Cry of the Mourning Dove

By Ellen Williamson

Fran Baker, a middle aged mother of two, and a busy attorney is devastated when she learns she is pregnant AND its not the only pregnancy she must face. With her husbands U. S. Senate race looming, the public response is critical to everyones future.

Hattie Freeman, the nannie for the Baker children has lived in uncertainty since her husband went missing sixteen years ago. Still searching for him, she wakes up every morning, looks into the eastern sky and asks: Where is Mike Freeman? Her son, Jason, will not accept the general consensus that his father is actually dead. He decides to make one last search and could never have imaginedis not prepared forthe truth.

Jeff Allison, a national basketball hero, returns to his home town to coach the local high school basketball team. The adoration of his fans creates a powerful phenomenon that is not good for anyone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781496960719

Ellen Williamson

Ellen Williamson is a passionate writer who strives to share the message of Christ in every imaginative and fascinating story she writes. From historical novels to mystery-thrillers, she keeps readers of all ages and interests riveted. Somewhere in every story, if you are interested, you will find your pathway to salvation. Ellen lives in Brandon, MS where she is a Sunday School teacher at Park Place Baptist Church. She is a talented artist who loves to work in acrylic and pencil. At her speaking engagements audiences are treated to a passionate, funny, and engaging message sure to inspire. For information on any of her books or to request her for an event, you may reach her at [phone], or [e-mail].

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Phone: [phone]

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and names are products of the author’s imagination and do not represent actual people or events. Any resemblances to events, locations, companies or any person living or dead is strictly coincidental.

The spiritual emphases at the end of the chapters were not meant to enhance the story but were added to offer a bit of spiritual encouragement or food for thought.

© 2015 Ellen Williamson. All rights reserved.

Cover Art by Ellen Williamson, Design by Lori Weatherford

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   12/19/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-6072-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-6071-9 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Scripture quotations marked KJV are from the Holy Bible, King James Version (Authorized Version). First published in 1611. Quoted from the KJV Classic Reference Bible, Copyright © 1983 by The Zondervan Corporation.

CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgements

List Of Characters

Prologue

PART I

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

PART II

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Forty-Eight

Forty-Nine

Fifty

Epilogue

About The Author

DEDICATION

Soli Deo Gloria

(To God alone the glory)

This book is dedicated to all the women who choose to give their baby up for adoption rather than abort it or attempt to raise it in a less than desirable environment.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Without encouragement, writing, like painting, or teaching a Sunday School Class is doubly difficult. I am so thankful for the encouragement of my painting group, Palette Pals, and the women of the Promise Sunday School Class at Park Place Baptist Church in Brandon, MS.

To my Agent, Editor, and Graphic Artist, Lori Weatherford; thank you for your loving support and ability to speak the computer’s language and save it from a long flight out of my window!

LIST OF CHARACTERS

Vincent Baker, I - Founder and Co-owner of Baker Law Firm

Vincent Baker, II - Co-owner of Baker Law practices

Frances Baker - His wife, an attorney and a partner in Baker Law Firm

Nicole Baker - Their sixteen year old daughter.

Vincent Baker III, (Vinnie) - Their twelve year old son.

Dr. Patricia Camden - Frances’ twin sister who is a medical missionary in Honduras.

Hattie Freeman - The Baker’s long-time nannie/housekeeper.

Mike Freeman - Hattie’s missing husband.

Hattie’s children - Jason, Melanie, Drew, Kyle

Jeff Allison - High school coach and former basketball star/hero.

PROLOGUE

Monday Morning in a town in central Alabama

Vince Baker’s household. They have no idea that their routine, plans for the future, and their hopes and dreams are about to take a dramatic turn. Vince Baker reaches for the alarm clock, presses the off button and buries his face in his wife’s thick, dark hair. As he snuggles next to her in the comfort of an elaborate house and the security of a sedate, care-free lifestyle the countdown begins for a revelation of their changing lives.

In a soft, clean, bed down the hall in a modern suite in her parent’s house, sixteen-year-old Nicole Baker is awakened by a strange roiling sensation in her stomach. Her life, too, will make a tragic turn, one that will affect every member of her family.

Not far away in a house as opulent as the Bakers’, a national basketball hero, who is now a high school coach, swings his feet from the bed to the floor and heads for the shower. He is his hometown’s hero, admired by all and sought out by schools all over the nation to lead their teams to victory. His otherwise carefree conscience flashes back to his actions over the past few weeks. He grins and shrugs it off. She’ll never tell. I’m sure of it. She knows the consequences if she does.

