A Family To Share. Arlene James

It’s just that your daughter is so young for that sort of care. I know the two of you must have been through a lot.”

      The look that he turned on her said it all. The man was confused, harassed, deeply worried.

      “I don’t know how else to help her,” he admitted bluntly. Then he cleared his throat and smiled. “I appreciate your assistance.”

      “Anytime.”

      He would have turned away, but Connie impulsively reached out a hand, setting it lightly on his forearm.

      “I’ll pray for you,” she told him softly.

      A muscle in the hollow of one cheek quivered as he lay his much larger hand over hers.

      The next instant, he abruptly jerked away and stepped back, saying, “Please do.”

      Quickly, he opened the front door of the car and dropped down behind the steering wheel. In the backseat, Larissa still reached for Connie, her cries both angry and desperate.

      As the sedan drove away, Connie pictured the child inside.

      She really was a beautiful little thing with her pale-blond hair and plump cheeks. She had her father’s cinnamon-brown eyes, but hers were rounder and wider, and something about the way Larissa looked at a person felt vaguely troubling. It was as if she constantly searched for something, someone.

      Connie sensed the child’s fear, anger and frustration, emotions with which she could strongly identify. She had never known her own father and had few pleasant memories of her mother, but she remembered all too well being separated from her brother and then later her sister. Alone and confused, she had desperately sought comfort from those in whose care she had been placed, only to find herself also suddenly separated from them. That pattern had repeated itself over the years.

      At times, the anger and neediness had overwhelmed her, but unlike her older sister, Jolie, Connie could not express herself in cold contempt or outright displays of temper. Instead, she tended to hide away and weep endlessly for hours, then blindly latch on to the first friendly person she could find. All too often, they hadn’t really been her friends at all. It seemed to be an unwritten law that the users of this world could recognize the neediest of their companions at a glance. Thank God that He had led her out of that.

      Chilled, Connie folded her arms and turned back into the building. She smiled at Millie and walked down the hallway to her son’s room.

      Russell was ready and waiting for her, his coat on, a sheet of paper to which cotton balls had been glued clutched in one hand. Miss Susan held him in her arms behind the half door, rubbing his nose against hers. He giggled, throwing back his bright-red head, and spied Connie.

      “Mama!” he called gaily, his big, blue eyes shining.

      He leaned toward her and she caught him up against her, hugging him close.

      “Hello, my angel. Were you a good boy today?”

      “Sweet as pie,” Miss Susan said.

      Connie smiled in response. “Say bye-bye to Miss Susan.”

      Russell raised a hand and folded his fingers forward. “Bye-bye.”

      “Bye-bye, cutie. See you soon.”

      “Thank you, Miss Susan.”

      “Anytime. We’re always glad to see him.”

      “Well, if I start school—or when, rather—he’s apt to become a regular.”

      “That’d be fine,” Miss Susan told her. “He’s such a happy, little thing.”

      Connie knew whom she had to thank for that.

      Oh, it was true that Russell possessed a sweet, placid nature, but even the best-natured child would fret and act out in the grip of insecurity, and Russell could easily have been such a child. Being born in a prison was not the best way to start out in life, but Jolie, bless her, had seen to it that he had a loving, structured home until Connie, with the help of their brother, could see to it herself.

      She and her son didn’t have much money or even a two-parent home, but they were blessed nevertheless.

      Connie thought of Larissa Oakes and the turmoil that seemed to spill out all around her and she hugged her son a little closer.

      Truly, they were blessed. They had Marcus and Jolie and now even Vince and the other Cutlers. Whatever terrors and shame her past held, whatever uncertainties and limitations clouded her future, her little boy would always know love and the security of family and faith to keep him strong and whole.

      She couldn’t ask for anything more.

      Chapter Two

      No wedding could have been lovelier, Connie thought, walking slowly down the aisle while clutching a half-dozen red roses nestled in ivory tulle.

      Vince was grinning from ear to ear and had been since he’d walked out of the side door of the chapel with Marcus and a trio of groomsmen. Both her brother and her soon-to-be brother-in-law were more handsome than any man had the right to be. One dark, one golden, they made an interesting contrast—Vince with his black hair, dressed in a simply tailored, black tuxedo, Marcus in the sumptuous ecclesiastical robe that he chose to wear on such occasions.

      Marcus nodded subtly as Connie turned to take her place in front of the other attendants: Vince’s two younger sisters, Helen and Donna. Sharon and Olivia sat to one side, having taken other roles in the ceremony, while their husbands ably corralled the numerous Cutler children.

      Connie took her position and gracefully turned, allowing the short train of the flared skirt on the long-sleeved, high-waisted dress to settle into an elegant swirl about her feet. A moment later, the flower girls stepped into view: Vince’s nieces, Brenda and Bets.

      Brenda was a few inches taller than her cousin, but they were dressed identically in pale-yellow dresses with long-sleeved velvet bodices and short, full, chiffon skirts, white anklets edged in lace and black Mary Janes. Their hair had been caught up into sausage curls on opposite sides of their heads and each carried a small basket filled with rose petals, which they sprinkled judiciously along the white satin runner on which they walked. One of Vince’s nephews had unrolled the runner along the aisle earlier before two of his cousins had entered to light the many candles now glowing and flickering about the room, their light refracting against the stained glass windows.

      The double doors at the end of the aisle closed behind the girls. Once they reached their assigned spots, the organist switched from Debussy to the wedding march and the crowd rose to its collective feet.

      The doors swung open again, revealing Jolie on the arm of the man who would shortly become her father-in-law. Larry Cutler couldn’t have looked prouder walking his own daughters down the aisle, and none of them could have looked any more beautiful than Jolie did.

      She wore her mother-in-law’s circa-1960s dress, and the simplicity of the Empire style, with its delicate lace hem, suited her well. A short, close fitting jacket of ivory velvet was added to make the sleeveless bodice suitable for a winter wedding. Along with the lengthy but fragile veil that rested atop Jolie’s head beneath a simple coronet and trailed along behind her, it lent an elegant air to what would have otherwise been a sadly outdated gown.

      The bridal bouquet was made up of pale-yellow roses, their stems tied together with velvet ribbon. To please Vince, Jolie had left her long, golden-brown hair down, the coronet sitting just far enough back on her head to keep her bangs out of her eyes.

      This was perhaps the first time Connie had ever seen her sister wearing makeup. Nothing heavy—a touch of blush, mascara and a glossy, pink lipstick that called attention to her pretty mouth. The effect was astonishing, though.

      Vince looked absolutely stunned, entranced by the vision that glided toward him, and he didn’t snap out of it until Marcus announced in a clear, ringing voice, “I give this woman in marriage.” At which point, Larry kissed her hand and