FORSAKEN: Book Three

By Betty Lowrey

In Forsaken, we see the changing lives of four women who have come together FORSAKEN in friendship, mainly due to Ellen's faith in God. When Annes son is injured by a hit-and-run driver, Ellen's daughter, Ruthie, receives a message she feels she must deliver, but will the doctors believe a child hears from God? Devastated over their son in a com

• Language: English
• Publisher: Betty Lowrey
• Release date: May 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798990154827

Betty Lowrey

As Debbie's Mom, Betty Lowrey would tell you, losing a child is possibly the most devastating event in life, for a parent.The blessings of family, friends and acquaintances are truly the light, God's blessing to His children. She comes from a fourth generation that "toiled the soil." A farmer's wife and bookkeeper, Betty now writes Christian fiction. Her wish is to offer the plan of salvation in every book she writes.Telling Debbie's story has been a blessing and a trial. Reliving the good, the bad, and the heartbreaking moments are forever engraved on her soul. Until they meet again, Betty continues her and Debbie's work to show and live with Faith, In Spite of the Storm.

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ISBN 979-8-9901548-3-4 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-9901548-2-7 (eBook)

Copyright © 2024 by Betty Lowrey

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.

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

DEDICATION

To my children and grandchildren who make my heart sing.

And always to Bob.

Thank you to our Heavenly Father

For mercy and grace.

Station in life has nothing to do with emotion; at one time or another Everyone feels forsaken.

CHAPTER ONE

SHE STOOD AT THE WINDOW looking down on the street. Cars passed, and neighbors met, waved and went on their busy way. Marigold’s heart was full. Matt had held her in his arms trying to comfort her in this hour of need. Such was the state of her heart, she found no comfort in what she faced, only turmoil and unrest.

Christmas night; the night the Savior was born in a lowly manger. Where was she born? Her parents had left the letter in a safe deposit box, locked securely away for her to find when they were gone. Little did they realize when they authored the letter they would not live to be old. They would die in their fifties leaving Marigold alone in the world, an orphan.

She always wondered why she didn’t resemble either parent and when people said you look just like your mother she assumed it was because of the actions she had inherited from her mother simply by being with her from birth. A shrug of the shoulder when talking, the sound of her laugh, the way she walked and talked. She supposed she had learned by osmosis to become her parent’s child, though not by natural birth.

It seemed almost funny, but tonight it wasn’t funny at all. Where did she go from here? If, it were true that Harriet Becker was her birth mother, between them in the short period of time she had lived in the neighborhood they had managed to insult each other on every encounter. Then there was Matt. Marigold sighed. Her first Christmas since the death of her parents could not have been good, anyway. She remembered that last day before they left home in Texas. Instead of flying, they had chosen to drive in order to see the landscape as they traveled to another speaking appointment.

Wish you were here. The mountains are beautiful but they are also treacherous, her mother had said. Dad prefers I drive, so he can take pictures along the way. His camera should have some glorious scenes but these people drive this mountain going ninety miles an hour. The cars can’t hold back. I set the cruise on seventy and by the time we start downhill I’m seeing eighty on the dash and people flying around me at ninety and a hundred miles an hour.

They laughed together. I love you, both parents always said before they hung up the phone. I love you, before leaving to go anywhere. It’s important to say I love you, her mother explained from the time she was a little girl. We never know when will be the last time we see each other.

Love. Ellen, her next door neighbor was big on love. Ellen’s way of loving was not to speak boastfully but quietly in her own way loving you through gentleness and understanding. What a boon, to find someone as good as Ellen next door. She could have purchased a house that sat in the midst of evil and if it had been next to Harriet Becker when she arrived to this town in Missouri, based on what transpired between them she would have thought for sure she had jumped out of the frying pan into the fire. Their thoughts and ways were in dire contrast. Oil and water, sugar and vinegar, as Bitty said, Gee and hah, words used in the old days by those who handled horses to encourage them to obey commands.

There’s an old saying, Bitty reminded Marigold, You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink. That was the way she felt. She did her best; Harriet offered advice on how to do it better.

Trailing her fingers on the rail as she went back down the stairs, Marigold wondered that the attic of this old house had been filled with furniture, almost enough to furnish the house. The people who sold the house were down-sizing and wanted none of it to clutter their small condominium by the lake. If she had a mind to open a gently used store, which most people called antiques, she had enough supply to grace the walls, shelves and floors.

