Priceless: Love's True Worth

By Ann Laurel

Have you ever wondered if there was any sin that God's grace doesn't cover? Does a person live who has fallen so deeply in the mire of sin that even God's love and mercy can't reach? Even when all hope seems lost and you think life is no longer worth living, God's love shines through...somehow...
He works in mysterious ways, even when we make the conscious choice to deny Him. He wishes for no one to be lost. No one...

Priceless - Love's True Worth is such a story, a coming of age / new adult romance about a young girl faced with almost more than she can handle. Her life leads her to ill choices that lead her down a dark and unworthy path...until she meets him...until he introduces her to the One who can reach down and save her. The question remains, will she accept it? Will she change her ways?

From the back cover...
Of what value is a life? For some the cost of companionship is a few dollars while to others the cost is a lifetime of commitment to another. Annequin’s life in Shady Grove begins simply enough, a caricature of the early lives of many young girls who find themselves the victims of circumstance. Loss and a lack of deep caring in her home eventually drive this beautiful young woman away from her difficult home life to another life that she believes will be her way to happiness. As far too many in Annequin’s position discover, the road chosen is sometimes paved with pain and disappointment. With time and the testing of a young heart and soul, the woman from Shady Grove learns the true meaning of love and grace given by others.

For mature audiences due to subject matter. No graphic descriptions, just situations.

NOTE: This book is a free download for signing up for Faith Austen's mailing list. If you wish to take advantage you may do so here: faithausten.com.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Perfectly Plotted Books
• Release date: Dec 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310898396

Ann Laurel

Ann loves to write inspirational sweet romances. Her first series, The Cattlemen's Wives, are western historical mail-order brides. All of her books are guaranteed to make you feel good when you reach the end.Ann lives with her husband and children in the beautiful Ozark Mountains in the south. She enjoys raising Godly children, volunteering with her church, homemaking, and writing.

Book preview

Priceless

Love's True Worth

Ann Laurel

Smashwords Edition

Third edition.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Photo by FotoSearch.com

Some of the scripture quotations taken from the New American Standard Bible®,

Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973,

1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation

Used by permission." (www.Lockman.org)

Published by Lori Ann Ramsey

Cover by LoriAnnRamsey.com

Website: annlaurel.com

Copyright © 2013-2017 Ann Laurel, Lori Ramsey

Dedication

To God, the Father, Jesus Christ the Son and the Holy Spirit for constant guidance. To my husband who encouraged me and helped throughout the process of writing and polishing this book. To TC Slonaker (author of Amity of the Angelmen) for her awesome editing.

Chapter 1 - Meager Beginnings

That Sunday morning at church at the tender age of twelve in 1987, the invitation called for sinners to step up as usual, and Grandma smiled down at me. I did not want to disappoint her. I believed in God and in Jesus, but I did not feel the conviction that some people claim, when they accept salvation. Sucking in my breath, I stepped out. She had been urging me to do so for a couple of months now. I gingerly flicked a bit of my flaxen hair from my eyes. I felt uncomfortable stepping gingerly down the gold carpeted aisle in my low-heeled red pumps. Every step made my red and white gingham print dress ride up, so I kept my hands down by my side to continually push the fabric back towards my knees. Luckily, the matching jacket hid the sleeveless tight bodice. I hoped that I would not trip and embarrass myself. Stepping in front of a crowd made me nervous, especially in church.

Do you believe that Jesus is the son of God? Do you believe that Jesus died for our sins and was resurrected? Of course, I answered yes. What if I had said no? Would they have condemned me from the church? I know Grandma would have taken a wooden switch after me. And yet, she sat there beaming, happy I finally stepped forward.

At twelve, I did not know much about life, yet I felt older than most other girls my age. I have had to take care of my ailing grandparents since I could remember. And Mother, she doesn't exactly know how to take care of herself, either, so the grandparents I've had to help take care of have raised me. It is crazy. I envy other children with a mom and a dad, who live in the same house.

That Sunday we came back to our small wooden frame home to find Mother cooking lunch. She rarely came to church with us. She stayed busy with her girlfriend Gloria, on her truck driving routes.

