Summer's Whisper: Hopewell, #1

By Elle H. Raye

God's Word denotes this world will test His children. As a ten-year-old, Summer Bree Cooper observes how the world's influence transpires in her small suburban neighborhood of Oak Cliff, Texas.

In 1973 Summer is confronted with the biggest challenge so far in her young life. She opens her heart and tries to help an ailing neighbor and his granddaughter. His granddaughter has to decide her future in short order.

Will granddaughter choice affect her soul and the baby she carries? What will she do? Will she do the unthinkable? Summer whispers a prayer at every opportunity for her new friend.

Forty-eight-years later, Summer Bree Cooper-Warren LPC, founder of the Angel Heart's Women Center in Hopewell, Texas, sits across from a reporter from a county magazine. She details her journey's beginning on the vocation she currently embraces and how these events initiated her decisions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elle H. Raye
• Release date: Aug 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223320128

Elle H. Raye

Elle H. Raye writes God’s message with inspirational tales in an array of romantic dips and bends. Small-town living flourishes in her novels, novellas, and short stories. The author makes her home in the deep Piney woods of East Texas with her Boxer, Honey, whose favorite pastime is playing squirrel tag.

Book preview

Summer’s Whisper

ELLE H. RAYE

Summer’s Whisper

Copyright © 2021 Elle H. Raye

Revised 2024

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,

except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and

certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

To request permissions, contact the author at www.ellehraye.com

Scripture quotations or paraphrases are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version ®,

NIV ®, Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc. (TM) Used by permission of Zondervan.

All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously.

Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

First printing edition 2021, in the United States of America.

Names: Raye, Elle H; author, b. 1958-

Title: Summer’s Whisper/Elle H. Raye

Description: First edition 2021

Subjects: FICTION/Contemporary | Christian

ISBN: 9798223320128

Cover Art by Heaven’s Touch Designs, Delia Latham, www.delialatham.net

Table of Contents

~ Chapter One ~

~ Chapter Two ~

~ Chapter Three ~

~ Chapter Four ~

~ Chapter Five ~

~ Chapter Six ~

~ Chapter Seven ~

~ Chapter Eight ~

~ Chapter Nine ~

~ Chapter Ten ~

Moonlight Dance Excerpt

~ About The Author ~

~ Dedication ~

To my Lord and Savior, Christ Jesus, through Him all things are possible.

~ Key Verses ~

Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we boast in the hope of the glory of God.

Romans 5:1-2

You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.

Jeremiah 23:13

~ Chapter One ~

See the source image

Present-day—Hopewell, Texas

Who can I help today? Show me, lead me. Challenges You lay before me, I will conquer? There’s nothing You can’t do—nothing, Lord.

A skittle rushes through my heart as I slid into a parking slot in front of my business. Shadows dance against the façade of a century-old limestone building, and a dim rustic mason jar light fixture pierced the darkness, displaying my shingle, ‘Summer Bree Cooper-Warren, LPC.’ Upon the center’s grand opening of the Angel Hearts Women’s Center, my husband, Jake, affixed the wood-carved sign—it’s held up to the two-plus decades of Texas heat and winter weather.

The longest day of the season makes its presence known as dark thirty lingers this morning. I click open the lock and enter the hallowed darkness—the little bell above the door tinkles, and then I snap on the lights. On my way past the receptionist’s desk, I drop a note by the keyboard for Cyndi Prather, my receptionist, and continue to my office. As I pass the wingback chair, my hand glides subconsciously on top of a crocheted three-by-three threadbare pink and brown prayer blanket neatly folded. Mama’s love sown in every stitch.

