<< Go Back

Firefly Summer: Book 1 of the Pies, Books & Jesus Book Club series

By Kathleen Y'Barbo

Order Now!

Chapter One

"Next rider in the College National Finals is our oldest in the competition today. He's almost finished with medical school, but first he's got to finish this ride. Give Trey Brown a hand, ladies and gentlemen!"
Sessa Lee Chambers shifted in her seat to watch her five-year-old son stand in rapt attention as the cowboys in gate seven moved in perfect synchronization. One held the gate, one held the rope, and another sat astride a bronc that looked as if it would easily take the rider's head off if given the opportunity. A fourth man spoke energetically into the rider's ear, his words lost on the cheering crowd inside the Sam Houston Arena.
Her attention shifted back to Ross. Was that…a smile?
"Come on, cowboy," Ross shouted over the din as his lifted his little red cowboy hat to mimic the others now crowding the gate. "You can do it!"
Clutching her throat, Sessa fought back the tears that were already blurring her vision. Ross hadn't smiled or spoken a word since his father died nearly one month ago. Taking him to the rodeo had been Ross's grandfather's idea. Get him outside. Expose him to some good old-fashioned commotion. Let him pet a horse or two.
That last one was the most difficult of all. Just last week, her dwindling finances had caused her to sell the last of Ben's beloved horses to an old friend who lived south of town. Bud Jones would take good care of them, this she knew. What she hadn't known was how heartbroken Ross would be at their loss.
Of course, because she was too far gone in her grief to see anything, it had been Daddy who'd pointed out Ross's sadness. And not very nicely.
But he was right. And she had to do better.
The gate opened just a few feet away from them, and the horse bucked out, jarring her thoughts. The rider bounced with legs out and hat flying, but he held on until the buzzer sounded.
"Now that was a ride, wasn't it folks? Hard to believe he's thirty one!" The speakers blared with the announcer's excitement. "Good job, cowboy!"
Funny. The man striding victoriously across the arena was two years older than she. Her memories of college were brief and dimmed by time and distance. One semester was all she'd gone, but she'd somehow managed to meet Ben Chambers, marry him, and forget all about any ideas of pursuing higher education. Looking back, it was the worst decision of her life. Then she looked at Ross and realized that decision had been the best.
Ross waved his hat like the others standing at the gate. "Good job, cowboy!" he echoed.
He was still waving the hat when the long-legged cowboy ambled by. "Good job, cowboy," he repeated.
To Sessa's astonishment, the cowboy stopped right there and knelt down to get eye-to-eye with Ross. She couldn't hear what transpired over the noise of the crowd, but a moment later, one of the other men was handing the cowboy a pen.
Ross ran toward her as fast as his little legs could carry him. "Look, Mama!" he shouted. "The cowboy signed his name on my hat! He said someday I could be a cowboy just like him!"
"Hold on there, cowpoke."
Sessa looked up to see the sandy-haired cowboy once again kneel beside Ross. "I said you could be a cowboy like me, but only if you study hard and keep your grades up so you can get into college. Oh, and be sure and listen to your mama."
He looked over Ross's head to offer Sessa a wink.
Through the haze of numbness, she felt a twinge of…something. Attraction, maybe. Unwelcome as it was. She let her gaze drop to her son, avoiding further eye contact with the cowboy.
Oblivious, Ross beamed up at the man, one hand clapped to the hat on his head, steadying it. "I will," he said. "I promise."
The cowboy straightened Ross's hat and then stuck his hand out to offer the child a firm handshake. "I have a feeling I'm going to see you again someday," he told Ross as he rose.
"Me too!" Ross said with a broad grin.
He wore his grin, and that cowboy hat, all the way home. Even as he fell into a deep slumber in his bed, Ross still bore the traces of that smile.
And of course he wore the hat.


* * *

Fifteen years later
Venting her frustration, Sessa fashioned a block of the finest ash into the shape of a lion's nose then moved to the table where the next task awaited—carving a replacement ribbon for a century-old prancing carousel horse.
