Fear Not (Book 3 in the Wilton/Strait Mystery Series)

By Barbara Ann Derksen

Prologue
He held his breath, afraid to move, his body trembled beneath the blankets on his bed. Pursing his lips, he sucked in small amounts of air. Working desperately to appear invisible, he flattened his body into the mattress. He could hear soft sounds of deep, heavy breathing. He lifted his blanket ever so slightly and watched as the large figure moved through the opened slit in his bedroom door. The earlier threat loomed large in his mind.
He pulled the blanket over his shuddering body as he heard the door close. How could he escape? He wished. He should have taken the threat seriously. He should have prepared more. He should have not eaten such a large dinner. His stomach rumbled, bile accumulating deep in his abdomen. Fear seemed to supplant all sense of reason. He wanted to scream.
Footsteps. Moving closer. His cold fingers wrapped themselves around the handle of the knife. He kept his eyes closed, listening, ready to move. The footsteps seemed to be right beside him now. He could hear the man’s breathing. He could also hear his own heart beat. It sounded loud...thundering.
“Hey, girlfriend.” A deep, menacing voice whispered. It was as if the voice was on top of him. “Wake up. Your daddy’s here.” He felt the intruder move the blanket covering him to one side. He felt the weight of the man’s massive frame as the trespasser lowered himself to the bed. He scooted toward the wall. Fast. The blade in his fist was pointed up. The man grunted as he fell on the blade. “Wh-what y-you g-gone and d-done, huh?”
He rolled over the man. His bare feet landed on the cold linoleum. His hand was empty. He had to get the knife. They’d trace it. But then, it was his room after all. Still they would know what’d happened. He couldn’t let the others know. He had to make sure. Move the body.
His heart beats seemed to trip over themselves. He had never been so scared in his short life. Not even when that panther had come out of the jungle right in front of him. He needed this job. This man was not going to spoil everything.
He made his way slowly back to the bed. His foot slipped in the sticky...thick....ooze that covered the floor now. Low moans erupted in front of him. The man wasn’t dead. Not yet. He reached toward the sound, rolled the heavy weight to one side. There, the knife was sticking into the man’s soft belly. He grabbed it, pulled it toward his body and then struck again. And again. Until the moaning stopped.
The sheets were wet to the touch. He grabbed one corner and yanked, dumping the man onto the floor. He paused. Listening. All was quiet. He began to drag the weight toward the door. He opened it a crack. Nobody in sight. He dragged the burden, using his sheets, out the door, around the corner, toward the crew’s cafeteria. Maybe the freezer.
He hurried as fast as the bulky weight would allow. Someone might see him. Not all shifts were finished for the night. Not far now. He headed toward the large walk-in freezer located down the hall just behind the grill. His mind traveled to the last time he’d prepared food there. He shook his head. Had to concentrate. He could hide the body toward the back of the freezer. Maybe no one would notice. Later he’d throw the body overboard.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbara Ann Derksen
• Release date: Mar 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465898234

Barbara Ann Derksen

With a plethora of writing under her belt and a variety of genres, Barbara Ann Derksen receives encouragement from 4 and 5 star reviews, the eager anticipation by readers for the next book, and a new reader discovering her existence.Born in Canada, Barbara lived in the US for 12 years. There her writing surfaced as she worked under contract as a journalist for six years with over 2500 articles published in newspapers and magazines during that time. She began attending Colorado Christian Writer's Conferences and each year, under the tutelage of great Christian writer's like James Scott Bell, Angela Hunt, and others, she honed her skills and then published her first book in 2003.With 19 books to her credit, one currently inactive and awaiting revision, each one surpasses the last, according to her readers. The new series has given them something to think about as she delves into the world...

Book preview

Fear Not

A Wilton-Strait Murder Mystery

Copyright 2011 by Barbara Ann Derksen

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Prologue

He held his breath, afraid to move, his body trembled beneath the blankets on his bed. Pursing his lips, he sucked in small amounts of air. Working desperately to appear invisible, he flattened his body into the mattress. He could hear soft sounds of deep, heavy breathing. He lifted his blanket ever so slightly and watched as the large figure moved through the opened slit in his bedroom door. The earlier threat loomed large in his mind.

