Giving Thanks For Baby

by Terri Reed

  She grimaced with alarm. “Nothing. I need to take Logan to school.”

  With a powerful jerk he dragged her toward the den.

  Dread and hate slithered over her as she tried to stop the forward momentum but the soles of her slick flats slid across the polished hardwood. “Logan will be late.”

  He flung open the den door and pushed her inside. “Write him a note.”

  As he slammed the door shut behind him, Lynda braced herself for what was to come and silently raged inside her head.

  Chapter Seven

  Ross closed the file he’d just finished cross-referencing with the documents the agency had on file. So far no other falsified records had been discovered from this new batch. He wasn’t sure why Barnaby Harcourt had hidden these ones away.

  Leaning back in his chair, Ross picked up his coffee mug and savored the strong brew. Letting his mind wander from the business at hand, he thought about his mother and Trista and the day at the nursing home.

  He should have prepared Trista before taking her there, but he’d wanted her to see for herself how badly their mother was doing. He hadn’t wanted her to harden her heart prior to going there any more than she had already.

  She still resented the way their childhood had gone and harbored anger at their parents. Even though he’d made his peace with his parents and the past, he didn’t blame her. Mom and Dad had been selfish, wounded people who needed help.

  And Ross was determined not to make the same mistakes with his own child. And he prayed that Trista would come to know some peace.

  Thankfully, Kevin wasn’t in the picture. Ross’s hand tightened around the mug. He’d known Kevin wasn’t the right man for his sister and he’d told Trista as much. In this instance, Ross hated having been right.

  With a sigh, he sat forward and picked up another file. The tab read Wendy Kates.

  Inside he found a birth certificate for a baby girl with an unnamed father and the pediatrician’s records. The last paper in the folder was a ledger showing large payments being paid on the fifth of every month. Ross’s heart sped up.

  Someone was paying off Harcourt to keep quiet about this child and her mother. He flipped back through the pages, reading more carefully. He set his jaw with anger when he came across a small, handwritten notation of a sum of money and the initials LM in the corner of the hospital records.

  LM. Who could that be?

  Ross typed the name Wendy Kates into the computer. No record of her was found. This file didn’t have a duplicate in the system, which could only mean that whoever was paying off Barnaby was someone with a lot of money and influence.

  Ross grabbed the file and his coat. He’d check the records at the hospital. They had to have a file on Wendy Kates. If he could track down the mother, then he could find out what the money had been for and who LM was.

  He wouldn’t let this blemish on the reputation of Tiny Blessings Adoption agency be a stain much longer.

  Lynda hurried Logan to the play structure in the middle of Winchester Park. Several moms sat bundled up on the park benches as their kids played in the snow and on the equipment. After school, Logan had pleaded to be able to join the boys from school and Lynda decided playtime would be a good cover if asked why they’d been in the park.

  There was a pay phone not far from the playground. Since she couldn’t risk using the home phone, she could use the pay phone and keep an eye on Logan at the same time.

  Logan started playing with another boy.

  Lynda hurried to the pay phone. Taking her hands out of her woolen gloves, she reached in her pocket for Trista Van Zandt’s card. Lynda picked up the receiver and paused as she noticed Detective Fletcher get out of his patrol car, put on a coat and meet a brunette woman near the baseball field.

  Lynda turned away, shielding her face, though she doubted Detective Fletcher would be able to recognize her beneath the stocking cap, big glasses and zipped-up parka. Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she dialed the number on the card. When the receptionist answered Lynda asked for Ms. Van Zandt.

  Trista answered a moment later. “This is Trista.”

  Lynda’s voice stuck in her throat as it had the last time she’d tried to call her. Then she’d tried Trista’s home phone but she’d lost the nerve to talk.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  Kicking herself in gear, Lynda nodded. “Yes.”

  “Lynda? Is that you?”

  Suddenly the words poured out.

