My Daughter's Legacy
Page 1
Books by Mindy Starns Clark and Leslie Gould
COUSINS OF THE DOVE
My Brother’s Crown
My Sister’s Prayer
My Daughter’s Legacy
THE WOMEN OF LANCASTER COUNTY
The Amish Midwife
The Amish Nanny
The Amish Bride
The Amish Seamstress
Other Fiction by Mindy Starns Clark
THE MEN OF LANCASTER COUNTY
(WITH SUSAN MEISSNER)
The Amish Groom
The Amish Blacksmith
The Amish Clockmaker
THE MILLION DOLLAR MYSTERIES
A Penny for Your Thoughts
Don’t Take Any Wooden Nickels
A Dime a Dozen
A Quarter for a Kiss
The Buck Stops Here
STANDALONE MYSTERIES
Whispers of the Bayou
Shadows of Lancaster County
Under the Cajun Moon
Secrets of Harmony Grove
Echoes of Titanic
(with John Campbell Clark)
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide; and the King James Version of the Bible. Italics used are for emphasis by the authors.
Cover by Garborg Design Works
Cover Image © kvd design; kladyk / Bigstock
The authors are represented by MacGregor Literary, Inc.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
MY DAUGHTER’S LEGACY
Copyright © 2017 by Mindy Starns Clark and Leslie Gould
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
ISBN 978-0-7369-6292-6 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-7369-6293-3 (eBook)
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Clark, Mindy Starns, author. | Gould, Leslie, author.
Title: My daughter’s legacy / Mindy Starns Clark, Leslie Gould.
Description: Eugene, Oregon: Harvest House Publishers, [2017] | Series: Cousins of the dove; 3
Identifiers: LCCN 2017005464 (print) | LCCN 2017011335 (ebook) | ISBN 9780736962926 (softcover) | ISBN 9780736962933 (eBook) | ISBN 9780736962933 (ebook)
Subjects: | BISAC: FICTION / Christian / Historical. | FICTION / Christian / Romance. | GSAFD: Christian fiction. | Love stories.
Classification: LCC PS3603.L366 M93 2017 (print) | LCC PS3603.L366 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6–dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017005464
All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s and publisher’s rights is strictly prohibited.
Dedication
For our strong, creative, and devoted daughters,
Emily and Lauren Clark
and
Hana and Thao Gould.
You are our legacies.
Yea, the sparrow hath found an house,
and the swallow a nest for herself,
where she may lay her young, even thine altars,
O LORD of hosts, my King, and my God.
PSALM 84:3
Contents
Books by Mindy Starns Clark and Leslie Gould
Dedication
Chapter One: Nicole
Chapter Two: Nicole
Chapter Three: Nicole
Chapter Four: Nicole
Chapter Five: Therese
Chapter Six: Therese
Chapter Seven: Therese
Chapter Eight: Therese
Chapter Nine: Nicole
Chapter Ten: Nicole
Chapter Eleven: Nicole
Chapter Twelve: Therese
Chapter Thirteen: Therese
Chapter Fourteen: Therese
Chapter Fifteen: Therese
Chapter Sixteen: Therese
Chapter Seventeen: Nicole
Chapter Eighteen: Nicole
Chapter Nineteen: Therese
Chapter Twenty: Therese
Chapter Twenty-One: Therese
Chapter Twenty-Two: Therese
Chapter Twenty-Three: Therese
Chapter Twenty-Four: Therese
Chapter Twenty-Five: Nicole
Chapter Twenty-Six: Therese
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Nicole
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Therese
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Nicole
Chapter Thirty: Nicole
Chapter Thirty-One: Therese
Chapter Thirty-Two: Nicole
Discussion Questions
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Women of Uncommon Courage
Women of Fearless Devotion
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
Nicole
Sometimes a lie was the better choice—or at least that’s what I’d always told myself. After all, lying was easier, faster, and more efficient than the truth. “I’m sick” was a more prudent option than “I’m sick of working.” “I’m busy” was a lot kinder than “I don’t want to.” But for some, lying could become a habit, the proverbial spider weaving its tangled web. Problem is, once I’d made my own web big enough, I found I was no longer spider but prey, trapped by silvery threads of my own design.
I’d spent the last year and a half—ever since the night I got loaded and slammed my car into a tree at sixty miles an hour—slowly untangling my own threads. Now, after two months of convalescence, nine months in a drug rehab facility, and two full semesters away at college, I was nearly free of all that—save for one big, fat lie that remained.
“Nicole!”
My head snapped left to see the setter knocking the volleyball into an easy arc over my head. Telling myself to focus, I bent my knees, waited for the exact right moment in its trajectory, and then shot up from the ground to slam the ball as hard as I could, spiking it straight through the upraised arms of our opponent and onto an empty space on the court behind her.
