Breana’s Full Circle

By J. Elaine Cottrell

Sometimes life presents predicaments so difficult and worrisome it seems we’ll never see our way through them. We may even feel like giving up. But when we persevere through it all, we eventually realize all those obstacles, all those trials, are only stepping-stones to get us where we need to be. That’s why we must hold on and pray for strength and patience.

Author J. Elaine Cottrell’s Breana’s Full Circle is the story of a little girl whose life began on the rough side of the mountain. Abandoned at eight months by her mother, Breana is placed in foster care, where she is abused and bullied. Her situation finally brightens when Ambassador Henry Noble and his wife, Penelope, adopt the young girl. Breana thrives in her loving, happy home—it’s her dream come true. The family’s joy is short-lived. Breana, the love of her family’s life, is kidnapped, severely beaten, and left for dead.

Breana’s Full Circle is the remarkable story of overcoming adversity. Despite all she suffers through, she fights back to win the hearts of many, including the love of her life, and discovers a secret that will change her forever. We can all learn from Breana’s strength and faith.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jan 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781480823075

J. Elaine Cottrell

J. Elaine Cottrell was born and raised in Jamaica West Indies and later migrated to New York. She is a retired nurse and currently resides in Florida, where she is surrounded by her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. She is a devout Christian, meaning she loves all God’s people without discrimination.

Book preview

Prologue

ST. ALBANS, NEW YORK

SEPTEMBER 1943

T he leaves had started to change from green to bright yellow. Some were golden brown and had fallen to the ground. Pedestrians covered their heads with knitted hats, and pulled their coats around them attempting protection against the chilly air as they moved briskly along the streets. The whistle from the Long Island Rail Road train signaled six o’clock am, and the streets came alive as people bustled through their daily routine. Oh yes, life continues marching forward, even as World War II raged on, and the two day riot in Harlem was slowly becoming a distant memory…babies need birthing, children need rearing, and people need to work and rest…that’s life!

The aroma of coffee and fresh bagels from a café, near the local fire station filled the frosty morning air. Firefighters assembled inside the Station for their daily briefing. They sat around the table and talked, drank coffee, and discussed the weather.

Captain Maxwell took off his hat. He passed his hand over his curly red hair and brushed it backward, revealing the freckles on the fair skin across his forehead.

I hope we have a better winter than what we had last year? he said to one of the firemen, sitting across the room. "Saints preserve us. What a time it was, aye Billy Boy! You remember, don’t ya?

I sure do. I had to cancel my vacation and come in to work that day. Boy was Mary angry; she screamed like a banshee, when I told her the trip to Florida was off.

Oh yeah! I had to pull my men in from vacation and days off to keep up with the demand, said Maxwell. Just thinking of that bitter cold and horrid snow storm is enough to shiver mi timbers. Maxwell lifted his cup and proceeded drinking.

Mm—good coffee, he said as he drained the last drop and sat the cup on the table.

He started walking out of the fire house. On his way outside, Billy shouted, Hey Maxwell, come to think of it, I should hold you responsible for everything that’s gone wrong in mi marriage; after all, it all began that day you called me into work. Tis on the couch I slept many o’ nights, I tell ya!

William O’Connor! That’s blarney, and you know it! Mary ain’t no fool, is she? If you got troubles in yo marriage, blame it on that coffee o’ yours yo always carry in ya flask!

Aye! That’s hitting below the belt Maxwell McGovern. You got a sharp tongue, and coming from one who claims to be my friend no-less. What would ya be saying then if ya were my enemy?

Maxwell laughed out loud, Billy, yo know I don’t mean anything by it. What’s the matter with yo?

Maxwell walked outside, chuckling. His breath created puffs of smoke into the cold morning air. He lit a cigarette, and he walked to the side of the building.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph! he cried out. Fellas, come out here an’ see this!

Billy was the first to reach outside, adjusting his coat as he walked out.

What is it Chief? He asked as he hurried to Maxwell’s side.

Maxwell was standing over a baby carriage. Billy quickly walked over and looked inside. He saw a baby lying fast asleep. She was dressed in a pink snow suite and covered with a pink blanket.

Oh sweet Jesus! he exclaimed, I wonder how long this poor little thing has been lyin’ here?

It had to be since early morning, Maxwell responded, I felt the carriage, and the top of it is dry. If it had been overnight, it would have been wet with dew.

