Tracie Peterson Read online

  © 1997 by Tracie Peterson

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  eISBN 978-1-4412-7080-1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

  Scripture quotations identified NIV are from the Holy Bible, New International Version ®. NIV ®. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.© Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. The “NIV” and “New International Version” trademarks are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by International Bible Society. Use of either trademark requires the permission of International Bible Society. www.zondervan.com

  Cover illustration by William Graf

  To Judith Pella

  For your friendship, your teaching, and for just being a lot

  of fun to be around. Here’s to many years of writing

  together!

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  About the Author

  Other Books by Author

  One

  Cara Kessler slowly came awake to the gentle sounds of classical music. Refusing to open her eyes, she reached across her side of the bed, touched the empty pillow beside her, and sighed. It was a ritual that had haunted Cara for over five years. Jack isn’t here. Jack will never be here again.

  She opened her eyes and sighed a second time.

  Five years of widowhood had yet to foster familiarity, and in moments like these, Cara wondered if she would ever again know what it felt like to be whole.

  She shut off the radio alarm, then rolled over to press her face against Jack’s long-deserted pillow. After multiple washings from tears and launderings, it no longer smelled like him. But somehow it didn’t matter. It was still Jack’s pillow and it was still Jack’s bed and she was still Jack’s widow.

  In the early mornings she tried to remember every detail of his face, but as the years wore on it became increasingly hard. She’d listen for a memory of his voice, but that too had faded into silence. The only good thing was that the harsh stabbing pain had faded as well. In its place was a numbing lonely resolve Cara could never quite figure out how to handle.

  Sometimes she wanted to hate him for leaving her alone. Yet deep inside she knew she could never hate Jack, just as she knew she was never really alone. There was always God . . . and Brianna.

  “God will be with you even after I’m gone,” Jack had whispered in a dying voice. “I’m not really dead, remember that, Cara. Remember it for Brianna’s sake. Remember it for your sake. Find someone to love you and Bri. One day, we’ll be caught up together.” And then he had closed his eyes and slipped away. Away from her loving touch. Away from the five-year-old daughter who needed him. Away from their youth ministry work. Away for good.

  Some days were harder than others, even though Cara had tried to face each one in a positive manner. Today promised to be one of those hard days.

  “Mama!” Brianna’s voice squealed as she dove onto the bed.

  Taking Cara by surprise, the lively ten-year-old had no way of realizing she had rescued her mother from certain despair. “Brianna, my little ray of sunshine,” Cara said, mussing the already disheveled brown hair. “Come cuddle with me.” She threw back the comforter to admit Brianna. Pulling her daughter close, she sighed for the third time that day. This sigh, however, was one of contentment.

  “So what’s our plan for this particular Saturday, Mistress Brianna?” she asked her daughter conspiratorially.

  “You promised we’d go to the zoo—to see where they put Daddy’s brick, remember?”

  Cara nodded, remembering the zoo’s fund raiser. A brick bearing the name “Jack Kessler” was now a permanent fixture of the new children’s section at the world-famous Topeka Zoo.

  “I remember. So we go to the zoo and then—” Cara’s voice was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone.

  “Oh, great,” Brianna moaned.

  “Hello?” she answered, noting her daughter’s frown. No doubt Brianna worried that the caller would take Cara away for the day.

  “Cara? It’s Melissa Jordon. Used to be Melissa Cabot back in Hays.”

  The voice was strangely familiar. In the silence, a memory and an image came to mind. “Missy?”

  “Melissa, these days. My grandmother named her rat terrier Missy, and that put an end to my nickname.”

  Cara laughed. “I haven’t talked to you in years. I can’t even remember the last time.” But then she did remember. It was at Jack’s funeral.

  Melissa seemed to sense the meaning of Cara’s sudden silence. “How’s Brianna?”

  “She’s great. Ten years old and a star fourth grader. Plays the piano like Mozart himself.”

  “I’d like to hear that. It doesn’t seem possible for so much time to have slipped by. Wasn’t it only yesterday you and I were in school together? I guess a lot of water has gone under and over the bridge since then.”

  Pause.

  “So . . . you’re married?” Cara asked, desperate to fill the awkward silences creeping into their conversation.

  “Yes, I married a wonderful man named Peter Jordon. We met while I was doing graduate work in New York. We married right after I received my masters in journalism. It’s been three years now.”

  “I’m so glad for you. Are you living in Topeka?”

  “No, we live in Lawrence. It’s halfway between my job here and Peter’s need for the international airport in Kansas City.”

  Brianna wriggled out of the covers and took off for her room, obviously no longer threatened by the telephone call. “I’m going to get ready!” she called out.

