Faith Read online

  Faith

  Michelle Larks

  www.urbanchristianonline.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions

  UC HIS GLORY BOOK CLUB!

  What We Believe:

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to

  Every man, woman, or child who

  has been a victim of a sexual assault

  Acknowledgments

  As always, Praises Be To God. I firmly believe the scripture that says, “In all ways acknowledge him and he will direct thy path.” Father, thank you for showing me the way.

  I would like to say to my mothers, Mary, Jean, Bertha, my father, I.H., and my father-in-law, George, thank you for encouraging and loving me.

  My daughters, Mikeisha and Genesse, I love you more than you’ll ever know.

  Sisters: Patrice, Sabrina, Adrienne, Donna, Catherine, and Rolanda, and brothers: Jackie, Marc, Darryl, Wayne, Michael, and Rodney; my sisters and brothers-in-law, along with my nieces and nephews, thank you for keeping me grounded. I love you, family!

  Patrice, my sister, thank you for stepping in as my VP of Marketing. Your help is invaluable. Kelley, thanks for your help with my innumerable e-mails.

  Raw Sistaz Book Club, APOOO Book Club (Yasmin), ARC Book Club (Locksie), OOSA Book Club, Delta Reviewer (Monique), Apex Reviews (Genevieve), Urban Reviews (Radiah), Shades of Romance Magazine (LaShaunda), Words of Inspiration Book Club (Sharon), The Literary World (Lauretta). Eveline, Nikki, Keisha, Angie, Rolanda, and Tavares for reading and reviewing for me before my books hit the shelves. I greatly appreciate your feedback.

  Brooks, thank you for hooking up my newsletter. I love it, and so do my subscribers. And Tyora, thank you for setting up my blog tour and for your many e-mails full of pertinent information.

  Shquestra, I’d like to send special thanks your way for sharing with me. Your information was very useful.

  A special shout-out to all of the book clubs who have read and posted reviews for me, especially The Renaissance Men’s Book Club of Memphis, TN. I had an enjoyable telephone meeting with your club. Oops, I can’t forget the Women Of Excellence Book Club of Joliet, IL. You really know how to hook a sista up when it comes to a meal. I’d like to thank the many bookstores who have invited me multiple times to sign at your stores. I’d like to give a shout-out to my MySpace friends. You are the best. You leave such wonderful comments on my page, which uplifts my spirit.

  Kudos to Constance Shabazz of Books Ink, and Glenn Murray of 220 Communications. It seems like you’ve provided me with an opportunity to promote my books every step of the way, starting with my first one.

  Tee, Joylynn, and Kathleen, you all are the best! I thank God for allowing our paths to cross. It was fate.

  My sista/girlfriends; Kelley, Cynthia D., Ama-nia, Mina, and Fran Y., thank you for always calling or e-mailing me with encouragement, especially when I need it. Pat, a friend from the past, I’m glad we’ve reconnected.

  To the libraries in and around the Chicago land area and afar, thank you for inviting me to participate in your Author Fairs.

  My co-workers, neighbors, and friends, especially in the Bolingbrook area, thank you for supporting a sister, book-by-book.

  I’d like to thank every reader who has purchased any of my books over the years. I don’t know where I’d be without you. If I’ve forgotten anyone, please forgive me.

  Fred, what can I say except we make an excellent team! Please continue to love and support me.

  Michelle

  Prologue

  Monet Caldwell inhaled loudly, held her breath, exhaled, then drew a deep cleansing breath. She smiled as she remembered her Lamaze exercises, and felt she was doing fine, even without her coach. Then her pretty smile faded abruptly because her situation at home, merely co-existing with her husband, Marcus, was not what she envisioned as a new bride twenty years ago when she imagined giving birth to their first child.

  The gorgeous, petite, five feet two, formerly size five, olive skin woman, with a mop of reddish blond curly hair, was upstairs in her bedroom sitting on the chaise lounge timing her contractions, while her dog, Mitzi, stood loyally at her feet. The only sound in the room was the ticking of a clock sitting on an oval table next to the chaise.

  Monet’s overnight suitcase sat upright next to the closet door. As she waited for the next contraction, her eyes roamed around the burgundy and gold striped bedroom. Matching borders were at the top of the walls inside the attached bathroom. Monet missed Marcus so much that her eyes became flooded with tears. She knew if she called him, he would come to her aid. But their marriage had been in a state of flux during her entire pregnancy, and somewhere deep within her soul, Monet wanted Marcus to come to her of his own volition.

  A contraction poked Monet so hard that she moaned. She put one hand around her abdomen and massaged her temple with the other one. Mitzi stood at attention, her tongue waging as she cocked her head to the side, watching her mistress.

  Monet picked up her mother’s Bible, which was lying next to her on the chaise. She pressed the book next to her heart and prayed silently. You told us that life wouldn’t be easy, Lord, but I never imagined anything like this happening in my life. She sighed. “Lord, keep me and my baby in your kind, loving arms. I know through your grace that we will both be fine. And when my labor of love has passed, I’ll shout out your glory for bringing me through another valley along my journey of life. Because only you and Marcus know how long and hard I’ve prayed for a baby,” she said aloud.

