More Than This: Contemporary Christian Romance Novel (39 page)

“Great.” He turned and then turned back. “Oh.” With only that, he bent and kissed her, solidly and without embarrassment. “Thanks.”

The puzzlement in her eyes was back. “For what?”

He stepped back and winked. “Everything.”

As Liz stood in the little church back home six months later, it was truly difficult to put how much life had changed into words. She was working, full-time now, at the Literacy Center, and on her days off, she volunteered at the crisis pregnancy center down the street from where they would live as man and wife. Soon she would start graduate school, her dissertation on dyslexia and its causes would be both professional and quite personal as well. Already she had seen so many souls, so many people struggling so hard against life’s most difficult challenges, and she was determined to help as many of them as she could.

“It’s about time, honey,” her mother said, coming in and taking her daughter into her arms. When she backed up, tears welled in her mother’s eyes. “I’m so proud of you.”

And the import of those words were not lost on Liz who had sat with the three of them long into the night on Christmas Eve as they cried over her past now revealed. Somehow, in spite of it all, love remained. When the hug broke, her mother swiped at her eyes and then reached into her pocket. “I have something for you.”

The small baby necklace was tiny to behold, and Liz looked up from it to her mother’s gaze.

“I found it the other night when I was cleaning out some old stuff from your room,” her mother said. “It’s yours, from your Baptism. I thought maybe you’d want to wind it into your bouquet.”

Tears crowded into her eyes. “Yes. Of course I do. Thank you.”

Together, mother and daughter laced the delicate gold chain into the weave of white flowers. Then her mother looked at her. “You’re a child of the King. Don’t ever forget that.”

Liz hugged her again just as her father opened the door, ushering in the sound of the song that would end with her standing next to Jake— the place she had always been meant to be.

“It’s time, ladies.”

In all of his 30 years Jake had never seen anything so beautiful as the woman who stepped into the center of the aisle bound for his side. How had he gotten so incredibly lucky?

On the sides between them sat many who had watched their unlikely journey unfold. Mrs. McLaughlin, Carla, even Dr. Melody had made it for the ceremony. He was glad. This would be even more special with all of them here.

When Liz reached the front of the aisle and her father put her hand in Jake’s, a silent conversation passed from the older man right into his heart.
Take care of her, Jake.

To which he solemnly answered,
I will
.

Then, hand-in-hand, they stepped forward into their new life together.

“And now, Jake has something he would like to say,” the pastor said and smiled at Jake.

Instantly Liz looked at him with concern. This wasn’t anything they had practiced.

However, he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was fumbling with the pocket of his tux, and it took him another ten seconds to extricate the paper and free it from the confines of where it had been secreted. A second more and he smiled and held it up. “Got it.” His gaze touched hers but didn’t hold. Instead, it fell down to his fingers which were unfolding the crinkly-sounding paper.

When he got it opened and smoothed out, Jake looked at her again, his gaze pleading with her to love him beyond whatever it was he was about to do. “Hm. Um, most of you know that I grew up basically not being able to read. And some of you know that one of my dreams is to write a best seller.”

There were a few soft chuckles.

“Don’t laugh,” he said with a chuckle of his own. “It’s coming. You wait and see.” Then he sniffed and rubbed his nose. “But for now...” His gaze came up to hers then and locked and held. “I wrote this about you that night after we went to the museum.” He let out another long breath that filled his eyes with tears. He tilted his head in apology. “The spelling’s really bad, but the sentiment hasn’t changed.”

Liz knew her own tears were not helping him at all, and yet she couldn’t stop them.

“Up from the darkness, my heart can see; a light. A light, can it be? No one has ever stopped, they roared right on by; no matter, no matter how very hard I tried. Then you came along, a warm summer’s breeze in a cold, sad world. I love it when you laugh. I love it when you sigh. Most of all, I love being the one you didn’t pass on by.”

She couldn’t help herself, protocol or not, practiced or not, she threw her arms around his neck, hugged him to her and kissed him. “Me, too,” she whispered as tears rolled down her face. “Me, too.”

~*~

“We can stop in and see your parents on the way back into town,” Liz said as they drove back down the Interstate from their three-day honeymoon to Niagara Falls. Okay, they hadn’t really visited the Falls— more seen them from a safe distance, but that was one more thing to check off her to-be-done-in-New-York list, so she was happy.

“Oh, boy. Mom will be thrilled. She’s already talking about us moving up-state and you helping get a program going at her school.” Jake grinned at her and shook his head. “The two of you together scares me.”

“It should.” She flashed him a wicked grin and settled back in her seat to just enjoy watching him drive. “So how’s Jasmine doing these days anyway? Has she figured out any more pieces to that book?”

