The Courage To Dream and The Power Of Love: The Courage To Dream / The Power Of Love. Margaret Daley
of people. I do have to admit I went overboard when I ordered it. There may be some leftovers.”
“Some? Try half.” Rose took the piece passed to her and started eating.
“That’s our police chief. He never does anything halfway,” the reverend said, and popped a forkful of cake into his mouth. “Mmm. This frosting is wonderful. Melts in your mouth.” He ran his tongue over his upper lip. “Remember the time you chased those robbers into the next county?”
“I got my men.”
“Yeah, but you nearly caused a wreck out on the highway.”
Gabriel paled. “Oh, please don’t remind me of that folly. Occasionally I see red when someone takes what isn’t theirs.”
“One of your pet peeves.” The reverend ate another bite.
“I’m trying to practice restraint. It just doesn’t always work.”
“We all have our faults. The Lord didn’t make us perfect.” Samuel paused, then said, “Speaking of not being perfect, George is getting out of prison soon.”
Gabriel stiffened, all color gone from his face. His hand shook as he placed his fork beside his plate. “I know.”
“You have to forgive him sometime, Gabriel.”
“No, I don’t.” Gabriel rose. The sound of his chair scraping across the wooden floor permeated the silence that hung at the table of adults. “If you’ll excuse me—” He pivoted and left the restaurant.
“Who’s George?” Rebecca asked, aware of the strain at the table.
“The man who drove the car that killed Gabriel’s wife and son. He was drunk.” Samuel Carson looked at the door Gabriel had disappeared through. “I should go talk to him. This wasn’t the right time to bring that subject up, but I thought being among friends would lessen the pain.”
Alicia patted her husband’s hand. “Let Gabriel have some time alone before you approach him.”
Rebecca’s heart broke. She wanted to go to Gabriel and ease his pain, as he had hers these past few weeks. But she didn’t have a right to, and she realized she wished she did.
Gabriel drove his fist into the punching bag hanging on his back porch. Again and again he hit the imagined face of the man who had robbed him of his future. Sweat poured off him, clinging to his T-shirt and shorts, but still he worked out his anger and frustration until exhaustion made it impossible for him to lift his arms.
He sank to the porch floor, rid himself of his gloves, then buried his face in his hands. He could still see the wrecked car with Judy inside. She had died on the way to the hospital. The doctors had done an emergency C-section to try to save his son, born two months too early.
George McCall was responsible. Gabriel wished he could rid himself of his hatred toward the man as easily as he had his boxing gloves. He couldn’t, and he felt as though he had let God down. He had tried. The anger was still embedded deep in his heart, and he wanted the man to remain behind bars. Judy and their unborn child had been Gabriel’s life. He went through the motions of living, but he knew something had died in him that day along with his wife and son.
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.” Gabriel murmured the Lord’s Prayer. It should be a guide to him in his forgiveness of the man who had killed his wife and child. “Please, dear Lord, give me the strength to do what I must.”
“Mom! It’s after seven,” Peter called from the living room.
Rebecca cleaned Josh’s face after more of his breakfast ended up on him than in him. She placed him in his swing and went into the living room. “It’s only fifteen minutes after seven. Your dad lives several hours away. He’s just late. Relax, Peter. Watch some TV until he comes.”
Peter gave her a look that said she must be crazy, which might be true. She didn’t like him to watch much television, and here she was encouraging him to.
“I don’t want to miss him when he pulls up.” Peter turned to the window and stared out.
Rebecca saw her son’s new fishing gear—a gift from Craig—stacked in the corner by the front door. She noticed he had on his lucky fishing jacket. Worry nibbled at her composure. If Craig didn’t come, she didn’t know what she was going to do.
When she walked into the kitchen to clean up the breakfast dishes, she glanced at the clock over the stove. Craig had often been late. She hoped this was one of those times.
But twenty minutes later, she resolved to call him. At least that would end her son’s ordeal.
Quietly she lifted the receiver and punched in Craig’s number. On the third ring he picked it up, and Rebecca’s grip tightened on the phone until her knuckles were white.
“You haven’t even left yet?” she asked, instead of saying hello to his greeting.
“Sorry. I overslept.”
Rebecca heard no remorse in his voice. She inhaled a deep, fortifying breath, then blew it out through pursed lips. “Are you coming?”
“Nah. Too late. I have to be back this afternoon. I have plans.”
“Plans that are more important than being with your son on his birthday?”
“Tell Peter I’ll call him later. Did he get my present?”
“Yes. He has all his gear packed in the new tackle box and it’s by the front door while he waits at the window for you. Please talk to him.”
Craig mumbled something under his breath, then said, “Put him on.”
Rebecca went to the door to the living room and said, “Your dad wants to talk to you.”
Peter frowned. “Is he on his cell phone? Did his car break down?”
To spare her son’s feelings, for a second she thought about lying. “No, he’s at home.”
“But—” Peter hung his head and shuffled into the kitchen to pick up the phone.
Rebecca listened to her son’s one-word replies, watching his shoulders sag. She put her arms around him and held him against her while he mumbled goodbye to his father. Peter dropped the receiver, missing the cradle. She tightened her arms about him. When a beeping sound blared, Rebecca put the phone where it belonged.
“He’s not coming. He doesn’t know when he can see me,” Peter finally said, his body shaking.
Rebecca kissed the top of his head. “He’ll come as soon as he can. We’ll have a great day, anyway.”
Peter wrenched himself from her embrace. His face turned red, and his eyes narrowed. “My birthday is ruined! I don’t want to do anything!”
He raced from the room, and Rebecca heard him run up the stairs and slam his bedroom door. She sucked in deep gulps of air, trying to calm the thundering beat of her heart. Lord, why are You doing this to my family? Peter is an innocent. He doesn’t deserve this from his father.
When the sound of Josh’s swing stopped, she started toward it to take Josh out but halted halfway across the room. Her youngest son had grasped the bar and stalled its movement. He held his grip for a good twenty seconds before letting go, the swing falling backward.
Tears flowed down Rebecca’s face. In the midst of Peter’s disaster, Josh had done something he never had before. Even though tears streamed down her cheeks, she smiled and picked up her youngest son. Maybe God hadn’t deserted her family, after all.
“Where did you learn that, my man?” she asked, surprised by the strength he’d shown. She hugged Josh to her, listening to his