They took the carriage inside the fire house. The movement and voices woke the child. Maxwell picked up the baby, and she started crying. He held her over his shoulder and walked back and forth. He shook her gently as he sang, ‘When Irish Eyes are smiling.’

Billy sat at the far end of the table, listening. Maxwell hit a false note, and Billy said,

Jesus Christ Maxwell; what sort of howling is that to the wee one? Your gray eyes may be smiling, but that singing o’ yours is worse than the bawling o’ the young lass!

Ya think ya can do better then, Billy boy? Let’s see ya bring ya pipe over here and soothe her then. How ‘bout it?

Maxwell looked inside the carriage, and he found a clothing bag. He opened up the bag and inside was some baby clothes, an envelope, and a pink feeding bottle filled with apple juice. He picked up the bottle and started feeding the baby, and she drank it all. When he opened the envelope, he found a key chain and a note inside. The key chain had letters on one side which read HHN, and the Rolls-Royce logo on the other side. He read the contents of the note.

‘This is Breana, my baby. She is eight months old. I can no longer take care of her. Please find her a good home. I have nothing of value to give her, except this key chain.’

All the firefighters gathered around her. They made funny faces and weird sounds in an effort to calm her down, but she cried more. While the group of men entertained the child, Chief Maxwell called the police. A short time later, two police officers arrived. The officers questioned everyone that was on the premises, and within close proximity of the fire station. Unfortunately, no one claimed to know the child nor to whom she belonged. The officers contacted the ‘Children’s Aid Society.’

* * *

Almost mid-morning, a white station wagon drove up in front of the fire station.

A woman of average height and medium frame got out of the station wagon. Her auburn hair was cut to shoulder length, and her bangs lay against taut ivory skin on her face. She wore a blue coat that complimented the color of her eyes, and purple plum lipstick graced her thin lips. Her high top black boots and a calf length coat were just right for the morning weather. She walked up to the building, and Maxwell met her by the door.

Good morning! I’m Elsie Tucker from the Foundling Hospital, she said.

Top o’ the day to you Miss Tucker! I’m Maxwell McGovern. He said as they shook hands. What a shame it is to bring such a bonnie lass out on a morning like this.

Thank you Mr. Maxwell, but that’s okay; when duty calls I do obey. My main office down town received a call from the Children’s Aid Society. They said someone had abandoned a baby on your premises. Since my home is not too far away, my supervisor called me. I got the call just as I was getting ready to leave for the office.

I do appreciate ya getting here so fast. Where’s ya office?

It’s at the Foundling Hospital on Avenue of the Americas in Manhattan.

Oh yea, I’ve heard of the place. He looked at the baby. She’s been crying up a storm, she has…since I found her.

Mrs. Tucker walked over to the carriage and looked inside.

Well, who have we here? she said, as she picked up the baby.

We found this note among her belongings, said Maxwell.

He touched Breana’s cheek and said, Who could have done this to such a wee one? And a pretty one she is.

Indeed, she is beautiful, said Elsie.

She read the note; then, she looked at the key chain.

This might be important. I’ll save it for her.

A good thing it is that you’re doing, looking after these poor unfortunate waifs, like you do, Miss Tucker.

We do try, Mr. Maxwell, with the help of good citizens such as you.

I cannot begin to imagine how anyone could just put down an innocent baby and walk away, just like that. said Maxwell in a disparaging tone.

Mr. Maxwell, you would be surprised. Some of these mothers see this as their only alternative, and they carry that burden with them for the rest of their lives. The mother is just as much a victim as the child sometimes.

And even so, they keep on doing it. Why?

Mrs. Tucker began to bundle the baby up for departure; she said, There are several reasons that could contribute to the situation. Immigration status, poverty, and poor housing conditions are the main factors. Sometimes the best thing for the child is to be placed with a family who is capable of providing proper care.

Maxwell scratched his head. I can understand the reasons for wanting to give the child up, but why this way?

Because it’s done without any questions asked. Elsie replied.

She picked up the bag with the clothes and started walking toward the station wagon. Maxwell followed behind her with the carriage. She positioned Breana in the car and said goodbye.

* * *

It was almost noon when Elsie reached her office with Breana. The place was buzzing with activity as the other workers tackled their caseloads. Breana was fast asleep as Elsie walked towards her desk. Before she sat down, another worker noticed the beautiful baby.

Oh my goodness! she said in a high pitched motherese. Who is this?

