Spring Rain Read online

  Spring Rain

  CHRISTY AWARD FINALIST—

  which celebrates the best in Christian fiction

  “Spring Rain weaves powerful lessons on contemporary moral issues into a wonderful story—a very powerful combination!”

  BOB DAVIES, North American Director, Exodus International

  “Gayle Roper’s novel Spring Rain contains all the mystery, suspense, and romance a reader could want.”

  ANGELA ELWELL HUNT, coauthor of Then Comes Marriage

  “Gayle Roper is in top form with Spring Rain. Her storytelling skills make this one a page-turning experience readers will love.”

  JAMES SCOTT BELL, author of Blind Justice and Final Witness

  “Spring Rain is a heartwarming love story that doesn’t shy away from tackling tough subjects like homosexuality and promiscuity. Ms. Roper handles them with grace and compassion, never compromising the hope-filled truth of God’s Word while giving us a bang-up tale of romantic suspense!”

  LIZ CURTIS HIGGS, author of Bad Girls of the Bible

  “This is a realistically portrayed story of love and forgiveness, filled with emotion and grace.… A compelling read.”

  ROMANTIC TIMES MAGAZINE

  “Thank you so much for writing such a warm, lovely novel. The characters are so multidimensional and human! I was sorry to see it end and will be buying the next one shortly.”

  MELANIE RIGNEY, Editor, Writer’s Digest Magazine

  “Spring Rain is a gripping story from beginning to end. The characters are endearing yet very real and down to earth. With great finesse, Ms. Roper handles the delicate issue of AIDS and what our Christian attitude should be toward the disease and its victims. This romance will soften the hardest of hearts and keep you smiling throughout the summer days.”

  AOL ROMANCE ONLINE

  “This is a moving novel that gives you much to ponder. It will make you want to hug those you love and value them all the more.”

  ROMANCEATITSBEST.COM

  Summer Shadows

  CHRISTY AWARD & RITA AWARD FINALIST—which honors the best in romantic fiction

  “A fantastic book. I had to force myself to put it down. Definitely give Summer Shadows and Gayle Roper a look.”

  SCRIBES WORLD REVIEWS

  “Summer Shadows is funny, suspenseful, and romantic. With its intriguing characters and page-turning story line, it casts light on real issues without providing unrealistic solutions.”

  THE WORD ON ROMANCE

  Autumn Dreams

  ROMANCE WRITER’S OF AMERICA’S RITA AWARD WINNER FOR BEST INSPIRATIONAL ROMANCE

  “Gayle Roper has written another wonderfully entertaining book with characters that endeared themselves to me in the first few pages. Autumn Dreams was my third ‘season’ in Seaside, and I can’t wait to return for the winter.”

  DEBORAH RANEY, award-winning author of

  After the Rains and A Scarlet Cord

  “Gayle Roper’s done it again—wielding her powerful pen, creating captivating and compelling characters, a page-turning plot, and stirring action that inspires me to say, ‘More! More!’ I’m so glad this isn’t the end.”

  KATHY COLLARD MILLER, speaker and author of Princess to Princess

  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.

  SPRING RAIN

  published by Multnomah Books

  © 2001 by Gayle G. Roper

  Scripture quotations are from:

  The Holy Bible, New International Version © 1973, 1984 by International Bible Society, used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House

  Also quoted:

  The Holy Bible, New King James Version (NKJV)

  © 1984 by Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  Holy Bible, New Living Translation (NLT)

  © 1996. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House Inc., New York.

  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 80923

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Roper, Gayle G.

  Spring rain / Gayle G. Roper.

  p. cm. -- (Seaside seasons; bk. 1)

  eISBN: 978-0-307-78167-3

  1. Single mothers—Fiction. 2. Mothers and sons--Fiction. 3 Ex-prisoners--Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3568.068 S6 2001

  813’.54--dc21

  2001000992

  v3.1

  For Lynn and Ken Roussey,

  my sister-in-law and brother-in-law

  with love and affection.

  Who knew, Ken, when you were our best man,

  that one day you’d marry Lynn

  who was thirteen at the time of our wedding.

  Did you rob the cradle or

  did she marry a “mature” man?

  Novels by Gayle Roper

  SEASIDE SEASONS:

  Spring Rain

  Summer Shadows

  Autumn Dreams

  Winter Winds

  THE AMHEARST MYSTERIES:

  Caught in the Middle

  Caught in the Act

  Caught in a Bind

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Other Books by This Author

  Acknowledgments

  Publisher’s Note

  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

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Discussion Questions

  Acknowledgments

  Well, Chuck, we did it again. We survived the birth of another book, and I love you as deeply as ever. I greatly appreciate your prayers and all those dinners out.

