Beyond Tomorrow

By Lois Cole Godbey

This book is about a young Jewish girl who survives the tragedy of losing her parents at a young age. She is raised by a loving grandmother. After a five-year marriage dissolves, Deborah Hoffman inherits her grandmother's Victorian mansion in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. While maintaining the property, a local handyman not only helps repair her home but also helps her to better recognize a drawing in her spirit. As a stringer at the local newspaper, her life is filled with suspense, tragedy, another unique inheritance, betrayal, political corruption, and an incoherent hunger for God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798890433732

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Beyond Tomorrow

Lois Cole Godbey

ISBN 979-8-89043-372-5 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-89043-373-2 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Lois Cole Godbey

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.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

1

The Inheritance

2

The Delightful Mr. Davis

3

Gossip Comes to the Cape

4

The Visitation

5

The Way Forward

6

The Office Party

7

The Confession

8

The Conundrum

9

The Dilemma

10

The Escapade

11

Affirmation

12

In Harm's Way

13

The Dark Side

14

The Messenger

15

The Paper Box

16

Midnight Madness

17

Enter the Dragon

18

In Plain Sight

19

Adversity in Small Doses

20

The Fly Trap

21

Data Breach

22

Collaboration

23

Shadows

24

Stirring the Nest

25

An Eye for an Eye

26

Absolution

27

Whisper the Wind

28

The Green Zone

29

Destination Odyssey

30

Measure the Temple

31

Wings of Evil

32

Birds of Prey

33

My Heart's Desire

34

The Bargain

A man determines in his heart the way he will go, but God directs his steps.

—Proverbs 16:9

About the Author

It is to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, that I dedicate this book.

A special thank you to my forever friend, Debrah Bates, whose editing, opinions, and suggestions have been a lifetime course in creative writing.

A personal thank you to my son-in-law, Frank Miranda, for our iron-on-iron conversations during the entire process.

A loving thank you to my daughter, Tamara Miranda, whose digital genius put me together.

1

The Inheritance

Devastation

It was a chilly night, the sun had gone down, and Deborah Hoffman lay on the floor in the back seat of the car, which was upside down in the middle of the highway. Panic set in after she could not see or hear her parents anywhere. The smell of gasoline was everywhere, and smoke burned her eyes. An overwhelming need to get away from the car as fast as possible compelled her through the back window. While she struggled through the broken window, she strained to hear her mom and dad. There were no sounds, only thick smoke coming from somewhere, which did not dispel the panic that now had a mind of its own.

Not too far from the car was a ditch, which for the moment presented an escape. After crawling on her knees toward the ditch, and somewhat breathless from the smoke, she tried to stand on her feet. The motion made her dizzy, and she stumbled into freezing cold ditch water. It was impossible to move. She lay helpless, wondering if her mom and dad were still alive. Thinking about the effects of hypothermia made her shiver, even apart from the cold. Thirst overwhelmed her, and the ditch water was tempting, but she could not move.

It seemed like hours before she could hear sirens, although they were only minutes away. Maybe her mom and dad were alive. Maybe they would show up in time to be saved. There was a feeling deep inside that she would survive the accident. The thought of surviving the loss of her parents was intolerable. Laying in the ditch thirsty and fighting for her life was mentally and physically exhausting. There was no sound from the car or any movement, just distant sirens. The smoke was growing thicker, and she could no longer control her tears.

The moon was nowhere to be seen, and a heavy cloud cover was directly over her head. Thunder and lightning were a few miles away, still too close for comfort. If this turned into a rainstorm, she might survive an accident only to drown in a ditch.

Police cars, ambulances, and a fire truck finally arrived, and the panic dispelled somewhat. She was not in the line of sight of the EMTs when they got out of their vehicle. It could be fatal if they did not see her. She tried to scream, but nothing came out of her mouth. Feeling around for a rock or a twig or just something to throw at them was impossible because nothing moved. She needed to get their attention, and sheer desperation was setting in.

Out of the depth of a will to live, she managed a barely audible, "Help." While firemen attended to the car, one of the attendants heard the small voice. Turning away from the accident, he walked in her direction and shined a flashlight directly into her eyes.