In the morning’s stillness, I shake loose the folds of the prayer blanket, lay it on the floor beside my desk, and drop to my knees. Stiff fingers graze the edges of the fabric, and I bow my head. Father God, please help me through today’s interview. You know me well—all too well. You’re fully aware my tongue can be a bit unruly. Holy Spirit, calm my anxious thoughts and fill me with Your peace. Give me the right words when I speak to honor You. Thank You for this opportunity to reach anyone who will read and respond to Your urging. I hope to meet someone’s need through You. Ever since I fell out of that tree at eight, You’ve given me a special heart to recognize those who hurt or require help, and I’m so grateful for Your gift. I hope I’ve used what You instilled in me wisely. My breath slows, and I remain kneeling to bask in God’s presence for a short while. In Christ Jesus’ precious name, I pray. Amen. I pull myself upward along with the blanket—then fold and return it to its usual home, ready for my next meeting with God.

Red and orange sunbeams splay across my computer screen from the partially open blinds. On the other side of the panes, a family of robins in the pecan tree lifts their sweet tunes. But I believe they sing to me. I enjoy my feathered friends too much on some days, but today, I reluctantly have to turn away and open the current year’s budget spreadsheet. This year’s finances are blown. Regardless of how low the center’s bank balance is, I trust God to supply all needs for future ventures, and whatever He currently lies on my heart.

Cyndi Prather, a recent hire, steps into the office doorway. She came to the center as a volunteer six months earlier—now full-time as my receptionist. Her smile radiates, setting off her beauty and sweet disposition—she’s God’s gift in my life. Thank you for your note.

You’re welcome. You can get the same verse of the day on a phone app.

Cyndi leans a shoulder against the doorjamb. Yeah, but if I do that, it’ll cheat you out of a blessing.

Her long blonde, naturally curly hair reminds me of when my own looked so beautiful, but mine was a bit unruly. I brush away a graying strand from my eyes. You’re right. I won’t stop so I can forward the blessing to others. How are you doing this morning?

Fine. Only those who read the article about Lucky Stephens are still mailing me rocks from Guam. When I get a dozen or more, Nick goes with me to his son’s, Harry Jr.’s, and we place them on Lucky’s memorial. Nick is honored to do this tribute for his brother Marine. If we get anymore, we must expand the area to accommodate them. Each time we visit Lucky, it does my soul a lot of good. Nick is a bit saddened, but he comes away with a refreshing spirit. I can tell when we get on his bike, he’ll take me for a long ride in the country before we stop for burgers. He’s often said he misses driving the coast lines. He calls our rides, ‘getting into the wind.’ That’s when he’s more relaxed.

You think you’ll ever get your own bike?

Cyndi laughs. No. I’m not that brave. Besides, I take the advantage of hugging my big guy for hours.

A bell jingles from the front door. Cyndi turns and disappears down the hall. I glance at the time—it must be the journalist. My breath quickens, but I stay focus on the spreadsheet in search of cutting even a smidgen off the budget. The funds are still elusive for now.

Cyndi taps on the door and enters with a man trailing. Miss Summer, Mr. Sykes is here for your interview. His gaunt frame is not what she expected for a man of his years. Was he ill at once—perhaps, or has he always been this wiry?

Good to meet you, Mr. Sykes. I stood, round my desk and accept the man’s hand. Please have a seat. I pull out a chair.

Nice to meet you, Mrs. Cooper-Warren.

I turn to the receptionist. Thank you, Cyndi.

She nods and takes her leave.

I sit across from a razor-sharp reporter for the Presence County Magazine. I agreed for my business to be featured in the next article. Regardless of this man’s mature years, I must keep my wits about me.

Roger Sykes pulls a handheld recorder from his brown leather satchel and settles a pair of black-frame readers on the end of his nose. The older man’s arthritic fingers fumble with the switch. I’ll get this on in a second, and we’ll be ready to start.

Is this assignment his last before retirement? I gnaw on my lower lip. Morning prayers always include the day’s challenges. Today didn’t hold any exceptions. I seek to tame my unruly tongue in the interviewer’s presence. Take your time. No rush. I cleared my calendar for you, Mr. Sykes.

Call me Roger. Mr. Sykes is my father.

My shoulders straighten, and I meet the reporter’s gaze. I’ve never called an older, non-family member anything but mister. Will you defer to my upbringing, just this once?

Mr. Sykes gives me a sharp nod. "All right, if you prefer it