And Then Came A Lion (Lions and Lambs Book 1)
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Authors: Cecilia Marie Pulliam
And The Came A
Lion
Cecilia Marie Pulliam
And Then Came a Lion
Cecilia Marie Pulliam
Copyright © 2015 Cecilia Marie Pulliam
Revised Edition
All rights reserved.
Cover photo by sliper from CanStockPhotos
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations, and incidents are derived solely from the author’s imagination or are used fictionally.
All biblical quotes are from the Douay-Rheims Translation the Challoner Revision 1749-1752 now in public domain.
This book is available in print at most online retailers.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Acknowledgements
I want to first thank my husband, Bill, for his expertise and patience. It is difficult living with an author in the grip of The Muse, especially while being asked a thousand technical questions on police procedure and criminal behavior. He is my hero.
Special thanks goes to Tommie Lyn for her instructions on the nuts and bolts of publishing and MaryGrace Dansereaue for her in depth critique.
Profuse thanks also go to Diane Adams who answered zillions of questions and suffered through a critique of the rough draft, and several consequent readings, giving constructive advice and encouragement – and artfully managed to remain my friend while doing so.
I want to extend another big thank you to Connie Duval, one of my dearest friends. She believed in me long before I did, and her enthusiasm for this book carried me through several urges to put this work in the Round File.
Another round of thanks goes to Linda Yezak, author and freelance editor, among many of her hats. She took the high road and encouraged me to do this revision. Thank you, Linda.
It is a great honor and privilege to have these inspiring professionals in my life. God bless every one of you.
Dedication
To the numerous individuals and organizations committed to protecting our children.
And David said to Saul: Thy servant kept his father’s sheep, and there came a lion, or a bear, and took a ram out of the midst of the flock: And I pursued after them, and struck them and delivered it out of their mouth….1 Samuel 17:34-35
Contents
Susannah Carlson slammed the newspaper down on the kitchen table. Spokane had a monster. Joggers found another little girl dumped in the brush like trash. The police still didn’t have any leads.
She poured her third cup of coffee, carried it to the breakfast nook, and sat at the table. The peaceful routine of her morning was shattered. Although the article did not go into detail about what happened to the girls, the few words used were enough to conjure up horrific images, which would haunt her for the rest of the day.
Her husband, Mark, stepped into kitchen in time to see her swiping at the tears. “What’s got you upset this morning?”
“This.” Susannah held up the paper.
“Another one?”
She nodded.
He shook his head. “What a shame.” Mark pulled his travel mug down from the cabinet, poured coffee, added sugar, and tightened down the lid. “It won’t take long for the police to track him down.”
“Hopefully before another child is hurt.”
“Agreed, but these criminals usually make a mistake and get caught, sooner or later.”
“Better be sooner. I can’t imagine the pain she suffered, or what her family is suffering.”
“True.”
“As far as kids, have you given
our
family any more thought?”
“Susannah, we’ve discussed this. Now isn’t the right time.”
“But, Mark, time is passing us by. Most people our age have children in school.”
“Lots of couples have children later in life.”
“
How
much later?”
“Not now, Susannah. I’ve got to go.”
“You’re leaving? I thought we could spend the day together.”
“No. Don’t you remember? Stan and I are playing eighteen holes with clients this morning, and then taking them to lunch at the club?”
“No, I don’t remember, because you didn’t tell me.”
He paused at the door. “Sorry, I meant to. Aren’t you going over to your mom’s anyway?”
“I hadn’t decided, but I guess I will now.”
***
Susannah opened the front door. “Mom?”
“In the guest room.”
Valerie stood in front of a partially painted wall, pastel blue paint dripping from her brush and splattering onto the drop cloth. Small dots of paint covered her clothing and hair.
Susannah swallowed a comment and looked at the paint can. “So you’ve decided to get brave and try something other than off-white?”
Valerie sighed. “It’s the only color your father and I could agree on.”
“I see. And where
is
Dad?”
“Fishing.”
“Figures. Dad fishing. Mark golfing.”
“So you’re on your own today too?”
“Like almost every Saturday and Sunday, not to mention the work week.” Susannah shrugged. “But, I know I’m not the only one.”
