Blessings From the Father

by Michelle Larks

  Blessings From the Father

  Michelle Larks

  www.urbanchristianonline.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Blessings From the Father

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  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

  Epilogue

  Readers’ Discussion Guide

  About The Author

  UC HIS GLORY BOOK CLUB!

  What We Believe:

  Copyright Page

  Blessings From the Father

  A Novel

  by

  Michelle Larks

  This book is dedicated to my Mom, Jean Harris;

  Remember one day at a time!

  And to my daughters, Mikeisha and Genesse,

  I love you!

  Acknowledgments

  I give praises with my hands uplifted to God, from whom all blessings flow. My faith continues to deepen as He shows me grace and mercy. This book is the eleventh one I’ve written. I never imagined when I was a small girl, and my Daddy took me to the library to check out books, that one day I’d have written not one but eleven books.

  I’d like to thank my family, all of you for loving me, all parts, the good and bad. And, thank you for giving me the space that I need when I morph into my main character, and immerse myself in her life and thoughts. We had a new baby in the family this year, my great-niece. Her name is Kennedi and I along with the rest of my family welcome her into our lives.

  I’d also like to give a shout-out to my girlfriends. I am so heartened when we talk; even though months may elapse between those talks, we converse like we had just talked yesterday.

  I’d like to thank the many libraries and booksellers for stocking my books. I’d also like to thank book clubs for reading my books. I hope they’ve generated a lively discussion.

  Thanks to my agent Tee C Royal. To my editor Joylynn Jossel, thank you for being patient with me. I managed to write this book through many adversities.

  If I’ve forgotten anyone, please forgive me. I’d also like to thank the readers who’ve supported me over the years, and have bought every book I’ve written. I appreciate my Facebook friends who stop by my page from time to time and leave their comments.

  Most of all, to the man who has been there with me on this writing journey from day one, I say thank you to my husband, Fred.

  Prologue

  Rosemary Green knelt on aching, arthritic knees inside the closet inside her bedroom. The small, boxlike enclosure was her refuge in times of storms. She called the closet her prayer warrior room. Rosemary’s shaking hands were clasped together tightly across her bosom. Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes as she poured her troubles out to God. Then, Rosemary raised her arms upward and whispered fervently, “Father, forgive me for the sins I committed years ago. Please, Father, I beg of you, don’t let the sins of the parents be visited upon the children.”

  She stayed in the closet for over an hour, beseeching the Lord to give her guidance and to watch over her children, her daughter, Cassandra, and especially her granddaughter, Mariah.

  Rosemary departed the closet and walked gingerly to her bed. She sat down and sighed, glad that the pressure was off her knees. She took deep breaths until finally her spirit was settled. She pushed off her face tendrils of spongy hair that had escaped from the untidy bun. Then Rosemary picked up her Bible and opened it to Exodus, 20:5.

  Thou shalt not bow down thyself unto them, nor serve them: for I, the Lord thy God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon his children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me.

  Rosemary squeezed her eyes shut. “Lord, I was a sinner then. I didn’t know right from wrong. I thought I had to control the situation when all along you were in control. I was wrong, so wrong, please forgive me. Please let Mari forgive me.” Rosemary rocked back and forth on the bed. She smiled remembering her counseling sessions with Reverend Dudley. Rosemary quickly turned to the book of Deuteronomy, 24:16.

  The fathers shall not be put to death for the children, neither shall the children be put to death for the fathers: every man shall be put to death for his own sin.

  Rosemary was raised in a strict Southern Baptist church in Florida. Her childhood minister emphasized scriptures from the Old Testament scripture, which left the young girl fearing instead of trusting in God. Only after she and Mariah joined Christian Friendship Church did Rosemary develop a relationship with God. She knew tough days lay ahead and she was going to have to draw on the strength of her relationship with God to see her through the crisis. It was a storm that had been lying dormant for years. The storm was now gathering steam and threatened the very fabric of her relationship with her precious granddaughter.

  Rosemary bowed her head, folded her hands together, and prayed more. Later, she went into the bathroom and washed her face. After she patted her face with a faded pink towel, Rosemary went downstairs to prepare dinner for herself and Mariah. Rosemary vowed to rely on her faith and wait on the Lord to guide her path. In times of trouble He promised to never leave us alone and that would become Rosemary’s mantra. She nodded and whispered to herself as she put the pots and pans on top of the stove, “I’ll be just fine, because He promised never to leave me alone.”

