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Coming April 27, 2010
ISBN: 1-60162-878-1
Monet and Marcus Caldwell are living their version of the American Dream. Both are gainfully employed, Marcus as a detective for Chicago's Finest, and Monet as a nurse in the neonatal unit of an inner city hospital. They are faithful members of Reverend Ruth Wilcox's church, The Temple. The only thing missing from their life is a child. Doctors have been unable to explain the reason for Monet's inability to conceive, which she calls the Sarah Syndrome.
Then the unthinkable occurs. Monet is brutally assaulted. Months later, she learns the news she has been longing to hear her entire married life: she's having a baby. Monet is thrilled, but Marcus is appalled by the news, and orders his wife to terminate the pregnancy. Monet refuses, and a cold war of monumental proportions breaks out in the Caldwell household.
Monet's faith perseveres in the face of great adversity as she holds on to God's unchanging hand.
Pre-order Faith online at:
Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/Faith-Michelle-Larks/dp/1601628781/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1263337141&sr=1-1
Border Books: http://www.borders.com/online/store/TitleDetail?sku=1601628781
Barnes and Noble: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Faith/Michelle-Larks/e/9781601628787/?itm=1&usri=faith++michelle+larks
Books A Million: http://www.booksamillion.com/product/9781601628787?id=4633357504894
Prologue:
Monet Caldwell inhaled loudly, held her breath, exhaled,
then drew a deep cleansing breath. She smiled as she remembered
her Lamaze exercises, and felt she was doing fine, even
without her coach. Then her pretty smile faded abruptly because
her situation at home, merely co-existing with her husband, Marcus,
was not what she envisioned as a new bride twenty years ago
when she imagined giving birth to their first child.
The gorgeous, petite, five feet two, formerly size five, olive
skin woman, with a mop of reddish blond curly hair, was upstairs
in her bedroom sitting on the chaise lounge timing her
contractions, while her dog, Mitzi, stood loyally at her feet. The
only sound in the room was the ticking of a clock sitting on an
oval table next to the chaise.
Monet’s overnight suitcase sat upright next to the closet door.
As she waited for the next contraction, her eyes roamed around
the burgundy and gold striped bedroom. Matching borders were
at the top of the walls inside the attached bathroom. Monet
missed Marcus so much that her eyes became flooded with tears.
She knew if she called him, he would come to her aid. But their
marriage had been in a state of flux during her entire pregnancy,
and somewhere deep within her soul, Monet wanted Marcus to
come to her of his own volition.
A contraction poked Monet so hard that she moaned. She
put one hand around her abdomen and massaged her temple
with the other one. Mitzi stood at attention, her tongue waging
as she cocked her head to the side, watching her mistress.
Monet picked up her mother’s Bible, which was lying next
to her on the chaise. She pressed the book next to her heart
and prayed silently. You told us that life wouldn’t be easy, Lord, but
I never imagined anything like this happening in my life. She sighed.
”Lord, keep me and my baby in your kind, loving arms. I know
through your grace that we will both be fine. And when my
labor of love has passed, I’ll shout out your glory for bringing
me through another valley along my journey of life. Because
only you and Marcus know how long and hard I’ve prayed for
a baby,“ she said aloud.
The contraction passed, and Monet couldn’t keep a tiny grin
off her face at the thought of her burly, chocolate colored bear
of a husband. At six feet in height, his closely shorn hair was
graying distinguishably at the temples. Much to Monet’s delight,
her handsome husband’s face still took her breath away. Marcus
was employed as a police detective. Where he’d begun serving as
a member of Chicago’s finest shortly after the couple migrated
to Chicago from a small town in Alabama over twenty years ago
as newlyweds.
Forty-two-year-old Monet had two brothers, and forty-fiveyear-
old Marcus had an older sister who lived in Texas. His parents
were deceased. Monet’s mother died instantly in a freak bus
accident. The driver lost control of the vehicle and plowed into
pedestrians crossing the street in the crosswalk. The accident
occurred five years ago. After her mother’s death, Monet’s unmarried
twin brothers, Derek and Duane, three years her junior,
moved to Chicago, from Alabama to be closer to their sibling.
Monet’s father had deserted the family when she was four years
old. She had only fuzzy memories of the man she called Daddy.
Monet and Marcus met in middle school and became high
school sweethearts. After Monet’s graduation, she attended a
small private college in Alabama and obtained a nursing degree.