  “Yes. I don’t know what else to do. I have to find a way to protect myself and Logan. I didn’t know who else to call. I certainly can’t call the police. The scandal would enrage Douglas and who knows what he’d do then,” Lynda said in a flurry of words.

  “Lynda, calm down. You made the right move in calling me. Where are you?”

  “I…can we meet?”

  “Of course. Why don’t you come to my office?”

  Panicked, Lynda hunched her shoulders. She could never be seen at a lawyer’s office. “Oh, no. That wouldn’t be wise.” She frantically thought of a place that would be private enough to talk but not unusual for her and Logan to be at. “Can we meet at the library in the children’s section on Saturday?”

  “Saturday at the library. What time?”

  Lynda gave a fugitive glance around and nearly dropped the phone when she noticed the crew van for Douglas’s show setting up on the hill. He usually did the show in the studio. Why today was he doing it outside? “Ten,” she said quickly and hung up.

  She rushed over to Logan and promised him ice cream to get him to leave. She didn’t want to be in the park with Douglas anywhere around.

  The buzz of a cell phone interrupted the man midsentence. He smiled an apology before moving off to the side to answer. His polished shoes sank into the snow but his long woolen coat kept the chill at bay.

  A young woman’s voice said, “Sir, you said to call if anyone asked about the files you mentioned.”

  The man’s gut twisted. “Yes.”

  “Well, a Mr. Van Zandt came in to the records department here at the hospital. I overheard him ask for the Wendy Kates records.”

  Rage choked the man. He took deep breaths to calm himself. “I’ll make sure you’re well paid for this information.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The man put the phone away and his hands shook slightly, betraying his inner chaos.

  His carefully made plan wasn’t working!

  The man slammed one fist into the palm of his other hand. The Van Zandts weren’t backing off their investigation into Harcourt’s dirty dealings. If they didn’t soon, everything he had worked so hard to achieve would be destroyed. One indiscretion wasn’t going to bring him down.

  Something had to be done.

  Standing in the center of Winchester Park, right in the heart of downtown Chestnut Grove, he had a clear view of the bustling town square. People blithely went about their day, oblivious to his growing agitation.

  An elderly couple, bundled in warm coats to ward off the chill of the cold fall day, ambled along the path that followed the man-made pond. A teenager threw a Frisbee for a black lab to catch. Children frolicked on the play structure.

  A few feet away from the man, a woman pushed a stroller with a swaddled infant barely visible inside on a paved path through the park. She slanted him an interested smile, which he acknowledged with a nod. Watching the tall, leggy redhead weave her way to the other side of the park, an idea formed in his mind.

  His lip curled up. Yes, he knew the perfect way to get his point across to the Van Zandts. This time he’d get personal. Very personal.

  “Sir, is everything all right?” A young doe-eyed woman touched his arm.

  Clearing his expression, the man turned to give the girl a wolfish grin and she smiled back. Ah, but he loved to see that adoring expression on females. A response that allowed him free rein. He linked her arm through his and stroked her hand. “Everything will be just fine.”

 
Lynda guided Logan toward the children’s section of the library. She kept her gaze downcast and averted from what Douglas told her were the prying eyes of the public. She wore a hat pulled low over her bruised ear where Douglas had slapped her.

  He was becoming increasingly careless. First the black eye and now her ear. Before he would always take out his frustration with her on parts of her body that didn’t show.

  She hunched her stiff and sore shoulders where she’d taken most of his hits the other day. Thankfully, he’d left her alone since then.

  She was sure Logan’s teacher sensed something was wrong when they’d arrived at class an hour late with her moving slow and trying not to let the pain show. But no one ever said anything. No one, that is, except Trista Van Zandt.

  Everyone was too blinded by the fact that Douglas Matthews, one of the town’s own sons, had made it to the big time with his own talk show. No one wanted to see what he was really like—a spoiled, grasping, violent man with deep insecurities stemming from overindulgent parents who gave in to his every whim.

