In the Midst of Us

By Susan E. Lewis

When Marc Brown first moves to Cedar Knob, Arkansas, he hopes to find relief from the memories of his pas abuse and drunkenness and the fire that killed his mom. But uncomfortable memories start to resurface when a mysterious creature from Marcs childhood reappears on the very day Maylee Kunchai from Thailand arrives in Cedar Knob. It is no coincidence that Maylee and Marc are living in Cedar Knob at the same time, nor is it without purpose that the creature is there as well. The two teenagers find themselves caught up in the sinister plans of people who should have been trustworthy. Then when a natural disaster strikes their small town, both the evil and the good are shaken. Marc and Maylee discover that sometimes it takes difficult life battles to determine who is strong and who is not.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Feb 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9781973617259

Susan E. Lewis

In the Midst of Us is Susan E. Lewiss first young adult novel. Her writing experience comes from fifteen years of writing curriculum for junior high and high school reading, English, and Bible classes as well as writing and directing three high school plays. Her involvement with young adults for many years provided a valuable foundation for writing this novel tale for young adults. She is a member of the Society of Childrens Book Writers and Illustrators. When Susan is not writing, she indulges in reading, cooking, eating, and traveling, all of which she considers great inspirations for her next story.

Book preview

1

March 1977

Marc Brown: The Creature—Again

Walking down the rural road with my fishing pole in hand, I glanced up at the tall pines that were swaying in the midmorning breeze. That was when I saw it. The creature sat on top of the Jacksons’ farmhouse—watching.

That sight threw me behind the nearest grove of pines, my heart beating with freight train speed. Can the creature hear me? Am I breathing too loud?

I wondered if it had seen me, if the creature would recognize me. It had been ten years since my last encounter with the creature. After all those years and the distance I had traveled, how did it find me?

I thought about escaping through the woods, but something inside me needed to know if the creature had seen where I was hiding. The azalea bushes surrounding the pine trees were in full bloom, providing cover as I leaned out to see if the creature was still there.

It was.

Its large wings were folded down by its bulky side. Its head, humanlike with strong eyes, didn’t look my way at all but stared at a girl walking toward the Jacksons’ front porch. Stay quiet, Marc. Don’t make any sudden moves.

As I watched it, the creature turned and looked directly at me.

I whipped my head back into the shadow of the trees, beads of perspiration confirming the panic trying to take over. Stupid! Why did I take the chance of looking again? Clinching the fishing pole, I thought about using it as a weapon. But in my previous experiences with the creature, it had never hurt me. That memory helped me gather enough courage to force one more look around the tree. This time, the creature was gone.

But—gone where?

That question echoed the fear I had walked with for the past ten years.

Could it possibly have moved even closer to me? I peered into the bushes that lined the wooded area where I hid, hoping I wouldn’t see eyes glowing back at me. I saw only leaves and branches. My tension eased.

With the creature gone, my thoughts wandered to the girl it had been watching. She stood with a lady on the Jacksons’ front porch. I assumed the girl was probably a foster child. The Jacksons, an elderly African American couple, already sponsored three foster children. I had seen them playing in the front yard and knew they were all young. However, this new girl was older and different. She was slim and had long dark hair in a braid hanging down her back. She wore a multi-colored dress that draped over one shoulder and almost touched her feet.

Marc Brown, what are you doing? Denver’s loud voice and sudden appearance caused my heart to thump wildly in my chest. My knees almost buckled. I leaned my head back against the tree, relieved it was only Denver.

Who are you spying on, you pervert? Denver squinted and looked across the road.

The two people on the porch had gone inside. I’m not sure why, but I didn’t want Denver to know about the new girl.

Come on. I left my hiding spot and walked quickly down the country road, away from the farmhouse, telling myself that Denver’s presence was reason enough for the creature to stay away. My mind tried to settle back on having a normal Saturday morning, fishing at the creek. I noticed Denver’s hands were empty. Where’s your fishing gear?

As we walked, Denver turned his head to the sun filtering through the pine branches. You’re late. I left it all at the creek to come look for you. What were you hiding for?

No reason, I mumbled. Having kept my past a secret that long, I wasn’t about to try to explain the creature then, especially to Denver.

