Beaded Hope

By Cathy Liggett

2011 Carol Award winner for Women's Fiction from ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers)
Four American women, all with their own challenges, embark on a mission trip to South Africa. Their lives are changed as they encounter a group of South African women who suffer from AIDS yet demonstrate great joy and faith in the face of overwhelming adversity. When the Americans discover the amazing beadwork that has been taught to generations of women in the community, they uncover a way to help these proud people support their families by selling their craft.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers
• Release date: Apr 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781414378756

Cathy Liggett

ACFW award winning, Publisher Weekly bestselling author Cathy Liggett is an Ohio girl who never dreamed writing would take her across the world and to Amish country too. But she learned God's plans for our lives are often more creative than the ones we imagine. That includes meeting her husband at a high school reunion and marrying three months later, 40 years ago. She enjoys visiting kids, grandkids, spoiling her pup, and easy knitting patterns. Visit her: www.cathyliggett.com 

Book preview

beads

1

Suburb of Columbus, Ohio

Hey, Gabby, what are you doing?

Even after all their years together, the sound of her husband’s voice could still make Gabrielle Phillips’s heart skip a beat. She pressed the cell phone closer to her ear. It had been such a long week without Tom at home. I’m running into Hirscham’s to pick up a shirt for Dad’s birthday.

"Running? You’re running?"

His overly cautious tone brought a smile to her face. Not running, silly, although I could run, you know. I’m walking briskly. Hurrying. I have to be back at church by 1:30 for a meeting with the other directors.

Is everything . . . ? His hesitancy to finish the sentence told her everything he feared. How many times had he asked the same question only to hear the worst? No wonder Tom could barely ask anymore. Only fools got too close to a fire after getting burned time and again.

But at least today she had good news.

Everything is fine. Absolutely fine. Wonderful. Really. Closing her eyes, Gabby whispered her thanks to God. Tom’s audible sigh and then silence made her think he might be doing the same. Except for . . . I miss you terribly.

Yeah?

When does your flight get in? Soon, I hope. It’s supposed to storm today.

Dressing for work this morning, she’d seen the weather report on the small television sitting on top of the dresser in their bedroom. The meteorologist hadn’t just predicted rain; he’d more like ranted about it, threatening a downpour, pointing to patches of colors ranging from alarming yellow to raging red on his Doppler 10 radar screen.

My plane gets in around five. But I looked online. I don’t think the rain’s supposed to start till later tonight.

Oh? Well, good. That concern dismissed, she thought ahead. Pizza for dinner?

Should you eat pizza?

Smiling, she rolled her eyes though no one was nearby to notice. How about half-veggie, half-pepperoni?

Perfect. Just like you. Love you, Gabby.

I know.

Somehow through all the pain and drama and disappointments over the years of their marriage, they had survived, shakily at times, but together just the same. And now they’d been rewarded.

So rewarded! She let out a contented sigh.

As her boots scuffed against the dry parking lot pavement, Gabby had to admit she must’ve heard the weatherman wrong. At the moment, nearly white clouds with only hints of gray streaked a blue-brushed sky, looking far too benevolent for any monstrous storm to crackle through the heavens anytime soon.

But Gabby still felt glad she’d decided not to take any chances before she’d left home this morning. No way she wanted to risk slipping and falling on a rain-slicked floor. Not with their baby growing inside her—the baby she and Tom had waited for for so long. So painfully long.

Instead, she’d tossed her black ballet flats back into the closet she shared with her husband, opting for ragged but sure-footed snow boots from the garage. Not so attractive, but luckily she worked at a historic stone church and not in some glossy corporate tower. Everyone at work dressed neatly but casually. No one at Graceview cared as much about her fashion statements as they did about her dedication as head of the church’s children’s ministries.

When Gabby reached Hirscham’s entrance, she held open the door for a young mom struggling to push a baby stroller while tugging on the hand of a squirming toddler.