  Chip, my-son-the-pastor, your orthodox yet empathetic sermon addressing the issues in this book was exactly what I needed.

  Lisa Herion, I thank you for taking the risk of sharing God’s keeping you safe as a child in abnormal circumstances.

  Bob Davies, North American Director, Exodus, Int’l, Mr. Lightning Ro
d, your encouragement and suggestions have been wonderful. Thank you for taking the time.

  Randy King, thanks for taking the time to share your concerns and comments making Spring Rain stronger.

  James Ley, M.D., infectious disease specialist, you not only gave me your expertise, but you read the manuscript for medical accuracy. Be assured that any errors are mine alone.

  Angela Elwell Hunt, you faxed me fifteen pages of information that contained exactly what I needed! Sometimes being over-organized is a wonderful thing.

  Tracie Peterson and Athol Dickson, wonderful writers with tender hearts, you shared your friends and family and your keen insights and observations. I’m so grateful.

  Lisa Laube, reader extraordinaire, you gave me great advice. Hang out your shingle, girl!

  Julee Schwarzburg, my delightful editor, you and all the folks at Multnomah have been wonderful in your interest and support.

  Evening Writers Arena, my critique group, wonderful women all, you listened to the book as it grew and gave me your love and suggestions. I wouldn’t miss our monthly gatherings for anything. Thanks especially to Bonnie who has cared and paid the price.

  And last, my Prayer Board, you prayed for this project from its inception. You will never know how much your support and encouragement meant to me.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  Few topics today are as unsettling and controversial as the issues surrounding the AIDS crisis. Debates rage over what is and isn’t sin, what God has or hasn’t created, and whether or not AIDS is a form of divine retribution.

  There is no denying that AIDS is a frightening condition—it is contagious and deadly. As believers, however, we have a higher calling than avoiding illness and those with the potential to infect us. We are called to love. The broken, the penitent, and the lost need our care and compassion. We must purpose to follow the Great Physician, to offer hands of healing and hope—physical and spiritual—to those who are seeking.

  In the pages that follow, Gayle Roper handles some very difficult issues with truth, grace, and love. She helps us see behind the masks that so many wear, even within the church. Read this book with a heart ready to be convicted. Read it with a spirit ready to be taught and uplifted. And when you come to Gayle’s note at the end, be ready to be moved. Above all, remember: “Now abide faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love.”

  Keep your Kleenex near and be prepared to be challenged in your own relationships because ultimately this is a book about reconciliation.

  Enjoy! May God lead us all into His paths of righteousness.

  For the Kingdom,

  Donald C. Jacobson

  President & Publisher

  One

  LEIGH SPENSER LOOKED at the FedEx package waiting on the doorstep of her apartment over the garage and made no move to pick it up. She felt the familiar cramp in her midsection. Johnny again. She closed her eyes and put her hand on her stomach. It was amazing how many times being his daughter felt like a bad case of the flu.

  The return address read State Penitentiary, Trenton, New Jersey, her father’s address for the past eleven years, right up until his death last month. She rubbed her stomach lightly as if the action would take away the nausea. It didn’t work; no great surprise since it had never worked before. Even though he was dead, she was still marked now and always as Johnny Spenser’s daughter.

  She bit back a sigh, staring sightlessly across the yard to the sand dunes and the path through them to the beach. Beyond lay the great stone jetty and the deceptively calm expanse of water where the bay met the ocean at the northern tip of Seaside. In the far distance, Atlantic City would be dancing on the water, its towering casinos reduced to mere toys.

  “Hey,” said Billy, his young voice eager and excited. He poked at the package with his ratty sneaker. “It’s from Pop-pop.”

  Leigh studied the envelope again. “It’s not from Pop-pop. It can’t be. It’s from the warden or somebody sending us the last of his things.”

  At least I hope it’s the last. My nerves have taken about all they can stand.

  “They already sent us a bunch of stuff. How much did he have?” Billy bent down, lifted the envelope, and shook it with enthusiasm. “I mean, he only lived in a small cell.”

  “Hey, careful.” Leigh grabbed her son’s arm. “You might break it.”

  Billy looked at her with that increasingly frequent Mom-think-about-what-you-just-said look, the look that made her feel every one of her advanced twenty-nine years and more.

  He’s only ten, she thought desperately as she released his arm. He’s still supposed to think I’m wonderful. I should have three more years before the hormones kick in.

  She shook her head as if to clear it. She was making too much of nothing. She knew that. Such looks were just a natural part of growing up. The challenge was in not taking them too seriously. The fact that she’d never have dared turn such a look on Johnny meant that she was abnormal, not Billy. All those psychology classes had taught her that, and her observations had confirmed it.

