again, Steel sensed Marc’s restlessness. “Steady,” he whispered. “Not yet.”
Total silence reigned when the sounds of the riot disappeared. Marc started to move again, but Steel stopped him with an outstretched hand. It isn’t safe. If Hamad hasn’t released us there is a reason.
The trio made no further movements as the minutes ticked by. Brad would have trained his family well for such an event as this. Both Marc and Jennifer knew enough about Brad’s activities they wouldn’t take a warning for silence lightly.
A slight shower of dirt rained down on his shoulder, snapping him to attention. Someone was still in the shop. Was it Hamad? If so, why didn’t he open the trap door? More dirt, followed by footsteps. Those weren’t the sliding sound of Hamad’s sandals, but the tramp of boots. Was a rebel still waiting above, hoping his silence would draw them out?
Here's some more!
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The End ... of Chapter One
As their rescuer pushed her toward the yawning hole in the floor, she pulled back in protest. “I-I can’t! I won’t go down there. The dark—”
“We don’t have time for you to be afraid of the dark.” The man gestured at the escape. “Hiding down there is your only hope. Get going.”
“It’s the only way, Mom.” Marc gave her a pat on the shoulder as he stepped past her. “I’ll go down first. It’ll be okay.”
Being claustrophobic was only part of her problem. Hamad’s small flashlight did little to light Marc’s descent. The hole was just over eight feet deep, and the ladder filled most of the available space. It was going to be a tight fit for all three of them.
“Mom, please!” Marc’s head and shoulders were still above the ground, and he reached for her ankle, pulling her closer to the ladder.
The sounds of the riot crept nearer. Jennifer took a deep breath and stretched a reluctant hand toward the ladder. With a last frightened glance toward the noises outside, she began her descent. The little cellar smelled of musty damp earth, and she felt the walls closing in on her as her feet touched the ground. Marc pulled her away from the ladder as their rescuer slid down after her. Quickly Hamad kicked the door shut. They heard him shuffling back and forth as he replaced his wares. Small showers of dirt rained down on them as he moved around his tiny shop.
Chapter Two
What do we do now? Jennifer’s heart was pounding in her chest until she was sure Marc and their rescuer could feel it too. The space was so narrow she stood wedged between the dirt wall and the rough edge of the ladder. Marc pressed a reassuring hand against her shoulder, and she was uncomfortably aware that the buttons on their rescuer’s shirt brushed against her cheek when she moved her head.
Sounds from above ground were muffled and the cellar seemed fairly well insulated, but the man still cautioned them against any noise. The darkness was complete and smothering as far as Jennifer was concerned. If she was so scared, she could imagine the fear Marc must be feeling. She reached out and fumbled for his hand, trying to reassure herself as well as him.
Marc’s grip was firm, and he gave her trembling hand a comforting squeeze. She marveled when she felt the strong, steady cadence of his pulse beating through his fingertips. Willing herself to calm down, she drew a deep breath and filled her nostrils with the damp, cool scent of earth. It didn’t work, and nauseating fear welled up inside her.
Click here to read more of chapter two!
“We don’t have time for you to be afraid of the dark.” The man gestured at the escape. “Hiding down there is your only hope. Get going.”
“It’s the only way, Mom.” Marc gave her a pat on the shoulder as he stepped past her. “I’ll go down first. It’ll be okay.”
Being claustrophobic was only part of her problem. Hamad’s small flashlight did little to light Marc’s descent. The hole was just over eight feet deep, and the ladder filled most of the available space. It was going to be a tight fit for all three of them.
“Mom, please!” Marc’s head and shoulders were still above the ground, and he reached for her ankle, pulling her closer to the ladder.
The sounds of the riot crept nearer. Jennifer took a deep breath and stretched a reluctant hand toward the ladder. With a last frightened glance toward the noises outside, she began her descent. The little cellar smelled of musty damp earth, and she felt the walls closing in on her as her feet touched the ground. Marc pulled her away from the ladder as their rescuer slid down after her. Quickly Hamad kicked the door shut. They heard him shuffling back and forth as he replaced his wares. Small showers of dirt rained down on them as he moved around his tiny shop.
Chapter Two
What do we do now? Jennifer’s heart was pounding in her chest until she was sure Marc and their rescuer could feel it too. The space was so narrow she stood wedged between the dirt wall and the rough edge of the ladder. Marc pressed a reassuring hand against her shoulder, and she was uncomfortably aware that the buttons on their rescuer’s shirt brushed against her cheek when she moved her head.