Every satisfying jab of the chisel had chipped away at another piece of her resentment until exhaustion, and the completion of the piece, forced her to quit. Still the aggravation teased at her, daring her to believe that the Lord was out to get her.
He had to be.
She set the well-used carving tool in its place and shook her head to remove the sawdust from her hair. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the thick file of papers neatly packaged for mailing.
Today of all days, she should be on top of the world. Unlike some of her smaller commissions, the pieces strewn across her workspace could soon be replaced by several dozen intended for use in the Smithsonian's traveling carousel display. After years of careful planning and despite the death of its founder fifteen years ago, Chambers Carousel Restorations had a real shot at hitting the big time.
Her husband, rest his soul, would have been so proud. On the other hand, their son Ross would be unimpressed. What a cruel irony that she and Ben had worked to build something to pass on to the next generation, only to find that their only child entertained no interest in the family business.
If only Ben had lived to help raise him. Maybe Ross would have been the man she hoped he'd become.
But then, Sessa could spend hours thinking about what might have been. Instead she chose to live in the present, only thinking of her prodigal on carefully chosen occasions. She went back to her work only to find her control had slipped.
It happened more often these days. Sometimes a glance at her son's baby pictures would bring a memory to mind, while other times it would be the sound of laughter from a child on a radio commercial or the photograph of a dark-haired boy in the newspaper. Other times her longings might stem from a conversation between herself and her mother, some snippet of a past memory that would turn happy then stab her in the heart. Then there was the red cowboy hat on the shelf in his room, faded by the years and dusty from her own inability to spend much time in a place where memories hung deeper than morning fog, that hat gave rise to the best memory of Ross she had.
The day he spoke. The day some stranger turned a boy from inward to outward. To horses and riding and rodeo. She smiled and batted at the dust motes dancing in the sunshine.
Remembering Ross as the baby, the child, and the young man prevented her from thinking of him as the adult he had become. The adult she barely knew and hardly recognized.
How long had it been since she'd seen him? The months had stretched long and distant until nearly a year had gone by since his last visit. Even then, he'd been someone she loved but did not like. It shamed her to think of how relieved she'd been when he'd left.
And now this. An impossible situation with no good solution.
Her smile faded. This.
A litany of if-only's assaulted her, and she covered her ears to stop them. When they'd finally quieted, Sessa reached for the next piece, a delicate rabbit's ear made of maple.
Wood shavings littered the floor of her studio, and a fine dust danced in the rays of morning sun. Seemed she might never come to terms with the guilt plaguing her.
"Guilt is not of the Lord." She reached for a piece of cheesecloth and gave the prancing horse's nose a thorough cleaning. "You're doing the right thing. There's absolutely no proof."
But the right thing seemed so wrong. And the proof was in those eyes. In the dimple in that tiny chin. In that bawl that sounded as if it came all the way up from those tiny toes.
Her cell phone mocked her, daring her to do what she knew she should, and even as she made a swipe for it, she felt the pain of doubt. "Lord, I can't," sprung to her lips in a desperate plea. "I'm too old, too busy, too… You're the one who made me, so you know how terrible I am at doing more than one thing at a time. Surely you understand."
The clock over the door read exactly eleven-thirty. One hour from now the decision would be taken away from her; it would be done. All she had to do was wait it out.
Cradling the phone in her hand, she blew a fine film of dust off its black surface only to watch the particles settle on the envelope. All her dreams, the hope for a secure future, lay beneath the dust of shattered plans. Somehow, with the Lord's guidance, she could make new plans, find new dreams.
Slowly she punched in the number she'd been given last night, a number she tried to forget yet couldn't help but remember. An eternity later, the phone rang. Sessa cleared her throat and said a prayer for guidance then found her voice when a young woman answered the phone.
"I'll meet you at the bus station." Sessa hung up before she could take back the words. "I did what I should have, didn't I, Lord?"
Even as she spoke, she knew the answer. "I can do all things through Christ," she said on an exhale of breath, "who gives me strength."
"Well amen to that!"
Coco.
Sessa heard high heels clicking on the concrete and knew the cavalry approached. What was it about her best friend that brought her running at the first sign of trouble, even when she had not yet been told about the trouble?