Mother had been married twice before and neither one was my real dad. At sixteen she had gotten pregnant by a married man. She never told anyone the identity of my real father. And she didn't take responsibility for me. She gave birth to me and handed me to her parents.

Mother had married a truck driver in Stonesvale not long after my birth. They stayed married for only three years. Their truck driving kept them constantly on the road so I stayed with my grandparents. Her second marriage lasted only five months. She had been divorced for five years. In between though, she had not been without a man 'friend'. That was how Grandma describes them. Man friends. However, I knew the truth. They were the men in which she stayed the night and got drunk. She stayed home this particular weekend. We rarely saw her for many days in a row. Grandma wished that Mom would settle down and get serious about life and I longed to have her there too.

Our Annequin has come forward this morning, Grandma said, beaming with pride. "You should have been there. She'll be baptized in two weeks. I expect you'll be there, seeing how she is your daughter." Grandma sat down heavily in one of the dining chairs. She pulled her shoes off and massaged her puffy feet. Her extra weight caused her problems with standing for long periods causing her feet to ache. Every Sunday after church, I had to rub them for her.

Mother, you can eat carrot salad, can't you? I put saccharin in it instead of sugar, Mother asked Grandma, who just nodded back at her. Grandma had diabetes and did not like to diet much.

That's nice, sweetie. I'm happy for you. Mom kissed me on the head as I helped Grandma with her aching feet.

Grandma looked up sharply at her. You will be at the baptism. Pearl?

When is it? Two weeks, let's see, yes I can make it. Mom kept busy with the food. I knew that she detested going to that church.

She flew around the kitchen gathering items for the lunch. Her lips stretched in a thin line, showing her disapproval of life. Her short brown hair curled above her neck. She looked older than her twenty-eight years. Hard life and hard times can add years to a life, Grandma always said.

The church ostracized Mom ever since she became pregnant with me. You just did not have premarital sex and get pregnant, and by a married man. In Shady Grove, everyone knew everything. Even the most guarded secrets had ways of coming out. They called my mother an adulteress, a loose woman. I knew that people looked on me with pity and a few even whispered, She's Pearl's bastard behind my back.

* * *

I asked Grandma last year what 'bastard' meant. She sat down and cried. After a few minutes, she re-gathered herself. "Honey, that's a nasty word that ignorant, inconsiderate people use. You are a special and beautiful girl. You have a family that loves you very much. And even your mother, though she may be scatter brained, she loves and cares for you.

A bastard is a child with unmarried parents. It's a cruel word. You haven't done anything wrong. God is punishing me, and your grandpa and your mom. We have all sinned, and sins don't go unpunished.

I swallowed hard. God scared me and when Grandma talked like this, I got nervous. Why is God punishing? What did ya'll do?

Oh the curious innocence of youth. She reached out and touched the side of my face. I suppose you are plenty old enough to know about the skeletons in our closet.

I sat back and braced myself. They must have done some terrible things for the punishment Grandma talked about. I could not imagine what she would say next.

"It all started when your grandpa and I first got married. We were young, in our early twenties and hungry. Hungry for money.

"I was raised with the best of everything that is until my dad gambled away all we had, up to and including the strand of pearls around my mother's neck. I stood there and watched him rip them from her neck, so he could pay off a gambling debt.

"Your grandpa had similar circumstances. That's why we were so attracted to each other, kindred spirits and all. Except that his father didn't gamble away their fortune, he drank it away.

"That should have taught us a lesson. But when you're young, you're ignorant and sometimes stupid. We didn't want to have children, because that would have taken away our time and cost us money. For over twenty years, I avoided having a baby. No, we wanted to be wealthy and we wouldn't stop at nothing to gain it.

"Since Grandpa was raised watching his father drink and make the stuff, he knew how to run the best of stills. Your great-grandpa would have stayed wealthy if he hadn't have drunk away all the profits. That's where your grandpa and I would do it differently. And we did.

"Grandpa ran the successful still for twenty-three years. We knew it was wrong. Yet it was a good way to earn lots of money. We never got caught by the law because we were supplying them too.