Sounds from above ground were muffled and the cellar seemed fairly well insulated, but the man still cautioned them against any noise. The darkness was complete and smothering as far as Jennifer was concerned. If she was so scared, she could imagine the fear Marc must be feeling. She reached out and fumbled for his hand, trying to reassure herself as well as him.
Marc’s grip was firm, and he gave her trembling hand a comforting squeeze. She marveled when she felt the strong, steady cadence of his pulse beating through his fingertips. Willing herself to calm down, she drew a deep breath and filled her nostrils with the damp, cool scent of earth. It didn’t work, and nauseating fear welled up inside her.
Click here to read more of chapter two!
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Continuing with Chapter One
Jennifer nodded, but where could they go? A large hand clamped over her mouth and she felt herself being pulled back against a muscular chest. Hysteria filled her and she fought against her captor, but her arms were pinned to her sides.
“Quiet.” The low voice resonated in her head. “I’ll get you both out of here.”
As the hand on her mouth loosened, she whirled to face the man behind her. To her surprise, he was American. Not only that, but he looked vaguely familiar. He was tall, almost as tall as Brad, with dark blond hair and rather intense blue eyes. His dirty khakis notwithstanding, he had an air of authority about him and was apparently used to taking charge of a situation. Without another word, he grabbed her hand and took off running for the other end of the alley. Jennifer managed a wild grab for Marc as she was dragged away by their rescuer. When he reached the end of the alley he paused and peered into the clothes market. Mass confusion reigned here as well. Shops were abandoned and people ran for safety before the rebels reached this part of the marketplace.
Jennifer’s shoulder protested the abuse as their rescuer yanked her across the deserted square. Instead of heading to the main road, he ducked into the half-closed door of one of the shops. Marc and Jennifer slipped in behind him, gasping for breath.
“Hamad!” The man’s tone carried clearly above the riot, although his voice was still low. “Haraka. Nina haraka!”
A large Ugandan emerged from the back of the crowded shop. Without a word he swept aside the bolts of cloth piled high on his counter and bent down behind it, pulling open a trap door seemingly from nothing. Set into the floor and concealed by the counter, the dim light revealed a ladder leading down into darkness. After a final glance out the door, the American left Marc guarding the entrance and led Jennifer over to the counter.
“We haven’t got much time,” he said to his friend. “Are we prepared?”
“Ndiyo,” Hamad shrugged. “We are safe, but you must go down now. They must not see you here with them.”
“Marc, let’s go.” The man yanked a pistol out of his waistband.
How does he know our names? Jennifer desperately searched his face for some sign of recognition. Who is he?
Here's the next part.
“Quiet.” The low voice resonated in her head. “I’ll get you both out of here.”
As the hand on her mouth loosened, she whirled to face the man behind her. To her surprise, he was American. Not only that, but he looked vaguely familiar. He was tall, almost as tall as Brad, with dark blond hair and rather intense blue eyes. His dirty khakis notwithstanding, he had an air of authority about him and was apparently used to taking charge of a situation. Without another word, he grabbed her hand and took off running for the other end of the alley. Jennifer managed a wild grab for Marc as she was dragged away by their rescuer. When he reached the end of the alley he paused and peered into the clothes market. Mass confusion reigned here as well. Shops were abandoned and people ran for safety before the rebels reached this part of the marketplace.
Jennifer’s shoulder protested the abuse as their rescuer yanked her across the deserted square. Instead of heading to the main road, he ducked into the half-closed door of one of the shops. Marc and Jennifer slipped in behind him, gasping for breath.
“Hamad!” The man’s tone carried clearly above the riot, although his voice was still low. “Haraka. Nina haraka!”
A large Ugandan emerged from the back of the crowded shop. Without a word he swept aside the bolts of cloth piled high on his counter and bent down behind it, pulling open a trap door seemingly from nothing. Set into the floor and concealed by the counter, the dim light revealed a ladder leading down into darkness. After a final glance out the door, the American left Marc guarding the entrance and led Jennifer over to the counter.
“We haven’t got much time,” he said to his friend. “Are we prepared?”
“Ndiyo,” Hamad shrugged. “We are safe, but you must go down now. They must not see you here with them.”
“Marc, let’s go.” The man yanked a pistol out of his waistband.
How does he know our names? Jennifer desperately searched his face for some sign of recognition. Who is he?