He pulled the blanket over his shuddering body as he heard the door close. How could he escape? He wished. He should have taken the threat seriously. He should have prepared more. He should have not eaten such a large dinner. His stomach rumbled, bile accumulating deep in his abdomen. Fear seemed to supplant all sense of reason. He wanted to scream.

Footsteps. Moving closer. His cold fingers wrapped themselves around the handle of the knife. He kept his eyes closed, listening, ready to move. The footsteps seemed to be right beside him now. He could hear the man’s breathing. He could also hear his own heart beat. It sounded loud…thundering.

Hey, girlfriend. A deep, menacing voice whispered. It was as if the voice was on top of him. Wake up. Your daddy’s here. He felt the intruder move the blanket covering him to one side. He felt the weight of the man’s massive frame as the trespasser lowered himself to the bed. He scooted toward the wall. Fast. The blade in his fist was pointed up. The man grunted as he fell on the blade. Wh-what y-you g-gone and d-done, huh?

He rolled over the man. His bare feet landed on the cold linoleum. His hand was empty. He had to get the knife. They’d trace it. But then, it was his room after all. Still they would know what’d happened. He couldn’t let the others know. He had to make sure. Move the body.

His heart beats seemed to trip over themselves. He had never been so scared in his short life. Not even when that panther had come out of the jungle right in front of him. He needed this job. This man was not going to spoil everything.

He made his way slowly back to the bed. His foot slipped in the sticky…thick….ooze that covered the floor now. Low moans erupted in front of him. The man wasn’t dead. Not yet. He reached toward the sound, rolled the heavy weight to one side. There, the knife was sticking into the man’s soft belly. He grabbed it, pulled it toward his body and then struck again. And again. Until the moaning stopped.

The sheets were wet to the touch. He grabbed one corner and yanked, dumping the man onto the floor. He paused. Listening. All was quiet. He began to drag the weight toward the door. He opened it a crack. Nobody in sight. He dragged the burden, using his sheets, out the door, around the corner, toward the crew’s cafeteria. Maybe the freezer.

He hurried as fast as the bulky weight would allow. Someone might see him. Not all shifts were finished for the night. Not far now. He headed toward the large walk-in freezer located down the hall just behind the grill. His mind traveled to the last time he’d prepared food there. He shook his head. Had to concentrate. He could hide the body toward the back of the freezer. Maybe no one would notice. Later he’d throw the body overboard.

He placed blood stained hands on the large latch. The freezer door swung open releasing a wave of cold air on his sweat covered body. The light from inside illuminated his bundle and his clothing. Blood splatters covered his shirt and pants while a trail of the red ooze led straight to this hiding place. The exertion was taking its toll. Quickly now. He’d hide the body and clean up.

He moved some crates, slipped the body behind, and moved them back. He grabbed a cloth and began wiping. The blood wouldn’t come off the cold freezer floor. It was ice already. He slipped outside and ran hot water into a large utility sink. As hot as he could stand, he wrung the cloth out and hurried to the freezer. He wiped and some of the blood trace was eliminated. But there was more.

Maybe no one would notice. Could be from the meat shipment they’d just received. He closed the door, wiped the handle and then quickly, wiped the floor all the way to his room. Sheets. He’d need clean sheets. He threw the mattress against the wall. He carefully lay the bloody sheets and his clothing down on the frame of his bed. He grabbed the under edge of the mattress, and pulled. It flopped, blood-soaked side down, on top of his discarded bedding.

He took the cloth back to the kitchen area, and rinsed it. The drain flowed red and then pinkish as the cloth released its contents. He remembered when his parents had killed a hog…years ago…when he was just a boy. It looked the same. He laid the cloth to dry across the cutting board.

Scampering on tip toes, he retrieved some clean sheets from the laundry stacked, ready to put into shelves, near the bedroom area. He’d need to shower again. As he approached his bedroom door, he heard voices. The late shift was coming to bed. He’d have to wait till they slept before cleaning the blood off. He slowly, quietly closed his door. He’d wait.

Chapter One

Andrea looked out the window. Large clouds, fluffy and pure white like enormous pillows, rolled across the clear dark blue sky as far as the eye could see. The clouds looked like a monstrous bed, waiting for someone to jump on it. Could angels walk on clouds? The thought rose unbidden, as if seeping through the brain matter in her head. She contemplated a Holy God and His creation. She chuckled. I think angels can do anything they want.

