| BOOKS FIRST CHAPTERS |
| DEATH BY CANDLELIGHT |
ISBN 1-59088-133-8 Electronic
1-59088-901-0 Print
By Billie A Williams
Family dynamics have a far reaching affect. Wealth such as that of Randolph Ord III and poverty like that of his wife, and Danielle’s family show no
favorites when a family unit ceases to function. Danielle Ord watched her parents play out their roles in an abusive marriage; she exists in a
relationship fueled by alcohol and drug abuse which began as rebellion. The abused wife is ready to resort to an elaborate scheme and at the same
time Ruth Ord, the sister, has her own designs. When the two women’s paths cross, their plans are altered. But Randolph Ord III still turns up dead.
The only mystery—who among the many that had reasons to see him dead, actually did it?
It is now up to detective Sandy March to find the real killer. Is his judgment being compromised by the growing attraction he feels toward the newly
widowed Danielle Ord? Both women have motive and opportunity; but a third figure emerges with ties to organized crime.
1-59088-901-0 Print
By Billie A Williams
Family dynamics have a far reaching affect. Wealth such as that of Randolph Ord III and poverty like that of his wife, and Danielle’s family show no
favorites when a family unit ceases to function. Danielle Ord watched her parents play out their roles in an abusive marriage; she exists in a
relationship fueled by alcohol and drug abuse which began as rebellion. The abused wife is ready to resort to an elaborate scheme and at the same
time Ruth Ord, the sister, has her own designs. When the two women’s paths cross, their plans are altered. But Randolph Ord III still turns up dead.
The only mystery—who among the many that had reasons to see him dead, actually did it?
It is now up to detective Sandy March to find the real killer. Is his judgment being compromised by the growing attraction he feels toward the newly
widowed Danielle Ord? Both women have motive and opportunity; but a third figure emerges with ties to organized crime.
~ Death By Candlelight
~ISBN 1-59088-133-8 (electronic) 1-59088-901-0 (print)
Chapter One
"Bitch."
Danielle heard the profanity before she felt the blow to the back of her head, which knocked her sideways off her chair. Hot wax spilled with her,
pouring across her arm and coating everything from table to floor like lava flowing from a volcano. With a brutal stroke of his arm, Randy swept the
table clear of all her candles and supplies. The crash was deafening and heightened her pain. Randy didn’t wait for her to recover. He grabbed her
by one arm, picking her up like a
pile of dirty rags. She landed with a thud against the doorframe. Pain shot up her side. She wouldn’t scream. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t give
him the satisfaction. She glared at Randy.
"Next time I tell you to go get beer for my friends, you jump, understand?" Randy roared. He smashed the back of his hand across her face. "Clean
up this fucking mess and you before I get back or there will be hell to pay," he said, staggering out of the room. "You and your damn candles, that’s
all
you think about. I’m sick of it."
The kitchen door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows. Tears streamed down her face as she lay in a heap where she had fallen. Her body
throbbed with pain. The hot wax on her arm had cooled to a warm paste but the burning
sensation intensified. She pulled herself into a sitting position and took stock of all the parts where she hurt. Nothing felt broken, not this time
anyway. She crawled over to where the wax for her latest batch of candles puddled on the
bright red and gray tiles of the craft room floor. Still in a dazed half-conscious state of mind, she began peeling and scooping wax back into the
kettle and turned off the hot plate. Tears clouded her vision. "Where have all the flowers
gone . . . " she began singing in a quiet bird-like voice. Running out to get beer for him and his cronies disgusted her. She hoped ignoring him
would work, hoped that everyone would leave and he would pass out. This latest party was running into the third day. How long can he last? Usually
after he woke up from an extended drunk, Randy would be apologetic
and doting, loving her as though he meant it. She had fallen in love with that Randy. No such luck this time, this time he seemed to gain energy from
the violence against her. There was a silence when all Randy’s friends left; the hollow silence, now that Randy had left too, seemed ominous. "I
should have known better," she sobbed, tears spattering in the soft wax coating the floor.
Outside, the Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad Train moaned with the familiar cry like the howl of a gray wolf that searched for its mate. It echoed
Danielle’s pain. "Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away..." The words and music crashed
through her mind flooding her thoughts with memories. The loving relationship she once enjoyed had now turned dark and sinister. He used to be
fun. Now, she no longer knew the man she was living with. He was increasingly more violent. Anything would trip his hair trigger temper and set him
off. How long will it be before he kills me? The thought made her shudder. Danielle knew Randy could be back in an hour if he went to the Billy Goat
Saloon where all the bikers hung out or he could take off on his Harley and be gone for days. She never knew for sure when he left like this. They
had only been together a year the first time he left and she had missed him with a passion. Worried sick about him for four days, she’d tortured
herself with guilt and what ifs, waiting for him to return. When he finally did come home, he had found her waiting for him eager to forget the fight
that had caused him to slap her around. Later he apologized and said he would never do it again. She had believed him. After all, he had not really
beaten her, at least not that time; he had just slapped her and shoved her down. As she thought about the accelerating violence, the time he broke
her arm seemed long ago. That had scared her. He did take her to the emergency room the next day when he was sober. "Tell them you fell down
the stairs," he said. The emergency room personnel were not inclined to believe that story and she had to do some tall talking to convince them it
was nothing more than a clumsy accident. Maybe that time it was her fault, if she hadn’t made him mad, maybe that wouldn’t have happened. She
shouldn’t have nagged him about getting a job. That time when she asked, he told her he had gone for a ride to sort things out. "What did that
mean?" He told her to keep her nose out of his business. She never asked again. Now, as her body ached with pain, remembering his apologies
after each new outburst of violence, she wondered if his promise to never do it again meant the beating or the running away. The answer was all too
clear recently.
The day she met him he came into the Office Bar & Grill wearing faded blue jeans and a faded blue chambray work shirt. His deep brown hair and
mahogany brown eyes swept her off her feet. He was her first encounter with a cowboy, Stetson hat, boots and all. She got shivers just thinking
about the tall, lean cowboy with the slow drawl and easy manner. His smile caused butterflies in her stomach or perhaps lower. And it still did. After
her shower, Danielle laid across the bed to rest her aching body. She started to dream almost immediately. She was in a dark tall house that
seemed sandwiched between the other houses in a dusty coal town. Her father didn’t have a job and the family was barely surviving. Sometime
early in the morning, she awoke to the sound of her parents fighting again. She heard her mother scream and rushed into their bedroom. Sunlight
snuck red through the cheap gauze curtains. Traffic grumbled outside on the street. Danielle heard the short agitated blasts of the coal train whistle
as it rumbled along the tracks a block away. The windows rattled with its passing. She hated the train that disturbed their foundation four times a
day. Its angry wail and dirty puffs of coal dust turned the snow gritty black within hours of falling pristine white. The train seemed to punctuate the
black trouble of their lives here. Father was in bed; anger and hate darkened his already black eyes. Her mother was on the floor holding the back
of her head, tears streamed down her face. Her hair was disheveled, her face ashen. Clothes tossed on a chair beside the bed looked like a
deflated scarecrow. The bed covers, dragged to the floor, surrounded mother’s thin frame.
"Get out, get out of this room. You don’t belong in here." Her father snarled at her.
"It’s okay honey. Go on. I’m okay," mother said
"She’d be fine if she got her lazy ass out of bed and got some breakfast. She’s nothing but a lazy bitch," her father said throwing a pillow at her
mother.
"Leave her out of this," her mother retorted and then cowered as he raised a boot to throw.
She shivered with fear for her mother. Danielle woke up sweating and hating herself for being weak like her mother.
The dream was from years ago. It seemed like forever since she had last seen her parents. Things hadn’t always been like that. After they moved
again things got better. When her father wasn’t drinking things were pretty normal. She could
still see her father’s brown/black eyes, how they grew intensely black when he was angry. It was such a contrast to her blue-eyed, blonde mother.
They made a great couple. His drinking finally killed him at the age of fifty-five. Her mother had
died a few months later. Danielle guessed her mother couldn’t live without her father. Their relationship had been stormy but they always loved as
passionately as they fought. She missed her mother. She needed her advice. She needed her
companionship. There was no one to tell her secrets to anymore. Certainly, no one she could tell about Randy and his tirades.
~ISBN 1-59088-133-8 (electronic) 1-59088-901-0 (print)
Chapter One
"Bitch."
Danielle heard the profanity before she felt the blow to the back of her head, which knocked her sideways off her chair. Hot wax spilled with her,
pouring across her arm and coating everything from table to floor like lava flowing from a volcano. With a brutal stroke of his arm, Randy swept the
table clear of all her candles and supplies. The crash was deafening and heightened her pain. Randy didn’t wait for her to recover. He grabbed her
by one arm, picking her up like a
pile of dirty rags. She landed with a thud against the doorframe. Pain shot up her side. She wouldn’t scream. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t give
him the satisfaction. She glared at Randy.
