Black River Junction

By Jennifer Rankins

Brandi had made Poplar Bluff her home and was now a happily married woman. On the outside, Poplar Bluff seemed to be a perfect town to live in. So after all those years, had he returned to finish what he started twenty years ago? But by the time Brandi discovers the new stranger in town real identity, and the truth about what really happened at the bottom of the steps, would it be too late? Would Poplar Bluff prove to be as safe as she had first thought, or was her new family also in danger now?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jan 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781466928817

Jennifer Rankins

No one understands why you do what you do. No one except another writer. But what I did not understand was that God wanted to be alone with me. He wanted me all to himself, and as a writer, you feel as though you are out on an island all by yourself. That pretty much describes me. I love to write. It is my passion. I currently live in Painesville, Ohio, married, with two wonderful children that support all my crazy ideas. In my spare time, I love to read and watch crime scene investigations, which still fascinates me with how they solve a murder in one hour.

Book preview

BLACK

RIVER

JUNCTION

A NOVEL

JENNIFER RANKINS

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© Copyright 2013 Jennifer Rankins.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction inspired out of my own imagination. Neither the characters portrayed here nor any of the events or locations that took place in this novel should in any way be construed as real people, places, or events. Rather, they are the products of my creative inventions and vivid imagination. Any resemblance to people, living or dead, places or events is solely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-4669-2880-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-2879-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-2881-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012906932

Trafford rev. 12/27/2012

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CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

INTRODUCTION

PROLOGUE

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

PART TWO

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

PART THREE

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

PART FOUR

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CONCLUSION

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

CHAPTER 56

CHAPTER 57

CHAPTER 58

CHAPTER 59

EPILOGUE

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER ONE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanking God once again for giving me the gift to write, and providing me with witty ideas, interesting characters that come to life on the pages to impart more depth into a storyline than meets the eye. As a writer, I am always searching for new subjects and stories to write about. I listen to conversations around me wherever I go. I watch the way people act and react to a situation. I notice how people speak and move, using their hands, eyes, and words to express themselves. I take into account every scene as a potential storyline. This is all part of the writing process.

I would like to thank my husband, Melvin, for his continued support with every project, and how he still continues to support my passion, in spite of my shortcomings. Eventually this particular book found a life of its own and took off. Thank God I was able to glide over the bumps in the road in about two years to see this book to fruition. Which, I can now admit, I am truly excited enough to keep pressing on with a brand new adventure.

A huge thanks to my wonderful Book Editor, Jacqueline Gillon, who patiently walked through this book word by word, line by line, page by page; helping me to tighten up my storyline, bring my characters to life, and keep the story moving forward. I am truly grateful for all the hard work Jacqueline has put into this project. Thank you so much Jacqueline. You’re the best.

And most of all, a big shout out to you, the reader; and all the avid book club members everywhere that include my books on your reading list. I am indebted to you and blessed that you still believe in me. Happy reading!

"Moreover, the Lord said unto me,

Take thee a great scroll, and write upon it

with an ordinary pen…"

Isaiah 8: 1 (NIV)

INTRODUCTION

Black River is one of the longest rivers in Jamaica. The name refers to the darkness of the river bed caused by thick layers of decomposing vegetation. You might say that pretty much describes the neighborhood handyman, River. So, who is River? Where did he come from? What was he doing in Lisbon, Ohio; and what took him all the way to Poplar Bluff, Missouri—a quaint little town nestled in the heart of Bethel County. Poplar Bluff is a place where on Saturday nights everybody knows your name, and Sunday mornings, everybody went to church; at least almost everybody.

When River first arrived in Poplar Bluff, his mission was to find where that little girl at the bottom of the steps now lived and what had become of her life so far. But, instead, he walked into Joe’s Bar and Grill that night; and Sheriff Campbell knew that spelled trouble. The Sheriff didn’t like trouble coming from outsiders. He had enough to deal with from the folks that lived there.

Sheriff Campbell took great interest in everyone who came to his town, and made it his business to find out why they were visiting. Are you visiting relatives, or just traveling through? Are you planning to camp out at the Middle Fork River or the Mark Twain National Forest? Those were some of the Sheriff’s inquiries for any stranger entering into his town.

