by Sarah Monzon
God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ. This is what he wanted to do, and it gave him pleasure. A notation at the end of the verse had her flip to 2 Corinthians 6:18.
Olivia closed her eyes as she let the peace of the verse wash over her. And I will be your Father, and you will be my sons and daughters, says the Lord Almighty.
Opening her eyes, she found the clawing panic had left, and she was able to smile. “You’re right. It doesn’t change who I am.” She finished filling out the form, then folded it in thirds to fit into an envelope.
She wished she could say the peace of those verses stayed with her, a new and integral string enmeshed in her DNA, but that would mean the residual anger she still felt toward her parents, not to mention the tremor that coursed through her when she thought of meeting any of her blood relations, would be totally gone, wouldn’t it? And that wasn’t the case. Yes, the reassurance of belonging to a bigger spiritual family helped her charter the new waters she found herself in, but the knowledge didn’t take her feet from that path.
She snuggled her temple into the crook of Adam’s shoulder, relishing the way his closeness made her feel cherished, and the weight of his arm offered solid assurance. He knew she wasn’t going to push him to face something alone, didn’t he? She’d be by his side. Hold his hand.
“Adam, I think—”
His chest rumbled with a chuckle, and she placed a hand on his abs to push herself up and look in his eyes.
“What’s so funny?”
Forced mirth tightened his mouth even though it curved in a smile. “Thinking about Trent. Wondering how he handled breaking the news to Mom that I was missing game night tonight.”
“Should you text him and make sure he’s still alive?”
“She would kill the messenger, wouldn’t she?” He laughed again. “That’s all right. Michael’s coming next week as a surprise for her birthday, so I’m sure if we’re not forgiven by then, seeing him will smooth everything over.”
That piqued her curiosity. “Your brother is coming?”
“Yep. Didn’t I tell you? Prepare yourself to meet a true American hero.”
“First”—she held up a finger—“is this an official invitation to your mother’s surprise birthday party? And second”—she ticked off another finger—“I’ve already met a true hero.” She looked at him pointedly.
He shifted and glanced down at her with an expression of mock surprise. “You’ve met Steve Rogers? Or was it Peter Parker? Maybe Tony Starks?”
She met his eyes. Recognized that he was deflecting with humor. He might be good at running, but this time he had someone willing to chase after him. “Who needs those fantasies when I’ve got the real deal right here?”
His forced smile slowly froze. “Olivia, I’m not—”
She placed a finger on his lips, silencing his protest. “Yes. You are. You’ve just got to remember, all those superheroes—Batman, Superman, whoever—they all get beat down a time or two, but that doesn’t strip them of their superhero status. You know why?”
Adam shook his head, her finger still pressed against his mouth.
She replaced it with her lips and kissed him, pulling back to stare into his eyes. “Because it’s who they are. Their drive to help others. Their calling. And you know what’s my favorite part in those superhero movies?”
“What?”
“The comeback.”
Lily: Summer just texted. Why didn’t you tell me you and Chef Hotty-Pants were cooking up some love?!?
Olivia: I don’t know whether to laugh or roll my eyes at you.
Chapter 28
The food court at the mall was a smorgasbord of smells and sounds. As soon as Adam stepped into the first-floor circle of food options, his senses were pummeled. The sizzle of meat and veggies on the open grill, not to mention the salty aroma of soy and fish sauce from Golden Wok, packed the first punch. Walking a little farther in, the brown sugar and ketchup blend from Freddy’s BBQ’s signature sauce accosted him. Over it all hung the heavy and almost tangible scent of french fries. He could almost feel the oil soaking into his pores. Dozens of voices lifted above the noise of food prep as shoppers conversed over a meal handed to them in bags or on trays.
Adam scanned the crowd, searching for Amber’s dark-blond head among the throng. He reached into his pocket to pull out his cell to send a text, when he spotted her leaning against a pillar on the outskirts of the food court. She smiled as they made eye contact, and handed over a cup with his favorite smoothie-place logo on it, slick with perspiration.
“Thanks.” Straw to lips, he sucked, and then nearly gagged. He pulled the cup away and watched in horror as green slowly descended back down the straw. “Ugh. What is that?” Smoothies weren’t meant to be green. Pink, red, blue, yellow…all acceptable colors and flavors. But green?
Amber pushed on his shoulder and sucked her drink through her own straw, green smoothie trailing up through the clear cylinder. She swallowed and smirked at him. “What? I thought you liked kale?”
“I do. In salad, baked into kale chips, or even cooked as a side if done right.” He held up his cup. “But this? This is a crime to my taste buds, dear sister.”
She shrugged. “Michael drinks them.”
“He also ate military ready-made meals that were freeze dried and came from a pouch. He has no taste buds anymore.”
“Wimp.”
He eyed the trash can.
Amber laughed. “Go ahead.”
He tossed the smoothie in and gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Drinking that would be grounds for my man card being revoked.”
She laughed and tilted her chin up at him at a sideways angle. Her ever-present ponytail swished across her shoulder. “Man card?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He tweaked her nose.
