FORBIDDEN: Book Two

By Betty Lowrey

God's love shines through Ellen's excitement as she dons the red dress won from the Bridal Shoppe. Daniel has invited all the ladies to attend Hutsons Ball, but excitement dims as she recalls the animosity between their new neighbors Marigold and Harriet. While Anne's ex-husband tries to ruin her life, Bitty is miserable because she and the chie

• Language: English
• Publisher: Betty Lowrey
• Release date: May 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798990154889

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 979-8-9901548-9-6 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-9901548-8-9 (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

Chapter Twenty Two

DEDICATION

For Bob who believes in me and loves me.

And all our little duckies, (you know who you are)

Thank you to our Heavenly Father for inspiration and blessing.

BEGINNING QUOTE

"There’s a charm about the Forbidden

That makes it unspeakably desirable." Mark Twain

Chapter One

A CASUAL OBSERVER MIGHT NOTICE THE sale sign on the front lawn of the four-square antebellum. Down the street a neighbor might discuss the woman who lived in the house next door, Ellen and her daughter, Ruthie.

The baby sitter they called Bitty was wont to come and go but she seemed to be staying more these days. Then there was Anne, the one laying in coma in the hospital who used to spend nights.

Now the neighborhood buzz hinted of someone buying the old four- square. A hippie, they whispered, spiked hair and a strange van said to have wings that sped in and out of the neighborhood, flying down the road as on wings of eagles. But how would they know? It was only gossip. Two doctors lived on the next street over, strange healing men with mystical powers. That was what was said.

Some would say this is Anne’s story, but they remembered Anne lay in coma. She would be coming to Harriet’s house and most people steered clear of Harriet Becker. Perhaps then, this is Anne’s story.

Harriet had taken great strides to remain aloof from her neighbors, but the power lines down during a major ice storm contributed greatly to her debut back into society. Her great dark secret began to eat away at Harriet’s very soul. What would the group of ladies think of her if they knew? Something was changing Harriet, whether attending church or her participation with the group of ladies, she didn’t know.

Little did Harriet realize the new neighbor on the street would chafe her spirit and stir the doldrums from her life. Should she remain aloof or take up the power and authority left to her by her late husband? Harriet could do a bit of meddling herself, but this was not Harriet’s story.

I’M MOVING TO A SMALL town in Missouri, Marigold said. On the other end of the line her friend groaned.

Sure you can visit. I hear they have an excellent nursing program. She laughed. No, I’m not going back to school. One of my mother’s friends contacted me, and in our conversation she mentioned that the Cape is a town on the move. It has two hospitals and a cutting edge art university. Yeah, I might as well use what I know, if I don’t starve to death trying and if that doesn’t work I will find a job that keeps me fed. At least I will have a home. Not only did mother’s friend find it for me, she was the go between me and the owners. You might say I put all my eggs in one basket and bought this big old four-square home on one of the oldest streets in town.

The call finished, her friend saying good bye, Marigold shut the cover to her phone. She wasn’t one hundred percent certain she had done the right thing, but the papers were signed and tonight someone else would be sleeping in the apartment. Carrying the last box out to the van, she turned off the lights, left the key on the counter top and hurried out. If she lingered she might cry. Everything was so final.

The decision to move to Missouri was dropped like a bomb when she read the letter her parents had written and left in their bank deposit box never suspecting one day Marigold would read it. Tears dripped down the end of her nose, streamed down her cheeks and blurred her vision. She had to compose herself. She could not drive if she could not see. She questioned if her parents had told her, whether life would have been any different? Now it was told in the form of a letter because they had died in a car accident.

Having just finished college with a diploma practically wet from the press, her life had turned upside down when the call came about her parents. Even now, her knees grew weak when she realized they were gone. She would never see them again. What did she know about planning a new life in a new state? She had tread water, so to speak, the last six months trying to fit into Texas society, but her heart wasn’t in it. She decided to move. What if she hated Missouri; her newly purchased home and her neighbors? What if they hated her?