Here's the next part.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Chapter One
Chapter One begins three days after the prologue ends.
CHAPTER ONE
As gunfire ripped through the marketplace, Jennifer found herself face down in the dirt behind the banana stand. Marc pressed down on top of her, causing her to gasp for breath. How could a fifteen year old weigh so much?
Pain shot through her legs as people trampled on them in their haste to get away from the shooters. Squirming out from under her son, she shouted for him to follow her and crawled through the dirt until she was out of the direct path of the panicked crowd. She turned and pulled Marc toward her, startled at the sticky ooze on his hands. Had he been hit?
“I landed on some tomatoes.” He showed her the smeared fruit on her shirt and then shot a quick glance around. “We’ve got to get out of here!” He didn’t wait for her to agree, so she followed him in a crouching run, skirting the earthen counters of the market before dodging into a small alley leading from the vegetable market to the clothing shops. Marc shoved her down behind him and then peered cautiously back into the marketplace.
People fled at the first shots, and now the rebels swept rapidly through the empty marketplace. Jennifer peered over Marc’s shoulder at the people lying unmoving on the ground at the far end of the market. He tried to push her back, but there was no turning away from the carnage. Screams of the dying tore through the air as the rebels worked their way through the vast marketplace, looting and killing. A wounded man cried out for mercy. His answer was a spray of bullets to the chest. A woman lay a few feet from where they hid, her blank eyes staring up into the sky, blood flowing in a widening pool beneath her head. With a rush of panic, Jennifer recognized her as the vendor from whom they had bought tomatoes not five minutes ago. Choking terror robbed her of her ability to think, almost of her ability to breathe. She fought back the urge to get up and run blindly.
As though his thoughts had run on the same track, Marc turned to her and whispered hoarsely. “They’re working their way down to this end, and we’re sitting ducks here! We’ve got to find another place to hide!”
Jennifer nodded, but where could they go? A large hand clamped over her mouth and she felt herself being pulled back against a muscular chest. Hysteria filled her and she fought against her captor, but her arms were pinned to her sides.
Here's the next installment!
CHAPTER ONE
As gunfire ripped through the marketplace, Jennifer found herself face down in the dirt behind the banana stand. Marc pressed down on top of her, causing her to gasp for breath. How could a fifteen year old weigh so much?
Pain shot through her legs as people trampled on them in their haste to get away from the shooters. Squirming out from under her son, she shouted for him to follow her and crawled through the dirt until she was out of the direct path of the panicked crowd. She turned and pulled Marc toward her, startled at the sticky ooze on his hands. Had he been hit?
“I landed on some tomatoes.” He showed her the smeared fruit on her shirt and then shot a quick glance around. “We’ve got to get out of here!” He didn’t wait for her to agree, so she followed him in a crouching run, skirting the earthen counters of the market before dodging into a small alley leading from the vegetable market to the clothing shops. Marc shoved her down behind him and then peered cautiously back into the marketplace.
People fled at the first shots, and now the rebels swept rapidly through the empty marketplace. Jennifer peered over Marc’s shoulder at the people lying unmoving on the ground at the far end of the market. He tried to push her back, but there was no turning away from the carnage. Screams of the dying tore through the air as the rebels worked their way through the vast marketplace, looting and killing. A wounded man cried out for mercy. His answer was a spray of bullets to the chest. A woman lay a few feet from where they hid, her blank eyes staring up into the sky, blood flowing in a widening pool beneath her head. With a rush of panic, Jennifer recognized her as the vendor from whom they had bought tomatoes not five minutes ago. Choking terror robbed her of her ability to think, almost of her ability to breathe. She fought back the urge to get up and run blindly.
As though his thoughts had run on the same track, Marc turned to her and whispered hoarsely. “They’re working their way down to this end, and we’re sitting ducks here! We’ve got to find another place to hide!”
Jennifer nodded, but where could they go? A large hand clamped over her mouth and she felt herself being pulled back against a muscular chest. Hysteria filled her and she fought against her captor, but her arms were pinned to her sides.
Here's the next installment!
Saturday, April 4, 2009
The Beginning
And here it is: the beginning of my book, What Time I Am Afraid. I can use honest feedback. (It doesn't have to be positive comments.)
Prologue ...
The rebels were coming.
