Four Years in the Making - It's got to be good!

A Time to Heal and A Time to Laugh

This is the third and final book in "The Family" series and don't ever ask me again to do a trilogy! I thought I'd never finish.
I'm already working on my next novel which, I hope, will be out much quicker. Currently it needs a title.....

Preview:

As a special treat, I am including in this blog the first chapter from A Time to Heal. In following blogs, depending upon response, I will also print the first chapters of all of my novels thus far.  Hope you enjoy this preview:

A Time to Heal and A Time to Laugh

Copyright (c) 2019 by SQ Eads

The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any actual place or any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Author Contact: SQEads1@GMAIL.COM

A Note From the Author

I know, I know! A Time to Heal and a Time to Laugh has been a long time in coming. I apologize that a book you should have had in hand by Christmas 2016 is only now available in Spring 2019.

Each of the three books in The Family Trilogy is based on a verse or verses found in Ecclesiastes 3 that speaks of “...a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven;...”.

I have to confess I searched the Scriptures for a time to procrastinate and a time to prevaricate. Alas, I found none. I am without excuse.

It is obvious to one and all I had times of dithering, hesitating, evading, dodging, stalling, sidestepping, beating about the bush and just plain ducking the issue of putting words to paper. There was even a season of laziness...or two. But...book three is complete! Thank You, Lord.

I do hope you enjoy meeting Tom and gaining a deeper look into the lives of Ally and Paul in A time to Heal and a Time to Laugh. Of course, it was only fitting that the Family Trilogy end with a gathering of all those you’ve met in the three books. A Family Reunion!

Don’t miss A Time to Mourn & A Time to Dance, A Time to Search, and A Time to Heal and A Time to Laugh.

Catskill Mountains

New York State

January 2019

ALLY

Ally Ralstrom threw a kiss and a final wave as the last bunch of her family climbed into a big, silver Suburban. Celebrating Christmas and New Year’s with her six adopted kids, a baby granddaughter and twin fourteen-month-old grandsons had been a blessing beyond description. The days together had been filled with laughter, games, favorite foods, shared memories – some hilarious, some bittersweet – and a few inevitable tears at the absence of Daniel, beloved husband and father.

I know he’s in heaven with you, Lord, but we still miss him terribly. You've heard it before so I won't bug you again; I won't belabor the point, but I still wish you could have given us more time together.

Though she had relished every minute with her grown-up children and precious new additions, Ally was feeling every one of her thirty-five years and then some. She was ready for some peace and quiet. She didn’t necessarily like being alone, but the constant noise of a house full of people had worn on her this year. Of course, that could be due to the added stress that had plagued her since Daniel’s death nineteen months ago and the weight of extra responsibilities now filling her day-planner.

Ignoring the plump snowflakes dotting the strands of her chin-length ebony hair and settling on the shoulders of her green wool sweater, she watched her family's vehicle weave its way through snow-covered trees and disappear down the winding drive. Like a giant eraser, blowing snow wiped their tire tracks away. It was as if they’d never been.

Lord, get them all home safely. Please hold the storm back with your loving hands.

Lines of fatigue tugged at the smile she’d worn for two solid weeks. Her neck and shoulders screamed for relief of the constant tension. Massaging her jaws she admitted she was even tired of smiling. Pretty sad commentary for a self-proclaimed optimist, but it was true.

Like any over-worked muscles her cheeks hurt. Besides, too much smiling dried out your teeth and eyeballs, a fact she learned firsthand when in her teens her mother pushed her into a beauty pageant. A crazy thing to do since she wasn’t beautiful. Stick-straight black hair and round dark eyes were nothing to rave about and certainly not society’s beauty requirements.

Like her hair, her figure at the time was stick straight and measured a mere five feet two and a half inches tall, or more appropriately – ‘short.’ Hardly model or pageant-winner material, and the two-day ordeal was the material from whence nightmares erupted.

A chuckle suddenly bubbled from within and took Ally by surprise. She couldn’t stop the smile returning to her face. Not everything about her one and only pageant experience was bad. Another young woman made her debut along with Ally – Marlie Hoffman. She was a curvy, athletic five-feet-eleven inch white-blond, two decades too early for very tall women to be considered beautiful. Like two dandelions in a bouquet of roses, the pair of misfits banded together. Active imaginations and a penchant for mischief saw them through the craziness of the long weekend event and forged a bond of friendship that still flourished today.

