Faith of the Heart

By Sandy James

Investigative reporter Joshua Miller has turned his back on life. Since cancer claimed his wife, he can't bring himself to write another story. Then he hears about a fascinating woman who piques his curiosity.

After being struck by lightning, Sarah Reid finds herself with a gift... and a curse. She can heal the sick and dying. She soon realizes that along with the special gift also comes danger to her own life. Feeling responsible for the death of her best friend, Sarah reasons that perhaps she has received the gift to make amends, no matter the personal cost.

Neither expects sparks to fly when they meet. Sarah discourages Josh's persistence in investigating her while he fights his attraction, refusing to acknowledge that she can truly save people. Can Sarah break through Josh's stubborn cynicism and show him that miracles really can come true by leading him back to love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandy James
• Release date: Jun 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781940295152

Sandy James

Sandy lives in a quiet suburb of Indianapolis and is a high school psychology teacher. Published through Forever Yours, Carina Press, as well as indie-published, she has been an Amazon #1 Bestseller multiple times and has won numerous awards including two HOLT Medallions.Please visit her website at sandyjames.com for more information or find her on Twitter, Facebook, and Pinterest as "sandyjamesbooks."Represented by Danielle Egan-Miller of Browne & Miller Literary.

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FAITH OF THE HEART

Copyright © 2009, 2017 by Sandy James

E-book ISBN: 978-1-940295-15-2

First E-book Publication: November 2009

Second Publication: June 2017

Cover design by Dragonfly Press Design

www.dragonflypressdesign.com

Book design by Sandy James

Published by James Gang Publishing

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

DEDICATION

To my sister Susan – The one who shares my past, encourages me every step of the way, and keeps me sane. Love you lots and lots!

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Prologue

The child would die. Soon. Very soon. It would be all Sarah could do to prevent it. She could already see the shadow of death draped over him like a cloak.

The pain would be sharp, exquisite. Yes, this one would be with her for a good long while. Sarah didn’t care. She would stoically bear the burden that had been asked of her, a burden she’d never bargained for but the price she knew she had to pay.

The boy squirmed in his father’s arms. As the man set his precious burden on Sarah’s lap, skepticism had been plain in his eyes. But she focused on the child before her.

What’s your name? she asked the little boy. Although his complexion seemed pale, his cherubic face told her he couldn’t be more than five.

Isaac, he replied with that heart-warming lisp children tend to have when a few teeth are missing.

A good name. A strong name. A Bible name. Abraham named his son Isaac, and his father loved him dearly. I’m Sarah. The words spilled from her, but they had no real purpose. She’d set her hands upon the boy. The process had already begun.

No matter how many times she’d been through it before, even though she knew exactly how it would feel, exactly what to expect from the laying of hands, the pain still stole her breath away. She dropped all of her walls of defense and let the agony sweep into her mind and body. It was the only way to save the beautiful child from the cruel hand of death. The boy was too young to die, had too much left to share with the world. If her suffering was the cost of his survival, she would gladly pay it.

Sarah panted from the pain as it left Isaac’s body and flooded into her own. The world rotated and swam in her eyes. Her words became unintelligible as she lost herself in the torture of the child’s cancer. Squeezing her eyes closed, she fought to stay focused on her task. Save him. Save him. You must save him.

And then suddenly her mind was free, her body limp and exhausted but still throbbing. Sarah collapsed back, letting her hands drop away from the child.

Isaac slipped from her lap and ran to his mother. Sarah could barely hear the woman’s happy weeping over a child who had been too sick to walk suddenly racing into her arms. Glancing at the boy who now found himself enfolded in his mother’s embrace, Sarah wanted to smile, would have smiled had she possessed the strength. His color returned as the shadow of death receded from his face. Thank you. Thank you for helping me save him.

Have I paid enough for my sins yet?

Sarah blinked against the darkness that threatened to embrace her, not wanting a fainting spell to frighten the child. He’d suffered enough.

Isaac suddenly broke away from his mother. Running to Sarah, he threw himself into her arms. She raised a trembling hand to stroke his bald head. No words were necessary. She knew the bond between them would be eternal.