  “Was that Brianna?” Melissa questioned.

  “Yes, we’re going to the zoo today. Jack’s name is on one of the new memorial bricks and I promised Bri we’d go see it.” As hard as she’d tried to avoid the subject of Jack, Cara was amazed at how easily he slipped into their conversation.

  “Cara, I . . . I hope you won’t think me out of line, but I want
to tell you that I felt really bad when Jack died. I felt even worse that I didn’t try to get together with you. . . .” Melissa’s voice faltered, but after a moment she resumed the conversation, fully composed. “The car accident was such a shock. Jack was alive one day and gone the next. I just didn’t know how to deal with it.”

  “That makes two of us,” Cara said softly, but then she added, “Without God I’d have never made it.”

  “Your faith must have been pretty strong. I’ve kept track of what you’ve done with the youth ministry. It’s because of HEARTBEAT and your work with the kids that I’m calling today.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “I work for The Capital-Journal,” Melissa answered, referencing the local newspaper. “I mainly report on the governor’s office and the political scene around the state, but I’ve been given the go-ahead to approach you about a story.”

  “What kind of story?” Cara was immediately wary. She’d been interviewed on more than one occasion and had experienced some troubling results.

  “Actually, that would depend on you. You see, we’re featuring a special multipage insert on Kansas youth. I talked to the editor about how your work has inspired young people all across the state. I told him we couldn’t possibly do the project without including your various ministries at HEARTBEAT and he agreed.”

  “I see.” Cara felt less than enthusiastic.

  “You would have final approval over the article and I’d fight anyone who changed a single dot. I want the piece to promote what you do, Cara.” After a breath of hesitation, Melissa continued, “I mean, I feel like I owe it to you . . . to Jack.”

  “Why do you owe us anything?” Cara sat up in the bed and tucked a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear.

  “I guess I feel like a deserter,” Melissa admitted. “We all used to be so close in school. I thought we would always be friends, and, you know, live forever. . . .”

  Cara smiled in bittersweet memory. “Yes, I know exactly what you mean.” They were Hays’ original “brat pack”—or so they thought. Jack, Cara, Melissa, and half a dozen others pledged to be lifelong best friends and nothing would ever tear them apart. At least that was the plan.

  “Anyway, since I couldn’t find the courage to spend time with you after Jack’s death, I wanted to somehow make it up by doing a great story on the ministry you both loved so much.”

  “It’s not necessary, you know. This call is more than enough.” Cara felt a tender tug for the woman who’d once been her closest friend. “Melissa, I appreciate your honesty more than you’ll ever know. When Jack died, a part of me went with him and I wouldn’t have responded well to you back then.”

  As if to clear the air between them, Cara changed the subject. “Do you and Peter have any children?”

  Melissa seemed taken off guard. “Ah . . . well . . . no. I can’t have children. I had some physical problems and it resulted in a hysterectomy.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cara said, and she truly meant it. Brianna was a critical part of her life, and she couldn’t imagine having to endure the days without her “sunshine.”

  “Me too. But maybe one day we’ll adopt. Right now I travel quite a bit with Peter. He works with a New York publishing house that sends him to all corners of the earth. We’ve had a lot of fun we might not have otherwise had with a family.” Her words sounded convincing, but not her voice.

  Brianna appeared in the doorway, dancing around with a package of donuts. “I’m gonna have this for breakfast,” she chanted.

  Cara rolled her eyes and shook her head, but Brianna didn’t appear to notice. “Look, Melissa, I’m going to have to cut this short, otherwise Brianna’s going to have a bowl of sugar for breakfast. But, tomorrow at five, the local television station is running a short special on HEARTBEAT. Why don’t you watch it, and if you still want to do the interview, come down to my office on Monday.”

  “That’ll be great! What time?”

  “Say around ten. That way I’ll have time to explain things to Joe Milkhen. He’s my partner at HEARTBEAT.”

  “Ten sounds good. Thanks, Cara. This really means a lot to me.”

  “I think I understand. I’ll see you Monday.” Cara hung up the phone and threw back her covers. It had been years since she’d thought about Melissa and the fun times they had shared. Cara smiled. Sometimes memories weren’t so bad.

  Two

  Heavy blue smoke hung over the conference room like a vaporous noose. Seven pairs of eyes were riveted on the seemingly stoic expression of the eighth man. But Robert J. Kerns was far from stoic. He was fully capable of feeling, and delivering, both pleasure and pain.

  Here in the conference room of Kerns and Dubray, Attorneys at Law, Kerns intimately knew each of the men before him. He had structured them, molded them, created them. They were his men, both willingly and unwillingly. Some had come to him as desperate men in deep trouble with the law. Others had come to him simply out of greed. But they all owed him, and because of this Kerns had made them a part of the Association.