Not exactly an idyllic Norman Rockwell scene, but still Gabby could feel the jealousy. Rearing. Scratching. Trying to catch hold. Wanting to seep in and creep through her like a heart-strangling vine.

But it couldn’t control her anymore. These days she refused to let it. Now hope wasn’t just some fuzzy mirage in the distance. It had become more of a reality. On days when the green monster reared, she could more easily shoo it away with a genuine smile, not a false one. With positive thoughts, not negative ones. And by counting blessings, not subtracting them.

Heading for the men’s department, Gabby already knew exactly what to get her father. Her mother had been explicit about the size, brand, and color of shirt Gabby’s dad would like from her and Tom. Even though Gabby thought a shirt sounded less than exciting, she and Tom couldn’t afford much more than a shirt anyway. Tom’s new job with a national nonprofit organization had been a step up, but they still didn’t have a lot of disposable income, especially not with all the medical bills from the past—or the present.

Besides, next year would be different. By the time her father’s birthday rolled around again, she’d already have given him a special gift. A precious one.

Something money just can’t buy!

The salesperson couldn’t have been more efficient, and package in hand, Gabby glanced at her watch. She could slow down a bit. She still had ten minutes to kill before she had to head back to Graceview.

Strolling through the store, she took in the new spring fashions. It looked as if pink might be a big color again this season. But the women’s clothes held little interest for her, so she meandered over to the baby department and stood at the edge, looking in. Did she really want to venture into that sea of heart-tugging adorability?

Then a sleeper caught her eye. A pale yellow sleeper, almost the color of the underside of a lemon peel, with the cutest fuzzy lamb embroidered on the chest. Even from a distance it tempted her, seeming to promise a high cuddle factor.

Could the sleeper really be as soft as it looked?

Inching her way over, Gabby tried not to notice the endless racks and shelves of pastels, the cotton candy pinks and hushed baby blues of the infant clothes, the girlie lavenders and boy-bold navies of the toddler outfits. Instead, keeping her eyes focused on the sleeper, she made a straight path. She just wanted to touch it and feel its softness. That was all.

She took the foot of the sleeper in her hand and rubbed it between her fingers. Exquisite. Addicting. As soft as a downy feather but not feathery at all, of course. Holding it up to her cheek, she could almost imagine she smelled the unmistakable scent of baby powder. Could almost swear she felt the weight of a tiny foot wrapped in the velvety fabric.

Soft, isn’t it? A salesperson appeared out of nowhere and smiled at her knowingly.

Gabby attempted to let the fabric drop from her fingers, but she couldn’t let go. Unbelievable.

And they’re on sale.

Glancing at the price tag without really seeing it, Gabby tilted her head, pretending to do a mental calculation. But really her decision—or rather indecision—had nothing to do with money. Not this time.

As she clasped the material tighter and tighter in her fingers, she already knew there’d be an aching sadness that would spread to her limbs and then, without a doubt, find her heart if she let the fabric slip from her hand. Oh, how she didn’t want to let go.

But should she? Should she really buy it?

But then . . .

It had been ten weeks. She’d almost made it through the entire first trimester. She had never, ever, carried a baby that long before. Not in all the eight years since she and Tom had tried to conceive.

Even though everything indicated the in vitro fertilization had worked, even though her belly had the slightest protrusion and her breasts felt more tender than usual, still, after so many years, so many tests, failures, and tears, it seemed too hard to believe, too good to be true.

But Gabby couldn’t go on thinking that way. This baby—their baby—was real.

The thought made her tremble with a thrilling excitement that lifted her heart sky-high.

Until the other tremors came too, clutching at her throat, bringing fear and trepidation. Sadness of remembered losses. Feelings so easy to give in to, such a familiar place to be.

Her baby couldn’t thrive in shadows and fear. A protective feeling, stronger than anything she’d ever felt before, surged through her. She needed to shove those feelings away. Her baby needed light and love. Positive thoughts and prayers. Nourishment. Gentleness. And softness.