Poplar Bluff only had a population of twenty five thousand people. Middle Fork is the river that flowed into the Mark Twain National Forest. It was a sight to see and attracted thousands of visitors every year from all over the country. The town made up for much of their lost revenue during the summer tourist season, which lasted from April through October.

On the outside Poplar Bluff appeared to be that picture perfect place to live for anyone wanting to settle down with a family. But, behind closed doors, it was a different story. The town mayor, Steven Sloan Sr., and all his civic cronies were part of the root cause of the disgruntlement in the city. There were plenty of corrupt officials hanging on to their prestigious positions to help spread some of the blame around.

But, was this small town big enough for a man called, River, and Sheriff Campbell, or would fate have its way in the end and force one of them to leave?

PROLOGUE

She woke up thinking, it must be Sunday, and slowly tiptoed down the steps. When she reached the bottom, she saw a stranger standing in her living room, and her parents and brother bodies lying on the floor. In slow motion, she looked up at him as he simultaneously turned towards her, just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. Her feet warned her to bolt back up the steps as fast as she could, but her brain could not comprehend what was happening. Her mother and father were lying in a pool of blood and her brother, across the room, gasping to take another breath—a knife still plunged in his chest as blood pooled out from underneath his body.

The intruder was dressed in all black with the sweatshirt hoodie covering his head. Across his chest there was something written in white lettering, but Brandi couldn’t make it out. He quickly struggled to pull the ski-mask back down over his face before she could recognize him, but it was already too late. She knew exactly who he was. Now he had to figure out a Plan B, if there was one.

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PART ONE

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CHAPTER 1

It was two days before Easter, April 12th, 1990. In Biblical terms, it was Good Friday, the night of the Last Supper, when Jesus gathered with the disciples before his crucifixion. For ten-year-old Brandi Ashford, it marked the last time she would sit at the dinner table with her family. Four days following Easter Sunday, her extended family would be in the throws of making funeral arrangements for her mother, father, and her twin brother, Brandon.

The nightmare started the night before when a powerful tornado tore across the Ohio skies leaving a path of destruction nearly two-hundred yards wide, and two miles long. The storm moved along the Ohio and Indiana border, erasing small towns and communities from the map. There was extensive damage, and power was interrupted for thousands of residents.

The town of Lisbon began at the bend of the Ohio River where a monument and a small park started at the town county line that also bordered the states of Ohio and Pennsylvania. Located near the three-way intersection of Ohio, Pennsylvania, and the northern tip of West Virginia, was where the Ashford family lived. They generally referred to this area as the Tri-State area because of the three way intersection of all three state borders.

After the tornado had moved north, electricity was disrupted in many towns and extensive property damages left most of the area stranded for days. But, thank God, the Ashford home had been spared. So, when Brandi woke up at daybreak the next morning following the storm, the sun was just peeking out over the horizon. The house was heavily overshadowed with shades of grey and magenta. Brandi threw the covers back and slowly climbed out of bed. She pushed her feet into her Mickey Mouse house shoes and opened the bedroom door.

It was eerily quiet, so quiet that she thought it might even be Sunday. But, she couldn’t be more wrong. If there ever had been a day that she needed it to be Sunday, this was it.

On any given Sunday morning, Brandi’s mom and dad always repeated the same routine. They ate breakfast together, than her dad would walk down to the end of the driveway in his slippers and retrieve the newspaper. After getting settled into their favorite two chairs on each side of the fireplace, they would take a section of the newspaper and dissect it apart as they nursed a second cup of coffee.

By the time Brandi and her twin brother, Brandon, crawled out of bed, her mom would have stirred together a batch of buttermilk pancakes, (a favorite for the both of them on Sunday mornings), with strawberry syrup ready to pour. Eventually her dad would take claim to the remote control and launch into search mode for whatever sports program he was looking for. Sometimes, if her mom was lucky to get the remote first, she would turn it to some evangelical ministry and settle back in her recliner. But, not before stuffing the remote control down into the couch pillow. This forced everyone in the house to listen to the preacher. Most times, her dad tuned the preacher out and pretended like he had dozed off.