We had quite a large bank account one time. Until the Sheriff's office changed hands. It was about three years before your mother was born. The new sheriff was a self-righteous, so-called upright man. Now that I look back, I believe that the Lord sent him to humble us and put a stumbling block down, so that we could 'dash our foot and fall.' It was a blessing indeed, though at the time we didn't see it that way. Deep down I knew. Anyway, the sheriff caught us and threatened to put us in jail for running moonshine. She shook her head, and fought back tears.

She continued, "Your grandpa was slick back in his glory days. He struck a deal with the sheriff, and I, being foolish, went along with it. We paid the sheriff all but a few thousand dollars of our life savings. We had enough left to buy this house. In return, he kept quiet about our past dealings and we promised never to do it again. The sheriff was just as wrong as we were. The Lord was not pleased and saw to it to punish us.

The old sheriff was run down by an escaped convict a few months later. His widow inherited a nice sum of money. And we were cast down to poverty. Your grandpa came down with emphysema and I have diabetes. These are all judgments of God. When I became pregnant at the age of forty-five, I knew that too was a swift judgment. Pearl was not an easy child to carry and being the age I was made it all the worse. As you well know, Pearl was not the model child. She was born wild and today she maintains that. I believe God put a wild heart in her, to punish us.

She wiped her forehead and stared off into space, as if looking into some other dimension of the past. I had a hard time imagining all she had told me, it seemed to me like she talked about other people. For all of my life my family stayed as they were that day - Mom going on trucking routes, Grandpa sitting on the front porch with his oxygen tank and mask and Grandma, overweight from the diabetes being the one who tried to hold us all together. I could not imagine them any other way.

I spoke up, But Grandma, does God really punish people like that? Would God punish me for being Pearl's illegitimate daughter?

Oh yes, honey, He does. That is why we are suffering so right now. But you have a chance to redeem yourself. God helps those who help themselves. You can redeem yourself, repent of your sins, and allow God to do as He wishes with you.

What sins? At eleven I had none. I became very frightened of God then. I also became very frightened of ministers and clergy members. Grandma had talked of God as being cruel and heavy handed. I believed every word my grandmother said.

* * *

We lived frugally, we always had a roof over our head, food in our bellies and clothes on our back. Grandma went to the Episcopal Church bazaar and found my dress. I proudly wore someone else's clothes since it came from a church we did not attend.

I ran my hands over the layers of pink chiffon that floated over pink taffeta. The sleeves looked like cotton candy, like a dress a fairy godmother would wear. The sweetheart neckline came up high enough to satisfy Grandma. Not to be too formal for our small church Grandma cut the dress to just below my knees, at the first layer of chiffon. It still looked beautiful. Grandma sewed a pair of petticoats to help make the skirt stand out.

I curled my flaxen blonde hair Saturday night with Grandma's old plastic rollers. I slept with them in my hair. On Sunday morning, I took my time getting dressed for the big day ahead. Grandma worked hard on my dress and Mom would be there too. I had to look beautiful. I stood in front of the faded round mirror attached to my small dresser. I could see my entire body in the low set mirror. I brushed my flaxen hair until it shone. I put on my black patent leather shoes, the only pair of dress shoes I owned. They did not really match my pink dress but I did not let it bother me. I twirled around; the skirt flared out revealing my petticoats beneath, my golden curls bounced encircling my face. I could not decide if I looked like a little girl or a woman. My budding bosom and rounding hips said woman and my heart and mind said little girl. Something whispered in my ear to stay a little girl as long as I could because too soon I would have to grow up.

I walked into the living room where they waited for me. Mother agreed to come to my baptism. Grandma found a dress in one of the closets and fixed it up for Mom. She looked uncomfortable in the floral cotton dress. The short puffy sleeves and the maroon and pink colors did not go well for Mother. I had to admit, I almost hated to see Mom put that dress on and come to church with us. She nervously wrung her hands on her lap.

Preacher Bob wanted all the baptism candidates to sit in the choir loft. While he delivered the message, I sat up there staring out at the congregation. Grandma, Grandpa, and Mom sat in the second row. Mom sat between Grandma and Grandpa. However, in spite of the whispers and stares she held her head high and seemed genuinely happy for me.

The ceremony took less than half an hour. I walked down the baptismal steps, donned in the white robe to Preacher Bob, who stood as tall as me at five feet six inches. I towered over my short mother too, but I seemed average to everyone else.

