Copyright Eva Marie Everson 2014
To read Chapters 11-Epilogue, see post below
To read Chapters 1-10, email Eva Marie at PenNhnd@aol.com
Chapter 68
For Amanda the next few hours were a blur. An ambulance
ride, emergency room doctors and nurses, being lifted onto a gurney and raced
toward the operating room; Overhead florescent lights…one…two…
three…whew…whew…whew….
“How many fingers am I holding up, Mrs. Rogers?”
“We’re going to give you something for pain, Mrs. Rogers…”
“Are you still with us, Mrs. Rogers?”
Days of pain and unknown, distorted faces looming over her,
“Mrs. Rogers? We’re changing your
dressing now.”
“Mrs.
Rogers, I need to take your blood pressure.”
“Mrs. Rogers?”
Amanda opened her eyes,
blinking through the sleep. She lay in a hospital bed. There were machines
around her. Tubes. A television hummed on the opposite wall.
She
turned her head. The muscles pulled and she prayed it wouldn’t fall off. Mark
slept in a chair next to her. “Mark?”
she whispered. Her throat was parched and her voice barely audible. “Mark?”
Mark’s eyes opened. He sprang out of the chair. “Honey?
Amanda?”
He leaned over the chrome
railing of the hospital bed. “Hold on,
baby. Let me call the nurse.”
Mark reached for the call button as Amanda whispered,
“Thirsty.”
A nurse walked in and Mark turned to her. “She’s thirsty,” he exclaimed. Tears welled
in his eyes.
“Well, then, let’s get her some ice chips to start with,
shall we?” The nurse walked over to the
bedside table, retrieved the Styrofoam pitcher and then briskly walked out of
the room.
“Don’t try to talk yet, honey,” Mark said as he brushed
Amanda’s hair from her face.
“Becky?” Amanda mouthed.
“Hold on, honey.”
The nurse returned. After placing the pitcher on the bedside table, she
pulled out a piece of ice and rubbed it along Amanda’s mouth, then slipped it between
her lips.
“Mmmm,” Amanda moaned.
“Take this,” the nurse said to Mark. “Keep doing this while
I call your wife’s doctor.” She offered a smile. “Looks like she’s finally back
with us.”
Mark lowered the railing and sat on the bed next to his
wife. A few ice chips later, Amanda swallowed and said, “Becky?”
“She’s fine.”
“Does she know?”
“Yes. Her mother and
Matt told her.”
“When?”
“The day after…my gosh, Amanda. I could
have lost you.”
Amanda shook her head.
“How is she?”
“She’s having a
difficult time with all this, but her mother—Patty—is going to get her some
counseling. Patty didn’t know, Amanda.
She never had a clue that her daughter had been stolen.”
“But Bob knew.”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“He and that woman, Gabrielle Cibrianne, were arrested for
attempted murder as well as a host of other charges. They’ve both posted bail and as far as I know
they’re staying at her apartment in Atlanta.”
“Vivian?”
Mark smiled. “Tough
as nails. A few cuts and bruises, but
she’ll be fine. She says she’s more damaged from you throwing her on the floor
than what Madison did to her.” He winked. “She is worried about you, though.”
Amanda closed her eyes. “Madison?”
Mark leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Madison is dead.”
Amanda let the fullness of what her husband had just told
her settle in. Over. All of it. Over. But that means … “Celeste?”
“Taking it very hard.
But the church and her friends will be there for her.”
Amanda began to shake.
Mark pulled the blanket up around Amanda’s chin. “It’s okay, honey.”
Amanda shook her head as a tear slipped down her
cheek. “No, you don’t understand…”
“What is it?”
She shook her head again.
“I’m so sorry…Will God forgive me?”
“For what, Amanda?
Tell me.”
“I can’t help it….” The tears were coming more rapidly.
“What?”
“I’m glad…glad that Harold Madison is dead.”