I love you, Sarah.

I love you too, Isaac.

And then he was gone, and Sarah let the darkness sweep her away.

Chapter One

There is no remedy for love but to love more.

Henry David Thoreau

He couldn’t make himself do it. He just couldn’t.

Caressing the cool, smooth stone with shaking fingers, Joshua Miller stared out at the calm lake, the water so clear he could see the fish swimming near the shore. He had come to the Montana ranch to try to find some closure, an end to this tragic chapter of his life. He’d come to say, Goodbye.

But he couldn’t do it.

The stone felt slick, the moisture coming from his own sweaty palm. Turning the small, black rock over, Josh stared at it. Such a macabre little remembrance. What exactly had possessed him to grab it that day?

The funeral had been like some bad dream from which he couldn’t wake. It hadn’t happened to him. Someone else had picked out the casket that was more pink than bronze. Someone else had shuffled through her clothes, trying to find an outfit that wouldn’t drown Miranda’s fragile frame. Someone else had stood next to the open grave with a fist full of dirt that he’d squeezed into a big ball, his hand refusing to release it. The memories washed over him like the waves slapping against the lake’s shore.

It was me.

I watched her die. I watched the cancer and the chemo eat away at her, stealing what strength she had ever enjoyed. I watched her slip away a little more each day.

I lost her.

I put her in the ground.

Josh choked back the tears that still seemed so fresh. He smoothed his fingers over the stone. As he stood at her graveside that day, he had seen the little, black rock lying in the pile of dirt—the pile of dirt the workers who stood to the side would be heaping over his wife. Over his Miranda. He’d reached out to pluck the stone from the earth and slid it silently into the pocket of his dreary black suit.

The smooth, ebony rock had been his constant companion, his stalwart since that fateful day. The weight, slight though it was, represented the grief he knew he would never shed.

He just couldn’t throw it into the cold lake. He couldn’t let it sink to the bottom and rest below the water the way Miranda slept below the ground. In her pink coffin.

Splaying his fingers through his brown hair that had in the last year developed more gray than he cared to acknowledge, Josh willed himself to think about something else, something other than his dead wife. Nothing came to mind.

The insistent ringing of his cell phone intruded on his dismal reverie. He welcomed the interruption. Popping the saving grace from the clip on his belt, Josh read the ID and opened the phone to greet the husband of his favorite cousin. What’s up, Ross?

Attorney Ross Kennedy returned Josh’s greeting in his usual no-nonsense manner. I need you to check something out for me.

I’m at the Circle M, Josh explained, hoping that excuse would suffice to keep the pit-bull in Ross’s personality placated. Surely even a workaholic like Ross could understand that people who traveled to the Miller family ranch came to escape real life. It was too soon to go back to work. Too soon to put the smothering grief aside. Too soon to leave his daughter Libby alone as he jetted around in search of some new story.

So what? You can’t look into things in Montana? I know it’s isolated at the ranch, but it’s not like the entire state is lacking Internet access, Ross insisted in his usual bossy tone. I know you’re probably busy, but this is important.

Busy? Doing what? Cursing at God? Hating Him for taking Miranda away from us? I haven’t gone back to work yet.

You’re kidding.

Josh tried not to take offense. Ross had a wife. A wife who hadn’t wasted away right in front of his eyes. How could Ross possibly understand? No, I’m not. I brought Libby out here to relax.

It’s been a year, Josh. Laurie is worried about you. She’s worried about your daughter, too. She thinks it would be in Libby’s best interest if you could get back into the swing of things.

A year. A whole damn year. Life had gone right on without him. Tell your wife I’m not one of her patients. She might be a great psychologist, and I know she means well, but I really don’t need her advice. Josh didn’t bother hiding the curtness he felt. I’m not ready.

Look, I know you don’t need the money. You Millers have more than enough. I wouldn’t ask for your help if it wasn’t important. This is right up your journalistic alley. I need you to expose a fraud. Ross dangled the lure as if Josh was a large-mouthed bass who would eagerly take the bait.

