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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.