Jennifer watched as Brad escorted Phillip back out to his jeep. The men shook hands and then Brad swung the gate of the compound open as Phillip backed out. Jennifer held her breath. She knew the rebels were not here yet, but she half expected to see them surge into the compound through the open gate. When it slammed shut, she felt no relief. The rebels might not be here yet, but they were coming. She heard Brad’s step on the porch and turned to face him as he strode through the open doorway.
“Where are our tickets?”
He turned to face her. “What?”
She swallowed the fear in her throat. “You told Phillip we had airline tickets for the end of the week. Where are they?”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I’ve got them tucked away safely.”
But was he showing love or was he avoiding eye contact? She pulled back. “I want to see them.”
“I got the tickets, Jennifer.” His jaw clenched.
“I-t’s not that I doubt you. I just need to see them. For my own sake.”
He turned abruptly and headed for the small room he used as an office. She followed, determined not to back down. He went straight to his desk and pulled open the top drawer. Picking up a travel folder he tossed it on the desk. It was embossed with the British Airways logo on the front.
“I can’t believe it.” She opened the folder and stared at the tickets inside. “All this time you kept saying you couldn’t leave your work yet. There was more to do with your ministries. And then out of the blue you tell Phillip we’ve got tickets. When did you get these?”
He shrugged. “I’ve had them for a while in case we needed them. They’re opened-ended so they can be used on whatever flight has available seats.” His chair creaked as he sat down and leaned back. “I knew the time had come when even Phillip says he’s getting out.”
The corner of her mouth tipped up, although she couldn’t bring herself to smile. “I imagine he’s seen a lot of frightening things in fifteen years of missionary service.”
Brad wiped a hand over his mouth. “And yet nothing made him leave until now. Even losing his wife to cancer didn’t make him go home. If he’s getting out then it’s time to go.”
“Brad, I’m so relieved!” She pulled the tickets from the folder. “I’ve been so scared that we would be trapped here and— ” She stared at the tickets in her hand.
“Jennifer.” Brad rose and came around the desk, but she stepped back from him as their eyes locked.
“There’s only four tickets here. How could you?”
“I told you all along I couldn’t leave yet. I was hoping we could get out together, but maybe this is for the best. You and the kids will be out of harm’s way, and I’ll follow as soon as I can.”
She could hear the blood pulsing through the veins at her temple. “You hoped we could all get out together? Then why are there only tickets for the kids and me?”
His hands were gentle as he pulled her closer. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way. But I have work to do here still. You fly out this weekend, and I’ll join you in a couple of weeks. You know I want to keep you all safe.”
She pushed against his chest. “It’s not safe here for anyone. Why can’t you see that? You need to come with us.”
He shook his head. “I can’t. I’ll join you by the end of the month. I promise.”
Empty promises. The words echoed in her head. She couldn’t bear to hope in empty promises any longer. She picked up the tickets. “I’m going to pack.”
He grabbed her hand. “Jennifer, I swear. I’ll be home by the end of the month.”
She looked him in the eye. “I can’t promise we’ll be waiting for you.” She pulled her hand away and left the room.
TWO DAYS LATER …
“I can’t promise we’ll be waiting for you.” The last words she said to her husband reverberated through her head. Brad hadn’t live long enough to break another promise to her. His vehicle had crashed into a ravine, leaving her alone in this remote town with no way of getting out, and no means of contacting help. The rebels were closing in, but she no longer worried about them. Even her grief was secondary to the guilt that stabbed through her heart. If she had told him the truth, would they all be back in the States safely already? Had her secret been the one thing that would have motivated him to reevaluate his priorities?
How could it be that Brad had died without knowing that she was pregnant?
Thanks for reading! Click here to read the next part.
Prologue ...
The rebels were coming.
Jennifer watched as Brad escorted Phillip back out to his jeep. The men shook hands and then Brad swung the gate of the compound open as Phillip backed out. Jennifer held her breath. She knew the rebels were not here yet, but she half expected to see them surge into the compound through the open gate. When it slammed shut, she felt no relief. The rebels might not be here yet, but they were coming. She heard Brad’s step on the porch and turned to face him as he strode through the open doorway.
“Where are our tickets?”
He turned to face her. “What?”
She swallowed the fear in her throat. “You told Phillip we had airline tickets for the end of the week. Where are they?”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I’ve got them tucked away safely.”
But was he showing love or was he avoiding eye contact? She pulled back. “I want to see them.”
“I got the tickets, Jennifer.” His jaw clenched.