I-I want it, Gabby stammered. I want it, she repeated, taking the sleeper, handing it to the salesperson. I’m going to get it.

But as she watched the salesperson wrap her precious purchase in white tissue paper, horrible thoughts struck again. What was she doing? Something wrong? Something that might possibly jinx their baby?

No, she wouldn’t let herself believe it. After all, she’d bought baby clothes ahead of time for friends before. And had anything awful ever happened to their babies?

Besides, if she’d learned anything through the trials she and Tom had endured together, it had been that there were no signs. No spells. No talismans. No right words to chant. No fairy godmother’s wand. Nothing that could create a baby.

Nothing beyond the ability of her body . . . and God’s gracious will. Every minute of every day, Gabby prayed they were one and the same.

beads

2

Heidi Martin bolted upright from her dozing on the couch. She pushed the afghan from around her waist, then the hair from her eyes, trying to get her bearings. The pinkish glow of a TV sitcom lit the dark family room, canned laughter piercing the quiet. But hadn’t there been something else? something that had brought her to attention?

Oh, there it was. A phone ringing. She squinted at the orange numbers on the cable box digital clock—12:50.

Katie had missed her curfew again. This time by fifty minutes. The realization woke Heidi up like ice-cold water splashed on her face. The girl was getting later and later all the time. And more brazen.

Seventeen-year-olds. Give ’em an inch and they’ll run right over you. Heidi stomped to the kitchen phone. Well, this is it, young lady! Jerking the cordless phone from the cradle, she pushed the Talk button, not even bothering to say hello. What’s up, Katie? What’s your excuse for being late this time?

Heidi had attempted to keep the curt, unforgiving tone from her voice so many times before. But tonight she was so tired and frustrated she didn’t even try. Raising a teenager sucked the life right out of you, and raising one by yourself could be so overwhelming, exhausting, worrisome, and . . . well, she couldn’t think of a single word that could adequately describe it.

Besides, her phone greeting wasn’t nearly as harsh as the derisive thoughts that jumped to the forefront of her mind and wanted to leap straight from her lips. What she really wanted to say was What lame excuse have you and your irresponsible group of friends thought of now? And while we’re at it, when are you going to stop hanging around with such a going-nowhere-fast bunch of . . .

Heidi hated to use the word losers. After all, she was a first-grade teacher, and that wasn’t a kindly, teacherlike thing to say. But were her impressions so far off? The kids Katie had started hanging out with the past year certainly weren’t recognized as the greatest students in their class. Or the athletes. Or the cheerleaders she’d always been friends with.

Ma’am? a man drawled in a low, somber voice. Am I speaking with Heidi Martin? Katie Martin’s mom?

She could sense the man had been trained to keep his tone direct and calm. That was what made it even worse, causing the phone to tremble in her hand. Y-yes.

This is Trooper Steven Kirkpatrick, Ohio State Highway Patrol. Ma’am, there’s been an accident.

The word drained every bit of life from her limbs. Heidi sank to the cold, tiled kitchen floor as the trooper said other things. I-71 overpass. Rain. Crossed the line. None of it made any sense. The only words that stuck, the only ones she could wrap her mind around, were Lazarus East Hospital.

He was still saying something when she clicked off the phone. But she couldn’t listen anymore. She had to get there. To the hospital. To her Katie.

Weak with fear, Heidi managed to pull herself up off the floor, locate some slip-ons, and find the car keys. It had been raining all weekend, but she didn’t even bother with her slicker hanging on a hook in the mudroom.

Somehow she backed out of the driveway without hitting the mailbox, without running over the sprinkler heads. Someway she drove down Edwards Road, even though her tears and the rain made it nearly impossible to see.

She’d grabbed her cell phone on the way out the door, but it lay silent on the empty car seat beside her. Sadly, she couldn’t think of anyone to call. They didn’t have any relatives close by, and so many close friends seemed to disappear when Jeff died.

