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Authors: Jennyfer Browne

Tags: #amish romance, #sweet contemporary romance

Healing Faith

BOOK: Healing Faith
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Healing Faith

 

By Jennyfer Browne

 

 

Published by
Jennyfer Browne at Smashwords

 

Copyright
2013 Jennyfer
Browne

 

Smashwords
Edition

 

 

This ebook is
licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be
re-sold

or given away
to other people. If you would like to share this book with another
person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com
and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work
of this author.

The characters
and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to
real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by
the author.

Chapter 1

The bus rumbled along the highway, the mottled
landscape a ghostly blur under the late night moonlight. I wasn’t
concerned with what was outside as we traveled, but what I had left
behind. So many memories and so much pain that if I dared to sleep;
it would only bring on the nightmares that would surely leave me
panicking and then dumped off on the highway in the middle of
nowhere.

I shifted in my seat and tried to get more
comfortable, the bruises on my hips feeling a little tender from
sitting for so long. But I was used to the pain Sean caused. There
wasn’t a day that I didn’t feel some kind of discomfort. I frowned
at the notebook in my hand and leafed through it once more, the
proof of the pain there in black and white. I rubbed at my chest to
quell the unease I felt at running away and studied the journal
again, needing the proof to secure my decision to flee in the first
place. Pages upon pages of entries about my relationship with my
boyfriend sat in my lap.

Sean Miller was in every entry of my journal.

The good was few and far between.

The bad made me more resolute.

I hid the bruises on my arm from Dad today. Even if
it were warm out, Dad wouldn’t question the sweatshirt. It was what
I always wore to cover them.

Sean was late picking me up for the party. I guess it
was okay we didn’t go. My leg still hurt from where he kicked
it.

Sean brought flowers today. He was really sorry.

My finger is healing crooked. I don’t think anyone
noticed how swollen it was.

First time in the face. Dad believed the softball
excuse.

His touch repulses me. I will never like it.

I should have never said no. I should have just let
him do it. It’s not worth it anymore.

The black and blue faded, but what I had written over
the last year and a half reminded me again and again why I was on a
bus fleeing my home in California and traveling across country. My
only option it seemed was to run.

Get away. Save myself.

The anger in Sean’s black eyes had told me that this
would be the last time I ran from him if he ever found me.

I rubbed at the bruise on my hip again and looked
outside at the darkness in the window, seeing more than my
reflection staring back at me. I could still see him in my mind,
feel his hands on me, grabbing and trying to convince me that I
should just let him do it. I had let him wait long enough, he kept
saying. His friends sat there laughing, urging him on. I should
have let him. Instead I had kicked him and ran, hoping maybe this
time I might find the nerve to tell my father. Every time I tried
to confess to my father though, he was always in a rush. An
important city council meeting, or public speech engagement was
always more important.

No, my father was too absorbed in his political
career to notice his family.

It was his way of dealing with the death of his wife
and the reminder of her, which were my sister, Stacy and I. Many
times I think if we had died in the car accident with her, he would
have been able to manage his grief better. Instead we were a
reminder of his pain and he chose to ignore it. Ignore us. Stacy
intentionally applied to schools across country to get away and
make a clean break. I was left to finish school and pretend that
our home life was picture perfect, despite the tragedy.

When Sean and I started dating, my father couldn’t
have been happier. Sean was the perfect boyfriend, the son of my
father’s best friend and therefore a good match for me. I would be
taken care of, and my father could look forward to furthering his
career without the baggage of his family. The trouble was, with
Sean, my father turned a blind eye and because of that, I found
myself trapped in a relationship.

I moved to the last page of the journal, to the list
my sister suggested I write while waiting for the bus. It was a
short list of things I wanted that I couldn’t have if I stayed.

Safety. Purpose. Love. Family.

I had none of that while I stayed.

Sean never made me feel safe, more like guessing
which version of Jekyll and Hyde he would be when I saw him.
Purpose? My hopes and dreams were quashed when Sean refused to let
me go to San Francisco to study cooking. And I had no idea about
love. While my parents put on a public front of dedicated love, the
heated arguments at night that kept us up and huddled in our beds
provided proof that love had long since vanished between my mother
and father.

My sister’s words from my frantic call the night
before played in my head again.


Kate, you won’t ever get anywhere if you stay
there. You can come here, but you need to decide what it is you
really want to do with yourself. Come to Illinois. We’ll figure it
out once you’re away from him.”