Everything went dark, and there was no memory of the ride to the hospital. Grief overwhelmed her with the tragedy of that terrible night. It would take years to mend her heart, if ever.

Fifteen years later

For the second time, Deborah Carlisle-Hoffman was returning to the safety she had willfully left five years earlier. Only ten years old when her parents died, she missed them every day of her life. Yet the return home this time was not from a tragedy but an escape from a marriage that went terribly wrong.

Thanking God for having a place to go was all that came to mind. Except he would probably not listen. Maybe God didn't even exist in the first place, she thought to herself—so quickly dispensed with that thought. God was not an unfamiliar word to a young Jewish girl, just a word never spoken, and certainly no one to relate to.

As Deborah turned into the thick overhanging trees that lined the driveway, the old Victorian mansion came into sight. It was evening, the stars were behind clouds, the sky barely visible, and there were no leaves on the trees. She parked the car and small U-Haul in front of the old Victorian, relieved to be home. This was not the hard part. Starting all over again, while dismantling a marriage, was the overextended part.

An old carriage house in the back of the mansion would be a sufficient place to store various items. Deborah loved the carriage house which had been restored for modern usage. Its inconvenient location embraced a subdued privacy and was a great place to contemplate days long gone and erased from history. For now, the carriage house would be handy for keeping the car clean and operational for the rest of the winter, including a place to store odds and ends out of sight from living in Chicago for the last five years.

Not far from the carriage house was a natural lake that at one time provided water for the horses, except there were never any horses nor were there any carriages that Deborah could remember.

She looked in the rose garden for the key to the Victorian and found it without trouble, then tackled the idea of dragging her luggage up the winding staircase. Climbing the stairs used to be great exercise, but not so much after a long road trip. When Deborah came to live with her grandmother, for safety reasons, Ruth Hoffman refurbished the old wood staircase balusters from top to bottom with decorative wrought iron spindles.

The winding staircase served as an interlocking space between the living room and the dining area, which completed an open space atmosphere not usually found in Southern Victorian houses. An upstairs banister circled the top half of the living room, behind which the curving balusters stood guard over four large bedrooms. Each room had a fireplace for added heat in the winter. A sitting room and two bathrooms completed the upper portion of the house. From the beginning, Deborah was forbidden to slide down the old banister but managed the exciting ride when no one was watching, not always with a graceful landing. She managed the guilt with relief that there were no broken bones.

Deborah wrestled her luggage into the foyer that prefaced the large living room. Surveying the beautiful room, she wondered if something so provocative might not swallow her whole. In truth, the heart of the house was a full kitchen with a butler's pantry, laundry room, and another bathroom. Also adjacent to the kitchen were servants quarters that were closed off long before she came to live with her grandmother. A backstairs, which luckily did not suffer the same fate as the servants quarters, provided a convenient shortcut upstairs.

Deborah loved the old Victorian, although occupying the empty space by herself was overwhelming. Settling in would be a work in progress, and she anticipated that it would not be easy. Even less appealing was planning a future from her childhood home. All things considered, she decided to wait another day before unloading the U-Haul. In fact, most things could wait for later. Her mind was dull and her senses lost just coping with the present situation. Besides, she was looking at days, maybe even weeks, before finding a place for everything in her ancient home.

After a restless night, morning arrived early. Storing the larger items in the carriage house, she left a small window to return the U-Haul. It would not be uneventful. Once again, the anxiety that plagued her on the trip from Chicago became a constant companion. She feared it would not dissipate anytime soon.

Between the loss of her parents, the recent death of her grandmother, and a failed marriage, Deborah felt that her life was full of dichotomy. It was her grandmother that assuaged the grief and kept her life together. Deborah was too young and the change too permanent to entertain a lifetime of sorrow based on an unavoidable accident. Somehow, and together, they managed the deep pain that was not of their choosing, yet providential in every respect.