Her specialty was that of a neonatal nurse. The staff often said
she had the touch. The Neonatal Care Unit boasted a high survival
rate for its newborns. Many a night, if a parent wasn’t at the
hospital to see their child, Monet could be found providing the
infant with a dose of TLC.
After graduating high school, Marcus joined the army where
he served as a military police officer. His stint in the army ended
when Monet graduated from college.
Monet glanced at the clock on the nightstand; her contractions
were close to twenty minutes apart. Her obstetrician, Dr.
Armstrong, had instructed her to come to the hospital when
the contractions were ten to fifteen minutes apart. For the most
part, Monet had enjoyed an uneventful pregnancy, even though
she had been categorized as a high risk patient due to her age.
Mitzi barked sharply as Monet stood up, waddled over and
picked up her overnight bag. She clutched the suitcase in her
hand and dropped her cell phone into the pocket of her maternity
jeans. She clutched the banister tightly as she walked slowly
down the stairs. Mitzi trotted beside her.
Then a contraction hit her so hard that she felt like someone
had punched her in the back. She momentarily let go of the
banister, dropped the suitcase, and fell forward. Like a ballerina,
she managed to turn sideways. She tried to regain her balance
as she slid down four stairs. Mitzi began barking loudly. Monet
moaned as her water broke. She managed to pull her cell phone
out of her pocket and dial 911.
Monet mumbled, ”I need help. I’m in labor, and I fell down
the stairs. Please send someone to help me.“ Then she passed
out.
Chapter 1
Monet looked up and across the counter of the nurse’s station
desk as the sound of cracking bubblegum assaulted her eardrums.
”Ma’am, where is the maternity ward?“ A stout, middle-aged
woman with short twisties in her head stood on the other side
of the desk. She held a potted fern in one hand and several pink
and purple balloons proclaiming, It’s a Girl in her other one.
”Down the hall,“ Monet pointed the way with her ink pen,
”and around the corner.“
The woman shyly said, ”Thank you.“ She walked down the
hallway per Monet’s directions.
Monet continued to make notations in the folders when the
telephone rang. ”St. Bernard’s Hospital, this is Nurse Cald-well.
How may I direct your call?“ she answered.
”Hi, Nay-Nay.“ Nay-Nay was Marcus’s pet name for his wife.
”I know you’re tired after pulling that double today. I wanted to
know if you want me to pick you up from work?“
They lived in the community of Auburn on the southwest
side of Chicago on the 3800 block of West Eighty-fifthStreet.
Monet and Marcus worked in the community of Englewood,
one of the most economically challenged areas on the south side
of Chicago. When the pair moved from Alabama to the Windy
City, they were young and idealistic and decided to work in communities
where they could make the biggest impact in the lives
of African Americans.
Marcus worked at the Seventh District Police Station on Sixtythird
Street, and the hospital was located on Sixty-fourth Street,
so they worked less than five miles apart from each other.
”No, that’s okay, honey; I’m good. I’m just about done here.
This place has been like Union Station during Christmas travel
all night,“ Monet joked, as she laid the folder in the to-be-filed
pile.
”Hmm, that bad? I guess you’re tired then. By the time you
leave the hospital, it will be close to midnight. I can swing by and
pick you up; that’s no problem. You don’t need to drive if you’re
that tired. We can come back to the hospital tomorrow to get
your car,“ Marcus offered.
”Well, I am tired, but I can make it home,“ Monet replied.
A smile crossed her face as she thought about her and Marcus’s
tryst between the sheets earlier that morning. Monet looked
down at her stomach and thought, maybe God has blessed us, and
we made a baby this morning.
”Okay, don’t say I didn’t offer to come get you. I’ll call you
later. Love you, babe. Be careful,“ he said.
”I love you too, Marcus. I promise I’ll be careful. You take
care of yourself,“ she responded before ending the call.
After she had finished adding notation to the files, Monet
stood up, stretched her body, and rubbed the lower portion of
her back. As she smoothed down the top of her now wrinkled
green scrubs that she’d worn to work that morning, Monet
prayed that she had gotten pregnant and envisioned smoothing
the top over a baby bump. She sat back down in the ergonomic
chair and was putting the remaining folders in the tray to-befiled
when Dr. Edwards walked over to the desk.
”I realize that it’s time for you to get off work, Nurse Caldwell,
but I have an emergency.“ He glanced down at his still beeping
pager. ”Would you make sure this prescription gets filled for the
patient in room 110?“ Without waiting for Monet to reply, Dr.