Hi Connie, she was left outside a fire station in St Albans this morning. Isn’t she beautiful?

Oh yes she is! Was there a note or anything? Breana began to wake up by the noisy environment.

Yeah, her name is Breana, Elsie Tucker said, as she showed Connie the note.

She then placed the key chain next to the typewriter. Breana began fidgeting which quickly turned into crying.

Here, I’ll get her changed and fed; while you get her papers started.

Thanks Connie.

As Connie took Breana away, Elsie proceeded to start her file. She typed in the case number and the date. When she came upon ‘Child’s Name’, she paused. She looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. ‘Breana…Doe?’ She thought; she unconsciously picked up the key chain and began twirling it around her index finger. Looking at the key chain, she read, Rolls Royce.

Royce, Breana Royce.

She was pleased with the name and started typing as she said aloud - BRE-ANA ROYCE! The baby’s complexion was very fair and her hair was dark and straight. Mrs. Tucker typed, Race Caucasian…Sex…Female. I think that’ll do for now, what she really needs is a good home she said as she walked over to the filing cabinets. She selected three files; after reviewing all three, she made her choice and soon Breana became a part of the foster care system.

Chapter One

O ver the years, the agency frequently moved Briana from one foster home to another.

She suffered many abuses and neglect at the hands of her foster parents and her peers. When she was only four years old, her then foster mother, Jean Simmons, was a recovering alcoholic. She treated Breana fairly well, and Breana liked her. Breana had a favorite book, Jewels of the Caribbean. In this book, a family played together, built sand castles on the beach, and the father took his family sailing and fishing.

Jean frequently read this book to Breana. She listened attentively and longed to be a part of that family and go sailing on the ocean.

One evening, Jean sat with Breana on the couch in the living room. Breana had just brought the book for Jean to read to her. Suddenly, there was a knock at the front door. Jean handed the book back to Breana, and she went to answer the door.

She started to open the door. Then immediately she started bracing against it—attempting to close it again.

Jean! shouted a voice from the other side of the door. Jean, open this door before I tear it down with my bare hands!

The shouting prolonged, and Jean continued to brace against the door. A man Breana did not recognized pushed his way into the house. Jean shouted,

What in hell do you want with me? Get out of my house, or I’ll call the police!

The police, Jean! said the sandy haired man wearing dark glasses, and a red plaid shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. We all know how that works! he continued to say. You belong to me! I have the right to come and go as I please! Now why don‘t you just be a good girl and make it easy on yourself. I can make your life a living hell if I want, and you can‘t do a damn thing about it!

He removed the dark glasses from his face. His eyes were as red as crimson, and his face was chafed by the sun. He staggered towards Jean, ignoring Breana’s presence.

Breana! Jean shouted, Go to your room, and lock your door now! And don’t come out unless I call you!

Breana was terrified. She ran into her room, clutching the book in her arms, and she closed the door behind her. She could hear them arguing and yelling at each other.

Then, she heard them scuffling, and they hit the floor with a big bang. Jean started screaming.

Get away from me! Get away from me!

Then her voice got muffled, and the sounds that followed were indescribable by the four year old. When the scuffling stopped, Breana peeked through the crevice of the door.

She saw her foster mother lying on the floor, crying. Her orange pants were lying on the floor next to her, and her cream colored blouse was ripped down the front and at the sleeves. She had scratches and bruises all over her body. The room was in disarray, and the coffee table was split in half. She watched the intruder walk toward the door. As he reached the door, he stopped, zipped up his blue jeans, and turned around as he shouted at Jean. You are my wife! I only took what I had coming to me!

"One of these days you’ll get what’s really coming to you!" she shouted back.

I hope I’ll be there, so I can spit in your face, you son of a bitch! You’re an animal!

He looked at her smugly, and he said, Thank you Ma’am. It has always been a pleasure. Till the next time, ciao baby.

He lit a cigarette and walked out, slamming the door behind him. Breana sat down behind her bedroom door. She was trembling. Assuming the man was gone, she cracked the door just enough to look out. She watched Jean as she got up and limped into the bathroom. She heard the water running for a long time. After a while, Jean came out, carrying a full bottle of liquor. She sat down at the table, and started drinking.

After she finished drinking, she started searching the cabinets. As she fumbled around, she knocked things over without stopping to pick them up.

She found another bottle under the kitchen sink. She took a glass and walked back to the kitchen table. She sat down and continued to pour and drink.