"Next time I tell you to go get beer for my friends, you jump, understand?" Randy roared. He smashed the back of his hand across her face. "Clean
up this fucking mess and you before I get back or there will be hell to pay," he said, staggering out of the room. "You and your damn candles, that’s
all
you think about. I’m sick of it."
The kitchen door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows. Tears streamed down her face as she lay in a heap where she had fallen. Her body
throbbed with pain. The hot wax on her arm had cooled to a warm paste but the burning
sensation intensified. She pulled herself into a sitting position and took stock of all the parts where she hurt. Nothing felt broken, not this time
anyway. She crawled over to where the wax for her latest batch of candles puddled on the
bright red and gray tiles of the craft room floor. Still in a dazed half-conscious state of mind, she began peeling and scooping wax back into the
kettle and turned off the hot plate. Tears clouded her vision. "Where have all the flowers
gone . . . " she began singing in a quiet bird-like voice. Running out to get beer for him and his cronies disgusted her. She hoped ignoring him
would work, hoped that everyone would leave and he would pass out. This latest party was running into the third day. How long can he last? Usually
after he woke up from an extended drunk, Randy would be apologetic
and doting, loving her as though he meant it. She had fallen in love with that Randy. No such luck this time, this time he seemed to gain energy from
the violence against her. There was a silence when all Randy’s friends left; the hollow silence, now that Randy had left too, seemed ominous. "I
should have known better," she sobbed, tears spattering in the soft wax coating the floor.
Outside, the Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad Train moaned with the familiar cry like the howl of a gray wolf that searched for its mate. It echoed
Danielle’s pain. "Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away..." The words and music crashed
through her mind flooding her thoughts with memories. The loving relationship she once enjoyed had now turned dark and sinister. He used to be
fun. Now, she no longer knew the man she was living with. He was increasingly more violent. Anything would trip his hair trigger temper and set him
off. How long will it be before he kills me? The thought made her shudder. Danielle knew Randy could be back in an hour if he went to the Billy Goat
Saloon where all the bikers hung out or he could take off on his Harley and be gone for days. She never knew for sure when he left like this. They
had only been together a year the first time he left and she had missed him with a passion. Worried sick about him for four days, she’d tortured
herself with guilt and what ifs, waiting for him to return. When he finally did come home, he had found her waiting for him eager to forget the fight
that had caused him to slap her around. Later he apologized and said he would never do it again. She had believed him. After all, he had not really
beaten her, at least not that time; he had just slapped her and shoved her down. As she thought about the accelerating violence, the time he broke
her arm seemed long ago. That had scared her. He did take her to the emergency room the next day when he was sober. "Tell them you fell down
the stairs," he said. The emergency room personnel were not inclined to believe that story and she had to do some tall talking to convince them it
was nothing more than a clumsy accident. Maybe that time it was her fault, if she hadn’t made him mad, maybe that wouldn’t have happened. She
shouldn’t have nagged him about getting a job. That time when she asked, he told her he had gone for a ride to sort things out. "What did that
mean?" He told her to keep her nose out of his business. She never asked again. Now, as her body ached with pain, remembering his apologies
after each new outburst of violence, she wondered if his promise to never do it again meant the beating or the running away. The answer was all too
clear recently.
The day she met him he came into the Office Bar & Grill wearing faded blue jeans and a faded blue chambray work shirt. His deep brown hair and
mahogany brown eyes swept her off her feet. He was her first encounter with a cowboy, Stetson hat, boots and all. She got shivers just thinking
about the tall, lean cowboy with the slow drawl and easy manner. His smile caused butterflies in her stomach or perhaps lower. And it still did. After
her shower, Danielle laid across the bed to rest her aching body. She started to dream almost immediately. She was in a dark tall house that
seemed sandwiched between the other houses in a dusty coal town. Her father didn’t have a job and the family was barely surviving. Sometime
early in the morning, she awoke to the sound of her parents fighting again. She heard her mother scream and rushed into their bedroom. Sunlight
snuck red through the cheap gauze curtains. Traffic grumbled outside on the street. Danielle heard the short agitated blasts of the coal train whistle
as it rumbled along the tracks a block away. The windows rattled with its passing. She hated the train that disturbed their foundation four times a
day. Its angry wail and dirty puffs of coal dust turned the snow gritty black within hours of falling pristine white. The train seemed to punctuate the
black trouble of their lives here. Father was in bed; anger and hate darkened his already black eyes. Her mother was on the floor holding the back
of her head, tears streamed down her face. Her hair was disheveled, her face ashen. Clothes tossed on a chair beside the bed looked like a
deflated scarecrow. The bed covers, dragged to the floor, surrounded mother’s thin frame.
"Get out, get out of this room. You don’t belong in here." Her father snarled at her.
"It’s okay honey. Go on. I’m okay," mother said
"She’d be fine if she got her lazy ass out of bed and got some breakfast. She’s nothing but a lazy bitch," her father said throwing a pillow at her
mother.
"Leave her out of this," her mother retorted and then cowered as he raised a boot to throw.
She shivered with fear for her mother. Danielle woke up sweating and hating herself for being weak like her mother.
The dream was from years ago. It seemed like forever since she had last seen her parents. Things hadn’t always been like that. After they moved
again things got better. When her father wasn’t drinking things were pretty normal. She could
still see her father’s brown/black eyes, how they grew intensely black when he was angry. It was such a contrast to her blue-eyed, blonde mother.
They made a great couple. His drinking finally killed him at the age of fifty-five. Her mother had
died a few months later. Danielle guessed her mother couldn’t live without her father. Their relationship had been stormy but they always loved as
passionately as they fought. She missed her mother. She needed her advice. She needed her
companionship. There was no one to tell her secrets to anymore. Certainly, no one she could tell about Randy and his tirades.
| CANDLELIGHT AND SHADOWS |
Candlelight and Shadows -
By Billie A Williams
ISBN 1-59088-364-0 (electronic)
ISBN 1-59088-676-3 (Print)
The future looks bleak; Danielle's husband murdered; heart trouble in her premature infant son, David, forces her to
turn to the senior Ords for financial help. A revengeful serial killer stalks, threatens Danielle, and murders anyone
connected to the Ords; then kidnaps the infant. Can Detective March save the people he loves?
Happiness eludes Danielle. Drugs murdered her husband, an explosion murdered her best friend. Can it get any worse?
When her critically ill, premature son is kidnapped terror swallows her. She's afraid to ask what's next?
By Billie A Williams
ISBN 1-59088-364-0 (electronic)
ISBN 1-59088-676-3 (Print)
The future looks bleak; Danielle's husband murdered; heart trouble in her premature infant son, David, forces her to
turn to the senior Ords for financial help. A revengeful serial killer stalks, threatens Danielle, and murders anyone
connected to the Ords; then kidnaps the infant. Can Detective March save the people he loves?
Happiness eludes Danielle. Drugs murdered her husband, an explosion murdered her best friend. Can it get any worse?
When her critically ill, premature son is kidnapped terror swallows her. She's afraid to ask what's next?
CHAPTER ONE
Danielle pushed the button to move the hospital bed into a sitting position. She could not shake the events of the past month from her mind. How
could she be a widow, she had been married hardly three months? Everything had happened so fast. Randy murdered in his bed. His sister Ruth
committing suicide after police found evidence that she contracted an organized crime figure to murder her brother. However, she did not commit
suicide until her two attempts on Danielle’s life had failed. If it wasn’t for Sandy March and JC’s support, Danielle felt she never could have dealt with
it all.
“Thank God I didn’t lose the baby,” she said caressing her bulging stomach. “You don’t have your daddy, but you have me, sweetheart.”
“How is our little mother doing today?” the nurse said reaching for Danielle’s arm to put the blood pressure cuff on to monitor her blood pressure as
she smiled.
“I’m good,” Danielle, said watching the sleeve swell as it squeezed her arm. Why did they always have to pinch it until it hurt before they stopped?
she thought, glancing away focusing on the sunshine outside the window. The bright sunshine belied the dark cloud inside her that refused to lift.
The stethoscope felt cold as the nurse slid it onto her chest to listen to her heart. Then she wrote on her chart and moved to her abdomen and,
raising her hospital gown, she placed the cold, round shape on Danielle’s tummy and listened.
Danielle saw a brief scowl cross the nurse’s face. Then she moved the stethoscope and listened again, and again. She put Danielle’s gown back
down and pulled up the covers over her.
