Tentative First Chapter Preview of "Pilgrimage of Promise"

Since my time to write blog posts is severely hampered in the writing of the fourth Miller's Creek book, Pilgrimage of Promise, I decided to post the first chapter as it stands right now. (Please remember this is the very rough first draft, and could be changed considerably during edits and rewrites.) I'd love to hear what you think!










Chapter One







January 2012








M





ama
Beth peered down at the only man she’d ever loved and lifted a hand to her
aching chest. Garbed in a hospital gown, Bo somehow seemed small and vulnerable
amidst the towering machines surrounding him. Though his eyes were closed in sleep,
the wrinkle between his now white brows revealed suffering. She allowed her gaze
to linger on every feature of the face she’d memorized years ago, growing fear
returning to gnaw at the last fringes of her unraveling hope.

She
moved to the window of the Baylor Medical Center hospital room and watched the
people scurrying below, hurrying to the warmth of skyscrapers. Another icy cold
and dark day. Another day in a month of days confined to this darkened room.
Dani and Steve had been up over the weekend, but with Dani expecting and running
the day care in her absence, and Steve tending to the business of Miller’s
Creek, they’d left Dallas yesterday to return home. Trish and Andy and the kids
would be up next weekend, but a hospital wasn’t a good place for kids who
needed to run and make noise and expend energy.

With
a heavy sigh she turned to face Bo again, her heart immediately moving to its
familiar position in her throat. Though she’d been through many storms in her
sixty plus years of living, none of them had shaken her to the core of her
faith like this one. She had to somehow find a way to lean on God’s promises to
help her through this valley of the shadow of death.

Lord, bring him through this.
Heal him. Please don’t take him away from me now. You’ve already taken Cecille, and I just
don’t think I can handle any more deaths in the family. Through tear-filled
eyes she once more glimpsed the pain etched on Bo’s face as the machine at the
head of the bed continued its infernal beeping. But I don’t want him to suffer, so if healing him is not part of Your
plan… She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing tears down her face, unable to
finish the prayer.

“You
okay, hon?”

His
whispered words shook her from self-pity, and she quickly swiped her face and
stepped toward him, relieved to see him awake. “Of course. Just being a silly
goose and giving into a little bit of a pity party.” She leaned across the bed
rail and cupped his face with her palm. “Are you feeling okay? Any pain?”

He
closed his eyes and gave his head a little shake. “Not too bad.”

“You’d
best not be feeding me a lie, you know.”

A
gentle laugh eased out of him, forcing his taut lips into a smile, the familiar
twinkle returning to his dark eyes. “Now would I do that?” He searched her face
and lifted one hand. “Never mind. Don’t answer.” He grew quiet momentarily, and
an expression came across his face that unnerved her. “Bethie, I know we
promised when we got married to not bring up the past, but I think it’s time.”

No! Every
fiber of her being screamed the word. That meant he was giving up. “Don’t you
dare give up on me, Bo Miller.”

The
door swung open, and Dr. Kumar whisked into the room. Though small in stature,
his constant motion gave him a large presence. “And how’s Mr. Bo doing today?”

“Okay.”

Dr.
Kumar faced her. “And does Dr. Mama Beth concur?”

“No.
He’s hurting and acting like the macho fool he can sometimes be.” She sent Bo a
semi-teasing wink.

The
surgeon laughed and moved to the other side of the bed to pat Bo’s hand. “You
should know better by now, don’t you think?”

One
corner of Bo’s mouth curved upward. “I keep hoping she’ll let one slide past.”

Dr.
Kumar gave his head a shake. “Don’t think there’s much chance of that happening.”

“Me
either.”

Mama
Beth edged closer and swallowed hard, the question in her heart burning holes
in her patience. “Any news?”

Dr.
Kumar raised his gaze, his smile disappearing. “Yes.”

The
look on his face was enough to make her feel lightheaded as her pulse roared in
her ears. She gripped the rail and waited.