Hattie Freeman, a housekeeper walks out her front door, leaves her family behind to go to the Baker family to care for their daily needs. Her husband disappeared without a trace, so her life went through heartbreaking turmoil a few years back. After all these years, she still looks into the dawning of a perfect morning and wonders: Why? and Where is Mike Freeman?

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The fear of the Lord is the beginning of Wisdom:

and the knowledge of the Holy is understanding.

Proverbs 9:10 (KJV)

PART I

ONE

Fran Baker slammed the little stick down on the bathroom counter. She gasped, not believing what she was seeing. Shoot! I’ll be a… It can’t be! She picked it up and stared at the little stick that confirmed her suspicions. It turned from a light gray and gradually turned to light blue and then a deeper blue. Her heart began to pound and her temples throbbed as the reality of her situation pounded against her ribs. There’s a mistake. There has to be a mistake! I thought I was going through the change of life.

She slumped down on the side of the bathtub and hung her head to her knees. Dry heaves turned her guts inside out so she fell to her knees in front of the toilet. Then she threw up. I’m forty-one years old and this can’t be happening. I have no time for this! She splashed cold water on her face and patted it dry with a bath-cloth. I have to be in the office in an hour. She held a cold, wet cloth to her throat to stop the heaving. Crackers. That’s what they say to eat. Crackers and ginger cookies. She shoved the tell-tale stick deep in the pocket of her robe among all the crumpled tissue. Her husband, Vince, stretched and yawned, then pulled the covers over his head. The fragrance of fresh perked coffee wafted up the stairs filling the house with the message of, wake up, get up.

Thank God for timed coffee makers. Fran thought.

She dragged her unwilling body down the stairs to the kitchen and scrambled in the pantry for ginger cookies. Finding none, she spread butter on a saltine, sprinkled ginger from the spice rack on it and put it under the broiler. She heaved as she took the cracker and frantically bit into it, desperate for relief. She gulped down half a cup of orange juice, and poured coffee in a cup. One whiff of the coffee made her heave again.

She slumped down on the bar stool and pounded the counter with her fist. This can’t be happening. Not to me. I have too much to do - too many plans. What on earth will Vince say about this? Vince! Oh Vince, what will this do to your campaign for Senator? We have a long, hard campaign ahead of us and now - THIS!"

Frances Baker was forty-one years of age, five-feet-six inches tall, dark wavy hair, brown eyes, one-hundred-thirty pounds, fit and shapely, which she worked hard at maintaining. It wasn’t that she was so vain but with her husband in the public eye and running for the Senate, all eyes were on her. Her aquiline facial features enhanced her thin lips and perfectly arched eyebrows. She, her husband and father-in-law were partners in the very successful Baker, Baker and Baker law firm and had their eyes on the Governor’s mansion someday down the road - maybe in the next campaign.

She bent over the sink, splashed cold tap water over her face, then blotted it with a paper towel. She collapsed on a bar stool, folded her arms on the counter and laid her head on them. The campaign is just beginning and I’m in charge of it. Whatever will I do? Maybe there’s a mistake. A hot liquid rose up in her throat and she ran to the deck and leaned over the side.

It was a crisp, April morning, the sun just coming up. The sky glowed a fiery red, turning the belly of the scattered clouds hues of pink, orange and red. The reflection in the Olympic size swimming pool enhanced the magnificence of the sunrise. The trees in the east looked like they were on fire. As sick as she was, she was still acutely aware of the majestic presentation and felt a feeling of worship of holy God. An owl hooted somewhere in the shallow strip of woods behind the house. An owl hooting in the daytime is a bad omen. She rolled her eyes. I’m not superstitious.

"Mistake? No, there’s no mistake." She said aloud. She put her hand in her pocket, took out the stick and inspected it closely. Pregnant? Pregnant, indeed! She uttered an agonizing cry. A-a-agh!

Fran and Vincent Baker were parents of sixteen-year-old Nicole and twelve-year-old Vincent the third, (Vinnie). Two average kids who had brought them untold joy. Their plans for their future were high, hang with a good crowd in high school, go to college and pursue the profession of their choosing.

