From Driftwood to Sapphire

From Driftwood to Sapphire

© 2015 by Kathy M. Howard

All rights reserved

ISBN: 978-1-62020-542-6

eISBN: 978-1-62020-450-4

Edited by Brenda Covert

Author Photo by Sharon Brisken Photography

Cover Design and Page Layout by Hannah Nichols

eBook Conversion by Anna Raats

Unless otherwise indicated, Scriptures are taken from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright Information

Dedication

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

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Contact Information

DEDICATION

God, thank You for the lessons You continue to teach me. They are ongoing and I am grateful for a patient Teacher. Again, this book is Yours. Do with it what You will.

To my husband and our precious girls—always and forever.

Mom, you are and have always been in my corner. Thank you for the countless hours you offer to this amazing dream-come-true.

To Mr. Dudley, Mrs. Brenda, Jill, Gentry, Vicky, Lee, and Traci, my extra blessings, my parents and brothers and sisters who have so generously adopted me.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.

~ Proverbs 3:5–6 (NIV)

CHAPTER ONE

ALTHOUGH IT WAS SEVENTY-FIVE DEGREES, there was a definite touch of fall in the air. It would not be long until I’d have to break out my light jacket. For now, though, as long as the wind remained calm and the sun shone brilliant, I could continue wearing my never-ending supply of t-shirts.

I spread out the blanket and reclined facing the sun. It was so warm and bright, I could still see the light through closed lids. This was the break I needed, the rare, occasional alone time I craved. Nothing like listening to the sounds of college life mixed with nature’s finest to relax the mind after a two-hour lecture on child psychology. I enjoyed my major of elementary education when I got the chance to actually interact with children, but sitting behind a desk, trying to fulfill my own classroom requirements, was anything but entertaining.

I’d just about drifted to sleep when Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata began to play. Some considered the ringtone to be dark or depressing. But to me, it was a beautiful piece of genius at work.

With my eyes closed, I patted around my blanket until I felt my phone.

Hello? I asked almost groggily.

Sam, Dad cried, it’s time!

I sat up with a jerk, almost knocking the phone out of my hand.

Really?

Yep. We’re on the way to the hospital now. At that moment, I heard a loud moan and a muffled encouragement from Dad. Almost there, Bay. Just breathe, honey. You’re doing great.

I waited a few seconds until the background noise eased. How’s she doing?

She’s strong—like she always is. She didn’t even tell me she was having contractions until she had Ava comfortably tucked away at the Milfreds’. Then, she finally called me. I’m not even sure I remembered to lock the office before I came rushing back up the mountain to get her.

Dad sounded so excited. I couldn’t help but smile as big as I’m sure he was smiling.

I’m sure it’s fine. There’s nothing in that old place worth taking anyway. I chuckled, knowing he wouldn’t care at this point. If I was there, it would be the perfect time to toilet paper that entire office, even rearrange some of the folders in the filing cabinets. He’d be so focused on the arrival of his child, it would take him weeks to notice that anything was out of order. I tucked the idea to the back, thinking it might be doable if he continued to forget to lock the office over the next few days, when his mind would be most scattered.

Tell Bay I’m praying for her. Call me as soon as you know something. I’ll pack as fast as I can and be on the road.

Okay, but just pack fast—don’t drive fast. In the middle of everything, he still found a sane moment to play the Dad card. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to sabotage his office after all.

I will. Love you both.

Lo— he began and quickly ended the call just as I heard Bay start to moan again. The contractions were coming awfully fast. Lord, be with them. Get them to the hospital in time and be with Bay and the baby.

I hastily rolled the blanket into a pile and jetted back to my room, thanking God that He was bringing the baby into the world on a Friday so I could go home. I threw some clothes into an overnight bag, left a quick note for my freshman roommate, Tessa, and was in my car and on the road in less than twenty minutes. This baby wasn’t even mine, and yet my hands shook and my mind raced with excitement.

God had been so good to our little family. He’d been with Dad and me all those years we were a family of two, bringing special people into our lives and leading us to Him. He’d been with Bay as she lost her first husband and two children to a devastating car accident, which ultimately brought her to our mountain. She’d sought out View Top Mountain in an attempt to escape her drowning depression and punish herself for being the one driving the car. Instead, God had revealed Himself to her in a mighty way and led her to us. A few years later, He had taken my little family of two and doubled it, adding Bay and my three-year-old sister, Ava. After today, we would be a family of five.