“You rest now. If you need anything, ring the buzzer. Positively do not get out of this bed. The doctor will be in to see you shortly,” she said giving
Danielle a half smile and replacing the chart in the hanger at the end of her bed.
Danielle wished she could get the chart and look at it. What had the nurse written? What had bothered her about the baby when she listened
through her stethoscope? Regardless, what good would it do to get the chart, she probably couldn’t understand it anyway.
The concerned look on the nurse’s face bothered her. Was there something wrong with the baby?
An orderly brought in her breakfast tray. The silver covered bowl reflected her face in its curvature, distorted as she felt her life was at the moment.
“Here you go. Eat and enjoy,” the dark skinned woman smiled cheerfully as she set up Danielle’s tray.
Danielle didn’t feel much like eating. She was sick to her stomach. Afraid if she ate any thing she would vomit, but it wasn’t like morning sickness—it
was more like the dread hanging over her since all this began was filling her stomach with poison. The two yellow eyes of the eggs stared up at her
with the runny clear membrane around the yolk. Undercooked yolks reminded her of the rheumy eyes of a wino that slept in the alley behind The
Office Bar & Grill where she worked—used to work, she corrected herself. She couldn’t go back there anymore, not after all that had happened.
Even if she wasn’t six months pregnant, she couldn’t work there anymore. She would never be able to go out into that alley without thinking about
that car. Its headlights like angry dragon eyes, the grill turned monster tusks and teeth; she shuddered as her mind relived the terrifying roar of the
engine. The shattering clang of garbage cans and lids echoing off the building walls as it struck them and her. She could hear her own bones snap
and the excruciating pain whip through her body before she lost consciousness, lying on the cold black top and gravel of the alley.
She rubbed her stomach and the baby rolled over at her touch. “Thank you, Lord,” she said as tears trickled down her cheeks.
Danielle drank her orange juice and nibbled on the dry wheat toast. She needed to eat for the baby’s sake she scolded herself, if not her own sake.
Getting her strength back so that she could get out of the hospital and make a life for herself without Randy was paramount on her to do list. She
tried to swallow the lump in her throat. How would she raise this child on her own? There were options she realized, but none of them appealed to
her. One thing for certain, Beatrice Ord was not going to get her baby. She would do whatever it took to keep that from happening.
She couldn’t bring herself to take JC up on her offer to live with her. That would be an imposition on her dear friend. No, JC had already done
enough for her. She would stay there only long enough to find a place of her own.
Dear sweet Sandy March. He was more than willing to keep Danielle and her child. She couldn’t do that either. Committing to another relationship so
close upon the heels of the botched up marriage with Randy was more than she was ready to consider at this point. Moving in with Sandy would be
taking advantage of a warm, wonderful man. She wasn’t about to do that. Using someone for her own convenience, no matter how agreeable they
were to it, was not something she could allow herself to do. No matter what, she would some how see to it that she and her child survived.
Dr. Lyons picked up Danielle’s chart. His eyebrows furrowed into a straight, thin line meeting at the bridge of his long, narrow nose. He looked over
his half spectacles at Danielle. “Well, missy. Let’s give a listen to the little fellow,” he said pulling up her hospital gown to expose her rotund belly.
The unpleasantly cold stethoscope made her insides knot—or was it the look of concern on his face that made her stomach knot apprehensively?
He listened carefully, moving the stethoscope and prodding her stomach with his free hand.
“What is it, Dr. Lyons?” Danielle asked, her voice quivered and weak, barely audible.
“Not sure that it’s anything. I’m checking because the nurse was concerned. We probably should do an X-ray. Would you mind?” Dr Lyons asked.
Danielle was sure the question was merely rhetorical. Why would she say no? Moreover, if she did, would it matter? She was as concerned for her
son’s welfare as the good doctor was. She nodded her agreement as Dr. Lyons put her gown down and covered her up with the blanket.
He looked at her long and hard as though gauging what he should tell her. “The baby’s heart seems weak. We want to be sure he isn’t having some
other difficulty as well,” he said finally.
“What other difficulty?” Terror squeezed Danielle’s heart. She couldn’t bear the thought of loosing the baby, too, after all she and he had been
through recently.
“Don’t you worry. We need to check. If there is something wrong, the sooner we know the better your baby’s chances are. I will schedule the X-rays
for this afternoon,” he said replacing her chart in its holder.
Danielle let the tears flow as she lay back on the pillow. Thoughts raced through her head, thoughts about the baby, thoughts about Randy and
those thoughts that silently wished her mother could somehow reach out and take her hand to walk her through all this.
“Hi,” JC’s cheery voice pulled her from the nightmare of self-pity that was swallowing her.
She tried to hide the tears from JC, but when JC hugged her, she lost control and began sobbing uncontrollably.
“What is it Dani, the baby? He’s okay isn’t he? You’re okay, aren’t you? What?” JC hugged Danielle harder then pushed her away to look into her
eyes.
JC’s staccato questions riveted by her deep dark eyes stabbed at Danielle “They need to do X-rays. Dr. Lyons thinks he’s in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“He didn’t say. Something about his heartbeat I’m sure, because both he and the nurse got a funny look on their faces when they listened to him
through the stethoscope.”
She hugged Danielle and patted her back. “Now you know better than to yield to worrying over something you can’t control. They can do marvelous
things with our new technology nowadays. He will be fine. Know that in your deepest mother’s heart.”
“If wishes were horses...” Danielle said letting the thought trickle away.
“I’ll be here for you. You know that.” JC said, holding her friend and letting her cry her fears away on her shoulder.
Beatrice Ord flounced into the room with a huge bouquet of flowers in a crystal vase. “My dear girl, you look dreadful. Whatever is the matter?” she
said giving JC a ‘wish you would dissolve into thin air’ look. Putting the vase on the nightstand, she brushed Danielle’s forehead with a kiss.
“They are going to take X-rays of the baby. Dr. Lyons is worried that something’s wrong,” she said fighting back more tears.
“There can’t possibly be anything wrong with my grandson. We’ll fly in some specialists in—”
She didn’t get to finish as Danielle held up her hand. “Stop, Beatrice. I can’t afford specialists and we don’t even know if there’s a problem yet. Let
Dr. Lyons do his diagnosis first.”
Beatrice Ord backed off slightly at Danielle’s determination. “He better be careful. He knows he’s dealing with an Ord child,” she shot in JC’s
direction as though it was her doing. She avoided Danielle’s glare.
“We won’t know anything until after the X-rays,” Danielle said. “No point in going crazy until there is a reason to.”
“Humph,” Beatrice turned abruptly and headed toward the door. Then she turned around and marched back to Danielle’s side. She reached in her
oversized handbag, pulled out a box, and laid it on Danielle’s stomach. “Do you need anything dear? Reading material, decent food, anything at all?
Oh, here, something to cover your Mother-to-be body better than that ugly generic hospital gown.”
Danielle opened the box. A beautiful powder blue nightgown and duster and small bottle of perfume were inside. A light scent of Jasmine drifted up
from the box. She pulled them out of the box; the luxurious softness of the gown caressed her hands and brushed her arm. “Thank you, Beatrice.
They re beautiful, but you shouldn’t have.”
“Nonsense, no Ord should be laying in a hospital bed in the dowdy rags they supply.” She turned to leave. “I’ll be back later. Be sure to call and let
me know what Dr Lyons—is that his name? Well, whatever, keep me informed.” She bussed Danielle’s cheek again with a kiss and flounced out the
door.
JC chuckled. “Wonder if she parked her broom in the hallway or out in the parking lot.”
“She means well,” Danielle said, not feeling the least bit congenial toward the overbearing woman.
“No, she means to have whatever she wants, her way, in her time, at all costs,” JC said.
“I don’t like her any better than you do, JC, but she is Randy’s mother and the child’s only grandmother.”
Speaking of ‘the child’ as you say—a name—what’s our little boy’s name going to be?” JC asked.
Danielle smiled. She had a list of names as long as her arm, none of which seemed appropriate. “How can you begin to give another human being a
name that would stick with him or her the rest of his or her life, sight unseen? How do you know who they are before you see them? That is a really
tough question. I’m sure Beatrice wants him to be Randolph the IV,” Danielle said watching her friend grimace.
“Aargh,” JC growled. “Don’t you dare.”
“Well, I really have come across one I like that has meaning for me. What do you think of Arthur, as in King Arthur?” she said.
JC’s eyes narrowed and she pinched her nose between her index finger and thumb. “Eeow,” she groaned.
Danielle laughed. “I guess you don’t like that one,” she teased.
“What was your first clue?” JC said.
They ran down a few names and decided they couldn’t decide. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll decide when the time is right,” JC said. “I have known
mothers who have yet to name their child a week or even a month later. There is no harm in waiting. Who says they need a name the second they
make their appearance in the world?” JC said.