  Logan squeezed her hand and pointed to the bank of computers. Lynda smiled and got him settled at the computer with a game. Douglas refused to allow them a computer at home. It would taint their minds, he’d said.

  Just another way for him to control them.

  Lynda moved to a table near the window that faced the back alley but still afforded her a view of Logan. She wasn’t sure calling Trista had been a good idea. But it would be good to have someone to talk to.

  She watched her son smile as he played the computer game. Love welled in her heart and her eyes burned. She wiped at her tears as she saw Trista approaching.

  Trista slid into the chair opposite her. “Are you okay?”

  Lynda gave her a wan smile. Of course she wasn’t okay. “Thank you for coming.”

  Trista reached out and pushed Lynda’s hair aside and revealed her bruised ear. “Don’t tell me another baseball accident.”

  Shame for the lie she’d told brought fresh tears to the surface. She shook her head and covered her ear with her hand.

  “It’s your husband, isn’t it?”

  Lynda lifted her gaze. “He just gets so angry with me. I try to be a good wife, but sometimes I speak out of turn.”

  Trista held up a hand. “Whoa. Please don’t make excuses for him. He has no right to hurt you.”

  Lynda shrank back. “He wasn’t always like this. In the beginning he was real sweet and giving. But as his career has grown, so has his anger toward me. I don’t know what I did.”

  “You are not to blame.” Trista’s blue eyes darkened with concern. “He needs help.”

  “Oh, he would never go to a counselor. That would be bad for his image.”

  “Worse than being a wife batterer?”

  Lynda glanced around. “Shh. Someone might hear. He’d get so angry if he knew I was talking to you about this.”

  Trista nodded and leaned forward. “Let me help you.”

  “Is there a legal way to get him to stop without making the situation public?”

  “Is his public image worth more than your life? Logan’s life?”

  Desperation and shame clogged her throat. “There has to be a way to protect us without making things worse.”

  Taking her hand, Trista said, “Listen to me. You have to file a complaint. Is there someone you and Logan can stay with?”

  Anxiety twisted around her insides, making her ache. “Oh, I couldn’t leave him. I made a commitment before God.”

  Trista stared at her in disbelief. “What about the commitment Douglas made before God? He’s violated that.”

  “I’m not sure Douglas knows God. Besides, that’s his sin, not mine. I can’t sin by leaving him. I won’t put my soul in jeopardy.”

  “I doubt God would consider it a sin if you left your abusive husband,” Trista whispered harshly.

  Lynda’s shoulders sagged even more. “I went to the wife of the pastor that married us and she said I needed to be a better wife and to love him more. She suggested new cookbooks. Douglas doesn’t like my cooking.”

  Trista wanted to come out of her skin with anger. How could a woman, a pastor’s wife at that, tell another woman such garbage? “Obviously, this woman was delusional. You have to listen to me, no one has the right to hurt you, especially the man who’s supposed to love you. You are not to blame and you aren’t alone in this. You have to think of Logan. Men who are violent usually don’t change. Eventually, he’ll turn his anger onto your son.”

  Pure horror swept through Lynda. She shook her head. “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Are you willing to risk your son’s life?” Trista asked, in a harsh tone.

  Lynda swallowed, the fear hitting her stomach and making it roll. “I couldn’t leave him. I wouldn’t know where to go. I have no way to support Logan and myself. I can’t get a divorce. I just can’t. Besides, he’d find me anyway and just bring us back.”

  The tears streaming down Lynda’s face made Trista’s heart spasm with compassion. “I’ve been where you are. My ex-husband was very controlling and manipulative. He alienated me from my family and friends. He made my world about him. But then I became pregnant and realized that I had a life outside of myself to protect. I didn’t want to admit my marriage had failed. But it had. And I’m okay.”

  “You think God has forgiven you?”

  Trista bit her lip. She wasn’t sure how to answer because she’d never thought of it. “I’ve only recently allowed God into my life.”

  Lynda nodded. “Then you’re safe. But I wouldn’t be.”