What’s so funny? Brian Strait opened one eye and peered at his traveling companion. He sighed, sleep racing away as fast as it had descended on him in the first place.

Andrea turned from her view out the window. She had a grin plastered on her face. I just thought that there are probably angels out there, just enjoying the color, and the soft cushy clouds. I know if I was one of them, I’d be out there. She pointed toward the window. Everything seems so much more brilliant up here. Don’t you think?

Brian smiled. I’ve always liked the view from 30,000 feet. Clear skies as far as the eye can see. No space junk either. He watched the word picture he’d just created flit across Andrea’s mind. Her brow wrinkled. He laughed. No worries. We’ll be in Santo Domingo in a few minutes.

Andrea scowled. I was enjoying the view. Now all I can think about is hitting something. Thanks a lot. She punched his shoulder and then leaned her head back to enjoy the rest of the flight. Brian, do you think they’ve found Troy by now? I mean you talked to Father Bertrand two days ago. Maybe…

Brian closed his eyes again but then opened them and looked into Andrea’s eyes. Andrea, I hope they have but…with all that’s going on so close to them, it might be a while before the authorities can be called in and …I guess Troy could have returned on his own. Once he found out that Haiti is so devastated. Anyhow, whatever we find when we land, we can always have a great visit with Camilla. He reached across the armrest and patted her hand.

I can’t wait to see her. It feels as if it’s been years instead of only months since we were here last. I’ll bet she’s grown…

Ladies and gentlemen. The disembodied voice spoke over the PA system just as the ‘fasten your seat belt’ sign came on. We’ll be landing in Santo Domingo in 15 minutes. The temperature is 85 degrees and the winds are north northwest at 10 miles per hour. Skies are clear.

The large plane began to descend steadily through the clouds, Andrea noticed as she looked out the window again. Brian, what time is it? It doesn’t feel as if we’ve been in the air very long.

Santo Domingo is only a little over 800 miles from Key West. This is a jet so it moves pretty fast. Oh, by the way, it’s five o’clock in Santo Domingo so although we’ve only been in the air less than two hours, we also lost an hour. Brian grabbed one side of his seat belt and fastened it to the other while he talked. Andrea did the same.

I called Father Bertrand just before we left home to let him know when we’d be arriving. He said he’d meet us. Andrea leaned back again and watched a small island in the azure Caribbean appear on the right side of the plane as it banked toward the landing strip at the airport. That must be the Dominican Republic. Sure doesn’t look very big from up here.

The blue water glistened in the sunlight as the plane leveled for the approach to the runway. Andrea could see palm trees wave their greeting in the slight breeze and knew that without that breeze, the humidity and the heat from the sun would be a little uncomfortable. But she also knew there were always island breezes. At least that’s what Camilla told her.

She smiled toward Brian and then looked out the window again. The last time they’d flown to this part of the world, they’d come to find their best friends. She looked toward Brian again. I’d hoped when we came for a visit that we could spend all our time with Camilla. Now…

I know. When Father Bertrand told us about Troy…I was disappointed too. But maybe we’re getting to see Camilla…even for a short time…sooner than we would have if Troy had not gone missing.

Andrea tried not to pout. Maybe…I am worried about Troy. I hope we find him in one piece.

We could always return to the orphanage for a few days after we find Troy…if we find him. We’ll play it by ear, okay. Brian braced his hands on the armrest for the slight bump as the plane landed. As soon as it began to taxi, he reached for his seat belt.

You’re not supposed to undo that seat belt until we stop. Andrea whispered in case someone nearby was listening. Besides, it won’t get us off the plane any sooner so you might as well relax. She chuckled but her heart was skipping along with the speed down the runway in anticipation of their first glimpse of Camilla. I’ve missed her. I guess Brian has too.

****

Father Bertrand, robes fluttering around his legs, paced back and forth. His small charge had her face glued to the window in the terminal, watching every plane land and passengers disembark. He stopped, his worry placed in the background, as he saw the disappointment reflected on Camilla’s face when she did not see her friends. Not that one, ma chere. Their plane should be landing next though. It is time.

Camilla clapped her hands in excitement. Oh oui Papa Bertrand. I can ‘ardly wait, non?