It was a thought. She couldn’t go on working three jobs the rest of her life. Jack’s Supply covered parties and she was good at sitting up. She knew where to decorate and what the client wanted. Jack had no clue, he merely owned the business. Melissa’s Dance Studio needed her to fill in the gap when Melissa spread herself thin taking on more classes than she could instruct. Then there was the Art Gallery where she had met Matthew, her farm boy who loved to paint almost as much as he loved the trickle of soil through his fingers. She smiled remembering his words. Nothing like the feel of dirt in the spring.

Hers was a busy life, going from one job to the other all in the span of six days but there was no work on Sundays and she was able to attend church on the day God had set aside for worship. Only since her parent’s death had she settled down to understand the significance of worship. In all truth, Ellen might receive the praise for that, too. Ellen’s faith spread invisibly through the air, encompassing others before they realized it had happened.

What is faith? Someone in the group once asked.

Ellen had replied, It is the essence of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen.

Where did you find that, Ellen? Bitty’s mind was opening to the where about of Scripture.

Hebrews eleven, verse one, Ellen said as she and Anne had grinned at each other.

Yes. I finally believe it, Anne replied. In my home, few read the Bible, though my stepfather had a healthy respect for it.

When Anne spoke of her family she described them as dysfunctional. Ellen on the other hand was raised in a Christian home but as Marigold understood when she married Ruthie’s father there had been complications. It seemed Jeffrey Anderson neither believed nor tolerated religion. Bitty in the beginning had attended church services with Ellen for Ruthie’s sake. Now she went to learn the truths on her own. Marigold remembered Ellen’s words. A little child will lead them. But it was Ellen’s influence drawing them in.

Christmas, Marigold mused, as she opened the player and placed the Christmas recordings into the slot; a time to put aside family squabbles and indifference and come together. Ellen’s parents arrived for the holidays. Daniel returned, after successfully transferring his business from California to Missouri. Staying with his aunt, Georgia Hutson of the famous Hutson enterprise, Daniel had shocked everyone when they learned the beautiful home built outside city limits was his. He had not revealed the information until Ellen had accepted the engagement ring that belonged to his mother. Now a Valentine’s Day wedding was in the works.

Opening Ellen’s gift, a recording of Mark Lowry’s Mary Did You Know, she placed it in the last slot. So many situations coming to a head. Where does this leave me? She sit on a low carved chair at a small round table she had covered in red velvet. Now as she stared out the window she remembered the Scripture the pastor had read at the last service. Mary the mother of Jesus had pondered many things when her baby was born. Could she know the pain she would suffer one day when her son was nailed on the cross? Did Mary know he would be scorned and ridiculed? When she looked into his eyes through the years of change until he became a man, did Mary know he was the Savior?

Marigold lay her head on the table, the velvet soft to the cheek. She felt alone, forsaken. The blackness of despair swirled as it claimed her mind and body. Music filled the room, and the words to the song washed powerfully through her thoughts. What did the words mean; sight to a blind man? Was she so blind in spirit she could not imagine Harriet as her birth mother? Did Harriet ponder as Mary? Had she felt trapped into giving up her child because she had no place to go or was Harriet ashamed to take her baby into a community where people knew her? What was it, shame or pride? Did she not know how to care for a child emotionally and financially? Tears flowed down her cheek onto the table cloth until Marigold worn and spent fell asleep.

Matt stood on the porch. He had returned home, discontent and troubled. The situation with his parents was not right. He was a grown man. He should be allowed to bring whomever he pleased to dinner without the family feeling it had a say in the matter. The displeasure burned in his mind as ill willed and menacing as the acid that churned in his stomach. It was eleven o’clock when he picked up the keys, walked through the house, and left in his truck. Now, as he stood there observing Marigold sleeping a feeling of tenderness washed over him. This was where he belonged.

He knew she kept an extra key under the last brick of the sidewalk before the steps. In case I lock myself out, she had said. Glancing around, he stooped, fumbled with the brick and retrieved the key. She didn’t hear when he stepped into the room. He said her name softly. She didn’t stir. Removing his coat, he crossed to where she lay in awkward position, her head resting on one arm, the other dangling in her lap. She had been crying. He could tell by the smudge of mascara beneath her eyes.