Lord, you always seem to provide a silver lining to every dark cloud. Thank you for reminding me.

As quickly as the joyful remembrance appeared, clouds of pain blew it away like a puff of smoke. Frustration scored creases across Ally's forehead that she tried to smooth out with her fingertips. She fought against the exhaustion rounding her shoulders and the loneliness biting deep into her soul.

Help me, Lord. Help me to count my blessings.

With determination she turned and standing at the bottom of the steps she looked up at the soaring, two-story cabin.

The word cabin never quite fit in Ally's mind when she thought of the five-bedroom, five bath home with a top-of-the-line kitchen and huge ski-lodge type family room. The building's one concession to a country cabin might be the massive rock fireplace or the solid log walls. It was a beautiful place and set amongst tall evergreens with a blanket of snow made it picture-postcard perfect.

However...change was coming.

“I hate change!” she yelled aloud, surprising herself at the unexpected outburst.

Sorry Lord, my emotions are bouncing all over the place. It’s just You and me now. No need for play-acting. I can take off my Happy Mask. I can smile or frown. You see right through it and love me anyway.

Lord, forgive me for complaining. I have so much to be thankful for, and I really am...thankful, that is. It’s just that I still miss Daniel so much and right now, on top of that, I’m feeling tired and old. I'm also feeling very possessive of this place just when I need to get it ready for new owners.

“Get a grip, Ally,” she commanded aloud.

As she climbed the steps and reached the big front door, Ally turned for a last look over her shoulder. Their cabin sat on the high ridge of a bowl-shaped hollow lined with sky-piercing pines mixed with other varieties of evergreens. Snow clouds blanketed the heavens and silver-dollar size flakes filled the air, slowly drifting to the ground. The fluffy bits came faster and heavier and made it impossible to see into the forest. The front edge of the predicted storm had arrived.

Now that I’ve aired my gripes, Lord Jesus, fill me with gratitude for all my blessings. Give me peace and purpose. A big helping of energy and drive would also be nice. Thanks in advance, Lord.

Ally kicked the snow from her boots and entered the wide double doors. She walked across the expanse of satiny smooth hardwood flooring to stand in front of a massive, native stone fireplace. She would miss this place full of wonderful memories, but the time was right to donate this cabin and its two companion cabins to the church outreach ministry. She and Daniel had prayed extensively about it before making the decision and though he was gone now, she would carry out the plans they had made.

As usual, her gaze was drawn to the line of family pictures marching one after another along the polished oak mantle like obedient little soldiers in formation. Her eyes came to rest on a miniature taken on her wedding day six years ago.

I miss you, Daniel. Why so soon, Lord?

A Sunday school teacher once told her class that “why-ing” was the same as “whining” and both were a waste of time.

Instantly rebuking herself for whining, Ally heaved a resigned sigh and turned her back to the smoldering coals from the morning’s fire. She refused to allow the flames of her faith to die and turn to ash as was happening to the large, split oak log they’d tossed in the fire earlier.

Help me. I am determined to trust Your plan...so...please give me strength and the right attitude for the days ahead.

Turning she trailed her fingers along the silky nylon of a bright fuchsia parka draped over the back of an over-stuffed chair. It was a Christmas gift from her youngest daughter, Rose, and Ally secretly hoped the cheerful, eye-popping color would instill joy in her heart and send happy vibes coursing throughout her spirit. It was time to put aside self-pity and grumpiness and get busy. She had cleaning to do before closing up the cabins and heading back into the city.

Stepping onto the deck off the kitchen, her breath crystallized in the cold air as she gave a huff of determination. The temperature had dropped with the arrival of the storm and snow flurries blurred the winter air. A solid blanket of white was settling over every surface.

Yesterday, the kids had drawn buckets of water from the creek to use for the dirtiest cleaning jobs, but of course, the water had frozen solid overnight. She would need to melt the ice either on the stove or the fireplace hearth before she could start scrubbing.

As Ally bent to pick up one of the five-gallon, galvanized buckets of ice, a chip of wood from the railing flew off and hit her face.

“Ow!!”

She jumped and slapped one hand to her stinging cheek. Her fingers came away covered with blood.

Blood! HER blood!

Before she could process what had happened two gunshots sounded. Chunks of wood shot into the air as the bullets chewed up the railing inches from where she stood.

She jerked, turned, tripped over the bucket she’d dropped and sprawled on the deck. Wood chips began to fly as more bullets dug grooves in the deck around her.