  The contraction passed, and Monet couldn’t keep a tiny grin off her face at the thought of her burly, chocolate colored bear of a husband. At six feet in height, his closely shorn hair was graying distinguishably at the temples. Much to Monet’s delight, her handsome husband’s face still took her breath away. Marcus was employed as a police detective. Where he’d begun serving as a member of Chicago’s finest shortly after the couple migrated to Chicago from a small town in Alabama over twenty years ago as newlyweds.

  Forty-two-year-old Monet had two brothers, and forty-five-year-old Marcus had an older sister who lived in Texas. His parents were deceased. Monet’s mother died instantly in a freak bus accident. The driver lost control of the vehicle and plowed into pedestrians crossing the street in the crosswalk. The accident occurred five years ago. After her mother’s death, Monet’s unmarried twin brothers, Derek and Duane, three years her junior, moved to Chicago from Alabama to be closer to their sibling. Monet’s father had deserted the family when she was four years old. She had only fuzzy memories of the man she called Daddy.

  Monet and Marcus met in middle school and became high school sweethearts. After Monet’s graduation, sh
e attended a small private college in Alabama and obtained a nursing degree. Her specialty was that of a neonatal nurse. The staff often said she had the touch. The Neonatal Care Unit boasted a high survival rate for its newborns. Many a night, if a parent wasn’t at the hospital to see their child, Monet could be found providing the infant with a dose of TLC.

  After graduating high school, Marcus joined the army where he served as a military police officer. His stint in the army ended when Monet graduated from college.

  Monet glanced at the clock on the nightstand; her contractions were close to twenty minutes apart. Her obstetrician, Dr. Armstrong, had instructed her to come to the hospital when the contractions were ten to fifteen minutes apart. For the most part, Monet had enjoyed an uneventful pregnancy, even though she had been categorized as a high risk patient due to her age.

  Mitzi barked sharply as Monet stood up, waddled over and picked up her overnight bag. She clutched the suitcase in her hand and dropped her cell phone into the pocket of her maternity jeans. She clutched the banister tightly as she walked slowly down the stairs. Mitzi trotted beside her.

  Then a contraction hit her so hard that she felt like someone had punched her in the back. She momentarily let go of the banister, dropped the suitcase, and fell forward. Like a ballerina, she managed to turn sideways. She tried to regain her balance as she slid down four stairs. Mitzi began barking loudly. Monet moaned as her water broke. She managed to pull her cell phone out of her pocket and dial 911.

  Monet mumbled, “I need help. I’m in labor, and I fell down the stairs. Please send someone to help me.” Then she passed out.

  Chapter 1

  Monet looked up and across the counter of the nurse’s station desk as the sound of cracking bubblegum assaulted her eardrums.

  “Ma’am, where is the maternity ward?” A stout, middle-aged woman with short twisties in her head stood on the other side of the desk. She held a potted fern in one hand and several pink and purple balloons proclaiming, It’s a Girl in her other one.

  “Down the hall,” Monet pointed the way with her ink pen, “and around the corner.”

  The woman shyly said, “Thank you.” She walked down the hallway per Monet’s directions.

  Monet continued to make notations in the folders when the telephone rang. “St. Bernard’s Hospital, this is Nurse Caldwell. How may I direct your call?” she answered.

  “Hi, Nay-Nay.” Nay-Nay was Marcus’s pet name for his wife. “I know you’re tired after pulling that double today. I wanted to know if you want me to pick you up from work?”

  They lived in the community of Auburn on the southwest side of Chicago on the 3800 block of West Eighty-fifth Street. Monet and Marcus worked in the community of Englewood, one of the most economically challenged areas on the south side of Chicago. When the pair moved from Alabama to the Windy City, they were young and idealistic and decided to work in communities where they could make the biggest impact in the lives of African Americans.

  Marcus worked at the Seventh District Police Station on Sixty-third Street, and the hospital was located on Sixty-fourth Street, so they worked less than five miles apart from each other.

  “No, that’s okay, honey; I’m good. I’m just about done here. This place has been like Union Station during Christmas travel all night,” Monet joked, as she laid the folder in the to-be-filed pile.

  “Hmm, that bad? I guess you’re tired then. By the time you leave the hospital, it will be close to midnight. I can swing by and pick you up; that’s no problem. You don’t need to drive if you’re that tired. We can come back to the hospital tomorrow to get your car,” Marcus offered.

  “Well, I am tired, but I can make it home,” Monet replied. A smile crossed her face as she thought about her and Marcus’s tryst between the sheets earlier that morning. Monet looked down at her stomach and thought, maybe God has blessed us, and we made a baby this morning.

  “Okay, don’t say I didn’t offer to come get you. I’ll call you later. Love you, babe. Be careful,” he said.

