Secrets Unveiled

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

What People Are Saying

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Thank you

You Can Help!

God Can Help!

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Secrets Unveiled

Mary Manners

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Secrets Unveiled

COPYRIGHT 2015 by Mary Manners

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

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Contact Information: [email protected]

All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version
(R),
NIV
(R),
Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC

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PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410

White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC

Publishing History

First White Rose Edition, 2016

Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-528-9

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To Sheila Holman, my sweet and spirit-filled sister in Christ...you are a light in the darkness and one of my most treasured blessings. Thank you for your friendship and boundless encouragement.

What People Are Saying

“Mary Manners always writes clean romance and
Tender Mercies
is just one example. I give this book 5 stars and highly recommend it.” ~ Shirley Blanchard

Light the Fire

“Mary Manners writes with empathy, compassion and sensitivity, and weaves the threads of loss and torment into a tapestry of healing elements...I found this book to be emotionally charged and very inspiring!”
~ Nancee Marchinowski

Starfire

“Mary Manners has written another exceptional book. If you like Christian romance novels, then I highly recommend this book. Once I started reading it, I couldn't put it down.” ~ Sheri Biggs

Daffodils and Danger

“Mary Manners pulls at the heart and draws you in to the lives of her characters with storylines that come straight from the spirit.” ~ Marianne Evans

1

Godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that. People who want to get rich fall into a trap and into many foolish and harmful desires that plunge men into ruin and destruction. For the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.

~1 Timothy 6:6-10

“Uncle Grant, look what I found.” Gemma's springy red curls bounced while a row of tiny, white baby teeth nipped at her lower lip as she struggled to tug an oversized cardboard box through the doorway of the living room. At five-and-a-half, she had yet to make a donation to the “Tooth Fairy.” But Grant figured one was coming, judging from the way her pink tongue wiggled two loose top front teeth. Gemma's breath came out in short, spiked gasps as she wrestled with the carton. “It's a treasure box.”

“Let's see.” Grant strode over to lend his niece a hand, lifting the box and setting it atop a tan and charcoal braided area rug in the center of the polished wood floor. “Where on earth did you find this battered mess?”

“In the closet of that room upstairs—the one where all those files are scattered like the leaves on the ground outside.” Gemma scratched the bridge of her freckle-dusted nose as she plopped onto the floor beside the carton to catch her breath. “You know…the one you call your thinking room.”

“My thinking room…right.” Grant knew exactly what she meant. The small space tucked into a corner at the far end of on the second floor of his home had become a catch-all over the last several years. It was filled with boxes of expandable file folders and reams of notes from when he was just starting out in the real estate field…long before he became CEO and acquisitions director for his own company, Anderson Investments.

Ahh, memories…Grant had once spent a great deal of time ensconced within the warm, ecru walls of the well-lit space, enjoying a slice of blue sky that stretched to kiss the peaks of the Great Smoky Mountains through a single window over the desk. He'd enjoyed a sense of quiet peace there as he made plans for his future…plans for building both a business and a generous nest-egg.

Success had come more swiftly than even he had hoped, and now he rarely ventured into the small room, choosing instead to manage the bulk of his work at his nearby professionally-decorated Knoxville office. Or, if the situation warranted during the busiest of times—which came often these days—he'd simply spread out his plethora of files along the kitchen table while he ate hastily prepared sandwiches and burned the midnight oil.

“I wanna see what's inside.” Gemma lifted her chin to slant a gaze Grant's way as Oscar, his lanky but loveable chocolate lab mix, padded into the room. Oscar paused briefly to sniff and paw lightly at the carton, and then, unaffected by the mystery it contained, loped over to Gemma to curl on the floor at her side. Gemma gave him a generous pat. “That's OK, isn't it?”

“Sure, pumpkin.” Grant knelt on the floor at Gemma's other side, heedless of the dress slacks and suit jacket he'd yet to change out of since picking Gemma up from school that afternoon. Fridays were often the day he kept watch over Gemma for his older sister, Cara, since an extra night shift at the hospital where she worked as an ER nurse went a long way in paying her bills. But Cara had snagged a double-shift today—Thursday—instead, so she'd called last-minute for him to pinch hit. The plan was that Grant would keep Gemma overnight and take her to kindergarten class in the morning. It was no problem—Gemma's school was within walking distance of Grant's office. And he enjoyed Gemma's chatter as she skipped along the sidewalk, her tiny hand tucked into his, to share the adventures of her day.

Now, intrigued by what waited inside the box, Grant tugged at its yellowed, brittle packing tape. The carton looked vaguely familiar, yet he couldn't quite put his finger on what had been packed inside so long ago. Nothing was written on the outside…not a single letter. He didn't remember storing a box in that particular closet since he'd moved here half-a-dozen years ago, but he'd been so caught up in work that it had been a while since he'd taken the time to rummage through the stuff.