Do you believe that Jesus is the Son of God and that He died for your sins?

Yes, I said.

He gently lowered me into the water as I placed my right hand over my nose. I baptize you in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.

Ker-splash! No angels sang or shouted hallelujah. I did not feel a thing except embarrassment, and disappointment. Had I done the right thing? However, I did not want to disappointment Grandma.

The whole concept of God terrified me. I did not want to be stricken with a horrible disease, like Grandma and Grandpa. And I did not want to always live in poverty. There's virtue in poverty, Grandma said.

I also did not want to act like an untamable wild horse like Mom. What if I did something wrong and God's swift hand of judgment came down upon me. I would have to live the rest of my life as miserable as the people I loved.

* * *

After the services, the church held a reception for the three baptism candidates. We gathered in the reception hall in the back of the church. A table filled with cakes and punch stood at the front along with several other tables set up for the parishioners in the back.

Many church members came by, congratulated me, and hugged my neck. When they regarded Mom, they said they were glad that she had come to church. They all spoke of being proud of me. Grandma just beamed. Grandpa sat in a chair, breathing through his oxygen mask.

Mother surprised me by how confident she seemed. I'm gonna try to stay at home more, and be a better mother to Anne. I'm gonna start coming to church, too. I need to be a good example, she said to some of Grandma's friends.

I have to hand it to Mother; she did try, for one week she stayed home. I would come home from school and find her baking cookies and cooking dinner. Grandma sat back and enjoyed the extra help.

She seemed content at first but the closer it got to the weekend, she became fidgety. And by the time Saturday night arrived, a time in which Grandma made a big deal of getting herself, Grandpa and me ready for Sunday morning services Mom left the house 'to run an errand'. Something she always had to do when she wanted to get out of some responsibility with me. She ran errands at the most inconvenient times, and they always led to more elaborate plans.

Sure enough, she came back thirty minutes later, her face flushed from rushing about. Gloria needs me to make a run to the Carolinas with her. She's leaving in fifteen minutes. I ain't got much time. She did not even say anything about attending church tomorrow. Nevertheless, you could count on one thing with Mother, when the going got tough, she disappeared with her trucking buddies.

I pleaded with my eyes as I blocked Mom's way when she tried to walk out the door. Please don't go. Do you have to? I like you being home, I said, trying to sound pitiful.

Oh good Lord, Anne. I'll only be gone for one night. I should be back late tomorrow night. Now, be a good girl and mind Grandma. She pushed me to the side and kissed my cheek. I'll see ya tomorrow, she said to Grandma and me.

I do not think she even knew how to be tender and compassionate. She truly did not know how to be a real mother, just a biological one. It didn't surprise Grandma that Mom had skipped out again. Chin up girl. You are your own person. She will never change. You might as well get use to it, she said.

I cried myself to sleep that night and after I woke up in the morning, I vowed not to allow myself to care about my mother as much as I wanted to. In the end, she always disappointed me and I decided then I was not going to let her ruin my day any more.

Chapter 2 - Changes

As I turned thirteen and then fourteen, life stayed pretty much the same with the exception that I blossomed more into a woman. Yet I still felt like a child. Grandma guided me and guarded me from harm. Grandpa seemed to shrink before our very eyes. The doctors marveled that he lived at all. He told me one time that he did not want to leave Grandma; she needed him. Mother married a man name Ron Bale, a friend of someone that she had met in Wisconsin while on a trucking route with Gloria. He followed her back to Shady Grove and they dated for about three months, living together for the last month. One night, right after I turned fourteen years old, she brought Ron over and announced they had gotten married.

At twenty-seven Ron looked much older, years of hard life made him look over thirty-five. Just like Mother, he had partied and he drank his way through life. His thinning sandy brown hair stayed gelled back away from his face. His lusty gray eyes shifted around, making him look like a criminal. What she saw in him I never figured out.

I did not like him from the beginning. Every time he looked at me, his shifty gray eyes penetrated whatever I wore. I felt naked in his presence. Something in the lewdness of his stare made me want to run and hide.