Set and game. Our victory, 3 to 2.
My team burst into cheers, jumping and hugging and laughing. When we finally calmed down, we lined up and did the high-five-and-thanks-for-a-good-game thing with the opposing team. Then we gathered for a quick huddle, mostly so our team captain could remind us, yet again, to stay in shape over the summer. Ours was just a local league in a small town in Virginia, but it was important to us.
“Together now,” she said, holding out a fist. We circled around and each placed a hand atop until all were in.
“One. Play. At a time!” We shouted the team motto in unison, and then our huddle was done.
After some quick goodbyes and see-you-in-the-falls, I gathered my stuff and headed for the locker room, eager to grab a shower before all the stalls were taken. This was our last game of the semester, and though I was glad to be heading home to Richmond tomorrow, I knew I was going to miss this over summer break. The
court was where I brought everything—happiness, sadness, anger, fear, elation, confusion, frustration—and it had proven to be an almost better outlet than my weekly on-campus counseling sessions. Which was saying a lot, considering what a great counselor I had.
Of course, my teammates were almost like counselors as well, or at least like savvy older sisters, I thought as I snagged a stall, set my little mesh bag of toiletries on the shelf, and turned on the water. We weren’t just a sports team. We were a support group, former addicts and fellow students trying to make our way at a very conservative, totally non-partying university tucked away in the Shenandoah Mountains of western Virginia.
I’d come to Silver Lake University specifically because it was a dry campus, even though initially I never would’ve considered such a thing for fear I might stick out like a sore thumb. But then someone let me in on a secret back when I was fresh out of rehab and trying to choose the right college. My sister’s boyfriend, Greg, was a certified addiction specialist, and he’d told me about a small sobriety network that existed here, one endorsed by the administration and geared toward students who had gotten themselves into trouble in the past but had gone through treatment, sobered up, and sincerely wanted to stay that way.
I’d been intrigued enough to check it out and found that he was right. Among the long-haired and long-skirted conservative student body of this all-female, drug-free, alcohol-free Christian university were a dozen or so freaky types like me who were clearly the opposite of conservative—or at least had been at some point in their lives.
My sister, Maddee, and I had taken a weekend trip to see the place, and the young woman who led our campus tour told us, straight out, that despite such differences in the student body, there wasn’t much in the way of divisions or ostracism. According to the college’s oft-quoted mission statement, the students here were all “one in Christ and all worthy of acceptance, respect, and a positive, mutually supportive environment in which to learn.”
I was skeptical but decided to give the place a shot anyway, and now that I’d reached the end of my first full year, I had to say she’d been pretty much on the mark. I’d never felt anything but accepted and respected here, which in turn had made me a lot more open to the other side, to the kinds of girls I used to consider hopelessly naive, overprotected, and repressed.
I always figured kids like that were just time bombs waiting to go off, ready to turn wild the moment they were out from under their parents’ thumbs. Instead, with few exceptions, they’d turned out to be intelligent, mature, thoughtful women who seemed perfectly happy with their theology and their life choices. They were actually comfortable wearing conservative dresses, dating only in groups, and saving their first kisses for their wedding days. And though I didn’t hang with them often, I liked and respected them, something the old me would never have seen coming.
The locker room grew louder as more and more players got in line for the showers, so I finished up, quickly dried off, and wrapped myself in a towel. Then I made my way back to the locker, flip-flops slapping against the damp tile as I went.
My friend and sponsor, Riley, was on the bench, already fully dressed and tying her shoes, so I plopped my things next to her and stepped to my locker, which was at her back.
“Hey, Rocket,” she scolded, “I thought you needed a ride.”
“I do,” I replied, quickly pulling on my clothes.
“Why’d you take a shower, then? I told you I don’t have a lot of time.”
“Yeah, me neither.” Once dressed, I reached for my brush and ran it through my shoulder-length blond hair, gave my head a good shake, and then slipped my feet back into my flip-flops. “So let’s go.”
She turned, startled to see that I was as ready as she was despite the fact that she had simply changed clothes while I had gotten in a shower as well. She shook her head.
“You know me. I’m all about low maintenance.” I grinned, gesturing toward the line of women at the mirrors, busy with lip gloss and mascara and hair straighteners. I wasn’t averse to fixing myself up, but not on an evening when my agenda consisted of some final packing followed by a good night’s sleep.
“Low maintenance,” she repeated skeptically, waiting as I scooped everything into my tote bag and closed the door on the now-empty locker.
“Yep,” I said, swinging the bag over my shoulder and gesturing toward the exit. “That’s me. No drama, no muss, no fuss.”
“Uh-huh.”