The lunch wagon stopped outside the door and JC said her goodbyes, telling Danielle to be sure to eat well. Danielle nibbled on a tuna sandwich
and a small green salad. How could they expect her to have an appetite lying in bed?
She dozed after lunch and awoke to a jolt as a gurney slammed into her bed. Two giggly candy stripers were trying their best to maneuver the cart
next to her bed.
“Your chariot has arrived,” a heavyset redhead with a splash of freckles across her upturned, pug nose bubbled.
“We’ve come to take you down for X-rays,” the tall, dark-haired one said. Her black eyes danced with her Spanish accent, “We didn’t mean to startle
you out of sleep. These things are so hard to manage or control when they’re empty.”
Danielle hoped that her ride to the X-ray lab would be easier to manipulate then the empty cart as she slid over onto the paper-covered slab. The
redhead covered her with a light blanket and the Spanish girl strapped her in.
“Hospital rules,” she said as she did. “So you don’t roll off as we go down the stairs.”
Danielle joined them in a laugh at that one. Of course, the ride to the elevator was short and uneventful. The X-ray technician explained the
procedure to her before he began taking pictures of the tiny life inside her womb.
Danielle went through the X-rays and waited for Dr. Lyons to stop back to see her. If the ultrasounds she had before never showed anything wrong
with the baby, what could possibly be wrong now? Danielle hated waiting. She couldn’t pace the floor because she had strict orders to stay off her
feet if she wanted to carry her baby to full term. Instead she paced with her mind, back and forth over her life. Events from heartache to heartache,
terror to terror, painful memories surfaced and vanished. She had thought that restriction would be lifted since she was not showing any signs of
miscarriage or internal bleeding. They were going to release her as soon as they were sure she didn’t have any of those warning signs. What
happened to that idea, she wondered.
She picked up the books Sandy had brought for her to read. She smiled. From Dr. Spock to The Marshall Plan for Novel Writing, and How to Write
with the Genius of a Child and the Skill of a Master, he knew about her love of writing and he was concerned about her caring for the new baby. He
was so sweet. They had talked about her writing and many other things while he’d investigated Randy’s murder. He always seemed to be able to fill
whatever need Danielle had, but she drew the line short of any romantic involvement.
I guess I would have enough to write a book about on the last year alone. She needed to secure some freelance assignments to help pay the bills
first. The candle business couldn’t do it all yet and she needed to stay off her feet. Therefore, writing would fit the bill on all issues, if only she could
get her mind to cooperate.
“Hey, girl, how you doing? Sandy said, hands behind his back.
Danielle felt her heart do a little skip when she saw him. She liked Sandy March very much. She didn’t dare let herself linger on that thought. “I was
about to begin reading one of the books you were kind enough to bring me,” she said. She could tell that her face flushed with the excitement she
felt at seeing the handsome, sandy blond haired detective; his dangerously seductive blue eyes mesmerized her. She shook herself loose from
those thoughts, too. He kissed her cheek. Danielle lowered her eyes to her lap not daring to look at his eyes as Sandy pulled a laptop computer out
from behind his back.
“Have any use for this?” he asked, a sheepish grin on his tanned face.
“Oh, Sandy. Where did you get that?”
“Actually, I’ve had it quite a while. Used to keep it at home so I could work there if I wanted to, but I don’t need it and I thought you might.”
“I can’t take it,” Danielle tried refusing his generosity even though she would love to be able to use it to get a head start on her new career path.
“Baloney, why not? I’m not using it. You’re cooped up here. You could be writing. Give your mind something to do besides worry,” he said.
His smile was disarming. Danielle didn’t quite know how to turn down his offer without hurting his feelings and that was the last thing she wanted to
do to this gentle knight minus the shining armor and white steed.
“Well, okay. I could use it until I can get home to my own computer. That is so generous of you.”
“Not really. See, once I get it back it will be like holding hands with you, knowing you had your fingers playing over the key board.”
Danielle felt her face flush again. “If you’re sure you won’t need it.”
“Don’t forget, I know where you are, if I want it.”
Dr. Lyons came in holding a large brown envelope. He glanced at Sandy then Danielle.
“Good afternoon, Mr. March, Danielle,” he said shaking Sandy’s hand. A brief parley of small talk, then Dr. Lyons turned to Danielle. “I think we
made the right decision having you in bed until this child is born. I do not want you on your feet. I do not want you lifting anything, doing anything.
Understood?”
“Yes, Dr. Lyons,” Danielle said suddenly feeling very small and young. “What... is there something wrong with the baby?” she asked fearing the
worst.
“It is very likely that he will need surgery to repair his heart soon after he is born. He has some other less significant issues we will deal with when he
is born. Any stress on you exacerbates the strain on his heart. We need to try to keep him in the womb to term. His chances for survival will be much
better if we do,” he said, concern furrowing his brow line and his dark eyes, forming tiny spider wrinkles at their corners.
Sandy March put his arm around Danielle as she listened to the news. Tears welled up in her eyes, “But he’ll be okay, won’t he?” she asked.
“We can only take it one step at a time. I feel confident with proper care he’ll be fine. But you have to do your part, okay?”
Danielle nodded, unable to speak. Her voice seemed frozen in the lump that held her throat hostage. She tried to focus on the doctors list of
instructions for when she was released from the hospital as her eyes clouded with tears.
“If we can count on you having help and being off your feet, we can release you. No point in you using our bed space and your money if we don’t
have to,” he said.
“That means you need to eat well. The dietician tells me you are not eating. That simply will not do. I am going to write you a prescription for
vitamins, to take until the baby is born. You can pick them up in the pharmacy before you leave.”
“Okay, thank you, Dr. Lyons,” she said fighting back a sob.
“We’ll get you through this. You just follow our advice, okay?” he hung Danielle’s chart back at the foot of her bed, said goodbye to Sandy and left.
“It’ll be okay,” Sandy said holding Danielle and letting her cry while he stroked her back. “Maybe you should consider staying with JC until the baby is
born. There is plenty of time to move out on your own afterwards. After you and the baby are strong enough.”
Danielle released Sandy’s waist and reached for a tissue. “Thanks, Sandy. I have to think about all this. JC can’t afford to have me taking over her
life.”
“You stayed with her before all this started, why not now?” Sandy asked.
Danielle saw the concern spread like a shadow across his face. “I’ll think about it. I promise,” she said.
She had just found the perfect place before Ruth Ord ran her down and tried to kill her. Now, she would lose it unless she could get back there and
somehow pay the rent. It is so close to the park and the stores. It would be a perfect place to raise a child, she thought. Her thoughts scrambled with
one another. She wanted to jump out of the hospital bed and run, run to that meadow she always saw in her dreams, where the children laughed
and giggled and danced with beautiful pastel colored streamers into a woven pattern on the may pole. There had to be a happy place like that for
her to go to somewhere. She was tired of the uphill battle. Everything seemed to be so hard. Would it ever get any easier?
Sandy left and Danielle turned on the laptop to write. Dear Baby boy of mine, I am writing this so you will know how very much your mother loves
you...
She slept through the night for the first time in a long time. By morning, she had made up her mind. She would keep the apartment. It was her home.
She corrected herself it was David’s and her home. She knew it was right and she knew his name was right, too. “Yes, David Mingan Ord, you will be
happy there,” she said patting her son’s shape on her abdomen. She had decided Mingan, which meant gray wolf, would be David’s spirit protector
and guide. She had delved into enough Native American religion to respect the power of the vision quest. David’s name had come out of her quest.
“Well, then it’s settled,” Beatrice Ord said upon hearing the latest news of Danielle and David’s condition. “You will come home with me. I have
enough room, staff that can attend to all your needs. You won’t need to do a thing.”
“Thank you, Beatrice, really. I appreciate what you want to do, but I need to have my own place.”
“Then we will set you up in the guest house until the child is born,” she said refusing to be turned down.
“I have a place of my own. It is the right size. Close to the park and stores,” Danielle said.
“You cannot raise an Ord in a dingy little apartment,” Beatrice Ord spat the words dingy little apartment out like swear words. Her face turned
crimson and she glared at Danielle.
“This is my child, Beatrice. I will live where I want to live. I don’t mean to be rude, but I am keeping my own place and raising my son where I choose.”
Danielle’s insides were tying in knots again. Why must every conversation be a confrontation with this woman or a battle, she wondered.
“You will not raise my grandson then. I will see to that,” Beatrice Ord stormed out of Danielle’s hospital room.
Danielle could hardly contain herself. She was so angry. She hammered her fists into the extra pillow she used to prop against her back to ease the
discomfort of her increased weight. “That woman, she thinks she can buy everything and everyone. Well, here is one person it won’t work on,”
Danielle said aloud.