He
pulled up a stool and sat, switching his gaze to Bo. “As you know, the tumor we
removed from your stomach was very large. That’s why you were having breathing
problems. It was pushing up against your lungs. I’m surprised you could breathe
at all. We got the lab results back earlier today. The oncologist wants to
discuss the results with you and should be here at any mo—”

As
if on demand, the door swung open and Dr. Wheeler entered. His head jutted out
further than the rest of his tall lanky body, reminding Mama Beth of a goose.
His round glasses perched atop a long nose on an even longer face. “Good
morning. Sorry I’m running a bit late.” He shook all their hands and then stood
at the end of the bed, his arms crossed across his chest as he cradled a
clipboard, his features giving no clue to the answer she both longed for and
dreaded.

“I
was just telling the Miller’s we received the results this morning and that you
wanted to speak with them.” Dr. Kumar volleyed the comment to the other doctor.

“Yes.
The tests reveal that you have a soft tissue sarcoma as we suspected.
Unfortunately, it has progressed to stage four, which basically means that
there are cancerous cells throughout your body. You could take radiation and
chemotherapy...” His words dwindled away as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say
next.

Just
like that. He delivered the news like it was a common occurrence, and in his
line of work, maybe it was. She pressed her lips together, blinked against
threatening tears, and faced Bo.

His
face was the color of the ashes at the bottom of the fireplace back home. “What
are my chances of recovery?”

Now
Dr. Wheeler twisted his goose-like neck from side to side and shifted his
weight as he peered into the space above the bed. “Well, that’s hard to say
because it depends so much on the patient’s outlook and determination.”

“Just
give it to me straight, doc. I’m a big boy.” Though Bo’s words were softly
spoken, the way they were delivered and the glint in his eye gave evidence to
his sincerity.

The
room grew deathly quiet as the oncologist stared at his feet for a moment. He
finally lifted his gaze. “It’s a longshot, Mr. Miller. I’ve never had a patient
survive this type of cancer that has developed to this stage.”

Mama
Beth once more clutched her chest as a gasp fell from her mouth. Tears fell,
unstoppable. “So you’re telling him to just give up? What kind of advice is
that?”

Bo
reached over and grabbed her hand. “Stop it, Bethie. The man’s just doing his
job.” He turned his attention back to the Dr. Wheeler, his hand still gripping
hers. “What kind of time do I have?”

“Three
to six months with chemo and radiation.”

“And
without it?”

“A
few weeks.” The words froze in mid-air and hung there like razor-sharp icicles.

Bo’s
eyes locked with hers and searched for a long minute as she fought for a
breath. He faced Dr. Wheeler. “Let’s do the chemo and radiation.”

The
oncologist looked at the surgeon then back at Bo. “The side effects won’t be
pleasant and won’t buy you that much time, Mr. Miller. I’d advise you to
reconsider.”

Bo
pinned him down with a steady gaze. “I’m not the only one affected by this
disease. My mind is made up.”

No
longer able to see from the flood of tears, Mama Beth sat in a nearby chair and
buried her head in her hands, her body racked with uncontrollable sobs. Two
hands patted her shoulder, and the sound of receding footsteps and the door
closing let her know the doctors had left the room. After several minutes, her
tears at last spent, she stood and walked to Bo’s bed, carefully lowered one
rail, and, dodging tubes and wires, crawled into bed beside him.

He
nestled her into the crook of his shoulder and rubbed her arms with his hands.
“You fit just right in this spot, Bethie. Almost like God made it just for
you.”

The
tears resumed, but she angrily swiped at them and sniffled. “Then why is God
taking you away from me?” Just having his arms around her soothed her in a way
that nothing else could. And the knowledge that she only had those arms for a
little while longer was more than she could bear.

“This
isn’t like you, Bethie.” His tone held censure. “You’ve always been the one
with rock-solid faith.”