THREE MONTHS HAD PASSED SINCE Anne’s accident. The first month, Bitty and Harriet visited the hospital, growing more depressed each day, watching as Anne lay in coma. Anne’s x-husband continued to drop by, late in the afternoons when his work was finished. Tight-lipped, the two watched Andrew, wondering if he felt any guilt over Anne’s condition. It was he who threatened and frustrated their friend according to his own words, only minutes before Anne was crushed in her car. Due to ice on the road the driver of an eighteen wheeler had lost control, sending his truck careening into a second vehicle that was pushed over the guard rail of the interstate to land on Anne’s car as she waited for a light change on the street below.

The good news was Ruthie was found. Three year old daughter of Anne’s friend, Ellen, had been kidnapped and held for ransom and yet found in a most unexpected way by the chief of police himself. It all bore explaining when Andrew asked how the four of them had become friends and what their attachment was to Anne as she lay in mute condition.

Considering her own intention to dislike Anne’s ex, knowing he had abused Anne during their marriage and presently unsure a leopard could change its spots, so to speak, Harriet eyed Andrew with discerning eyes, cold disdain and a desire to flick him aside as one would a pesky fly.

We came together due to need during the ice storm, she replied, when the power lines were down.

You seem to be an unlikely group, Andrew replied. Age difference, considered, and….

Well, yes, Harriet agreed. What does age have to do with friendship?

She watched him squirm, uncomfortably; glad she had that effect on him. Evidently her powers were still working, though she had to admit the haughtiness that had become so much a part of her in the years since her husband died and her own choice to pull away from people had now lessened and all due to these women. She listened as Andrew quizzed Bitty. He would get no information from that one. Bitty was as loyal to Anne as she was to Ellen.

Ellen. Quiet serious Ellen leaned on her faith in God more than anyone Harriet had ever known. Ellen, whose home she invaded due to her own fear of being alone. When the pains around her heart intensified and the furnace quit she had not told them about the pains around her heart had she?

Pacing herself while staying in Ellen’s home, Harriet had come through another episode knowing the doctors warning held merit. Doc Tolbert had known her through two husbands and felt he had a right to ask, Are you afraid to die, Harriet?

She wanted to say, "That’s none of your business, but she might need him, later.

You are not that old, Harriet, he had said, sighing as though he held the book of time in his own hands But sooner or later, you are going to have to have a pace maker, and if you don’t know the nuts and bolt to dying, then it’s time you find out. Me, he said, sinking onto a cracked leather chair in his office, I believe there is a here-after. When God almighty comes for me, I want to be ready.

Listening to the droll replies Bitty offered Andrew, Harriet could only surmise the conversation was going as usual. Neither woman held much hope for Andrew’s change of heart, but they did hope for Anne to waken and resume her life of being little Andy’s mother and finishing the nursing classes along with Ellen. Strange, how that winsome little girl had gained their devotion.

There, but for the grace of God go I, they’d said. Anne couldn’t help if she was born to a mother who cared more for alcohol than her child, nor that Anne married a man who changed the day after they married. Over time, he had killed her spirit and made her feel less than the good person she was. Harriet remembered someone from her own past and the anger surged through her veins making her heart thump wildly in her chest.

She stirred, this morning.

The three glanced sharply to where a nurse stood in the doorway of the room.

What do you mean? Andrew came from the side of the bed, where a machine purred and clicked, sending some sort of life to Anne’s sleeping body.

When we bathed her, there was a flutter of the eyelids and a purr of breath, almost a sigh, as if she were trying to waken from a dream.

In the beginning you said the coma was induced. Then, when she didn’t waken, you said only time would tell…. Andrew’s words dropped low as the nurse frowned.

Doctor said that, not me. She replied. They don’t always know, but your wife is healthy.

Meaning? Andrew stuck his hands in the pockets of his trousers, impatiently jingling loose coins.

There is no brain damage and the wounds are healing, but it does remain to be seen, when your wife wakens whether she can walk.

Look. I’m not responsible for Anne. Andrew’s voice came petulant and defiant. We’re divorced.

Then, why are you here, Harriet demanded. You have made that clear enough many times.

Andrew stalked out of the room.

The nurse heaved a deep breath. What’s his ulterior motive?

