In an instant he reached for his daughter, scooped her up in his arms, held her close. âI was so worriedâ¦â
Her arms went around his neck, and she buried her face in his shoulder. He hugged her, the little angles of her knees poking him, her tears wetting his shirt. Heâd never felt anything so sweet in his life. He had her back. âYouâre safe now, honey.â
Daniel turned to the woman before him. He hadnât seen her on the island before. If he had, heâd have remembered. Short blond hair, sea-green eyes and a splattering of freckles across her cheeks that gave her a sun-kissed glow.
âThank you.â The words were inadequate.
She smiled. âYouâre welcome.â
He held out his hand. âIâm Daniel Gregory, Sarahâs father.â
Her palm fit nicely into his. âLeigh Christopher.â
Daniel knew it was time to thank her again and walk away. But somehow he couldnât just leaveâ¦
loves seeing the stories in her imagination take shape on the page, so that they can be shared with others. The idea for A Fatherâs Promise began in a chance meeting at a church conference with a child whose hearing impairment didnât keep her from doing everything she wanted to do. The Sea Islands, where the author and her husband have a vacation home, provided the perfect setting for the story of Daniel, Leigh and little Sarah.
Marta wanted to be a writer from the moment she encountered Nancy Drew, at about age eight. She didnât see publication of her stories until many years later, when she began writing childrenâs fiction for Sunday school papers while she was a church education director. Although now retired from that position in order to write full-time, she continues to play an active part in her church and loves teaching a lively class of fifth- and sixth-grade Sunday school students.
As is true for Daniel and Leigh, the author has found in her own life that God gives far more than we could ask.
The author lives in rural Pennsylvania with her husband of thirty-six years and has three grown children. She loves to hear from readers and enjoys responding. She can be reached c/o Steeple Hill Books, 300 E. 42nd St., New York, NY 10017.
The moment he realized his daughter was lost, Daniel Gregory knew his life had to change.
Alone as usual, he balanced on the second-story beam of what was going to be his oceanfront inn and stared down at the teenage baby-sitter. She stood just outside the construction site, tears streaking her face. Heâd feel sorry for her if not for the panic searing his nerves.
âHow did this happen?â He swung himself to the sand. âHow could you let a deaf child out of your sight?â
âIâm sorry, Mr. Gregory. Honest. I didnât mean to. But the phone rang, and she was just playing on the porch, and I thought Iâd only be a minuteâ¦â
The girlâs excuses ran out, and she gestured up the path to the house.
âYou donât think she went toward the water?â Danielâs heart clenched. He shot a glance at the ocean that lapped the shores of the Georgia sea island. The tide was going out; the surf, a gentle ripple.
She shook her head, tears welling. âSarahâs scared of the waves. I donât think sheâd go that way. I looked out by the road but didnât see her, so I ran down here to find you.â
The girl dissolved in heart-wrenching sobs, and Daniel gave her shoulder a quick pat. He was about as helpless at comforting her as he was at taking care of his child, he thought bitterly.
âCome on, Patsy. Weâll find her.â He couldnât let the kid see how scared he was, or sheâd be no help at all. âYou go back up and search the house. Iâll check the beach.â
Patsy brushed tears from frightened brown eyes. âRight away. Iâll look everywhere.â She turned and darted up the path through sea grass and palmettos toward the house.
Daniel rounded the edge of the construction, scanning the beach. The usual few tourists, a fisherman or two. No little girl with dark hair in untidy braids and the cords of her hearing aid dangling like a necklace.
He forced himself to look again, tamping down the need to run, to shout her name. Shouting wouldnât do any good. Sarah wouldnât hear him.
His gut cramped. Sarah, where are you? If she was on the beach heâd see her, but she could be on any of a dozen paths that led through tangles of scrub growth toward the road. He had to make a choice. He jogged down the beach, his gaze probing every inch of sand and beach grass.