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Annabelle's Ruth (Kinsman Redeemer Series) (Volume 1)

By Betty Thomason Owens

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Chapter One

July 7, 1954
210 Tamarind Street
El Cajon, California

The hot desert wind dried the clothes almost as quickly as Connie Cross hung them. A good thing, since she had so many to dry. She checked her wristwatch again. Four more hours until her husband returned from a weekend fishing trip with his father and brother. She hoped to have the laundry done and put away so she could spend all her time with him. She tilted her head back, smiled into the bright morning sunlight, and whispered, “I have good news for you, Joseph Cross.” Her fingers caressed her abdomen as her heart swelled with love.
A trill of feminine laughter sounded from the nearby kitchen window. Her sister-in-law, Emily, danced by the screen, twirling to Doris Day’s Secret Love. Connie shook out one of Joseph’s work shirts and clipped it to the line. The wind billowed it into her face, and she breathed in the clean smell of the damp shirt. When the sun hid behind a cloud, a cold chill ran down her spine. She shook it off. I will not allow a bad thought any place in my mind right now. There was nothing to dread. Nothing.
But the icy fingers twisted a knot in her stomach. A deep, cleansing breath had no effect, so she shrugged her shoulders to loosen the tight muscles in her neck. It didn’t work. She’d always had an irritating “sixth sense” about things. Her dad had called it intuition. Momma called it discernment. Momma was Joseph’s mother, Annabelle, a wonderful woman with the patience of Job. She was the glue that held this family together, all of them under one roof at her invitation. She wanted both her sons to save their money so they could afford to buy houses.
Emily was singing, joining her brassy voice with Doris Day’s. Connie smiled again. Her younger sister-in-law was beautiful in a sunny blonde kind of way. Her figure was boyish, more June Allyson than Marilyn Monroe. And her voice, well, she wasn’t gifted that way.
Connie lifted the empty laundry basket and headed for the back porch. The screen door announced her entrance with a loud squeak. The wonderful smell of chocolate cake, fresh out of the oven, wafted over her as she set the basket down on the laundry table. She slipped her feet out of her sandals and pushed them aside with her toes.
Emily danced through the open door and caught Connie’s hand, sweeping her into a swing move to Bill Haley’s Rock Around the Clock. Connie’s stomach objected. “Slow down, Em. I could’ve used some of your energy outside, hanging up the clothes.”
Emily let go of Connie’s hand and slowed her dance steps. “All you have to do is ask. You know me. I never think about chores.”
“Uh-huh. I know. You’re too busy having fun.” Offering a smile, she followed Emily through the door into the kitchen. Momma stirred what looked like fudge in a heavy saucepan. Connie peeked over her shoulder. “Fudge frosting? What’s the occasion?”
Momma picked a leaf out of Connie’s braid, held it up for her to see then tossed it out the open window. “Does there have to be a reason? I thought it might be nice to have a special dessert. Just in case the men come back empty-handed.”
Emily scoffed as she repositioned a bobby pin in one of the many pin-curls on her head. “Right. More than likely, we’ll be eating fish all week. Fried fish, baked fish, fish stew––” A knock at the door halted her list.
Another chill prickled the hair on the back of Connie’s neck. Who could that be? She leaned forward to peer out the kitchen window. No car sat in the drive.
Momma smoothed her apron. “I’ll get that. Don’t touch the cake.”
Connie followed along behind her, curious. A man in a dark suit stood on the other side of the screen door. A salesman, most likely. At Momma’s approach, he removed his hat.
With the bright sunlight at his back, the man’s face was in shadow. “Mrs. Cross?”
“Yes?”
The veins throbbed beneath the skin of her mother-in-law’s temple. Behind the stranger on the porch, Stella, their nosey next-door neighbor inched her way into the front yard.
“My name is Andrew Vincent, I’m a chaplain with the San Diego Police Department.” He twisted the brim of his black fedora between his fingers. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m afraid I have bad news.”
His voice was calm and quiet, but low of timbre, almost sorrowful.
Connie suppressed a shudder.
Momma sent a wary glance over her shoulder at Connie as Emily crept into the foyer.
The man’s eyes darted between Momma and her two daughters-in-law. “There’s been an accident.” His words seemed to flow out in slow motion, echoing in the stagnant air. “Your husband’s fishing boat was caught in the wash of a schooner. It capsized. No survivors. We’ve recovered the bodies. Need you to come down and identify them.”
Connie’s heart thudded against her ribs. No survivors. Her husband? Joseph? Fingers of nausea twirled in her belly. Momma’s lips moved, but no sound came out. Behind them, Emily fainted, hitting the carpeted floor with a thud. Connie rushed to help her. She grabbed a nearby magazine and fanned her face.
