He turned the envelope over in his hands. He tore at the sealed flap and pulled out the folded paper inside.
Years later, when he thought back to that moment, he wouldn't remember actually reading the letter.
What he’d remember was the sound of horrible wailing, something like a dying animal. He’d remember realizing the sound came from him. He’d remember the pain of his knees hitting the cold kitchen linoleum. He'd remember his father, arms wrapped around him, saying, "I gotcha, boy. I gotcha. It's gonna be all right." He’d remember his mother and Daniel standing in the doorway, helpless. And he'd remember thinking, "I'm never going to love someone like that again."
Though he no longer had any reason to, Marcus continued working two jobs. Pretty soon, he was picking up extra shifts and, for the few hours he was home, he slept. After it became obvious he was losing too much weight, much too fast, his mother made sure she was awake and in the kitchen whenever he was due to leave or return. She’d go all out, preparing his favorites in an effort to tempt him to eat. It never worked.
She fussed at him. She yelled at him. She cried. She pleaded. She prayed. She begged. She bargained. He only sat there, staring back at her, saying nothing.
She thought if she could just get him to church, he'd be all right. But every Sunday morning, he'd say he was too tired from his night shift. And every Friday night, he'd say he needed to get to bed for his morning shift. No amount of shaming or scolding made him budge. She put him on every prayer list at every church in the city. He only got worse.
Before long, she could hardly stand to look at him. His eyes were sunken and shaded by dark circles. He looked like a dead man walking. At the end of her rope, she demanded his father do something.
At the start, Marcus, Sr. had decided to give his son space, so he was shocked to see what Junior had become when he entered his bedroom early one Sunday morning. He'd lost so much weight, he looked more like a boy than the strapping twenty-three-year-old man that towered over everyone else in the house.
Senior sat on the side of the bed and gently shook him. "Wake up, son. I need to talk to you."
Marcus rolled over and his father couldn't help but think he looked as if he should've been laid out in a casket. All the life was gone out of him. It was the most frightening thing he'd ever seen.
“Losing the woman you loved, the child you hadn’t even held yet…” He shook his head. “I know you’re going through right now, son. And I know you need time to work it out for yourself, but for your mama's peace of mind, I need you to come to church with us today."
A few moments passed in silence. Marcus stared at the ceiling.
"It would mean a lot to her. Set her mind at ease.” He paused, then added, “Mine, too."
Marcus looked at his father. Then he nodded and sat up. "Okay, dad. I'll be ready in a few minutes."
The people at New Life Tabernacle did their best not to stare or express shock when Marcus Thomas Jr. finally set foot in the sanctuary after his three-month absence. But as hard as they tried, he still caught women quickly looking away as they dabbed tears from their eyes. He couldn't help but notice men going out of their way to shake his hand and pat his back.
He tried to be polite and put them all at ease, but in truth, he felt as if he were walking through fog and counted the seconds until the service was over and he could return home to his bed.
When Pastor Jones got up, he asked Marcus to sing a selection before he gave the sermon, as he had a few times before. Every head in the building turned in his direction. Marcus understood the Pastor was trying to help him, but singing was the last thing he wanted to do—ever. But not wanting to be disrespectful, he simply lowered his head. He was relieved and grateful when Pastor Jones simply nodded and proceeded with his sermon.
What he didn't expect was for Pastor Jones to ask again the next Sunday. And the one after that. And again, every Sunday for the next four months. Pastor Jones never pushed him, never got angry or frustrated. He just never gave up. And finally, on a beautiful, summer Sunday, a little more than seven months after he’d received the letter, Marcus finally said yes.
The church was celebrating Founder’s Day and the sanctuary was packed. Regular members were in attendance, as well as family and friends who only came on holidays. In addition, several other local pastors and their members were there to show support.
Marcus stood before them all, a ghost of the man he once was. He hadn't sung, not one note, in all the months since he’d lost Carrie. He didn't expect his voice to be there for him after he'd abandoned it for so long. But since Pastor Jones hadn’t given up on him, he felt the least he could do was show his appreciation.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and opened his mouth.
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll…
It had been one of her favorite songs. He always gave her a hard time, asking why she had old people's taste in music. She’d defend it, calling it 'deep.'
"You'll get it one day, Marcus Thomas, Jr. And when you do, you'll be sitting in church, crying like a little girl. And it's only because I love you, I won't point and laugh."
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul…
Marcus had no words to describe it, but as he stood there singing, it was as if he were transported to another place. And just as Carrie promised, he got it.
He’d always attended church, but he’d never truly had a relationship with Jesus. He’d heard the sermons, he could quote the scriptures, he knew He’d died on the cross. But for the first time in his life, Marcus understood why.
He did it for love.
It wasn’t guards that bound and detained Him, it wasn’t a whip that drove him up the hill, it wasn’t nails that held Him to the cross—it was love.