  Chapter One

  William Cook, the lawyer and executor of Mariah Green’s late father’s estate, picked up a batch of documents. He folded them in half, then placed them inside a legal-sized brown folding envelope. Attorney Cook then handed the packet to the slightly dazed young woman sitting in the brown wooden chair in front of his desk. “Ms. Green, this concludes all business related to your father, Harold’s, estate. Included in the packet are the keys to the house, your father’s business and rental properties, as well as four motor vehicles. There is also a passbook for your savings account, which include proceeds from the insurance claims for Harold and his wife, Dorothy. In the envelope are keys to the safe deposit boxes. Please feel free to call me if you have any further questions.” He made a notation on a pad of paper inside an opened folder on his desk. He closed the folder and then looked up at Mariah and smiled.

  Mariah’s hand began trembling when the attorney placed the envelope inside her hand. “Thank you,” she murmured shakily. Her doe-shaped inky black eyes dropped momentarily and then she looked directly into the lawyer’s
caring eyes. “I think that’s it for now. I appreciate your help in getting my father’s will probated as well as your guidance during this entire process.” She nervously jiggled her left leg. Mariah suppressed an irrational urge to flee the office, and run outdoors to a bench that sat outside the office to read the papers herself.

  For the past couple of hours, she had listened intently as the attorney explained the documents, and followed his instructions when he bade her to sign documents. Mariah placed the envelope inside her shoulder bag, zipped the purse shut, and then stood up. The attorney did likewise, removing his tall, lanky form from his gray swivel chair. He thrust out his hand. “If I can be of any further assistance to you, feel free to call me, Ms. Green. I know you’re new to the Hammond area.” He dropped her hand. “What are you planning to do with the properties, if I may ask?”

  “I haven’t quite decided yet,” Mariah answered shrugging her shoulders. “Finding out my father’s identity and then learning he is deceased and leaving me all his worldly possessions has been overwhelming to say the least. My brain needs time to process all of this.”

  “I understand.” He walked her to his office door and opened it. “You still have my card, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do and I’ll call you if I have any questions or if any problems arise,” Mariah promised. She was tall, almost eye level, with the six-foot-tall lawyer, courtesy of her three-inch heels. She wore black rayon pants and a pale pink short-sleeved oxford shirt. The temperature in late July was hot and muggy. The breeze off Lake Michigan gave little relief against the waves of heat that encompassed the Midwest region.

  The two exchanged farewells. When Mariah exited the office, she picked up her step and sped down the brown paneled hallway to the glass double doors and out the building. Her legs shook as she headed for the gleaming green painted bench. Mariah checked the bench for debris and then she sat down. She took her purse strap off her shoulder and set it on the bench and pulled out the envelope. Mariah quickly removed the papers and read.

  When Mariah finished perusing the document, her eyes widened. She could hardly believe that she was the owner of a two-story house, formerly a boarding house, located in Hammond, Indiana, along with many other rental and commercial properties. Mariah would be twenty-nine years old in a couple of months. She had been raised by Rosemary Green, her maternal grandmother, whom she lovingly called Granny. The pair resided in the Altgeld Garden housing project on the far south side of Chicago.

  Mariah’s emotions were elevated as her eyes misted. She hadn’t ever met her father, Harold. She felt saddened when she learned that he lived less than ten miles from where she was raised. Mariah was rendered speechless momentarily when she received the call from Attorney Cook’s law firm, notifying her that she had inherited property from her deceased father.

  When she was a child, Mariah had plied her grandmother with a million questions about her father. But no answers were ever forthcoming; Rosemary said she didn’t know who Mariah’s father was. Rosemary suffered from hypertension and asthma. Her asthma medication, in the form of an inhaler, was never far from her reach. As Mariah became older, she noticed how her grandmother’s breathing became labored if Mariah pressed Rosemary regarding her father. Or Rosemary would rub her brow and complain she could feel a headache coming on. So eventually Mariah left the subject alone. When Mariah became old enough to work, she requested a copy of her birth certificate from her grandmother and was stunned to see that the box notating her father’s name was blank.

  Mariah’s mother, Cassandra, had been a drug addict most of her daughter’s life, leaving Rosemary to raise her only grandchild. Cassandra was a fleeting presence, flitting in and out of her daughter’s life like a ghost.

  Years would elapse between visits from Cassandra. Mariah had gotten up her courage when she was thirteen and asked Cassandra about the identity of her father. Cassandra seemed to shrink within herself and her eyes darted about the room, landing anywhere but on her daughter. She simply replied mysteriously that it was sometimes best to let sleeping dogs lie. Then, after an awkward period of silence between mother and daughter, Cassandra jumped out of the chair she’d been sitting in and sped from Rosemary’s house. Mariah didn’t see her mother for another six months. Mariah always felt that her mother, out of spite, refused to divulge the information to her.