* * *

Breana had not eaten since she had breakfast. It was getting dark outside and past her usual dinner time. She left her room and started to walk into the kitchen in the dark. When she turned the light on, she saw Jean sitting with her head down on the table. Her brown hair was disheveled, and her arm was wrapped around a half-empty bottle of vodka. She lifted her head as Breana walked into the room. Her lips were swollen, and her face was black and blue around the eyes. Breana was horrified by the sight of her. Through bloodshot eyes, she looked at Breana.

What are you staring at you little wench? She screamed, I told you to stay in the room until I called you! I sure as hell did not call you!

Breana was startled and shaken by Jean’s cruel words. Her eyes bulged and she trembled in fear.

I don’t know why I even bother! Jean said before taking another swig of liquor.

You can’t even follow simple directions! That’s why your own mother didn’t want you! I’m going to call that woman to come and take you out of here. I can’t put up with you anymore! You don’t know how to listen. I don’t need any of this shit! I have my own problems! she said, with slurred speech and put her head down on the table.

Those words cut through Breana’s heart like sharp blades. Scared and confused, she ran back to her room and sat in a corner. She clutched her book tightly to her chest. She felt alone with no one to comfort her. She cried, but there was no one to hear; no one to care.

It got darker outside. A dingy yellow nightgown with a large chocolate stain on the front lay crumbled on the bed. She held it up and looked at it; then she put it on and climbed into bed. Since there was no one to read to her that night, she opened the book to her favorite story and looked at the pictures. While hunger pangs gripped at her stomach, she started singing a song she had learned at a former foster home. By the Sea, by the Sea, by the Beautiful Sea…

Sleep was approaching, and her voice was fading. She repeated the song over and over until she drifted off to sleep. Jean got up from the table and went into her bedroom carrying the liquor with her. She poured herself another drink, took a big gulp, and sat the glass down on the nightstand. She then reached into the drawer for a pack of cigarettes. She took one of the cigarettes; she lit it and lay in bed as she smoked. She took the glass and drank some more. Attempting to replace the glass, she misjudged the distance, and the drink fell to the floor. She kept puffing the cigarette until she fell asleep. The cigarette fell from her hand to the floor where the drink had spilled. A fire started and soon, the whole house was filled with smoke.

Breana was awakened by the smell of smoke, as it seeped under her door. Fortunately, the window to her room was cracked open. She jumped off the bed and ran to the open window.

Help, help me! Fire! she cried.

The neighbors heard her from the open window, and someone called for the fire department.

When the fire fighters arrived and worked their way into the house, they found Breana still clutching her book. She was unconscious and lying on the floor. One of the fire fighters brought her outside and tried to resuscitate her. She was revived and taken to the hospital by ambulance.

The fire was brought under control, but unfortunately, Jean perished. Breana was sent to another foster home. She was traumatized by the ordeal, and for many months she did not speak. Because of this, she endured ridicule from the neighborhood children.

They knocked stones together as they yelled, Hey dummy, or hey dumb – dumb!

They pinched her just to see if she could cry.

Dummy has no feelings, they shouted.

She stayed in therapy for many months. By the time Breana turned five years old, Mrs. Tucker had been the only constant person in her life. One day, she paid a routine visit to Breana. Upon her arrival, Breana was sitting on a couch by the window in the living room. She saw the white station wagon stop in front of her house.

Mrs. Tucker, she shouted.

Then she ran to the door to meet her. Mrs. Tucker reached for her and hugged her tightly.

Oh, Breana it’s so good to hear your voice again.

Breana looked up at her. I love you Mrs. Tucker, and I missed you.

I love you too Breana; I’m so pleased to hear you say that.

She was elated to hear someone say, ‘I love you’ to her.

As she grew older, her complexion got darker, and waves in her long black hair rippled down her back. She was gorgeous. Nevertheless, she did not have many friends; because, she moved around so often, she was always losing the few she did make. She struggled with the feeling of abandonment and despair. Even so, she found some comfort in finding a quiet place where she could read and sometimes daydream.

* * *

By age eleven, Breana had become so accustomed to moving from one home to another, she considered it a way of life. Early one morning, Mrs. Tucker visited.

Breana, how are you?

I’m fine Mrs. Tucker. Why are you here so early?

Well, there have been some changes. You won’t be able to live here anymore, so I’ve come to get you. I’m sorry I wasn‘t able to prepare you for this, but something came up, and I have to move quickly.

