скачать книгу бесплатно
On the Doorstep
Dana Corbit
To: Meg, Rachel, Anne From: Pilar Re: My exciting day ¡Hola, amigas! You'll never guess what I found on my way to work today…a baby! His name is Gabriel, and he is certainly heaven-sent. And so is Zach Fletcher, the dedicated detective assigned to find the mother. This is the first time we've spoken, even though we attend the same church.I'm torn. I want the girl to be found but I also want to keep Gabriel for myself - my biological clock has been ticking like crazy! And I've been fantasizing about Zach rounding out my dream family….
Zach caught Pilar watching him with a strange expression.
Was it wariness?
She looked away, but Zach continued to study her. She was dressed in what he would describe as one of her trademark outfits: a ruffled, feminine blouse and a pair of black slacks.
Others might have been surprised that he could give such detail about a woman he didn’t know well, but as a police detective, it was his job to remember details.
The most notable detail was how natural Pilar appeared, swaying with a baby she’d just discovered, literally, on the doorstep.
TINY BLESSINGS: Giving thanks for the neediest of God’s children, and the families who take them in!
FOR THE TWINS’ SAKE—
Jillian Hart (LI#308)
BROUGHT TOGETHER BY BABY—
Carolyne Aarsen (LI#312)
ON THE DOORSTEP—
Dana Corbit (LI#316)
THE CINDERELLA PLAN—
Margaret Daley (LI#320)
HER CHRISTMAS WISH—
Kathryn Springer (LI#324)
PAST SECRETS, PRESENT LOVE—
Lois Richer (LI#328)
DANA CORBIT
has been fascinated with words since third grade, when she began stringing together stanzas of rhyme. That interest, and an inherent nosiness, led her to a career as a newspaper reporter and editor. After earning state and national recognition in journalism, she traded her career for stay-at-home motherhood.
But the need for creative expression followed her home, and later through the move from Indiana to Milford, Michigan. Outside the office, Dana discovered the joy of writing fiction. In stolen hours, during naps and between carpooling and church activities, she escapes into her private world, telling stories from her heart.
Dana makes her home in Michigan with her husband, three young daughters and two cats.
On the Doorstep
Dana Corbit
To my editor, Diane Dietz, for guarding my “p’s” and “q’s.”
Thank you for your constant support and your willingness to juggle all the details so I can simply tell the stories I love. To my personal “doctor.com,” Celia D’Errico, D.O., who helps me to get the medical facts straight. I so appreciate your brilliance and your friendship.
To my sister-in-law, Vivian Berry, for your great Puerto Rican accent and sweet spirit, and to my brother, Todd Berry, for having the good sense to marry such a cool chica. And, finally to my POTL gang of critique partners, Nancy Gideon, Laurie Kuna, Loralee Lillibridge, Victoria Schab and Constance Smith, who freely share their time and talent with me.
Though we are miles apart, I carry all of you, my friends, in my heart.
By this all men will know that you are
My disciples, if you have love for one another.
—John 13:35
Zach—A Hebrew name meaning “God remembers, remembrance of the Lord.” It is derived from the name Zechariah. There are over thirty men with this name mentioned in the Bible, including the author of the Book of Zechariah.
Pilar—A Spanish name meaning “pillar, support.”
Gabriel—Hebrew name meaning “God is my strength.” One of seven archangels, Gabriel appeared to Mary to give her the news of her pregnancy and impending birth of Jesus.
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed this visit with the people of Chestnut Grove, Virginia, and Pilar and Zach’s journey to love as much as I enjoyed writing it. Pilar’s character spoke to my heart because she questions God’s plan for her life, as we all do sometimes. Only, in Pilar’s case, she’s questioning it for the very first time. Zach, on the other hand, reminds me of myself and my own Christian walk, as he searches endlessly for answers instead of simply trusting. The arrival of little Gabriel on the doorstep helps the two of them find their way to each other and to a closer relationship with God.
We never know God’s purpose, only that it is perfect and that in time His answers will be revealed. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding”—Proverbs 3:5.
I always enjoy hearing from readers. Please feel free to write to me at P.O. Box 2251, Farmington Hills, MI 48333-2251 or contact me through the following Web sites: www.SteepleHill.com or www.loveinspiredauthors.com.
May God grant you joy along the journey,
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
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Firsts were supposed to be good things. First loves. First kisses. Scary yet exciting, these beginnings were like birthday presents, wrapped in hope and tied with ribbons of promise. Pilar Estes used to believe all that and more. But as the first of September brought a fuchsia-tinged dawn to Chestnut Grove, Virginia, her morning of premieres only made her feel ashamed.
