A Family To Cherish by Carole Gift Page Page A

chance.”
    Barbara didn’t agree with the reverend’s sentiments, but she wasn’t about to contradict him. After all, he always managed to get in the last word. And, sure enough, when he stood up to deliver the morning message, Barbara had a feeling he was speaking directly to her and Doug.
    â€œJesus is our great comforter,” he declared in a voice that rang with passion and conviction. “He came to heal the brokenhearted, to bind our wounds, to bear our griefs and carry our sorrows. He will dry all our tears and walk with us through the darkness, if only we open our hearts and let Him in.
    â€œSome of us have closed the doors of our hearts. We’ve stopped trusting Him. We have the mistaken idea that God somehow delights in inflicting pain, and we’re afraid if we put ourselves in His hands, He’ll take away what little we still possess.
    â€œBeloved, nothing could be farther from the truth.Jesus came to bring us life and to conquer death. He bore the sorrows of an entire world. He carried the burden of your sin on His back. All because He loves you with a vast and boundless love. He seeks your love in return. His arms are open wide. Let Him embrace you and heal your heartaches. Let Him whisper His comfort in the darkest night. You’ll know no peace, no joy, until you give Him your heart, your life, all you hold tightly in your hand this day.”
    Barbara stole a glance at Doug. His expression was granitic, his eyes shadowed and unreadable. Years ago, when they sat together in church, they would hold hands like lovesick teenagers. She never tired of feeling the warm, solid grip of his hand enveloping hers.
    But today he sat with his arms crossed, his shoulder hardly touching hers, as if he were warding off anyone’s attempt to break through his stalwart veneer and glimpse the deep well of pain underneath. Doug was a proud, stubborn, self-reliant man. He wasn’t about to open his bruised heart to Barbara, nor to Reverend Schulman, nor even to God.
    The only hint of emotion her husband had shown that morning was when he dropped Janee off at her Sunday school class. The child had impulsively thrown her arms around his neck and begged him not to leave her. He had gently extricated himself from her embrace, but not before a tear slid down his cheek.
    Barbara had turned away, resentful that this child her husband hardly knew prompted a show of emotion, while Doug kept four years of grief over his own daughter locked in a secret place Barbara was never allowed to see.
    Caitlin’s death had struck the first near-fatal blow to their marriage. Would this child strike the final one?

Chapter Seven
    J anee sat looking out at the rain, her fingers pressed against the window, as if they would break through the barrier and discover another world—something magnificent, a wonderland. She stared at the rain with wide, astonished eyes, saying nothing. Just watching.
    â€œJanee, keep your hands off the glass,” Barbara prodded gently. “We don’t want smudge marks, do we?”
    Obediently the child removed her hands. A flicker of shame crossed her face, but her eyes remained unblinking. Janee said nothing; it was an accusing silence. To break the awkward stillness, Barbara said, “Would you like some bread and butter?”
    A quick shake of the head.
    â€œNo? Well, maybe some yogurt…or cookies and milk?” Barbara let her words drift off. Janee wasn’tlistening. Already the child had pressed her face back to the window, to the soft pattering rain. Tabby lay stretched out beside her on the overstuffed chair, sleeping contentedly, her whiskers twitching as she dreamed.
    The room was dark, moving with soft shadows. Janee sat framed by the curtains. The shallow September light that penetrated the window effused a dusky halo around Janee’s wheat-colored hair.
    Barbara sat across the room on the sofa, sewing a button on one of Doug’s dress