“What woman would that be?” Blanche Stewart said, entering the room carrying a package wrapped in pink and blue, the bow was a pair of pink and
blue teddy bears. She put her packages on Danielle’s bed and hugged her. “I heard you were still in the hospital so I had to come say hi and bring
you a couple things before I left,” Blanche said, sliding her hands down the length of Danielle’s arms. Holding her hands, Blanche looked her deep in
the eyes.
“Where are you going, Blanche? I thought you were opening an office here?”
“Decided psychology is not my field. I’m studying law. Have been as a second a major anyway. As soon as I pass my bar exams I’m in. I am taking a
few courses at Harvard to be sure I’m ready. Then back here for the exams—and to set up my practice.”
“Are you coming back here, for sure?” Danielle asked hopefully.
“I’m sure planning to. Now here, these are for baby, but his one is for you. “Open it, go on open it,” she said, a broad smile on her attractive face.
Danielle carefully removed the ribbon on the Victoria’s Secret box. She pulled a bright red, skimpy teddy that was mostly lace with spaghetti straps
from the box.
“That’s for when you’re hot and you want him to be.”
She felt her face flush hot and red as she peered back into the box. She pulled out the black lace negligee. “Oh, Blanche, they’re beautiful,” she
said.
“That one is for when you want to tease, make him drool and beg,” she said.
She laughed as Danielle felt her face turn hot crimson. She pulled the blankets tight against her beach ball belly. “They ought to look gorgeous with
this,” she said.
“You won’t be pregnant forever, and yes they would even make you look and feel sexy now,” she said.
“Thanks, Blanche. You are such a dear person. I owe you so much. If it wasn’t for you I might be in prison for murder now instead of in this hospital
bed.”
“Don’t thank me. You just be careful what you get yourself into from now on. If you’re going to make candles, make them the kind to light up dreams
with.”
“You can bet I will,” Danielle said.
“Now, what was this tirade I heard you on when I walked in?”
“Oh, that was Beatrice Ord. She’s furious because I won’t move in with her.”
“Why would you need to move in with her?”
Danielle filled Blanche in on the potential problems with the baby, and how she needed to stay off her feet to try to get the baby to full term. How she
also felt she could take care of herself without having to be dependent on Beatrice Ord or anyone.
“Stick to your guns, honey,” Blanche said. “If you need legal help don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll do what I can.”
Danielle promised she would and she felt better for having talked with Blanche. She put the Victoria Secret box with the sexy nightwear in the
nightstand by her bed. She did not want to open the baby gift until after David was born. She pushed it up on the chest of drawers and pulled the
tray with the laptop on it over the bed. She slipped a CD into the slot and brought up David’s letter. Adding a paragraph about Blanche seemed
appropriate. Her fingers flew over the keys as she typed in the paragraph about Blanche Stewart, the homeless woman who wasn’t. The graduate
student, who was doing her master’s thesis on the homeless. The woman who testified on her behalf and helped send Randy’s murderers to prison
instead of Danielle. Though she was sure Sandy March would have found some way to keep her out of jail, she was thankful that she had Blanche
Stewart for a friend. “We may have to ask her to be your godmother,” she said as she typed that sentence into the letter to her son David.
~ * ~
The next morning Dr. Lyons gave her the good news that she could leave the hospital. “Absolute bed rest—off your feet—you understand the grave
importance of this?” he questioned his face the mirror of total concern he had earlier.
“Absolutely,” she said. Danielle was thrilled to be getting out of the hospital, no matter what it took. She dialed JC’s nu
Danielle pushed the button to move the hospital bed into a sitting position. She could not shake the events of the past month from her mind. How
could she be a widow, she had been married hardly three months? Everything had happened so fast. Randy murdered in his bed. His sister Ruth
committing suicide after police found evidence that she contracted an organized crime figure to murder her brother. However, she did not commit
suicide until her two attempts on Danielle’s life had failed. If it wasn’t for Sandy March and JC’s support, Danielle felt she never could have dealt with
it all.
“Thank God I didn’t lose the baby,” she said caressing her bulging stomach. “You don’t have your daddy, but you have me, sweetheart.”
“How is our little mother doing today?” the nurse said reaching for Danielle’s arm to put the blood pressure cuff on to monitor her blood pressure as
she smiled.
“I’m good,” Danielle, said watching the sleeve swell as it squeezed her arm. Why did they always have to pinch it until it hurt before they stopped?
she thought, glancing away focusing on the sunshine outside the window. The bright sunshine belied the dark cloud inside her that refused to lift.
The stethoscope felt cold as the nurse slid it onto her chest to listen to her heart. Then she wrote on her chart and moved to her abdomen and,
raising her hospital gown, she placed the cold, round shape on Danielle’s tummy and listened.
Danielle saw a brief scowl cross the nurse’s face. Then she moved the stethoscope and listened again, and again. She put Danielle’s gown back
down and pulled up the covers over her.
“You rest now. If you need anything, ring the buzzer. Positively do not get out of this bed. The doctor will be in to see you shortly,” she said giving
Danielle a half smile and replacing the chart in the hanger at the end of her bed.
Danielle wished she could get the chart and look at it. What had the nurse written? What had bothered her about the baby when she listened
through her stethoscope? Regardless, what good would it do to get the chart, she probably couldn’t understand it anyway.
The concerned look on the nurse’s face bothered her. Was there something wrong with the baby?
An orderly brought in her breakfast tray. The silver covered bowl reflected her face in its curvature, distorted as she felt her life was at the moment.
“Here you go. Eat and enjoy,” the dark skinned woman smiled cheerfully as she set up Danielle’s tray.
Danielle didn’t feel much like eating. She was sick to her stomach. Afraid if she ate any thing she would vomit, but it wasn’t like morning sickness—it
was more like the dread hanging over her since all this began was filling her stomach with poison. The two yellow eyes of the eggs stared up at her
with the runny clear membrane around the yolk. Undercooked yolks reminded her of the rheumy eyes of a wino that slept in the alley behind The
Office Bar & Grill where she worked—used to work, she corrected herself. She couldn’t go back there anymore, not after all that had happened.
Even if she wasn’t six months pregnant, she couldn’t work there anymore. She would never be able to go out into that alley without thinking about
that car. Its headlights like angry dragon eyes, the grill turned monster tusks and teeth; she shuddered as her mind relived the terrifying roar of the
engine. The shattering clang of garbage cans and lids echoing off the building walls as it struck them and her. She could hear her own bones snap
and the excruciating pain whip through her body before she lost consciousness, lying on the cold black top and gravel of the alley.
She rubbed her stomach and the baby rolled over at her touch. “Thank you, Lord,” she said as tears trickled down her cheeks.
Danielle drank her orange juice and nibbled on the dry wheat toast. She needed to eat for the baby’s sake she scolded herself, if not her own sake.
Getting her strength back so that she could get out of the hospital and make a life for herself without Randy was paramount on her to do list. She
tried to swallow the lump in her throat. How would she raise this child on her own? There were options she realized, but none of them appealed to
her. One thing for certain, Beatrice Ord was not going to get her baby. She would do whatever it took to keep that from happening.
She couldn’t bring herself to take JC up on her offer to live with her. That would be an imposition on her dear friend. No, JC had already done
enough for her. She would stay there only long enough to find a place of her own.
Dear sweet Sandy March. He was more than willing to keep Danielle and her child. She couldn’t do that either. Committing to another relationship so
close upon the heels of the botched up marriage with Randy was more than she was ready to consider at this point. Moving in with Sandy would be
taking advantage of a warm, wonderful man. She wasn’t about to do that. Using someone for her own convenience, no matter how agreeable they
were to it, was not something she could allow herself to do. No matter what, she would some how see to it that she and her child survived.
Dr. Lyons picked up Danielle’s chart. His eyebrows furrowed into a straight, thin line meeting at the bridge of his long, narrow nose. He looked over
his half spectacles at Danielle. “Well, missy. Let’s give a listen to the little fellow,” he said pulling up her hospital gown to expose her rotund belly.
The unpleasantly cold stethoscope made her insides knot—or was it the look of concern on his face that made her stomach knot apprehensively?
He listened carefully, moving the stethoscope and prodding her stomach with his free hand.
“What is it, Dr. Lyons?” Danielle asked, her voice quivered and weak, barely audible.
“Not sure that it’s anything. I’m checking because the nurse was concerned. We probably should do an X-ray. Would you mind?” Dr Lyons asked.
Danielle was sure the question was merely rhetorical. Why would she say no? Moreover, if she did, would it matter? She was as concerned for her
son’s welfare as the good doctor was. She nodded her agreement as Dr. Lyons put her gown down and covered her up with the blanket.