  After scanning the documents again, Mariah folded and placed them back inside her purse. She walked two blocks to the parking lot, where she’d parked her beat-up, silver-colored Ford Focus, and got inside the vehicle. Instead of returning to Chicago, Mariah decided to visit her father’s house. She’d driven by it what seemed a million times since she received the notification of her inheritance. The trip was a short drive from the lawyer’s office and within fifteen minutes, Mariah pulled up to the curb and gazed at her newly acquired property. The building was a white-frame, two-story house. The roof looked like it needed cleaning, but overall the house seemed to be in immaculate condition. The lawn behind a shimmery silver chain link fence had been recently mowed, and the wooden stairs leading to the wraparound porch were sturdy.

  Mariah reached across the seat and took the keys out of the envelope that Attorney Cook had given her. Then she opened the car door and swung her legs outside the door. She slammed the door shut and then walked to the front of the house. Mariah pushed the gate open, and walked to the back of the building. Two huge oak trees were planted in the backyard and promised shade from the sun’s rays in the summer. There was also a small coach house in the rear of the property, which Mariah thought would be perfect for Rosemary. The backyard was large.

  She returned to the front of the house and walked up four stairs to the door. Mariah put the key in the slot, turned it, and pushed the door open.

  There was a door immediately to Mariah’s left; she pulled it open to find a cedar closet. She closed the door, took a few steps forward, and paused in front of an oak staircase that led to the second level. Mariah walked into the living room. She stopped and her eyes scanned the room. There was a large bay window framed by two smaller ones. A mantled fireplace was built into one of the walls. There were an old-fashioned sofa and two chairs, surrounded by two end tables and a cocktail table. The top borders of the living and dining rooms were trimmed by dark, old-fashioned woodwork.

  An old television set console was used to house photographs of her father and his wife. The walls were painted white. Mariah’s eyes were drawn to an oil painting over the mantle of a couple from a bygone era. She knew automatically the pair was Harold and Dorothy. Mariah walked over to the painting and stared at it for a few moments. She knew she didn’t resemble Cassandra very much, although Rosemary swore the two women shared the same smile and complexion. When Mariah looked at the picture, she knew from whom she had inherited her thick, dark hair, widow’s peak, and upturned nose. Harold couldn’t deny Mariah parentage if he wanted to. She bore an uncanny resemblance to him. Whereas his coloring was a walnut color, Mariah’s complexion was deep Hershey’s brown like her mother.

  Mariah stifled a sigh; she was dismayed to see that Harold appeared old enough to be her grandfather. She often had fantasies of a handsome, dashing young man coming to claim her and rescue her from Cassie. The idea of an older man just didn’t sit well with her. She couldn’t image her erratic mother being intimate with someone so old.

  There were dozens of pictures of the couple scattered about the room. Mariah picked up one of the frames and noted that she also inherited her height from her father. She set the picture down and continued inspecting the house. There was a room off the kitchen that appeared to be a den, and a kitchen, dining room, and powder room on the first floor.

  Mariah finally went upstairs. There was a wood-burning fireplace in the master bedroom along with an attached bathroom. There were three bathrooms, a sitting room, and a door that led to the attic on the second floor. Three of the bedrooms were a good size and the other two smaller.

  She continued roaming the
house and discovered a finished basement with additional rooms on the lower level. An hour later, Mariah returned to the living room and sat on the camel-colored sofa. She could hardly believe her good fortune. It was more house than she would ever need. Mariah also wondered why her father hadn’t ever bothered to come see her. She knew from Attorney Cook that her father’s wife had preceded her father in death by six months. The couple didn’t have any children, so Harold left all his worldly goods to his only child, Mariah.

  There were so many questions Mariah feared she’d never get the answers to. Her cell phone rang. She pulled the phone out of her purse. “Hi, Rocki,” she said after looking at the caller ID.

  “Hello to you too. How are you feeling, Mari?” Rocki asked. She was one of Mariah’s best friends, and though her birth name was Raquel Mitchell, she’d been nicknamed Rocki since childhood.

  “Girl, I feel so strange, and I’m trying hard not to trip. You wouldn’t believe the house my father left me. It’s huge. Right about now, I just feel overwhelmed by so many emotions.” Mariah’s words spewed quickly from her mouth, leaving her breathless.

  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Rocki advised her friend. “I’m happy for you. I know how you’ve always wanted a daddy. You may not have known him, but he left you a beautiful legacy. Now you just have to figure out what you’re going to do with it.”

  “That’s true.” Mariah nodded. “It would make sense for me to sell everything and save the money. I could probably buy myself two new houses from the sale of his house alone. But, I’ve been thinking about keeping it. I have a feeling that Cassandra won’t be leaving me any legacies.” Mariah’s lips twisted into a wry grin.

  “I think you should think long and hard over the matter before you decide what to do,” Raquel suggested helpfully. “You don’t have to make any decisions right at this minute. What does Granny think you should do?”