Breana knew the routine. She went to her room and packed her suitcase.

Any place might be better than here. I’d like to live with people who’ll give me more than clothes and food, she mumbled. When she finished packing, she went into the living room where Mrs. Tucker waited for her.

I’m ready Mrs. Tucker, she said, flatly.

Breana was quiet during the entire trip. She stared blankly out the window. The beautiful scenery went unnoticed. Mrs. Tucker tried to cheer her up.

I’m sure you’ll love it there. She said, Mrs. White is very nice, and there’s a park just down the street from the house.

Breana struggled to maintain her composure. In a soft tone, she said,

Yes Ma’am.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she gazed through the car window. After they had driven for a while, they arrived at Mrs. White’s house. It was made of red bricks with the wood-works painted in white. It was located at the corner of Highland Avenue in Jamaica Estates. On the inside, frilly white crisscross curtains draped to perfection in front of two large bay windows. The lawn was beautifully manicured, and a tall pine tree grew on the front lawn.

A Bougainvillea plant grew at the base of the pine tree, twined around the trunk, and lavishly covered to the top with bright magenta colored flowers. Breana was fascinated by its beauty.

When Mrs. Tucker rang the doorbell, a woman of medium stature opened the door. Her platinum hair was brushed, neatly braided, and wrapped around the top of her head. She wore a white apron tied around a paisley green dress. In a voice as smooth as honey, she said, Come in Mrs. Tucker I’ve been expecting you. Mrs. Tucker stepped into the foyer.

Mrs. White, this is Breana Royce. Breana, this is Mrs. White. She’ll be looking after you. I‘ve known her for many years, and I would trust her with my own child. I’ve been waiting to place you with her for a long time.

The house was warm and had a sweet fragrance like apple cinnamon. As Mrs. White reached out to welcome her, Breana noticed her complexion was fair with a few age spots on the back of her hands. Her skin was as soft as velvet.

I’m glad you’re here Breana. I’ve been hearing so much about you. It’s nice to finally meet you. You’re just as beautiful as I heard.

Thank you, Ma’am, Breana said softly.

Come, I’ll show you to your room. It’s upstairs.

Breana followed her upstairs into the room. She was pleased with this room; because, from there she could see what had already become her favorite tree. Beautiful magenta flowers started from the base almost to the top of the tree. While she unpacked and put her belongings away, Mrs. Tucker went up to the room.

Breana, I’m leaving. I came to say goodbye. Everything will be fine now.

She cradled Breana’s face with her hands. Looking her in the eyes, she said,

Now I’m sure that you’ll be getting the care I have always wanted for you.

Breana gave her a little smile when she heard that. Mrs. Tucker said,

If you need me for anything at all, you know I’ll be here for you.

She hugged Breana, and she turned to leave the room. Just before Elsie walked out, Breana called out to her.

Mrs. Tucker?

Elsie turned around, Yes Breana.

Thank you for everything that you did for me.

You’re quite welcome my dear.

She watched Elsie walked away. She sat on the bed, and feelings of being deserted started to surface. She thought of all that had happened in her life, and she broke down and cried.

Oh God, what did I do? Why does no one want me? Even my own mother never wanted me. The girls at school have mothers. They laugh at me; because, my mother walked away. If I was good enough, maybe they would like me, she said softly to herself.

She cried herself to sleep. By the time she woke up, it seemed to her that she was only in the room for a short time, but it was late. She slept past dinnertime.

Mrs. White went upstairs to the room and knocked on the door.

Breana, are you alright?

I’m sorry, Ma’am. I must have fallen asleep. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.

That’s alright child. I know that you had a rough day, but you have to eat.

I’ll be right down Ma’am.

All right dear, there’s no rush.

Breana went to the bathroom. She looked in the mirror, and she cleaned her face. ‘At least she sounds like she’s concerned about me,’ she thought. After she finished in the bathroom, she went downstairs.

Come, sit down dear. Mrs. White said, I have already eaten while you were resting; however, I’ll have a cup of tea with you. I know it’s late, so I fixed you something light.

Breana walked over to the table and sat down. She lifted the cover from the food.

On the plate, there was a ham sandwich with lettuce and tomato and a glass of milk.

While Breana ate, Mrs. White kept the conversation light, telling her about the neighborhood and the parks nearby. She ate half of the sandwich and drank half of the milk, and she started to clear the table.

