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Mara The Unseen Battle

By Blossom Turner

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Mara
The Unseen Battle
The Victory Series, Book One









TurnStyle Books
 
Copyright © 2025 Blossom Turner
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means – photocopied, shared electronically, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, or other – without the express permission of the publisher. Exceptions will be made for brief quotations used in critical reviews or articles promoting this work.

The characters and most events in this fictional work are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is coincidental.

Scripture quotations are taken from the New King James Version ®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

ISBN 978-1-0689706-0-3








 
Dedication

This book is dedicated to Gabriel Fernandez, the eight- year-old boy whose story gripped my heart and made my soul weep. Gabriel was abused and tortured over months and died due to a beating from his mother and her boyfriend. He is in heaven now with Jesus, but I’m sure it makes many wonder how such evil can grip any mother.
May this story open our eyes to what transpires in the spiritual realm and the importance of using our freewill to choose good over evil.

For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.

Ephesians 6: 12-13 (NKJV)









 

CHAPTER 1



Fremont, California
December 1, 1969

Jay stood stoic with his fingers curled tightly around the back rungs of the weathered chair. The living room walls closed in. A claustrophobic oppression hung in the air as he hunched closer to the radio. The voice of the announcer crackled with static over the waves, but the date came through loud and clear.
“Number one—September fourteenth.”
His heart leapt with a surge of adrenaline. September fourteenth was his birth date. He would be in the first group called from the new Selective Service System.
His wife pulled her sweater around her swollen stomach. “I knew it.” Martha’s voice broke. “You’re one of the unluckiest men alive and you’re going to drag me down with you.”
“There’s no way they’re going to draft a man with six small kids.” He dared not sound too hopeful. Jay pressed his hand to his temple. Vietnam seemed like a world away, a world that could offer escape even though it was a war zone.
“We have to get to Canada. Now.” Martha’s blue eyes widened as her gaze darted about the room. “I’ll pack.”
“Calm down. I can apply for a 3-A classification.” He had no intention of sending the paperwork off until it was way too late, but he wouldn’t tell her that. One glance around the drab green kitchen with its scuffed linoleum floors and beat-up bead-board paneling, not to mention the bitter look on his wife’s face…why not leave? He yearned for freedom. Going to war held a lure above the drudgery of their life. The factory. An unhappy wife. Whatever spark between them had long since fizzled. What was there to miss? Ah yeah, his kids. The niggling thought gave him a moment of pause. “They’ll give me an exemption.” He tried to sound convincing.
“They, Jay?” Martha spat out the words. “Nixon doesn’t care two hoots about fathers, or any soldier shipped off to die. Haven’t you been watching the news? That huge anti-war protest in Washington reported the lies. Nixon promised to withdraw troops, and instead you’re one of the many chosen to increase the military in Vietnam with their new and improved selective system.”
“Come on. Be reasonable. I need to get that exemption through the proper channels.”
Her countenance softened. He recognized the look. She moved across the kitchen and reached out. Her fingertips lightly caressed his chest as her pleading eyes blinked up at him. “Please, Jay.”
There had been a time her touch sent him wild and she could get most anything she wanted. But not today. He stepped back. Her hand dropped and the sour look returned to her face. “I won’t shame my family and become a draft dodger.”
“Shame your family?” Her eyes flashed and rolled to the back of her head. “I’m your family, not to mention your six children.” She pointed to her ever-growing girth. “Soon to be seven.”
“I know, but—”
“Don’t you but me. We’re all you should be concerned about. Not your red-neck kin with no more sense than to run off and join the army at first opportunity. Look at your brother. What good did it do him? He was cut down in his first month of combat.”
“Don’t you dare mock my brother.” He moved close enough to tower over her. “My brother is a hero.”
She held his gaze squarely.
“You Canadians have no sense of country or pride.”
“Pride will get you killed, Jay Howland, and I’ll not stand by as you head off to that hell hole. You owe me at least this much. I want to go home to Canada, and you’re taking me.”
“And how are we supposed to pay for this? And where will I find work? You do understand that being a draft evader is a criminal offense?”
“My parents—”
“Your parents again.” He threw his hands up in the air. “It always comes back to your rich parents and their highfalutin’ ideas.”
“They’ll give us enough to get settled across the border and help us with the lawyer costs to get your necessary papers.”
“Did you talk to them before talking to me?” Emotion boiled in his chest.
She placed a hand on his arm, giving a light squeeze before softening her voice once again. “You can’t blame them for wanting their grandchildren and daughter safe.”
He sloughed off her hand and moved out of reach. “I notice you don’t mention how much your parents want me safe.”
“You did get their seventeen-year-old daughter pregnant and then whisk me off to—”
“So we’re back to that again. And you had nothing to do with the getting pregnant part?”
“I was only seventeen…”
“And I was eighteen. But let’s face facts. Your parents don’t like me because I won’t take their money.”
“I wasn’t suggesting moving to their town of Penticton. I never want to be under my dad’s thumb again, but…”
“But you’re willing to take his money?”
“I’m willing to take a loan until we can pay him back. Kelowna is an hour away from my folks and is one of the warmest and loveliest towns in Canada. We could buy an orchard and—”
“There you go again. Somehow, I’m magically going to become a farmer. What do I know about growing fruit?” His body broke out in a cold sweat. Did he have the smarts to learn anything new? His father and grandfather came from a long line of factory workers. It was what the Howlands did.
“I won’t see my family grow up in a country that pokes its nose into every world crisis as if it has the power of God. There will never be peace in this God-forsaken land, and I want out.”
Jay’s hand ran behind his neck, and he blew out an exasperated breath. “This whole marriage has been all about what you want.”
“What I want?” Her tone grew in volume. “First, you get me pregnant out of wedlock and then burden me with another child every year thereafter. Are you kidding me?” She swept her hand around their small cramped home. “Oh yeah, I’m living the dream.” She crossed her arms in an angry shrug and settled them on top of the large mound. “And don’t forget this one more bundle of joy about to grace our world.” Her mouth contorted into an unattractive twist. “And do I have to remind you that the rent for this dump just went up? Your wage at the factory isn’t cutting it now.”
The cold-hearted woman that glared at him held little resemblance to that beautiful vixen back in the summer of ’62. One look and he’d been a goner. That flirty sass and cute little Canadian accent. Her dress hiked up way too short. What hot-blooded man wouldn’t have succumbed to those come-on baby blues? There had been no encouragement needed on his part to steam up the car windows and a whole lot more. It wasn’t the extra ten pounds she packed on with each new baby—no, it was the frostiness in every moment of the day that made him want to run for the steamy jungles of Vietnam.
The bedroom door cracked open, and six-year-old Donald stepped out. He rubbed his eyes against the light and padded over.
“Get back to bed, Donald. How many times have I told you to stay put?” Martha stepped forward and yanked the boy’s arm roughly.
Tears filled his eyes. “I…I have to go pee,” he whimpered.
Jay intervened and swooped him into his arms. “No reason to be so rough, Martha. Don’t take your anger out on this little guy.” He turned away, murmuring to his son. “Come on, buddy, Daddy will help you.”
Guilt sliced through him. His children needed him more than he cared to admit. Martha had a mean streak he would never understand. The draft was a legitimate ticket out of the mayhem and the ever-growing insanity of his life, but what about his kids?
Donald’s chubby arms embraced him as he laid his soft, downy head of curls onto Jay’s shoulder. “I love you, Daddy.”
Jay sighed. “I love you, too, buddy.” Right there in that hug was the reason Martha would get her way once again.

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