  “I love you too, Marcus. I promise I’ll be careful. You take care of yourself,” she responded before ending the call.

  After she had finished adding notation to the files, Monet stood up, stretched her body, and rubbed the lower portion of her back. As she smoothed down the top of her now wrinkled green scrubs that she’d worn to work that morning, Monet prayed that she had gotten pregnant and envisioned smoothing the top over a baby bump. She sat back down in the ergonomic chair and was putting the remaining folders in the to-be-filed tray when Dr. Edwards walked over to the desk.

  “I realize that it’s time for you to get off work, Nurse Caldwell, but I have an emergency.” He glanced down at his still beeping pager. “Would you make sure this prescription gets filled for the patient in room 110?” Without waiting for Monet to reply, Dr. Edwards handed her a thick manila folder. “The prescription’s inside the folder on top.”

  “Sure, Dr. Edwards.” Monet stifled a yawn as she took the folder from him and laid it on the counter. She had just pulled a double, working the first and second shifts, and was tired. She knew that traffic would be lighter than normal at that time of the night on the Dan Ryan Expressway, and barring any accidents, she should be home in twenty minutes.

  Monet asked a nurse’s aide to take the prescription to the pharmacy ASAP and to wait for it to be filled. After the young man departed, she removed her black leather purse from her bottom desk drawer and walked to the locker area. Several minutes later, she had put on her hooded spring jacket, locked her locker, and was headed home.

  No matter how busy her day was, or how tired she felt, Monet always stopped by the neonatal ICU to look at the babies and would say a prayer for the newborns before leaving the hospital. Since she and Marcus had been unable to have children, she considered the babies in the nursery her own.

  A smile slid across her face as she watched the different shades of babies. Some of the tiny faces were screwed up and crying, while others slept peacefully. Monet’s tiredness was forgotten.

  She bowed her head, closed her eyes, and said softly, “Lord, thank you for helping me to complete another day of work at St. Bernard’s Hospital. Thank you for keeping me in my right mind as I cared for your children. Father, I beg you to take care of the innocent babies here in this hospital today, and all over the world in every hospital right now. Help their parents to do the best they can to love and take care of your precious children. God above, if it’s in your will, please bless Marcus and me with children. These blessings I ask in your Son’s name. Amen.” Monet smiled at the babies and turned to walk to the elevator, which delivered her down to the first floor.

  The temperature was mild for the fall season in Chicago in October. Halloween was next week, and paper ghosts, goblins, and witches adorned the pediatric ward and other areas of the hospital.

  When Monet reached the hospital entrance, David, the security guard, was seated at his post at the main entrance. He asked Monet if she wanted him to walk her to her car since it was close to midnight.

  “No.” Monet shook her head. “I should be all right.”

  “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Caldwell. Be careful.” He doffed his navy blue and white striped brimmed hat at her.

  “I’m off work tomorrow; I’ll see you on Monday,” Monet corrected David. “Have a nice weekend.”

  She walked out the door and traveled half a block to the corner and turned left toward the parking lot. She was filled with a buoyancy of hopefulness. Monet had taken her temperature that morning and discovered that she was ovulating. She and Marcus had made tender love before she’d left for work that morning. Memories of the couple’s coming together caused merriment to tug at the corners of her mouth.

  When Monet entered the parking lot, she noticed the area was somewhat dim around her car due to the nonfunctioning overhead light. She frowned at the security camera which didn’t appear to be functioning either. She hesitated, debating if she should go back to
the hospital and take Dave up on his invitation to escort her to her car. Stop being silly, she chided herself. You’ve walked in this lot millions of times. She then decided to chance it since her car was no more than a few feet away. Her hand shook slightly as she removed her key remote from her parka pocket.

  Suddenly the hairs on the back of Monet’s neck stood at attention. She sensed someone behind her. But before she could react, she was pushed from behind. She fell hard, and became sprawled face down on the ground, weight pinning down her body. Monet was frozen, as a cloud of foul breath invaded the back of her head.

  Terror filled her soul. “Please let me go,” she moaned. “You can have my purse.”

  A sinister chuckle followed her pronouncement. Then a male voice growled, “Did I say I wanted your money? Now shut up!”

  Monet felt her body being dragged into a clump of tall bushes outside the parking lot area. Please, Lord, don’t forsake me, she prayed. She tried to grab hold of the gold cross that always hung around her neck, but her shaking fingers couldn’t grasp the chain.

  Her attacker flipped her over like they were gymnasts performing in a tournament, and pinned her arms behind her back. Monet groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. She had no desire to see his face.

  Her lips moved as she began silently reciting the Twenty-Third Psalm. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the path of righteous for His namesake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; they rod and staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

  She could feel the material from her scrub pants scrapping across her skin like sandpaper, as her attacker tore the garment from her body. After he had his way with her, his fist smashed into the side of Monet’s head, rendering her unconscious. Then the deranged man hit her in the face over and over again.