Lately, Denver seemed to only tolerate going fishing with me. He showed up but often without his fishing gear. He seemed more interested in lazing in the sun, sunglasses always perched on his bony nose that was covered with freckles. His favorite pastime had become talking about people I didn’t even know.

For me, our friendship existed for convenience. I needed a friend who didn’t ask questions about my past. Before moving to Cedar Knob, Arkansas, I had spent time in a foster home while the authorities investigated my pa for a fire that destroyed our house in Pennsylvania. I had prayed many times for God to protect my mother from Pa. But it never happened. And then she was gone.

My temporary foster parents had said my mother was in a better place. But I sure couldn’t tell, and I still had to live with Pa when the judge cleared his name. We moved to rural Arkansas, a thousand miles from those awful memories. But my hidden anger traveled with me, and so did Pa’s problems. Then I started Cedar Knob High School and met Denver. He became a friend, of sorts. I knew he considered himself superior to me in most things, but I didn’t let that bother me. His reputation and ego made him easy to hide behind.

At least for a while.

Denver and I made our way down the road beside the dense tree line that ran along the edge of our neighborhood and the Jacksons’ farm. My favorite creek ran along the other side of the trees. I sent cautious glances into the surrounding bushes the entire way, hoping the creature was not there lurking, still watching. We turned to cut through the tree line, and soon I was relieved to reach my usual spot—a flat boulder that overhung the creek with dense brush all around. I relaxed and sat in the shadows against a tree that seemed to support the rock.

Denver had left his fishing pole stuck in a crack in the boulder. He sat beside his gear and pulled a cigarette and match from his shirt pocket. Lighting the cigarette, he took a puff then held it toward me. I glanced at it and shook my head. It was a routine we always went through.

My thoughts slipped back to the new girl at the Jacksons’ house. Why was the creature watching her? Maybe his presence wasn’t about me at all.

2

Maylee Kunchai: The Jacksons’ Farm

My arrival at the Jacksons’ house in Cedar Knob, Arkansas, was a blur. So many disturbing things had happened over the previous months. I felt like I was in a daze, and Mrs. Collier my social worker was walking me through everything, helping me find a new life.

Mrs. Collier and I walked up the front porch steps. Mrs. Jackson, this is Maylee. She’s the young girl I spoke to you about on the phone. She will be staying with you for a while.

The thin black woman I had seen standing at the door as we drove up smiled. Mr. Johnny and I are so glad she’s here, Mrs. Collier. Maylee can stay with us as long as she needs.

I looked around at the simple porch furniture and a wooden swing that was hanging and swaying in the morning breeze. Glancing back at Mrs. Jackson, I wondered if she knew why I was there.

As we walked inside the old farmhouse, I noticed three pairs of young eyes peeking above the back of a worn couch in the room off to the left. Fingertips in different shades of brown and tan surrounded their blinking eyes. Back home, the sight of children would make me smile, but smiling at that moment seemed impossible. I felt hollow inside. I knew my gaze was empty, but I felt no reason to put on a show. I was lonely and at a strange place that was not my home. Not yet.

Here are her papers, Mrs. Jackson. She has a few belongings in the case she brought with her, my social worker pointed out.

Whatever she needs, I’m sure we have plenty. The closets upstairs are full of clothes, shoes, and coats.

I felt my new foster mother’s eyes linger on me. I hadn’t said a word since arriving.

She led my social worker back toward the screen door. We’ll be just fine, Mrs. Collier. When will you be by for your first visit?

I looked up to see an older man with tight gray curls descending a staircase as he wiped his hands on a red handkerchief. A kind smile greeted me as he came stiffly down the stairs.

As soon as he stepped off the bottom step, the three round heads popped above the back of the couch. They came around and rushed toward the man they called Johnny. He grinned and patted each head.

Her name’s Maylee, piped the little blonde girl, about four years old.

She’s got her own suitcase, announced another girl—an Asian who looked to be a little older.

I don’t think she can talk. She ain’t said a word, proclaimed a dark-skinned boy about the same age as the little blonde. All three nodded in agreement and turned to look once again at the quiet newcomer.

