Praise for
After the Rains
“Once again, Deborah Raney gives us a memorable story with real heart and life-changing redemption. Her characters ring true as they’re plunged into complex circumstances.… And when bad turns to worse, we’re reminded that life’s toughest challenges are only conquered as we turn to a God who cares. After the Rains is a must-read for teens as well as adults.”
—MELODY CARLSON, author of Blood Sisters, Looking
for Cassandra Jane, and the Diary of a Teenage Girl series
“If you liked Beneath a Southern Sky, you’ll love After the Rains.… God’s love shines through the clouds and dark, lighting up even the corners of tragedy. If you want to know how life can be continued after one careless but devastating mistake, this book more than answers the question.”
—JANE ORCUTT, author of Lullaby and The Living Stone
Praise for
Beneath a Southern Sky
by Deborah Raney
Winner of the 2002 RITA Award
2002 Faith, Hope & Love Inspirational Readers Choice Award
2001 Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Best Inspirational Novel
2002 Holt Medallion Finalist
“In Beneath a Southern Sky, Deborah Raney reminds us that God’s ways are not our ways … but His paths lead to fulfillment and joy.”
—ANGELA ELWELL HUNT, author of The Note
and The Heirs of Cahira O’Connor series
“There aren’t many novels that keep me awake reading into the wee hours of the night, but Beneath a Southern Sky did. Nathan, Daria, and Cole slipped from the pages of this book and into my heart. I experienced all their heart-wrenching emotions, agonized over every decision they had to make, and rejoiced as they triumphed by God’s grace in the midst of an impossible, hopeless situation. Bravo, Ms. Raney!”
—ROBIN LEE HATCHER, best-selling author
of The Forgiving Hour and Whispers from Yesterday
“Beneath a Southern Sky has magnetic qualities! I just couldn’t seem to put it down! In her normal, five-tissue fashion, Deborah Raney has created an impossible situation for her heroine, Daria Camfield. As I read, I thought I imagined all the ways Raney could tie her book into a neat little bow. Not so! The poignant ending of this thought-provoking novel took me unaware and lingered in my mind for days afterwards. You definitely won’t be disappointed.”
—LISA E. SAMSON, best-selling author of The Church Ladies
“Beneath a Southern Sky captured my attention on page one and held me in its grips to the last page. Deborah has written an incredible tale of passionate love, tragic mistakes, and second chances. Write faster, Deborah Raney!”
—DENISE HUNTER, author of Reunions
“Deborah Raney dug deeply into my heart with this story of sacrificial love. No reader could walk away from this novel without a clearer, more personal picture of the love of Christ. I thank Deborah for reminding me that even though life’s choices aren’t always easy God is always there to help us make them.”
—HANNAH ALEXANDER, author of Sacred Trust,
Solemn Oath, and Silent Pledge
OTHER BOOKS BY DEBORAH RANEY
A Scarlet Cord
Beneath a Southern Sky
Playing by Heart
A Vow to Cherish
AFTER THE RAINS
PUBLISHED BY WATERBROOK PRESS
12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200
Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921
Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
eISBN: 978-0-307-81362-6
Copyright © 2002 by Deborah Raney
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House Inc., New York.
WATERBROOK and its deer colophon are registered trademarks of Random House Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-In-Publication Data
Raney, Deborah.
After the rains / Deborah Raney.— 1st ed.
p. cm.
1. Young women—Fiction. 2. Guilt—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3568.A562 A688 2002
813′.54—dc21
2002007394
v3.1
In loving memory
of my grandparents:
Francis and Helen Reed,
married fifty-nine years
till parted by death
J. W. (Bill) and Dorothy Teeter,
married sixty-eight years
till parted by death
And with love to:
my husband’s grandparents,
Bud and Lottie Turner,
married seventy-three years … and counting
Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Relámpago: Lightning 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
Trueno: Thunder Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty–One
Chapter Twenty–Two
Chapter Twenty–Three
Chapter Twenty–Four
Chapter Twenty–Five
Chapter Twenty–Six
Lluvia: Rain Chapter Twenty–Seven
Chapter Twenty–Eight
Chapter Twenty–Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty–One
Chapter Thirty–Two
Chapter Thirty–Three
Chapter Thirty–Four
Chapter Thirty–Five
Chapter Thirty–Six
Chapter Thirty–Seven
Chapter Thirty–Eight
Chapter Thirty–Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty–One
Chapter Forty–Two
Acknowledgments
Prologue
The road rose and fell beneath the wheels of her car as though she were navigating a boat on a choppy lake. Why wouldn’t the steering wheel obey her commands? Head throbbing, Natalie Camfield hunched over the steering wheel and narrowed her eyes, trying to see through the windshield. The highway continued to undulate before her, swells of black asphalt broken by erratic white lines.