She swatted at his hand. “I promise you I won’t.”
Hands free, he shoved them into his pockets. “So ideas on what to get Mom for her birthday?”
“Sorry, no. I’ve been pulling long nights to get a research paper for my hermeneutics class done.”
“Herma-what-now?”
She stopped walking. “You know I finally declared a major, right?”
“Yeah, Michael told me. Although I would’ve rather heard it from you. Theology.”
“Right. Sorry. You’ve just…” She sighed. “You’ve had your own stuff going on lately. Anyway, hermeneutics is the study of interpreting the Bible. Where exegesis focuses on the words and grammar of the texts, hermeneutics is more of the communication as a whole, both verbal and nonverbal.”
Her eyes held a spark that matched her laugh. She’d always reminded him a bit of Tinker Bell. Because of her size and hair color but also because she had a light inside her that shone outward and seemed to float around and land on anyone close enough. She also had a mean temper that, while growing up, he and his brothers occasionally provoked on purpose. What could he say? It was funny to watch a little pixie stamp her feet.
But her pixie dust, that magical glitter that radiated off her when she got excited, was sparking, and her face glowed. He had no idea what she was talking about, more comfortable with legal phrases like corpus delicti or culinary terms like al forno. He knew Scripture, had a solid handle on doctrinal issues, but she’d lost him with the theological speak. Didn’t matter though. He read the passion on her face and was happy for her.
They passed a store, and he pointed, cutting off her explanation of the apocrypha and the canon. “What about something from here for Mom?”
She glanced up at the store sign. “Things Remembered?”
Why did she say that like it was the worst idea in the world? They monogrammed stuff, right? Didn’t that count as a “personal touch”?
“You’re as bad as Dad is with gifts.”
“I love Dad’s gifts. They’re always so practical. He’s great at getting us something we actually need.”
�
�That’s just it. Gifts aren’t supposed to be practical. Yes, I’m sure Mom appreciated the vacuum he got her last year for her birthday or the car detailing he got her for Christmas, but do you really think those are things she secretly wished for?” She poked a finger at the glass window display. “You buy gifts in there for things like graduations, not birthdays.”
He held his hands up in surrender. “Duly noted.”
They strolled past several more stores before he stopped in front of a jewelers. “What about something from here? Maybe a necklace with all our birthstones or something.”
“We got her that three years ago for Mother’s Day.”
Maybe he could write Amber a blank check and she could buy the gift herself. He obviously didn’t know what he was doing.
She hooked her arm through his. “Come on. Don’t give up yet. You’re the smart brother, so between the two of us we should be able to figure this out.”
He peeked down at her. “The smart brother, huh?”
“You tell Michael or Trent, and I’ll deny it to my grave.”
“How very pastoral of you.”
She shrugged and continued window shopping.
How did his quiet, shy, brainy sister get to the point where she’d pick an occupation that forced her into a fishbowl, everyone watching and criticizing her every move? One that had people against her simply because of her gender? One that required her to speak to crowds? If he’d had a million guesses he’d never had even imagined she’d choose pastoral ministry as a career. “Why a pastor? Always thought you’d end up a teacher or social worker or something like that.”
“You know? I always thought I would too.”
“What changed?”
She thought a moment, her finger tapping against his bicep. “When Michael was in the hospital, I prayed. A lot. Sometimes at his bedside. Sometimes in the hospital chapel. My knees would hit the floor, and I’d pour out my heart. All my fears and frustration and confusion. And then I’d sit there, breathe in the silence, and just listen.”
They walked several yards before she started speaking again. “Something clicked…inside me…right here.” She laid her hand against her heart. “A rightness. A sense of knowing that I was where I belonged. Not long after that, the door to the chapel opened and several people stumbled in. You could tell by the looks on their faces they were in shock. The chaplain came in behind them and started talking with some, but this one girl strayed away from the group. Her eyes kind of fixated on the stained-glass window of Jesus, and she fell into the front pew. Something came over me. Now I’d say it was the Holy Spirit, but I didn’t recognize it at the time. Before I knew I’d even moved, I sat beside her. As soon as my hand touched her arm, she curled up into me and cried. I didn’t know what was happening, but I prayed over her. Didn’t stop until the chaplain came over and touched the back of my hand.”
She had a vibrant inner glow, as if she’d plugged herself into an infinite power source. Maybe she had.
“Whenever I stepped foot in that chapel, that sense of rightness would shift back into place. I’d feel at peace. It was like…” She looked up at him, and he felt himself getting sucked into her conviction. It tethered his heart and pulled, but something inside him refused to surrender.
“It was like I was being called. Maybe not like Moses at the burning bush, but yeah, fire lit inside me. A passion. To help others in situations like Michael and the families like ours.” She took a final draw from her smoothie, then chucked it in the trash. “But you know how that is. To have a passion and purpose.”
She meant his passion with food, but that was not where his mind took him. Instead he found himself picturing his many interviews with his clients at the prison. The pleas…those heartrending pleas…for him to help.