“She’s headed to Texas now.”

Quirking her face, Liz lifted her eyebrows. “Texas? What’s in Texas?”

Jake just shrugged. “Beats me. I figure I’ll find out when we get there.” With a smile, he reached across the seat, took her hand in his, kissed it, and laid it in his between them.

Liz shook her head in complete accepting bewilderment. It was going to be quite a journey with a guy who let his heart lead wherever it and the stories took him. Yes, for all those years, there really had been more to life than she had ever imagined, and nothing in her could wait to find out just what adventures lay in store for them.

As she shook her head and put it back on the seat to just enjoy the ride, the simple truth of her new existence seeped into her. With his hand, his heart, and his soul wrapped with perfect love around her, ‘more than this’ suddenly felt amazingly possible and so incredibly, perfectly, effortlessly simple, she knew this could only be a gift from God Himself. She smiled at the thought, closed her eyes, and said thanks before surrendering completely to the hope overflowing from her heart. It was definitely a feeling she could get used to.

Dear Reader,

I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading Liz and Jake’s journey in
More Than This
.

In my writing, God often sends me into really tough situations. I have written about such heart-breaking situations as losing a spouse to cancer, drug addiction, bullying, and suicide. This book,
More Than This
, hit on two very emotional subjects—dyslexia and abortion.  That’s not where it started.  In fact, when I started it, I had no idea Jake was dyslexic. He was just this mysterious yet intriguing guy who sat in the back of this coffee shop. It was only when I was about 50 pages into the story that I realized what was really going on with him (yes, I write a lot like Jake does—just writing and seeing where the story and characters take me).

The thing was that I began to see Jake’s story was much like what our family was dealing with at the time. You see, dyslexia had blind-sided my youngest child’s life in ways I never could have imagined. Many of the therapies that Jake goes through in the book are things we actually did or tried with my son.  Because I know there are people out there who are struggling with this issue, and because I know, I would have loved to have some guidance and direction in the maze that we suddenly found ourselves in, I have decided to also make available our family’s story of battling dyslexia.

Something’s Not Right (Amazon Kindle Edition)
is also now available for purchase at Amazon.  It walks you through our story from the very first signs to the solutions we eventually found.  I hope that this story coupled with that one will give those facing this issue renewed hope and a brighter tomorrow because I firmly believe that most if not all those who have dyslexia can overcome it if given the right tools and therapy.

However, in all of this dyslexia talk, I do not want to ignore the other very real issue dealt with in this book—that of abortion and the aftermath of it. Please know, if you or a loved one is suffering with the effects of a decision to abort, there is hope and there is help.  I sincerely encourage you to consider the resources listed below because no one should have to suffer alone.

Thank you, dear reader, for taking this journey with me.  A journey into the lives of broken people trying to find the light. May you as they do, find the Light that is Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior.

All my best to you!

Blessings,

Staci Stallings

Help for Dyslexia

Something’s Not Right

Staci’s personal account of her journey with her son who had dyslexia

Vision Therapy

Barton Reading

Help for Abortion

Rachel’s Vineyard

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Shhh!  Here’s a Sneak Peek at another Christian Romance Best Seller

By Staci Stallings

The Long Way Home

Chapter 1

“I wish I could go, John, but the Rothschild account’s taking up so much time these days, I just can’t,” Phillip Anderson said into the phone as his son, Jaxton, sat on the other side of the desk, pen poised, listening. “Yeah, I know it’s important, John, but now’s just not good for me.  Can’t you go? … Yeah, I know...”  He sighed heavily. “Okay. Well, I’ll see what I can do, and I’ll get back to you…Yeah, I will. ‘kay. Bye.”

The phone hit the cradle with a clang, and Phillip shook his more-salt-than-pepper head before looking across the expanse of mahogany desk into the questioning eyes of his son.

“Bad news?” Jaxton asked without really caring.

His father shook his head and sighed again. “It’s your grandfather.”

Jaxton nodded.
Grandfather Snyder.
More than one conversation about him had bounced across the phone lines from Los Angeles to Chicago during the past three months.

Phillip leaned forward in his chair and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his finger. “That stupid man’s going to kill us all.” 

“Mom can’t talk to him?”

“Oh, you know your mother. There’s always something more important than dealing with life,” Phillip said. “And John’s not much better. He thinks someone should go down there and at least make sure the estate’s in order, but you think he’ll go?  He’d sooner go to hell on an ice flow.”

“Somebody in Rayland can’t look it over and make sure everything’s square?”