Escape was my only option for a chance at happiness.
Perhaps what was ahead of me would be my salvation. I needed
something to hope for. Somehow, on the three-day bus ride to
Illinois, I would figure out how to make a life away from what I
knew. I had nothing to lose. I closed my eyes to that hope and
forced my mind to think of those things, rather than what I had
left behind.

~~~~

The bus jostled me awake roughly, the stench of
burning oil filling the cabin at an alarming rate. I bolted from my
seat, grabbing my backpack when I heard the driver hollering for us
to get off the bus. We tumbled out in a panic, unsure whether or
not it would explode at any moment. I squinted into the bright sun
and moved far from the smoking mass until I could breathe a little
easier. Looking around, we were surrounded by nothing but corn.

Miles and miles of corn.

I had no idea where we were, the bus route taking us
in and out of just about every state between California and
Illinois. All I could tell was that it was in the middle of
nowhere. I looked around for any sign of civilization but found
none. The corn rustled and hissed in the breeze, and I felt at any
moment some crazed killer would come barreling out of the tall
stalks with intent to kill us all. I rubbed at my burning eyes,
trying to pull myself together from the paranoid and stressed out
person that I had become.

The bus driver talked into his cell phone and was
waving his arms around for several minutes before he finally turned
to us, the heat of the early afternoon already turning his face a
glistening pink.

"All right, folks! Another bus is on its way from
Ottumwa. It'll be here in a few hours. There's a little town about
a mile or so back. If you all want, we can make our way back there
and the bus line will pay for lunch!" he announced.

I huffed and pulled my backpack a little higher onto
my shoulder. A mile wasn't much, but it was ninety plus degrees and
the afternoon sun was blazing down on us with no shade in sight. We
set out, and less than five minutes in I was helping the old lady
beside me with her bag so she could walk a little easier. It took
us about an hour to walk, and by the time we arrived, we were all
hot and thirsty.

The town we had converged upon wasn’t much; it had
one main street with only half a dozen storefronts and the one
diner beside a deserted gas station. The diner was overwhelmed with
us, being able to only handle about half of the bus occupants. I
stood outside with the other travelers, watching as a few cars
passed by, the drivers waving to anyone that they passed. But it
was the horse and buggies that travelled down the main street that
confused me. Sleek black buggies, with strong looking horses would
stop at the general store across from me, a man in a light colored
shirt and straw brim hat entering the store before coming back out,
hands laden with seed or something in large bags. The riders looked
like Amish people. But I was pretty sure we were in Iowa. There
weren't any Amish people in Iowa, right?

Who knew?

Iowa was full of corn and I was more than ready to
get on the road again. The town was quaint like some of the coastal
towns north of where I lived, but without the rocky beaches and
towering redwoods. The blistering sun beat down on me, making my
skin pink almost instantly. I had been used to the fog and coastal
temperatures. This place was nothing like my past. While it might
have been refreshing to stay someplace such as this town for my new
start, I had to continue on my way. I needed to get as many miles
away from Sean as I could.

Impatient standing around to wait for a seat in the
diner, I followed a couple of my bus mates across the street to the
small general store and bought a bottle of water and some
interesting looking corn cakes. I settled into one of the rocking
chairs on the front porch with a good view of the street out of
town. I figured if I could see the bus first, I could get a better
seat.

Texting my sister about the delay, I shook my head at
the lack of bars on my phone and wondered if she’d even get the
text. This little town was as far removed from modern conveniences
as I had ever seen. Tucked away in the quiet and far from the
hectic day-to-day dealings of politics and industry. It was
quaint.

I chewed on the corn cake thoughtfully, enjoying the
sweetness of it on my empty stomach. I was starving, having not
eaten since my first bus transfer in Sacramento and the cakes were
delicious. I was working on my second one when another horse and
buggy pulled up, this one with a back end full of fruits and
vegetables.

I watched as the man got out of the buggy, his
striking red hair shining under his straw hat. His beard was fairly
long, but his face looked quite young. He was maybe in his late
thirties or early forties. He looked a little like a young Santa
Claus, especially with his kind blue eyes as he regarded me when he
passed.

"Pleasant day to you," he said, his deep voice
friendly and warm, with a slight accent that made his words almost
melodic.

"Hi," I murmured, not sure how to address this odd
stranger.

The Amish looking man nodded, making his way back
into the store and leaving me to my corn cake. He passed by me
twice more, his arms laden with baskets of food. On the last pass,
he paused, his smile breaking out across his face again while he
regarded me.

"Are you enjoying your cakes?" he asked.

I looked down to find only a few crumbs left trailing
down my shirt and blushed.

"They were good, yes," I replied, embarrassed by him
taking notice of me.

His eyes brightened and he chuckled.

"I will make sure my wife learns of your enjoyment.
She made them. Pleasant day to you, child," he said as he tipped
his straw hat and walked back into the store.

I couldn’t remember the last time a total stranger
spoke with me, let alone in such a friendly and open manner. It
made me feel welcome, even though I knew I would never see the man
again. I glanced down the road once more, hopeful to see the bus
and be on my way. It had been almost two hours and the bus driver
had said it wouldn’t be long. Looking down the long expanse of
roadway, the road appeared deserted. I stood and stretched, ready
to step inside where it was cooler when I caught a reflection in
the corner of my eye. A car was coming down the road, shimmering in
the heat mirage.

A sleek and brilliant red Mustang, marred only by the
dust from travelling.

And as it neared, maybe a quarter mile from the city
limits, I heard it: the unmistakable muffler that made me tense in
fear. Sean was here, the nightmare coming to life as the car
rumbled towards the far end of town. Panic coursed through my body
while I searched around for somewhere to hide. Sean would surely
get out and look around to ask about me only to find out I was here
and stranded.

How had Sean found me? All the way to Iowa from
California? After all the bus transfers? Had my dad traced my
bankcard? I hadn’t used it since Sacramento, pulling out as much
cash as I thought I might need. But with Sean’s father a deputy
sheriff, it wouldn’t have been difficult to have him trace my money
trail.

BOOK: Healing Faith
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