Topaz Heat (Christian Romance) (The Jewel Series) (2 page)

THE
little girl stood next to the bed, her feet encased in warm slippers that peeked out from beneath the hem of a long nightgown. She couldn’t make out anything in the room except for the bed. Everything else looked blurry and shadowed. She squinted, but it did little to help bring things into focus.

For the dozenth time that morning, she ran her hands over her sides, feeling the fabric of the nightgown. It felt wonderful. Then she pulled her hair forward until she could bury her nose in the unruly curls and inhale, breathing in the wonderful clean strawberry smell.

She couldn’t see anything. Where was she? She couldn’t remember anything. Nothing around her seemed familiar. The clothes felt unusual. Her hair smelling clean seemed odd.

Her heart started racing at the sound of footsteps outside her door. She put a hand on the bed, clutching the cover, wondering where she should hide. Hiding is what they did, right? You hide, way in the back.

Hide? From what? She couldn’t remember.

A shadowy figure appeared in the door and Sarah took a step back, her hip hitting the table by the bed.

“Good morning, honey. I’m glad you’re awake.”

The gentle voice of the woman sounded unusual to her. She didn’t recognize it, couldn’t place a name or face with it. The woman came closer and details on her face became clearer. She had blonde hair, graying temples, and remarkably kind eyes. Her skirt came to her knees, and she wore a sweater over her shirt. She knelt next to her.

“Where am I?” the little girl asked.

“You’re home.” The woman knelt next to her and reached a hand out. The little girl felt trapped by the table and the bed and flinched from the hand but could not move.

The woman frowned but still touched the girl’s hair, running a soothing hand over it. “You got here late last night. My name is Darlene Thomas, but I hope that you’ll just call me mom.”

Looking down at the toe of her slipper, she felt a burn of tears. “What … what’s my name?”

Darlene’s breath caught and the girl saw the shine of tears in her eyes. “Your name is Sarah.” A tear slipped down Darlene’s cheek. “You’re nine years old and this is your new home.” She reached into the pocket of her skirt. “The police found these at your house. They look about your size, so we thought they might be yours. We’ve taped them until we can get you to the eye doctor today.”

Sarah looked at the bent and broken glasses in Darlene’s hand. She tentatively reached for them, running her finger over the frame. Somewhere in her memory, a scene played out of angry male hands ripping them from her face and smashing them, then the sound of harsh male laughter. The memory fled as quickly as it had come.

She brushed her curly red hair from her ears then took the glasses and carefully perched them on her nose. The room came into sharp focus. She saw bright sunlight streaming through crisp white curtains. A dresser against the wall propped up a bouquet of fresh daisies in an ornate vase. A little television sat in front of a child’s sized couch in the corner next to a bookshelf. Dozens of books lined the shelf, their pretty colors and bindings made Sarah feel happy.

“Is this my room?” Sarah asked, feeling awe but not understanding it.

Darlene smiled and stood. “Yes. It is.”

“Just mine? No one else’s?”

Darlene’s lips pursed. “Whose else would it be?” She smiled again. “Now, it’s time for breakfast. I’ve made bacon and pancakes. I hope you’re hungry.”

As they walked down the hall, Sarah could smell glorious smells coming out of the kitchen. Her stomach gnawed at her from the inside. Her mouth watered. Her arms suddenly felt very weak.

She followed Darlene into the little kitchen but stopped short when she saw a man sitting at the table. He stopped reading the paper and set it down, turning in his chair to face her. Sarah’s heart started pounding and she felt the urge to run. “Hi there,” he said. “You sure are a tiny little thing what for being a big nine-year-old.”

He stood, and Sarah backed toward the door. Darlene held her hand up to ward him off. “She apparently can’t remember coming in last night.” She put an arm around Sarah’s shoulders. “It’s okay, Sarah. Charles is your new dad. He won’t hurt you.”

“Of course I won’t hurt you.” He walked toward her slowly. She stood with her back against the door, looking around, wondering where she could run, where she could hide. Darlene’s arm tightened over her shoulders, trapping her. He knelt in front of her just as Darlene had and his face filled her vision.

He smelled good; spicy and soapy and not at all like beer or cigarettes. His gray eyes behind his thin framed glasses looked so nice. The more she stared into his eyes, the more she relaxed. “I’m so happy God brought you to us. We’ve been praying for you before we even knew who you were.” He held out a hand.

Sarah stared at it for several seconds before placing her shaking hand in his. “God brought me here?” She asked, unsure of what he meant.

“Oh yes.” His eyes filled with unshed tears. “Most definitely.”

He tenderly placed his other hand on top of hers and pushed his hands together, completely engulfing her little hand with both of his. She didn’t feel trapped or scared by his touch. She felt … safe.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

Sarah nodded and Charles Thomas stood. He set her at the table and gave her a plate with a blueberry pancake and two slices of bacon on it. The sight of the meat gave her stomach a sick little pain, but she picked up her fork and dug into the pancake.

