One Microsecond

By Wanda Carroll

In spite of Peter Jordan's best efforts to teach and protect his beautiful ten-year-old daughter, Jennifer, she is taken from him by a stranger in a red car. In one second, his life is changed forever. Peter works tirelessly with search and rescue to find her. Longing for his phone to ring with the words, "We found her. She is alive." Meanwhile, Tuffy, Jennifer's curly-haired black terrier sits on the window seat at home, watching and waiting for his mistress to come back. Will he ever see his special girl again? He misses her with his whole little heart, and whimpers as he waits with unfailing patience for his family to return. Through the unconditional love of a small black dog named Tuffy, the help of strangers who become friends, and the support of an entire community, Peter finds hope and purpose through service, faith, and love of others.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781644684122

Book preview

9781644684122_cover.jpg

One

MICROSECOND

It only takes a microsecond to change a life forever.

Wanda Carroll

ISBN 978-1-64468-411-5 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64468-412-2 (Digital)

Copyright © 2020 Wanda Carroll

All rights reserved

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books, Inc.

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Table of Contents

Prologue

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

About the Author

Prologue

The red Pontiac slowed to

a crawl as the man behind the wheel guided it into the church parking lot. Groups of people—parents, children, grandparents—milled about the door of the building or walked slowly to their cars. He paused as his eyes scanned the outskirts of the lot until they locked on one little girl. There you are, picking up trash just like last week at the school when I watched you at lunch. Predictable, I like that. Now go to the dumpster around the corner. That’s right.

His big hand reached to the floor and grasped the bag of trash he had stowed there. He drove his car alongside the girl as she reached the big green dumpster and tossed her grocery bag of garbage over the edge. Little lady, would you be willing to toss my bag of trash in there as well? he called.

She turned to look at the man in the red car, cautious as always. Why can’t you do it? she asked.

He frowned. I have a bad knee, and it is a major effort to struggle out of the car. Please?

Um, okay. The petite blonde skipped over to the driver’s door. The man opened the car door and, in a flash, reached out the hand with the trash bag, dropped the bag, and grabbed her arm. In seconds, he dragged her into the car, slapped his big hand over her mouth, and held her to the seat. He quietly shut the door, not wanting to be noticed, and drove quickly out the side entrance of the church parking lot, ignoring the struggles of the ten-year-old beside him. Oblivious to the bite of her teeth and the kicking of her feet, his hand stayed clamped tightly around her face.

As the car sped down the empty street, he bellowed with a raucous laugh. You see, my ungrateful little sisters? I don’t need you anymore, you wicked tattletales. I will take the most stunning pictures of this gorgeous creature, and you can’t stop me anymore. So caught up in his thoughts of revenge on his unwilling sisters, he was unaware of the witness behind him who saw him grab the girl.

Mr. Jordan, some man in a red car just grabbed Jenni! the young boy shouted as he ran to sound the alarm.

What had been a pleasant evening of piano music quickly turned into a nightmare. The evening had started innocently with the search for a pair of black shoes.

Chapter 1

"Where are my black shoes?

Has anyone seen my good black shoes?" Peter shouted as he crawled out of the bedroom closet, his white shirt half buttoned, his curly dark-brown hair sticking out on every side. He resembled Tuffy, the black-haired terrier, who eyed him suspiciously from across the room. Peter ran his left hand across the back of his head, making his curls fluff out on the left side. Tuffy tipped his head to one side. He seemed puzzled by the actions of the weird human as Peter had crawled backward toward the dog with his backside sticking up.

What gives anyone the idea that a father has to wear his best black suit and a tie to a piano recital anyway? It is a piano recital, not a funeral, for heaven’s sake. He muttered to himself as he first looked under the bed and then tossed the window curtains aside to look behind them. Tuffy jumped up, scurried out the door and down the hall, then stopped at the top of the stairs to watch from there.

Nancy! Have you seen my black shoes? he yelled again. He dove into the closet again, his back brushing the tails of dresses and shirts, muttering to himself, I know you are in here, shoes. Now show yourself. I put those shoes in here myself after Uncle Carl’s wedding in May. Shoes don’t walk away alone. I don’t even like those shoes. Black makes me look like a lawyer or something. But I suppose I can’t wear brown loafers with my black suit, and Jenni insisted on the suit. He sighed. The things a father will do for his only daughter. I spoil that child. Peter continued to mutter as he tossed shoes, tennis rackets, an odd sock, and his cowboy boots out of the bottom of the closet. The dusty smell of unused shoes filled the air. Puffs of lint danced in the light streaming in from the window.

Peter’s wife, Nancy, walked into the bedroom, a stern look on her carefully made-up face. She stumbled as her foot kicked his leg lying on the middle of the floor.