The man named Johnny gently rubbed the boy’s coarse stubbly hair and smiled. Don’t you remember when you first came to us, Elias? I don’t think you said anything until the second afternoon when Miz Ruth brought out her best apple pie for you to taste. The young boy nodded with a big grin. Now you all go set down so I can greet our new friend.

The three ran back to their previous positions on the couch, eyes once again peering over the back edge, waiting to see what would happen next.

Can I take that for you, miss? Johnny pointed to the case in my hands.

I shook my head and drew the bag up tightly to my chest.

What will become of me? I didn’t ask that question when we lived in Thailand—my papa and me and the servants who took care of us. I didn’t even ask that question when we left Thailand and moved to Little Rock for Papa’s work at the university.

But then things changed. Papa had been taken away. And I was glad about that. But I was uncertain about the changes that were now unavoidable.

I would be staying at the Jacksons’ house in a small town a few hours west of Little Rock. My social worker wouldn’t tell me when I would see Papa again. She said it might be a while. I knew that was for the best. I couldn’t go back to the way life was.

My new foster father stood patiently at the bottom of the stairs.

Winking at the three pairs of young eyes, he said, We’re real glad you’ve come to stay with us, Maylee. Lunch will be ready soon, and Miz Ruth is a mighty good cook. How about I show you where your room is?

I hesitated. But Mrs. Jackson came back into the house like a rush of wind and took charge. I’ll take her up in a minute, Mr. Johnny. I want to chat with Maylee first.

Her efficient energy balanced Johnny Jackson’s calm and quiet nature. The three little ones nodded and turned to sit on their bottoms as my new foster mother steered me to a rocking chair by the front window. Light streamed into the sunny room. Flecks of colors warmed the wood floor under my feet.

Are you hungry, honey? Ruth Jackson’s voice was gentle and reminded me of my nanny back in Thailand.

Not especially, ma’am, I replied in a quiet voice.

The three little ones on the couch smiled and nodded their heads with approval. I had proven the new girl could talk.

I know this all feels strange and uncomfortable, but we want you to know that you are very welcome here. We’ll care for you like you’re one of our own until your family gets back on its feet.

She squeezed my arm gently, and my insecurities wobbled at her kindness. The tears I had vowed to hold in started to pour out in spite of myself. Then I was surrounded.

Don’t cry, please don’t cry, Maylee!

Tiny hands patted my arms. The little boy named Elias laid his head on my knees. The little blonde girl told me, I love you, Maylee. My tears poured even more.

At the end of the day, as I lay on the bed in the room that would be mine for many months, fear crowded in with the silent darkness. I didn’t know where Papa was. Did I even want to see him again? If I didn’t, what would become of me? But then I remembered those soft little hands, and I started to calm down, even smile. At least at the Jacksons’ house, I wouldn’t be alone.

3

Marc: The New Girl

Her name was Maylee, and the minute she walked through the entryway of Cedar Knob High School, the staring and gossiping began. She wore a brown and white dress, typical of many girls at school, but she could not hide her Asian look. A headscarf covered long jet-black hair. Her full eyebrows and pierced ears alluded to a wild intrigue that most boys noticed and even more girls despised. Standing with a group from my junior class, I noticed Maylee’s quietness and could only stare at the beautiful girl whose almond eyes were fastened straight ahead as she followed Mrs. Jackson into the school office.

Denver jabbed me. So that’s who you were gawking at Saturday. You should have told me, stupid.

The bell for first period rang, and the gossiping moved down the hall into multiple classrooms. About fifteen minutes later, the principal knocked on our classroom door and led the new student into the room.

She had already taken off the scarf which allowed the whole class to stare even more at her full face and almond eyes surrounded by dark lashes. She wore no make-up, a stark contrast to every other girl in the room whose black eyeliner and blue eye shadow were the norm.

After the principal left the room, Miss Granger, our teacher, made the formal announcement. Class, this is Maylee Kun—chai, she pronounced slowly, referring to the paper in her hand. Only slightly rattled, Miss Granger continued. She is from Thailand, a country we will be learning more about, now that Maylee will be a part of our class. Miss Granger pointed to a desk on the front row where Maylee should sit and then pulled down the world map to show