Rachel's Hope

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Epigraph

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Copyright

“You have that glow people talk about.”

“I do?” Her cheeks grew warm. Was she still attractive to David after all?

“You look the same way you did when you were expecting Brian. Remember? I used to tease you about it. I said, ‘If we could bottle that kind of beauty, we’d make a million dollars.’”

“Yes, I do remember,” she said softly. “I always thought you were just trying to make me feel better.”

“No, I was dead serious.” Slowly, tentatively, David moved from his recliner to the sofa. He took her hand in his, his very nearness making her weak, turning her heart to gelatin. “Rachel, sweetheart, I’ve been so worried about you. It’s Christmas and I hate this animosity between us. Isn’t there something we can do to resolve this?”

Tears gathered behind Rachel’s eyes. She yearned to feel herself enfolded in his embrace and to pretend that these bitter weeks apart had never happened, that this was like every Christmas they had spent together and would spend together, for the rest of their lives.

“Oh, David.” She sighed. No other words would come.

Then he moved toward her and gathered her into his arms…

writes from the heart about contemporary issues facing adults. Considered one of America’s best-loved Christian fiction writers, Carole was born and raised in Jackson, Michigan. She is the recipient of two Pacesetter Awards and the C.S. Lewis Honor Book Award. Over eight hundred of Carole’s stories, articles and poems have been published in more than one hundred Christian periodicals.

A frequent speaker at conferences, schools, churches and women’s ministries around the country, Carole finds fulfillment in being able to share her testimony about the faithfulness of God in her life and the abundance He offers those who come to Him. Carole and her husband, Bill, have three children and live in Moreno Valley, California.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Therefore my heart is glad, and my glory rejoiceth: my flesh also shall rest in hope.

—Psalm 16:9

With all my love, To my mother and father, Aldon and Millie Gift, who have loved each other through over 56 years of marriage.

Rachel Webber stared at the sign over the physician’s door, her heart jackhammering and a sour taste at the back of her throat. This moment wasn’t real. It had to be a dream. A nightmare.

“This must be it,” said Marlene, her throaty, nononsense voice sounding distant, disconnected. “It says Dr. Bernard Oberg.”

Rachel looked around. She had nearly forgotten Marlene. For one desperate moment she wished their roles were reversed, that Marlene Benson was the expectant mother and Rachel the comforting friend.

“We can’t just stand here, Rachel. You want to know for sure, don’t you?”

Rachel nodded and reached for the doorknob. As impossible as it seemed, she was actually here, forcing herself to face the truth, however unwelcome it might be. She straightened her shoulders and entered the obstetrician’s office, Marlene on her heels. She knew they made a comical spectacle, Marlene nearly shoving her toward the receptionist’s desk. She prayed all eyes wouldn’t be on her, reading her face, guessing her thoughts. As hard as she struggled to put on a brave front, she was on the verge of tears. She could have been facing a firing squad instead of a mere pregnancy test.

Once inside, Marlene heaved herself into an empty chair, but Rachel paused stonily and gazed past the anonymous faces, wondering if she looked as conspicuous as she felt But why should she feel so ill at ease? She was an ordinary woman in her early thirties, not unlike the other women in this office. She had as much right to be here as anyone.

Already she was feeling a twinge of claustrophobia mingled with a ripple of nausea. Dr. Oberg’s waiting room was too close, too warm. It was an oversize walk-in closet camouflaged with nursery bric-a-brac and semigloss paint. The room was uncomfortably small and narrow, with baby blue walls, bare except for an occasional pastel drawing of a child hugging a pink blanket or clutching a teddy bear. The drawings were signed simply Muriel, with no last name.

“May I help you, ma’am?” asked the woman at the reception desk.

“She means you, Rachel,” whispered Marlene. “I don’t need this kind of help—thank goodness!”

“This isn’t something I bargained for, either,” Rachel retorted. She approached the desk and wondered what difference it all made—the walls, the paintings and good old Muriel, whoever she was. There were too many other matters to occupy Rachel’s mind. Questions buzzed inside her skull like swarming, relentless bees, unnerving her, nearly incapacitating her. For all too long she had fretted over the possibility of being pregnant—for days, weeks now. As each day had passed, the idea had grown stronger, more pressing, more probable than before. In desperation she had gone to the drugstore and purchased several home pregnancy tests, but each time the positive sign had appeared she’d convinced herself it couldn’t be accurate.