Phillip sighed and shook his head, looking like his ulcer might be getting the better of him. “It’s Kansas. I’m not sure I trust anybody down there.”

Jaxton nodded his understanding of the situation that had his whole family vexed although sympathy for anyone in the situation came nowhere near his consciousness.

“Too bad Blake isn’t around anymore. He’d be perfect,” Jaxton said absently looking back to his notes, already tiring of the subject. He tapped his pen on his notebook a few times and then moved back to the real reason he was in the office on Memorial Day weekend. “So, what do you think about the Manning books? Did you get a chance to look at them yet?”

Over the rolling green of the Kansas Flint Hills, the sky hung in painted color combinations only God could get away with. Periodically the scene outside the balcony doors caught her gaze, and Ami Martin paused to take in its beauty for a moment.

Beyond the nearly full-grown red cedar trees, the land stretched in an endless parade of emerald until it rolled right off the earth’s edge. That land, this house, those trees— together they comprised the only true home she’d ever known. Even now with life devoid of any real family, the safety of those hills enveloped her like a warm hug.

She returned to her task, pulling books off the shelves and stacking them onto the little coffee table. They were a link—  a precious, priceless link to the past, and the sadness in her chest expanded with each volume she took down. How many times had she and her grandfather sat in this very room with the balcony doors opened, reading the works of the great ones? Emerson, Twain, Frost. Even when she couldn’t understand the full depth of the words, her grandfather had seen fit to share them with her.

In this room, she’d learned about life and the pursuit of true happiness. Even now at the tender age of 25, she felt the wisdom of her grandfather’s years wafting through her soul. Although he was a simple farm boy, raised in this very house by the generation before him, she knew in her heart that he had been much more than that.

Her father didn’t see it. He had called his father a stubborn old goat so many times even the tone of those words had been forever etched in Ami’s brain. It seemed odd that the wisdom her grandfather had to offer could’ve skipped an entire generation, but that was exactly what had happened. And that was why she was here at this moment, lovingly removing dust from the old, yellowed pages. She understood what no one else in her family ever had because of her grandfather’s teaching and because no matter what he had always been there for her. Yes, he had been there, even when it wasn’t convenient, even when she was sure it was difficult. She brushed the tendrils of wavy almond-colored hair from her face as tears weaved into and over her heart.

He had stayed. Not even her own mother had done so much. She had left before Ami was two, and her father wasn’t much better. His decision to send her to Rayland wasn’t about making her life more stable— it was about making his less complicated. She pushed that thought away as she ran the cloth over the shelf.
Don’t think about him. Not here. Not now.

Yes, her grandfather’s steadfastness had been her one and only lifeline for 24 years, until last Thanksgiving. She pulled the black-bound Emerson anthology from the shelf and ran a loving, sad hand over it. She could almost hear his low baritone lilting over the words.

The sunset beyond the doors blurred as she slowly dropped the volume to the table with the others. The wisdom of Grandpa Martin’s years was now tucked safely in her soul. However, as she pulled another volume off the shelf and ran the cloth over it, she couldn’t help but wonder what his advice would be at this moment.

If she could just hear Grandpa Martin’s assurances that everything would be okay, then somehow she would have the strength to keep fighting. But with the money dwindling and her father calling every other day to ask if she was ready to give up and simply sell the place, her determination to make this work was waning quickly.

She pulled the Poe volume off the next shelf and laughed softly. If only her scariest problems were ravens and casks of amontillado as they had once been tucked safely in the crook of Grandpa Martin’s arm. Yes, this was the only place that had ever been home for her. The others could keep their high-stress lives and their gazillion neighbors. This was where true happiness resided, and whether they agreed or not, this was where she intended to make a home for herself— right here in Rayland, Kansas.

“Maybe Jaxton could do it,” Elizabeth Anderson said to her husband as she sat on the side of their bed stroking the beige silk tie on her robe like an anxious cat.

“Jaxton’s got the Manning account.” Phillip shook his head from the sink in the bathroom beyond. “I can’t pull him off that.”

Elizabeth sat silently for a moment. “You know. It’s silly I guess, but I just hate the thought of some stranger pawing through Dad’s books. I mean his heart can’t take a whole lot more right now, you know.”

Coming back into the room, Phillip reached for the remote and flipped on the television though it made no sound. “I know that ‘Lizbet, but what do you want me to do?”

She sighed in exasperation. “I just know Dad. It’d be better coming from family.”

Phillip exhaled, crawled into bed, and patted his wife’s hand. “Well, don’t worry about it tonight. I’ll come up with something.”

Just what that something was, he had no idea.