Oh, don’t bother dear said Mrs. White, I’ll take care of it later. Come sit with me in the den. They both walked into the den and sat on the sofa. "So, tell me about yourself.

All I know about you is what I heard from Mrs. Tucker."

Breana hung her head down. She did not speak.

Did I say something wrong dear? I didn‘t mean to make you uncomfortable,

No Ma’am, you didn’t. It’s just that I really don’t have anything to say about myself. No one ever asked me before.

She remained shy and quiet around Mrs. White. During their first week together, she only spoke when she was spoken to, but Mrs. White did not give up. One night after dinner, Breana was sitting at the kitchen table picking at her dessert. Mrs. White was washing the dinner dishes. How was the school you attended? Did you have many friends?" she asked Breana, hoping she would open up to her. Breana had a blank look on her face as she responded,

They laughed at me.

Mrs. White was confused. She put the last plate in the dish rack and turned around as she dried her hands off on her apron.

Who laughed at you?

All the kids… Tears trickled down Breana’s face, as her eyes locked on her cake. …at school, they laugh at me and call me names. They say I came out of a pumpkin patch. They called me dummy, and even said that my own mother didn’t want me.

Mrs. White listened attentively, and her heart ached for the child. She took Breana by the hand and said, Come with me. I want you to see something.

She walked her into the living room and stood in front of a mirrored wall.

Look in that mirror, so you can see what I see, said Mrs. White, The person you described does not exist. When I look at you, I see a beautiful child who will soon become a stunning young woman. You are a good person. Those people who said those things to you are wrong.

Mrs. White told her that a good person does not hurt other people, so the ones who treated her poorly—they are the ones who need adjusting. They did those things to hurt her because they saw something good in her.

You are a challenge to them, she said, If they can get you to doubt yourself that cuts their battle to measure up to you by half. Do not make them win. Believe in yourself. You are Breana; you are beautiful; you are smart, and you are worthy of everything good. Now stand up straight, chin up and say after me, I’m Breana; I’m beautiful; I’m smart, and I’m worthy of good things.

When Breana repeated the statement, Mrs. White said, Now promise me you will always remember that.

Yes Ma’am, I promise.

Well,   Breana had a comfortable night’s sleep, and she was up with the sun the next morning. I’ll let you take today to get yourself together; then tomorrow, we’ll go to the school and have you registered. This way you won’t miss too many days. Mrs. White said.

Yes Ma’am. She said, smiling.

However, she was concerned with how she would be accepted by her peers. ‘It might be different kids with the same attitude.’ That thought breezed through her mind.

The first few days of school went smoothly. Then it became evident that she would only speak when she was spoken to. She kept to herself. Eventually, it became known that she was a foster child, and her troubles began.

You have no parents. No one wants you around, they shouted at her on the playground. They called her names like, ‘Orphan’. They threw spitballs at her and tied her long locks of hair to the back of her chair. This went on for weeks, yet she never fought back until one day in the lunch room. Breana picked up her lunch tray and started walking to her seat when one of the girls stuck her foot out and tripped her. She fell face down on the floor, and bit her tongue. It started to bleed, and no one helped her.

Finally, she got to her feet and picked up a carton of milk that had fallen from her tray. She calmly opened it as the other kids looked on. She walked over to the girl that tripped her and she poured it over the girl’s head. The girl’s blonde hair was saturated. The milk flooded over her pale face, and her blue eyes saw red. The milk trickled down her chest and onto her purple colored blouse. She grabbed Breana by the collar and started punching her, and for the first time Breana fought back. Breana kicked this girl in the shin. She attempted to bend over to grab hold of her leg, but Breana blocked her with a swift kick to her backside. She fell to the floor, and in a minute the pale faced girl was purple. All the children in the cafeteria started uproariously chanting, Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!

Mr. Eubanks was a teacher assigned to the cafeteria that day. He was so enthralled with a magazine he was looking through that he failed to notice the girls until it was too late. He rushed toward them shouting Stop it! Stop it!

The children shouted. She started it! She started it! as they pointed to Breana.

She said nothing in her defense. Mr. Eubanks took her to the principal’s office. Principal Rowe, apparently in his late fifties, sat behind a large mahogany desk. Locks of brown curly hair tousled over his forehead and lay softly against his narrow face. His mustache was neatly trimmed; he had a way of playing with his thinly shaped beard, which adorned his chin like a goatee, when he disapproved of something. Mr. Eubanks knocked on the door. Mr. Rowe looked over his gold round rim eyeglasses. Come in. he said, sighing at the interruption.

