Prologue
HER CAR SPUTTERS ALONG the main road, the radiator holding onto its last bit of juice knowing that Poppy and her daughters Ruby and Lily need to make it just a few miles farther. Poppy glances into the back seat to find Ruby, her eight-month-old daughter, fast asleep in her second-hand car seat; a find Poppy had picked up for $5 at a local yard sale. The car seat and clothes were all they had to their name. After Stan’s hand had swung down to not only hit Poppy, which had taken her by surprise, but to strike Ruby, Poppy knew she couldn’t stand by. The years of verbal abuse Poppy could ignore, but to physically attack her? She wasn’t going to allow that to happen.
Not waiting an instant, Poppy finally fought back by throwing a metal lamp at Stan’s head, knocking him out cold. She picked up her daughters and left.
Poppy had walked three miles carrying her infant while her toddler walked close by before stopping in front of a small, but tidy bungalow, in complete exhaustion. To her luck, the elderly couple took her, Ruby, and Lily into their home and gave them food and shelter.
They asked her where she was headed and Poppy shouted the first thing that had come to her mind, Carson, North Carolina. She and the kids didn’t linger long, Poppy was too afraid that Stan would come to and be able to track her down. He had money, more than she could ever imagine, and she knew he could use it to bend fate to his will. The couple had been too kind to her and Poppy didn’t want to tarnish their kindness with her mistakes, so she made plans to escape the next day.
The 1990 Ford Tempo that Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs’ offered for her to take had miraculously made the long journey from San Diego, California. Poppy couldn’t believe her fortune when the next morning the Jacobs’ neighbors were having a yard sale full of baby items. She picked up a handful of things with the little bit of cash that she had on hand, her weekly allowance from Stan.
She strokes her hand across the rippling dashboard just as she crosses the North Carolina border and Poppy mentally urges the car to make it the last few miles. The car must hear her plea because she finally spots the black mail box with the numbers 425 scrawled beautifully in red paint. It hadn’t been hard to find the location on a browser search. The place she was headed was well known in the area.
Taking a deep breath Poppy pulls into the drive just as Lily, her two-year-old wakes from her nap. Glancing in the mirror she finds Ruby squirming in her seat ready for another feeding. Poppy brakes the car quickly and exits the car to unstrap Ruby and Lily from their seats and heads up the bricked porch to the front door.
Eager to meet her savior and nervous that she has built him up to fantastical proportions Poppy hesitates at the door. But a breeze kicks up around her, the gentleness caressing her skin in a consoling motion. Poppy closes her eyes and lets the wind move around her, over her, through her. The long maxi skit she wears swirls around her and embraces her legs. With a deep resolute breath Poppy holds up her hand and knocks on the door just as Ruby begins to squirm in her arms.
“Just another minute, lovebug,” Poppy whispers to her daughter.
The door opens moments later and a petite woman with a kind face comes into view, but Poppy is frozen as her savior moves to stand, no tower, over the female from behind.
“Can we help you?” he bellows.
Poppy’s voice disappears along with the moisture in her mouth. She takes a moment to settle, to let the confidence of the breeze melt within and rebuild her assurance. Finally, she licks her lips and speaks softly.
“You, uh, you probably don’t remember me, but you saved-”
Joseph interrupts and finishes her statement. “I saved you from a burning cabin on the lake. I could never forget those eyes. So pale, like the sky at noon.”
“You remember? I wasn’t sure you would.”
“I couldn’t forget if I tries. You lost both of your parents that day.”
The woman in front of her gasps as she brings a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide in shock and sorrow.
“Yes, I did.”
“Well, what brings you to Carson?” the woman finally asks warmly as she slowly slides her hand away from her face.
“I . . . I’m in trouble and I need your help. Please.”