Thank You, God, for my family. I grew up without a mother, without siblings, and now You have given me both. Help me to be a good sister to Ava and to this little one.

I pulled into the hospital an hour and a half after getting off the phone with Dad. View Top Mountain did not have a hospital, and the closest one was about ninety minutes in my direction, halfway between school and home. Today had been the only time I was grateful for that. It shortened my driving by half. However, that also meant it was likely a long and painful one for Bay. Forgive my selfishness, God.

As I exited the elevator to the maternity ward on the second floor, I nearly bumped into Doctor Joe Wright, our family physician. He wore a dreary look of exhaustion.

Hi, Doc Joe, I greeted cheerfully. You just coming off a long shift? Bay’s having her baby. I’m on my way there now. Excitement caused my words to flow out of my mouth at record speed.

He forced a smile, responding much slower. Hello, Samantha. Yes, I know. I’ve just been by to see your dad and Bay.

Really? She already had the baby?

He reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder. Why don’t you go on back? I’m sure they would love to see you.

I stared at the doctor. The smile he continued to hold was stationed on his lips, but not in his eyes. They were blank, almost empty. Even though he obviously had had a long shift, his lack of enthusiasm brought an inexplicable feeling of anger. Surely he could force a little bit of merriment for us after all we’ve been through over the years. I knew he’d had a thing for my stepmother in the past, but it was high time he got over that. She was with my father now, and they were both unbelievably happy, even with such complicated and sad pasts—each of them.

I cleared my throat, hoping to clear away the anger that was rising the longer I stared at Doc Joe’s expressionless face. Um, which room are they in? Not surprisingly, Dad had not called me back to update me once they made it to the hospital.

They are down to the left, in Room 207. He gestured with a weary nod.

I smiled my appreciation and quickly took off toward the pointed direction. When I stepped over the threshold of the hospital room, my heart stopped. There, at the side of the bed, was the most unforgettable sight I’d ever seen—my father, supporting the hands of my stepmother as she held my new, beautiful, innocent baby sister. Though I could not see anyone’s faces from where I stood, I knew the scene before me would stay with me for the rest of my life. I decided to wait a few seconds before interrupting, savoring the sight.

They were in another world, unable to hear my approaching footsteps. I stepped to the end of the bed to gain a better view of the three of them, together for the first time, child meeting parents and parents meeting child. Tears pooled in my eyes, causing my vision to blur. Gently, I blinked them away as reality came into clear light.

Wren Jordan, my father and the strongest and manliest man I’d ever known, was crying—not tears of joy, but horrifying, gut-wrenching sobs. His shoulders trembled as he tried desperately to keep his hands steady under the baby. That was not the reaction I had envisioned from behind them. I quickly shifted my eyes to Bay. She was entirely white, almost translucent, as silent tears poured down her cheeks. Neither made any noise. They just wept uncontrollably. What was going on? There was not a glimmer of joy on their faces, not a flicker of happiness, just incommunicable sadness.

I forced myself to lower my gaze, to the bundle in their hands. The tiny person was perfect. A pink ribbon was somehow attached to the few strands of jet-black hair extending from her flawlessly oval shaped head. Her soft, ivory-colored skin was smooth, not a blemish to be seen. Cheeks, chubby and already pinchable, begged to be kissed. Eyes, closed with long, glamorous lashes reaching out like the sun’s rays, waited to be opened. Her arms and legs lay bare, outstretched, as if to say, Here I am, world. Ten little, adorable fingers hung half opened, ready to grab anything that touched her palms. She was perfect. Every part of my baby sister was perfect . . . except . . . her chest. It refused to move.

I stared hard at her middle. Come on God, make it move. Make it move! Make it move!

My purse slid from my shoulders, falling to the floor in what felt like slow motion. With it fell the baby present I had made and wrapped over the summer, keeping it always ready and available to deliver on that oh-so-special day of birth. My sister, having been loved indescribably since the minute we all found out she was on the way, lying in my parents’ arms, waiting so patiently to be introduced to the most incredible family, was not breathing. She was dead.