Mr. Eubanks opened the door and pushed Breana in the room then he followed her in. The small mousy man stood behind her. His torso was narrow, and his dark hair was prominently parted to one side and combed over. I’ve got a troublemaker here for you Mr. Rowe, he said in a gruff voice trying to sound intimidating.

What kind of trouble did SHE make Mr. Eubanks? asked Mr. Rowe, with a hard accent straight out of the Bronx.

She was fighting in the cafeteria, Sir.

With whom was she fighting?

She was fighting with some—other girl in the cafeteria.

Then why isn’t her opponent here, too?

Well, everybody said she started the whole thing, Sir.

Mr. Rowe started playing with his beard. He thumbed the desk top with his fingers and leaned backward in his chair.

Mr. Eubanks…, he said, you may go back to your post now; I’m sure I’ll be able to handle this big bad agitator that you shoved into my office.

Disgruntled by the tone of Mr. Rowe’s admonishment, Mr. Eubanks turned swiftly and walked out of the room. I get no respect…no matter what I do, he said, as he tramped down the hall.

Mr. Rowe motioned to Breana to sit on a chair on the opposite side of his desk.

Well Breana, this behavior is not in line with your character; tell me what happened?

Breana said nothing. Her robust cheeks now wet with tears. Blood from her injured tongue spilled on the front of her white blouse. She hung her head and fondled with the hem of her blue and black plaid skirt. Her white tights were torn from the knees down to her legs, and her black patent leather shoes were scuffed all over.

Breana, I cannot help you if you do not speak to me, said Mr. Rowe. Don’t be afraid. I won’t bite. I promise, he said, in an effort to lighten up the situation.

I didn’t start it as they said. The girl tripped me and I fell. I tried to defend myself, and they all turned on me. Why bother saying anything. I know that no one cares. Every day after class, I walk the halls, scared! Look at me! I’m the one who’s bleeding, yet no one seems to care! Breana was shaking.

Now wait a minute, Breana, calm down. Don’t assume that no one cares. I’ve noticed that you’ve been withdrawn, but I never knew why. I was waiting for the opportunity to present itself for me to find out.

He paused for a response; she gave none. If you ever need to talk, I’m here for you. I’ll have the nurse examine you and call someone to come and get you. The next time something like this happens, do not retaliate. You come to me, and let me take care of it, deal?

Breana hesitated, holding her eyes to the floor; she managed to whimper, Yes, Sir.

You are excused from class for the rest of the day. You can wait here for your guardian to come and take you home.

As time went by, she adjusted fairly well. She made some friends, while others continued to harass her. In spite of it all, she flourished academically.

She was now 14 years old, and graduation from middle school was just around the corner. As she was getting ready for school one morning, Mrs. White called out to her from another room, Breana! she said, The money to pay for your cap and gown is on the table! You have to take it in today!

Yes, Ma’am, I’ll remember.

I can’t believe it’s graduation time already. Mrs. White mumbled beneath her breath.

Breana walked out of the room. Just before she started descending the stairs, Mrs. White came out of her room.

Well, ‘Miss Soon To Be Graduate,’ don’t you look polished this morning in that fresh uniform. You were eleven when you came to live with me. Now you’re getting ready to go to high school. And didn’t I tell you what a beautiful young lady you would be?

Did you really mean it when you said I was beautiful?

Of course I did, and I still do. I wouldn’t have said it otherwise. And you get prettier every day. Now run along before you miss the bus, and don‘t forget the money.

Yes, Ma’am, I won’t forget.

Graduation day finally came. Breana and Mrs. White were in the kitchen. I think you should have a nice breakfast. Lunch time might be a little hurried, Mrs. White suggested. Nonetheless, Breana sat motionless, deep in her thoughts. Mrs. White sat down next to her. A Saturday afternoon in June is a pleasing time for graduation, especially for someone who is graduating at the top of her class, so why the long face?

Nothing, Breana answered, flatly.

Don’t say it’s nothing honey. Something is bothering you. What is it?

It’s just that sometimes I get tired of not having a family with a mom and dad like everyone else. This is supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life, yet I feel so alone.

Just as Breana was wallowing in self-pity, she quickly realized how she may have sounded. She turned to look at Mrs. White, and she began to apologize fiercely.