The man stooped to her level. This is sure an exciting day for you but remember, we need them to find Troy so maybe…

There they are. There they are. She jumped up and down, her exhilaration getting the best of her. She turned from the window as soon as she saw Brian and Andrea reach the bottom of the stairs and begin to walk toward the terminal. Camilla raced ahead of Father Bertrand toward the door. He sighed and hurried after her.

****

Andrea struggled with her carry-on. She slipped her purse to her shoulder and shifted the weight of the other bag as she reached for the glass door. Brian grabbed the handle first and bowed as he held the door open for her and then for a few other passengers after her.

Andrea stepped into the cool building. Just as her eyes began to adjust to the lighting, a small colorfully clad figure barreled into her. Miss Andrea. You’re ‘ere. You’re ‘ere. Camilla wrapped her arms around Andrea’s torso.

Whoa, hold on. Let me look at you. Andrea dropped her bag, bent down and spoke, her tone serious. Who are you, miss? Do I know you?

Me? The little girl pointed to her chest. I’m Camilla. Remember Camilla. Her eyes looked downcast, disappointment evident in her pint sized body language.

Brian walked toward them and snickered at the exchange of words. Really? The Camilla we know, is a small, little, wee girl who hardly speaks any English. You are so much bigger and older too. His face took on the serious appearance that Andrea’s had.

Oh but you can’t… Camilla’s face broke out in a glow like a Midwestern fire fly. Oh, you are fooling with me, non? She reached for Brian and wrapped her arms around his legs. I saw you land. I saw you…

Come here you. Andrea squatted and opened her arms wide. Camilla launched herself in Andrea’s direction. I have missed you so much. Andrea wrapped Camilla in the folds of her arms feeling as if that was exactly where that little girl belonged. She looked over Camilla’s shoulder, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Brian swiped a few tears from his own eyes. He patted Andrea’s shoulder. Let’s go get our bags. Camilla, do you want to hold our baggage claim tickets. Don’t drop them. He looked toward Father Bertrand and extended his hand in greeting. Hello Father. Any news?

Bonjour mes amis. Let’s get you settled before we talk. Camilla has been waiting, not so patiently I think. He matched his pace to that of Andrea and Brian as they made their way toward the luggage carousel. You ‘ad a good flight, non?

Yes we did. Andrea piped up. There were so many people waiting for the commercial airlines to land with their relatives or friends returning form Haiti. What do you hear from Port Au Prince?

It’s a disaster there. So many people missing yet, and so many dead. Our orphanage is thinking that we could go there to distribute water. Do something. Those poor people. Father Bertrand hung his head. Maybe when…it will take a long time for them to recover.

Brian tugged one bag from the conveyer and dropped it at their feet. Is there any way to communicate with anyone in Port Au Prince?

Non. They were the worst hit. That city might as well be on another planet. I have friends there but… The priest shook his head and then reached to pick up the bag at Andrea’s feet just as Brian snagged another one from the conveyer belt. O-o-o you people do not travel light, he grunted.

Father, let us carry our own bags. You keep track of Camilla. Brian chuckled as he took the two larger bags leaving Andrea’s hands free for the carry-on luggage. The adults led the way toward the airport entrance.

I have the station wagon nearby. You two can wait here so you don’t have to carry those heavy bags so far, non? Father Bertrand reached for Camilla’s hand as Brian nodded in agreement. Come on child. Let’s go get the car.

Andrea and Brian watched as Camilla skipped along beside the priest. It was obvious that she’d grown quite comfortable with her surroundings and felt at home with Father Bertrand. That child has changed a lot. She seems to have more confidence, don’t you think? Andrea posed the question as she watched the figures cross the street and head toward a parking lot.

Yes, she does. Man, I never thought I’d ever feel about a kid the way I feel about that one. She’s a heart breaker, that’s for sure. I wonder…

Andrea’s eyes clouded with moisture. It was hard leaving her last time. I don’t think I can leave her again. Maybe we could…

Adopt. They spoke in unison. Brian laughed first but Andrea’s giggle caught up to him. Preposterous. We’re not a married couple and here we are…

Yet. Brian glanced toward the woman at his side. We’re not married yet. But one day…

Brian, I don’t want Camilla to think of us as a couple. Not yet. I mean…what if she thinks we could adopt her and then we find out that the country won’t let us. We haven’t even looked into that so we have no idea. And as for you and me…well I’m still not sure what God has…

I’m sure enough for both of us. I love you Andrea and you feel the same about me. You said so. But I promised to wait and I will. It’s just that… He noticed Father Bertrand maneuver his car alongside the curb. We’ll finish this conversation later.