Harriet met Bitty’s glance. They had wondered the same to the point of a curious questioning. Sometimes Andrew’s interest seemed to border on whether Anne lived or died and his interest leaned possibly toward beneficial if she died.

WHAT DO YOU THINK? HARRIET settled into the passenger seat, fastened the belt and stared across at Bitty as she keyed the motor and pulled into the street. Does he have an insurance policy on her as we have thought? Why else is he sticking close in that room every day? Sometimes I wonder if we should leave him in there alone.

We can’t be with Anne all the time.

No. We can’t. They rode in comfortable silence until Harriet questioned, Has Chester called?"

Bitty flushed. Why?

Because he called me and asked if I thought you would take his call. He wants to take you out to dinner.

Harriet, I told you, just because the chief of Police met us during Ruthie’s kidnapping, and yes, he was the one who found her and for that I am forever grateful, still I have no interest in having dinner with him.

Well, I already knew him, though I hadn’t seen him in years. My late husband helped him in the early days of his career. Harriet sighed, extending one manicured hand, to examine a chipped nail. He is lonely, Bitty, and if I don’t miss my guess, you are too.

I’m not interested.

Studying Bitty, Harriet’s eyes came to a squint, Oh, why not? He is handsome. He is a widower and you are a widow. What is wrong with getting acquainted?

Bitty surprised them both, as she pulled the car out of traffic and came to rest on a side street. I am not interested. Bitty’s eyes wore a grim expression. Do you want me to pick you up tomorrow for a visit at the hospital, or do you want to call a cab to go see Anne?

THE CALL CAME AT EIGHT o’clock. Bitty did not have caller I.D. Hello, she said.

Good evening, Beatrice, this is Chester Mayfield.

Clamping her mouth shut, Bitty’s teeth were on edge before the chief of Police’s next words.

I was wondering if you would have dinner with me, this Thursday night, he said.

Placing the phone’s receiver gently back into the cradle, Bitty turned toward the door. She was outside, pacing, hoping for all the world she appeared to be examining the roses that edged the drive to her house. Like a deranged person, with arms wrapped tightly around her body Bitty paced and fumed. The nerve of the man to call, when he knew she wanted nothing to do with him. No doubt it was Harriet who set the whole thing up, saying to her he was handsome. He’s lonely, Bitty. He is a widower, and you are a widower. The pacing was wearing her down and how many times could you examine a row of roses, anyway? It had been a long time since she cared what her neighbors thought, but this….this invitation was preposterous and she felt like the whole world knew. All she wanted was to live her life the way she wanted, helping Ellen with Ruthie, letting that sweet little lump of girl love her when no one else did.

It was never Bitty’s plan that her husband would die young, nor that they would bury the only child Bitty would ever have, when that baby was two days old. It wasn’t fair, and she would make no waves. There were no words to convey her resolve to go on, in a world that promised little but expected much. Harriet Becker had changed from a mean spirited recluse, worming her way into their nice little world. She would not have the woman meddling in her affairs. No sir. You mind your own business or find your own ride. That’s what she had thought, what she had said, let the rocks fall where they will.

The phone rang again at nine o’clock. Bitty let it ring. She had calmed down. Ashamed of her own belligerence she silently considered her own mean spirit. She guessed Harriet meant well. The woman lived a private life, she should understand. Bitty couldn’t keep the thoughts from coming, stringing one after the other like lights on a strand; Harriet sitting on the sofa believing three year old Ruthie could read, when the child memorized the story and knew exactly when to turn the page in the book, Harriet laughing and helping Bitty move the heavy oak furniture up two flights of stairs, admiring the chenille bedspread and the sheer curtains they hung at the windows in Ellen’s attic room, and Harriet ushering them down the aisle at Christ Church as though she were their ordained guide.

They had formed all those opinions of the rich lady living next door, because she spoke with anger in her actions and unfriendliness in her tone. Then they became acquainted in the unusual dilemma of an ice storm when Harriet came demanding shelter at Ellen’s house, and just as the ice had finally thawed from the frozen streets, so had their hearts melted to find Harriet just another lonely human being in need of people.