Vinnie was a rough-and-tumble little boy who was tall like his father but skinny as a rail. He had his father’s blue eyes and brown hair. He was interested in all sports and played all his parents would allow. He was satisfied to skim by on a C average but Hattie (the nanny/housekeeper/cook/disciplinarian/teacher, etc.) would have none of it. She made him study in the afternoons so his parents would not have to deal with it. Sports was more his ‘thing’. As he got older and more independent Hattie realized she was going to have to turn the discipline of his study habits over to his parents.

Vinnie would soon be in the first stages of puberty. Fran had bought books on the subject to prepare them for the changes which would undoubtedly change their lives. He was already exhibiting signs of independence and aggression, especially in sports. He was losing some of his babyish ways and was a caring, obedient child. Vince and Frances prayed every day that he would stay that way. His interests were rapidly changing from enjoying little boy toys to that of guitars, cars and camping. Fishing and hunting were fast becoming some of his favorite pass-times.

It had been difficult watching Nicole endure the changes brought on by puberty but at least, Fran knew what to expect and how to prepare her daughter. Long talks with her helped make the transition less traumatic. She was a late-bloomer so time seemed to drag for Nicole as she anticipated body changes that would make her look like all the other girls her age. Now that she was sixteen she had achieved the look. She was short at five-three and weighed a slight one-hundred-ten pounds. She had dark hair like her mother and the same dark eyes. She was what many called an introvert but had only become that way since sixth grade.

The cool morning air felt soothing to Fran’s hot throat. She took in big gulps of it and wiped the drying perspiration from her brow. Just as she came back through the kitchen door she could hear Vinnie calling her.

Mom! Mom! Where’s my red shirt? Today’s red shirt day and I can’t find it. Vinnie could never find anything. At times he still acted younger than his years and loved being dependent on his mother.

Hattie had come to help take care of the family just before Nicole was born and had been with them ever since. She pampered Vinnie, but still saw the need for him to be independent. Fran had talked to her about pampering him and they were due for another chat. It was just that Hattie was devoted to the child and loved him as her own. Hattie did see the importance of making the children responsible for certain chores as they grew older, but in her thinking Vinnie was still a baby.

Fran swallowed and attempted to answer. Her voice came out hoarse and low. Look in the dryer. She cleared her throat. Look in the dryer! She repeated. There was no indication that he heard her. I have to teach that boy some responsibility. She sank down on the bar stool and lay her head on her folded arms.

Vince bounced down the stairs and headed for the coffee pot. He tousled his wife’s already mussed hair. Morning! Seen my briefcase? He took a cup from the dishwasher and poured coffee in it.

Fran sprang from the bar stool. I can’t keep up with my own brief case, much less yours! She shouted and ran up the stairs. Even as she spoke the harsh words she wondered why she said them. She wasn’t angry with Vince. She was just angry - with a capital A. Vincent had no idea why she was angry, but he was quite sure he would know before the day was over.

Well, good morning to you, too. Vince said in a sing-song voice. She must not have slept well. He muttered.

At forty-five, Vincent Glen Baker, II stood six-feet-two-inches tall and weighed two-hundred-twenty pounds. His light brown hair was falling out by the hands full and his abdomen was beginning to protrude over his belt. He had never been what people called handsome but his penchant for the latest styles and a slight obsession for neatness made him a very attractive man. His blue eyes twinkled when he laughed and he was quickly developing laugh lines around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. His charismatic personality and compassionate, caring heart endeared him to all he met. His family and his employees referred to him as being, easy going.

A quick wit and humor worked in Vince’s favor when being questioned or accused by business men and fellow politicians alike. His New Year’s resolution was to lose twenty pounds before the election, but so far, it hadn’t happened.

Looks like everything is normal in the Baker House! Hattie muttered as she closed the door and dropped her sweater and bag on a bench beside the door.

Pretty much. Good morning. Vince answered as he took the stairs two at a time following Fran to the bedroom.

Vinnie bounced down the long, winding stairs. Mums have you seen my red shirt? Hattie was Mums to all the Baker family playing the role of grandmother or some such position in the family although she was only a mere eight or so years older than Vince and thirteen or so older than Fran. She was not sure what role she played in the family but enjoyed the rewards which were authority and respect.

Hattie finished pouring her coffee and headed for the den. Now Vinnie boy, I haven’t been here since last Friday. Put on your thinking cap and try to remember where you had it last.

He turned a couple of circles in the floor and headed for the clothes dryer. Oh, yeah! Mom said she was going to wash it for me.

