Jan leaned forward to glance around, puzzled. The doorstep was empty. So was the sidewalk. The blue car was almost to the corner of the block. Jan stared after the taillights in bewilderment. Had Stardust changed her mind? Lost her courage? Conceived some other devious plan?
Then she saw the white envelope stuck in the mailbox by the door, and her heart plummeted. Summons? Legal notice? Sudden anger flooded her in a red storm. Hadn't Stardust even the courage, the decency, to face her in person? She was just leaving an impersonal notice demanding their child?
A wild impulse raced through her. She didn't have to read this! She'd simply tear it up and destroy it—
No, she thought with a wrench like a fist trying to pull her heart out. She couldn't do that. She'd given her word to the Lord. Not my will, but yours.
Yet she couldn't still the shaking of her hand as she plucked the envelope from the mailbox. She carried it inside and started to lock the door behind her, then dully realized it didn't matter now. The danger was not out there; it was right here, in her hand.
She took the envelope to the breakfast bar, where she always opened the morning mail. She retrieved a letter opener from a high shelf, safely out of reach of the children. She slashed the flap and drew the pages out of the envelope, surprised and then bewildered again. She did not find crisp legal paper with the impressive letterhead of some attorney-at-law, just several pages of blue-lined paper torn from a notebook and covered with fine writing.
Dear Jan and Mark,
I know Mark isn't home, but this is for him too, of course. I know you've seen me hanging around, and you know why I came: to reclaim my baby, to steal her if I had to.
Maybe you saw that I limp a little now. I totaled the Camaro a few months after Angel was born. I got hurt pretty bad, and for several months I just lay in a hospital, mad and unhappy. But deep down I knew what I'd done was pretty awful, so I figured the accident was probably God's punishment for rejecting and abandoning my own baby. But a doctor told me that by rights I shouldn't even have come out of the accident alive, so I started looking at things differently. And I finally figured out that maybe the accident wasn't so much God punishing me as trying to get my attention. That maybe he was giving me a second chance.
So after I got back on my feet, I got a job in a nursing home and also got my GED. I'm not making lots of money—and you know how I used to feel about money!—but I like my job. I like working with those old folks. They really seem to need me. Next year I'm going to try to get my certificate as a licensed practical nurse. So everything's going okay.
But still I've had this big empty feeling inside, a big hole in my life where Angel should have been. I guess I’ve watched that DVD of the ultrasound about a thousand times. And I look at it and wonder, how could I have just thrown her away, this wonderful little baby that was inside me? How could I have abandoned her? It gets worse around the time of her birthday every year, as you probably know. I remember how awful you felt on Tim's birthday. It's the very worst time of year, isn't it?
Anyway, I started thinking that even if I'd done a terrible thing, Angel was still my blood and I should have her back. So I took some time off from work and went to Mark's house up in Portland, and a neighbor gave me your Salem address. So I came here thinking maybe I'd find something that would convince a lawyer to take my case and help me get her back. Or maybe I'd just steal her and run.
But all I could find was what good people you and Mark are, what wonderful, devoted parents. Deep down I knew that already. From the way you always wanted Angel, even after you knew she wouldn't be perfect and wasn't even yours. From the way you took me in and treated me like a daughter. And I'm so very grateful that you kept me from making an even more terrible mistake than giving her up. It makes me shudder now when I think how close I came to having an abortion.
She's beautiful, isn't she? But even if she weren't, I know you'd still love her. And I would too, now. Being perfect isn't all that important.
I'll probably watch that ultrasound a thousand more times and look at that photo I snapped today, too. And I'll cry. But by today, I wasn't really trying to snatch Angel. I just wanted to step inside the gate and get a picture of her without the fence in the way. So I'm sorry if I scared you. Or her.
And you never have to be afraid of me again, Jan. I won't ever try to take Angel away from you, not legally or any other way. I'm not a Christian yet. But sometimes I get out that Bible Mark gave me and read it, and I found the Psalms and I like them. And there's one I memorized because it seems like it was written straight to me and gives me hope. "The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love. He does not treat us as our sins deserve, or repay us according to our iniquities."
Well, I bet you never figured you'd see me quoting Bible verses, right? I guess I surprise myself, too.
Jan paused, lowering the pages. How very right Stardust was. Bible verses coming from her was as great a shock as the first time Jan had heard them from Mark. What was it he had once said about Stardust? That maybe the Lord wasn't through working on her yet? Obviously it was true. She read on.
And Psalm 23. That's really something! Have you ever read it? If you haven't, you ought to!