“Oh! What about this?” Amber’s tug at his arm brought his attention back to the present as they stepped into a store. Shelves lined the wall filled with vases, bowls, cups, balls—all different shapes and sizes, all pieces of art.
“Blown glass?” He picked up a bowl that looked like a flower. Waves of different shades of blue spiraled inward and reminded him of the ocean. It was pretty. Mom would like it. He picked it up and showed Amber. “How about this one?”
She eyed the bowl and then him. “I take back my smart-brother comment.”
He rotated the glass bowl in his hands. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing.” She plucked a pamphlet off the counter. “What’s it Mom always says, she values memories over stuff?” She waved her hand around the store. “This is all stuff. This”—she placed the pamphlet in his free hand—“is making a memory.”
Adam stared down at the colored pamphlet. Glassblowing classes for beginners. They offered everything from a thirty-minute to a six-week course. Mom would love it. He put the bowl down and hooked an arm across his sister’s shoulders, bringing her to his side and planting a kiss at her temple. “You are definitely the smart sibling.”
Chapter 29
Florida, 1832
Winnie felt like a cow being led to slaughter, just waiting her turn to stand before the butcher with a club in his hand. They’d been summoned to Payne’s Landing along the Oklawaha River to discuss another treaty. She scoffed. As if the last one had benefited either her or her adopted people. But gather they did. A herd corralled, if not yet slain.
Tension slithered throughout the bands of people like thread through the tanned hide of a deerskin. Everyone waiting with bated breath.
She watched as the men and leaders, those from both sides, entered into the log building being used for the talks. Each face appeared sharp and hardened as they passed through the doorway. She wasn’t allowed inside. Didn’t know all the matters that they discussed, but Nokosi had enlightened her to some. The demands of the officers in charge remained as persistent and annoying as a buzzing mosquito. Though instead of one or two easily squashed, they came in swarms. Deadly. Anyone who didn’t flee from their charge would find themselves a rotting carcass.
She pressed a palm to her stomach. Where life should germinate and grow, death and emptiness greeted them. Three times hope had sprung that she would once again be a mother. That she would give Nokosi more children and Otter brothers and sisters to play with. But three times her body didn’t have the strength and nourishment the little babes needed to thrive. How could she when their food was so scarce? The animals on the reservation had been hunted until none were left. Warriors severely punished if they moved past the reservation borders in order to provide much-needed meat for their families. As a result, she’d watched big, strong men, men like her father, wither before her eyes as they gave their meager portions to feed the little ones.
And now, it seemed, the greedy whites from the North wanted more from them. Or, rather, all. While they still demanded the return of slaves, they now wanted the Seminole people to leave their home in Florida altogether and join with the Creeks past the mighty Mississippi and onto Arkansas Territory.
For a split second a smile toyed with her lips. How that news had caused an uproar. Hachi had railed for over ten minutes about how they were not Creek and did not feel any connection whatsoever with their neighbors from the Northwest. His speech had been answered with approval from friends from the Choctaw and Yuchi tribes, which had never been a part of the Creeks at all.
But the men, having been sent by President Jackson, continued to press. They cajoled. Promised. Bullied. Threatened.
The last man entered the building, and the door shut behind them. Winnie sucked in a breath and pressed her hand yet more firmly to her middle. She wanted to dash to the outer log walls and press her ear to the wood, if not barge through the front door and demand justice once and for all.
Laughter drifted from behind her, and she turned. Nokosi and the men had their role in the people’s’ future, and Winnie had hers. Lifting up her skirts, she bypassed a thorny bush and made her way over to a group of children playing close by. Otter had found the skull of a raccoo
n and had set it on a branch.
At first he’d asked if he could practice playing stickball, but she’d reminded him that he didn’t have his playing sticks with him for such a game. She’d thought he’d have given up the idea then, but her son was undeterred. Instead, he’d broken off a piece of a long reed and pulled already-made darts from a pouch at his hip, honing his skills with a blowgun.
Reed to his lips, she watched as his eight-year-old shoulders rose with an intake of breath and then press down as he blew with all his might. Her eyes couldn’t follow the dart, but they didn’t miss the skull falling from its perch.
“Well done!” She clapped.
He turned and beamed before trotting off to right his target. Another boy, one she didn’t recognize, though he seemed vaguely familiar, sprinted to her son’s side, and Otter handed over his hollow reed and a few darts, giving the same instructions she’d overheard Isaac give his nephew.
The boy listened carefully, the way he tilted his head tickling at a memory in the back of Winnie’s mind. While the children had little time for play, she’s grown familiar with all the boys and girls in their band. She’d met many new faces the last few days they’d been at Payne’s Landing. Maybe she’d crossed paths with this boy and his mother and that was why he seemed familiar.
The boy brought the blowgun up to his lips and blew. The skull remained in place, but a leaf a few inches to the right snapped from its hold on the tree. Otter whooped and handed his friend another dart to try again.
A shadow grew along the ground beside Winnie, elongating in front of her.