He looked at her long and hard as though gauging what he should tell her. “The baby’s heart seems weak. We want to be sure he isn’t having some
other difficulty as well,” he said finally.
“What other difficulty?” Terror squeezed Danielle’s heart. She couldn’t bear the thought of loosing the baby, too, after all she and he had been
through recently.
“Don’t you worry. We need to check. If there is something wrong, the sooner we know the better your baby’s chances are. I will schedule the X-rays
for this afternoon,” he said replacing her chart in its holder.
Danielle let the tears flow as she lay back on the pillow. Thoughts raced through her head, thoughts about the baby, thoughts about Randy and
those thoughts that silently wished her mother could somehow reach out and take her hand to walk her through all this.
“Hi,” JC’s cheery voice pulled her from the nightmare of self-pity that was swallowing her.
She tried to hide the tears from JC, but when JC hugged her, she lost control and began sobbing uncontrollably.
“What is it Dani, the baby? He’s okay isn’t he? You’re okay, aren’t you? What?” JC hugged Danielle harder then pushed her away to look into her
eyes.
JC’s staccato questions riveted by her deep dark eyes stabbed at Danielle “They need to do X-rays. Dr. Lyons thinks he’s in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“He didn’t say. Something about his heartbeat I’m sure, because both he and the nurse got a funny look on their faces when they listened to him
through the stethoscope.”
She hugged Danielle and patted her back. “Now you know better than to yield to worrying over something you can’t control. They can do marvelous
things with our new technology nowadays. He will be fine. Know that in your deepest mother’s heart.”
“If wishes were horses...” Danielle said letting the thought trickle away.
“I’ll be here for you. You know that.” JC said, holding her friend and letting her cry her fears away on her shoulder.
Beatrice Ord flounced into the room with a huge bouquet of flowers in a crystal vase. “My dear girl, you look dreadful. Whatever is the matter?” she
said giving JC a ‘wish you would dissolve into thin air’ look. Putting the vase on the nightstand, she brushed Danielle’s forehead with a kiss.
“They are going to take X-rays of the baby. Dr. Lyons is worried that something’s wrong,” she said fighting back more tears.
“There can’t possibly be anything wrong with my grandson. We’ll fly in some specialists in—”
She didn’t get to finish as Danielle held up her hand. “Stop, Beatrice. I can’t afford specialists and we don’t even know if there’s a problem yet. Let
Dr. Lyons do his diagnosis first.”
Beatrice Ord backed off slightly at Danielle’s determination. “He better be careful. He knows he’s dealing with an Ord child,” she shot in JC’s
direction as though it was her doing. She avoided Danielle’s glare.
“We won’t know anything until after the X-rays,” Danielle said. “No point in going crazy until there is a reason to.”
“Humph,” Beatrice turned abruptly and headed toward the door. Then she turned around and marched back to Danielle’s side. She reached in her
oversized handbag, pulled out a box, and laid it on Danielle’s stomach. “Do you need anything dear? Reading material, decent food, anything at all?
Oh, here, something to cover your Mother-to-be body better than that ugly generic hospital gown.”
Danielle opened the box. A beautiful powder blue nightgown and duster and small bottle of perfume were inside. A light scent of Jasmine drifted up
from the box. She pulled them out of the box; the luxurious softness of the gown caressed her hands and brushed her arm. “Thank you, Beatrice.
They re beautiful, but you shouldn’t have.”
“Nonsense, no Ord should be laying in a hospital bed in the dowdy rags they supply.” She turned to leave. “I’ll be back later. Be sure to call and let
me know what Dr Lyons—is that his name? Well, whatever, keep me informed.” She bussed Danielle’s cheek again with a kiss and flounced out the
door.
JC chuckled. “Wonder if she parked her broom in the hallway or out in the parking lot.”
“She means well,” Danielle said, not feeling the least bit congenial toward the overbearing woman.
“No, she means to have whatever she wants, her way, in her time, at all costs,” JC said.
“I don’t like her any better than you do, JC, but she is Randy’s mother and the child’s only grandmother.”
Speaking of ‘the child’ as you say—a name—what’s our little boy’s name going to be?” JC asked.
Danielle smiled. She had a list of names as long as her arm, none of which seemed appropriate. “How can you begin to give another human being a
name that would stick with him or her the rest of his or her life, sight unseen? How do you know who they are before you see them? That is a really
tough question. I’m sure Beatrice wants him to be Randolph the IV,” Danielle said watching her friend grimace.
“Aargh,” JC growled. “Don’t you dare.”
“Well, I really have come across one I like that has meaning for me. What do you think of Arthur, as in King Arthur?” she said.
JC’s eyes narrowed and she pinched her nose between her index finger and thumb. “Eeow,” she groaned.
Danielle laughed. “I guess you don’t like that one,” she teased.
“What was your first clue?” JC said.
They ran down a few names and decided they couldn’t decide. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll decide when the time is right,” JC said. “I have known
mothers who have yet to name their child a week or even a month later. There is no harm in waiting. Who says they need a name the second they
make their appearance in the world?” JC said.
The lunch wagon stopped outside the door and JC said her goodbyes, telling Danielle to be sure to eat well. Danielle nibbled on a tuna sandwich
and a small green salad. How could they expect her to have an appetite lying in bed?
She dozed after lunch and awoke to a jolt as a gurney slammed into her bed. Two giggly candy stripers were trying their best to maneuver the cart
next to her bed.
“Your chariot has arrived,” a heavyset redhead with a splash of freckles across her upturned, pug nose bubbled.
“We’ve come to take you down for X-rays,” the tall, dark-haired one said. Her black eyes danced with her Spanish accent, “We didn’t mean to startle
you out of sleep. These things are so hard to manage or control when they’re empty.”
Danielle hoped that her ride to the X-ray lab would be easier to manipulate then the empty cart as she slid over onto the paper-covered slab. The
redhead covered her with a light blanket and the Spanish girl strapped her in.
“Hospital rules,” she said as she did. “So you don’t roll off as we go down the stairs.”
Danielle joined them in a laugh at that one. Of course, the ride to the elevator was short and uneventful. The X-ray technician explained the
procedure to her before he began taking pictures of the tiny life inside her womb.
Danielle went through the X-rays and waited for Dr. Lyons to stop back to see her. If the ultrasounds she had before never showed anything wrong
with the baby, what could possibly be wrong now? Danielle hated waiting. She couldn’t pace the floor because she had strict orders to stay off her
feet if she wanted to carry her baby to full term. Instead she paced with her mind, back and forth over her life. Events from heartache to heartache,
terror to terror, painful memories surfaced and vanished. She had thought that restriction would be lifted since she was not showing any signs of
miscarriage or internal bleeding. They were going to release her as soon as they were sure she didn’t have any of those warning signs. What
happened to that idea, she wondered.
She picked up the books Sandy had brought for her to read. She smiled. From Dr. Spock to The Marshall Plan for Novel Writing, and How to Write
with the Genius of a Child and the Skill of a Master, he knew about her love of writing and he was concerned about her caring for the new baby. He
was so sweet. They had talked about her writing and many other things while he’d investigated Randy’s murder. He always seemed to be able to fill
whatever need Danielle had, but she drew the line short of any romantic involvement.
I guess I would have enough to write a book about on the last year alone. She needed to secure some freelance assignments to help pay the bills
first. The candle business couldn’t do it all yet and she needed to stay off her feet. Therefore, writing would fit the bill on all issues, if only she could
get her mind to cooperate.
“Hey, girl, how you doing? Sandy said, hands behind his back.
Danielle felt her heart do a little skip when she saw him. She liked Sandy March very much. She didn’t dare let herself linger on that thought. “I was
about to begin reading one of the books you were kind enough to bring me,” she said. She could tell that her face flushed with the excitement she
felt at seeing the handsome, sandy blond haired detective; his dangerously seductive blue eyes mesmerized her. She shook herself loose from
those thoughts, too. He kissed her cheek. Danielle lowered her eyes to her lap not daring to look at his eyes as Sandy pulled a laptop computer out
from behind his back.
“Have any use for this?” he asked, a sheepish grin on his tanned face.
“Oh, Sandy. Where did you get that?”
“Actually, I’ve had it quite a while. Used to keep it at home so I could work there if I wanted to, but I don’t need it and I thought you might.”
“I can’t take it,” Danielle tried refusing his generosity even though she would love to be able to use it to get a head start on her new career path.
“Baloney, why not? I’m not using it. You’re cooped up here. You could be writing. Give your mind something to do besides worry,” he said.
His smile was disarming. Danielle didn’t quite know how to turn down his offer without hurting his feelings and that was the last thing she wanted to
do to this gentle knight minus the shining armor and white steed.