Josh saw right through what he figured was a ruse, refusing to let Ross’s story tempt him. Your wife just wants me to go back to work. He thought he heard an extraordinarily quiet and irritated count of ten before Ross spoke again.

This has nothing to do with Laurie. A faith healer ripped off my sister. Took Cheryl for five grand. It’s not the damn money, it’s the principle of the thing. I need a muckraker like you to blow the cheat out of the water before she rips off someone else.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, the itch was back. Just an irritating little itch, not enough to scratch. Not yet. A faith healer? Why would your sister go to a faith healer? Okay, maybe he would scratch it. But just a little bit.

I’m so pissed at Cheryl, I could shake her, Ross explained. She’s not stupid; she’s just desperate. The doctor told her she might be looking at a kidney transplant real soon, and she freaked. Josh could hear the hurt buried in Ross’s anger. Damn lupus. You know, I’d give her a kidney if she needed it.

I know you would. I know how you feel about Cheryl. So is it the typical guy traveling the country with his enormous tent and a dog-and-pony show? When Miranda was sick, I thought I’d seen them all. Josh simply had to scratch, couldn’t resist the urge.

A woman. And she’s a solo act. Works out of her house.

A woman? Josh asked. Really? That’s not very common.

Josh heard Ross snort his disgust. Women can steal just as easily as men. This one really made Cheryl think she was cured. She’s stopped taking her meds, and she’s stopped seeing her doctor. I’m worried sick.

How did the woman ‘heal’ Cheryl? Laying hands? Power of prayer? Magic potion? The damned itch was driving Josh crazy.

Laying hands. Cheryl went to the woman’s place in Indiana. She was gone all day. Came back saying she’d felt this con artist suck the disease right out of her. Swears she’s cured.

Sliding the little stone into his pocket, Josh was already planning his attack. Where in Indiana? How fast could he get back there? Which magazine would be interested in this exposé? Time? Newsweek?

Turning on his heel and striding away from the lake, Josh began to fire a litany of pertinent questions at Ross, questions Josh would spend the next few weeks exploring and answering. A great story was calling, a great story that might allow him to save some people from their own folly.

Cheerful for the first time in God knew how long, Josh decided to scratch his itch.

* * * *

Sarah tried to keep her eyes open, but the task was almost beyond her control. With a heavy sigh, she lifted her coffee cup to her lips and took a drink. The brew was still too hot, scorching her tongue and scalding the roof of her mouth. She had a passing thought that she should be able to heal herself as well as she could heal others. Evidently, that skill hadn’t been part of the divine bargain.

You really need to talk to this guy, Sarah, Hannah grumbled. A little publicity couldn’t hurt, and he’s really hot to do a big story on you.

From where he sat across the ancient kitchen table, Doug nodded enthusiastically. A little publicity couldn’t hurt.

Sarah sighed again, thinking that her brother-in-law sounded like a parrot and her sister like its master. It was easy to see who had become the alpha in that marriage. Dougie want a cracker?

I don’t want any publicity, Sarah finally said. People who really need me seem to find me just fine. And I hate reporters. Don’t you remember what happened last time?

With a flipping wave of her hand, Hannah replied, That was some guy writing for rags like the National Enquirer. This one has a great track record. Time. Newsweek. He’s even got a book. She went back to eating one of the powdered donuts she’d piled on her plate. Sarah wondered if her sister knew she had flecks of white on her upper lip. It seemed the proper accessory for the frumpy housecoat Hannah wore.

A book, Doug echoed. He’s got a book.

Sarah half-expected him to squawk and flap his elbows like wings. The only reason a reporter would want to talk to me is to try to convince everyone I’m nothing but a fraud. Why would I waste my time and energy on someone who wants to hurt me just to make a name for himself? Blowing across her coffee, fascinated by the tiny ripples, Sarah finally ventured another sip. Before she could enjoy the drink, a terrifying thought crossed her mind. You’re not charging people again, are you?

Hannah abruptly stood up and dropped her dish in the sink. Turning back around, she smoothed her mousey-brown hair back into the tight bun she always wore that reminded Sarah of some Old West spinster schoolmarm. Now, Sarah...