A week later Amanda sat in
the padded recliner of her hospital room, gazing around. Floral arrangements filled every table,
shelf, and the top of the air-conditioning unit. Several of the arrangements sent to her had
been “donated” to other patients and to the nurse’s section of each ward. Get Well cards—some store bought and others
hand-made--made a train around the wall of the room. A poster made by Brittany and Ryan dominated
the back of the door.
Get Well Soon, Mom!!
We love you and are so proud of you!
Brittany and Ryan.
Amanda read it for the umpteenth time and smiled as a faint
knock came to the door.
“Come in,” Amanda called out, much stronger than she had
been a week earlier.
The door opened slowly.
Amanda saw the arrangement of two-dozen pink roses before she saw the
gift-bearer.
“How beautiful,” she whispered.
“Where should I put them?” her guest asked.
Amanda pointed to a small table with a potted plant on
it. “Move the plant to the floor and
place them there.”
“How are you?” the woman asked, turning from the table.
“Better. Much
better. I…I don’t know what to call you.”
“I’m most comfortable with Dori. I hope that’s okay.”
Amanda smiled back and nodded. “Of course it is.”
Dori walked to the bed and sat on its edge. “They should have more chairs in these
rooms.”
Amanda laughed.
“Especially mine. I’ve had so
many visitors.”
Dori looked down, but only briefly. “I can imagine…being the pastor’s wife and
all. You’re something of a celebrity in
this town right now.”
Amanda took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry. Dori.”
Dori stood again, walked over to the window and looked
out. She waved to someone, then turned
back to Amanda. “Matt,” she said. “He’s
out there. In the parking lot. I asked him if I could come up alone. I wanted to see you…to ask you a question…or
two. To talk.”
Amanda braced herself.
“You want to know how I could have let all this happen.”
“All what?”
“The kidnapping…Harold Madison’s death…”
Dori grimaced. “No, of course not. We were only children.”
“Do you remember? Any of it?”
“Not really. Just
little things.”
“Like?”
Dori began to pace as she wrapped her arms around herself. “An oak tree—”
“Where you were counting.”
“Counting?”
“We were playing Hide and Seek.”
“Oh, yes. I heard
all about that, but I don’t remember it.”
Amanda nodded. “What
else?”
Dori stopped and tilted her head as she shook it. “A locket?”
Amanda brought her hands together. “Yes. I still have it.”
“Was it mine?”
“Yes.”
Dori nodded. “That’s
really all I remember. My doctor says
I’m not ready to remember the actual kidnapping. Matt has sent away for copies
of the police reports and, when I’m ready, my doctor and I will read over
them.”
Amanda was silent for a minute. “Do you remember your mother and father?”
“No.”
“I see.”
“They know about me, though. The police notified them and they’re flying
in tomorrow.”
“They haven’t come yet?”
Dori shook her head.
“I’ve asked them to wait. I need
time to…to process all this. I’m a little nervous,” she added.
“You’ll do all right,” Amanda said.
Dori walked over to the chair, knelt down before Amanda and
gathered her hands in her own. “Be with
me?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Amanda squeezed Dori’s hands. “Was that the question you
wanted to ask?”
“Yes.”
“Oh,
Becky,” she began to weep. “I’ll never let you go again. Never.”
Dori
reached up, wiped the tears from Amanda’s face, and then those that cascaded
down her own. “There’s something else I
wanted to tell you.”
Amanda
nodded in answer. She was ready to hear
anything.
“It’s
kind of a funny thing—“
“Will
it make me laugh?”
Dori
grinned. “Maybe. It will definitely make you smile.”
“I’m
ready.”
“I
found out the day of…the day you were shot and … all that …”
“Found
out what?”
“Isn’t
life funny? Guess what. I’m going to be
a mother.”
Epilogue
Epilogue
Celeste Madison answered the phone in the library on the
third ring. Before lifting the receiver
she glanced at the caller ID; the call came from Hillside Hospital in
Nashville.
"Hello, Teresa," she answered matter-of-factly.
"Kaci had a little boy about a half hour ago. Seven pounds, fourteen ounces."
Celeste smiled.
"Perfect. Everything all right?"