  “What do you think will happen?”

  “He’ll punish me.”

  “Like how Douglas punishes you?”

  For a moment Lynda looked speechless. “I don’t know. I’m just so scared.”

  “Then let me help you,” Trista pleaded, fear for Lynda knotting in her chest.

  “I don’t think you can.” Lynda stood. “I’m sorry.”

  Trista watched helplessly as Lynda collected her son and they left the library. Frustration beat a steady rhythm behind Trista’s eyes. She’d been so ineffective, so ill equipped to convince Lynda that God wouldn’t punish her for protecting herself and her son. How could Lynda stay with Douglas?

  Trista rubbed at her temples. What could she do to help Lynda?

  An idea floated in her mind. Resolutely, she pulled out her cell phone and called Chestnut Grove Community Church. She asked to be put through to Scott.

  “This is Scott.”

  Just hearing his voice calmed her agitation. She’d made the right decision. “Scott, it’s Trista. I need your help.”

  She told him the situation and asked if he’d see Lynda.

  “Of course I will. I was hoping that wasn’t the case. You called it right at the bookstore that day. I think we need to proceed cautiously. We wouldn’t want to make things worse for her. The Matthewses attend the 10:00 a.m. service on Sunday mornings. Why don’t you come and then we can talk with Lynda in a nonthreatening manner, see if she’ll agree to meet privately.”

  Relief to be able to share the burden with him coursed through her. “That would be great. Thank you.” Trista hung up.

  Resting her elbows on the table, she supported her head with her hands. She was going to church in the morning. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  Like it or not, for Lynda’s sake, she had to go.

  Sunday morning arrived with a bitter wind and snow flurries. Trista bundled up Aidan and drove them to the church. She parked near Kelly’s car and carried Aidan toward the entrance. Small clusters of people gathered to talk, while others either hurried inside for the second service of the day or rushed to their cars after the early service.

  Scott stood near the double doors, his long trench coat tied at his waist and his ears turning red from the weather. Her heart lifted with a smile as he spotted them and came forward.

  “Good morning, you two,” he said, his gaze war
m.

  “Good morning,” she responded, feeling suddenly shy at how obvious it was that he’d been waiting for them.

  “I’m glad you came,” he stated as they walked.

  “You thought I wouldn’t?”

  His eyes twinkled. “I was praying you wouldn’t chicken out.”

  “Hey!” she protested with a chuckle, though the truth was she had almost backed out. If it weren’t for the fact that she needed to talk with Lynda again, she probably wouldn’t have come. Her faith was too new for her to really embrace sitting in church.

  With trepidation, she hesitated outside the big doors leading to the sanctuary.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Scott said softly.

  Taking comfort in his presence, she nodded. “Have the Matthewses arrived?”

  “They’re seated already.” He led her inside. “Let’s take Aidan to the nursery room.”

  Trista followed Scott down a hallway, passing kids and parents along the way. They stopped at a gated door to a room filled with toys and soothing music. There were several women of various ages in the nursery taking care of the infants, including her sister-in-law, Kelly.

  “Kelly, what are you doing in here?” Trista asked.

  Kelly sat in a rocker holding a little girl dressed all in pink. “I help out every other Sunday. I’m so glad to see you and my nephew.” She rose and handed the little girl to another woman before ambling over to take Aidan.

  “Go enjoy the service. We’ll be fine.” Kelly shooed Trista and Scott away.

  Scott touched her elbow. Just a slight pressure but it felt warm and comforting. He led her back toward the sanctuary and paused at the coatrack to help her with her parka.

  “Shouldn’t you be up onstage or something?” she asked.

  “I’m running the youth group next door. I’ll get you seated and then head over there.”

  He wouldn’t be in the service? She felt very alone as he found her a seat in a pew near the front, not far from where the Matthews family sat. Lynda briefly made eye contact before shifting her gaze straight ahead. Trista wondered why Logan sat with his parents. Shouldn’t he be in a class for his age group?