  “Mom, it’s not the right shape for breakable.” Billy’s tone dripped with condescension laced with patience. “It’s an envelope, not a box. And do you really think they’d let a convict have something breakable?”

  Leigh wrinkled her nose. Well, maybe, just maybe she deserved the look this time. “I guess not.”

  Billy nodded. “You guess right. Too dangerous. It could be made into a weapon.”

  “Pop-pop wasn’t violent,” Leigh protested, jumping to Johnny Spenser’s defense as usual, though why she did was a mystery to her. He had certainly never come to hers.

  “Prison policy,” Billy said with all the authority of one who knew what he was talking about even when he didn’t. He held the large envelope out to Leigh, and when she didn’t take it, he put it down. “They couldn’t make exceptions for the few nice guys like Pop-pop.”

  Nice? Johnny Spenser? Her stomach jumped again. Nonviolent, okay, at least most of the time, but nice? Not in her book. But if Billy thought his Pop-pop was nice, that was all to the good. And understandable. In her son’s limited experience with his grandfather, Johnny had always been on his best behavior. Of course, if one chose to be cynical, one would say that the prison guards stationed at the doors during visitation hours had helped.

  Leigh reached out to ruffle her son’s fine brown hair, her heart full of love for this amazing child of hers. Thankfully he didn’t have to deal with scars like those she had acquired growing up with Johnny during the years when he was not so nice, the years that had made her so cynical about him, that had scarred her more than she liked to admit.

  “Mom,” Billy protested, ducking away from her hand.

  “Afraid I’ll mess your hair and scare the girls away?”

  He looked at her aghast and rolled his eyes. “Girls? Puh-lease!”

  Of course, Billy had his own scars to live with and his own crosses to bear. And they were all her fault, Leigh knew, every single one of them. She blinked against tears. Failure again.

  She frowned as she picked up the envelope. I must be more tired than I realized. I’m usually not so emotional.

  Billy cleared his throat and turned to Leigh with dancing eyes. She recognized the look and held her breath. She knew something outrageous was coming.

  “The guys all think it’s cool that my Pop-pop was in jail.” He puffed his bony chest with pride.

  Leigh rolled her eyes just like he had a minute earlier. “Puhlease!”

  Billy giggled.

  Leigh tucked the package into her carryall filled with paperwork to be finished over the Easter break, paperwork she probably wouldn’t look at until the night before school reopened. “They think it’s neat because they’re in fifth grade and because he wasn’t their father.”

  If he had been theirs, she knew there’d be no cool, no pride. There’d be hurt and embarrassment and incredible loneliness.

  “And there’s nothing cool about getting knifed
and dying in a prison shower, even if it was a case of mistaken identity.” Or so they said.

  Billy grinned at her again, unconvinced, his glasses so full of fingerprints it amazed her that he could see anything.

  “I’m going to get something to eat,” he announced. “Then I’m going over to Mike’s.”

  He waited a split second before he moved, his way of making his statement a request for permission but without the ignominy of actually asking. Sometimes he was so clever it was frightening.

  Like his father, she thought and pushed away the all too familiar combination of ache and anger, all the more painful because it was so true.

  “Come home at six or when Mike’s family starts dinner, whichever happens first.”

  With a nod he disappeared up the stairs to their apartment with enough thumping and bumping to indicate a rhino instead of an undersized boy. She refused to think about the new paint she and Julia had applied to the stairwell just last weekend.

  Leigh stared morosely at the large envelope wedged in her carryall. What else could her father possibly have had? Or more accurately, what else could he possibly have had that she didn’t want? She pushed the envelope down until it was no longer visible in the welter of papers.

  “Out of sight, out of mind,” she told the large marmalade cat who wandered over and collapsed on her feet.

  The cat sighed deeply as she draped her head over Leigh’s shoe, her ear twitching as it touched the ground every time she exhaled.

  “My feeling exactly, Mama.” She bent over and rubbed the cat’s head. Mama purred in ecstasy.

  Mama had adopted Leigh and Billy one frigid Wednesday in December and proceeded to make them grandparents the following Saturday morning.

  Leigh had gone to bed that Friday night like every Friday with firm instructions to Billy not to waken her for anything short of blood flowing freely. Saturday was her one morning to sleep.

  “Mom! Mom! You gotta come!” Billy had shrieked in her ear at 6 A.M.

  Leigh leaped out of bed, blinking against the sudden blinding brightness of the bedside lamp he’d flicked on, ready to do combat, put out fires, or wrap tourniquets about Billy’s skinny limbs.