“Well, okay. I could use it until I can get home to my own computer. That is so generous of you.”
“Not really. See, once I get it back it will be like holding hands with you, knowing you had your fingers playing over the key board.”
Danielle felt her face flush again. “If you’re sure you won’t need it.”
“Don’t forget, I know where you are, if I want it.”
Dr. Lyons came in holding a large brown envelope. He glanced at Sandy then Danielle.
“Good afternoon, Mr. March, Danielle,” he said shaking Sandy’s hand. A brief parley of small talk, then Dr. Lyons turned to Danielle. “I think we
made the right decision having you in bed until this child is born. I do not want you on your feet. I do not want you lifting anything, doing anything.
Understood?”
“Yes, Dr. Lyons,” Danielle said suddenly feeling very small and young. “What... is there something wrong with the baby?” she asked fearing the
worst.
“It is very likely that he will need surgery to repair his heart soon after he is born. He has some other less significant issues we will deal with when he
is born. Any stress on you exacerbates the strain on his heart. We need to try to keep him in the womb to term. His chances for survival will be much
better if we do,” he said, concern furrowing his brow line and his dark eyes, forming tiny spider wrinkles at their corners.
Sandy March put his arm around Danielle as she listened to the news. Tears welled up in her eyes, “But he’ll be okay, won’t he?” she asked.
“We can only take it one step at a time. I feel confident with proper care he’ll be fine. But you have to do your part, okay?”
Danielle nodded, unable to speak. Her voice seemed frozen in the lump that held her throat hostage. She tried to focus on the doctors list of
instructions for when she was released from the hospital as her eyes clouded with tears.
“If we can count on you having help and being off your feet, we can release you. No point in you using our bed space and your money if we don’t
have to,” he said.
“That means you need to eat well. The dietician tells me you are not eating. That simply will not do. I am going to write you a prescription for
vitamins, to take until the baby is born. You can pick them up in the pharmacy before you leave.”
“Okay, thank you, Dr. Lyons,” she said fighting back a sob.
“We’ll get you through this. You just follow our advice, okay?” he hung Danielle’s chart back at the foot of her bed, said goodbye to Sandy and left.
“It’ll be okay,” Sandy said holding Danielle and letting her cry while he stroked her back. “Maybe you should consider staying with JC until the baby is
born. There is plenty of time to move out on your own afterwards. After you and the baby are strong enough.”
Danielle released Sandy’s waist and reached for a tissue. “Thanks, Sandy. I have to think about all this. JC can’t afford to have me taking over her
life.”
“You stayed with her before all this started, why not now?” Sandy asked.
Danielle saw the concern spread like a shadow across his face. “I’ll think about it. I promise,” she said.
She had just found the perfect place before Ruth Ord ran her down and tried to kill her. Now, she would lose it unless she could get back there and
somehow pay the rent. It is so close to the park and the stores. It would be a perfect place to raise a child, she thought. Her thoughts scrambled with
one another. She wanted to jump out of the hospital bed and run, run to that meadow she always saw in her dreams, where the children laughed
and giggled and danced with beautiful pastel colored streamers into a woven pattern on the may pole. There had to be a happy place like that for
her to go to somewhere. She was tired of the uphill battle. Everything seemed to be so hard. Would it ever get any easier?
Sandy left and Danielle turned on the laptop to write. Dear Baby boy of mine, I am writing this so you will know how very much your mother loves
you...
She slept through the night for the first time in a long time. By morning, she had made up her mind. She would keep the apartment. It was her home.
She corrected herself it was David’s and her home. She knew it was right and she knew his name was right, too. “Yes, David Mingan Ord, you will be
happy there,” she said patting her son’s shape on her abdomen. She had decided Mingan, which meant gray wolf, would be David’s spirit protector
and guide. She had delved into enough Native American religion to respect the power of the vision quest. David’s name had come out of her quest.
“Well, then it’s settled,” Beatrice Ord said upon hearing the latest news of Danielle and David’s condition. “You will come home with me. I have
enough room, staff that can attend to all your needs. You won’t need to do a thing.”
“Thank you, Beatrice, really. I appreciate what you want to do, but I need to have my own place.”
“Then we will set you up in the guest house until the child is born,” she said refusing to be turned down.
“I have a place of my own. It is the right size. Close to the park and stores,” Danielle said.
“You cannot raise an Ord in a dingy little apartment,” Beatrice Ord spat the words dingy little apartment out like swear words. Her face turned
crimson and she glared at Danielle.
“This is my child, Beatrice. I will live where I want to live. I don’t mean to be rude, but I am keeping my own place and raising my son where I choose.”
Danielle’s insides were tying in knots again. Why must every conversation be a confrontation with this woman or a battle, she wondered.
“You will not raise my grandson then. I will see to that,” Beatrice Ord stormed out of Danielle’s hospital room.
Danielle could hardly contain herself. She was so angry. She hammered her fists into the extra pillow she used to prop against her back to ease the
discomfort of her increased weight. “That woman, she thinks she can buy everything and everyone. Well, here is one person it won’t work on,”
Danielle said aloud.
“What woman would that be?” Blanche Stewart said, entering the room carrying a package wrapped in pink and blue, the bow was a pair of pink and
blue teddy bears. She put her packages on Danielle’s bed and hugged her. “I heard you were still in the hospital so I had to come say hi and bring
you a couple things before I left,” Blanche said, sliding her hands down the length of Danielle’s arms. Holding her hands, Blanche looked her deep in
the eyes.
“Where are you going, Blanche? I thought you were opening an office here?”
“Decided psychology is not my field. I’m studying law. Have been as a second a major anyway. As soon as I pass my bar exams I’m in. I am taking a
few courses at Harvard to be sure I’m ready. Then back here for the exams—and to set up my practice.”
“Are you coming back here, for sure?” Danielle asked hopefully.
“I’m sure planning to. Now here, these are for baby, but his one is for you. “Open it, go on open it,” she said, a broad smile on her attractive face.
Danielle carefully removed the ribbon on the Victoria’s Secret box. She pulled a bright red, skimpy teddy that was mostly lace with spaghetti straps
from the box.
“That’s for when you’re hot and you want him to be.”
She felt her face flush hot and red as she peered back into the box. She pulled out the black lace negligee. “Oh, Blanche, they’re beautiful,” she
said.
“That one is for when you want to tease, make him drool and beg,” she said.
She laughed as Danielle felt her face turn hot crimson. She pulled the blankets tight against her beach ball belly. “They ought to look gorgeous with
this,” she said.
“You won’t be pregnant forever, and yes they would even make you look and feel sexy now,” she said.
“Thanks, Blanche. You are such a dear person. I owe you so much. If it wasn’t for you I might be in prison for murder now instead of in this hospital
bed.”
“Don’t thank me. You just be careful what you get yourself into from now on. If you’re going to make candles, make them the kind to light up dreams
with.”
“You can bet I will,” Danielle said.
“Now, what was this tirade I heard you on when I walked in?”
“Oh, that was Beatrice Ord. She’s furious because I won’t move in with her.”
“Why would you need to move in with her?”
Danielle filled Blanche in on the potential problems with the baby, and how she needed to stay off her feet to try to get the baby to full term. How she
also felt she could take care of herself without having to be dependent on Beatrice Ord or anyone.
“Stick to your guns, honey,” Blanche said. “If you need legal help don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll do what I can.”
Danielle promised she would and she felt better for having talked with Blanche. She put the Victoria Secret box with the sexy nightwear in the
nightstand by her bed. She did not want to open the baby gift until after David was born. She pushed it up on the chest of drawers and pulled the
tray with the laptop on it over the bed. She slipped a CD into the slot and brought up David’s letter. Adding a paragraph about Blanche seemed
appropriate. Her fingers flew over the keys as she typed in the paragraph about Blanche Stewart, the homeless woman who wasn’t. The graduate
student, who was doing her master’s thesis on the homeless. The woman who testified on her behalf and helped send Randy’s murderers to prison
instead of Danielle. Though she was sure Sandy March would have found some way to keep her out of jail, she was thankful that she had Blanche
Stewart for a friend. “We may have to ask her to be your godmother,” she said as she typed that sentence into the letter to her son David.
~ * ~
The next morning Dr. Lyons gave her the good news that she could leave the hospital. “Absolute bed rest—off your feet—you understand the grave
importance of this?” he questioned his face the mirror of total concern he had earlier.