Oh, please, Jeff, please. Can you hear me? I need you! I need you so much! Sobs tore at her chest while her tears flowed as furious as the heavy drops of rain. This can’t be happening! Not Katie too!

Fear and desolation welled up inside her, battling with every breath she had, nearly stealing it all away. As she blinked through the tears, she was hardly aware of the blurry world around her. Not until a semi passed by at breakneck speed, burying her windshield under a heavy blanket of water. The force jolted her back in the seat like a slap across her face. Tears stopped instantaneously as she gripped the steering wheel to keep the swerving SUV from sliding off the road into a ditch.

That’s it. No more crying! She had to be strong. She needed to get hold of herself. Had to concentrate. Had to get there. For Katie.

Please, dear Father in heaven, please get me to Katie. I need to get to her, Lord, please.

The litany echoed over and over in her head while raindrops pounded at the windshield. The blackness of the stormy night made it difficult for her to find her way, even on roads she’d traveled so many times in her life.

After what seemed to be an endless series of curves, the street finally emptied onto a straight stretch of pavement. Dim-burning lights from a gas station in the distance helped her see the way. Little by little, it seemed her plea was being answered. The rain began to ease just as red letters on the hospital Emergency sign glowed brightly ahead.

Heidi parked the SUV and raced through the emergency room door. Surely she was getting help from somewhere because on her own nothing was really working. Not her legs. Or her mind. Barely her lips.

Katie Martin? She braced herself against the registration desk, biting back a sob.

A twentysomething registrar in a navy smock stared at her. You’re her mother?

Yes. Yes, I am. Her insides tightened, thinking of all the times people had asked about Katie’s real mother, though in her mind, she’d always been Katie’s real mom. I’m the one who’s always been there. I’m the one who raised her, who always cared. Where is she? I need to get to her.

Sure, sure, the girl said, reaching for a packet of papers. First I’ll need you to sign a consent form, and I’ll also need your driver’s license, insurance card. The copayment can be made by credit card or—

Look, there’s only me, okay? No one else. And for me, there’s only Katie. I can’t do papers now. Push the button on the door. Please. She felt a string of curse words rising in her throat. Now. I want to see my Katie now.

It’ll only take a minute to—

Heidi hit the counter. Let me see my baby! Tears formed in her eyes again.

Open the door. A male voice boomed from behind Heidi, addressing the girl. You can do the paperwork in a minute.

The girl looked peeved but answered politely, Yes, Doctor.

Heidi turned to see who her savior was, ready to offer her thanks.

Surprisingly it was a man she recognized. Kevin Peterson. She knew his face far better than she knew him. She’d seen him in passing when Katie and his daughter, Natalie, had been on a basketball team together back in elementary school. Prior to so many things . . .

Thanks, Heidi murmured as the metal doors magically folded open. Swiping at her eyes, she rushed through the doors, taking giant steps toward her Katie.

beads

3

Cassandra Albright assumed everyone had their designer tracksuits tailored, but once she found out they didn’t, that didn’t stop her from making sure hers fit snugly, yet tastefully, showing off her fit, slim figure. After all, she got up every morning at 3 a.m. to exercise before airtime. Not because she particularly enjoyed watching reruns of The Andy Griffith Show while she worked out on her elliptical machine but because she had to. Both her job as lead anchor at the number one station in Ohio’s capital city and her status as a local celebrity demanded she look her best at all times.

That was also why she never bought a pink, baby blue, or lavender jogging suit. They were just too cutesy, too bourgeois. Comfort should never be at the expense of good taste, so she chose the classics—chocolate, charcoal, or black for fall and winter. Crisp white for summer. And for spring? Tans, beiges, or a rich, creamy latte color like the one she’d selected from her closet on this overcast but dry Sunday in early March.

Accenting her outfit with darling off-white canvas slip-ons trimmed in gold and a white and yellow gold braided bracelet with matching small hoop earrings, she felt really good about herself as she carried hefty Sunday editions of the New York Times and Columbus Dispatch into Max’s Bagel Shop. True, the papers were cumbersome and the ink could even be quite messy. But she’d been in broadcast news for the past twenty years and always strived to look the part.

