A Child Shall Lead Them. Carole Page Gift
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with lots of life and laughter again.”
As they ate, Brianna gave Andrew several curious glances, as if she had something to say but didn’t know quite how to say it.
“What is it, Bree?” Andrew prompted. “Got something on your mind?”
Bree twirled a spaghetti strand on her fork. “I was just thinking, Daddy…”
“Thinking?” He chuckled knowingly. “Why does that sound like you’re about to spring a momentous announcement on me?”
“She’s probably bringing home another stray animal,” said Frannie lightly. “What is it this time, Bree? A wounded platypus? A homeless carrier pigeon? A dispossessed gopher?”
Bree scowled. “Don’t make fun of me, Fran. I’m serious.”
“Serious?” Andrew echoed guardedly. “How serious?”
“Just a little bit serious,” Bree said evasively.
Andrew looked her square in the eye. “Tell me, what are you cooking up, my darling daughter?”
“Nothing, Daddy. It’s just…this house has been so empty since Cassie moved out. All three of us have been feeling lonely, restless, at loose ends. It just doesn’t feel right, all these rooms with nobody to fill them.”
“And just who do you have in mind…to fill these rooms?” asked Andrew, helping himself to the garlic bread.
“Nobody in particular,” said Bree, “except maybe…”
“You might as well tell us,” said Frannie. “Just say it, and we’ll tell you if it’s one of your crazy, impossible ideas.”
Bree drew in a sharp breath. “There’s a girl I’ve been counseling at the clinic—”
“Oh, no!” cried Frannie. “Last time it was a woman with a bunch of rowdy kids. They invaded the sunroom, helped themselves to my paint and pelted one another with wet clay. They made my bust of Cicero look like Donald Duck! In ten minutes they nearly destroyed my entire art studio.”
“That was an unfortunate incident,” Bree acknowledged in a regretful voice. “But this client has no children…yet.”
“Yet?” quizzed Andrew. “Yet, as in…?”
“Three months.”
“She’s three months pregnant?” asked Frannie.
“No, her baby is due in three months.”
“What’s her story?” asked Andrew. “Her husband desert her?”
“Not exactly,” said Bree. “She’s a teenager. Almost nineteen. Her boyfriend broke up with her when he found out about the pregnancy, and it appears her parents want nothing to do with her. She’s all alone in the world…and she won’t admit it, but I know she’s scared. You should see her, Daddy. Trying to act like it’s no big deal when her world’s caving in. She needs a place to stay where she feels loved and accepted.”
Frannie poked at her spaghetti. “Can’t she stay at the shelter, Bree?”
“It’s mainly for battered wives. Besides, it’s full.”
Andrew cleared his throat. “Of course, the girl can stay here…if you think this is the place for her, Bree.”
“I do, Daddy.” Bree’s voice rose with excitement. “I really feel I can help her. We can help her. She may act blasé, even flippant at times, but I know she’s hurting inside. She thinks everyone has condemned her.”
“Well, then, let’s pray we can show her the love of God.”
“And she needs a job,” said Bree. “Something to make her feel better about herself.”
Frannie shook her head. “Who’s going to hire a woman about to give birth?”
“I thought of that,” said Bree. “That’s why I was thinking that maybe we could—”
Andrew smiled grimly. “Oh, oh, I’m not sure I like that look in your eyes, daughter.”
“But, Daddy, it’ll be perfect. I’ve got it all figured out. Marnie can work for you.”
“Marnie?”
“That’s her name. Marnie Smith—although I think she made up the Smith part.”
“What do you mean, she can work for me? I already have a secretary. You mean, work at the church?”
“No, Daddy. She can work right here. You’re always saying you wish you had someone here at home to help with clerical work—correspondence, filing, research for your sermons. If she’s staying here, anyway, she’ll have time on her hands, waiting for her baby to come. She can earn money to give herself and her baby a fresh start. Please say you’ll give her a chance.”
Andrew reached across the table and patted his daughter’s hand. “You win, dumpling. Have I ever said no when you’ve come home with one of your pet projects, your abandoned critters, your lost causes? Tell your young friend she has a home with us.”
But even as Andrew said the words, a niggling worry crept in. He had an uneasy feeling that this needy young girl might change their lives in more ways than any of them expected.
Chapter Two
Brianna brought Marnie home the next day, a balmy, late-June Saturday. The moment Marnie stepped inside the Rowlands’ house, she did a double take. “Wow!” she said with grudging admiration. “This is awesome. Not glitzy, like a rich person’s pad, but warm and homey. Like that retro Ozzie and Harriet stuff. A real home.”
“Thanks,” said Bree. “I think.”
“I like it,” Marnie went on, clutching a leather satchel in one hand and a canvas bag in the other. Tall and slender, with a coltish energy and grace, she looked like an ordinary teenager in her tank top and oversize bib overalls. No one would have guessed she was over six months pregnant.
“We can take your things directly up to your room, if you like,” said Bree, nodding toward the stairs.
“No, I’ll just set them here for now.” Marnie dropped her belongings beside the staircase and ambled across the entryway, her stacked sandals clicking on the marble floor. “This place beats some dreary women’s shelter.” She drifted into the living room and gazed around at the overstuffed sofa and chairs, the oak furniture, and the bay windows letting in sunlight. They could see a profusion of color from the rosebushes lining the front yard.
Marnie flashed a lopsided smile. She had an oval face with sharp features—a nose too pointed, lips too full, teeth a bit too large. Her long, umber-brown hair looked a bit bedraggled, as if she had got up in the morning and absently smoothed it back from her forehead with her hands. Marnie’s eyes—her most striking feature—were large, wide-set, shadowed at the corners, and a light spring-water blue. They seemed ageless, fathomless, melancholy, yet riveting, as if they were looking beyond the surface at something no one else could see.
“You sure your dad doesn’t mind putting me up for a few months?” she asked in an offhand voice that failed to hide an undercurrent of anxiety.
“I’m sure,” said Bree. “You stay as long as you need to.”
Marnie managed a hard-edged chuckle. “I guess him being a minister makes him want to do nice things for people, like taking in the poor and homeless…and pregnant.”
“He’s a neat guy,” said Bree. “Funny and warm and caring. You’ll like him.”
The two crossed the living room to the kitchen. It was roomy, with a sunny breakfast nook and garden window overlooking a sprawling backyard festooned with snow-white calla lilies, bright orange birds of paradise, pink azaleas in porcelain Ming pots, bougainvillea bushes, and a variety of tropical