She turned her head toward the apple orchard, toward the Thoresen’s cemetery. “And I’m thinking about the rest of my family, those whose final resting places are not here . . . where they should be.”
“Your parents?” Søren understood immediately.
“Yes. And Grant, my grandfather. I don’t know how difficult it would be, but . . . I would really like it if they could be buried here, with their family. Do you think that is foolish of me?”
He followed her gaze. “No, not foolish. I think it fitting that Edmund should, at last, come home and that he should have his real name restored to him. You know the cemetery as it now stands has room for only a few more?”
“Yes. I’ve thought of that.”
“I can’t imagine anyone in the family denying Grant, Edmund, and Edmund’s bride the last plots inside the fence . . . but it is a big decision, Kari. Why don’t you pray about it?”
“Thank you, Søren; I will pray about it. I know their spirits are in heaven, but it would comfort me to see Daddy’s grave near his mother’s and his father’s.”
She gazed back across the creek at the picturesque hollow carved into the bluff, trying to see it as Rose had first seen it and fallen in love with it. “I have said this many times in my life, but I’ve never had a home of my own, you know. Never had a family.”
“You’ve always had a home and you’ve always had a family,” Søren reached his arm around her and squeezed her once. “You just didn’t know your way here—until now. God himself has shown you the way.”
“Yes, he has. I still can’t believe how he has, but he has. And I’m so glad, Søren! So very glad.”
Søren shoved his hands into his pockets, a gesture now familiar to Kari. “You know that we are glad, too, don’t you? So I want you to know: whatever comes of . . . the future, I make you a promise, KariAnn Thoresen Michaels. I promise that you will never be alone in this world again, never without family, never without friends. I promise I will always be your friend.”
“Always?”
“Ja, Kari. Ve er venner. Forever.”
Max threw his arms about Kari and echoed, “Friends always!”
Kari fell asleep that night comforted by a peace her understanding could not fathom. She slept deeply until, in the dark, early hours before dawn, she began to dream.
In the dream she stood on the road that ran east from Søren’s farm, out onto the prairie. From far down that road she spied the dust of travelers coming toward her. They walked, some together, some singly, all with their eyes on her.
Then she saw her mother and father. Their faces radiant and joyous, they stretched their arms toward her.
Mommy! Daddy!
Daddy reached her first and she could even smell the familiar scent of his cologne on his collar before they touched.
Always, at this point in her nightmares, just before his arms reached her, she would awake, filled with that unseen dread she knew only as The Black—the dense curtain that hid something vital she could never grasp or recall, something she struggled to remember but could not, the thing that terrified and grieved her so deeply.
But this time . . . this time Daddy’s arms curled around her, and she sank onto his shoulder. She was again six years old and he was comforting and holding her.
In her sleep Kari wept in exquisite joy. She clung to his neck, burying her face in the scratchy hollow below his jaw.
Daddy! Kari felt she could not get enough of his strength, his warmth, his love. She would never let him go. And she would never need to face The Black again.
But she was wrong. The old nightmare began to intrude.
It was dark—so dark! She was on the side of a black, moonless highway. Daddy and Mommy had put her far away from the narrow shoulder of the road, far from the faint outline of their car, broken down on the edge of the highway.
“Wait here where it’s safe,” Daddy had said. “Watch over them for us.” He had hugged her before he and Mommy went back to the car to try to fix it.
Kari had stayed close by her charges—just as Daddy had asked.
Until the blinding lights of the semi tractor and trailer swept down on her parents and carried them away.
In her dream, Kari lay curled into a ball in the dirt and weeds, shrieking, crying, pushing the sight from her mind. With her eyes squeezed shut, she clung to Daddy’s neck, clung as hard as she could, blocking out the horror. Blocking out everything. Everything.
Then strong hands pulled at her, trying to pull her away from Daddy.
“No!” Kari protested. In her dream she clung harder and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Kari,” Daddy whispered. “Open your eyes.”
He wanted her to look? Look at The Black?
“No, Daddy! I don’t want to!” No! I don’t want to, Daddy!
Daddy’s mouth breathed in her ear; his voice grew insistent. “Please, Kari. Open your eyes.”
“No, no! I can’t!” Kari squirmed and burrowed deeper into his shoulder.
“Kari! Open your eyes!”
Kari’s eyes flew open. Unseen hands ripped her from the comfort of Daddy’s arms where she had, in her mind, hidden from the horror she had witnessed.
She looked around. She was no longer near the side of the highway in the dark. She was in a room, a brightly lit room, struggling, trying to reach—
Those same unseen hands restrained her, but for the first time she could see what she strained toward: A man bending to pick up a tiny girl with curly brown pigtails; a woman holding an infant in her arms.
The man spoke to the person gripping Kari, holding her back. “We do want this little girl and the baby boy, but I’m afraid, well, we don’t want her,” the man insisted, thrusting his chin toward Kari, “She’s too old and likely too set in her ways. We don’t want her.”
“Don’t worry; it won’t be a problem,” the faceless woman restraining her declared. “She’s been catatonic since we picked her up, night before last. Hasn’t said a word until just now, in fact. We’ll send her into foster care. She’s so traumatized she likely won’t remember a thing.”