To the untrained eye, Cozette "Coco" Smith-Sutton hadn't aged a day since she reigned supreme as Sugar Pine High's head cheerleader and then married the quarterback—after he successfully completed his college career at Texas A&M and made it into the pros, of course. The fact that she'd also held the titles of Homecoming Queen, Cotton and Corn Princess, Miss Sugar Pine (twice!), and fourth runner up to Miss Texas should have disqualified her as friend material for a woman who would rather read or spend time in her father's workshop than just about anything else.
And yet Sessa and Coco, who began life together as babies in the church nursery, had defied the odds to remain closer than sisters all these years. Coco had been her rock when Ben's delivery truck rolled off the highway that icy night so long ago, had tucked Ross into bed at her place alongside her boys on nights when Sessa's work kept her in the workshop because not working would have seen the electricity turned off or the mortgage not paid.
In turn, Sessa had brought casseroles and fended off well-meaning church ladies when Coco's mama died and her daddy suddenly became the most eligible bachelor in the Over-Sixty Seekers Sunday School class. She'd also held Coco up through the long dark days and nights after media darling and NFL quarterback Ryan "The Rocket" Sutton, the man that ESPN called unstoppable, stopped loving perfect Coco and her boys and took up with a twenty-something stripper from Fort Worth.
Oh, they fought. For all her sweetness, Coco could go sour fast if she found out you were doing one of the three things she detested most: hiding something she thought she ought to know, telling a lie, or messing with Texas.
"I'm out in the workshop," Sessa called as she tossed off her gloves and swiped at the sawdust in her hair.
"Well of course you are," she said. "I was just heading to the grocery store and thought I'd see if you needed anything."
Today Coco had poured her long lean legs into white jeans, thrown a turquoise top over them, and finished the ensemble with matching turquoise high heel sandals. While Sessa's hair was moderately tamed in a messy bun, Coco's artfully created blonde ponytail looked as if it had been styled in an exclusive Hollywood salon instead of by Vonnette over at the Hairport.
She dropped her keys into her signature oversized designer purse, this one the same color as her heels, and removed the sunglasses that hid her perfectly made up face. A dozen silver bracelets jangled as she rested her hand on her hip.
"Honey, you look like something the cat drug in. What's wrong?"
Right to the point. Typical Coco.
"I've been better."
Coco's green eyes opened wide. "What has Ross done now?" She continued walking toward Sessa. "No, do not answer until I can get you inside and pour you a cup of coffee. You look like you need something stronger than that, though. A pity neither of us drinks."
"Coffee won't fix this."
"Don't be silly. Coffee fixes…wait—" Coco shook her head. "This is really bad, isn't it?"
Sessa managed a smile. "Or really good. I can't tell which."
Coco reached behind Sessa to grab a length of cheesecloth, and then used it to dust off just enough space on the workbench for the both of them. She climbed up and motioned to the spot beside her. "Come on, then. Spill it."
With the sun shining in from windows covered with a healthy measure of sawdust, Coco's face was hidden in shadows, though her blonde ponytail shone like spun gold. In that moment Sessa was fourteen again, a girl sharing secrets with her best friend in the privacy of her daddy's workshop.
Only she wasn't ten, and Daddy had long since gone home to Jesus. And she wasn't worried about silly things like popularity or pimples, things that had seemed so life-changing then.
She climbed up to settle next to Coco. "You know you can't go to the grocery store in those pants now."
Coco shrugged. "Didn't really need to anyway. That was just an excuse to come see what was up over here. So come on. Fess up. What's our Ross gotten into this time?"
Our Ross. Sessa reached around Coco's back to hug her and then straightened and studied the splinter that had been plaguing her thumb since yesterday. "Fatherhood, apparently."
Her best friend didn't move a muscle. "You sure, Sessa?"
"She has his eyes and that dimple in her chin is just like his."
"She?"
Sessa nodded. "A baby girl. Tiny thing. Probably not more than a month old. One at the most."
"You don't know for sure?"
She met her friend's gaze. "I was a little surprised to see her and her teenaged mama on my doorstep, so no, I didn't think to ask."