Though her muscles wanted to freeze, Ally's brain screamed “RUN!” Even as she mentally questioned what was happening, she screeched and scuttled through the open doorway like a crab being terrorized by hungry gulls.

The screen door wouldn’t stop a bullet but the heavy oak should do the job – at least for a while. Still sprawled on the kitchen floor Ally rolled over and kicked the door shut.

Bullets! Impossible! What was going on? As a writer, Ally had a vivid and active imagination but this was NOT her imagination playing games with her.

She gingerly touched her stinging cheek again. The pain and blood were all too real. Someone was shooting at her! 'For real' as Rose would say.

Heart pounding, she cowered on the floor. Panic held her immobile for critical seconds.

Move...get out.

Sucking in a deep breath, Ally hoped the air surging into her lungs came with a dose of courage. Logic said this couldn't be happening. Yeah, well logic didn't stop bullets either.

Ally inched up the wall and took a position to the side of the solid door. There she peeked out the window as if identifying the shooter would keep her safe. However, with the heavy snow blurring the view it was impossible to spot anything amongst the dense timber. Sasquatch and his entire clan could be playing tag out there and she'd never get a glimpse of even one of them.

“Escape – nothing else matters,” she reminded herself.

Before she could blink, or respond to her own urging, a barrage of bullets shattered the windows over the sink, some pinging off the pots and pans hanging from the burnished-silver pot rack. The wall of windows around the breakfast nook exploded, bits of glass blowing everywhere like sleet. Long shards penetrated wood and cloth alike, every bit as destructive as shrapnel from an exploding grenade.

Ally ran as fast as she could into the family room and dropped behind the sofa. With glass flying like a swarm of mosquitoes she was afraid to touch anything. She darted to the far side of the huge, stone fireplace, hunkered down and pulled her cell from her jeans pocket.

“Aww! No reception.” She punched the emergency button anyway. Cell service in the mountains was patchy at best but after a heavy snowfall like last night’s, plus the storm now engulfing them, it wasn't unusual for reception to vanish altogether. Her finger seemed to have a mind of its own and continued to hit the emergency button. Ally thought of the phrase in Alexander Pope's poem, “Hope springs eternal” and immediately embraced the thought. God didn't need cell towers to send messages.

Help me, Lord. My hope is in You.

Fear like she had never felt before held her captive. It was painful. Her heart pounded as if it might explode and her muscles tensed as if gripped in a full-body Charley-horse. She often wrote scary, life and death scenarios in her plays, but she had no desire to act the lead in such a scene.

The sounds of destruction ricocheted in her mind as bullets continued to bombard the cabin. Due to the open floor-plan of the house, some flew through the broken windows, skimmed the kitchen counters and zipped on into the big family room. Pictures shattered, knick knacks exploded and several baubles on the Christmas tree ruptured into sparkling dust that sprinkled the spiky fingers of the aromatic pine, then drifted down to settle on the bright, quilted tree skirt.

Even as Ally racked her brain for a reason for the senseless attack she grabbed the new fuchsia parka from the chair, turned and gingerly fished her car keys from among the broken shards of a now shattered bowl on the coffee table. She had to get out and then...then she could think about the who, what, when, where, why and how.

Pulling on the parka, Ally ran to the back of the house to a little used exit that opened a mere twelve feet from the slope of the hill behind the cabin. She unlocked the door and carefully peeked outside, looking both directions. Seeing nothing, she darted to the right and the narrow path that would lead her to the back of the garage.

Lord, keep me safe, keep me safe. Hide me in your mighty hands.

Tension gripped her body as she plowed through knee-deep snow. The continuing sounds of gunshots ramped her fear up a notch. Would she feel the bullet that ended her life? Would she just be wounded and die a slow, lingering death? Bleed out like the victims in war stories or detective novels? Once upon a time, she'd read that a person wouldn't hear the shot that kills them. Great! Just what she needed to think about right now.

Lord have mercy!

She was gasping for breath by the time she reached the three-sided garage and slipped inside. Ally scooted around her car, pulled open the door and climbed behind the wheel. Fear and cold fingers caused her to fumble and drop the keys to the floor. No, no, no! She leaned over and stretched her arm as far as it would go and sent her fingers on a frantic search of the floorboard.

Come on keys, come on! There were times when being petite wasn't an asset but made things more difficult; this was indeed one of them.