Resilience was often in short supply where inner struggles were concerned. Keeping them on course was a mutual affection that allowed the future to happen naturally. Having previously lost her husband to a heart attack, Ruth Hoffman was not unacquainted with death when Deborah arrived on her doorstep. Refusing to allow her own grief to interfere with a broken heart, she wiped the tears from Deborah's cheek while hiding her own. Even though unconditional love overshadowed Deborah's youth, there were always broken parts to spare. An undefined emptiness that desperately yearned for divine attention was nowhere to be found.

As life continued, the emptiness prevailed, and the unfixable remained undefined. The only real thing in her life was her grandmother's love and the luxury of living in a beautiful mansion.

Above the inner struggles, Ruth's generosity of home and heart provided security through the difficult times. Except now, Ruth was the missing piece in her life, which was too incorrigible to accept. What Deborah had taken for granted suddenly disappeared. It was all gone, and even worse, it was too late to change anything. If there was a future for her, it was beyond her grasp and most definitely without her grandmother. Facing the matter intensified the pain, and avoiding the pain increased the emptiness.

Putting all negativity aside, the first thing on the morning agenda was exploring the Victorian estate. Deborah dreadfully missed her home during the troubled years in Chicago. Roaming among the trees that surrounded both the mansion and the natural lake exposed a lost familiarity that she hoped to restore.

Hidden among the trees was a gazebo that Ruth added when Deborah was a teenager. It was built on a path close to the lake. On warm days, she swam in the lake, always on the lookout for snakes. The gazebo was equal to her affection for the carriage house, only in a different way. While the carriage house filled the need for privacy, the gazebo served as a reminder that there was life outside of her sheltered existence.

Although smaller in stature than most Southern mansions, the Victorian embraced its own special uniqueness. A large front porch supported by two exquisite green marble columns reflected the exterior color of the house. The columns were placed two on each side of double mahogany doors, which were accented with beveled colored glass. The effect provided just enough Southern expression to keep from subduing its Victorian motif. Incomprehensible to Deborah was the fact that now it all belonged to her. As Ruth's only family, the inheritance was something that she seldom thought about. Now it was bigger than life and a perception that she could not escape.

Being in a house where there was no pulse but her own brought no peace of mind. Although her lake friends were not human, they still had beating hearts, which would suffice for the present. Deborah loved the water birds and knew each species by heart, often becoming attached to those who stayed the year around and severely missing those who migrated farther south in the fall.

The abundance of trees provided homes for the birds in the summer and in the winter. When in full bloom, trees partially hid the view of the lake from the mansion. In all seasons, the Hoffman Estate provided a sanctuary for the birds and for her too. Ruth would expect her to continue the sanctuary, which was the first silent promise of the day.

To keep the estate functioning, a trust fund had been established years before through large insurance payments and careful savings. While the house had its own provisions to remain as such, there was only a minimal amount for Deborah to live on. Ruth had a maid who came in once a week, but she would be doing her own housework.

As beautiful as Cape Girardeau was, it was not her desire to spend her life there. While the Victorian estate was situated on the outskirts of this small city, none of it filled the loneliness of a missing family. Yet Deborah sensed that the emptiness that plagued her was not from human loss but was something beyond comprehension. What it was or even what form it would take would hopefully make itself known before she became too old. For now, the care of the ducks and the geese were the order of the day. With that, she would be content but only for a moment and only just slightly.

After a long walk and breathing in familiarity of the Victorian estate, she headed back to the kitchen to make fresh coffee. Still her favorite room, she reflected on the intimate conversations that often found a conclusion in this very spot, except there were no conclusions today.

While using the back stairs to take some clean laundry to her bedroom, she sensed a desire to get the servants quarters functioning again. She had no idea why or for whom and quenched that notion as soon as it hit. She would not be concerned with the other rooms since she was the only one living there. Yet she felt that the other rooms, which were not as small as in many Victorian houses, would eventually need some attention. Each room was beautiful in its own unique way, and the blend was perfect. Ruth Hoffman loved the old house and had kept it in flawless shape, and Deborah marveled at her ability to do so. Ruth wanted nothing left undone when the day came that the estate was left to her granddaughter.

