Lois Richer - A Time to Remember

She didn’t open her eyes, but her voice was a whisper. “Please leave me alone.”

Didn’t she care enough to explain? Had five months changed everything between them?

“I was worried, Marissa. I hired a private investigator when I couldn’t find you myself. I was sure you’d phone or write, but I never heard a word. Where did you go? Why didn’t you contact me?”

She turned her head to the wall, stared at the blinds that someone had opened to the morning sun.

“Aren’t you going to answer me?” Gray asked his wife.

“Certainly. But I have a question, too.”

“What is your question?”

“Would you mind telling me exactly who you are?”

Sneaking a flashlight under the blankets, hiding in a thicket of Caragana bushes where no one could see, pushing books into socks to take to camp—those are just some of the things Lois Richer freely admits to in her pursuit of the written word. “I’m a bookaholic. I can’t do without stories,” she confesses. “It’s always been that way.”

Her love of language evolved into writing her own stories. Today her passion is to create tales of personal struggle that lead to triumph over life’s rocky road. For Lois, a happy ending is essential.

“In my stories, as in my own life, God has a way of making all things beautiful. Writing a love story is my way of reinforcing my faith in His ultimate goodness toward us—His precious children.”

www.millsandboon.co.uk

We are saved by trusting.

And trusting means looking forward to getting something we don’t yet have—for a man who already has something doesn’t need to hope and trust that he will get it. But if we must keep trusting God for something that hasn’t happened yet, it teaches us to wait patiently and confidently.

—Romans 8:24-25.

This book is offered, with love, to the Father.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Gaunt, eerie shadows quivered through the forest. Overhead the pines swayed in the night wind, the long needles of their swooping boughs brushing like feathers against her skin as she clawed her way through them, searching desperately for a way out.

She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know if danger was behind or if it lurked ahead, waiting to trap her, to keep her from Cody. She only knew she had to keep going, had to press on, had to find her son. She knew she hadn’t eased his fears when she’d told him she’d be back. There had been no time. She’d had to make him understand that they would get only one chance to escape. He must obey when she told him to run.

And run he had! He’d pressed through the forest, legs churning like windmills as he bounced along beside her without saying a word.

Their captor slept. But who knew for how long? They had to make a run for it now, while they could. She had to get Cody out, get him back to Gray. Only then would her son be safe. Gray would protect Cody with his life.

Marissa had long since lost track of the days. But she knew the seasons were changing. The shorter days meant the warmth of the sun in the mornings had diminished. The river water felt chilly now, when such a short time ago it had seemed refreshing. If they didn’t get away before winter set in, she didn’t want to calculate their chances of reaching freedom. He had become too protective, too fixated. Her promises no longer satisfied him.

Now, as she ran through the bush, she prayed Cody was safe. She’d had to leave him, to detour around and disguise their tracks. Their abductor knew the bush, knew how to track. She knew very little, only that she had to make it as difficult for him to find them as she could.

Lord, she was tired.

Marissa leaned against a tree and fought to regain her breath. If only she could ask Gray what to do, if only she could borrow some of his strength. Gray. What must he think of her now? No calls, no letter, nothing. At least, she assumed there’d been no message to him. Maybe he thought she’d run away.

That last argument—no! He hadn’t meant it. She knew he hadn’t. It had been anger speaking, an out-pouring of frustration.

Had he searched for her? And if he had, why hadn’t he found them? Was it so easy for people to hide, even in this civilized world?

An owl hooted. She glimpsed its profile in the clearing just beyond.

Clearing? What had she done? Was she back where she’d begun?

“Oh, Father, I need help. Please show me the way. Get me to safety.”

She glanced around, saw a figure slip stealthily across the clearing below. The full moon caught the silent glimmer of steel.

That knife! He was so good with it. She smothered a gasp of fear.

She’d tried to escape once before. The warning still rang in her ears. Try again and the boy would stay—without his mother. That’s what scared her most. Cody growing up alone, without her or Gray. She had to get away.

Fear sent waves of panic rippling through her tired muscles. She’d run so far, tried so hard to cover their tracks. Would she stop now?

No.

The figure passed within inches of her, but Marissa shrank into the cover of overhanging boughs and remained hidden, scarcely breathing when he passed in front of her, sniffing the wind as if he knew she was nearby. At last it seemed safe. She eased out of her hiding place and tried to remember the direction she’d come before. But every path looked familiar. There was nothing to do but choose one and keep going.

And pray.

An hour later she admitted she was lost. Two hours later she’d passed her prison for the second time. Why hadn’t she marked the way? What if Cody was discovered? Defeat dragged at her, but she refused to give up.

“Help me now, God. Lead me to safety, to Cody and home to Gray.”

She opened her eyes, spied the moonbeams that lit up a small passage through the most dense area of the forest. If she went in there, she might never get out. But what other choice was there?

“‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,’” she recited silently. “He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.’” She kept walking, kept reciting with no idea of time except for the path of the moon, which led her onward.

A sound caused her to pause. She whirled, saw the figure behind her and ran as hard as she could down through the ravine, then scrambled up the other side. She dug her fingers into the earth, uncaring that the rough branches and stones tore at her hands, that the sharp needles of pine and spruce stung her face.

“You took him. You took Brett away from me. You shouldn’t have done that. Brett belongs to me. To me!”

Marissa tried to ignore the shrill screech. Was she closer now? She fought to gain a foothold in the mossy bank, forced her weary body to keep going.

“You have to be punished.” The voice came from right behind her.

Her feet were sliding and she couldn’t stop them. She reached out, grabbed something, heard an ominous crack above her.

He’d found her.

“Help me, God.”

Pain exploded inside her head and she knew no more.

Five months, two days, eighteen hours. That’s how long he’d been mired in this pit of suffering.