If it was really a Sunday morning, her brother, Brandon, would still have his head buried under the pillow with the covers pulled up, grateful for another morning to sleep in without being hurried out the front door by six-thirty a.m. to catch the school bus. Mondays always came way too fast for every kid, while the weekends zoomed by.

Brandi and Brandon shared a lot of similarities with each other as twins. But, the one thing Brandi had no interest in was her brother’s love for skateboarding. On Saturday mornings, he would scarf down his bowl of cereal and race to the garage to get his skateboard. Hurrying as fast as he could to meet up with his friends at the fountain in downtown Lisbon where they practiced skateboard tricks such as the kick foot six, or the fakie, which meant riding backwards, doing pivots and kick turns. He would spin the board in the opposite direction; tail stop with the front side and backside turns. His favorite move was called the cabal aerial, which is similar to a fakie, but you have to turn backside at a three-hundred-sixty degree angle, or switch back to front at one-hundred-eighty degree turn. Brandi was not interest at all in falling down and scraping her knees, legs, arms and banging her head, especially if you didn’t wear a helmet, like most of the kids refused to do.

However, this was not the usual Saturday or Sunday morning; far from it. It was spring break and no school. But something about this morning was very different. For one thing, it was too quiet. It must be Saturday, she reasoned to herself. It made her second guest if she was actually dreaming? Could she still be asleep?

She had to use the bathroom really badly, which meant making a trip down to the end of the hall past her parents and her brother’s bedroom. Just in case Brandon was still sleeping, she quietly tiptoed down the hall and stopped to take a peek in. From where she could tell, Brandon was already up. But, this was too early! He never got up this early on a Saturday or a Sunday for that matter. His bed wasn’t even made yet, which meant he wasn’t far. No way would their mom let him out the house without making up his bed. Even if it meant throwing the covers up over the pillows, that was good enough.

She continued towards the bathroom, but not before peeking into her parents’ bedroom. To her amazement, their bed was also empty, and unmade, which was highly unusual. Her mom always made the bed immediately after they got up. It was a ritual she maintained every day for as far back as Brandi could remember.

Something wasn’t right. She decided to wait to use the bathroom, and headed towards the steps. Trying to stay as quiet as possible, she headed down the steps. Where was everybody? But as soon as she reached the bottom step and turned the corner, her heart skipped a beat. A man was standing over her parent’s bodies, and they weren’t moving—either one of them. Why didn’t they look up at her? Was this some sort of game they were playing? Were they play-acting like she’d seen at her school play? She was once in a Christmas play where she’d played the part as an angel and had to keep perfectly still until all the other cast members entered the stage. But, this was very different from a play.

She noticed her brother across the room. Blood was everywhere around him. She gasped and suddenly the man turned towards her direction. He seemed like he was just as shocked to see her as she was shocked to see him. Her feet suddenly told her to bolt back up the stairs, but her brain could not comprehend what was going on. Her mother’s and father’s eyes were closed as if they were asleep.

The stranger snatched the ski-mask and pulled it back down over his face before she could recognize him. But it was already too late. Brandi knew exactly who he was.

CHAPTER 2

Detective Charles Michaels was the first on the scene. He was immediately assigned to the case by the Chief. Although Michaels specialized in cold cases, he was open to taking on new assignments. When the Chief had called him into his office and asked him to respond along with officers to a triple homicide on the south side of town, Detective Michaels grabbed him camera and raced to the scene. Everyone at the Bureau knew once Detective Michaels was assigned to a case, he wouldn’t let it go, even when all the leads were exhausted. If he had a hunch, he stayed with it for months, sometimes years. Sometimes it paid off, and sometimes it didn’t. Unfortunately, this was one of those times when his hunch took him in a totally different direction.

