A Kingsbury Collection Read online

  What Readers Are Saying About

  KAREN KINGSBURY FICTION …

  “Karen Kingsbury has been such a godsend. Her books have brought me to God and have motivated my husband and me to remarry after a bad divorce. After not being able to have kids, we now have an adopted boy and are trying to adopt another. Your books show faith, love, and tenderness, and I love mem.”—KATHY, Rancho Santa Margarita, CA

  “I just love all of Karen Kingsbury’s books. Every one has touched me in a very deep way, relating to one or another ‘storm’ I have gone through and yet giving me hope that God is always there, carrying us when we don’t care anymore whether we live or die. I have been to that place, and God did lift me up from the depths of sorrow and pain! Thank you so much!”—HENRIETTA, British Columbia, Canada

  “Karen Kingsbury’s fiction has changed my life by reminding me that there is hope amid seemingly hopeless circumstances and that faith in God’s redemptive plan is the anchor I can hold on to when life’s compasses fail.”—AMY, Lawrenceville, GA

  “Karen Kingsbury’s books have touched my life in many different ways, but Where Yesterday Lives really helped me in the death of my father-in-law … Thank you for the great stories.”—CHRIS, Zeeland, MI

  “The Lord prompted me to find a Christian author I enjoyed, and I found Karen Kingsbury. I have struggled with depression to a certain degree all my life, but when I read her book, I was at the bottom. This was the beginning of a wonderful journey to recovery for me.”—DANNELL, Brawley, CA

  “From Karen Kingsbury’s very first book to her most recent, she has inspired me to be a better person, have a stronger faith in God, and to question how I am raising my family in a world filled with hate and evil.”—PATTIE, Oceanside, CA

  “When I went off to college, I fell into a dark depression but convinced myself that Christians not only don’t suffer depression, but that it is inherently un-Christian to be depressed … I bought When Joy Came to Stay and read it in one sitting … I was able to receive treatment for my illness and work on dealing with events and behaviors that led to this depression. The book made it easier for me to see that God can use even dark times to bless us and help us grow.”—DEIDRE E.

  “Karen Kingsbury’s fiction has helped me with my family problems. Karen’s books have taught me how to stick together with my family through thick and thin. They have taught me that even when your family may be having a tough time, never give up.”—ASHLEIGH, Fairfield, CA

  “My grandmother has been diagnosed with dementia … Right after her diagnosis, she asked me to bring her some books. I took her everything I own by Karen Kingsbury, which is about ten books. She devoured them! They encouraged her and gave her hope.”—DONNA I.

  “I can’t tell you how much Karen Kingsbury’s books have blessed my life. The novels make me think seriously about what commitment means, sticking it out even when all seems gloomy, and understanding the covenant of marriage.”—NATA, Nigeria

  NOVELS BY KAREN KINGSBURY

  Where Yesterday Lives

  When Joy Came to Stay

  On Every Side

  A Time to Dance

  A Time to Embrace

  One Tuesday Morning

  Beyond Tuesday Morning

  Oceans Apart

  THE FOREVER FAITHFUL SERIES

  Waiting far Morning

  A Moment of Weakness

  Halfway to Forever

  THE REDEMPTION SERIES

  (Co-written with Gary Smalley)

  Redemption

  Remember

  Return

  Rejoice

  Reunion

  THE RED GLOVES CHRISTMAS SERIES

  Gideon’s Gift

  Maggie’s Miracle

  Sarah’s Song

  www.karenkingsbury.com

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A KINGSBURY COLLECTION

  published by Multnomah Books

  © 2005 by Karen Kingsbury

  eISBN: 978-0-307-56202-9

  Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc.

  7680 Goddard St., Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920

  and in association with the literary agency of Arthur Pine Associates.

  Compilation of:

  Where Yesterday Lives © 1998 by Karen Kingsbury

  When Joy Came to Stay © 2000 by Karen Kingsbury

  On Every Side © 2001 by Karen Kingsbury

  Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are from:

  The Holy Bible, New International Version © 1973, 1984 by International

  Bible Society, used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House

  The Holy Bible, New King James Version © 1984 by Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  Excerpts from the hymn “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” by Thomas O. Chisolm

  © 1923, Ren. 1951 Hope Publishing Company, Carol Stream, IL 60188.