And not just any love, but a love so great, so all-encompassing, by the strength of it, all things could be made well.
Carrie.
Her child.
Even Marcus’ own heart.
In the previous months, he’d been so hollowed out, he thought he’d lost the ability to feel. That was no longer the case. He not only felt love, it enveloped him. A love so vast, so powerful, it nearly brought him to his knees. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he felt a peace beyond what words could describe.
When he woke up that morning, he'd seen nothing but darkness before him. Now there was light. It was faint, but it was there. And because of it, he knew he'd be okay.
Along with that knowing, came the call on his life, in the form of a question. A still small voice that simply asked: Will you go? With everything in him, his heart cried out: Yes, yes, yes…
Even so, it is well with my soul.
Marcus opened his eyes to find half the people in the building at the altar on their knees. Others were in the pews, their hands and faces turned toward heaven, openly weeping. Surrounding him were the deacons and elders of New Life, physically upholding his wearied body.
Directly in front of him was Pastor Jones. He hugged Marcus and whispered in his ear, "This is the beginning of something great, my son. It's just the beginning."
Word spread quickly throughout the city and soon, Marcus was ministering through his music several times a week.
He wrote songs day and night. They would come to him, music and lyric, whole and intact. Artists began seeking him out to write for them and before long, he was also producing. After his brothers' second gospel album was released, they convinced him to do a solo effort.
What happened next blew everyone away. The album crossed over and broke multiple records. The third single, the one everybody was talking about, was the one closest to his heart: A Father's Prayer.
He had thought about Carrie’s last few moments hundreds of times. There was no way of knowing exactly when she died. All he had was the timing of the letter. It arrived five months after she disappeared. He couldn't help but wonder wheth
er the baby had been brought to term. He knew, technically, the child wasn't his. His head knew that, but his heart felt something altogether different. If the child had survived, he needed to find it.
One night, while reading his Bible, he came across a passage that seemed to jump out from the page at him: 2nd Samuel 9. In it, King David searched for the son of his friend, Jonathan, so he could show him kindness in honor of his late father.
God had done so much to mend Marcus’ heart after losing Carrie, but he still felt the void left by a stolen fatherhood. If God could reunite Jonathan’s son with David, couldn’t he do the same for him? Marcus had more than he would’ve ever thought to ask for. But if he’d ever wanted anything, it was a second chance. If he or she were alive, he wanted a chance to be a father to Carrie’s child.
Before long, it was all he could think about. He found himself searching the eyes of every boy and girl he came across. He hired a decorator to redo two of his extra bedrooms, one for a boy and one for a girl. He marked the age annually—eight, eleven, fourteen. He prayed for the child every night and thought about it every day.
But as the years passed, the waiting became more difficult. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen years old. He tried not to lose faith as the childhood years flew by and adulthood approached. A young man. A young woman. Would he or she need Marcus around? Want Marcus around? More than likely, he already had parents he loved. That is, if he even existed.
It was at a national convention, as he pondered those things, he heard a woman yell, "Junior!" He turned to see Robin Jones jumping up and down, smiling and waving her arms at him.
"You have no idea how good it feels to talk with someone who already knows everything. I don't have to explain it. Or make you understand. You were there."
Robin nodded in agreement, swallowing a bite of banana caramel french toast. After that evening's service, they’d gone to the all-night cafe in the host hotel.
"I know. I never talk about any of it. Grandma’s gone, and well, there's daddy. But after it came out who had…” Her voice trailed off and she sighed.
"How's he doing?"
"Better. Much better, actually. That second stroke left him without speech for a while, but now you wouldn’t know it. He's back to nagging me about being single, of course.” She laughed. "I'm not complaining though. I'm just happy to hear his voice.”
"Amen to that. So I was in the airport and saw your latest book. What are you trying to do? Take over the world?"
"The master plan, my brotha.” She covered her mouth as she laughed again. “Next month I'm doing a sit-down with Oprah. Her producers called last week."
"Wow. Oprah? That's big."
"You would know. You haven't exactly been a wallflower yourself."
"Yeah," he said, looking down at the table. "I've been blessed." He leaned back against his seat and exhaled.
She raised her eyebrows. "Then why you looking like that?"
"Like what?"
She leaned in across the table and lowered her voice. "We don't talk often. We rarely see each other. But I know you, Junior. I see you in all these interviews and singing on all these award shows and I can tell. The rest of the world may not notice, but I do. That weight you carry everywhere you go. It's been so long. You can't live the rest of your life like that. You've got to let her go, for your own sake. Trust me. I’m speaking from experience.”
For a moment, Marcus remained silent. He hadn't talked to anyone about Carrie's child. About how he felt. But if there was anyone who would understand, it was Robin.
"It's not Carrie. I mean, it is, but not how you think."
She tilted her head. "Okay…"
He hesitated. "Have you— I mean, do you ever think about the baby?" He saw something that looked like pain flicker across her face. She leaned back and crossed her arms.