As one of the first on crime scene at Fairfield Avenue, Detective Michaels’ walked behind the photographer as pictures were being snapped and bagged into evidence. He took his own snap shots when he notice of the young boy’s body and swore to himself he would bring this killer to justice. He had a son the same age and if anything made him angrier was seeing a kid killed in cold blood.

Back at the station the detectives interviewed Brandi with the help of Social Services. They also interviewed some of the neighbors that night. Brandi told them exactly what happened at the bottom of the steps that morning. A child psychologist had met Detective Michaels in the Juvenile Bureau where she asked Brandi some of the same questions again and again. Brandi had to repeat her story until someone finally said, "Okay, that’s enough for today."

Someone had went out and bought a happy meal for Brandi. After the initial investigation was over, a female officer had brought a change of clothes to Brandi from her home. A few hours later she was told a distant relative, Ruby Lawson, was located in Cleveland, and was coming to pick her up the next day.

Brandi spent a day in a temporary foster home with an elderly couple. They worked closely with the police department, to help out with cases such as this. For Brandi, this was the beginning of her nightmares. Whenever she fell asleep her mind would rehearse the whole scene over and over again, waking her up screaming and sometimes wetting the bed. She recalled the scene vividly as she had told it to the detectives the same way each time.

"Something told me to run back up the steps as fast as I could, so I did. He was coming after me, but I ran as fast as I could. He was right behind me a few steps and just as he was about to grab me, I slammed my bedroom door and locked it. He started pounding hard on the door with his fist telling me to open it up. I ran to the window and climbed out onto a ledge. I was so scared, but I barely made it out without falling. Then I slid down the banister to the porch. My hands had splinters in them. As soon as I hit the ground hard I realized I didn’t have my house shoes on, so I started running through the backyard to the next street. I didn’t know if he was right behind me or not, but I was too scared to turn around to see.

Warm liquid ran down my legs as I couldn’t hold my pee any long. As soon as I crossed through another neighbors’ yard, I saw a car coming and I ran out into the street. That was when a lady walking her dog grabbed my arm just in time before the pick-up truck could hit me.

Whoa! Slow down young lady. You almost ran me over and got yourself killed by that truck.

I was so out of breath, I could hardly speak, but I told her: My mom, my dad and brother. Please help me!

CHAPTER 3

Like every small town, Lisbon had a neighborhood drifter that everybody knew by name. Because he would sing and play his harmonica for money, most people called him Jukebox. A huge red coffee can filled with loose change from donations daily sat on the ground in front of the laundry mat. Jukebox wouldn’t hurt a fly. It wasn’t that Detective Michaels had any physical evidence tying Jukebox to this crime, but it was a known fact that Jukebox had a long rap sheet that went back for many years. He’d been arrested for breaking and entering, stealing, receiving stolen property, shoplifting, and most recently, assaulting another homeless man. He’d become a nuisance to the police force and a burden to every homeless shelter from one side of town to the other. Not to mention, the money that taxpayers were paying to cover Jukebox’s court cost for his repeat behaviors.

Several months ago, Detective Michaels had managed to get Jukebox on tape saying what he would do if he ever had the chance to get inside one of those fancy homes over on Fairfield Avenue. That was the neighborhood where mostly middle income families lived, a descent neighborhood with manicured lawns, but there had been incidents of break-ins in the past.

Fairfield was also the street the Ashford family lived on. But the evidence hadn’t come through like Detective Michaels expected. He had brought Jukebox in for questioning, but couldn’t detain him for more than seventy-two hours. After that, they would have to let him go.

While at the station, Detective Michaels put more pressure on Jukebox. Is there anyone who can confirm your whereabouts for the last twenty-four hours? Detective Michaels was anxious to find something on Jukebox just to get him off the streets. Jukebox could have easily committed this heinous crime, but so far Detective Michaels couldn’t prove it. Jukebox fidgeted with a buttons on his tattered coat. Yes, anybody can tell you I was sitting on the ground in front of the laundry mat, singing. Then about nine-o’clock I checked into the shelter and was there all night until they made us all leave the next morning.

Well, you better believe I will check out your story, and if it doesn’t add up, I will haul you back in here so fast, you won’t know what freedom feels like again. Do you understand me?