Momma pushed past them. “I’ll just get my purse.”
Connie gave Emily’s shoulder a shake. “Snap out of it, Emily.”
Her sister-in-law moaned.
Connie jumped up and followed Momma.
“I’m coming with you.”
Momma waved her away. “You stay and take care of Emily.”
“I’ll get Stella. You can’t do this alone. I’m going with you.”
Momma nodded. “Get Stella then. I’ll get my purse.” She removed her apron, folded it and hung it over the back of a chair. A man’s voice echoed through the quiet house … Regarding the Geneva Convention, President Eisenhower thinks––
Connie turned off the radio and closed her eyes. She didn’t care what the president thought. She stepped over Emily’s prone form and pushed the screen door open.
Stella waited on the front lawn, drying her hands on her apron. She rushed forward when Connie beckoned. “Soon as I saw that black car with the official emblem on it, I knew something was wrong. What did he say?”
Connie glanced over the woman’s head to the black sedan parked on the street. Her gaze drifted to the chaplain, still hatless, standing on the sidewalk. This had to be a dream. No, a nightmare. She blinked back tears. She would not cry. It may not be true. It could all be a horrible mistake. Surely on a day as fine as this one, the bay was filled with fishing boats. She turned her attention back to Stella. “We don’t know yet. We have to go with him. Emily’s fainted. Can you stay with her while we’re gone?”
To her credit, Stella shifted into gear. She dashed to the kitchen sink, dampened a rag, and returned to kneel beside Emily. “Don’t you worry about a thing. You go on and take care of your momma.”
Connie waited on the porch. She couldn’t stay inside listening to Stella coo over Emily.
The screen door creaked on its hinges as Momma passed through, purse in hand. Her face reflected the same horror Connie felt. Connie swallowed a massive lump and hooked her arm through Momma’s. Together, they descended the front steps and walked toward their waiting ride. The black sedan with the official San Diego County Chaplain emblem on the side.
Mr. Vincent opened the back passenger-side door.
His car smelled of sweat and dust as Connie settled into the back seat. She grabbed Momma’s hand and held it between both of hers.
Mr. Vincent got in and started the engine then eased the car into the street. At the corner where white oleanders bloomed, he turned away from El Cajon, and headed up the highway toward San Diego.
No one spoke along the way until he parked his car on the street outside the hospital. He got out and opened the door. “I know this is hard, but there’s no alternative. We have to be certain.”
Once they were out of the car, Connie glanced at Momma. Her eyes were dark and red-rimmed against pale cheeks. Her breath came in shallow puffs. Connie entwined her fingers with Momma’s and raised her eyes to Mr. Vincent’s. “Thank you, sir.”
He led them through double glass doors into a bustling waiting area.
“Mr. Vincent,” the woman behind the front desk said as they approached.
He nodded. “Nurse Minton.”
“Dr. Lorring is waiting for you in the … downstairs.” Her eyes shone with sympathy as she nodded to Connie and Momma.
He swept his arm forward. “This way, ladies, to the staircase.”
Their steps echoed in the stairwell, joined by the footsteps of others overhead. Through another door, they followed him into a dimly lit corridor until they stood in front of a closed windowless door labeled “Morgue.” Momma’s grip tightened a little too much, squeezing Connie’s fingers and pinching her narrow gold wedding band into her skin. She met her mother-in-law’s troubled gaze, hoping to reassure her with a wisp of a smile. Mr. Vincent pushed the door open.
Three sheet-covered forms lay on three tables, all in a row. Momma’s knees buckled and Connie shored her up, keeping a firm hold on her arm. Mr. Vincent held her other arm. Connie took a deep breath and lifted her chin. She could do this.
A doctor rounded the corner, pushing a ballpoint pen into the lapel pocket of his white coat. “Mrs. Cross?” He strode forward, his curious gaze sliding back and forth between Connie and her mother-in-law as both women answered, “Yes.”
Momma cleared her throat. “I am Mrs. Raymond Cross, and this is my daughter-in-law, Mrs. Joseph Cross.”
“Of course, well, shall we get on with it?”
“Ladies, this way.” Mr. Vincent led them to the place indicated by Dr. Lorring.
Connie lifted her chin and forced her lungs to expand. Breathe, Connie, breathe. Her mouth went dry. A sob rose from the depths of her soul. She forced it back down.
Dr. Lorring took hold of one corner of the first sheet and drew it back. A sharp sound escaped Momma’s throat. “Raymond.” She doubled over, laying her hand on his lifeless form.
He raised the second sheet to reveal a bruised and swollen Joseph. Connie’s eyes clouded as the breath left her lungs. Searing pain coursed through her veins. She was barely aware of Dr. Lorring’s movements as he lifted the last sheet to reveal David’s face. Momma’s heart-rending cry bounced off the cold, cement walls of the morgue and echoed in Connie’s head. It was a sound she would never forget.

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