"Anyone we know?" When Sessa shook her head, Coco continued. "I see. Are they here now?"
"No."
When the silence stretched on, Coco gave Sessa a nudge. "There's more, isn't there?"
Sessa let out a long breath and batted at the dust motes swimming in the shaft of sunshine. "She's coming to live with me, Coco. My granddaughter."
Coco held up both hands then scooted off the workbench to turn and face her. "Wait just a minute. You mean to tell me you are taking in a teenager and her baby just because the child's eyes match your son's, and she's got a dimple in the same place as he does?"
"Just the baby." Sessa ignored the question of the baby's parentage. This child belonged to her son, of this she was certain. "And I don't have to take her. Her mother gave me a choice."
"A choice?"
"Yeah, though not much of one," Sessa said. "She's leaving at 12:30. I can either pick my granddaughter up at the Greyhound station or forget she exists."
"She told you that?" Coco held her hand out as if to interrupt any possible response. "And by the way, does this baby's mama have a name, or did you forget to ask that, too?"
"Her name is Skye."
"Just Skye?"
Sessa shrugged. "That's all she offered. At the time, I didn't figure the rest mattered."
She paused. "Anyway, she's a sweet girl, really. Said she admits she's made stupid mistakes and she needs to make some things right before she can be a good mother to Pansie."
"Your granddaughter's name is Pansie?"
She nodded. "With an 'ie' because she was born to be different. Or at least that's what her mama said on the subject."
"Well that's the cutest name I've heard in a long time. I can't wait to get my hands on her and love on that child." Coco cocked her head to one side. "So, are you going to just stand there, or are you going to go get that baby?"
"I'm going," Sessa said with a strength she hadn't felt since the wind was knocked out of her yesterday.
"Well, you can't go get her like that! Look at you. You're covered in dust." She reached over to prove her point by shaking sawdust out of Sessa's hair. "Get inside and make yourself presentable, and then we'll go together."
"Coco, I need to do this by myself."
"I understand," her friend said. "But you're still going to get yourself cleaned up. Now hurry up. What time did you say you had to be there?"
"Twelve-thirty."
Coco grabbed her by the shoulders and marched her out of the workshop and into the sunshine. "Go. I'll close up shop here."
Sessa took one step and then returned to envelope Coco in a hug. "Thank you," she said as tears threatened. "It's just until Ross comes back." Both of them knew the unlikeliness of Ross Chambers returning to Sugar Pine with the maturity and intention to raise a child.
"Of course it is." Coco's reply held all the enthusiasm of a true friend who shared both your hope and your reality.
#
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Chambers, but she's going to need a change."
"All right." Numb, Sessa accepted the soggy blanket-wrapped bundle.
The girl, still a kid herself, blinked back tears and tugged at the hem of her neon green tank top. Her skin was pale as Mama's porcelain teacups, and she wore her chestnut hair in a messy bun. Her lower lip trembled slightly as she seemed to have to work up to a smile.
This was one brave girl. Scared, but brave.
"She's three weeks old today. I named her Pansie Skye."
Sessa tried not to tremble, not to allow the emotions to well up, as she held her only grandchild. "Oh," she managed.
"Yeah, it was Ross's idea. He said since my name's Skye, and we made her in the…"
Skye's voice trailed off.
Sessa focused on the baby, and images of Ross began to form. Dark hair, dark eyes, these were the first Sessa noticed yesterday. In her mind, her son's tiny fingers latched around her own as the baby's did. Eyes of deepest mahogany peered up from beneath the garish oversized pink and yellow lace bonnet she knew would cover inky black hair.
"…and so, thanks to the lady who runs the home where I stayed while I was pregnant, I've got a plan now. I'm gonna get my GED out there, and then I'll get a good job and send her a bus ticket so we can be together."
Sessa opened her mouth to point out the impossibility of sending a bus ticket for an infant and then thought better of it. "Well, it sounds like you've got a quite a plan for things now."
"I do, and I promise I'll come back for her just as soon as I can." She smiled at Sessa and pointed to the Greyhound behind her. "It's too bad things didn't work out between me and Ross." She shrugged. "Oh well, I gotta jet."