Now that day had come, Deborah struggled to appreciate the inheritance because of the overwhelming responsibilities also attached to her heritage. I know I am here, but why now? Why can I not get my head around this? What am I to do in the meantime? She hated talking to herself and desperately wanted to talk to another person. Overwhelming silence reminded her that no one was there, and hopefully, the negative thoughts that permeated her mind would disappear into obscurity.

To live a halfway normal life, she needed to find a job. She loved writing the most, but it was seldom profitable. Having written a few articles for magazines, she did not consider it a career. Besides, there were only a minimal amount of jobs in the Cape, including a relatively small amount of turnover. Most of all, she just desperately missed Ruth.

After a light breakfast and a cup of hot coffee, she began removing some of Ruth's things before making it a place of her own. After piling things into the living room, she decided that it was time to think about something besides herself. She had a disturbing dream the previous night and hoped that any remembrance of the dream would be forgotten. Except the dream was just as fresh now as when she woke up.

After the death of her parents, Deborah was plagued with nightmares. Some were more intense than others, and she often found it difficult to cope with the disturbing elements of dreamland. After moving to Chicago, the dreams diminished in scope, and now they were back. Ruth understood the nightmares and kept her bedroom door open just in case she heard Deborah cry. Now she was an adult and hoped that some things had changed.

After a busy day of relegating things into storage, she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. Soon after, another nightmare woke her up. These dreams are driving me crazy. I really need to grow up. I am not a little girl anymore, and life goes on with or without the people I love.

As anxiety grew by the hour, she desperately wanted someone to listen and not think that she was crazy. It felt like all her time was filled with complaining, except she was the only one who heard her voice. Who would want to listen to that? She needed help, and Jonathan Cohen was the only person that came to mind.

Jonathan and she had grown up together. They faithfully attended synagogue, and their families were best friends. However, the fact that he had become a Messianic Jew made her hesitate to contact him. Not wanting to appear discriminating but accepting a Jew who converted to Christianity was simply not kosher, at least not for her anyway. The charge against Christianity was two thousand years old. It was engraved in stone, rather like the Ten Commandments. It just wasn't done.

Shaking off the shallow assessment of another person only resulted in more disdain on her part. Gentile friends were the norm in her life; in fact, she married one. She had ignored the fact that marriage included the equivalent of embracing other beliefs. Yet that is what she had done, and not to the betterment of a happy marriage. She and David Carlisle had agreed that religion would not be a part of their married life, and it certainly would not infect her newly acquired single life.

Yet, spurning Jonathan because his religion no longer embraced hers was not just shallow, it was ludicrous. Really, was she any better? For the present, she had no beliefs and lots of judgment about those who did. Jonathan was a retired psychologist who could help put the matter into a more favorable light. She was also not above taking advantage of his professional abilities, which included dream therapy. It had been years since they had spoken, and now might be an opportunity to get reacquainted. Would he even remember me?

Except reliving the terrifying aspect of the nightmare was also the same reason she wanted to forget the dream. Would Jonathan even understand? The accident that took her parents forged her endurance with fire, while the dreams left her terrified. Oh get a grip, she thought to herself, there has to be more to life than this.

Waiting for more to come would not be in deference to the life she was supposed to have. She wanted her life to make a difference, even if it turned out to be in the twilight zone. If that were the case, then she would be the busy citizen of the crazy place. After a long night, and morning on the horizon, the dream remained clear and perceptive. With a notepad on hand, she began to write.

A huge beast pulled a cart full of children begging to be set free. At first the beast was obscure. Then anger flooded its eyes, and its nostrils flared. The beast snorted loudly, letting everyone know that it was coming. Everything about the beast was destructive. Then a man on a horse appeared who carried a sword. He was trying to free the children. Those in the path of the beast were caught in the middle of an onslaught. While the man on the horse floundered, Deborah heard a small voice which became increasingly louder.

She woke up with hands holding her eardrums, straining to shut the voice out of her head. Whatever the voice was saying, it was speaking directly to her. She had no desire whatsoever to hear the voice again.

After dialing Jonathan's number, she hung up the phone, but not before hearing his voice at the other end. If he returned the call, she just wouldn't answer. After a few minutes and no phone call, she breathed a sigh of relief mixed with a slight hint of disappointment.