“That’s true.”
Valerie studied the half-painted wall. “I would have chosen a little different color, but your dad and I are still fighting over moving the furniture away from the walls and I just didn’t have the heart to start a long discussion over paint.”
“How long did it take you to convince him to rearrange the living room?”
“I didn’t. I finally just did it and told him to live with it.”
“I see. And, how well did he take that?”
“Well, he hasn’t moved the chairs ― yet.”
Valerie bent down, reloaded her brush. “You kids got a real bargain with your place.”
“We did. I still can’t believe we were able to afford it.”
“I imagine that old Victorian takes a lot of work to keep up. The wood floors alone would be more than I could handle. Then all that yard. I don’t know how you kids do it.”
Susannah shrugged. “It’s not so bad. I have the inside down to a routine and Mark likes doing the yardwork, when he’s not off playing golf.”
Valerie stared at her daughter. “What’s really eating at you, Susannah?”
“Did you see the paper?”
“Yes. Those poor little girls upset me too, but what does Mark’s playing golf every weekend have to do with that?”
Susannah slumped against the unpainted wall. “It breaks my heart. Those poor parents. I can’t imagine what they are going through.”
“I would thing it would be horrible to lose a child, especially that way.”
Susannah swiped at tears. “Mom, Mark won’t even discuss kids.”
“Oh, Honey, I’m sorry.”
“When we were dating, I asked him about kids. He said he was open to the idea.” Susannah shook her head. “I was stupid.” She looked at her mother. “What would you do?”
“Pray and try to be patient.”
“Patient? I’ve been patient and I am about out of patience. Did you know they call a pregnancy geriatric if the woman is over thirty-five? Can you believe that? If I ever get pregnant I’ll be a geriatric mom!”
“Susannah, ignore that. Lots of women have babies in their thirties.”
“I only have a few more years before I’m forty. Why can’t Mark understand?”
“I don’t know. About all you can do is pray about it.”
“As if that will really do any good.”
“You don’t mean that, Susannah.”
Susannah looked down at the floor. “I guess not. I’m just mad. I’m mad at Mark for not wanting kids, and I’m mad at that monster for hurting those precious girls, and I am really mad because I can’t do anything about any of it.”
“You’re right. You can’t control what someone else does. You can’t stop that monster, but you can pray for those who can. And as far as Mark, remember it seems to be the lot of every wife to be patient about something.” She shook her head when Susannah started to comment. “And at the same time I’m sure husbands have their own trials with their wives. That’s where the compromises come in.”
“But some compromises are wrong.”
Susannah picked up her brush, reloaded it with paint, and started working along the floor trim.
Valerie turned back to her unfinished section. “Yes, some spouses fail to recognize and act on the needs of the other.” She shrugged. “But, prayer
can
do wonders.”
“I
have
been praying for years.”
“Well, don’t give up. Sometimes the answers are slow in coming, and maybe not exactly what we expect, but there will be an answer.”
“That’s one of my concerns. The answer may be so far removed from my original request that I won’t recognize it as an answer.” Susannah sighed. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose a child. It has to be one of the worst sorrows ― except perhaps not having
any
children.”
Susannah set her brush down and studied the wall. “Should we wash the brushes before we start rolling?”
“We probably should.”
They closed the paint cans and gathered the brushes. Susannah followed her mother down the hallway to the kitchen.
Valerie pointed to the teakettle. “Would you make tea while I clean the brushes? I’ve been working since your dad left early this morning, and I need a break.”
“Sure, Mom.”
Susannah filled the teakettle and set it on the stove. She stared at the burner for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and turned the knob. The gas whooshed and ignited.
Susannah didn’t see the small flame under the teakettle. She saw a column of fire and heard Bobby Jenkins screaming.
She was nine that blistering August afternoon. With the record high temperatures, her mother suggested she stay inside, but her best friend, Rachel, had a new swimming pool, and no way was she going to stay home.
Susannah ran out the door, grabbed her bike from the back porch, and pedaled off at high-speed.
Bobby Jenkins stood in the alley beside his house with a gas can sat at his feet.
Susannah skidded to a stop. “Bobby, what are you going to do with that?”