“Absolutely,” she said. Danielle was thrilled to be getting out of the hospital, no matter what it took. She dialed JC’s nu
| WATCH FOR THE RAVEN |
By Billie A Williams
ISBN 1-59088-408-6 (electronic)
ISBN 1-59088-635-6 (print)
A Young Adult Historical Adventure
by
Billie A. Williams
A tall Indian, dressed in buckskin, slipped through the trees as silent as a breeze. He stopped where the arrow lay in the snow, the tip glistening in
the sun. A shiver walked icy fingers up Josh’s spine. He tried not to move or breathe. The tall, shadowy figure moved back in his direction looking for
signs which way the deer had gone--or did he know Josh hid in the brush? Josh shivered at the thought. He closed his eyes and held his breath,
peering out through a tiny slit. If the Indian came his way he was prepared to run for his life. Instead, the Indian slipped the arrow into his quiver.
Then he sped off, barely making a sound in the packed leaves and snow covering the forest floor.
For a long time Josh lay in the brush hardly daring to breathe. He listened for any sound. Did the Indian leave or did he smell Josh? They had
incredible powers Pa had told him. His friends at school talked about them finding game, where white men had already hunted, by the smell of fear.
Josh sure felt fear; did he smell like it, too? That made him feel worse ‘cause he was more afraid than he ever was. Did that Indian smell him? Was
he lurking, waiting for Josh to run? He shivered; he was cold, hungry and scared out of his wits. There was no one to help him. Darkness fell like
someone dropped a pail over the sun. It was a long moment before the moon washed the darkness with a milky glow. He uncurled from his tight
huddle, stretching his stiff legs carefully so as not to disturb the brush too much. Then he flopped over on his belly and listened. Inch by inch he
snaked out of his hiding place. Watching carefully with each forward motion, he scanned the deep brush for signs of the Indian. An owl hooted. It
startled Josh so. He jumped without another thought about being seen; he shuddered and took off running. Night was no time to be alone in the
deep woods. Wild ferocious animals are everywhere, he thought as he charged through the brush. He didn’t want to think what might be lurking in
the shadows, looking for an easy meal. Or where the Indian might be waiting to grab him.
Shielding his face from the brambles and oak brush with his arm, he ran. The brush now filled with shapes that looked like wild animals that clawed at
his half-frozen face. He stumbled over rocks and fallen trees. He sped along, running, hoping by some chance he would run out of the woods and
into the clearing by his home. He raced mindlessly until his chest hurt. There was a full moon up high now. It should have helped him find his way if
he had been thinking proper; instead it cast an eerie glow. Nothing looked familiar. Josh didn’t know which direction home was or how far away it was.
He wondered if the Indian tales he had heard were true.
The guys at school had said the souls of the dead lived in the wind of the trees. Was that what he heard whispering and squeaking? Was it spirits of
the dead? Were they coming to get him? He had no idea what ghosts did with people they caught, but it couldn’t be good. Maybe it was a coyote or
some other wild animal hot on his trail. Could be a coyote, or a mountain lion, a grizzly. He had seen animals skirting the clearing, just outside the
woods at home. They were chasing rabbits or deer across the field. The woods must be full of them.
Josh didn’t have time to think, all he knew was he needed to keep going. His lungs hurt. "Can’t stop now. Got to get home," he said. "Yeow!" he
squealed as his foot snagged on a tree root and he stumbled. The stumble cost him his balance and Josh lost his footing on some wet leaves and
skated, trying to keep upright. He toppled over like a dead tree felled by the wind. Down, down, down the hill he tumbled. Branches grabbed at him,
scratching and slapping his face and arms. He felt a sharp pain as his head skipped from a tree trunk to a boulder. Ghostly, gnarled trees reached
out for him as he rolled by them. Finally, he stopped rolling. Big bear shapes stood silent, watching him.
"Where, ow, where am I?" he said, trying to straighten himself out. Are those wild animals? he thought. "Oh, no. Whew, Don’t see any eyes, they
must just be boulders and trees. Oh, my head hurts," he said. Everything sort of swirled around him. Little sparks danced like fireflies in front of his
eyes. His stomach churned.
Something warm and sticky was trickling down his face. Red stained the ghostly whiteness of moonlit snow. His forehead stung with pain. He felt it; a
gash was oozing blood in quick spurts like his heart was beating. He tried to think. He needed to do something to stop the blood before some wild
animal smelled it and came to get him. He pulled his bandanna out of his pocket and folded it into a long strip and wound it around his throbbing
head. How could he have been so stupid? Now, he was angry with himself but he knew he needed to stop the bleeding. He leaned back and took a
long breath. What had he done? His panic had cost him. He should have...
ISBN 1-59088-408-6 (electronic)
ISBN 1-59088-635-6 (print)
A Young Adult Historical Adventure
by
Billie A. Williams
A tall Indian, dressed in buckskin, slipped through the trees as silent as a breeze. He stopped where the arrow lay in the snow, the tip glistening in
the sun. A shiver walked icy fingers up Josh’s spine. He tried not to move or breathe. The tall, shadowy figure moved back in his direction looking for
signs which way the deer had gone--or did he know Josh hid in the brush? Josh shivered at the thought. He closed his eyes and held his breath,
peering out through a tiny slit. If the Indian came his way he was prepared to run for his life. Instead, the Indian slipped the arrow into his quiver.
Then he sped off, barely making a sound in the packed leaves and snow covering the forest floor.
For a long time Josh lay in the brush hardly daring to breathe. He listened for any sound. Did the Indian leave or did he smell Josh? They had
incredible powers Pa had told him. His friends at school talked about them finding game, where white men had already hunted, by the smell of fear.
Josh sure felt fear; did he smell like it, too? That made him feel worse ‘cause he was more afraid than he ever was. Did that Indian smell him? Was
he lurking, waiting for Josh to run? He shivered; he was cold, hungry and scared out of his wits. There was no one to help him. Darkness fell like
someone dropped a pail over the sun. It was a long moment before the moon washed the darkness with a milky glow. He uncurled from his tight
huddle, stretching his stiff legs carefully so as not to disturb the brush too much. Then he flopped over on his belly and listened. Inch by inch he
snaked out of his hiding place. Watching carefully with each forward motion, he scanned the deep brush for signs of the Indian. An owl hooted. It
startled Josh so. He jumped without another thought about being seen; he shuddered and took off running. Night was no time to be alone in the
deep woods. Wild ferocious animals are everywhere, he thought as he charged through the brush. He didn’t want to think what might be lurking in
the shadows, looking for an easy meal. Or where the Indian might be waiting to grab him.
Shielding his face from the brambles and oak brush with his arm, he ran. The brush now filled with shapes that looked like wild animals that clawed at
his half-frozen face. He stumbled over rocks and fallen trees. He sped along, running, hoping by some chance he would run out of the woods and
into the clearing by his home. He raced mindlessly until his chest hurt. There was a full moon up high now. It should have helped him find his way if
he had been thinking proper; instead it cast an eerie glow. Nothing looked familiar. Josh didn’t know which direction home was or how far away it was.
He wondered if the Indian tales he had heard were true.
The guys at school had said the souls of the dead lived in the wind of the trees. Was that what he heard whispering and squeaking? Was it spirits of
the dead? Were they coming to get him? He had no idea what ghosts did with people they caught, but it couldn’t be good. Maybe it was a coyote or
some other wild animal hot on his trail. Could be a coyote, or a mountain lion, a grizzly. He had seen animals skirting the clearing, just outside the
woods at home. They were chasing rabbits or deer across the field. The woods must be full of them.
Josh didn’t have time to think, all he knew was he needed to keep going. His lungs hurt. "Can’t stop now. Got to get home," he said. "Yeow!" he
squealed as his foot snagged on a tree root and he stumbled. The stumble cost him his balance and Josh lost his footing on some wet leaves and
skated, trying to keep upright. He toppled over like a dead tree felled by the wind. Down, down, down the hill he tumbled. Branches grabbed at him,
scratching and slapping his face and arms. He felt a sharp pain as his head skipped from a tree trunk to a boulder. Ghostly, gnarled trees reached
out for him as he rolled by them. Finally, he stopped rolling. Big bear shapes stood silent, watching him.
"Where, ow, where am I?" he said, trying to straighten himself out. Are those wild animals? he thought. "Oh, no. Whew, Don’t see any eyes, they
must just be boulders and trees. Oh, my head hurts," he said. Everything sort of swirled around him. Little sparks danced like fireflies in front of his
eyes. His stomach churned.
Something warm and sticky was trickling down his face. Red stained the ghostly whiteness of moonlit snow. His forehead stung with pain. He felt it; a
gash was oozing blood in quick spurts like his heart was beating. He tried to think. He needed to do something to stop the blood before some wild
animal smelled it and came to get him. He pulled his bandanna out of his pocket and folded it into a long strip and wound it around his throbbing
head. How could he have been so stupid? Now, he was angry with himself but he knew he needed to stop the bleeding. He leaned back and took a
long breath. What had he done? His panic had cost him. He should have...