On the Doorstep. Dana Corbit

ion>

      

      Zach caught Pilar watching him with a strange expression.

      Was it wariness?

      She looked away, but Zach continued to study her. She was dressed in what he would describe as one of her trademark outfits: a ruffled, feminine blouse and a pair of black slacks.

      Others might have been surprised that he could give such detail about a woman he didn’t know well, but as a police detective, it was his job to remember details.

      The most notable detail was how natural Pilar appeared, swaying with a baby she’d just discovered, literally, on the doorstep.

      TINY BLESSINGS: Giving thanks for the neediest of God’s children, and the families who take them in!

      FOR THE TWINS’ SAKE—

       Jillian Hart (LI#308)

      BROUGHT TOGETHER BY BABY—

       Carolyne Aarsen (LI#312)

      ON THE DOORSTEP—

       Dana Corbit (LI#316)

      THE CINDERELLA PLAN—

       Margaret Daley (LI#320)

      HER CHRISTMAS WISH—

       Kathryn Springer (LI#324)

      PAST SECRETS, PRESENT LOVE—

       Lois Richer (LI#328)

      DANA CORBIT

      has been fascinated with words since third grade, when she began stringing together stanzas of rhyme. That interest, and an inherent nosiness, led her to a career as a newspaper reporter and editor. After earning state and national recognition in journalism, she traded her career for stay-at-home motherhood.

      But the need for creative expression followed her home, and later through the move from Indiana to Milford, Michigan. Outside the office, Dana discovered the joy of writing fiction. In stolen hours, during naps and between carpooling and church activities, she escapes into her private world, telling stories from her heart.

      Dana makes her home in Michigan with her husband, three young daughters and two cats.

      On the Doorstep

      Dana Corbit

      To my editor, Diane Dietz, for guarding my “p’s” and “q’s.”

       Thank you for your constant support and your willingness to juggle all the details so I can simply tell the stories I love. To my personal “doctor.com,” Celia D’Errico, D.O., who helps me to get the medical facts straight. I so appreciate your brilliance and your friendship.

       To my sister-in-law, Vivian Berry, for your great Puerto Rican accent and sweet spirit, and to my brother, Todd Berry, for having the good sense to marry such a cool chica. And, finally to my POTL gang of critique partners, Nancy Gideon, Laurie Kuna, Loralee Lillibridge, Victoria Schab and Constance Smith, who freely share their time and talent with me.

       Though we are miles apart, I carry all of you, my friends, in my heart.

      By this all men will know that you are

      My disciples, if you have love for one another.

      —John 13:35

      Zach—A Hebrew name meaning “God remembers, remembrance of the Lord.” It is derived from the name Zechariah. There are over thirty men with this name mentioned in the Bible, including the author of the Book of Zechariah.

      Pilar—A Spanish name meaning “pillar, support.”

      Gabriel—Hebrew name meaning “God is my strength.” One of seven archangels, Gabriel appeared to Mary to give her the news of her pregnancy and impending birth of Jesus.

      Dear Reader,

      I hope you enjoyed this visit with the people of Chestnut Grove, Virginia, and Pilar and Zach’s journey to love as much as I enjoyed writing it. Pilar’s character spoke to my heart because she questions God’s plan for her life, as we all do sometimes. Only, in Pilar’s case, she’s questioning it for the very first time. Zach, on the other hand, reminds me of myself and my own Christian walk, as he searches endlessly for answers instead of simply trusting. The arrival of little Gabriel on the doorstep helps the two of them find their way to each other and to a closer relationship with God.

      We never know God’s purpose, only that it is perfect and that in time His answers will be revealed. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding”—Proverbs 3:5.

      I always enjoy hearing from readers. Please feel free to write to me at P.O. Box 2251, Farmington Hills, MI 48333-2251 or contact me through the following Web sites: www.SteepleHill.com or www.loveinspiredauthors.com.

      May God grant you joy along the journey,

      Contents

      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

      Chapter Sixteen

      Epilogue

      Chapter One

      Firsts were supposed to be good things. First loves. First kisses. Scary yet exciting, these beginnings were like birthday presents, wrapped in hope and tied with ribbons of promise. Pilar Estes used to believe all that and more. But as the first of September brought a fuchsia-tinged dawn to Chestnut Grove, Virginia, her morning of premieres only made her feel ashamed.

      Last week if her friends had suggested she would dread coming to work, she would have thought they were kidding. It would have seemed impossible. Helping to create families through Tiny Blessings Adoption Agency was her dream job, a fact she’d repeated to anyone who would listen. She’d even earned the duty of starting the office coffeemaker because she was always there first.

      This morning she couldn’t even gather the energy to get excited about an upcoming child placement. Her eyes filled with tears at just the thought of the office’s “Wall of Blessings,” the photo collage featuring the agency’s many happy adoptive families. If only she could stay home.

      That truth humiliated her enough, but it paled by comparison to the shame she felt over her other first that morning. She’d begun to question God’s will for her life. Not just small, needling questions, either, but huge, nagging uncertainties with dancing question marks.

      Her chest squeezed so tightly that Pilar cracked open her car window so she could gulp in some of the crisp morning breeze. It must have been her imagination that tinged the air with the odor of decay. Labor Day wasn’t even until the following Monday, and the leaves didn’t usually turn in central Virginia for several more weeks. But her betraying nose, so like her disobedient thoughts, made her wonder if dying dreams had a scent.

      What ever happened to “leaning on the everlasting arms,” as the old hymn said? She’d always felt so comforted by that hymn and by its reference to Moses’ words in the Book of Deuteronomy, “The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.”

      Was she one of those people