Sarah had to resist the urge to slap her sister. Hannah, we’ve talked about this. My God, you can’t take money from these people. I don’t heal the sick for profit.

Now, Sarah..., Doug chimed in, shaking his balding head that seemed to grow a little worse every day.

No, no, no! Sarah gave them both an emphatic shake of her head. I will not take money from these people. We’ve still got some trust fund left. I can get a job. Sarah tried to rein in her temper, but some days it was difficult. Hannah and Doug both possessed the motivation of a couple of sloths. Or one of you could get a job. She thought she saw Doug shudder at her words.

Sure, the place looked a bit...weathered. Okay, in all honesty, it was falling down around their ears. Sarah looked at the kitchen and saw the peeling wallpaper, the water spots on the ceiling, and the chipped paint on the cabinets. The house was old. Ancient, to be exact. But that didn’t change how Sarah felt about the blasphemy of taking fees to help people who might otherwise die. That wasn’t why she received her gift. If you’re taking anything from the people who come to me, it looks like I’m a shyster. I will not take money from someone who needs healing.

You’re being selfish, Sarah, Hannah replied before edging back to the table and picking up another donut. We have expenses. We have bills.

Sarah shook her head. The trust fund—

Won’t last forever, Doug interrupted. Look around. This place is falling apart.

Well, how about that. The pudgy little man could have an original thought.

If we really need money that badly, I’ll get a job, Sarah insisted, knowing that would be impossible before she even got all the words out of her mouth. Some mornings she barely had the energy to haul herself out of bed. Recovering from each healing was getting to be more and more difficult. Fatigue followed her like a shadow. A constant, silent companion.

Hannah’s lips drew into a thin line. You’re exhausted as it is. You really should be more selective in who you see. You’ll burn your gift out.

It’ll leave as quickly as it came, Doug added with a decisive nod.

Staring down at her left hand, Sarah considered her scars. The latent burns were nothing more than pink and white puckered lines covering the back of her hand, not horribly noticeable if one wasn’t looking too closely. But the pain they represented remained so intensely branded on her mind that she couldn’t ever completely forget. She could still feel the jolt and the trembling of her body as the electricity blazed through her. With a shake of her head, Sarah tried to push the agonizing memories aside. They refused to leave. Good riddance. I hope it’s kinder to me leaving than it was arriving.

Your gift won’t leave the way it came, Doug said. People don’t get struck by lightning twice.

Your mouth to God’s ears, Sarah said with an acerbic chuckle. No money, Hannah. You hear me?

Hannah nodded, but Sarah wasn’t convinced her sister was being honest. Unfortunately, after a healing, Sarah found herself so physically spent she needed to sleep for a good six hours. Sometimes that wasn’t even enough to restore her. She had to trust Hannah to escort the people from their family’s rundown home.

When she’d first found out Hannah took payment from a family, Sarah had been livid. And that damned reporter had crucified her for it. She wasn’t about to go through that again. I mean it, Hannah. No money.

Hannah gave her a curt nod and scowled.

This gift is not what I bargained for.

Sarah breathed a heavy sigh. She’d never been particularly religious. Like most people, she had only turned to God in a time of need, offering prayers to get a good grade on some exam or to help her find some extra funds when a particularly high Visa bill arrived. When she was a little girl, she had prayed for her father to stop drinking. She had prayed for her mother to notice her. She’d prayed for someone to love her. But all of those petitions had gone unanswered, and Sarah had turned her back on God in more ways that she really cared to remember.

God obviously had other ideas about the nature of their relationship.

Sarah? Are you okay? Hannah stared down at her and frowned.

Hmm? Oh, yeah. Just really tired. And lost in my own melancholy thoughts. I should probably go back to bed for a while.

No, you can’t. We have a visitor scheduled at eight, Doug replied as he leafed through his small calendar. And the reporter will be here later this afternoon.

I’ll be too tired to talk to him. Sarah knew she probably should be more active in setting her own schedule, but she honestly didn’t have the energy. Besides, Doug and Hannah usually did a good job in weeding out the people who didn’t really need Sarah’s help. She selfishly allowed them to choose the people she would heal because, if given free hand, Sarah would heal them all. No, she’d have to pace herself to help as many as she could for as long as she had left. Better to let Doug and Hannah be the ones to turn away those who weren’t looking Death in the eye.