After hoisting the newspapers up on a stool at the counter, she slipped onto a nearby seat. Before she could even undo her nylon zip-up and display her toned shoulders exposed by a sleeveless spandex racerback top, a college-age kid behind the counter showed up to take her order. Or rather to give it.

Don’t have to tell me, Ms. Albright. I already know. He swiped the counter with a damp rag. "You’d like a blueberry bagel, very, very lightly toasted with just a smidgen of low-fat cream cheese. Also a small orange juice, pulp-free with a spoonful of crushed ice. And a mug of coffee, house blend with one-quarter-inch room for cream. Hold the sugar and especially any artificial sweeteners since they can cause cancer and mimic symptoms of MS. Plus, you’d like a spoon to stir your coffee with, not some chintzy plastic stirrer. And make it a clean spoon, not one with food particles or smudges, thank you very much."

At first, Cassandra assumed the kid was being impudent, spouting her usual order that way and with all her inflections to boot. She was just about to ask for the manager to see about having him fired when she noticed how pleased he was with himself as if he’d just recited the Gettysburg Address backward. More importantly, out of the corner of her eye she also spotted a middle-aged couple eavesdropping. That was when she switched gears.

Ah, let me guess. She smiled at the shaggy-haired, unshaven guy. You’re majoring in broadcast journalism. Am I correct? And you’re trying to get on my good side? She winked. Honest to goodness winked, and she detested winking.

Yeah—uh, yes, ma’am. The kid nodded, a nervous half smile twitching at his lips.

Well, first hint, young man. A shave and a haircut go a long way. So when you’re ready for an internship and after you’ve paid a visit to the nearest men’s salon— she smiled most graciously—feel free to e-mail me.

Pulling her tan knapsack-style leather purse off the back of her stool, she rummaged through it for a pen and a business card. What’s your name?

After his smooth-sailing monologue, the kid suddenly seemed to have developed a case of the jitters, his answer coming out in a stutter. J-Jimmy W-Watkins.

Well, here you go, James. Cassandra handed him the card. Don’t lose it. I’ll be expecting to hear from you.

Th-th-thank you. Thanks so much. He waved the card in the air like it was a winning lottery ticket before going to place her order.

Cassandra knew full well that when he did e-mail her, it was doubtful she’d even notice or reply. Not with the zillions of e-mails she got each day. Thank goodness for the Select All and Delete buttons, she mused. Besides, internships at WONR were coveted and few and sometimes used as favors for relatives of major advertisers.

But everyone needed a sliver of hope from time to time, didn’t they? And that was the gift she’d given James Watkins today. And it was good PR for her and the cheapest kind, she thought, looking to see if the couple next to her had noticed her generous offer.

But they were slathering their bagels with extra cream cheese and gabbing to each other. Just like the rest of the patrons, she realized disappointedly, glancing around the room. Many of them appeared to be churchgoers. The same sets of people that frequented the place week after week. They all appeared involved with themselves, their own conversations. No one seemed to have noticed her friendly gesture.

Maybe I’ve been coming here too often. Too much a part of the scenery.

Well, she could switch bagel shops, for sure. In fact, hadn’t a new place just opened down the street from her luxury condo development?

If there’s anything else, Ms. Albright, just let me know. Jimmy’s voice broke through her thoughts as he set a bagel basket, juice, spoon, and a mug of coffee in front of her.

Thanks, James. Deliberate in her routine, she picked up the spoon and, though it appeared to be clean, wiped it with a napkin before stirring two containers of cream into her coffee.

As she blew at the cup, waiting for the coffee to cool slightly, she glanced at the TV hanging from the ceiling in the corner, immediately wishing she hadn’t. There she was—Lisa Delacroix, WONR’s new weekend anchor. Ms. Up-and-Coming. Ms. Junior All Right. At first, Cassandra had heard a whisper here and there. But lately, praises for Delacroix and predictions about the young newswoman occurred on a daily basis.