Marigold? Baby? Stooping, he lifted her up into his arms, turned toward the bedroom and laid her on the bed, stretching out beside her, one arm drawing her protectively against his body. He kissed her tenderly. She scooted into his embrace. They were spoons, one resting in the hollow of the other. Matt knew there would be a price to pay at home. He smiled to himself. He would face the problems, tomorrow.

They slept, fully clothed, sated in comfort while the demons of evil conjured up their attack.

CHRISTMAS IN A HOLDING TANK, Andrew thought. Up front at the Cop desk, there was a muffled conversation going on, covered by the strains of holiday music. This was different than the last Christmas when he attended a party, drank along with the rest of the guys and reminisced over past victories. Now here he sit staring through bars and listening to his cell mate snore.

The man said his name was Harper Gipson. He had imbibed a bit too much, swerved on Main Street, took out Shumacher’s front sign at the shoe shop and slightly snagged the bricks encasing the huge show case window. Shoes everywhere, he said. Think I even have one in my pocket. Yep, there it is. Andrew wondered if Shumacher would make Anne work tomorrow picking up shoes. He hoped so. Sobering thoughts usually follow the more ridiculous insane one he realized as truth popped into his head. If Anne worked tomorrow his little son would be at the mercy of that old rich woman.

Worse things could happen; Harriet Becker of Becker Iron works might not have taken in Anne after the accident, if Anne had not known Ellen who was Mrs. Becker’s neighbor. Running his hands through his hair Andrew could only wonder how he had come to this sad demise, jailed, by the hands of Walden. What a sordid mess. Walden was a two bit lawyer with great aspirations but he wasn’t the one in jail.

Glancing Gipson’s way, he studied the man’s apparel. Gipson wore good clothes, nothing comparable to the name brand in his own but the man was no pauper. Away from the family Gipson had enjoyed his party, thinking to go home but the alcohol content took control of his faculties and viola’ here he was, a family man in jail on Christmas. Like me. The demons on Andrew’s shoulders laughed and jeered. You never been a family man, con man, you never loved anyone but yo’self. You build yourself up while you lets everyone else down, even yo little son, Andy.

Yawning, Andrew laid his head on the orange pillow, smelling the oil of a hundred heads in the lumpy mass of fiber. Why were the demons sounding their words in Pookie’s voice? Wasn’t one demon supposed to be the good guy? He wasn’t surprised. Both demons on his shoulders were incriminating witnesses to his life. He could use some of Pookie’s mystical powers right now. Tomorrow he would have a clear head and the miraculously wonderful and devious brain to figure out his situation.

HEY. YOU? GIPSON STOOD OVER Andrew. You just as well wake up. They, he shrugged a shoulder toward the front office, will be on us, shortly. He bent down to grab Andrew shaking him awake. Did you hear a word I said?

Yeah, I heard. Andrew groaned as he swung his legs to the floor, one hand on each side of the bunk as he righted his body and stared up at Gipson. So it’s not a dream. You are real.

Gipson laughed good-naturedly. Afraid so. Wiping one hand over the stubble of his beard, he said, Now ain’t this just the perfect way to spend Christmas. He studied his cell mate. You ain’t the ordinary kind, boy. What’re you doing in here?

I was framed.

Yeah? I was drunk. Gipson’s laughter came lazy and incriminating. I did this too myself. So, who framed you?

"An up and coming politician, maybe you voted for him, or will one day.

Walden."

Who are you to this up and coming politician?

His public relations department.

P R., huh? Looks like you messed up, big time.

You get right to the point, don’t you?

Nothing but the truth, boy. Stretching his limbs, arms akimbo, Gipson yawned, We make mistakes and pay the consequences, just remember it’s self who chose to err but the consequence is sometimes in another person’s hand.

Aren’t you the wordy one? So where does this leave you? Andrew stood to straighten the wrinkles out of his Armani suit, pulling the jacket sleeves over the black shirt cuffs, and finger pinching the creases to the silver gray trousers while Gipson watched.

You’re one of those purty boys, aren’t you? He chuckled, holding up a hand, Don’t tell me.

Whatever you are insinuating, forget it. I was a married man. I have a son to prove it.

Lost that too, huh?

Andrew grimaced. He had enough of this bozo’s questions. Yeah, I guess.

How long you here for?

You might say until they take me to court unless they move me to the county holding tank.

That bad. Hmmm. Gipson sat back down, staring hard at Andrew. I had a boy like you, once. There wasn’t anything me and his momma could do to change his ways. You might say he walked to the beat of a different drum. We raised him straight laced as an apostle but this one never held to our teachings or the laws of the land. Thinking a moment, he added, We have a girl, too.