Ah! Thank you, Lord. She managed to grasp the chunky jeweled cross and lift the ring of keys. Be quick but calm, Ally. Calm. No time for mistakes.

Securing her seatbelt, she shoved the key into the ignition and prayed the SUV would start on the first try. The poor thing had been sitting in the cold for over a week. Continuing to cry out to the Lord, she turned the key. Without hesitation, the powerful engine rumbled to life. Ally threw it into gear and tore out of the garage. No time for stealth...just speed. She could only hope her escape would take the gunmen by surprise. Assuming they were afoot, she prayed she would be able to get away before they could get to their vehicle. If she could reach the small town at the bottom of the mountain, she could find help and safety.

Make me swift and keep me safe, Lord Jesus.

Ally sent up a quick ‘thanks’ for the military father of an old friend. He had ingrained in his family, Ally included, to always reverse into a parking place in order to have easy egress. She could still hear him say “It might be a matter of life and death!” Today his words held a little too much truth.

Ally's trusty SUV plowed through the virgin snow at the back of the cabin then sped past the front door. She soon merged with the shallow tracks in the driveway left by her kids just a half-hour earlier. How quickly things changed.

Horror mushroomed in her heart and mind and her panic doubled at the thought of what could have taken place. What if the gunmen had arrived earlier? What if they started shooting when her children were still here? One or all of them could have been shot or killed.

Ally swallowed back the nausea that churned in her stomach and the acid that rose in her throat. It was a battle to keep the big breakfast she'd eaten this morning from making a reappearance...an encore she could do without.

The SUV suddenly lost traction and the rear-end started to slide. Ally instinctively adjusted her speed, swung into the slide and wrestled the car back onto the tracks.

She was going too fast but she didn’t really have any other options.

Something pinged off the back of the SUV. Her whole body jerked and her foot automatically tromped the accelerator. The car shot forward and Ally slid out onto the main road that led down the mountain. Thank you, Lord, that nothing was coming. Please keep me safe – but whatever happens, don't let me injure anyone else.

It was all downhill from their driveway entrance to the outskirts of town, but the grade in places was steep, calling for slower speeds and careful maneuvering. Like a serpent with undulating curves the road first caressed the trees then swung to the lip of dangerous drop-offs. It was a beautiful and scenic drive at normal times but...this was not a normal time.

Ally slowed slightly, knowing she'd never make it safely to the town at her current speed. However, when the back window shattered into a thousand pieces, Ally had no recourse. She pressed down on the accelerator and watched the speedometer needle climb. Terror seized her and her chest hurt from the pressure of her pounding heart.

First hand knowledge lent depth and reality to a writer’s work and this experience exploded with potential. However, would she live to tell anyone about this adventure or incorporate it in one of her scripts? Probably not.

Stay alive now – write later.

She decided she had a better chance of surviving the race down the mountain than a close encounter with the gunmen following her. They seemed determined to put an end to her life.

As she slid around the next curve, Ally knew she had to change the way she was driving. She could handle the speed on the strait-a-ways but the curves were going to kill her – literally. She was no Indy 500 contender.

Straighten the road!

The words were but a whisper in her head.

Yes! It might work. Daniel used to say some people liked to take their half out of the middle and that's just what she should do. Taking the center of the road would lessen the degree of the curves.

Lord, please keep everyone out of the way.

Hope began to inch its way into her heart until she glanced into the rear-view mirror and saw a fast approaching snowmobile closing the distance between them.

Gripping the wheel even tighter, Ally determined to keep going and not look back.

I'm looking toward you, Jesus. Keep me focused. Eyes straight ahead, looking neither to the right nor the left.

One of her favorite hymns popped into her head and Ally began to hum. The words then demanded to be voiced and she sang softly. Tension ramped up the need for volume and in seconds Ally was belting out praises to her Lord, letting the words fill her heart and echo throughout the little, blue SUV.

Turn your eyes upon Jesus

Look full,in his wonderful face,

And the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace...

TOM

 

Thomas ‘Tom’ Morgan slowed his truck to a crawl. The road was pretty much non-existent and in some areas it totally disappeared under a foot of new snow. He pushed the buttons and the two front windows slid noiselessly down. He sucked in a deep breath.