Maybe Cassandra wouldn’t have been so nervous if she hadn’t started out the same way. Twenty years ago she’d walked into WONR as the weekend gal too. And it wasn’t long before she dethroned the weekday queen. Sure, Elizabeth Gould had more experience and credentials. But Gould also had more wear and tear on her face and body. Maybe it shouldn’t have mattered, but apparently it did. Thoughts like that had been keeping Cassandra up at night lately—not so good for her own forty-plus, aging face.

Excuse me. She felt a tap on her right shoulder a second before an older, bald gentleman wearing a shiny, worn-out suit sidled up to the counter next to her. We were just about to leave, and I said to my wife here— he pointed to a fragile-looking woman behind him—I wanted to stop and ask you a question.

Of course, Cassandra answered kindly, thinking he might want an autograph.

I just want to know why you news folks are always focusing on the bad stuff and bad people out there, he said, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. I know my wife and me, we’d sure like to have some good stories about good people to listen to before we go to bed at night. And we’d like to hear ’em when we get up in the morning too.

Oh, please. Not another one. Cassandra had heard this complaint so many times before. She could hardly fathom that people didn’t understand the competition out there. Of course they had to scare people and sensationalize stories. How else could they be sure anyone would tune in?

Still, she answered in the same diplomatic way she always did. Why, there’s nothing that would make me happier than to make you happy. So I’m going to write a note with your request. She grabbed a paper off the counter, a church bulletin someone had left behind, scribbling a note on it. I’ll give your message to our program director first thing.

As the elderly couple left, she stuffed the note in her purse and gave another surreptitious glance around to see if anyone had been watching her gracious encounter with the old man. But no one seemed to notice. No one seemed to care that a true celebrity was in their midst.

It’s happening. I’m blending in. Too familiar. Losing a hold on my audience. Coming to me with job requests and complaints, like I’m the human resources girl or a suggestion box!

And with Delacroix nipping at her Etienne Aigner heels, she’d soon be relegated to the shadows . . . before disappearing altogether. She couldn’t let that happen.

Something had to be done.

beads

4

Katie? Heidi’s hand trembled as she bent over the hospital bed and tenderly pushed straggly wisps of hair back from her daughter’s brow, trying not to touch the gauze bandage there.

But the girl didn’t respond to her hand or her voice. Her eyes remained closed, her head turned away on the pillow.

Is she . . . ? Heidi didn’t know exactly what to ask the nurse who was busy evaluating the monitors behind Katie’s bed. In a way, she felt too frightened to hear any answers. Is Katie sleeping? medicated? unconscious? Anxiety welled up in her as each word—more and more severe—pressed on her mind.

We stitched up the cut above her eye and gave her a little something for the pain. She had some other complaints, but Dr. Peterson will be in to go over that information with you. After checking Katie’s pulse, the nurse typed something into a bedside laptop, then excused herself, drawing the curtain behind her.

Dread and anxiety seemed to quickly fill the small space lit up by a sickeningly yellow fluorescent overhead light and the green and red squiggles on the monitor. Both threatened to make Heidi crumple, but she stood as firm as she could on shaky legs, staring at Katie, willing her to open her eyes. To acknowledge her. To speak—utter anything. To say a word that would make everything all right again.

At the moment, though, hope seemed distant. As elusive as the years that had turned Katie’s chestnut curls into a head of hair dyed defiant shoe-polish black. As intangible as the events that had taken their relationship from nights of cuddling to days of barely tolerating one another.

How? How did that happen?

Katie had seemed as good as could be expected for a long time after Jeff’s illness. And then suddenly . . .

For some time now, Heidi had been searching her memory for the turning point. So often she awoke in the middle of the night, lying there in the dark, trying to pin down the incident that had started it all, struggling to figure it out. But there never seemed to be an answer. It felt as if she and Katie had gone to bed one night and woken up the next day as two different people. Estranged by what?