Now, as Bitty brushed her teeth, stared into the mirror and caught a glimpse of the girl who had once been a wife and briefly a mother, Ruthie flashed into her thoughts. Darling, curious, fun-loving Ruthie, whose life had been in jeopardy, was the glue that brought them all together. Ruthie had so much love one would have to be a stone-cold statue not to feel it. How Bitty’s heart had ached when Ruthie was missing, fearful someone would blame her. She had not felt such loss since losing the loves of her life, for Ruthie had become the love of her life. Ellen’s child, innocent and trusting loved Bitty filling the void of human touch; the difference between hope and despair in a heart that would have been empty.

The ringing of the phone brought her around. Bitty closed her eyes for a moment. Then she studied her mirrored image, non-descript hair; questioning gray eyes that seemed not to trust easily, with a smatter of freckles across the nose. In all she suspected it was a face not too many people would remember. So why any man would be interested was beyond imagination? One hundred pounds, ringing wet, Larry used to say. Itty, Bitty, you are a handful in size small." She reached for the lotion as she settled on the bed, and the phone quit ringing. Her skin was dry. Lotion was the one vice she allowed herself.

Stretching out, her hand reaching across to touch the pillow she tried to visualize Larry laying there. What would he think of another man calling her? She closed her eyes, trying to see Larry in Heaven. He would be happy knowing Ruthie finally talked her into returning to church. She had made no commitment, other than to tell God she was extremely thankful for the return of Ruthie into their lives with no physical harm from the kidnapping and miraculously Ruthie seemed emotionally sound. When the lady who helped with the kidnapping gave Ruthie sleeping pills, evidently God saw to it that Ruthie slept through much of the ordeal. He truly worked in a mysterious way to take care of Ruthie.

This is Bitty, Lord. I don’t know how to pray or what to pray for, I am pretty well satisfied. I did think mean about Harriet and I don’t want that man bothering me, but I’m still thankful for all you do for all of us and I’ll just ask you to help me take the best care of little Ruthie and not make mistakes. Amen

Chapter Two

CHESTER MAYFIELD DROVE SLOWLY PAST the house. There was one light. He figured by the location, the light was on in Beatrice bedroom. She hadn’t answered the phone and that bothered him. He could not think of anything he had done to insult the lady and yet she made it clear she did not want to speak to him and certainly not have dinner with him. He rubbed his chin, where a day’s growth had left deep stubble of beard. As Chief of Police he demanded his men stay clean shaven and he should set the example. For the life of him he wondered why he was interested in her at all. She was just a slight figure, in constant movement caring for others. He wouldn’t say they took advantage of her because they all protest that she did too much and they seemed to appreciate her. Without knowing why he missed seeing her after the few days at the house where she was sitter for the little kidnapped girl. Not since Mavis died had he experienced any interest in another woman and now this bit of a woman sat constantly on the edge of his mind. He wanted her to say yes to an invitation, ride in his car and talk to him across a dinner table. What was it about that bothered her?

He drew the cell phone from his left shirt pocket and dialed Harriet Becker.

Harriet, Chester here. I am interested in your thoughts. Why does Beatrice turn down my invitations?

Her laughter came across the line. Keep trying, Chester. I don’t have a clue, and neither does she.

Staring at the phone, Chester closed it down. Well, that makes no sense. He said out loud.

LAUGHING, HARRIET PULLED THE BRUSH through her hair, scrutinizing the face that stared back from the mirror. I would say he is smitten. Hook line and sinker, she said aloud, "To think after all these years an encounter with Chester. Well, I guess I better not try to lead him along, instead, I’ll explain Bitty to him, to the best of my knowledge.

That is a sobering thought, Harriet surmised, Me trying to explain anyone, least of all, Bitty.

She sat down at the dressing table Mr. Becker had given as a gift. He never failed to gift, on any reasonable day, her birthday, holidays, founder’s day, the list went on and on. She had not loved him with the passion of a new bride for she was forty when they married and it was a second marriage for her. But she had grown to appreciate him and be thankful for his kindness. He had come into her life at a time she needed someone. When her first husband died, she sank to the lowest level, drowning in grief, wallowing in personal loss and vulnerable. Hot shame spread from the roots of her hair down to the base of her neck, to think, she, knowing better at the age of forty could make such a mistake.