Jan paused again, this time almost smiling at Stardust's breathless reference to the Twenty-Third Psalm. That psalm, so familiar and beloved by every Christian, yet wonderfully new to Stardust, as if she thought she was the very first person to discover it, like some prospector uncovering hidden gold no one had ever seen before.
Then there's "Turn my heart toward your statutes and not toward selfish gain. Turn my eyes away from worthless things." Oh, that one is really aimed at me, isn't it? All the worthless things I wanted, instead of what God offered me.
Well, like I said, I'm not a Christian yet. But there's a little church not far from my apartment, and maybe I'll go there one of these days. But I've already come to know, as you kept trying to tell me, that Angel truly was a special gift from God. But I know something else, too, now. That even though I gave birth to her, she was a gift to you, Jan, a gift to you and Mark, not to me.
With all my love to you and Mark, and especially Angel.
The letter was signed simply Debbie. Jan let out the breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. So Stardust was no more. Jan nodded slowly. Yes, she could think of her as Debbie now. But there was a PS.
I know you'll probably think you should try to find me. Because that's the kind of good people you are. But don't. The first time I gave Angel to you I did it because I was selfish and self-centered. And dumb and wrong, and every other nasty word you want to think of. But this time I'm giving her to you because it's right and because I love her.
Maybe someday, though I don't deserve it, God will give me another gift like Angel. I hope so.
-
Tears pricked Jan's eyes, and she leaned her head back against the chair. Oh, I hope so, too. Oh yes, I do hope so. Then she felt something else in the envelope, and she dumped out the contents. It was the gold chain Debbie had taken three years ago.
The phone rang, and it was Mark, telling her he had a flight arranged. She read the letter to him, having to pause every now and then when her throat choked up.
They were both silent after she finished the postscript. Then Mark said simply, "I think we should pray for Debbie." And they did.
They didn't hear from Debbie again, no phone call nor letter, no shadowy figure watching. Jan and Mark followed her wishes and didn't try to find her, but they both knew that if Angel someday wanted to contact the woman who had given birth to her they'd do everything in their power to help her. Debbie was never out of their prayers.
And when Angel's fourth birthday came around, Jan faced it without fear and apprehension. She knew Debbie was no doubt thinking of Angel, thinking of them as they were of her, but Jan knew the promise was good; she wouldn't be back.
They made a grand celebration of the event, holding the birthday party in the evening so they could include a barbecue for the parents. They had games and horns and party hats, a birthday cake with four candles that Angel blew out in a mighty gust, afterward shouting happily, "Now I'm four years old!" as if only then was it really true.
It was well after dark before the party wound down. When everyone was finally gone, Jan dropped into a chair and surveyed the scene. Piles of paper party plates drooling melted ice cream and cake crumbs. Empty and half empty soft-drink cans, some crushed because some male was feeling macho. Bowls of leftover salad and beans from the barbecue. Peaked party hats scattered like colorful eruptions rising out of floor and furniture.
"If after-party mess is any measure of success, this was one great party," Jan observed. She felt exhausted but satisfied. And it was all on videotape. If Mark hadn't gotten every giggle, every ooh of present opening, every messy bite of cake, it certainly wasn't for lack of trying.
"A great party," Mark agreed.
"Now I'm almost five!" Angel announced importantly, in that way children have of looking forward to the mounting years, eagerly anticipating the larger numbers. She put her party hat on again, snagging the elastic band under her little chin, and grinned at them, a pixie angel with a smear of chocolate on her face.
Jan and Mark exchanged glances, and Jan knew he must be thinking as she was: oh, but the years mount up so fast! Already, in her lumpy scrapbook, she had three sets of birthday candles saved from years gone by; now she'd have four. She jumped up quickly, feeling a blurry gathering of sentimental tears. "I think I'll just go sit out on the patio for a few minutes before I start cleaning up."
Mark reached out and squeezed her hand as she passed him. "I'll be out to join you in a minute, as soon as I put the camcorder away."
Outside, Jan scooted out of her sandals and sat at the edge of the covered patio. She rested her elbows on her knees, chin cupped in her hands, and let her feet luxuriate in the damp coolness of evening grass. Off toward town the glow of lights bleached the stars to dim glimmers, but overhead they shone like far-flung jewels. So many stars. Big stars and little stars, and something less clearly defined drifting among them. Drifts of stardust...
Stardust.