“I-t’s not that I doubt you. I just need to see them. For my own sake.”
He turned abruptly and headed for the small room he used as an office. She followed, determined not to back down. He went straight to his desk and pulled open the top drawer. Picking up a travel folder he tossed it on the desk. It was embossed with the British Airways logo on the front.
“I can’t believe it.” She opened the folder and stared at the tickets inside. “All this time you kept saying you couldn’t leave your work yet. There was more to do with your ministries. And then out of the blue you tell Phillip we’ve got tickets. When did you get these?”
He shrugged. “I’ve had them for a while in case we needed them. They’re opened-ended so they can be used on whatever flight has available seats.” His chair creaked as he sat down and leaned back. “I knew the time had come when even Phillip says he’s getting out.”
The corner of her mouth tipped up, although she couldn’t bring herself to smile. “I imagine he’s seen a lot of frightening things in fifteen years of missionary service.”
Brad wiped a hand over his mouth. “And yet nothing made him leave until now. Even losing his wife to cancer didn’t make him go home. If he’s getting out then it’s time to go.”
“Brad, I’m so relieved!” She pulled the tickets from the folder. “I’ve been so scared that we would be trapped here and— ” She stared at the tickets in her hand.
“Jennifer.” Brad rose and came around the desk, but she stepped back from him as their eyes locked.
“There’s only four tickets here. How could you?”
“I told you all along I couldn’t leave yet. I was hoping we could get out together, but maybe this is for the best. You and the kids will be out of harm’s way, and I’ll follow as soon as I can.”
She could hear the blood pulsing through the veins at her temple. “You hoped we could all get out together? Then why are there only tickets for the kids and me?”
His hands were gentle as he pulled her closer. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way. But I have work to do here still. You fly out this weekend, and I’ll join you in a couple of weeks. You know I want to keep you all safe.”
She pushed against his chest. “It’s not safe here for anyone. Why can’t you see that? You need to come with us.”
He shook his head. “I can’t. I’ll join you by the end of the month. I promise.”
Empty promises. The words echoed in her head. She couldn’t bear to hope in empty promises any longer. She picked up the tickets. “I’m going to pack.”
He grabbed her hand. “Jennifer, I swear. I’ll be home by the end of the month.”
She looked him in the eye. “I can’t promise we’ll be waiting for you.” She pulled her hand away and left the room.
TWO DAYS LATER …
“I can’t promise we’ll be waiting for you.” The last words she said to her husband reverberated through her head. Brad hadn’t live long enough to break another promise to her. His vehicle had crashed into a ravine, leaving her alone in this remote town with no way of getting out, and no means of contacting help. The rebels were closing in, but she no longer worried about them. Even her grief was secondary to the guilt that stabbed through her heart. If she had told him the truth, would they all be back in the States safely already? Had her secret been the one thing that would have motivated him to reevaluate his priorities?
How could it be that Brad had died without knowing that she was pregnant?
Thanks for reading! Click here to read the next part.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
7 Blessings
I was tagged to give seven blessings for which I am thankful. Here goes!
1. I'm thankful we live in Florida. It's like having a vacation year round!
2. I'm thankful I have friends who appreciate sarcasm. (Or at least aren't offended by it!)
3. I'm thankful I'm not a blonde--because I would look really stupid with blonde hair.
4. I'm thankful for chocolate, even if I'm not supposed to eat it.
5. I'm thankful for nail polish--because otherwise toes would be really boring.
6. I'm thankful for modern technology. There's a reason why God had me come into the world during the twentieth century!
7. I'm thankful for cell phones. How did we ever get along without them?
and one serious note ... I'm thankful for my husband. We have the same sense of humor, the same desires and goals in life, and the same love for the Lord. I love you, honey!
1. I'm thankful we live in Florida. It's like having a vacation year round!
2. I'm thankful I have friends who appreciate sarcasm. (Or at least aren't offended by it!)
3. I'm thankful I'm not a blonde--because I would look really stupid with blonde hair.
4. I'm thankful for chocolate, even if I'm not supposed to eat it.
5. I'm thankful for nail polish--because otherwise toes would be really boring.
6. I'm thankful for modern technology. There's a reason why God had me come into the world during the twentieth century!
7. I'm thankful for cell phones. How did we ever get along without them?
and one serious note ... I'm thankful for my husband. We have the same sense of humor, the same desires and goals in life, and the same love for the Lord. I love you, honey!
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