With a resigned nod, Sarah got up, put her now empty cup in the sink, and went to work.

Chapter Two

That reporter is here, Hannah said as she gently shook Sarah’s shoulder, waking her from her nap.

Sarah swatted at her sister’s hand and rolled to face the wall. So?

C’mon, Hannah pleaded, sounding a bit frantic. You want people who need you to know about you, don’t you? You need to get up. She pulled the blanket down, sending a wave of unwelcome chilly air flowing over Sarah. Besides, he’s really cute.

I don’t care. Sarah could barely force her eyes open. She groaned, grabbed the blanket, and pulled it back over her shoulders. He can just go away.

The pregnant woman she’d healed of a malignant brain tumor had left Sarah with a pounding headache that her typical post-healing sleep had done little to remedy. Even the periodic dripping from the faucet of her attached bathroom sounded like a jackhammer. Sarah decided she needed something to dull the pain and threw the blanket aside. Holding up a hand to shield her eyes against the piercing light, she said, I need some aspirin, Hannah. Please.

Hannah nodded and disappeared into Sarah’s bathroom before she returned with four aspirin and a glass of water. Sarah downed the pills, throwing them back in her throat and following them with a quick drink.

Just saying, he’s easy on the eyes. Hannah took the glass from her sister. Might be worth the effort to get up and talk to him.

Orienting herself to the time of day by glancing at the clock on the wall, Sarah accepted the loss of another six hours of her life with a weary sigh. Pieces of her life to save others. Her ongoing penance. He could look like George Clooney, and I still wouldn’t care. She threw off the cover and turned to sit on the side of her saggy mattress. All she really wanted was to go right back to sleep. Six more hours might do the trick.

Actually, he looks a lot like George Clooney. Dark hair with just a kiss of gray. And nice eyes. Blue, I think. He’s been waiting for a little while. Showed up early. I thought you’d be in a better mood if I gave you a few more minutes of sleep.

Thank you, but it wouldn’t matter how long I slept. I don’t want to talk to this guy. Sarah stood up on shaky legs, walked to the mirror, and judged her appearance.

The drastic changes over the last few years still took her by surprise. She wasn’t Sexy Sarah any longer. Her hair had slowly turned back to its natural blond, the red highlights having grown out long ago. And she hadn’t cut it in just about forever. She found it easier to simply gather her straight, long hair into a ponytail and be done with it.

She didn’t bother with make-up anymore. None of her lip gloss or her blush or the overdone eye shadow and mascara that used to make her feel so glamorous. Her eyes, in her estimation, had always been her best feature. But not any longer. The deep hazel was so surrounded by dark circles, she looked like one of those children who used to work coal mines and never saw the sun.

Her skin had grown waxen and pale. She had collapsed after the healing, not even having the energy to change her clothes. Now her long, brown skirt was wrinkled, her tan blouse the same. You’re quite a sight, she whispered to her reflection. Definitely not homecoming queen any more.

That life seemed a million years ago. The dates. The parties. The drinking. Were those really her memories? Where had her teens gone? Her twenties? Those years played like scenes of a movie of someone else’s life. Someone young. Someone fun. Someone selfish. At that moment, Sarah felt like an old woman who surrendered a little more of the life she had left every day.

The reporter could be George Clooney, and it wouldn’t matter one lick. No man gave her a second look now. Not unless there was a huge dose of pity in his eyes. Or if he needed healing.

Smoothing a few stray wisps of hair behind her ear, Sarah rubbed her forehead for a moment to try and work out the pounding in her head, hoping the aspirin would kick in. Hannah, could you please get me some coffee? Strong coffee?

Hannah shot her a sympathetic glance then nodded. He’s in the sunroom waiting for you. I’ll bring it out there.

Thank you.

When Sarah approached the sunroom, she saw him from behind first. He sat in one of the big wicker chairs, his right leg crossed over his