Her
throat cinched closed. Hadn’t she been faithful throughout her life? Hadn’t she
endured separation from Bo for long enough. “It’s just not fair. I feel like I
just got you back and now this.”

Bo’s
chest flattened and a breath whooshed from him. “I know, sweetheart, but life
isn’t fair. Trust me when I say that I’ve questioned God’s fairness on more
than one occasion in my life. But I’ve learned to be glad God isn’t fair.”

She
pulled away, resting the weight of her body on one hand, her eyes perusing his
face.

He
released a soft chuckle. “Don’t look at me that way.”

“What
way?”

“Like
I’m from another planet.”

“Well,
sometimes I think you are.” She laid her head back next to his chest, the
beating of his heart another reminder of what she stood to lose. “How can you
be glad about God not being fair?”

“I
think you already know the answer if you think about it.” He grew quiet,
instinctively knowing she would think about it.

It
was true. God wasn’t fair, but He was always right, even in circumstances so
monstrous they threatened to sweep her away. If God was fair, no one stood a
chance. It was only His mercy that allowed another breath, another beat of the
heart, the gift of salvation and eternal life. She released a sigh. No, God
wasn’t fair by human standards, but He had reasons for everything and could
bring good out of even the most heinous trials. “Okay, you win.”

“Well
at least you finally let me win one.”

In
spite of her heavy heart, she giggled and propped her weight on her elbow to
stare into the soft brown eyes she loved so much. “You know me better than
that. I’ve never ‘let’ anyone win in
my entire life. If you won, it’s because you won fair and square.”

His
face wrinkled in merriment. “Boy, do you have that right.” Bo’s eyes took on a
distance that told her he was reliving the past. “I’ll never forget the first
time I saw you ride.”




ef

July 1963




Bo
swung one leg over the wooden fence at the Miller’s Creek fair and rodeo
grounds, shifted his weight, then pulled the other leg over and rested the
heels of his boots on a lower rung. J.C. and Vernon followed suit to his right,
while Coot huffed and puffed to his left, finally able to swing his more-than-ample
weight over the fence. The wooden rails wobbled beneath them. Bo gripped the
rail tighter, waiting for the wobble to stop. “Man, Coot. Without football
practice to keep your weight in check, you’re gonna outweigh the rest of us put
together before summer’s over.”

Through
the rodeo speakers Buck Owens belted his latest hit, Act Naturally, as Coot patted his ever-growing pot belly. “Just
more of me to love.”

All
four of them laughed. Vernon elbowed J.C., who probably didn’t weigh more than
a hundred and twenty soaking wet. “What cha think, J.C.? Think we should place
a wager on that?”

J.C.
grinned and ducked his head. “Nah. I might lose weight over the summer.”

Laughter
erupted again and J.C. turned pink.

“Always
the diplomat, aren’t ya, J.C.?” Bo slapped him on the back to show he was just
teasing. J.C. Watson, the son of Levi Watson, who owned the town’s only
drugstore, never had an unkind word to say about anybody. They just didn’t make
guys any nicer.

The
rodeo speakers crackled to life, and up in the stadium box, Coot’s dad
announced in a booming voice: “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s now time for the
barrel racers, girl’s division. Let’s give all the girls a hand as they make a
trot around the arena.” Applause broke out and a few people rose to their feet
to call out encouragement to one of the riders.

Vernon,
Bo’s best friend, pointed to the front rider, who sat atop a massive Appaloosa.
“That’s the one I’m picking to win. Just look at the haunches on that horse.”

A
brown quarter horse much smaller than the others took up the rear of the pack,
and a low rumble of laughter erupted from the crowd.

One
fellow, obviously operating with one too many under his belt, wobbled to his
feet, pointing and laughing. “Is that the rodeo clown?”

People
around him laughed, but pulled him down into a sitting position.

The
tiny girl on top of the horse had obviously heard the man, because as she
rounded the curve she looked up at him and pulled her horse to a stop. She
stared him down a minute then brought a hand to tip her black hat before she
resumed the trot. This only made the audience howl with laughter.