Darlene set a little glass of orange juice next to her plate. As she swallowed another heavenly bite, Sarah reached for the glass, but the skewed eyeglasses made her vision a little wobbly and she knocked it over.

Terror immediately struck her. As Charles stood quickly and reached for the glass, Sarah flinched back, bracing for the painful slap he would deliver. Only he didn’t. Nothing bad happened. No harsh words. No recriminations. Darlene actually comforted her and assured her that everything was all right while Charles took a kitchen towel and mopped up the juice.

BLOODY
claw marks left smears of scarlet along Sarah Thomas' forearm and all over her shirt and pants. Using a cotton pad, she gingerly dabbed at the scratches, thinking maybe she should have taken the doctor up on his offer to clean them for her. Sarah winced as the antiseptic came in contact with the open wounds. She slowly moved her jaw from side to side, wondering if the left cross to her right cheek would leave a bruise. It certainly felt sore.

“Nothing like a full moon on a Thursday night,” Melissa Potts said with a wry smile and an always surprising British accent.

Sarah snorted at her roommate’s observation. “At least it’s Friday morning now.”

Melissa leaned against the doorway to the nurse’s station. As she crossed her arms, she gestured with her head toward Sarah. “Story?”

As she wrapped a clean cotton bandage around her arm, Sarah answered her friend. “Addict. Delivered a two-pound, four-ounce baby girl. Wasn’t too happy about the whole labor part interfering with her evening cocktail hour.”

Clicking her tongue with her teeth, Melissa came all the way into the room and gently prodded Sarah’s jaw line. “She got you good.”

“She was trying to get out of the bed to go find another fix,” Sarah said, flinching when Melissa pushed against the main point of injury. “Let’s just say she didn’t take kindly to us restraining her.”

“Poor girl,” Melissa murmured. Sarah didn’t know if by “girl,” Melissa referred to the mother, the baby, or to Sarah. With Melissa, it could be any of those.

“I tried to pray with her.” Sarah stated matter-of-factly.

“Before or after she treated you like a punching bag?” Melissa asked with an ironic little grin.

Sarah looked up at her roommate and rubbed the darkening bruise along her jaw as she frowned in puzzlement. “Both,” She answered.

Melissa slowly shook her head and the little grin turned into a genuine and warm smile that silently communicated just how very much the taller, more tan, and far more exotic looking woman admired her short dynamo of a friend. “Well, you’re off now, right?”

“I am. I intend to go home, take a long bubble bath, read a Jane Austen novel until I go to bed, then sleep all day.” Sarah stood. At her full height of five-foot, half an inch, she barely reached Melissa’s shoulder.

“Sorry, love,” Melissa said in her cultured British voice, pulling her stethoscope out of her bag and hooking it around her neck. “Painters are coming today.” She reached into the pocket of her nurse’s scrubs and pulled out a roll of medical tape.

Sarah sighed and closed her eyes. “I forgot.” She held her arm out and let her friend tape the bandage. “I guess I’ll go home and cover my dresser and bed with drop cloths, then go to one of my sisters’ houses.”

“You could probably squeeze the bubble bath into the schedule.”

“True, but Robin has a hot tub. That will be even better.”

Melissa laughed as she finished taping the bandage. “See you in twelve hours?”

Releasing the clip that contained her unruly curls, Sarah shook her head. “Nope. I’ll be back at three. Darla is sick and I need the overtime.”

“Well, I hope you get some rest between now and three.”

“Have a good shift.”

Sarah slung her bag over her shoulder and left the nurse’s station. Hospital personnel maneuvered through the sometimes crowded maze of hallways of one of the largest medical centers in downtown Boston, Massachusetts. Employees filled the halls at shift change. Sarah loved every single bit of the organized chaos.

While she could pull in a higher wage in a smaller, private hospital, she loved her job and her department too much to leave it behind. She considered her career there a ministry, a place where she could touch people from all walks of life, regardless of income or social standing. A different hospital might mean more money, but she would lose the ability to act as a positive force amongst so much negativity. She would lose the ability to meet people in such need and then pray for them regularly. She would lose the ability to see lives changed, to touch lives, to encourage and support people who might otherwise never know another human being who offered encouragement or support.

As she wiggled her jaw again, she acknowledged that it came at a cost, but she could take the stripes.

Stepping outside, she squinted in the warm sun. In mid-October, cold rain should have been heralding a winter of wet snow, but instead people walked around in shirtsleeves and drank cool drinks to battle the extended summer.

Moving through the crowded sidewalk, Sarah rushed to the subway entrance and pulled her Charlie Card from the outside pocket of her backpack. She swiped it along the reader in a fluid movement as she approached the gate.

She had a car at her house, but preferred not to battle the city traffic and city parking. With a metro station near her brownstone and another one right by the hospital, she enjoyed the stress-free twenty minute commute versus the bumper to bumper, fighting cabs for holes in traffic nightmare.

In the afternoons, she could sit back and read a book. This time of the morning, though, she had to squeeze herself in between two businessmen commuting to their offices. She found a spare pole and stood, shoulder against the pole, and just let her thoughts drift while she let the conductor do the driving for her.