“What about their family? Won’t someone come looking for them?”
The woman laughed, sounding confident. “Nope. We found the father’s address book. The only emergency contact was some church denominational headquarters back east. We called them. Turns out the Grangers were missionaries and have been out of the country for years. The woman from the church headquarters said that neither of the parents had any family.”
She temporized. “Well, the woman we talked to said that the man did have an uncle but that they had no record of his name or where he lived. Apparently, Mr. Granger and his uncle were not close. Hadn’t been in contact for years. The situation is perfect, really.”
“But what if someone from that church calls back, asking more questions?”
“Oh, we’ve already sent them a letter. Thanked them for their help; told them we’d located the uncle and that he had made provisions for the burial and the children.”
“What about the police?” the man demanded.
“Stop worrying. I have an arrangement with the officers at the scene; I will pay them, too. They will ‘neglect’ to put the two smaller children into their reports. They will only mention her.”
“Yeah. We don’t want her,” the man frowned, “but what if she talks?”
“She won’t talk.” The woman shook Kari and twisted her arm. “You hear me, little miss? You aren’t going to remember any of this, got it? If you tell anyone about this, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t been born.”
She slapped the side of Kari’s head with her palm and jerked on her arm when Kari cringed and whimpered. Kari tried to pull away but the woman yanked her close. She leaned into Kari’s face.
“Look at me!” the woman hissed.
Kari stared, terrified, into the woman’s face. She gagged on the woman’s cheap cologne infused with cigarette smoke and noted her hard eyes and harder mouth and the
plastic tag pinned below her collar . . .
“That nice man and woman are going to give your sister and brother a good home. But if you ever mention your sister or brother to anyone—if you ever say their names—well, very bad things will happen to them. Do you hear me? In fact, if you ever even think about your sister or brother again, I will know it, and I will have that man and woman throw your sister and brother in a river to drown.”
She shook Kari. “Nod if you understand.”
Kari, a deep, dark tunnel opening before her, somehow nodded. Then the tunnel swallowed her and the darkness was spilling over her, filling her mouth and eyes with thick sand until she was choking and retching . . . until consciousness began to fade.
The woman turned back to the man, “See? She won’t say a word. Now give me the money.”
Kari struggled up from the dark tunnel and tried to scream. “No! You can’t take them away! You can’t take them!”
They ignored her. Did they even hear her? Or was she screaming her protests only in her own mind? She tried to open her mouth but the dark—The Black—flooded in.
“No!” Kari struggled against the sand clogging her throat and managed to croak again, “No!”
And then she was screaming. “No! You can’t take my sister and brother!”
Kari’s shrieks woke the house. A frantic Max thundered down the stairs and reached her locked door first; Søren was just behind him.
“Break it, Papa! Some ’un’s hurting Kari!” the terrified boy shouted.
Søren’s shoulder popped the flimsy lock and he spilled into the room; Kari was sitting up in bed, still shrieking. Max, scared nearly out of his skin, fell to his knees sobbing—something he would vigorously deny later on—as Ilsa arrived at Kari’s door.
Wide-eyed, Ilsa watched Søren sit on the bed and wrap his arms around Kari. He held her, rocked her, and repeated her name. “Kari! Kari, it’s all right. Kari, it’s just a bad dream. Kari!”
Kari’s screams dwindled and she relaxed into Søren’s embrace. Instead of shrieking, she babbled.
“I saw, Søren, I saw! Daddy made me look and I saw The Black! I saw them!”
Ilsa sat on the edge of the bed facing Søren and took Kari’s hands. “You had a bad dream, Kari. You are safe. We have you.”
“Yes, Kari. It was just a bad dream,” Søren repeated. Max crept up onto the bed and put both his hands on Kari’s arm.
“Please be all right, Kari,” he sobbed. “Please be all right!”
Kari made an attempt to calm herself, conscious of Max’s young, impressionable heart. She shuddered and took a gulping breath. “But, Søren, Ilsa, it wasn’t just a dream. I remembered!”
“Remembered what?”
“I remember what happened after they told me Daddy and Mommy were dead! The police took us somewhere and there was a woman. And then a man and a woman, a couple. They-they said, “We don’t want her! But we want the little girl and the baby!”
It was so clear in her mind now—so very clear. Kari made herself breathe slowly. “Søren. Ilsa. They took them.”
“Took who, Kari?”
“They took my little sister and baby brother,” Kari whispered.
Søren and Ilsa exchanged confounded looks.
Hours and many cups of coffee later, Kari remained adamant and critical of herself. “All these years! I forgot them all these years! How could I?”
Søren finally believed her. “Kari, you were a child. You watched your parents die—you were traumatized. It’s not your fault.”
“But—”
“Listen, Kari. If someone took your brother and sister, then we’ll find them. We will start an investigation.”
“I remember . . . seeing some sort of tag on the woman’s coat. A name tag. Marge something. It started with an ‘S.’ Marge S.”
Søren touched Kari’s face. “All right, then. Owen found you; we’ll have him start looking for this woman, this Marge S. She had to be a social worker, right?