It was a question her mind kept coming back to, time and time again. As with an unfinished crossword puzzle, she could put it aside for only so long before she had to pick it up again, compelled to fill in all the blanks.

Even now, the bewilderment of it all made her feel weary. Sighing, she slumped down, sat on the edge of Katie’s bed, and stared at her daughter’s soft-cheeked face.

She looks so peaceful. None of the angry, contorted features Heidi had become accustomed to lately. So much arguing. Could they ever get through a day without bickering about something? What had they argued about tonight before Katie left? . . .

Katie, that’s crazy. Do you forget how old you are?

Old enough. I’ll be eighteen in less than a year and a senior. Then I can do anything I want.

Well, you’re not eighteen now. And you’re not driving to Florida for spring break with your . . .

Friends, Mom; they’re called friends. Why do you have such a hard time saying it?

Glaring at each other, they had both drawn their hands to their hips simultaneously like gunslingers drawing their pistols.

Heidi gave in first, letting her hands fall to her sides, not wanting their disagreement to escalate. Look, arrangements have been made. I’ve already put down the money with church. We’re going on Graceview’s mission trip to South Africa over spring break, and that’s final.

I can’t believe you. You treat me like . . . Disgust narrowed Katie’s eyes, and she shook her head. You’ve changed so much.

"I’ve changed?" Heidi eyed Katie’s free-spirited outfit consisting of multicolored striped tights and a short denim skirt with a black lace slip underneath, topped off with a purple tank top and a black hoodie.

If she were honest, she’d have to say that even in such a hodgepodge of an outfit, Katie still looked cute in an odd sort of way. But then Katie’s looks were so classic and pretty, how couldn’t she? She had Jeff’s expressive iridescent blue eyes fringed with long lashes. Her nose fit her face perfectly, and her carnation lips didn’t need gloss.

Never mind. Katie’s mouth twisted, looking as if she could either cry or spit nails at any second. I can’t even talk to you anymore.

And I hate it! I hate it so much! Heidi wanted to reach out to her, but Katie had already started stomping to her bedroom and was too far for Heidi’s arms to stop her. But maybe her words would?

Carol Singer said when she and Megan went on a mission trip to Nicaragua last summer with their church it was the best thing that ever happened to them.

Katie kept walking.

Megan loved playing with the kids. Helping the moms. That’s why I signed us up for the Women Helping Women team on the Mamelodi mission. I figured you’d really like—

Ha! Katie stopped in her tracks and turned. Are you serious? You really want me to be like Megan Singer? That’s it?

What’s wrong with Megan? She’s been cheering forever, and Carol told me she’s one of the leads in the spring musical.

Katie rolled her eyes. You think Megan’s perfect just because of her blonde ponytail and the hair ribbon she has to wear at the games. But you don’t really know her. That’s not the real Megan. So maybe she was nice to a bunch of Nicaraguan kids. But she sure isn’t nice to the ones who go to her own school.

You’ve never once mentioned Megan being mean to you.

She’s mean period. You should see her in the cafeteria. Sometimes I can’t even eat my lunch—the whole group of them make me so sick. All picking on this one overweight girl who’s a freshman. Or if it isn’t her, they hit the lunch trays of younger kids that pass by. You know, the dorky ones, so they spill their food all over the floor.

Megan Singer? Megan does that? I just can’t believe . . .

The curtains flung open, and Heidi jumped from the hospital bed.

I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Kevin Peterson said. A lot going on as usual.

She’d been oblivious, not at all tuned in to anything or anyone but Katie. But now that he mentioned it, she could hear the scurrying of feet beyond the curtain as well as bleeps echoing from various cubicles, telling the tales of other patients’ vitals.

How does she seem to be doing? He moved closer to Katie, to the opposite side of the bed.

Wasn’t he supposed to be the one telling her? She hasn’t opened her eyes.