Together we walked out of the locker room and down the hall. We both knew that drama and muss and fuss almost always came part and parcel with addicts. And though I was only teasing about the low-maintenance part, I really had worked hard this year to cut as much of that stuff down to a minimum as I could.
We headed to the parking lot—me feeling even shorter than usual next to my extra-tall friend—and got in Riley’s car, a rattletrap piece of junk held together by duct tape and prayer. She started it up, and we chatted as she drove the familiar route across town to the sleepy little campus we called home. At first we were just reviewing some of the highlights of tonight’s game, but eventually, as often with Riley, the conversation turned toward matters of the heart.
“So you’re really gonna be okay near your old stomping grounds for an entire summer?”
I knew what she was talking about, but I waved off her concerns, wishing I felt as confident as I pretended to be. Tomorrow morning I would get on the bus for Richmond, where I would spend the next three months living with my sister and working at a job in my field, one that would provide some pocket money and a college credit besides. These were positive things, happy things, and I refused to let my insecurities bring me down even if I would be in closer proximity to old temptations. I’d been sober for a year and a half, and I intended to stay that way.
“I have safety networks in place, including plenty of meetings to choose from. Plus, I have all my positive experiences from this past year to build on.”
“Good.” We were quiet for moment until she added, “You’re totally up to this, you know. You’ve come so far that a few months back home will be a good thing. I’m not worried about you at all.”
“That makes one of us.”
Riley chuckled as she turned into the parking lot for my dorm and rattled to a stop near the front steps. Before getting out, I gave her a big hug and told her I would miss her over the summer. “I don’t know how I could’ve made it through the school year without you.”
“Yeah. Well, just remember. What is this? The summer of…”
“Truth,” I responded. “The summer of truth.”
I grabbed my stuff and climbed out, and then I shut the door with a wrenching squawk. She started off again, her car chugging and clanking its way across the parking lot toward grad student housing, and soon she was out of sight, if not sound. I turned and headed up to my room, anxiety surging in my throat.
The summer of truth, including the truth about the secret I’d been holding inside since I was six years old, which I was going to share with my family at last. I loved my grandfather deeply and would always cherish his memory, but I knew that these truths—both what I’d witnessed back then and the fact that Granddad had sworn me to secrecy about it afterward—must finally come to light. At the time, he’d made me promise I would take our secret to the grave. Now that I’d decided to renege on that promise, I only hoped it wouldn’t be the biggest mistake of my life.
Forcing my mind away from such thoughts, I concentrated on the rest of my packing and was just zipping the last bag shut when I got a call on my cell. It was my grandmother, no doubt wanting to touch base yet again about my trip home. Lately she’d been a broken record on the subject.
“Hi, Nana.” I took the big duffel from the bed and set it against the wall.
“Hello, Nicole. I thought you said you were coming home via the train.”
I flopped onto the mattress. “I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”
Nana rushed ahead, ignori
ng my sass. “I’ll have you know that there is no train between there and here,” she said, almost triumphantly. “I checked.”
I bristled. Was she kidding me? I understood we still had a ways to go before she could trust me implicitly, but since when did she feel the need to verify things like this?
“Well?” she prodded.
“Are you serious right now?” I rolled my eyes with great exaggeration. Too bad Nana couldn’t see me because it was an excellent eye roll. “I wasn’t lying,” I said, forcing my voice to remain calm. “They take you by bus as far as Charlottesville, and then they switch you over to a train for the rest. It’s one ticket for the whole thing.” I didn’t add that I hadn’t yet bought that ticket. I would do it in the morning once I got to the station.
“No, no, no. I can’t have you taking a bus even if it’s just for part of the trip. It’s too slow, and the people… Well, I just don’t like the idea. I’ll arrange for a car and driver instead.”
“Nana! No. The bus is fine. Don’t be such a snob.”
“A car would be quicker.”
“For your information, I’m actually looking forward to the long ride. I need time to think, to be alone. To process the transition from school back to home.”
Nana huffed. “Well, at least let me arrange for a ride from your dorm to the station.”
I sighed heavily, making sure she heard it, and then agreed. I’d been planning to call an Uber, but whatever. With Nana, you had to pick your battles.
“Oh, and Nicole?” she added before hanging up. “I just want to acknowledge that you met all of my requirements this year. Good job.”
“Thanks,” I replied through gritted teeth. Then I added a quick “Bye” and hung up before I exploded.
Met all of her requirements? I’d done a lot more than meet them. I’d exceeded them by far. I’d slam-dunked the suckers. How dare she?
The deal we’d made last summer had been straightforward and simple. She would pay for everything—tuition, room and board, expenses, and more—and in return I was required to maintain a 3.0 grade point average, not miss more than two counseling sessions per semester, submit to four random drug tests during the school year, and keep her in the loop regarding how things were going.