  Watching each of the men, Bob Kerns reveled in his control over the clandestine organization. As an esteemed lawyer in both Kansas and Missouri, Kerns had managed to manipulate records and witnesses until each of the men before him had been vindicated of wrongdoing and had benefitted from his power. However, the price he extracted in return was monumental in both dollars and devotion.

  The announcement he’d just made had created a rather strained atmosphere among the members. He read skepticism in the eyes of some, fear in the eyes of others. He waited for someone to break the uneasy silence, but as usual the initiative would have to be his own. His gaze fell on Patrick Conrad. The man seemed to wilt.

  “You’re going to run for governor? Governor of Kansas?” Conrad questioned nervously.

  Bob smiled tolerantly and took his seat. Now the meeting could truly begin. He loosened his tie, slowly undid the top button of his shirt, and smiled. Anyone who knew him recognized it as his trademark courtroom smile. It was a smile that promised action. It was a smile that left no one doubting the force behind it.

  “I suppose this seems rash to some of you,” Bob began, much like a surgeon about to describe a delicate procedure, “but I’m sure you can realize the unlimited possibilities such a position could give this organization.”

  “Yeah, Bob, but . . .” Conrad interrupted. Kerns narrowed his eyes and turned a tight-lipped expression on the man. Silence once again filled the room.

  “The Association has a great deal to gain from this,” Kerns continued. “You are all well aware of the things I’ve done for you, and the risks I’ve taken on behalf of your concerns.” He made eye contact with each man, knowing full well no one would look away. Patrick Conrad quickly lit another cigarette and puffed as though it were his last. The hazy noose seemed to lower around his neck.

  Kerns made certain he had their full attention simply by tapping his well-manicured fingers against a thick legal dictionary. The smoke grew thicker as two more members lit up.

  “As I was saying, the office of governor would allow us to accomplish quite a bit in our businesses. Wouldn’t you agree, George?” he said, turning abruptly to the man on his right.

  George Sheldon was a giant in the chemical world, but here he was Sheldon the Environmental Protection Agency violator. Kerns had more goods on him than the man would ever be able to shake or buy off. Right at the top of the list was a little chemical groundwater pollution problem that Sheldon had still not brought to Kerns for help. Bob smiled as George reached for a cigarette. It was only a matter of time before he would come crawling—until then it was important to give him decisive strokes of confidence.

  “George has been an important part of this organization since the EPA thought to contradict his operating procedures.” Kerns paused and reached out to give George a quick slap on the back. “But we showed them otherwise, didn’t we, George?”

  The man seemed to relax a bit and smiled weakly between long d
rags.

  “And I don’t know how we could possibly function without KANCO,” Kerns continued. “Pat Conrad has given us an excellent source of information through this fine janitorial service. KANCO now holds a large percentage of government contracts and will no doubt continue to be of help to us in the future.”

  Conrad nodded with only the slightest hesitation.

  “Of course without Cameron Hedley’s help through ENTER DATA we’d be doing twice as much work in consulting and database areas.” He paused. “I don’t need to continue down a long list of what each of you has done for me or”—he folded his hands and leaned back in his chair—“what I’ve done for you.”

  Just then a young professional dressed in a three-piece suit and gold wire-frame glasses entered the room and handed Kerns a stack of papers.

  “Ah, just the man.” Kerns got to his feet, took the papers, and put an arm around the younger man’s shoulders. “I’d like to introduce Russell Owens. Russell comes to us from a law firm in Kansas City. I managed to entice him to join me here in Topeka for both the law business and the campaign. Russell will be my campaign manager—which means he will be in touch with each of you on a day-to-day basis. Get to know him, and understand this”—Kerns paused for emphasis—“answering to Russell will be answering to me. I expect your full cooperation in every matter. Understood?”

  A murmur of agreement rose above the hazy air, while Kerns and Owens exchanged a look of satisfaction.

  “Good.” Kerns motioned for Owens to take a seat before he handed the papers to George. “Pass these around and keep a copy. You’ll see from this printout exactly what it will take for us to win this election. We’re up against tough competition. The incumbent governor is well liked and greatly respected, but he’s a pompous fool. Local news articles have shown him to be too much the do-gooder and now that’s catching up with him. His weak areas are clearly pointed out on page two. With all of us working together, we can surely stop him before he bankrupts the state.”

  “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think, Bob?” The question came from John Myers of Myers Architectural Services. Of all the men in the Association, Kerns had the least amount of dirt on him—which meant Myers was never afraid to voice an opinion.