The priest put the vehicle in park and got out to help his guests deposit their bags in the back. Camilla was sitting in the back seat. Sit with me. Sit with me, Andrea. She pulled on the handle of the back door, letting it swing wide to allow Andrea to sit beside her. The child was almost beside herself as Andrea smiled, took her seat and grabbed her for another hug.

Andrea’s eyes glistened again. Brian watched her for a second or two before taking his seat beside Father Bertrand. Camilla’s going to think that you cry all the time. He chuckled as Andrea reached forward to punch him on the arm.

Andrea looked toward Camilla, whose face glowed with the healthy color of the Caribbean. It’s just so great being able to talk to you face to face once again, sweetheart. Phone calls are alright but there’s nothing like being able to hug you too.

Camilla giggled. Father Bertrand says that tears, because we are ‘appy, is okay, non? I, too, am ‘appy but my eyes don’t want to leak all de time…like yours.

The priest put the car in gear and pulled into traffic before he spoke again. All the children are excited to see you both again. They know that you’ve been responsible for sending all those packages to us and for getting so many churches in the US to support us. It’s made a big difference in all our lives.

Brian glanced with pride toward Andrea before he responded. That was all Andrea’s doing. She spent a lot of time telling people about you and the work you do. They just wanted to help. Brian looked over his shoulder again and chuckled as he saw the pink hue on Andrea’s face.

I did so little. The churches I spoke to were already looking for a place to follow Jesus and your orphanage just fit in with what the Lord had already laid on their hearts to do. They have been so blessed by all the letters from your children. They wanted me to tell the kids that and how they pray for them as they pack the barrels of clothing and stuff. Andrea hugged Camilla again.

Well the children have prepared a little something for the two of you. It’s small but they worked hard. I’m not sure what it is but…

A play. A play. Camilla clapped her hand over her mouth. Oh no. It was supposed to be surprise.

A surprise, Camilla. Father Bertrand corrected the child’s English.

Camilla giggled. Oui mon père. A surprise. Don’t tell anyone. She placed a finger over her lips. The adults howled with laughter. Camilla grinned, not quite sure why they were laughing but enjoying the sound anyway.

****

The trek to the orphanage took the visitors past some less prosperous areas of the city with houses in need of repair. The grass was mowed however…what little grass there was…and flower boxes accented the window casings. Andrea pointed toward one particularly well kept yard. Father, the people here seem to try hard to make their circumstances seem unimportant.

Oui. When you live so close to a country where no one has anything, we appreciate what we have and look after it. Dominicans are governed with a sense of pride unlike Haiti where corruption runs rampant. See that place over there, that house belongs to one of the board members for the orphanage. They are hardworking people but not wealthy…just caring.

I love all the tropical plants and trees. Andrea sighed. I think I was born for this climate.

Brian harrumphed. Yeah, until you step out of this air-conditioned car. Remember the humidity? You complained constantly when we were in Haiti.

I did not. It was hot but…

…and sticky…I think dat is de word you use many times. Camilla giggled as she gave Brian a high five in agreement.

Andrea grinned. Oh so that’s how it’s going to be. You two can gang up on me all you want but I still love the tropics. She folded her arms and pretended to glare in Brian’s direction.

What’s gang up? Camilla peered earnestly toward Andrea. She and Brian laughed out loud, clapping their hands towards Camilla. What’s so funny, eh? Camilla scowled.

Andrea’s face turned serious. We aren’t laughing at you again. Brian and I were just saying the other day how much we missed your questions about our expressions. Gang up means…well…it’s like…

…join forces. You and I, Camilla, joined forces against Andrea. Brian’s grin never left his face. We’ve missed explaining English to you.

Camilla’s puzzled expression was reflected in the rear view mirror. What’s joined forces? All three adults cracked up then. They laughed even harder when they saw the look of consternation on Camilla’s face.