“And we’ll get that guy you used in Albuquerque—what was his name? Anthony something? He’s an investigator, too, yes? If this woman was a social worker the year your parents died, there can’t be many with the name of Marge, can there? And there would have to be a record of your brother and sister’s adoption the same year somewhere in New Mexico, right? We will find it.”
“But what if we don’t find them, Søren? I have forgotten them all these years! What has become of my little sister and baby brother?”
“Do you recall their names, Kari?”
Kari blinked and her brows drew down. “Funny you should ask. I have forgotten them all these years, but . . . but it feels like their names should be right on the tip of my—oh! Sammie! My baby brother’s name is Samuel, but we called him Sammie!”
“And your sister?”
Kari nodded. “I think . . . Elaine! Yes; Elaine and Samuel. How could I have forgotten?”
“Kari,” Ilsa said quietly, “They aren’t babies any longer. You said your sister was three and you were six? She would be, what? Thirty-five, now? Your little brother would be thirty-two? They aren’t children anymore. They aren’t in immediate danger.”
Kari considered what Ilsa had said. “I-I know you’re right. I’m just having trouble seeing them . . . grown.”
She thought a moment longer. “And now that I remember them, it means I am not the sole heir of Peter Granger—his estate does not belong exclusively to me.”
Kari turned to Søren. “I had already been praying about using my inheritance for God’s glory. I still intend to do that with my portion, but now Clover and his firm will need to make provision for Elaine and Samuel in the probate, too.”
“Those are their names? Elaine and Samuel?” Ilsa asked.
“Yes,” Kari whispered. “Sammie was just a baby.”
Søren nodded. “Kari, your homecoming is the answer to decades—generations—of prayer and trust that the ‘lost are found.’ But maybe . . . maybe we should take a wider view.”
Ilsa, Max, and Kari looked to Søren to explain.
“Maybe you are just the first-fruits of our family’s faith, Kari.”
He took her hand and set his jaw in determination. “You are the first to be found, but the others are coming. Until then, we trust The Lord—and we never stop searching. Because we know that in God the lost are found.”
~~**~~
The End
. . . Is Only the Beginning
Dear Reader,
Are you asking “What comes next?”
You may have noticed (all right, it’s pretty obvious) that, with the conclusion of A Prairie Heritage, not every question has been answered and not every thread has been gathered and tied up in a neat bow. I want to suggest that, by leaving just a few tiny questions unanswered—okay, a few tiny questions and one really big question—I’ve left myself room to tell you more in future books, in other series.
Speaking of future books, below I have listed three series that, if God allows, I anticipate writing in the next few years. I’ll be starting first with the NanoStealth series, but I hope to begin writing in one of the other series concurrently.
Please believe me when I say that I am pressing on as quickly as I am able!
I’ve also just published The Christian and the Vampire: A Short Story. It is an eBook that I hope will reach those who are enamored with the vampire genre. (Look for an excerpt at the end of this letter.)
So, will you look ahead with me and be patient? I promise that I’m writing as fast as I can.
Love in Christ,
Vikki
As The Lord allows, I hope to write the following series:
NanoStealth
Book 1: Stealthy Beginnings (Early 2015)
Book 2: Stealth Power
Book 3: Stealth Beyond Borders
Laynie Portland
Book 1: Laynie Portland, Retired Spy (Mid-2015)
Book 2: Laynie Portland, Renegade Spy
Book 3: Laynie
Portland, Spy Resurrected
Girls from the Mountain
Tabitha
Mei-Xing
Breona
Esther
Note: Why the series title, “Girls From the Mountain”? I’ll let this conversation between Joy and Grant from The Captive Within explain.
Joy was thoughtful. “You said something just now . . .”
“Hm? What was that?”
“You called them girls from the mountain. I rather like that.”
“Certainly less degrading than ‘former prostitutes.’” Grant smiled his endearing half-smile.
“Perhaps that is how we should refer to them from now on. Of course, when the Lord gives us women from Denver, the phrase will no longer apply.”
“Denver is surrounded by mountains. I don’t see a problem with it. It could be our own little code for the young ladies of Palmer House.”
~~**~~
God bless you until we meet again
—in a new book!
Vikki
A Prairie Heritage
One family . . . steeped in the love and grace of God, indomitable in their faith, tried and tested in the fires of life, passing forward a legacy to change their world. The compelling saga of family, faith, and great courage.
Prequel: Land of Dust and Tears
(Free Kindle download)
Book 1: A Rose Blooms Twice
Book 2: Wild Heart on the Prairie
(Includes Land of Dust and Tears)
Book 3: Joy on This Mountain
Book 4: The Captive Within
Book 5: Stolen
Book 6: Lost Are Found
Stand-Alone Singles
The Christian and the Vampire:
A Short Story
Land of Dust and Tears
A Prairie Heritage, The Prequel
by Vikki Kestell
Available in Kindle Format
Land of Dust and Tears is the gripping prequel to the breakthrough historical novel, A Rose Blooms Twice, and is the foundation of the acclaimed series, A Prairie Heritage.
Lost Are Found (A Prairie Heritage, Book 6) Page 33