*              *              *

“Listen, I know you’ve got Manning,” Phillip said the next morning as he sat across the expanse of desk watching his son pace the room in front of him, “but your mother and I discussed it, and we think it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Come on, Dad. You can’t be serious.” The trap shadowed Jaxton’s every movement. Why had he felt that coming in on Memorial Day was a good idea again? He should have taken that vacation he was always saying he was going to. Anything to get out of this surreal discussion. “What about Easley?”

“I can get Linda to take it,” Phillip offered.

“Linda?” Jaxton raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “Easley’ll bury her the first day. You know how he feels about women.”

“Then Bob can take it.”

In a slow crawl the room began closing in on Jaxton. “What about Chambers?”

“I can get Leslie to take it.”

“Dawson?” Jaxton turned and pointed at his father. “Now you know I know more about that account than anyone else here.” He was scrambling, clawing for any shred of hope to pull himself back from the hellhole of Rayland.

“Look, I didn’t say I’m happy about this, Jax, but I don’t know what else to do.” Phillip’s voice barely stayed on the light side of demanding. “Mr. Fowler called me again last night— you know, Mr. Fowler, Grandpa’s foreman. He said Grandpa’s going fast— one more setback could take him out for good. We need to get this done before it’s too late. Uncle John can’t go. I can’t go.”

The words hung in the air as Jaxton fumed.

“I don’t know what else to do,” Phillip finally said again, and fatigue laced the words. He waited a moment before adding hopefully, “I really don’t think it’ll take very long. A week or two— tops. And I promise you’ll get all your accounts back the second you walk back through that door. Besides it’s not like you can’t keep in touch. You can bring your fax and your laptop...”

Jaxton put a heavy hand against the wall, set his jaw, and examined the painting hanging there without even seeing it. At one time he could have discoursed for hours about the artist’s subtle brushstrokes and brilliant use of back lighting, but at that moment it was all he could do not to rip the thing from the wall and tear it to shreds. 

“So, that’s it then?” he finally asked as bile and anger stuck in his throat. A long pause settled in the room between them.

“Here’s your ticket to Kansas City.” His father pulled a thin sheaf from the desk drawer and slid it across the desk. “Your plane leaves at two. It’s a two-hour trip from Kansas City to Rayland. You can rent a car when you get to...”

Jaxton never heard the rest of the itinerary. His mind was alternating between red hot flashes of anger and trying to figure out the quickest way to get this job done so he could get back to his real life— back to something other than fields full of nothing but dust and old, worthless dreams.

Over her sandwich Ami surveyed her to-do list, marking each entry with a one through ten and trying to decide what needed attention most. The pickup sitting in the garage received a one; painting the porch a three; repainting the guests’ rooms a four; cleaning the chicken coop a two. By the time she got to the end of the list, she was already exhausted. There was so much to do. So much to get ready before she could even think about putting her plan into action.

She pulled out her calendar and checkbook and laid them on the table next to the to-do list. September 1, circled in purple, stared back at her. Just the sight took her breath away. She had less than three months to get the place in order, and a rapidly dwindling amount of funds to accomplish that.

Somehow when she had started, the money her grandfather had left her along with the place seemed like plenty, but it didn’t take long for the majority of it to evaporate. It was clear sitting here staring at the numbers that she would have to start watching the budget more closely.

Sighing as she brushed back the strands of hair that had escaped from the loose braids cascading down her shoulders, she slid the to-do list into the calendar and closed the checkbook. Sitting here worrying about it wasn’t getting anything finished any faster. She carried her lunch dishes to the sink and ran water on them. The dishes could wait; the pickup couldn’t.

Jaxton had only been to Rayland twice in his lifetime, and he hadn’t been overly excited about the trip either time. But this time was worse. He’d been building a client list for six years, and to be told that someone else could just take it over with no questions asked made his blood boil. Reaching up, he ran his hand over the hard-gelled sticks of brown hair lying perfectly on his head.
Leslie’ll never be able to handle Paul Chambers. He’ll go to Franklin & Capshaw so fast it’ll make Dad’s head spin.

Then he snorted. It’d serve his father right if Chambers did move it. How many times had he said, “You take care of your customer before you take care of anything else”?  That lesson had been practically hammered into Jaxton’s head, but apparently that meant until you get in a bind, then the customers can fend for themselves.

He swiped at the right turn signal of the new red sports car angrily. The car was supposed to make him feel better, but it wasn’t working. His father had said, “Spare no expense.” It was a pay-off, and Jaxton knew it. How dare they send him to do what they should be doing.  He didn’t even know his grandfather for Pete’s sake. He was as much of a stranger as anyone else his father could’ve sent.