"Jet?" Sessa repeated, still numb. The newborn began to whimper, her lip a defiant curl and dark lashes held tight against rounded cheeks.
"Yeah, jet." Skye placed on the floor beside Sessa a blue striped bag stained with fat blotches of brown. "See ya, Pansie-poo." She touched the brim of the baby's bonnet and whirled around to dance up the steps of the bus. "Mama'll be back real soon. You'll see."
The Greyhound roared away in a cloud of smoke and diesel fumes, and it was all Sessa could do not to chase the roaring silver monster down Barton Street and demand that Skye end the cruel joke and take her child back.
When a pair of questionable characters pressed near enough to smell, the baby began to howl in earnest. "Hang on, honey." Sessa gathered up the bag and bounced the baby in her arms.
Inside the less than sanitary ladies' restroom, she set the baby on the changing table and placed the bag beside her. How long had it been since she changed a wiggling child?
A lifetime ago.
Keeping one hand on the now-screaming infant, Sessa popped open the snap and peered inside the bag. A single diaper and a formula-filled bottle of questionable vintage lay atop a stack of four wadded, stained sleepers and a wrapped package of saltine crackers.
There was nothing in the way of hygiene products beyond a sample-sized container of powder and a single wet wipe in a plastic bag. A second plastic bag held an envelope with the name Pansie Skye Chambers scribbled in a childish hand. The author had turned the dot over the 'I' into a flower and had colored it in with a bright pink marker, even adding green leaves on either side.
Carefully, Sessa slid the envelope into her purse and regarded the baby with a frown. "All right, Miss Pansie." She picked at the ribbon holding the bonnet on the squirming baby, "let's see what's under this ugly hat."
For a moment, the baby stopped crying to look up at her through wide brown eyes. As the yellow ribbons fell away and the hideous bonnet came off, a head full of dark curls stole Sessa's breath.
"Oh my, you're beautiful. A precious miracle."
For a moment, in the dingy restroom of the downtown bus station, Sessa felt the presence of God in the form of a tiny, smelly child. Her eyes clouded with unshed tears, and her heart thumped wildly.
"Thank You, Jesus," she stammered, "for not allowing me to miss this blessing."
Unimpressed, the blessing opened soft pink lips to resume screaming.
Improvising, Sessa managed to clean the baby and change her into the least dirty outfit of the lot. Somewhere along the way, the baby stopped crying, although Sessa's ears still rang as she tossed the bag into the trash.
Only then did she realize that without a car seat, she had no way to transport this precious bundle. She thought of calling Coco, but she wasn't ready to share this child with anyone just yet, even her best friend.
As she stood in front of the bus station considering her options, Jim Bob Winston drove by in the only cab in Sugar Pine. A product of a different era when cab drivers were a bit more necessary in this town, everyone suspected Jim Bob kept the Sugar Pine Cab Company going because otherwise he'd have no excuse to get out of the house and away from Vonnette's lengthy honey-do list.
"Thank you, Lord," she said as she waved the elderly man down and walked over to the now-open window of the dark green vintage Chevy sedan. "You wouldn't happen to have a car seat, would you?"
Jim Bob eyed Pansie for a second then returned his attention to Sessa. "I keep one in the trunk just in case. Why?"
"I need to make a Walmart run," she said as matter-of-factly as she could manage. "But first I need to borrow a car seat."
"Why don't I just take you?" Jim Bob climbed out of the cab and headed for the trunk. "I don't mind, and it looks like you've got your hands full already. Not having to drive is one less thing, that's what I always say."
In fact he did always say that, so much so that Vonnette had the phrase embroidered on his dark green cap, on the matching vest he wore when he was on duty, and on the business cards he handed out.
Jim Bob set up the car seat like a pro, leaving her to make a mental note to ask him to set up the one she'd be buying for her car. "Climb aboard," he said with a grand sweep of his arm. "My chariot is your chariot."
Sessa climbed in and, with only a little help from Jim Bob, managed to situate Pansie in the car seat. As soon as the cab set off, the little darling fell fast asleep.