For three days he’d thoroughly enjoyed the aroma of leather combined with that unique ‘new-car-smell.’ But wow! This was much better. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to breathe air like this. It smelled so...clean, though that word didn’t do it justice. It was cold, fresh, crisp, reviving. Pure. No dust. No sewage. No gun powder. Just pure, unpolluted mountain air. Pulling in enough to fill his lungs to bursting, Tom closed his eyes for just a moment and sighed with pleasure.

He rubbed a calloused hand over three-days worth of russet colored whiskers then gazed out the windshield at the glistening white wonderland. He loved the snow, the mountains, the trees, and he couldn’t wait to fish the rivers and streams that ran with icy, blue water. It was hard to believe that for the next six months he would be living here in paradise, in this slice of heaven on earth. There was nothing on his schedule except a little carpentry and lots of peace and quiet. He’d have hours to take pictures of nature’s beauty. R&R at its best.

One more look around and he was pretty sure he'd taken the wrong turn off the main road. The trees in this area grew thick and arched overhead like a leafy green tunnel. Stumps, tiny saplings and bushes all covered in white like irregular-shaped snowballs ran right down from the tree-line to smudge the edges of the nearly invisible track he was following.

Tom pulled the heavy-duty truck to a complete stop as the dual tracks disappeared completely at the edge of a huge clearing. He was sitting on the edge of a bowl of fluffy snow opening out before him – empty and beautiful. Pristine. The sun’s rays hitting icy crystals sparkled like diamonds. Surrounding the meadow were trees in more shades of green than Tom had ever seen in any one place. He snapped a few pictures.

His smile suddenly slipped, as did his sense of peace. With a frown pulling down the corners of his mouth, he cocked his head toward the open window and listened intently. For a while he had been sensing something. Something out of place. Something common to his past but altogether wrong in the present. A noise that didn’t fit with the mountains, the trees and the snow and was totally at odds with his current assignment was indeed encroaching on this pastoral setting. The crunch of his truck’s heavy tires breaking through ice and snow had muffled the sounds...until now.

He shut the powerful engine down and every muscle in his body tensed. His inner warning signals were still spot-on. Years of training didn't disappear over- night. The silence should have been deafening and totally natural – but it wasn’t.

He heard the distant echo. Gunfire – a sound that was all too familiar to him. After eight years on one battlefield after another all around the globe, Tom couldn’t fail to recognize the noise that epitomized suffering, killing, bleeding and dying.

Though he couldn’t spot any evidence of shooters, he could certainly hear it. The distinctive difference in reports said two weapons were being fired. Tom narrowed his eyes and focused on the sounds. They weren’t shooting at one another. It was as if the shooters were stationary and focused on their prey. Mostly single shots but occasionally he picked up a double tap.

Due to the thick foliage and the dense woods that muffled and distorted the noise, Tom wasn’t certain of distance, but he was pretty sure of one thing – the shooters were ramping up their efforts to take down their target. Shorter intervals between shots spoke of the escalation of the attack.

His left hand – as if it had a mind of its own – automatically slid between the seat and the door. He palmed his SIG Sauer P226 just like he’d done everyday for over eight years. Sad that a gun in his hand made him feel complete, fully clothed, but this little semiautomatic had saved his life more times than he could count. It had become an integral part of him.

With the SIG snugged in his left hand, he scanned a hundred and eighty degree arc and spotted nothing. The shots seemed to come from higher up the mountain.

“This really isn't any of my business,” Tom muttered, reminding himself why he was in the Catskill Mountains. “Whatever is going down doesn't involve me nor should I butt in.”

RIGHT!

What if an innocent was in trouble?

Tom clamped his jaw and ground his molars in frustration.

Not my problem, not my trouble.

Not my monkey, not my circus.

However – Tom Morgan was not programed to ignore problems, even dangerous ones. If someone needed a helping hand and he could offer his, he would do so. It was wired in his DNA.

He looked around again. He was pretty much at a dead end. Hoping that wasn't a sign of his future but simply the layout of the road, he debated driving straight across the smooth white meadow ahead of him in order to find possible tracks on the other side.

As if he'd received a nudge to rethink that idea, Tom looked more closely at the area in front of his truck. What was it that made him hesitate? He ran his eyes along the edges of the circle noticing where smooth met rough. The area reminded him of a skating rink covered with snow.

Whoa! It probably was a skating rink – an ice skating rink – a pond. Frozen, yes, but certainly not hard enough to hold the tons of metal he was driving. Good thing his gut still steered him correctly.