Last week if her friends had suggested she would dread coming to work, she would have thought they were kidding. It would have seemed impossible. Helping to create families through Tiny Blessings Adoption Agency was her dream job, a fact she’d repeated to anyone who would listen. She’d even earned the duty of starting the office coffeemaker because she was always there first.
This morning she couldn’t even gather the energy to get excited about an upcoming child placement. Her eyes filled with tears at just the thought of the office’s “Wall of Blessings,” the photo collage featuring the agency’s many happy adoptive families. If only she could stay home.
That truth humiliated her enough, but it paled by comparison to the shame she felt over her other first that morning. She’d begun to question God’s will for her life. Not just small, needling questions, either, but huge, nagging uncertainties with dancing question marks.
Her chest squeezed so tightly that Pilar cracked open her car window so she could gulp in some of the crisp morning breeze. It must have been her imagination that tinged the air with the odor of decay. Labor Day wasn’t even until the following Monday, and the leaves didn’t usually turn in central Virginia for several more weeks. But her betraying nose, so like her disobedient thoughts, made her wonder if dying dreams had a scent.
What ever happened to “leaning on the everlasting arms,” as the old hymn said? She’d always felt so comforted by that hymn and by its reference to Moses’ words in the Book of Deuteronomy, “The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.”
Was she one of those people who only trusted when trusting came easy? No, that wasn’t true. She’d gone right on believing in God’s will during her mother’s heart trouble when Pilar was still in college. She’d never stopped praying through Rita Estes’s triple-bypass surgery and recovery.
And even at twenty-eight, she’d never questioned that God, in His time and with His infinite wisdom, would provide her with a home and a family. She’d continued to believe, though she could count her dates the last two years on one hand, and the one man at church she’d seen possibilities in didn’t seem to notice her at all.
So why now? Why couldn’t she let go of her fears this time instead of being so selfish and secretive with them? Hadn’t her psychology degree taught her anything about sharing her problems? Obviously not, because she hadn’t mentioned a thing to her parents or to her three best friends, and she’d never kept anything from Meg Talbot Kierney, Rachel Noble and Anne Smith.
Everything might turn out to be fine. Even her gynecologist had said so the day before. She wanted to trust God to take care of the situation; really, she did. She just needed some time to process the news, to accept that she might have more in common with Tiny Blessings’ clients than she’d known.
Polycystic ovarian disease. It sounded so complicated, but it was really just a fancy term for a combination of irregular cycles and ovarian cysts that could add up to infertility. Though it was still just a possible diagnosis, to Pilar it felt like a death sentence, at least for the future she’s always imagined.
She wouldn’t know anything for sure until the ultrasound her doctor had scheduled for Tuesday, but she worked in the adoption business. She understood the prospects. And the possibility hanging heavily over her heart was that even if she found a man to love, there was a chance she could never have his children.
Her nose burned and her vision blurred, but Pilar fought back her tears. She needed to push aside her worries and focus on her job. The coffee wouldn’t put itself on, and the Newlins would expect her to be there for their first interview later that morning.
She took a few deep breaths and found some tentative control. Grateful for the comfort of routine, she parked a few buildings past the agency office and back-tracked. A gust of wind fluttered her bangs and whipped her long black ponytail over her shoulder. She crossed her arms over her blouse, wishing she’d worn a sweater.
With her gaze on the sidewalk cracks, instead of the narrow former bank building that for thirty-five years had housed Tiny Blessings, she mentally ticked off a list of her other duties before the big Labor Day weekend. A home visit to schedule. An introduction to plan between prospective adoptive parents and a darling toddler with special needs.
“Lord, please help me not to be distracted from my work today,” she whispered when her thoughts flitted back to her own needs. Reflexively, she pressed her hand against her lower abdomen, as if she could protect the fragile organs inside. The minor cramps that had brought her into the doctor’s office in the first place squeezed again, taunting her.
“Please help me to stay focused,” she restated, knowing full well she should have been praying for healing or at least acceptance of God’s will.
That she couldn’t manage more than that today only frustrated her more. She’d never had patience for weakness in herself, and she wasn’t about to go soft now just because she had an upcoming appointment at the hospital.
If she’d been looking up from the sidewalk, she might have seen it sooner, but Pilar was already halfway up the walk before she noticed what looked like a giant lidded picnic basket resting on the building’s wide porch.