Detective Michaels’ requested an officer to bring Jukebox another set of clothes from the back storage room. He wanted Jukebox to change his pants, his shirt, and shoes so they could be checked out for blood stains or splatters. With the crime scene so gruesome, there would definitely be a spray of blood somewhere on his clothes if he was the perpetrator. Forensics would process the evidence as soon as possible.

Weeks later when the forensics came back from Jukebox clothing, and there were no physical evidence tying Jukebox to the Ashford murders—not one freaking speck of blood, Jukebox was free to roam the streets and sing for money. But Detective Michaels was bent on getting a conviction out of someone, one way or another. After all, this was a capital murder case. He assigned another detective to trail Jukebox for a few more weeks, just to see what he was up to.

Brandi could have told the Detective he was barking up the wrong tree. She knew it wasn’t the drifter that killed her family. Jukebox always hung out around the laundry mat in the neighborhood, and all the kids knew him, teased him, and mocked him. Once when he threw candy on the ground in front of the girls on their way home from school, they just ignored him. Brandi’s mom had warned them to stay away from strangers, but especially that drifter. She said Jukebox was a dangerous and sick man. He was always in and out of the psychiatric hospitals, and he struggled to take his medicine right.

Brandi knew Jukebox was innocent. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. She knew exactly who had done it. She’d looked him straight in the eyes—even recognized him. No, it wasn’t Jukebox at all, and somebody should have told Detective Michaels.

CHAPTER 4

Brandi’s relative from Cleveland arrived in an old rusty pick up truck to pick her up. She introduced herself as Auntie Ruby, and spoke to Detective Michaels before filling out forms, than they exchanged information and promised to stay in touch. After they arrived back in Cleveland, where Brandi would live until she was eighteen, Ruby explained to Brandi; From now on you can call me, Auntie Ruby.

Eventually she was awarded custody of Brandi, but sadly, it turned out that living with her relatives would be a different kind of hurt and pain on top of everything else that had happened to her.

Initially, her aunt had resented the fact that Child and Family Services, along with Detective Michaels had suggested Brandi be placed with the next of kin, rather than staying in the foster home. There was a man that also lived with her Auntie. She was told to call Uncle Fred, but he was not her real uncle. Within a few weeks he began to rub her arms, pat her behind, sometimes he’d squeeze her arms or pinch her so hard until it hurt and left a bruise. A few months later, two of her teenage cousins that she’d never met before, began spending weekends. One was fourteen, and the other sixteen.

It had started out with them groping her, squeezing her budding breasts. Her Aunt Ruby would sometimes witness their abuse, but looked the other way. Soon it had escalated into that first night Uncle Fred came into her bedroom in the middle of the night and threatened her not to scream try to fight him, or else he would really hurt her—bad. After stripping off her flannel pink underwear, he held her arms down with one hand above her head and cupped her mouth with the other, then raped her.

The pain was so intense she thought she was going to die. What could she have possibly done to deserve this? After that night, a few nights a week he would come into her bedroom in the middle of the night. She would squeeze her eyes so tight, it would hurt to open them after it was over. Sometimes she would stare at one of the cherubs floating in the wallpaper above her bed; or she would squeeze her hands into the sheets so tight, they were numb when it was all over. She fell asleep thinking about the flying angels in her wallpaper and what did they think about Uncle Fred.

Not long afterwards, her two teenaged cousins started to do the same things to her; whenever they spent the weekends. She tried to tell her Aunt what they were doing to her at night, but it was no use. Either she didn’t believe her, or she didn’t care. She even started to treat Brandi with contempt, as if this was all her fault. Once, her Aunt had accused her of lying and threatened to send her away to a foster home if she continued to tell lies.

As the years moved on, Brandi turned twelve, and was already making plans to leave Ohio for good. As soon as she was old enough to get a job and save up enough money, she would leave this hell and move as far away as possible—and never look back.