Truthfully, it did not upset me when I overheard a conversation between Mother and Grandma that night.

Just let Anne stay here for a while. Ron and I need some time to find a house and be together. We don't need a kid around just yet.

Of course, Grandma did not really care for Ron either. Behind his back she called him a no good moocher. He did not have a steady job to speak of now. Anne is as good as my child. She's welcome to stay here as long as I'm able to take care of her. In fact I prefer that she stay here. Mother either did not catch the sarcasm in Grandma's voice or did not care.

Ron and Mother bought a trailer in the trailer park just down the road from us, a tiny two bedroom home with two tiny bathrooms. The furniture, a typical trailer decor, included a plaid couch in neutral colors. The master bedroom had a full size bed and a built-in dresser. The room had enough space to walk around the bed. The second bedroom had a twin bed, meant for me, and a four-drawer chest. The tiny closet could hold about a week's worth of clothes. Three people really could not fit well in this place. She said she wanted it because it kept her close to me. And for a few months life went on, until late one autumn day, my life changed forever.

Grandma had caught a cold and taken to lying in the bed for several days. I tried to keep the house warm and cooked the meals for both Grandma and Grandpa. Grandpa would hardly touch anything.

How's your grandma? he wheezed.

She's fine, I lied. I'm makin' her rest. I did not want to worry him more; both of them lived daily as chronic worriers.

Grandma's face became pale, her eyes seemed to sink within their sockets, dark circles shaded under her eyes. She lay in bed, coughed, and groaned and her feet and ankles swelled up three times their normal size. Mother came by every evening to check on them.

Mother, she said to Grandma, You really need to go to the hospital.

Noooo. Grandma would try to raise her head and shake it in protest. I'll be just fine in a few days. Need rest. Just need rest. Her head would sink back into the pillows where she would close her eyes and resume her heavy breathing.

The next morning when I awoke I heard Grandma calling to me.

Anne, I need to go to the hospital. Go get your mama. The wheezing made her voice weak. Her face grew paler and swollen, she seemed to be shrinking at the same time. An icy finger raced down my spine as I hurried down the road to the trailer where Mother and Ron were.

They rushed back to the house and loaded Grandma into their beat-up red Chevy pick-up. Grandma seemed to lose consciousness and they had to struggle to keep from dropping her.

Stay here with Grandpa, Mother called as she slid into the truck beside a slumping Grandma. They drove off taking her to the hospital in Charleston, about a fifty-mile drive.

I went back inside the house. I could hear nothing but the rustle of my hair near my ears. Only the mantle clock ticked on, counting out each second with grand announcement. I checked in on Grandpa.

He sat up in the high sleigh bed. He tucked the quilt and sheet under his arms. His disheveled hair did not match his fresh alert face. The oxygen mask rested in his left hand.

Oh, Anne, he coughed.

I went to him, trying to be brave. However, when I opened my mouth my chin quivered. His watery light blue eyes focused on me as if he could read my thoughts. Oh, Grandpa, I cried and fell into his slightly open arms. I cried and blubbered. Grandpa just shook his head, no emotions showing.

Calm down, missy. It's okay. He had strength when I had none.

But Grandpa. Grandma...it's… Oh, she's sick. They took her. Mom and Ron. She wanted to go to the hospital. I could not seem to get the words out without crying some more.

Grandpa patiently waited for me to compose myself and I told him all I knew. His calmness shocked me. He did not say a word, just nodded his head, and finally said, Okay.

Would you like some breakfast? I could fix some toast and jelly. How about that and some coffee?

He simply shook his head and mouthed, Not hungry. His wheezing picked up and he strapped the oxygen mask on his face. He rested his head on the pillow behind him and closed his eyes. As I left him, I watched his breath rise and fall in his chest. He did not open his eyes again until much later.

I tried to eat some toast myself. Throat lumps kept me from swallowing more than the toast. The hours ticked on, still no word. Every time a vehicle drove by outside I ran to the window and looked. By lunchtime, I managed to get Grandpa to eat a half a turkey sandwich with Thanksgiving leftovers.

The winter chill of December blew against the house. My insides felt as icy and cold as the crisp gray air outside. The gas furnace kept the inside warm at eighty degrees. A shiver ravaged my body just as Grandpa cried out what sounded like a no.