“Atta
girl.” Beside him, J.C. muttered the words under his breath.

“You
know her?”

“Yep.
That’s Mona Beth Adams, Cecille’s little sister.”

“Cecille?
The girl in our class who’s always hanging around?”

“Yep.”
He glanced at Bo. “And before long, everyone in this arena is gonna know her
little sister’s name.”

Bo’s
eyebrows furrowed.”Whaddaya mean?”

J.C.
just nodded his head to watch the blond-haired girl approach on horse. “You’ll
see soon enough.”

“Hi,
J.C.” The petite girl flashed a brilliant smile as she passed.

“Hey,
Mona Beth.”

“They
grow ‘em a little small down on the farm, don’t they?” Coot trumpeted the words
in his usual style, then dissolved in a fit of laughter.

Though
the small horse and rider had already passed, the horse came to an abrupt stop
and sat there momentarily. Then the girl turned the horse in a circle and
sauntered back to where Coot sat. She pulled the reins, rested both hands on
the saddle horn, and pushed the brim of her hat higher on her forehead. “Maybe
so,” she answered, before eyeing him up and down with the most intense blue
eyes Bo had ever seen. “Which tells me you definitely didn’t come from the
farm.”

“Ooh.
Guess she told you,” spouted Vernon from his perch at the other end. All of
them started to laugh. Even Coot, though his face was beet red, laughed.

But
the girl only smiled and tipped her hat before she turned and galloped from the
arena.

Bo
watched in fascination as girl after girl made their runs on the barrels. The big
Appaloosa and his rider turned out not to be so great, knocking over two of the
three barrels. By the time they reached the end of the pack, the rider of a
gorgeous Palomino that reminded him of his own horse, Buttercup, held the
night’s record, with a time of sixteen fifty-three.

“And
our last barrel racer, Miss Mona Beth Adams, from right here in Miller’s Creek,
riding her horse Daisy.”

In
a flash, the little horse thundered into the arena, headed for the first
barrel. The girl’s knee came perilously close to the barrel as the horse leaned
to an almost horizontal position on the first turn. The crowd began to lean
forward in their seats, totally mesmerized with the way the girl and horse
seemed to ride as one.

“Go,
girl, go,” whispered J.C. under his breath.

Though
the Adams girl had clamped her legs around the horse on the turn, she now
straightened her legs and used the force of them to spur her horse on faster.
On the second turn, the horse leaned so close to the ground, the girl’s foot
almost dragged the ground. But as she raced for the final barrel, something
broke on the bridle, and the bit fell from the horse’s mouth. The whole crowd
gasped in unison and a low murmur began as people pointed.

The
rider leaned closer to the little mare’s neck and grabbed hold of her mane as
they careened in perfect alignment around the third barrel. As the little horse
tore up the turf on her way out of the arena, the people in the stands went
crazy.

“Wow!”
Coot’s dad shouted the word. “Mona Beth Adams just busted not only a bridle,
but the record for the night. Her time is half a second under the closest time
at sixteen twenty-three!” Again the stands went wild as all the riders entered
the arena to be recognized.

After
receiving her first place medal, the petite blond, her hair flowing out from under
her black hat, made a quick ride to where they sat. She pulled the horse short
just shy of where Coot sat and looked him square in the eye, her chin jutted
out. “As you can see, small doesn’t equate with slow. You might remember that
before you pop off and spout the first idiotic words that come to your brain.”
Without another word, she turned her horse to head out of the arena.

Bo
caught her eye as she passed, but she gave him the same look of disdain she’d
just given Coot.

The
only person she spoke to on her way out was J.C., who wore a grin as big as
Texas.

Bo
slapped a hand on J.C.’s back. “You planning on asking her to be your girl,
J.C.?”

His
friend looked at him like he was crazy. “Nah. Knowing her, she’s probably not looking
for a boyfriend. I mean, she’s a nice girl and everything, but she’s too young.
Why do you ask?”