By the following year, her Aunt had stopped all interactions with her. It was more like she neglected her. Brandi was pretty much on her own. Eventually, she realized that Uncle Fred wasn’t her real uncle, and he had outrageous bouts of drunkenness and blatant drug abuse followed by alcoholic binging. It was no secret; he snorted cocaine right in front of everybody, while the two cousins were busy mixing and selling drugs from the basement. Traffic had definitely picked up in and out of their house. Brandi didn’t know a whole lot about drugs, but she did know it wouldn’t be long before the police found out and came knocking down their door. She prayed the police would come and it would be her way out at last.

But, they never came. Brandi prayed every night that God would protect her from the abuse, but it kept right on happening. She wished she’d stayed in that foster home back in Lisbon instead. Days and nights were a blur to her, until the year she turned thirteen. It turned out to be the magic number. She figured thirteen must have been her lucky number because God had finally gotten around to answering her prayer, which was the best birthday present in the world. Not only did her uncle stop showing up in her bedroom at night, but her two cousins moved away, taking their drug business with them. Thank God, she never saw them again.

Ironically, that was the same year Brandi started her menstrual period. Maybe God had something to do with that also. She discovered blood in her underwear one morning and went running to Aunt Ruby bedroom for help. She thought for sure she was going to finally die, and this was all from Uncle Fred’s abuse. However, from that day forward, Uncle Fred turned his head every time he saw her—if she came into the same room, he left out immediately, with hatred in his eyes.

Brandi had overheard her Auntie’s conversation with Uncle Fred. That innocent chile aint so innocent anymore, is she? She can make little babies now, and you don’t want that to happen, now do you, Fred? Fred knew exactly what she meant. He couldn’t touch Brandi anymore in fear of the authorities throwing him in jail if she got pregnant. He just lowered his head as he poured himself another glass of bourbon and slithered out of the room like a snake.

The year Brandi turned fifteen she lied about being sixteen and got a job after school working at the Pizzeria Shop in the neighborhood. She saved every dime, determined to make her break as soon as she was old enough.

In spite of the earlier abuse, and the tragic loss of her family, Brandi turned into a wonder child bringing home straight A’s on her report card. It was a miracle. Her aunt once described her to a teacher as an over-achiever. Brandi never missed a day at school, and since working at the Pizzeria, she never missed a day that she was scheduled to work. With the help of her supervisor, Brandi opened up a savings account and vowed the week she turn eighteen, she was buying a greyhound bus ticket and travel as far away from Lisbon as possible.

One day while walking home from the Pizzeria, she spotted a rack of free travel pamphlets in lobby of the store. She grabbed a few and threw them in her book bag. Whenever she used the bathroom, she combed through the pamphlets to see where her life was headed. Any place but Ohio, she pondered. There were just too many memories to try and stay here. She had her savings account which had built up close to a thousand dollars by the time she turned eighteen. Things were finally going to be different. A new city, new friends, new surrounds. She also wanted to go to college, if she could get a grant or a scholarship.

So, on her eighteenth birthday it was the week of Independence Day in July. Up until that point, she hadn’t told a soul about her plans, not even a few of her close girlfriends at school. And why should she? She didn’t owe these people anything

CHAPTER 5

Brandi tried to read her Bible every night before going to bed. Sometimes she read a whole chapter, sometimes she could only get through a few passages. She remembered her mother reading a story to her and her brother, a story about baby Jesus, Joseph and Mary. Mary was a virgin, but had become pregnant with baby Jesus. Her mother said they were treated like an outcast. But, for some strange reason, Brandi always felt a certain connection to this biblical story. The Bible had said Joseph and Mary traveled from city to city trying to find a place where Mary could have her baby. They finally ended up in a little town called Bethlehem.

She’d re-read that story countless times at night. By the time Brandi was ready to make her move, she was convinced that God had spoken to her through this biblical story that she should relocate to a city called Bethlehem.

Brandi sifted through countless travel magazines at the local library, searching for the right Bethlehem. She was hoping for a sign from her mother. In her search, she could only come up with three choices: Bethlehem, PA; Bethlehem, GA; or travel as far as Canaanite in Palestine, which was out of the question. Finally, she felt a strong pull to relocate to Bethel County where there was a