"Just leave her be," Jim Bob said as he pulled into a parking space at Walmart. "I'll keep an eye on her while you go get what you need."
Somehow Sessa managed a trip to Walmart for supplies and the ride home without deciding that she'd lost her mind. Ignoring the priority envelope readied for mailing on her kitchen counter, she carried the still-sleeping baby through the kitchen and into the small bedroom next to hers while Jim Bob unloaded a portable crib, a car seat, and a stroller along with a half-dozen bags full of diapers, formula, and baby items. Looking over the receipt, she knew her bank account would be screaming as loud as her new granddaughter.
"Expect Vonnette'll be here soon as she hears what you've got," Jim Bob said as he took it upon himself to pull the portable crib out of the box and fit it together.
"I expect she will," Sessa called from the kitchen. "But do me a favor and let me tell her. I'm going to need a little bit of time with Pansie before I'm ready to talk about how I got her and who she belongs to."
Jim Bob came into the kitchen, breaking down the big box as he walked. "Pansie is it?" At Sessa's nod, he reached down to tickle her chin. "Looks just like Ross."
Their eyes met over the squirming child. "Yes," she said slowly. "She does."
A moment of understanding passed between them, and Sessa knew her father's best friend would have taken the secret of a baby's arrival at the Chamber's home to his grave. "Thank you, Jim Bob," she said. "I'll call Vonnette tomorrow. And I promise to leave out the part where you drove us home."
He folded the remains of the port-a-crib box under his arm and grinned. "I'd be much obliged if you'd do that, Sessa." He paused at the door, and Sessa scooted around to open it. Again their eyes met. "You're a good woman, Sessa. Your daddy would have been proud."
Jim Bob left her with those words hanging in the empty space between them. Proud of taking this child in to her home? Yes.
Proud of how close she came to letting the problem ride away on a Greyhound bus? Likely not.
But that was Daddy. He always did have strong opinions. Always did what was right.
Pansie let out a wail. "All right, you." Sessa hurried to see how much she remembered about making a bottle and feeding a baby. Only when she'd settled in the rocker and started it in motion with the hungry infant in her arms did she allow that she might be able to do this.
Emphasis on might.
The bottle soothed the child once again into a peaceful slumber, and despite the bone-deep fatigue settling around her, Sessa couldn't bear to put the baby down. Instead, she lit a lamp, eased into her favorite chair by the window, and stared down into the face of heaven.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Coco. Well???
Sessa managed to type one-handed, She's perfect but I'm already exhausted.
If you need me, just say the word.
Tomorrow. Sessa set her phone aside. She'd tell Mama tomorrow, too.
"Now what?" she whispered as the quiet settled in around her.
Now you raise your granddaughter, came the soft reply, not from a friend's text but from the Friend she counted on above all.
Raise her, she did. The first week with a newborn in the house was a blur. Nothing beyond baby care and the occasional shower stolen during Pansie's naptime seemed to get accomplished. Had Mama and Coco not arrived every day to each take a shift, she would have died of exhaustion before the end of the first week.
The priority mailer with the signed contracts inside lay on the counter near the door, resting in the same spot she'd put it on the day she went to pick up her granddaughter. Restoring the horses would have to wait for God's timing—and Pansie's.
On a few occasions, Sessa thought about mailing it. More times than that, she'd prayed over the paperwork as she made formula or washed bottles. Once she took Pansie out to the studio while she put the finishing touches on the reproduction lion and prancing horse and called for the delivery truck. When the dust caused Pansie to sneeze, Sessa made short work of calling the delivery truck to cancel and heading for the house.
She spent part of an afternoon crunching numbers with Pansie in her lap and another hour generating sketches while the baby napped. Mostly though, Sessa just played grandmother, or mother, or whatever the combination of the two could be termed. Mama chipped in to change diapers, do endless loads of pink laundry and, of all things, bake pies. What a newborn needed with pies in the house escaped Sessa, but the stolen moments she and her mother spent over custard pie and coffee while the baby napped were priceless.
"Did you mail that envelope?" Mama would always manage to ask.
"Not yet," was always the answer Sessa gave.