"Oh, yes. Ten
fingers. Ten toes. A perfect baby boy. There were no complications."
Celeste sat in the chair that had belonged to her
husband. He had conducted all the business
here and now it was her turn. She ran the slender fingers of her right hand
along the shiny patina of his desk. "I'll notify his new parents and call
you soon with an update as to the meeting with them."
There was a break of silence. Then: "I haven't told Kaci…about Mr.
Madison."
Celeste's mouth formed a thin line. "Why don't you take Kaci on a special
vacation…say to Jamaica? If she should
catch the news on cable or in the papers…"
"I'll take care of it."
"Very good.
Just send me the receipts."
Celeste stood, smoothed the faint wrinkles from her linen slacks.
"Mrs. Madison, may I ask---"
"Don't worry, Teresa," Celeste interrupted,
knowing full well where the question was heading. "As far as anyone's concerned, I'm the
grieving and shocked widow. Not only is
my husband dead, he was running a black market adoption agency that I was
completely oblivious to. I've supplied
the FBI with the old files that were kept in the office and a few from the
house. Everything else is as it always
has been. Mr. Green's clients are safe
and so are you. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. No
looking back, then. Business as
usual."
"Yes, ma'am.
Business as usual."
Did you enjoy The Abduction of Becky Potter? You can read more of Eva Marie's work by clicking on the photo of her book's covers to the right.
HOW MANY WORDS DO YOU NEED?
So here's the story.
I've read all the entries ... great job, everyone.
Years ago--like, many, many years ago--my family and I were in the throes of very active lives. Socially. Within our church family. Within the civic community. We left not too many hours in the day or the week or even the month for just relaxing.
Then, one day, mysteriously, the phone stopped ringing. Calls I made were not returned. Hurt and perplexed, I went through my days as always--going to work, taking care of my kids, loving my husband. But my friends were no where to be found. 
2. Go to your favorite walk-in bookstore or online bookstore and purchase The Road to Testament. If you've already read the book, you are a third of the way there.
I told the fabulous award-winning author Davis Bunn one afternoon that I enjoy walking through cemeteries. He laughed, his eyes dancing, and said, "Eva Marie, best not to tell too many people that." 
The inside of the church was not what I’d expected. The stonework and
arches gave the sanctuary a gothic appearance. Short pews—hard and shiny with
age—formed rows of moderate length. The end of each pew had been cut high and
carved like rolled scrolls. A center aisle, carpeted in red, led to a prayer
altar of dark wood. Beyond it, an ornate lectern, and beyond that a
floor-to-ceiling stained glass window. On both sides of the sanctuary, dimly
lit by antique brass chandeliers, arched stained glass windows. Some depicted
saints such as John, Peter, Paul, Francis. Others shared stories our faith is
established upon—Moses and the Hebrew children crossing the 
Will shook his hand and released it before turning to me. “Rob, Ashlynne
Rothschild. She’s from 
“Right here,” he said, pointing to the ground, “is I noticed the first
stone.” 
Gold fish? I don't remember ...
How delightful that, years ago during my first trip to Decker Ranch, I met "Buddy" and "Sis" as Sharon calls them (because this is not their real names). During my trip to the ranch and to that little paradise area of God's country called Rutherford County, North Carolina, Buddy and Sis came to see me every morning while I took a walk or when I sat in the Adirondack chairs reading my devotions.
I continued to rub Kelsey’s head,
scratching behind her ears. I laid my head back against the glossy slats of the
chair and closed my eyes. “Ah, Sis,” I said. “Do you know what I’d be doing
right now if I were back in 
I made a hard left off the asphalt road into the rutted narrow driveway,
which disappeared under a canopy of skinny-trunked, green leafy trees. My car
rocked back and forth as it tilted upward, upward, past deep ravines on both
sides. I crossed a manmade stone bridge built over a lazy stream flowing atop glossy
river rocks. Just as I despaired my car would simply topple backward and I’d be
found upside down in the little creek, the landscape cleared. A sloping yard
led to a white-brick house on one side and a shimmering blue swimming pool and
pool house on the other.