"I try not to."
Her reaction surprised him. "Why?"
She shook her head. "That little one never had a chance." She waved her hand in front of her face, blinking back tears. "It breaks my heart. And knowing I can’t—“ Robin covered her face with her hands.
He reached across the table and gently touched her arm. “Hey… Knowing you can’t what?”
She took her hands from her face, but tightened them into fists. "I just can't think about it." She grabbed the napkin from her lap and patted beneath her eyes. "Why? What made you bring that up?"
"It's just, whenever I think of the timing, I can't help but wonder…"
“What? I don't know what you mean."
"The letter. The date on the letter was just over five months after she left. Why did she wait so long? I talked to her the night before she disappeared. I've gone over that conversation a million times since—the tone of her voice, the words she chose, the way she said them. She was telling me goodbye. So why did she wait another five months to actually do it?"
He could see Robin was beginning to understand. "She would have been full term." She covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes shining with tears. "You think…"
He nodded. "I've prayed and prayed and prayed about this. So much time has passed, sometimes I think maybe it’d be better to leave it alone. But I can't. I've hired people over the years to look into it and they always come back empty. But I still can't give it up. It's like I don't know how."
Robin reached across the table and grabbed his hand. "Matthew 18:19."
A smile spread across his face. "If two of you shall agree on earth…"
She nodded and he saw a light in her eyes that reminded him of when they were teenagers and nothing bad had ever happened.
"I'm your number two, mister."
"Please remain seated until the plane comes to a full and complete stop."
Marcus stared out the window as they taxied toward the gate. It was good to be home.
The moment they heard the long-awaited "ding,” the surrounding passengers jumped up and started gathering their belongings. In no rush, he sat back, waiting for the aisle to clear. He took out his cell phone and turned it on.
After most of the passengers had deplaned, Marcus stood and stretched his back. He was removing his carry-on from the overhead compartment when his phone rang.
It was Robin Jones.
When he answered, her voice was so shaky and breathless, it took several moments for him to understand what she was saying. Once he did, he stumbled back into the seat across the aisle.
As much as the words in that letter destroyed him twenty years ago, the words he heard now, gave him life.
“Marcus, she's here. The baby. She found us. She’s here. She's come home."
The New Life Tabernacle Series Continues With…
Book 2: Restoration Song
Sixteen years ago, Sophia Thomas, first lady of New Life Tabernacle, packed her bags and disappeared, leaving her husband and church to wonder why, and where she’d gone.
Now she’s secretly come back, hoping to repair her fragile relationship with her ailing mother.
But her return doesn't stay secret for long. And neither do the reasons why she left.
As the truth comes out, it opens old wounds, threatens new relationships, and exposes deeds better left in the past.
Amid the turmoil, Sophia must decide whether to remain behind the wall of isolation she's built around herself or risk her broken heart by learning to live again.
Turn the page for an excerpt…
Restoration Song
"Ma'am, are you all right? Do you need medical assistance?"
The flight attendant asking looked a bit nervous. The passenger he was speaking to, Sophia Wright Thomas, couldn't blame him.
He must think I'm crazy…
Her hands gripped the armrests of her seat and she held her muscles so tight, she looked as if she were frozen stiff.
He might've thought it was a simple case of fear of flying. Only, they weren’t in the air. The plane had landed at DFW International more than fifteen minutes ago.
That was t
he problem.
Sophia tried to steady her voice and put on a cheerful expression. "I'm fine. I promise. I'll be out of you all’s way in just a minute."
The flight attendant nodded and patted the top of her seat. "I'm just right over there if you need anything."
He walked away and Sophia took a deep breath. The plane had been empty for a while now and the flight attendants were cleaning the rows and replacing the seat belts. She could no longer delay the inevitable.
Sophia finally managed to stand, albeit on a pair of shaky legs. When she looked at the three flight attendants gathered at the rear of the empty plane, they quickly turned their heads and pretended to be conversing about something other than her.
It didn’t bother her. Whatever they were saying, it was nothing compared to the wagging tongues that awaited her.
* * *
Sophia was off the plane and nearly out of the airport before she started to feel anywhere near normal. That was thanks to the bright and shining face she saw as she came in to baggage claim. It was her closest friend and the only person she still kept in contact with from New Life Tabernacle—Robin Jones.
"I can't believe it!" Robin shrieked. She rushed Sophia and threw her arms around her. “Ooh, girl! It’s so good to see you!"
As they embraced, Sophia could only nod and bat her eyes to keep the tears back.
It was good. All morning, she'd been anticipating, no, dreading all the negative aspects of returning home. The hurt. The blame. The betrayal. But there in Robin’s arms, she was reminded there was also some good.
Thank God there was still some good.
Nobody’s Child (New Life Tabernacle Series Book 1) Page 26