He
rose to his feet to watch Mona Beth Adams exit the arena. “Cause if you’re not,
I’m goin’ to.”

Vernon,
his best friend since first grade, stood and popped him on the head with the
palm of his hand. “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”

Bo
looked around at his friends’ expressions. They obviously felt the same way,
but only Vernon had the courage to express it. “Why is it stupid?”

“How
long do you have?” His friend’s green eyes never wavered. “First of all, since
when have you been a cradle robber? Second, you have less than a year until
graduation and college. Third, your mama and daddy will never go for it.
Fourth—”

“Okay,
okay, I get the picture.”

Suddenly
a familiar voice caught his attention. “Well, if it’s not Bo Miller.” He looked
down just as Cecille Adams and a couple of other girls from their class stalked
up.

“Hey,
Cecille.” He glanced down long enough to notice that she’d bobbed her hair and
had done up her eyes like Liz Taylor in Cleopatra,
and then craned his neck to follow the little mare with the black-hatted rider.
Never had he seen a girl handle a horse like that. “You ride horses?”

A
haughty laugh sounded from her. “Me? Not hardly. Why would I want to mess up my
hair on the back of a sweaty and smelly animal?” She moved closer. “Come down
here and talk to me. Or do I have to come up there?”

Normally,
he would’ve stayed put. He had no interest in Cecille Adams, or her type for
that matter. But he had another plan in mind, so he climbed to the top of the
fence and hopped down in front of her.

A
feline-like smile curved her lips as she stepped closer. “Want to ride the
Ferris wheel with me?”

“Maybe,
but first I’d like to meet that little sister of yours.”

“Mona
Beth?” She looked at him like he’d gone down a notch in her estimation.
“Whatever for?”

“I
like her horse.” His friends snickered from the fence behind him.

She
narrowed her eyes. “If I take you to see her horse will you win me a stuffed
animal at the carnival?”

“Sure
thing.”

A
few minutes later they all stood in the grassy field that served as parking lot
beside a homemade trailer. The little brown mare was tethered to the trailer
and munched happily on some of the grass as Mona Beth, now dressed in blue jean
shorts and a red and white gingham shirt, combed her down. Both the horse and
rider looked up as they approached. The girl did a double take when she saw
Cecille’s new look. “Good gravy, Cecille. Mama and Daddy are gonna have a
conniption fit if they see you lookin’ that-a-way. You have on enough make-up
for all the women in China.”

Cecille
sniffed. “You’re one to talk. You look like a hillbilly in those cut-offs. All
you need is a corn-cob pipe.”

Mona
Beth glared at her, but returned to brushing down her horse.

Bo
sauntered closer and held out a hand, while his friends and Cecille and her
friends hung back. “Hi. You did a good job with those barrels.”

She
looked at his hand, but continued to brush down her horse. “Thanks.”

“Uh,
you know who I am, right?”

“Yeah.
You’re Bo Miller from the Miller ranch. Your daddy’s a big-time rancher and
your great-grandfather is who the town is named after.” She continued brushing.

Bo
frowned. Usually the girls liked that about him, but she didn’t seem impressed at
all. “We’re about to head to the carnival. Wanna come with us?”

Mona
Beth looked up, her clear blue eyes wide with surprise.

Cecille
stepped forward with a slight laugh and draped an arm through his. “Mona Beth
is more at home slopping the pigs than she is hanging out. C’mon. Let’s go.”
She tugged on his arm.

Bo
stood his ground. “I asked your sister a question. Any girl that can ride like
that is big enough to answer for herself.” He sent her a wink the others
couldn’t see.

The
glare Mona Beth had been aiming at her sister now turned to a look of victory.
“As a matter of fact, I was just finishing up here and about to head to the
carnival. I think I will tag along.” She laid down her brush and took a place
next to J.C., pulling back her hair into a ponytail and securing it with a
rubber band. “I’m ready when y’all are.”