Edwards handed her a thick manila folder. ”The prescription’s
inside the folder on top.“
”Sure, Dr. Edwards.“ Monet stifled a yawn as she took the
folder from him and laid it on the counter. She had just pulled
a double, working the first and second shifts, and was tired. She
knew that traffic would be lighter than normal at that time of
the night on the Dan Ryan Expressway, and barring any accidents,
she should be home in twenty minutes.
Monet asked a nurse’s aide to take the prescription to the
pharmacy ASAP and to wait for it to be filled. After the young
man departed, she removed her black leather purse from her
bottom desk drawer and walked to the locker area. Several minutes
later, she had put on her hooded spring jacket, locked her
locker, and was headed home.
No matter how busy her day was, or how tired she felt, Monet
always stopped by the neonatal ICU to look at the babies and
would say a prayer for the newborns before leaving the hospital.
Since she and Marcus had been unable to have children, she
considered the babies in the nursery her own.
A smile slid across her face as she watched the different
shades of babies. Some of the tiny faces were screwed up and
crying, while others slept peacefully. Monet’s tiredness was forgotten.
She bowed her head, closed her eyes, and said softly, ”Lord,
thank you for helping me to complete another day of work at
St. Bernard’s Hospital. Thank you for keeping me in my right
mind as I cared for your children. Father, I beg you to take care
of the innocent babies here in this hospital today, and all over
the world in every hospital right now. Help their parents to do
the best they can to love and take care of your precious children.
God above, if it’s in your will, please bless Marcus and me
with children. These blessings I ask in your Son’s name. Amen.“
Monet smiled at the babies and turned to walk to the elevator,
which delivered her down to the first floor.
The temperature was mild for the fall season in Chicago in
October. Halloween was next week, and paper ghosts, goblins,
and witches adorned the pediatric ward and other areas of the
hospital.
When Monet reached the hospital entrance, David, the security
guard, was seated at his post at the main entrance. He asked
Monet if she wanted him to walk her to her car since it was close
to midnight.
”No.“ Monet shook her head. ”I should be all right.“
”Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Caldwell. Be careful.“ He
doffed his navy blue and white striped brimmed hat at her.
”I’m off work tomorrow; I’ll see you on Monday,“ Monet corrected
David. ”Have a nice weekend.“
She walked out the door and traveled half a block to the corner
and turned left toward the parking lot. She was filled with a
buoyancy of hopefulness. Monet had taken her temperature that
morning and discovered that she was ovulating. She and Marcus
had made tender love before she’d left for work that morning.
Memories of the couple’s coming together caused merriment to
tug at the corners of her mouth.
When Monet entered the parking lot, she noticed the area
was somewhat dim around her car due to the nonfunctioning
overhead light. She frowned at the security camera which didn’t
appear to be functioning either. She hesitated, debating if she
should go back to the hospital and take Dave up on his invitation
to escort her to her car. Stop being silly, she chided herself. You’ve
walked in this lot millions of times. She then decided to chance it
since her car was no more than a few feet away. Her hand shook
slightly as she removed her key remote from her parka pocket.
Suddenly the hairs on the back of Monet’s neck stood at attention.
She sensed someone behind her. But before she could
react, she was pushed from behind. She fell hard, and became
sprawled face down on the ground, weight pinning down her
body. Monet was frozen, as a cloud of foul breath invaded the
back of her head.
Terror filled her soul. ”Please let me go,“ she moaned. ”You
can have my purse.“
A sinister chuckle followed her pronouncement. Then a male
voice growled, ”Did I say I wanted your money? Now shut up!“
Monet felt her body being dragged into a clump of tall bushes
outside the parking lot area. Please, Lord, don’t forsake me, she
prayed. She tried to grab hold of the gold cross that always hung
around her neck, but her shaking fingers couldn’t grasp the
chain.
Her attacker flipped her over like they were gymnasts performing
in a tournament, and pinned her arms behind her back.
Monet groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. She had no desire
to see his face.
Her lips moved as she began silently reciting the Twenty-
Third Psalm. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh
me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the path of righteous for His
namesake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear
no evil; for thou art with me; they rod and staff they comfort me. Thou
preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies; thou anointest
my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall
follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the
Lord forever.
She could feel the material from her scrub pants scrapping
across her skin like sandpaper, as her attacker tore the garment
from her body. After he had his way with her, his fist smashed
into the side of Monet’s head, rendering her unconscious. Then
the deranged man hit her in the face over and over again.