What happened?

He died, on Christmas day four year ago. Gipson’s shoulders hunched forward as he stared down at the floor. Makes every Christmas nearly unbearable. His voice was soft and raspy as he admitted, I blame myself for not being a better daddy. Most years, since he died I’ve drank myself into a stupor trying to forget. He glanced up, his eyes foggy with hurt, It could happen to you, fellow. The pain seemed to envelope his body. If I don’t stop this mindless destruction, I fear I’ll lose my wife and family or either I’ll be dead by my own stupidity. The drink only lasts awhile, then all the memories return.

I don’t drink that much.

Nah, I know the signs, Gipson replied. You are a druggy or you’re going to be.

How would you know? Andrew’s question slipped out, sarcastic and condemning. They say it takes one to know one.

Listen, son. Gipson’s voice dropped low. My wife will be here shortly, to bail me out. She always does. But you, you bother me. A young man like you, from what I heard last night you’re facing prison. I know a few people in high places. He noticed Andrew studying him, his eyes taking in the baggy britches, the wool sport coat, anything but fitting. Don’t judge this book by its cover. You hear?

Andrew sighed. Yeah, I guess that’s right. Look at me, dressed like male model of the year sitting in a jail cell.

There’s a chance I can help you. Tell me your story and let me decide if it rings true. Gipson’s eyes penetrated Andrew’s exterior façade. Don’t lie to me, boy. Do you understand I might help you?

Jesus. Andrew wasn’t certain if he were praying or asking for help when he called silently on Jesus. Who was this guy that expected him to come clean, tell the truth? He didn’t look like someone that could help anyone, unless it was Good Will. Maybe it was a curse since he had no faith in Jesus.

I was married. I have a son. I lost my last job because I got caught up in drugs. I wasn’t a full time user but when things went wrong I’d shoot up for encouragement and to feel better about everything.

Son, there’s no part time user in drugs. If you were strong enough to bypass the drugs you would’ve never started using in the first place. They pull you in, bit by bit. I know, because they did my son. Next thing you know, you’ll sell whatever item it takes to feed the habit. Pacing the cell, Gipson scrutinized the situation as memories of his son lead him to ask certain questions.

What about your son’s mother? Is she a good woman? Doesn’t delve in the things you do?

No, she doesn’t.

That was hard to say, wasn’t it? Gipson’s eyes softened. My wife puts up with me. That makes her an angel. So your wife is a good woman and you have harassed her until you have broken her spirit and financially ruined her. Am I correct?

Yes.

You appear well educated or Walden wouldn’t allow you in his camp. But he has you by the nape of the neck and very well may hang you if his story is good enough to make the higher powers believe it. Am I right?

Yes sir.

How about you give me your word you’ll let the mother of your child raise your boy in peace and I’ll speak with my friend who’s in chambers. He always pulls me through these situations. Together we’ll see if your past merits you having a future on the outside of prison bars instead of behind them. What do you say?

Giving anything but a respectful reply, Andrew’s mind was busy digesting Gipson’s words. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain but this man was nothing more than a cell partner in baggy pants. I don’t think you can help me.

Feeling a bit uppity, aren’t you? Gipson sighed and turned toward the cell door. I’m willing to try for you, in memory of my son. His life ended. We will never know the sweet existence of a child from him. That would have helped his mother, considerably. Shaking his head, he turned doleful eyes upon Andrew. You had a terrible relationship with your father, didn’t you?

That’s none of your business.

No, it isn’t, but if I’m to help you, you need to talk to me. Time’s passing. Any minute I’ll walk through this door a free man. Do you want my help or not? Because if you do, I’m going to hold you to a few things, such as I already know you love your son but you are so self-centered you forget his emotional needs. You think if you provide material things you’ve met your responsibility. Not so. If I’m going to help you get on the straight and narrow path you’re going to promise me you won’t interfere with your son’s raising. That will be entirely up to the boy’s mother.

Watching Gipson knock on the bars and call down the hall way, Andrew could only wonder, from where this man received wisdom. He was a drunk otherwise he wouldn’t have spent the night in a jail cell. The jail attendant appeared. Gipson asked for something. The man nodded and returned shortly with a note pad and pencil.