I ran into his room and found him clutching his mask to his face, tears welling up in his already watery eyes. Grandpa, what's wrong.

He shook his head and muttered, nothin'. Slowly he brought the mask down to rest in his lap. I'm just tired, missy. I need a nap. Would you cut the lamp? Having said that he lowered himself down and shut his eyes tight.

For the rest of the long afternoon I paced the floors, memorizing the worn kelly green carpet, the paths formed by years of trotting to and from by our feet. The muted sun edged down, leaving the long shadows to ghostly form. Normally this would be the time of day I would bundle up in my old corduroy coat, knit mittens, scarf, and tread outside into our small but delightful yard. The peace of the last bit of sunlight somehow always seemed cheery to me. I would stay outside until the large orange-red globe disappeared and left the invisible gray of dusk. Then I would come back inside to the smell of a delicious yet meager meal Grandma would cook.

To smell one of her meals cooking now would be a treasure, that even I at the time did not realize the worth. I looked gloomily toward the small kitchen where she would create her delicious meals and longed to hear her rattling pots and pans. I could almost smell the food, usually beans with ham hocks and fried potatoes. How I would miss those simple yet fascinating days of my childhood. The sound of a vehicle woke me from my reprieve.

I bounded to the window and threw back the ivory drape in time to see Ron and Mother's truck turn slowly into the gravel driveway. Too slowly, deathly slow. The hair prickled on the back of my neck and something whispered in my ear that nothing would ever be the same again.

Mother and Ron sat in the truck, no Grandma with them, and yet this did not surprise me. Mother and Ron got out of the truck slowly. Mother's face shadowed deep sorrow and her lips stayed drawn down. Her posture slumped as she walked laggardly around the truck to Ron's awaiting arm. His face, full of concern, concentrated on Mother. He said something to her and she swung her eyes hurriedly to him and uttered a one-word answer. By the time they approached the door, I flung it open for them.

Anne, Mother said as she looked back at Ron and entered the house. She peeked in on Grandpa and gently pulled his door shut. Finally, she sat on the couch beside me. I could tell that she had been crying, her eyes stained with tears and a little bloodshot.

She continued, Grandma was sicker than we thought. The doctors were honestly surprised that she lived to make it there. She was in a diabetic coma and had severe pneumonia. She died about two hours later. She lowered her head and cried softly.

Tears welled up in my eyes, yet I reached inside myself and found strength. I took a deep cleansing breath and simply said, Oh. Slowly it came over me. I knew in my heart, hidden and locked tightly away all day that she would not make it. I faintly hoped that somehow she would be okay. That she would lick this, live, and continue with raising me. However, she had been so unhappy for as long as I could remember. Poor Grandpa, I thought miserably.

Suddenly Mother regained her composure. We need to tell Daddy. He's got to know. With that, she stood up and Ron and I followed her into Grandpa's room.

Grandpa sat up in bed, lamp turned on, and oxygen mask in his lap. Mother walked over to his bedside. He looked up at her expectantly. She shook her head as she spoke. Daddy, Mother's dead. She died a little while after we got her to the hospital. She bent over and cried on his shoulder. Amazingly, he did not seem affected by the news.

I know. She told me. Came by and said that she would come for me soon. He patted my mother's shoulder. She stood up, shocked at his reaction and words.

The realization struck like a sudden fierce wind blowing straight through me. Mom, what time did Grandma die exactly? I asked.

Mother looked at me as if I had asked such a silly question. She drew the corners of her mouth back. Oh, I think it was about 1:30 or 1:40, why?

At around 1:40 p.m. that afternoon I had felt the cold chill run through my body and Grandpa had cried out. I relayed the details to Mother and Ron, and as usual, she either did not care or did not believe me. Or perhaps, she seemed too preoccupied about the whole situation. I never mentioned it again. I kept it locked away in the treasure chest in my heart and it took years later before the pain was dull enough for me to think about it again.

This changes things. Mother shook her head. Grandpa has to be taken care of now, she said looking at me. I don't know about his mental state. I fear we're gonna end up putting him someplace.

That night Mother and Ron stayed at