She'd thought of Debbie, the "Stardust" who had given birth to Angel, many times this evening. Now that other Stardust also came to mind. Jan didn't think of her often. She had never been more than a dim figure briefly brought to life on the pages of Tim's journal, and, as time passed, even that misty reality had faded. Yet sometimes she did wonder about that girl with eyes of lupine blue.
Did that Stardust really exist? Had she ever existed? Had they an unknown grandchild? Jan's face was still lifted to the stars, but she closed her eyes.
Lord, I know you care about that Stardust and our grandchild if they're out there somewhere. We won't search for her again. You've showered your blessings on us, and those blessings are sufficient. But if they are out there, will you look after them, please? Keep them safe and loved.
And maybe someday, someday if it's within your grand scheme of things, you'll send them to us.
The screen door opened behind her, and Mark draped his arm around her shoulders as he dropped down beside her. "Do you know what your darling daughter is doing?"
Jan laughed. "I'm almost afraid to ask."
"Instead of playing with her presents, she's all engrossed in taking the boxes apart. Do you suppose that suggests some future occupation as an inventor or engineer?"
"Could be. Unless she decides to become a demolition expert," Jan said, and they laughed together.
With his free hand he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Happy?"
"Happy." She leaned her head against his shoulder, wrapped in a warm cocoon of safety and love. "I remember you telling me once that it seemed a daily miracle to you that in the midst of all God had created, all those stars out there, all the wonders here on earth, that the Lord still loved and cared for each and every one of us. And it's true, isn't it? We were lost, to him and to each other, and yet he cared about us and changed everything."
"Sometimes I think how far we've come together over the years."
Yes. Oh, yes. From despair to joy, from a collapsed marriage to a love that was stronger and sweeter and richer than she could ever have imagined. She and Mark shared a closeness now that she had never realized possible in their youthful days of starry-eyed romance. They were companions and friends, mates and lovers. And parents, second-chance parents. The Lord had given them each other, and then he had given them Angel, too.
"Do you know how much I love you?" Mark nuzzled his lips against her ear.
Jan turned and draped her arms around his neck. "Shall we argue about who loves whom the most?"
"Let's!" With tease in his voice he added, "My love for you is bigger than mountains and oceans and—"
"Small stuff. My love for you is bigger than stars and galaxies and—"
He cut off her extravagant claims with a kiss, and then those stars and galaxies were spinning inside her head. Dreamily she wondered, how many times had he kissed her over the years? Yet he could still make her feel like this. Like a young girl falling in love, just awakening to passion. Like a passionate woman, bold and eager— And just at that moment Angel whizzed through the screen door and tumbled between them in a small explosion of arms and legs and giggles.
"Guess I surprised you, huh!" she announced with satisfaction and a delighted giggle.
"Well, yes, I believe you did surprise us," Mark agreed with a meaningful smile at Jan over Angel's head.
"This was the bestest birthday ever." Angel gave a contented sigh as she squirmed to make a nest between them, rightfully confident of her welcome there. Then, like a small toy with a battery abruptly run down, she fell asleep right in their arms.
Lovingly, Jan straightened the warm body snuggled between them like a small pretzel. And many more, little one. She smoothed a wisp of dark hair, still baby-fine, around a tiny curve of ear. Thank you, Lord. Thank you for Angel, thank you for us, thank you for all you are.
"I guess it's time to take her up to bed," Jan whispered.
Mark nodded. "But first—"
And then he leaned across their sleeping daughter and finished that interrupted kiss, and once more the stars and galaxies whirled in a dizzy spin of love and promise.
The End
E-BOOKS BY LORENA McCOURTNEY
THE IVY MALONE MYSTERIES SERIES:
Invisible
In Plain Sight
On the Run
Stranded
Go, Ivy, Go!
THE MAC ‘N’ IVY MYSTERIES SERIES
Something Buried, Something Blue (available in both print and e-book)
THE JULESBURG MYSTERIES:
Whirlpool
Riptide
Undertow
THE ANDI McCONNELL MYSTERIES:
Your Chariot Awaits
Here Comes the Ride
For Whom the Limo Rolls
THE CATE KINKAID FILES MYSTERIES
Dying to Read
Dolled Up to Die
Death Takes a Ride
CHRISTIAN ROMANCES
Three Secrets (Novella)
Searching for Stardust
Yesterday Lost (Mystery/Romance)
Dear Silver
Betrayed
Canyon
The author is always delighted to hear from readers. Contact her through e-mail at lorenamcc@centurylink.net or connect with her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/lorenamccourtney
Happy Reading!