Nodding, Kevin took the stethoscope from around his neck, checked Katie, and put it back in place. The squad at the scene called in the accident as critical. I believe Katie and another passenger in the backseat were the only two restrained, but as I understand it, the car was in pretty bad shape.

How are the others? She hated saying others. Even though she knew the names of Katie’s new group of friends, she could hardly put faces and personalities with their names.

The driver isn’t as bad off as the front seat passenger. As far as the details, it’s best to get the information from their parents.

Heidi crossed her arms over her chest, bracing herself. How is Katie?

"When they brought her

Reviews for Beaded Hope

[sherylhendrix · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book follows the lives of four women who leave their homes in Columbus, Ohio, to spend a two-week mission exploration tour among South Africa's poor but capable women looking to make a better life for their families.

The four include a woman reporter with no particular faith background, a woman whose recent miscarriage was her last chance at having a family, and a widow and her stepdaughter working through the issues of their relationship along with an unplanned pregnancy.

The South African women they meet are both middle class and poor, many struggling with the complications of AIDS-related illnesses brought to them by wandering husbands.

The way these people interact and their stories unfold tells a redemptive story of God's love and His ability to impact lives through the lives of those He has touched. I loved this story.

[silenceiseverything · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I received Beaded Hope as part of the First Reads program. Let me admit that had I known that this was classified as "Christian Fiction", I probably wouldn't have entered to win a copy. Not that there's anything wrong with Christian Fiction. It's just that I'm not a particularly religious person so I tend to shy away from anything with a religious slant to it (unless it's non-fiction or horror). Probably due to my preconceived notions of Christian fiction, Beaded Hope ended up exceeding my expectations.

I thought that Beaded Hope was a great book. There was a bit of "The Lord will help you if you believe" type of praying, but I felt that was more about the characters personal problems and a part of what they did on their day-to-day life. I didn't feel like I was being beaten over the head with the preaching so that definitely made me enjoy the book more.

I ended up liking all of the main characters. They were all extremely flawed women and I was interested in whether or not they were going to solve their problems. The supporting characters in this book were amazing! I found myself shedding tears from one of their storylines and inspired by the countless others. Some of the book was a bit predictable (mainly the end to Gabby's storyline), but it didn't dampen my enjoyment of this book or its characters (mainly Cassandra, who I found hilarious).

So, in the end, I enjoyed reading Beaded Hope. It did drag a bit in the middle, it picked right back up after that. This was a great inspiring novel about the good of the human spirit and about what comes from helping one another. It's definitely recommended.

[fredamans · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was a truly inspiring book. I knew from the moment I picked it up, that I would have a hard time putting it down. That's just what happened too! I finished it in a few hours!
We often hear of such heartbreaking stories and wonder how people can be so good through so little, the answer is always LOVE. You learn that once again with this story of these women and their journey to South Africa. It makes you wish you had your own triumphant battle of overcoming the odds. Generally we are ordinary people. So we look up to the stories of extraordinary from little or nothing.
Kudos to the author for sharing this story, adapted from their own experiences.

[reviewsbymolly · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book was amazingly put together. Four women, one goal, all with secrets. The suspense of that alone pulled me to the story. But once I sat down to read, I was immediately hooked from the first page. I wanted to keep on reading and reading until I got to the end to see what happened to these 4 new friends. This book has so many struggles that are dealt with, ranging from grief, to depression, to longing and hope.

The four women in this story, set out on a journey to South Africa and are immediately met with people who have even bigger problems than their own, like AIDS and HIV. Through this book, I was actually able to feel as though I was on this mission trip with these ladies, feeling what they felt and seeing what they saw. I cried, I smiled, and I prayed. But most of all, I felt God's love through this story and to know that there is hope in everything....no matter how hard life may seem.

This book has a little of something for everyone, from love, to friendship, to suspense, to God's loving grace. I highly recommend this wonderful read with a 5 star praise!

This book was provided for review by Tyndale House Publishers.