I pulled my arms close to my stomach, holding them as tight as I could as I fumbled backwards into the poorly cushioned chair. My first instinct was to run to her, to hold her as I begged and pleaded with God to give her back. Why had He taken her from us—so soon? My breathing quickened as I looked around for a blanket. She should be wrapped tightly to keep the chill out. It was so cold in this room. Why is she not inside the warmth of cloth? Why is she only in a diaper?

All of a sudden, I wanted to figure out how to be the big sister I was supposed to be—to do everything I should do over the years, but do them now, all at once. I wanted to tell her about Ava and our mountain, to read to her, to dance silly dances and perform puppet shows. I wanted to hug her bad dreams away and kiss her skinned knees. I wanted to watch Dad teach her to ride a bike and to listen to Bay sing her to sleep. Oh, how I wanted to hear her laugh, to hear her speak, to hear her cry. I wanted to help her through those awkward years when pimples appear and she wouldn’t know whether to cry, laugh, or yell. I wanted to show her those years would pass, that she would survive them, like I did. I wanted to talk to her about her first crush, to hear her gush and watch her face turn red. And Ava—I wanted Ava to do all those things with us, like three peas in a pod.

But, somehow, some way, I knew as much as I wanted to do those things, I needed to do something else. I needed to keep my hands tightly bound to prevent them from taking my sister out of my parents’ arms. She was their child, their daughter. I knew I loved her, but their love was different. Their love would require my desires to go to her, to steal her into my own arms, to silently and painfully halt for a few minutes more.

Bay’s love for this child was a deeper love, an unspeakable love, one that I had yet to experience and so could only imagine. She had been connected to her for nine months, mentally and physically. She had felt her kick, roll over, and even hiccup. She knew when her child was asleep and when she was awake, without ever having laid eyes on her. Her voice had been a calming comfort to my little sister as she grew within her mother’s womb.

I watched them carefully, suddenly understanding why my sister was not swaddled warmly in a blanket. I witnessed Bay, ever so slowly, gliding her fingers over every inch of her little body, memorizing every wrinkle, every joint. I observed my father’s eyes, following his wife’s touch, permanently and intentionally embedding the same memories into his own mind. Every so often, flashes of something else, of what seemed to be genuine concern for Bay, entered his expression before his gaze returned to his beloved daughter.

They had stopped time around them, creating a Jordan bubble around the hospital bed. I did not know when Bay delivered the sweet girl or how long she had been dead, but considering the child was clean, I guessed it had happened a good bit before I arrived.

My parents were oblivious to my presence until a nurse came in to check on them minutes later. Can I get you anything? she asked, placing her hand gently on my dad’s back.

Dad looked up at the touch, noticing me for the first time. With wet cheeks, he somehow placed a half-curved smile on his face as he let out a deep-seated sigh, settling his shaking shoulders. My heart broke.

Some more water would be nice. Thank you.

Sure, she responded before nodding her condolences to me on her way out.

Dad made sure Bay had a hold on the baby and then opened his arm for me to enter their makeshift family circle.

Hey, sweetie. Come meet your sister, Mika Marie.

I stepped into the center of the Jordan sanctuary and peered down, getting the same visual but from a different vantage point. She was just as perfect up close as she was several feet away. She was also just as dead. How could this have happened? How could this beautiful little girl be gone before I’d even met her?

Mika Marie, huh? I asked, knowing full well where the beautiful name came from. Bay’s first husband, father of her twins, was named Micah. And Marie was the name of the daughter of our dear neighbors, Theodore and Bertha Sue Milfred—a daughter lost to them after only two months. The name Wren and Bay Jordan had picked out was chosen out of deep affection in representation of dearly loved ones who had since gone.

Dad grabbed my hand, squeezing it. Yes.

I squeezed back as tears fell from my eyes. Hey, sweet Mika, I started, my voice softly cracking. I’m your big sister Samantha. I made you something. I glanced over at my purse, lying on the ground. Inside it was a small, cross-stitched picture of a girl holding the hands of a younger girl and a toddler. It represented the three Jordan siblings. Above the little picture was the saying, God made us family and the best of friends. It’s not the best looking picture because it was my first cross-stitch. But, it was made with love. I reached for her little fingers. They were so small—so soft.

I’ll hang it in your room when I get home, I choked out. You have another sister named Ava. She looked a lot like you when she was born. I bet the two of you would have had so much fun together. I paused to wipe the tears dripping off my nose. "You also have a brother named Jamie and a sister named Paige. I never got to meet them, but I know they were