Conversations with Coco went in a similar fashion. The difference with Coco Smith-Sutton was that more than once, Sessa had to grab the envelope out of her hand to keep her from taking it to the post office herself. And bless her heart, Coco did everything else that needed doing, often anticipating Sessa's needs before Sessa did.
At the end of the second week, she gave in and mailed the signed contracts. She'd worked too hard to give up this chance.
Until Ross came for his daughter, she and God would handle the operations of Chambers Restoration together, and Mama and Coco would help with Pansie as needed. If God meant for her to fulfill the museum contract and take care of an infant, then she had no business questioning His will.
She knew in her heart this season of mothering the baby girl she'd always wished for would eventually end. Soon Ross would restore his relationship with the Lord and with his family, this she knew with as much certainty as she knew her own name. Until then she would rely on faith and prayer and revel in the soft lacy pink things and the scent of freshly scrubbed baby skin and glossy dark curls.
Later that evening, with the baby bathed, dressed in a newly washed yellow sleeper and safely tucked into her father's hand-me-down crib that had replaced the portable crib, Sessa took a moment to ponder the events of the day. She'd sent her mother home early, eager for a rare evening alone in the house.
"Lord, how will I manage until Ross comes to claim her?" She paused to touch the newly framed photo of Pansie that held a prominent spot on the mantel. "Worse, how will I manage when he does?"
As she headed down the hall for one last check on Pansie, the sentiment was quickly replaced with another familiar verse from the fourth chapter of Philippians, one she'd called upon on many occasions in the almost fifteen years since Ben's death, often in response to Ross's subsequent troubles.
"My God will provide for all my needs through His great riches," she said under her breath as she placed a hand on the infant's back to feel it rise and fall. "Bless this child and the children who gave her life, Father."
Pansie stirred a bit and made a puckering motion with her lips. A soft whimper escaped like a sigh while the baby's tiny fingers curled into a fist. At that moment, Sessa knew this was a temporary arrangement, one meant to be savored but not lingered upon.
Wandering into the kitchen, Sessa drew near to the window.
Her gaze landed on a glass jar she'd brought in, an almost antique made filmy by a layer of dust. Ross's empty lightning jar. She smiled. How many summer evenings had she and Ben spent on the back porch watching their little son toddle around trying collect lightning in a jar from among the collection of glowing insects buzzing about?
"Someday you'll do the same thing, Pansie Chambers," she whispered as she touched the jar and wiped away a finger's width of dust. "Someday you and your daddy will collect lightning in a jar."
She looked up at that topmost shelf, at the red cowboy hat still sitting there. When the time was right and Pansie was older, maybe she'd take her to a rodeo. Or better yet, teach her to ride.
Peace settled about the nursery like a soft pink blanket, interrupted by the ringing of the phone she'd left in the kitchen. Sessa closed the door and hurried to locate the phone atop a stack of freshly laundered crib sheets.
"Hello," she said as she checked the clock on the oven. Half past ten. Late to have phone calls. She should have checked to see who was calling before she answered.
Her heart jumped. It could be Ross.
"Mrs. Sessa Lee Chambers?"
The voice sounded clipped, official. Her heart sunk.
A call from her prodigal would have made the day perfect. A call from a stranger only served to irritate. "Yes," she said, "this is Sessa Chambers."
"I'm sorry, ma'am. It's about your son, Ross Benjamin Chambers. I am correct in understanding he is your son?"
Sessa huffed in disgust. So much for the perfect day. "So what is it this time? Drunk and disorderly, breaking and entering, possession with intent to sell?"
"No, ma'am." The caller paused. "He's been murdered."
Words and phrases chased her thoughts, failing to capture them. Stabbed. Ranch outside Houston. Drugs. Cash. Man in custody. Did she want to be notified of the trial?
"Trial," she echoed. "No. Please no. Just…" She pressed back a sob. "Just tell me where my son is now and how I can bring him home."
Another flurry of words, of explanations she chose not to grasp and details she hoped to forget. She hung up the phone knowing two things: she would bury her son next to his dad, and she never wanted to set eyes on the face of the man who robbed Pansie of her father.

Order Now!

<< Go Back