The moon broke through a smoke-colored column of clouds and illumined the highway for a brief moment before disappearing. Gripping the wheel tighter, she glanced over at Sara Dever. Her best friend clutched the handle of the passenger door with her right hand and the dashboard with her left. Her eyes were wide, and Natalie wondered what they saw that her own eyes had not.
Natalie shook her head. The moon reappeared, only this time its beam shone through Sara’s window and was as brilliant as a floodlight. Natalie put up a hand to shield her
eyes. Sara screamed.
What was happening? Time had no meaning. She struggled to remember why she was in the car. Where was she? The road she was on seemed familiar, yet something about it was eerily foreign. Had she fallen asleep at the wheel? Or was she dreaming?
The light that poured into the car completely obscured her view of the road now, yet it lit the interior of the car as though it were daylight. A strange moon on a strange night.
Beside her, Sara’s face was transformed into a mask of terror as she clawed at the dashboard, her cheeks bled of color. Sara opened her mouth, and Natalie watched her perfectly bowed lips form syllables. Everything was happening in slow motion now, and her friend’s words came at her through an endless tunnel.
“Natalie! Look out!”
Another scream. She couldn’t tell if it was Sara or if the high wail came from her own throat. Pain sliced through her ears, as the deafening sound of an explosion pierced the night. The screams were replaced by dead silence. Natalie felt herself being lifted high into the air. She was flying now, exhilarated, feeling no fear. She had to be dreaming. But just as suddenly, she was hurled to the earth again. Falling, falling, she grappled frantically for something to hang on to.
Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Where was Sara? This wasn’t a dream. It was too real.
“Sara? Sara!” Natalie’s own voice echoed back at her.
For one split second in time everything became clear and sharp in her mind. She knew where she was—and why she was here. Please, God, let me be dreaming. Please, God! Oh, dear Jesus, what have I done?
And then everything went black.
RELÁMPAGO:
LIGHTNING
One
Bristol, Kansas, one year earlier
The halls of Bristol High School were almost empty. Natalie Camfield was frantically trying to remember the combination to her locker when she heard Sara Dever’s voice behind her.
“Having a little trouble here?” There was mischief in Sara’s tone.
“Oh, Sara,” Natalie wailed, “I’m going to be late for English. I can’t get my stupid locker open, and if I don’t have my book, I’ll get detention!” She was near tears.
Sara put a consoling hand on her arm. “Hey, it’ll be okay. How come it’s locked anyway? You never lock this thing.”
“I didn’t. Somebody must’ve been messing with it.”
“Here,” Sara moved Natalie aside and picked up the clunky lock. “Okay, what’s the combination?”
“I can’t remember!”
“Didn’t you write it down somewhere?”
“Sure.” Natalie dipped her head and hid a wry smile. “It’s on my notebook—in my locker.”
Shaking her head and chirping like a solicitous mother, Sara pulled her backpack off her shoulder and unzipped it. She pulled out the needed English textbook and thrust it into Natalie’s hands. “Here, you can use mine. Just be sure I get it back tonight. Hart gave us homework.”
Natalie groaned. The first bell sounded, and she and Sara exchanged gasps and took off in different directions down the hall. “You’re an angel, Sara,” Natalie called over her shoulder. “I mean it. I owe you big time.”
Still running, Sara formed her hands into a circle and held the resulting “halo” over her head. Natalie couldn’t help but think that, with her strawberry-blond cascade of curls bouncing behind her, her friend did, indeed, look like an angel. Natalie was still smiling when she slipped into an empty seat in the back of the classroom.
“Nice of you to join us, Ms. Camfield,” Dr. Hart said without looking up, inserting his chiding words smoothly into his lecture on proper use of the thesaurus.
The whole class snickered, and Natalie felt her face grow warm. She would have taken it in good humor in any of her other classes, but in this advanced English composition class, she was one of only three juniors among a throng of seniors. Worse yet, this was the one class she had with Jon Dever, who, she noticed, was laughing loudest of all.
She busied herself with getting a pen and notebook from her bag, but she felt very much like the dumb little twit Jon always accused her of being.
She swallowed back a sigh. For as long as she’d known him, Sara Dever’s older brother had made her heart beat in a strange and wonderful rhythm.
Class ended and Jon walked past her with two of his senior friends. She watched him from the corner of her eye as she pretended to be busy with a stubborn zipper on her backpack. But to her surprise, he waited till his buddies were out in the hall, then plopped down in the desk beside her. “Hey, Natalie. What’s up?”
Though she felt like her cheeks were on fire, she tried for an air of indifference. “Hey, Jon. Not much. What are you up to?”
“Oh, the usual … no good.”
The ornery glint that had made her crazy when they were kids still did so, but it was a whole new brand of “crazy” now.