See there. You can do a little something for yourself. She cradled her coffee in her palm, sank down in the, ‘Big Man’ plush recliner normally reserved for Vince, then turned on the television. Let me know when y’all leave so I can get started. She yelled toward the general vicinity of the stairs.

There was no need to call out her intentions since she had had the same routine for sixteen years. She stood on the ready to help put out any of the fires the family encountered in their rush to get to work and school. She did, however wait for the parents to take the initiative, when at all possible. Hattie referred to the family interactions and problem-solving as bonding and teachable moments. After all, that’s what defines the nature of parenting.

Hattie was short at five-four and worked hard to keep her weight under control. She wore her blond hair in a page-boy and her blue eyes sparkled behind rimless glasses. She was beginning to gray but no one would ever know. (Unless her hair dresser betrayed her)

Hattie had worked non-stop for the Bakers since Nicole was born. She was given frequent days off and a two week vacation every year. She thought about going to school at night or taking home courses but with tending to the Baker family in the daytime and her own family at night there had been no time. And what would be the benefits. She had all sorts of work privileges including bringing her children to work with her on occasion if the need called for it. As far as salary, Vince and Fran paid her well over the minimum wage with frequent bonuses. They treated her as a member of their family. She was now fifty-three and considered herself vested. When she said that to Vince, he laughed and said, In what? She just shrugged it off but she knew he had a retirement CD in her name and paid her Social Security.

Vince tugged his brief case from under the suit he had thrown across a chair the night before. He was startled to see Fran stumble from the bathroom still in her pajamas. He glanced at his watch, then at her. Did you know it’s a quarter ’til eight?

I know. She mumbled. Do you mind dropping the kids off at school? I don’t think I can be dressed in time. She sat down heavily on the side of the king-size bed and then let herself fall back into the crumpled covers.

He opened his mouth to object but when he took one look at her ashen face he thought better of it. You sick?

She gave him a look that could freeze boiling water so he did not insist on an answer.

Sure thing. He kissed the top of her head. See you in a little while. Okay, kiddos let’s hit the road. He called as he sprang down the stairs. He was always the cheerful early bird. Vinnie followed him, his ragged back pack slung over one shoulder. It had had a rough school year having been thrown about by a twelve-year-old.

It was a few minutes before Nicole followed them. She wore a navy, hoodie over a pink T-shirt. Her jeans rode low on her hips and the bottoms dragged the floor over the heels of her high-top tennis shoes. Her long, dark hair (which she inherited from her mother and a distant American Indian ancestor) was just past shoulder length and appeared somewhat fried from being straightened so often. She hated her natural curls. When she reached the bottom of the stairs Hattie was waiting for her with one arm propped up on the railing and one foot on the bottom step. She stared into the eyes of her favorite teenage girl then grabbed the hood of her jacket and held it taut.

Little girl, look a-here. She whispered jovially. She pulled Nicole around to face her and affectionately pinched her chin. You will be home today within thirty minutes of the school bell - won’t you?

Nicole jerked her head sharply to pull away from her and evade her question. Hattie held her fast and forced her to look at her. None of what went on last week, okay? I want you and me to handle this so I don’t have to worry your mama and daddy. I’ve kept a lot of secrets for you through the years, but this one I’ll have to share with you-know-who if it happens again. You get my drift? She held Nicole’s gaze in a way to show her she was serious.

Yes, ma’am. Nicole answered. Get my drift! Is she trying to be cool? She wanted so badly to be openly defiant but when she had tried it in the past she discovered the punishment was much tougher than the crime. Hattie did not tolerate back-talk or disobedience. As much as she was loving and caring, she was equally firm. She insisted that Nicole and Vinnie obey and respect her. And for the most part, they did.

Good! Have a good day, sweetie.

Nicole’s dark eyes stared at her defiantly and when she turned to leave she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. You’re not my mother. She said in a very low tone - AFTER she closed the door between them.

Teenage girls! God help us all! Most of all - God help Nicki. Teenage years are so traumatic. Hattie shook her head slowly from side to side then went back to her recliner.

Hattie was one of three authority figures in the house, so both children knew there were serious consequences for a sassy mouth. Hattie called the shots, set the rules and demanded obedience from the children. Fran and Vincent rarely disagreed with her rules, discipline or decisions when it came to the children. They depended on her strong moral values to keep the children in line and usually supported her decisions even if they seemed somewhat rigid and sometimes old fashioned.