Peter Jordan, what in the world are you doing in there? You’ve thrown shoes everywhere. Why the tennis racket? You can’t seriously be thinking of playing tennis in the dark after the recital. You in your suit and Jennifer in a dress, it would be typical of you two. But not tonight. Why aren’t you ready to go? Nancy folded her arms across her chest in her get-serious pose.

Peter turned sideways and raised his head, which was immediately shrouded in Nancy’s blue terry-cloth robe. He reached up to push it away but only succeeded in knocking it off the hanger. It landed over his face. Peter muttered as he struggled to sit up and pull the robe off of his head.

Nancy’s mouth tightened into a thin line. She shook her head, grabbed the robe, pulled it off his head, and stepped back as Peter struggled to his feet.

I can’t find my black shoes. Have you seen them? I looked everywhere.

Oh, for heaven’s sake. You put them at the top of the closet after Carl’s wedding, didn’t you? You said you wanted to be sure they didn’t get scuffed up at the bottom with all the junk. Why? Aren’t they there? Nancy stepped quickly over the pile of shoes in the middle of the floor, reached up to the top of the shelf, and grabbed a pair of shoes. Here, she snapped. She handed him his black shoes and started throwing items back into the bottom of the bedroom closet.

Top of the closet, of course. Peter’s palm slapped his forehead. He grabbed the shoes, sat on the edge of the bed, slipped them on one by one over his black socks, and quickly tied the laces. He stood up, buttoned his shirt, slid his arms into his suitcoat, and grabbed his tie off the dresser.

Whoever invented ties must have been female. An evil female set out to inflict torture on mankind forever. A man would never invent such a thing. It had to be a woman, he muttered. He made a face at the mirror as he pulled the knot tight and adjusted the collar of his white shirt.

Are you ready, Daddy?

Peter’s expression softened. A smile spread from ear to ear across his clean-shaven face. He turned to look at the young lady standing at the door. His breath got caught in his throat as it did every time he looked at his daughter. With long blonde hair and dark-blue eyes, she was beautiful at ten years old. He always marveled that someone as ordinary as he, Peter Jordan, could produce a child so perfect.

Hey, princess, you look beautiful. Come in here and show me that spiffy dress.

Spiffy? What is spiffy? A frown clouded her face.

Sorry, princess. It is just a word left over from my stone-age youth. It used to mean terrific, gorgeous, you know…perfect…just like you, Ms. Jennifer Jordan.

Oh, kind of like ‘rad,’ huh, Dad? You look kind of spiffy yourself. Thank you for wearing the suit. It makes you look sort of like a movie star. Jennifer smiled as she watched her father button his suitcoat.

More like a gangster, maybe. Come into my limousine, little lady, and I will show you the town. He pointed a finger gun at her and tried to look sinister as he slithered across the carpet toward her.

Oh, no thank you. I don’t go with strangers. Strangers bite. Jennifer shook her head.

Peter chuckled a little, then his face turned serious as he asked, Jenni, you do remember what to do if a stranger approaches you, don’t you?

Jennifer sighed and rolled her eyes upward. Yes, Daddy, we’ve gone over it a hundred times. I’ve listened to the ‘Be Safe’ tapes so many times that I dream about them. No one is going to kidnap me, Dad. Come on, we live in Lake Front, Idaho, not California, you know.

Nancy tossed the last shoe into the closet, a stern look on her serious face. All right, you two, enough wasting time. Do something with that hair, Peter. Jennifer, let me tie the ribbon in your hair. We don’t want to be late. You are number 2 on the program, and a late entrance will spoil Terry’s concentration. It is hard enough to be first without a rude group stomping in during your performance.

Peter stood for a moment outside the bedroom door. He watched Jennifer and her mother walk down the hallway and disappear into Jennifer’s bedroom. The intensity of love he had for his ten-year-old daughter always amazed him. He thought about the first minute of her life when the nurse wrapped her in a warm blanket and put her tiny body into his shaky, first-time-father arms. Then at that moment, Peter Jordan’s life changed forever. He hugged that tiny baby girl close to his chest and kissed her tiny cheek. She opened her little eyes and quickly shut them tight against the glaring lights. Peter turned around with his back to the light and talked softly to her, telling her how special she was, how he had waited a long time for her to come, and how happy he was that she was finally in his arms.

Peter fell in love with his little daughter in those first few moments in a sparkling microsecond of time—love so compelling and so intense, it filled his whole body and soul. When she slowly opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was her father’s face. His eyes locked on hers, and for a frozen minute, they communicated silently. A bond formed between the two souls at that moment that would last throughout their lifetimes and beyond. Thank you, God, for this miracle, he had whispered.