She jerked to a stop. Images of ticking explosives and chemical contaminants fluttered in her mind’s eye, before her good sense returned. She’d been watching too many television action shows. This was Chestnut Grove, she had to remember. Until a few months ago, she could have referred to her city as a real-life Mayberry, until her own agency’s horrible discovery of falsified birth records. That was inexcusable. Still, bombs and other big-city mayhem hadn’t taken the bus out to Richmond’s suburbs yet.
To be safe, Pilar approached the basket slowly, tilting her head and listening for any tick-tick-tick. At first, there was only silence. She snickered. Who did she think she was? Some Sydney Bristow Alias wanna-be without the cool disguises and martial arts moves? Her bomb-deactivating skills would probably be wasted on a gift basket from grateful adoptive parents. They occasionally received baskets, though usually during office hours.
Just when she’d gathered the courage to come close and lean over the basket, a strange grunting sound had her jerking her hand back. She listened again and heard the same grunting, human sound.
“Oh dear.” The words fell from her lips as she lifted the lid. A pair of bright blue eyes stared at her from a little pink face. Pilar didn’t move. She couldn’t. Seconds must have ticked by, but time stalled in a crystal vacuum as the baby’s unblinking gaze and Pilar’s frozen stare connected.
Strange how the child wasn’t upset, but content, swaddled in a receiving blanket and resting in a nest made of an expensive-looking blanket. But then a louder-pitched grunt splintered the silence as tiny feet kicked against the covering. The perfect round face scrunched and reddened.
“Oh, you poor little thing.” Finally able to move again, Pilar dropped her purse and keys and crouched next to the basket. Carefully, she lifted out the baby and loosened the blue receiving blanket that had a race-car pattern. Since the sleeper beneath the blanket was also blue, she assumed the baby was a boy. “How could anyone have left you here like this?”
Her sudden movement and her voice must have startled him because he jerked his hands and kicked his feet. Still, he didn’t cry. Warmth spread from the small bundle through Pilar’s blouse and into her heart. For several seconds she cradled the child, her body automatically rocking to a silent lullaby.
Pilar drew the side of her thumb down a perfectly formed jaw, the skin satiny beneath her touch. How pale his cheek appeared against her golden skin tone.
Instinctively, the baby turned his head toward the source of stimulation and worked his mouth in search of a meal. Pilar shifted him to her shoulder and stood.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Can’t help you with that. But I am going to help you.”
Balancing him against her, she crouched for her keys and unlocked the door. She rushed inside, rattled in a way that was so unlike her.
When she reached her desk, she rested her hand on the phone and hesitated. “Call the police and emergency workers first. Then Social Services. Or is it Social Services first?”
Did she really expect the baby to answer? She shook her head, both to answer the ridiculous question and to pull herself together. She could do this. Even if she did work for a private agency rather than Social Services, she still was familiar with laws concerning abandoned children. She’d just never seen one close-up before.
The first newborn wail came as Pilar dialed 911. The pitiful, hungry cry cut straight to her heart, making her feel helpless. She refused to give in to it. Maybe she couldn’t meet all of the baby’s needs at this moment, but she would do everything she could for him.
Over the noise, she communicated the major details: abandoned live infant, appeared healthy, found at Tiny Blessings Adoption Agency. After she hung up the phone, having been assured that help was on the way, Pilar lowered herself into her office chair.
The baby, though, would have none of it. He continued to protest until Pilar popped back up and started pacing. She walked, she swayed and she rocked. But nothing pacified him until, desperate, she washed her hand and popped her index finger into his mouth. As she moved him into a reclining position, he suckled greedily, still too new to understand he didn’t have the real thing.
He was so perfect, a tiny bundle from God that someone didn’t have the wisdom to recognize. She would have recognized the gift, would have had the good sense to cherish it.
As she touched his tiny hand, the baby grasped her index finger. Her chest ached. Her eyes filled. It was only another reflex, she reminded herself. He hadn’t chosen her and grabbed hold of her. Somehow, though, it still felt as if he had, as if an infant young enough to only differentiate comfort from discomfort had picked her, had placed his future in her hands.
For a blip of a moment, she imagined them as more than foundling and rescuer. In that stolen, secret moment, she was just a regular mother caring for her beautiful son.
In the distance, a siren fractured the silence, bringing her back to the real world where some people abandoned their children, while others only dreamed of a child to hold.
The child dozed in her arms, still sucking occasionally on her finger. The image was so precious and melancholy at the same time. A postcard for a place she probably would never see for herself. She wished— No, it didn’t matter what she wished. She had no business letting the tale unfold in her thoughts, developing it like a play with costumes, scenery and makeup. Coveting was sinful.