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The will of God will never take you where

the grace of God cannot protect you.

TWO

The last sixteen years had brought a lot of changes in Hattie’s life as well as the Baker’s. Now as she went to the kitchen and opened the dishwasher she was reminded of many of the changes. Parenting a sixteen-year-old girl was a lot different than the care she had given her when she was a newborn or a toddler. She had been so much joy! Her brother who came along five years later was equally a joy.

I have a feeling the next few years will be a lot different. Teenagers! Humph!

She couldn’t help but think back on how the Bakers had changed her life so dramatically. She had been destined to go on welfare and be a product of the social system of the state. In an instant her thoughts took her back to the day her whole world was turned upside down, the day her husband went missing.

At that time Hattie was a ‘pushing-middle-aged’ housewife, married to Mike Freeman, a man who provided well for her and their four children. They had an agreement that he would work and she would stay home, take care of the children and manage the household - with a big emphasis on manage. Management meant much more than paying the bills and buying groceries. She did everything she possibly could to keep their spending within the budget they had set-up together. Any major purchases were discussed in a family meeting so the children could learn the importance of considering various factors before buying anything major. Their arrangement worked well for them and kept their family running smoothly like a well-oiled piece of machinery.

Hattie recalled how she had fallen in love with Mike Freeman when she was a senior in high school and he was a senior in college. They were married soon after they graduated. He assured her that there was no need for her to go to college or hold a job. He would work and bring in the money if she would manage it and be frugal. She proved to be a champion at it. They all dressed moderately and Hattie taught them how to take care of their clothes so they would last. (No playing in their school clothes.)

Hattie loved being a housewife and mother to their four children who were born in quick succession. At the time, Mike went missing, the oldest was going into his teens and the youngest was in first grade. She served as the family taxi, among many other things and insisted they all be in church every Sunday.

She knew nothing about Mike’s work, just that he worked for a large broker but she never had an occasion to go to his office. Most days he came home relaxed (or determined not to let it show when he was not) and ready to participate in family activities. He talked about his work very little.

If anything was seriously wrong between the two of them, Hattie was not aware of it. He had gone out of town unexpectedly a few times in the past three months, never bothering to go into details why. But, she wasn’t alarmed since he usually didn’t tell her any details about his work. Any time he was away from home, he called her and the children every night.

It was a Friday night when her youngest child, Kyle was six years old that her world was blown apart.

Their family had been like a finished jigsaw puzzle laid out on the table; every piece in place, depicting a beautiful, serene mountain scene - too beautiful to do anything with but preserve. Home, like the puzzle, had taken perseverance and determination to complete. Then hands reached out to the table, picked up the puzzle, squeezed it in a fist and threw it in the air. The beauty was gone, the tranquility, nothing but turmoil and the brilliant colors mixed with the dull lifeless gray of the underside of the pieces. She had looked down at the puzzle at her feet, the pieces all mixed up, some of them jagged around the edges where life had been squeezed out of them. Others had hit the floor with a thud scarring the pieces which once fit together forming a beautiful unit. It could never be put back together to portray its former beauty, order and tranquility.

Someone had taken a jigsaw to their beautiful, happy family, cut it into jagged, raw edges and threw it in the air to fall haphazardly at her feet.

Some said: It can be put back together again. But, Hattie knew that it couldn’t. It could never be the same. We’re a jigsaw family - a beautiful thing, meticulously assembled, thrown in the air, scattered by a destructive force, torn apart, never to be whole again.

When she and the children got home from the soccer game Friday night she was not alarmed to see that the house was dark. It only meant that Mike had not gotten home from work. He sometimes worked late or carried a client to dinner. She found a note from him on the kitchen counter with a simple message:

Had to go out of town unexpectedly. I’m so-o sorry.

Love you all. Daddy/Mike

The only thing Hattie thought was strange was that he didn’t say where he was going or when he would return. Initially, that was not an indication that she should be suspicious since she expected him to call before bedtime. He always did and talked to each of the children to say goodnight to them.

This night, he never called.

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Though no one can go back and make a brand new start,

Anyone can start now and make a brand new ending.

Anonymous

THREE

The door to the Baker law firm was never as heavy as it was this morning when Fran leaned on it. She pushed with all her might and dragged her heavy feet across the door jamb. It wasn’t that her body was so weak but that her dread and anxiety made her want to curl up in bed and pull the covers over her head. She did not feel like interacting with all the