  All rights reserved. International copyright secured. Used by permission.

  Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint

  of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House Inc., New York.

  MULTNOMAH and its mountain colophon are registered trademarks of Random House Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission.

  For information:

  MULTNOMAH BOOKS

  12265 ORACLE BOULEVARD, SUITE 200 • COLORADO SPRINGS, CO 80921

  v3.1_r4

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Book One: Where Yesterday Lives

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Discussion Questions

  Book Two: When Joy Came to Stay

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

 
Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Discussion Questions

  Book Three: On Every Side

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  Dedicated to Dad, that in seeing today what could be tomorrow, you would never wonder how very much you are loved. Mom, for being forever dependable. Your love has no limits.

  My husband, my best friend, whose Bible is anything but dusty. Walking through life by your side is the greatest thing this side of heaven. Thank you for loving me enough to tell me the Truth. I love you always.

  Kelsey, my sweet daughter. Your love for Jesus is as beautiful as the light in your eyes, the warmth in your smile.

  Ty, my tenderhearted boy. I treasure watching you walk and grow in the image of your daddy, as he continues to walk and grow in the image of our heavenly Father.

  Austin, our little Isaac. God blessed us with you not once, but twice. You will always be a living reminder that God still works miracles among us. I can’t wait to see the great things He has planned for you!

  And to God Almighty, who has for now blessed me with these.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Like any writer, I draw from my experience and the experiences of others when I bare my heart in a work like Where Yesterday Lives. And so I thank these who make up my own yesterdays … Donald, of course, and Dad, Mom, Sue, Chris, David, Tricia, Lynne, and Todd. Reporter friends I have known and worked with, and my longtime friend, Lisa. Also thanks to those others who played an integral part in building my scrapbook of rainy-day memories. I remember you fondly.

  This book could not have come together without the talented efforts of one very special editor and friend, Karen Ball. Thanks for believing in me and Where Yesterday Lives. And thanks for making me a better writer in the process. I’m excited about what God has planned in all this.

  Thanks to Dad, Tricia, Gina, Sherri, Michelle, Natalie, Rene, Wendy, and Betty for your feedback and encouragement in the initial process of writing this book. And finally, a special thanks to Rene, Dawn, and Amber for watching my little ones while I snuck an hour or two to write. May God bless your servant hearts.

  PROLOGUE

  PETOSKEY, MICHIGAN

  JULY 10, 1998

  The first wave of pain seized his chest like a vice grip so that his hand flew to his heart and he gasped for breath. The second wave sent him to his knees. He felt his face contort from the pain, and he forced himself to concentrate on surviving.

  Help! The word formed on his lips and died there.

  Air refused to move in and out of his body, and his lungs screamed for relief. The pain intensified; the grip tightened. There was tremendous pressure now, as if a cement truck had stalled directly over his heart.

  He clutched harder at his chest, ripping a button from his shirt. In the recesses of his mind, in the only place that was not consumed with pain, he knew what was happening.

  His body crumpled slowly onto the matted brown carpet that lined the hallway. Get up! his mind screamed. But he remained motionless, every muscle convulsing in pain. Sweat beaded up on his forehead and his face seemed surrounded by flames. Frantically he gazed upward until he found the photographs that lined the walls.

  His eyes darted across the familiar faces.

  Another wave hit, and he squinted in agony, staring at the people in the photos, seeing them when they were young. When they still liked each other.

  He wondered if they knew how much he loved them and suddenly a million memories fought for his attention. Once more he tried to speak, to summon help, but no sound escaped and his eyelids grew heavier.

  The strongest pain of all hit then, and in the haze of agony he calculated how much time had passed. How much remained.

  He could no longer keep his eyes open—a fact that brought overwhelming sadness. He wanted to see them once more, the photographs … the people who lived in them. He struggled with every bit of his waning energy, but his eyes remained closed.

  There was a ringing sound in his ears now and he became light-headed. He was fainting, losing consciousness. He told himself that perhaps he was no longer having a heart attack but rather giving in to an overwhelming urge to sleep. He relaxed and let himself be sucked into the feeling.