A slight odor of cologne—Grant recognized the scent as Old Spice—drifted as the tape loosened. Memories nipped like the prick of a sliver beneath tender skin…he'd worn out the inexpensive aftershave while in high school and during his first few years of college at the University of Tennessee. He'd been so angry then…so lost. The era remained a time in his life best forgotten.

Suddenly, Grant's gut rolled over and he fought the urge to re-tape the carton and set it back into a dark corner of the upstairs closet. Something very wrong lurked here. Something best left in the—

“It is treasure!” Gemma squealed with delight as she wiggled her way past Grant's legs to peek inside the carton. None of his hesitation was reflected in her voice. “Wow, look at all the clothes and this pair of cowboy boots, too.” The scuffed shoes clattered along the polished wood floor as Gemma plopped down on her bottom and tugged them over her stocking feet. “I've got an idea…Let's play dress-up, Uncle Grant.”

“Wait…” Grant peered over Gemma's shoulder. He placed one palm firmly over the loosened box flap to hold it tight. “Hang on. Let me take a look.”

But Gemma's sheer excitement overruled Grant's warning as she wiggled past his grip to tear back the other flaps. Fabric flew as it was tossed onto the floor and recognition dawned as concert T-shirts from Grant's high school days scattered like fallen soldiers across the wood. Gemma lifted a sleeve between pinched fingers and drank in the graphics. Her lips suddenly dipped to a bewildered frown as her pert little nose wrinkled.

“Why do the people on these shirts look so spooky and why do some have paint all over their faces?” She dropped that shirt onto the floor and reached for another. “Eew…all that black stuff on their eyes…they look like the scary monsters that visit my dreams and wake me up at night sometimes.”

“Let me have that.” Grant tore the T-shirt from Gemma's grasp and, after glancing at the image, quickly gathered the others into a bundle in his arms, as well. The words on the fabric roiled in his gut. Had he really once worn these hate-mongering logos and graphics that glorified death and destruction like evil billboard displays—each and every one of them? Shame heated his face as he crammed the ball of fabric back into the box. “These aren't suitable for dress up. They need to go in the trash.”

“Are they yours, Uncle Grant? Did you used to wear them?”

“They were…once.” Grant tried to forget…to drive the memories from his mind, but they washed over him with the force of a raging thunderstorm. “And yes, I did wear them a long time ago.”

“But why?” Gemma's mouth twisted into a pout. Clearly, she had no comprehension. “They're so scary.”

“Yes, they're ugly. I'm ashamed to say I wore them when I was in high school, but they should have been tossed years ago.” Grant gathered the box in his arms and headed toward the kitchen, where a trash bin was hidden beneath the cooking island. “I don't know why I kept them.”

“Maybe you still like them.” The heels of the boots clunked over tile as Gemma followed him. “Maybe—”

“I don't.” He shook his head firmly, crushing the box to make it fit into the bin. Sometimes Gemma bewildered him with the way she sounded like an analytical adult trapped in a miniature body. “I really didn't back then, either. I was very confused and misguided so I just thought…”

What had he been thinking? Like smoke rising from a bonfire, memories swelled in him, bringing feelings of resentment that he thought were long dead. Now that they'd resurfaced, would he bow to them once again? Grant's blood chilled at the horrifying thought and his head swayed in silent answer.

An angry man stirs up dissension, and a hot-tempered one commits many sins.
Proverbs 29:22 washed over him. No, he would not cave to the resentment and tumble into the dark crevasse that had once served as a cold, stark dwelling for his heart.

Gemma headed to the doorway where the rest of the discarded clothes sat in a pile on the floor. She scooped up a mound of fabric. “What about these?”

Grant studied the pair of faded jeans, now several sizes too small for him, that Gemma held up. The knees were nothing more than torn shreds of denim and suddenly a vision flashed clear and bright as if it had happened just yesterday—him scraping tender skin against wood as he launched himself through the second-story window of a framed, white house to land below in a blood-red knockout rose bush in full bloom. Thorns gnawed into his flesh, raking welts along the tender skin. Grant gasped; his left forearm still carried a crisscrossed quilt of scars. He rolled back his shirt sleeve and ran his fingers along the raised flesh, feeling the fiery sting of pain once again.

“They need to go, too.” Grant forced away the memory as he readjusted his sleeve and pressed his forearm to his side to hide the evidence of the wound. He motioned to Gemma. “Bring them over.”

“But, Uncle Grant, when we outgrow our clothes, Mama donates them to the resale shop so someone else can use them.” She crooked a finger at him. “Don'tcha wanna do that instead of throwing these away?”

“No.” Grant shook his head. No room for argument here. “Nobody will want to wear them.”

“Are you sure?” Undeterred by his no-nonsense tone, Gemma captured her lower lip and gnawed for a moment. She wiggled her tongue into the space her loose teeth created before letting it go. “But you wore them.”