There were men who preyed on lonely women. Harriet was not worldly, but temptation came knocking and she succumbed. Why? Even now she could not explain. He was funny and very attentive. She was inexperienced. She was Eve. He was the snake in the garden offering the forbidden fruit she would accept. All those years, of trying to bear a child, Harriet a widow, now found herself pregnant by a man, other than her husband.

Hope fluttered in her heart, sliced away by the father of her child. No, I will not be marrying you, he said, coldly. Did you really think this affair would last? How could you be so dense as to not know, I already have a family. I cannot support you, or your child.

She had not argued it was his child, instead she did as he demanded and stayed the nine months in another state away from prying eyes and ears that might carry the story. When the baby was born, papers were signed; the door opened and closed behind her and the suitcase she carried was as empty as her heart. She would return to her home, without reminders of that time, and she would try to forget the child they had allowed her to name. Tying a small pink ribbon around the child’s wrist she kissed her good bye and walked away. It was the hardest day of her life and one she knew she would regret. She never saw the man again and heard a few years later he had died.

All this, she confided to Mr. Becker, who was fifteen years older than she, and his words were, let us move on together. Put this behind you, Harriet and never speak of this again. He wanted no blight on the name of his wife for he was an influential man in the community, needing by his side one that would set a shining example. Your secret is safe, he said. But the pain ate away at Harriet’s heart.

Now, she had finally told the doctor and he had given her warning. What if some day, suffering in pain she disclosed her innermost hope and desire? But she was feeling well, wasn’t she? Possibly that day of illness was one in a million and she would keep the secret locked away where prying eyes never saw or questioned. But she questioned as she moved toward the bed, was it possible, to find the child she had signed away? Why? Would she disrupt the life that child had known?

Clutching the bed sheet, Harriet felt the same urge to confess her sin to the Christ Church minister, and perhaps confide in Ellen and Bitty. But the Lord knew, they already had enough on their plate. There was no way she wanted them to look on her with sympathy, or hear their consoling words that she could be forgiven. No, certain incidents that happened in one’s life were forbidden and if one partook of that bitter pill, then one must bear the consequences. She had suffered silently all these years. Why now this inward need to purge and rectify the matter? Did she fear the heart would stop, life would end and she would die with the secret? How could she forgive herself? Why would she bring her past to light?

During the time, spent with Ellen, Bitty, and Anne, she had relinquished the memories that attacked her unmercifully, but coming home the barrage resumed. Now her heart was beating ferociously inside her chest, threatening each day’s solitude and holding her prison in her own head, demanding either repair or release

She tried to pray, but she felt so inadequate. "Lord, I am so weary, and my heart hurts. I’ve never asked this before, because I was never ready to face public ridicule but who am I, Lord. Shame has been with me many years, as I’ve questioned what I did so long ago. If you can forgive me, maybe in time I can forgive myself. It is my hope and desire to know, before I die, that the child I gave away has had a good life. I thank you for my friends. I ask you to bless them. Please help me through the night.

IN THE NEXT WEEK, ANNE opened her eyes. The next week she moved her hands on the stiff sheets and one day they found she had turned on her side. All on her own, the nurse said, beaming.

Then, as if on cue, Anne spoke. What are you two doing here?

Proud as new born baby’s parents, Bitty and Harriet stepped to the side of the bed. Well, glory be, Harriet chortled, We thought you would never wake up. Bitty wiped tears from her eyes.

The following week, the team from therapy worked with Anne, a belt around her waist to keep her from falling, a walker in front for support even though she could barely hold onto it as they awakened the sleeping muscles. At the end of the second week she was to be released if she had someone to stay with her twenty four hours a day.

Discussing the likelihood of Andrew providing Anne a place it was finally decided Anne would go home with Harriet.

What do you think of that? Bitty asked Ellen. Concern was written all over her face. Ellen’s parents had returned to their home and Bitty was spending time between her house and Ellen’s as she cared once more for Ruthie.

Grinning, Ellen replied. I think we are amazed Harriet would take on the job.

But can she do it? Bitty asked.

"Surely, look what all you do, Bitty, and you have no help. Didn’t you tell me, Harriet has a house-keeper