Never mind. Brian reached back to pat the child’s hand resting on the back of his seat. It’s a good thing. His eyes were leaking now as well as Andrea’s. Let’s concentrate on the sights. We may not drive this way again. He turned toward the window.

Andrea reached to envelop Camilla in her arms. The child rested comfortably against her as they passed more palm trees interspersed with a host of flowering shrubs and trees heavily laden with blossoms. Andrea sighed. She looked down at Camilla. Her heart felt as if it had come home.

Brian glanced toward her and Andrea smiled. This feels so right. She mouthed the words not wanting Camilla to get the wrong idea. Not yet anyway.

Brian nodded. We’ll check it out. Love for the woman and the child was in evidence for anyone to see.

Father Bertrand’s fleeting look and then the subsequent smile spoke volumes. The priest was known for not missing a thing. You folks think you might…

We’ll talk when l.i.t.t.l.e ears are not around. Brian spoke a little too quickly. Sorry Father but we don’t want to get hopes up.

Ah oui. I understand. Here we are. Home. He turned the car into the drive that Brian and Andrea remembered from their first visit to this sanctuary for orphaned children. Kids of all sizes ran to greet them.

Wow, what a reception. Andrea waved from her perch on the back seat and Camilla placed a proprietary hand on her arm. Her gaze held questions that Andrea was afraid to consider. Andrea sleeps in my room tonight, right Fadder?

Oh oui. That would be good. He chuckled. Camilla has already moved her things into your room.

Mais…

But, ma petite. The word is but. Father Bertrand corrected.

But if you don’t want me to…I go. But now you say yes, so I stay, non. The child grinned and then collapsed in laughter at the situation. You are like mon papa et mama, non?

Andrea hugged the child tightly and then opened the car door leaving the question unanswered. Her eyes glistened again but pain shone from her lashes this time. She glanced toward Brian and then concentrated on the children surrounding the car. Hey, everyone. Hello.

Chapter Two

Andrea sighed. All was quiet. At last. She walked through the door leading from her sleeping quarters to the open porch surrounding the building. Father Bertrand was sitting in a rocking chair, blowing smoke rings toward the ceiling. Brian rocked in another chair beside him. Neither spoke. Andrea took the remaining chair.

She leaned her head back. Those kids can tire a person not used to their energy.

They can tire someone who is used to them. The priest chuckled. I love this time of day. All is quiet and they are happily in dreamland, non. Then a few minutes later, I find it is too quiet and I long for tomorrow.

Brian looked toward Andrea and smiled. Father, before we talk about Troy, what do you know about the adoption laws here in the Dominican Republic?

Not a lot. D’ere are not too many people from ‘ere looking for another child. But I could find out, maybe. What are you thinking about, eh?

Just an idea, that’s all. Camilla… He looked toward Andrea. Just find out what it would take and we’ll do some more talking.

I can do dat but you must not say anything to Camilla until dese tings are settled, non? I would not want to get ‘er ‘opes up and den find out dat the government won’t let you take ‘er ‘ome with you. The child seems ‘appy ‘ere now. The older man brushed some imaginary fuzz from his robe and then stood. He breathed in deeply.

Andrea spoke with a hint of huskiness to her voice. We wouldn’t hurt Camilla for the world. We will proceed with caution and, besides, this is just fact finding at this point. Right, Brian?

Brian looked toward the woman seated beside him. Yeah, right. His voice held a touch of impatience. Just thinking out loud, that’s all.

Bon. Den I find out and let you know. The soft ringing of a nearby telephone echoed through the breezy nighttime air. Father Bertrand turned from his perusal of the chickens pecking in the nearby dirt and entered through an adjacent door to a part of the building that housed his private quarters.

Brian and Andrea continued to breathe in the fresh summer air mixed with the floral scents of this tropical paradise. Brian, are you really thinking that we should adopt Camilla? I mean…I want to but…

I saw your face today, Andrea. I also know how wrong it would be if we left her here again. She’s getting great care but it’s not the same as a family. I love her and I know you’re crazy about her too. We love each other so why not?

I want to know that God wants this for us, Brian. Not just us. If we start out life together out of God’s will…well…especially with a child already…we need Him, don’t you think? Andrea sighed. I’m not sure how to know what God wants but maybe we need to study His word a little more to make sure…before we jump off the deep end.