Ransomed Dreams
Authors: Sally John
Praise for
Ransomed Dreams
and other novels by Sally John
“
Ransomed Dreams
is another wonderful weave of compelling characters, poignant pacing, and the twin truths that forgiveness is costly but love can meet the expense head-on. Sally John is an insightful, inspiring storyteller.”
Susan Meissner,
author of
The Shape of Mercy
“Sally John has done it again—interesting characters, exotic locations, and a compelling storyline. The unexpected twists in the protagonist’s life left me evaluating the sources of my own sense of security. Thought provoking.”
Kathryn Cushman,
author of
Leaving Yesterday
“
Ransomed Dreams
is another inspiring story from Sally John that profoundly touches the heart. This novel will captivate readers with its characters, intrigue, and twists and turns. A must-read for anyone who has lost their way and their dreams to discover hope!”
Susan Wales,
author and producer
“Sally John delivers an intense and emotionally satisfying reminder that our lives can change in a heartbeat.”
Romantic Times
on
In a Heartbeat
“Talented author Sally John weaves a web around her readers, drawing them into her characters’ world. . . . Oh what a satisfying read—one of the best of the year.”
Novel Journey
on
The Beach House
“[Sally John] writes an enthralling story with fully developed characters that are experiencing problems that many women of faith face daily. And she does it with warmth, realism, and sensitivity.”
Armchairinterviews.com
on
The Beach House
“Once in a very long time, a book comes along that has the ability to touch hearts, change lives, and inspire hope.
Castles in the Sand
is one such book. . . . A profound, inspiring read of a family torn apart and the long road home.”
Readerviews.com
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www.sally-john.com
.
TYNDALE
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Ransomed Dreams
Copyright © 2010 by Sally John. All rights reserved.
Cover photo of Mexico copyright © by Russell Monk/Masterfile. All rights reserved.
Cover photo of couple and rosary copyright © by Masterfile. All rights reserved.
Author photo by Elizabeth John. All rights reserved.
Designed by Jennifer Ghionzoli
Edited by Kathryn S. Olson
Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920,
www.alivecommunications.com
.
Scripture quotations are taken from the
Holy Bible
, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
John, Sally, date.
Ransomed dreams / Sally John.
p. cm. — (Side roads ; 1)
ISBN 978-1-4143-2785-3 (pbk.)
1. Married people—Fiction. 2. Life change events—Fiction. 3. Victims of violent crimes—
Fiction. 4. Invalids—Care—Fiction. 5. Americans—Mexico—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3560.O323R36 2010
813'.54—dc22 2009054157
In memory of Kyle John, 1981–2008
Your own ears will hear him. Right behind you a voice will say, “This is the way you should go,” whether to the right or to the left.
Isaiah 30:21
The characters in this book know much more than I do about the Spanish language, art, Chicago, Mexican food, Catholicism, cartoons, Scriptures, words in general, and phrases in particular. For help in these areas and more, I am hugely indebted to Sue Laue, Karlie Garcia, Kelly Paige Standard, Yolanda Larez, Troy Johnson, Joe and Laura Irrera, Carrie Younce, and the John ladies—Aliah, Kaiya, Tracy, and Elizabeth. Thank you all!
Thank you to those who make possible my dream of turning a story idea into a book with pages, cover, and a place on a bookshelf so that others might read it: Lee Hough, Alive Communications, and the entire Tyndale family.
Thank you to the gifted editors who refined the work and cared as much as I did for it: Karen Watson, Stephanie Broene, Lorie Popp, and Kathy Olson.
And as always, for their unfailing support and prayers, thank you to friends at Church of the Advent; my son, Christopher; and my husband, Tim.
Caracas, Venezuela
At precisely twelve minutes, thirty-five seconds past ten o’clock in the morning Venezuelan time, Sheridan Montgomery’s world ceased to exist.
She lay on a sidewalk, not quite facedown, not quite on her side. A crushing weight pinned her against the flagstones. A hand gripped her head viselike, pressing her cheek into the cool, rough surface. Her left arm protruded from beneath her at an awkward slant, aligning her wrist mere centimeters from her eyes.
She gazed at her watch. Its crystal was a web of fine veins. The second hand did not move.
Twelve minutes, thirty-five seconds after ten.
Eliot had given her the watch four years before, on their fifth anniversary. She had protested at the sapphires that ringed its face, at the twenty-four-carat-gold and silver band. It was too beautiful, she said. Too elegant.
“Elegant?” He had laughed. “With numbers big enough for Big Ben?”
“Still,” she had said. “Sapphires?”
“Small ones. For a touch of sparkle.”
A touch of sparkle.
It was how he described her. The nickname began when they got engaged. She didn’t want a diamond ring, just a simple gold band. He honored her choice, saying she was the only touch of sparkle needed.
She had kept the watch for his sake. Eventually she grew to appreciate its large numbers that helped her notice the time. She was still late to everything, but not
as
late. The graceful sweep of the second hand became a reminder to slow down and savor the moments.
She blinked again. The watch still read twelve minutes, thirty-five seconds past ten.
Pain ripped through her, an excruciating wrench from stomach to chest to throat. She opened her mouth, but the scream would not come. She had no breath.
“Let’s go!” a voice above her roared.
Air slammed into her lungs, searing her throat. She gagged.
“Sher!” The voice again, softer, a rush of hot air at her ear. “Sher!” It was Luke. The grip on her head loosened. The weight shifted.
Chaos bombarded her senses. Loud shouts. Shrieks. People a blur of motion. A pungent scent. A dryness like a mouthful of cotton. Arms encircling her, roughly jerking her upright.
And then she saw it.
The scream still would not come, only a mewling, its sound lost in the raging clamor.
Luke held her tightly to himself, moving them as one, her feet scarcely touching the ground. He rushed them away.
Away from the pandemonium.
Away from
it
.
Away from the sight of her husband sprawled facedown, the back of his ivory linen suit coat turning to a brilliant shade of scarlet in the morning sun.
Topala, Mexico
Eighteen months later
Like everything about the small village tucked into the foothills of the Sierra Madres in central Mexico, sunrise was a leisurely event.
Sheridan waited for it, tea mug in hand, shawl over her cotton nightgown, bare feet chilled against the tile floor of the second-story balcony. Alone, she listened in the dark to the squawk of roosters and clung to their promise that the world would once again know light.
“Oh, good grief,” she murmured to herself with a groan. “That is so maudlin. Truly and hopelessly maudlin. You might try something more chipper. Something like . . . Something like . . .” Her foggy brain offered nothing.
She scrunched her nose in defeat. The morning had shuffled in on the heels of a sleepless night.
Chipper
was not going to happen, no matter how hard she tried to talk herself into it.
If she could turn the calendar back eighteen months, she would not be talking to herself. No. Eliot would be right next to her, responding, most likely pointing out a dozen chipper thoughts in that funny way of his.
Nostalgia and regret hit her, a powerful one-two punch that still took her breath away. She clenched her teeth, waiting for it to pass, mentally spewing forth a verbal attack at the counselor who had promised her that time healed all wounds, that month by month they would see improvement.