“It was God” said a little voice in his heart. He could also hear the Irish lilt in his friend Robbie's voice as he used to remind Tom over and over that God was in it ALL. “Yer gut might let ye know ye’ve eaten rotten squid, but, tis God what speaks ta yer spirit and directs ye in the right ways a’ life.”

Yep, he knew it was time to revisit his relationship with God. He even had good intentions of doing that while in these peaceful mountains. Reconnect.

However – no time to do it right now.

I will, God. Soon as I find out what is happening with those gunshots I heard. Promise. I’ll catch ya later.

Tom carefully set his SIG in the cup-holder and threw the big Ford into REVERSE. He backed until he found a slightly wider area clear of trees and stumps, then expertly maneuvered a three-point turn and headed out the way he had come. The snow was falling fast and furious now, already filling in the recent tracks from his arrival as he drove from under the canopy of trees.

He came to the main road and nudged the nose of the truck forward so he could get a clear view up and down the mountain. He knew his white vehicle practically disappeared in all the white around him and he certainly didn't want to pull out in front of another car. He'd probably survive due to all the extra safety equipment on the specially fitted F350, but he'd hate to take out some innocent family.

He sat for a minute and let the engine idle as he listened for further evidence of shooters. If the snow kept up at this rate, though, he would soon have to close the windows or be buried in the cold stuff. He might enjoy snow but he didn't particularly want his truck filled with it.

Out of habit, Tom slipped his tiny digital camera from his pocket and snapped several shots of the mountain vista across from him while he listened for the sound of gunfire to direct his next move.

This was a beautiful area and all new to him. He’d worked in New York City for a couple of years, but never ventured so far north into the Catskill Mountains. Nice vacation spot. Sure beat heat, sand and war which were all too familiar and filled his memory bank to overflowing.

Tucking his camera away, Tom picked up a new sound. He inched the truck forward for a better view of the road. Engine noise. It sounded like two very different vehicles going at high speeds. They must be crazy. Driving fast in this weather and on these roads was a recipe for disaster. Of course, sounds could be distorted by the dense forest and mountains.

Suddenly through the now intermittent snow flurries, Tom spotted a blue SUV. It was way up to his right and fighting to stay on the road at the top of the long hill. It barely made the first turn, hit the straight-a-way and headed for the next curve in the serpentine roadway.

From Tom's position he had a clear view of the highway leading up the mountain and could easily follow the progress of the SUV. When a snowmobile skidded around the curve and sped toward the SUV, Tom once again heard gunshots. The SUV swerved and headed for the wooded shoulder of the road.

Tom didn't know the driver, but it was evident he had some driving smarts. The SUV scraped along the root bound earthen wall, dirt and rocks doing battle with paint and metal. Finally the car bounced back onto the road like a gutter-ball hopping from the gutter to the ally.

Tom held his breath as the fast-moving blue car shot around the next curve with only inches to spare. The wobble of its path told Tom it had taken another hit from the two gunmen on the snowmobile.

There was nothing Tom could do at the moment and it ate at him. If he pulled out onto the road, he'd simply add to the mix and cause an even bigger accident. His best bet would be to wait until the SUV passed him and then try to intercept the snowmobile.

The seconds seemed like hours as he waited for the right time to make his move. Tom's mind ran through multiple questions as to why he'd picked the side of the SUV driver in this altercation. He knew none of the actors in this drama nor did he know the motivating factors behind it. He felt sure of one thing though – the duo chasing the SUV was playing a dirty and deadly game. This was not the behavior of law enforcement personnel, so...fairly easy choice.

Good guys in the SUV, bad guys on the snowmobile.

This was not rocket science, just gut instinct again, and his gut never mislead him – or hadn't so far.

Correction, God. You’ve never led me wrong.

ALLY

Ally could barely take a breath. Her hands hurt from the death grip she had on the steering wheel and her body ached from tension. She craved relief, release from the pain and debilitating fear.

Responding without thought, Ally moved instinctively with the slip and slide of her car. She could see a scant few feet in front of her except when the snow flurries occasionally slowed, giving her a broader view. The road was slick, she was going much too fast and she was only half-way down the mountain.

PLUS – she had gunmen shooting at her from behind! She couldn’t slow down.

The wind whistled through the broken rear window and there was a definite wobble that said she might be driving with one flat tire. The SUV fought her every inch of the way like an injured steed. It pulled erratically on the turns.

Help me, Lord!

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