Sit over here beside me, Gipson said. Let’s get this down on paper. My expectations of you and your signature in agreement, otherwise, we have no deal. Their eyes met. What do you say?

Andrew’s lips were sealed. What he was saying was nothing but what he was thinking was magnitude. What was it Anne said, to coin a phrase, "God has a plan for each of us, Andrew, and he uses whomever he wishes in order to carry it out. In other words as Ellen says, God works in mysterious ways. If it got him out of this jail situation, he guessed he could go along with the God-thing.

There will be the occupational change, Gipson was saying. I own a construction business. I’m going to put you in charge of a group and that should keep you busy during the day and when you’ve learned as need arise you will be in charge of the nights. Let’s see how you do on that?

I’m not trained for construction work.

Time takes care of everything. By the end of a month you’ll think you know everything but you won’t. You have to have a job or the Judge won’t go along with setting you back in society. This is the best I have to offer and I truly believe it’s what’s going to save your neck. Your soul is up to you and God.

You don’t expect me to go to church, do you?

Gipson had a way of staring him down. Andrew cast his eyes to the floor; he knew the answer.

CHAPTER TWO

MARIGOLD YAWNED, SLOWLY WAKING TO the day. She had slept wonderfully rested considering the turmoil she felt yesterday on Christmas day. A flash of instant realization brought her up and out of the bed. Matt?

There he was in her bed, one arm above the pillow where her head had laid, the other where it had been wrapped around her body. Fully dressed, his boots sitting by the side of the bed, Matt stubble bearded and sleepy eyed stared back at her. Good morning, beautiful. He grinned.

What When? She sputtered, taking in her own person still dressed in the clothes she had worn to Ellen’s for Christmas dinner. What are you doing here? Her eyes were large as saucers and she was near collapse with anxiety. Your mother will be out of her mind.

He shrugged, rising to sit. I can’t help that. She just has to deal with it.

What do you mean?

Reaching for her hand he pulled her back down onto the bed. You need me. I need you.

Listen, farm boy, it won’t work. Your mother will hang us both.

I decided a few things last night when I found you asleep in front of the window. He traced a finger along the side of her jaw, coming to rest at the end of her nose. Do you remember that? You had been crying. Evidently you were exhausted. I picked you up and carried you into the bed and you never stirred.

Oh. In angst, she wrung her hands, slumped forward until he pulled her down onto the bed and into the hollow of his arm. Matthew, what will your mother say? This is just one more thing to hold against me, because she will think the worst.

Let her. He nuzzled his chin against the back of her head. Turn over. Let me see your eyes. Yawning, he said, I have decided I can’t live the rest of my life based on what my parent’s think. Nothing happened here last night. He sighed. I’ll go home and if the need arises explain and if my explanation is not accepted then I’ll speak to Dad alone and if he so desires I’ll pack my bag and leave.

Leave the farm and your family? Her eyes filled with tears. You can’t do that. I can’t be responsible for such…..

Interrupting, Matt touched her lips. It’s not your decision. It’s something I have to do.

HEY, ELLEN’S FATHER CAME INTO the room. What’s going on? You seem pretty deep in thought.

You can tell, huh? She grinned as he tousled her hair just as he had when she was a child. She patted his hand as it came to rest on her shoulder. Is Mom coming down?

I hear her on the stairs at this moment. He slid into the chair across from her and smiled up at Sally as she crossed to where they were sitting. If I’m not mistaken our daughter has something on her mind.

The wedding? Sally’s smile matched Ellen’s as it widened briefly and she wondered why her daughter was fretting. I’ll help in any way I can. Two months will be here before we know it. Are you worrying over something?

What should I do about this house?

Have you and Daniel talked it over?

No, I thought I would ask you and Dad first.

Makes me feel good you would ask us, James replied, But talk it over with Daniel and he may have a suggestion. The house needs repair. I’ve been looking around a bit, but you are in a good neighborhood. This part of town will always call to an outsider because of the history attached.

I know. Look at Harriet’s home. People drive by just to get a glance of it and on the street behind Mr. Silverman’s home is wonderfully kept. She sighed, But it was all I could do to purchase this house with the money Mimmie left me. There was no funding for renovation.

I’m sorry about that, daughter. James shook his head woefully. Your mother and I should never have given you our opinion about Jeffrey. Losing you these years nearly killed us. If we had been active in your life these past years maybe I could have helped a bit.

"We lost precious time together and my silly pride