Oh, Mrs. White, I didn’t mean…

Mrs. White stopped her. She said, Never mind honey; I know what you’re saying. I want you to have that too. Someday God will give you the desire of your heart. She gave her a reassuring hug.

I just don’t understand; why can‘t someone adopt me?

Mrs. White said, Being part of a family is important, and I would like to see you have that. However, your circumstances do not make you less important. It makes you unique, so you go and accept your honors in your name. That name will be on everybody’s tongue long after the graduation.

Hmm, I guess so. Breana said half-heartedly, Would you help me with my hair?

Well certainly my dear. I’d be delighted.

She was dressed in a scarlet gown trimmed with fine ivory lace down the front; scooped neckline in front and finished in a V at the back; a high waistline finished with a satin bow in front. Her shoes complimented her dress, and her hair was tied in a ponytail with a scarlet ribbon.

Oh Breana, you look fabulous, wait right here.

Mrs. White left the room then quickly returned. The only thing missing…is this.

She slipped a corsage on Breana’s wrist.

This is beautiful. I love it, Breana said admiring the corsage. You’re the best, Mrs. White. They embraced each other, and they left for the graduation ceremony.

Breana was taken by surprise when they arrived. Many of the students, who were never close to Breana, complimented her on how beautiful she looked. During the commencement, each time Breana’s name was called for an award or certificate, Mrs. White stood up and cheered like a proud parent as Breana walked to the podium for the acceptance.

On the ride home…Mrs. White said, Breana, someday when this society is awakened to the knowledge of God’s love and acceptance, you will be in your proper place of honor. You deserved to be valedictorian today, but don’t worry; your day will come."

Summer seemed to slip by rapidly. Breana started attending Hillcrest Senior High School. She was cautious around her peers, for they still treated her with indifference, but they were less taunting.

So how was school today, young lady? Mrs. White asked, on Breana’s first evening home from high school.

Well today was good. I even dropped a book accidentally, and I started to pick it up. A boy that was standing nearby picked it up and handed it to me. He smiled at me too, she smirked.

Oh…you see? You’re making friends already.

Well, it’s only the first day. They always wait a few days before they turn on me.

Don’t you start thinking negative now, Mrs. White said, while lifting a fresh baked cookie from the baking sheet. You’re going to have a wonderful year. Here, have a cookie.

Mmm! Chocolate chips! My favorite, thanks! she said, taking the cookie from Mrs. White. She bit into it, eyeing the cookie sheet as if to take another.

Don’t spoil your appetite; dinner will be ready in half an hour. Take a little milk to wash that cookie down.

Yes Ma’am.

And you can start setting the table when you’re through.

Yes Ma’am.

Life was comfortable for her at Mrs. White’s house, and her peers had started to become more tolerant. However, secretly she still hoped for adoption, preferably by Mrs. White.

Chapter Two

P enny Noble sat in front of the mirror in her bedroom. From across the room, her husband, Henry watched in admiration as she brushed her strawberry blonde hair until it glistened under the light.

How do you stay so beautiful every day? he droned. That porcelain skin of yours with that pink tinge on your cheeks and…"

That’s from your mother pinching them all the time, she interrupted with a smirk.

Well, mother is no more. She’s gone, and your cheeks are still rosy, and who’s responsible for the sparkles in those smoky grey eyes?

Penny got up from her vanity and moved closer to him. You do that sweetheart, only you, by loving me completely, She walked over and sat on his lap. I’m ready to share that affection with a child.

Oh! Are you trying to tell me something my dear?

You know it seems like we’ve been waiting forever to adopt a baby. Twice we came close, and the birth-mothers changed their minds. I still can’t believe it. she said.

Yes, I feel the same way, but we can’t give up hope. said Henry.

Who’s talking about giving up? Far from it! Mrs. Tucker from the Foundling Hospital called.

Oh really! What did she say?

Well she wanted to know if we would be interested in adopting a teenager.

A teenager? Henry asked in a voice one octave higher. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Penny. How would you feel about that? he asked.

Well, I was reading an article in the paper. It said that it’s difficult to find parents for older children, and it got me really thinking. At this point, it may be wise to consider an older child; especially, since we’re planning to live outside the country for a while. What do you think?

Well, I never thought of an older child. Teenagers can be trouble, he thought, but seeing the hope and longing on his wife’s face, he figured that he‘d take the chance.

"All I need is a child to love, and I would love a teenager just as easy as I