Natalie gave him her most charming smile and slid out of her desk. Students for the next class were just coming into the room. She glanced pointedly at the clock on the back wall. “You’re going to miss the bell.”
“You’ll be late too.”
“I aide for Kroger next hour,” she explained. “She doesn’t care if we show up or not.”
“Must be nice.”
She watched his Adam’s apple slide up and down in his throat, and it struck her that Jon Dever actually seemed nervous. What can he possibly be nervous about?
The bell blared in the hallway. “Oh, man! I gotta run,” he said. “But hey”—he put his head down and rubbed his thumb hard along the spine of his English book—“um, are you going to the homecoming dance with anybody?”
Natalie shook her head. “No, why?” Camfield, you idiot. He’s asking you out!
“Just … wondered. I … I might call you tonight.” He looked at his watch. “Oh, shoot! I am so dead!” Without another word, he raced down the hall.
She stared after him.
There was a God in heaven! Jon Dever was actually going to call her—tonight!
The rest of the afternoon dragged like a dull movie played in slow motion. Natalie was quiet at supper that night, her stomach in knots. At the other end of the big oak table in the kitchen, her sisters were singing and laughing at their own pitiful rendition of a new TV commercial. While she kept one ear tuned to the telephone, her parents were trying, over the clamor, to discuss the schedule at her father’s veterinary clinic.
Finally Cole Hunter had apparently had enough. “Girls! Nicole, Noelle, please! That is just plain rude,” he chided. “We can’t even think with all the racket you’re making, let alone hear one another speak.”
“Sorry, Daddy,” Nicole said.
He smiled his acceptance of her apology. “You guys can sing all you want while you do the dishes, but your mom and I are trying to carry on an intelligent conversation over here, and you’re cramping our style.”
Nicole and Noelle groaned at the reminder that it was their turn to do the dishes.
“Hey, speaking of intelligent conversations,” Nicole announced, “I’m expecting an important phone call tonight, so everybody stay off the phone.”
“No way,” Natalie broke in. “I’m expecting a call too.”
“Well, okay, but be sure and answer call waiting if it goes off.”
Natalie affected a courtly bow. “Yes, Your Majesty. Who’s calling you that’s so important anyway?”
“My date for homecoming.”
“Oh?” Mom jumped into the conversation now. “I didn’t know you’d been invited? Who is it?”
“Well, I haven’t actually been invited yet. But he’s supposed to call tonight.”
“And who is this mysterious ‘he’ anyway?” Daddy asked.
“Jon,” she replied.
Natalie jerked her head up, and her heart started pounding.
“Jon Dever? Really? How nice,” Mom said, clasping her hands in front of her. “I’m surprised Maribeth didn’t say somethin
g about it.” Maribeth Dever, Jon’s mother, was Daria Hunter’s best friend.
“It’s not like it’s that big of a deal, Mom. It’s just a school dance,” Nicole said.
“It’s homecoming, Nikki,” Mom said. “That’s a pretty big deal. And I think it’s great that you’re going with Jon. He’s such a nice guy. Who are you doubling with?”
Nicole looked at Natalie. “Um …”
Daddy cleared his throat. “You know the rule, Nikki. Only group dates until you’re sixteen.”
“Daddy! C’mon! It’s only Jon. You guys have known him forever. He’s a saint.”
“Sorry.” He was unmoved.
Nicole rolled her eyes and grumbled under her breath, but it was obvious she knew better than to argue. “Just don’t worry about it,” she finally told them. “We’re working something out.”
Natalie pushed her chair back from the table. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Maybe Nicole was mistaken.
The shrill ring of the telephone added to her confusion.
Nicole pounced on the phone as if it were the last cookie in the jar. She checked the caller ID display, then, smiling, picked up the cordless phone from the desk in the kitchen.
“Hello,” she purred, taking the phone into the living room. Natalie excused herself from the table and went to the desk. She picked up the newspaper and pretended to be engrossed in “Dear Abby,” while she strained to hear Nicole’s end of the conversation.
Relief washed over Natalie when her sister came back into the kitchen holding the telephone out to her. She took it. “Hello,” Natalie said, suddenly a bundle of nerves. She carried the phone into the living room, and when Nicole followed her she waved her away and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.
“Hi, Nattie,” Jon said. “Did Nikki tell you why I called?”
“No-o-o-o.” It suddenly hit her that maybe Jon had actually been afraid to ask her out. Maybe he had tried to find out from Nicole what his chances were. Her hopes soared.
“She didn’t tell you?” Jon asked again. Then without waiting for a reply he said, “Well, here’s the deal. I asked Nikki to go to the homecoming dance with me, but she said your dad has some stupid rule that it has to be a double date. So what we were wondering is if you’d go with Evan Greenway and we could double. Evan really wants to go with you …” His voice had lost its steam.
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