“Fry grasshoppers.”
“Playing with fire is wrong, Bobby Jenkins, and you know it. I’ll tell your mother.”
“And I’ll break your arms and
your legs if you do. Now go away you little creep.”
Susannah moved off, but only a short distance. She watched Bobby catch several of the insects, pour gas on them, and pull a matchbox out of his pocket. He lit one and threw it. Flames shot upward, engulfing him.
Susannah ran toward the house, screaming for his mother. Mrs. Jenkins met her on the front step.
Susannah pointed toward the alley. “Bobbie’s on fire!”
Mrs. Jenkins grabbed an old quilt from the porch swing and. She tackled her seaming son and wrapped him tight in the quilt, smothering the flames.
“Call 911!”
Susannah ran into the house, found the phone, and dialed the number.
The flames and the screams receded.
“Susannah?”
“Oh, sorry, Mom.”
“Still having flashbacks about Bobbie?”
“Yes. Mark laughs at me. He thinks it’s silly when I jump every time the gas sputters, or the fireplace pops.”
Mark didn’t understand. The scene with the fire was bad enough, but the scarring she saw on Bobbie afterward was almost worse. Even after all that time, it still made her ill to think about it. She and Bobbie were never friends, but that didn’t mitigate her empathy for his suffering, or lesson her fear. If she were honest, she’d admit her fear had turned into a phobia.
Valerie patted her daughter’s arm. “Some have trouble empathizing unless they’ve experienced it.”
“Maybe so.” Susannah turned away from the stove. “I love Mark, but it seems we don’t agree on a lot of things.”
“Let it go for now. Worrying and wishing for things out of your control will only rob you of today’s joys.”
Today’s joys, exactly what were those? She’d have to give that some thought.
***
Susannah pulled into the garage at three o’clock in the afternoon. Mark still wasn’t home. With a deep sigh, she climbed out of the car and walked into the house. Buddy, their rust and white colored Brittany, burst through the doggie door and plowed into her legs. Susannah grabbed the counter and took several steps back.
“Buddy, settle down.”
Susannah waited until his exuberance abated before she knelt down and ruffled his ears, receiving multiple wet kisses in return. Pulling him close, she laid her head against his soft coat. “Glad someone cares that I’m home.”
After several hugs, she stood. Should she start dinner? Maybe she’d better call Mark and find out if he was even planning to come home in time for dinner.
He picked up the call on the first ring. “What’s up?”
“I was just wondering if I should start dinner.”
“No. I’ve made reservations at Alexander’s for six.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You said you wanted to do something together. I thought we’d have a nice meal and then walk through Riverfront Park afterward.”
“I’d love that.”
“Good. I should be home around five. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Susannah set her phone on the counter. “Well, Buddy, it’s you and me for a few more hours.”
***
Five-thirty, and still Mark wasn’t home. Susannah paced between the front room and the foyer, stopping at the large front windows with each pass. Five more minutes and she would change clothes and warm up a frozen dinner.
Her phone rang. She snatched it from the end table. “Where
are
you?”
“Running late, but we can still make our reservations if you’ll meet me there.”
Susannah let out a long breath. “Okay.”
Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into Alexander’s parking lot, and waited. It was almost six o’clock before Mark drove in and parked next to her.
He hustled over and opened her door. “I’m so sorry. I got tied up.” He helped her out, kissed her, and slid her arm through his. “We’ll still have a great evening.”
Their table on the veranda overlooked the falls and Riverfront Park. The stunning view and the gourmet dinner softened Susannah’s mood. By the time they ordered an after-dinner coffee, the day’s frustrations had melted away, replaced with other memories. Mark had managed to reserve the same table where he had proposed. Susannah wondered if he did that intentionally, or if it was just a coincidence. His behavior suggested the former. All through dinner, he was sweet, attentive, funny, and she remembered why she’d said, “Yes.”
They strolled through the park afterward, as promised, hands linked. The moment ranked right up there with any romantic movie ― for the first five minutes. Mark met an associate and after the initial introductions, the conversation turned to business. Susannah walked over to a nearby bench and sat. Families with children paraded in front of her in an endless stream. Would she and Mark
ever
bring kids to the park?