If the dream and the voice came from Satan, it would be evil. If they came from God, then why would he terrorize her? If it were a satanic being, she didn't want him messing with her head. On the other hand, if it were God, then he certainly had a sick sense of humor.

Ever so slightly, a resentment surfaced toward God, whom she blamed for not being able to say goodbye to loved ones. Although those lost opportunities were no fault of her own, she still felt cheated on all levels, which left matters even more unbearable. Forced to live without a family, she would somehow endure the challenge of loneliness.

If the only recourse was making an old home new, she would start by lighting the fireplace. The mess in the middle of the living room was a hodgepodge of old things waiting for new places. For a moment, she had no desire to be anywhere else, and boxes were not going to empty themselves. Photographs were a good place to start, and adding new pictures to old ones on the fireplace put a smile on her face. With some mental gymnastics, she compartmentalized dreams and memories to be dealt with later. The Victorian estate needed order, the agenda was set, and for now, she would be content.

2

The Delightful Mr. Davis

Living alone in a Victorian mansion was problematic as there was too much time for Deborah Hoffman to contemplate present circumstances. Blessed with an overactive imagination, domestication did not conform to any future program, let alone how she desired to spend the rest of her life. Seemingly beyond her reach was a world over which she had no control. Even the beauty of her surroundings could not quench the inner workings of a lost soul. Maybe a good career could fill the emptiness that lingered a simple heartbeat away, so she hoped.

As the head of the Harris Law Firm bookkeeping department, her grandmother's wages were enough to support the estate along with the insurance policies. All Social Security money which a child received from deceased parents went into a savings account for Deborah's future. Ruth Hoffman made sure that the small family unit would not have to worry about a college education. It was not a matter of sacrifice, it was the pragmatic attitude for which the Hoffmans were known and respected.

After graduation from high school, Deborah decided to attend Southeast Missouri State University in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. Education was affordable because Deborah could live at home while attending the university, although it was never Deborah's dream to live in the Cape forever. Built into her DNA was not just pragmatism but a strong work ethic, which was becoming harder to control by the day.

Yet here I am, living in a mansion, unemployed and facing a divorce. None of this is what I planned years ago, and any future plan seems to be on hold for now.

On a collision course was the past with the future. Ruth loved the time that she had spent with her granddaughter. Watching her grow into a beautiful young woman gave her great pride, although the day was coming when she would be living alone. Ruth dreaded the thought. As a widow, she found a renewed purpose for life when her granddaughter came to live with her, which did not lessen the sacrifice of losing both a husband and a son; it just altered family priorities. In anticipation of Deborah's departure, another change in family dynamics would occur, only without tragedy, which was some comfort but not enough to ease the pain. Knowing that the day was not far off, she decided to face the whole thing with grace and a smile on her face without feeling any of it in her heart.

On the other hand, Deborah felt that once her education was finished, she would like to move to a larger city and find a job with a publishing company. Her education could provide her groundwork for a future writing career, maybe even a journalist. Writing was the desire of her heart, and she had won some awards in high school. Her high grade point average plus a scholarship would help to further her education. Yet that was five years ago, and here I sit, alone in a big house, with nothing but memories.

Deborah reflected on the summer of her junior year at Southeast University where she applied as an intern at the Cape Chronicles. It was the largest newspaper in the city and not without competition. The university had an internship program of which she had hoped to take advantage. As an intern at the local paper, she could replace an older car with a newer one and help with other expenses.

Deborah remembered how Mr. William Davis acted when she applied for the internship. He was a hard crusty old man, and she immediately liked him.

And why are you here, young lady? Bill David asked with semi-stern looks behind a big oak desk. The beautiful young lady sitting across from him with wavy black hair and soulful brown eyes almost made him forget he was a lot older than her. He knew she was nervous, which was nothing new for a young person applying for a job for the first time. He also hoped that she was too nervous to notice him staring. Bill Davis was saved from embarrassment by Deborah's obvious determination to get the job.