  Then one last time searing pain coursed through his body, and he remembered what was happening. Someone seemed to be shouting at him now.

  Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

  He tried to move, to open his eyes. But he was slipping further away and it was too hard to come back. For the briefest moment, he thought again of the people in the photographs … and he prayed they would forgive him.

  As he did so, the pain eased dramatically.

  Then there was only darkness.

  1

  A dense blanket of heat and humidity covered the Florida peninsula the afternoon of July 10, but at the climate-controlled offices of the Miami Times the unending process of news-gathering continued at a frenetic pace.

  That Friday afternoon, while the city sweltered under record-breaking temperatures, the editors sat quietly at their desks in the center of the newsroom and Ellen Barrett, back from a morning of interviews, worked intently at her computer several feet away.

  “Jim, tell me there’s not something more to this murder.” She held up a news clipping and strained to see Jim Western. Jim sat in the cubicle immediately in front of her and worked the environmental beat, dealing with illegal chemical dumping and polluted harbors. He was not interested in homicides.

  “Sounds fishy.” His eyes remained focused on his own computer screen and the story he was writing. Ellen watched for a moment, fascinated with his neatly arranged notes, his clean desk, and the way he typed using only his index fingers.

  “More than fishy.” She reached for her coffee and took a sip, wiping the moist condensation off the notepad where the cup had been sitting. Her eyes traveled across her desk, searching for a clear spot. She alone could make sense of the disaster that was her work area. Somewhere, buried under layers of rumpled notes, was a picture of her and Mike on their wedding day and a Bible he had given her three years ago. It was dusty now, though its pages were stiff and clean—much as they had been when she received it.

  Ellen studied the heap of papers and, as she had once a month for the past year, made a mental note to get organized. For now she pushed her keyboard back and set the hot drink in the space it created.

  She looked at Jim again. “Guy lives his whole life in his father’s shadow, tells his friend he hates the old man, and next thing we know Dad opens the door and gets blown away by an AK-47 on the Fourth of July.”

  “Some holiday.”

  “Neighbors think it’s fireworks and no one sees a gunman. What does the grieving son do? Hops in Dad’s shiny, n
ew Corvette and shows it off to half the people in town.”

  “Fishy.”

  “Not to mention the tidy insurance settlement sonny boy figures to get now that Dad’s gone.”

  “Very fishy.”

  “Know what I think?”

  Jim sighed. “What?”

  “Prison time for sonny boy.”

  “Hmm, yes.” Jim continued to type, his index fingers moving deftly across the keyboard.

  “And won’t that be something after everyone’s been busy doling out sympathy cards to the guy like he’s some kind of forlorn victim? Truthfully, I can’t understand why he hasn’t been arrested. I mean, it’s amazing, how obvious it is.”

  Jim sighed once more, and this time his fingers froze in place as he looked up from his work. “That all you and Mike talk about at home? Homicide investigations? Must make great dinner conversation.”

  Ellen ignored him, but she was quiet for a moment. She didn’t want to think about Mike and the dinner conversations that were not taking place. She glanced once more at her notes.

  “Well, I think the kid’s dead in the water. No doubt in my mind. He’d better enjoy the Corvette while he still has his hands free.”

  Jim continued typing and the conversation stalled. Ellen settled back into her chair and glanced around the office. The newsroom was a microcosm of the outside world and it pulsed with a heartbeat all its own. If a story was breaking anywhere—from Pensacola to Pennsylvania, Pasadena to Pakistan—it was breaking at the office of the Miami Times.

  The room held twenty-four centers, each with eight computer stations manned by hungry reporters. By late afternoon, most of the reporters were seated at their desks, tapping out whatever information they had collected earlier in the day.

  Like the product it produced, the newsroom was broken into sections. News, sports, entertainment, religion, arts, and editorial. Each department had its physical place in the office and operated independently of the others but for the constant relaying of information to and from the city desk located at the center of the room.

  Despite the hum of activity from the other sections, Ellen knew it was the editors at the city desk who ultimately made up the life force behind the paper. They had the power to destroy a local politician by placing his questionable use of campaign funds under a banner headline on the front page instead of burying it ten pages into the paper. A plan to expand the city’s baseball stadium could be accepted or rejected based on the way the editors chose to play it in print.