Peter and Nancy had been married four years before Nancy became pregnant. She was ill with morning sickness for three long months and had to take a leave of absence from her work as a registered nurse at the hospital because she was too sick to work. She had spent more time kneeling on the floor of the bathroom than anywhere else. Nancy was a tall, thin lady who resented her changed figure as she grew bigger and more awkward with the baby growing inside her. As soon as the morning sickness eased, she went back to being a nurse. She took her job seriously, often working double shifts, extra holidays, and many long hours. Oftentimes, Peter had wondered if she loved her work more than him. He had hoped the baby might change that, but she worked as much after the birth of the baby as she had before.

As Peter held his firstborn tightly in his arms that day in the delivery room, Nancy began to bleed severely and was soon fighting for her life. Doctors and nurses buzzed in and out of the room. They ignored the father and his blanketed bundle as they hooked up an IV unit with blood and fought to locate and stop the bleeding. They rushed Nancy into surgery where the doctor had to do an emergency hysterectomy.

Jennifer was three days old when her mother was released from intensive care and was allowed to hold her daughter for the first time. By then, Peter and Jennifer had bonded in a relationship that reluctantly, if at all, included anyone else. Father and daughter faced the world together. Mother and daughter had a courteous relationship but were not very close.

Peter heard Jennifer yell, Ouch! as her mother tugged her hair to get the clip holding a big blue ribbon in place. As Peter finished getting ready, he remembered a conversation he had with Jennifer’s pediatrician when Jennifer was still a toddler.

Dr. Brown, Peter had said with a frown on his forehead. I’m worried about Nancy and Jennifer. Nancy doesn’t seem to connect with her the way moms should connect with their only child, not like my mom loved me and my two brothers. Not that she is mean to Jenni or anything. She never hurts her, but she treats Jenni like a babysitter or a preschool teacher would treat her.

Dr. Brown had taken the time to explain to Peter about some recent findings by psychologists concerning bonding. A special bond is formed between a mother and her baby in the first few moments of life and is cemented into something unbreakable within the first twenty-four hours as the mother feeds and nurtures the child.

Nancy didn’t bond. You did. You fed Jenni. You changed her and nurtured her those first few days. You were her mother. I remember you walking the halls of the maternity ward with her, explaining what everything was. The light switch, the elevator, the telephone, and how things worked. The nurses had to almost force you to let the baby sleep in the nursery.

Peter chuckled. They named the rocking chair in the nursery ‘Peter’s chair.’ I spent more time in it than anyone else did.

You see, you took Mom’s place while she struggled to recover, not that it is a bad thing. It just happened. Nancy worked long hours after Jennifer was born. She didn’t create a real bond with her like you did.

But will Jenni be okay? Peter’s voice mirrored his concern.

Of course, she will be okay. Her father loves her. Her mother is kind to her. Jennifer will get along fine. Just continue to give her lots of love.

And Peter had. Jennifer at ten was becoming a young lady instead of a little girl. She was charming, kind, and happy, with a sense of humor that could charm the frown off a bear if given the chance.

Nancy’s impatient voice broke into Peter’s daydreaming. Peter, let’s go! I told you we can’t be late. Get a move on.

Peter ran the comb through his hair one final stroke, checked his tie, and hurried down the hall to the stairs.

Jennifer was sitting on the top step with Tuffy on her lap. Her long blonde curls fell across her rosy-red cheeks. Her light-blue eyes locked with Tuffy’s deep brown ones, her hands petting his soft black fur. Now you be a good doggy, Tuffy. I will play with you when we get home. She squeezed the fluffy black dog, rubbed her face in his fur, and whispered, Wish me luck, Tuff. I’m nervous. She turned her head as her father walked up behind her. Ready to go, Daddy?

You okay, princess? He touched her shoulder as they walked down the stairs.

A little nervous, but I will be okay. You always call me a natural performer. I can do this.

They walked out the door, down the driveway, and got into the light-blue Ford Taurus. Nancy was sitting in the front seat, her mouth in a tight line.

We are off. Peter’s deep voice was loud in the confines of the car, his smile broad. Jennifer Jordan, with the magic fingers, will receive the longest standing ovation in the history of music. Jennifer and her father laughed as they drove down the street.

*****

Peter breathed in the cool night air as he and Jennifer followed the crowd of mothers, fathers, and children down the steps of the old church building. He was happy the recital was over. He didn’t mind supporting his daughter, but it was hard to sit and listen to twenty young piano students without getting restless and wishing he were somewhere else, anyplace, but in a stuffy church building. Oh, the things a parent will do for his only daughter.

George Newman, the owner of Newman Builders, caught him at the bottom of the stairs. Peter, can you give me a bid for cabinets this week? We are bidding out the Summerset addition at the end of the month.

Sure, George. Which cabinet styles do you want? Peter, at six feet