I'm Deborah Hoffman and I'm here for the intern position that you have for university students. I have all the necessary papers, plus a resume. I worked on the school newspaper and brought some of my articles…along with my present class schedule and grades up-to-date.

After the nervous speech, she managed a smile and placed the envelope on his desk, then tried to be patient as he took his time going through everything. Occasionally, he would look up at her and grin, which was a bit off setting. Once he asked if she wrote the articles herself. Thinking that was a dumb question, also kept that opinion to herself.

Deborah noticed a slight ink smell in the building and surmised it was coming from the presses, wherever they were, probably in the basement. She found the odor slightly offensive, and it gave her a headache. However, given a chance, she would get used to it, maybe even learn to love it.

It took Bill about an hour to read the articles and for the interview in general. Mostly he just wanted to talk. She had no idea whether this was a good thing or just a waste of time. It didn't help that people were continually coming and going from his office. Patience was not her forte, but for now, there was no choice. Besides, the newsroom activity, at least what she saw, provided a glimpse of what it would be like to work there. She almost felt at home. Well, almost!

William Davis recognized Deborah's name and wanted to say something. He just didn't know what. As a young reporter at the time the accident took her mother and father, he remembered writing about the tragedy with great sadness. He had no idea what to say to someone who had survived and then managed to overcome the terrible experience. He decided that today was not the time to flood her with memories of the past. There would be time for the conversation later. He might even consider doing a period piece on her life. That, too, could wait for another day.

She had no idea of what was going on in his mind.

Well, Deborah, your work is impressive. I assume that you want to become a journalist?

She nodded her head.

He got up from his desk and handed the envelope back. The intern position pays minimum wage, although there is a good chance you will be assigned other jobs, for which you will receive extra pay. A recession makes it difficult for any newspaper to survive. For now, we only publish three times a week. Had to make some concessions, you know. Can you be here Monday morning, ready for work?

Her face was all smiles. Thank you so much, Mr. Davis. I promise that you will not be sorry you gave me this chance. Deborah really didn't know what to say. Having a job in the field she loved was almost beyond her expectations.

Helen Connors will give you a tour of the paper and introduce you to the newsroom. She will explain everything. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask. The dress is casual unless you have a scheduled interview. Don't worry about that for now, and you might be called on to assist. Then dress pants or a more formal attire is normal. No smoking, drinking, or taking drugs are allowed on the property. He laughed when he saw the look on her face. Just kidding! You don't look the type. Any questions before you leave?

Deborah shook her head. She was too awestruck to speak.

Bill enjoyed her response or rather lack of it. He decided to be satisfied with just the look on her face.

Deborah continued to reflect on the first day on the job. She was ten minutes early and ushered to a small cubicle at the back of the newsroom. It was close to the stairs leading down to the pressroom where the ink smell was much stronger.

With the beginning of a new adventure, she would handle unpleasant odors or anything else that came her way. There were manuscripts, pencils, paper, other necessary paraphernalia, plus a computer sitting on her desk. As a whole, the space was small but workable. Deborah knew she would have to be super-organized just to keep from running into herself. The memory made her smile. She also remembered her desk was not easily accessible in proximity to other desks, which never became a problem. Isolation had its own charm.

What's new this week? Bill would ask Deborah at least once a day.

Not there yet, boss, but working on it, was Deborah's usual response. The question was predictable, and so was the answer.

Deborah found the briefing room exciting. Mingling with other reporters established a sense of purpose that has never shifted or dimmed. In William Davis, she found a shadow of the father she had lost, although she kept her feelings to herself. Mostly it was exciting just to discuss the news of the day and decide what to print. She made some friends, although Helen Conners was the one she relied on for her daily routine. She enjoyed assisting the photographer or a reporter on an interview and excelled at shorthand, although it was seldom needed as most interviews were recorded.

Hard questions made the job interesting because they demanded solid answers. Even when interviews added a demented side to the energy, a good reporter never settled for the mediocre, and neither would she. As the summer job turned into a part-time winter job, including college, keeping busy kept mental issues at bay, learning the newspaper business was now a personal quest, which left little time for anything else.

Mr. Davis's favoritism toward the young Jewish girl flourished, much to the dismay of