CHAPTER ONE

This was it. God probably hated her, if he existed as the Carpenters proclaimed. The test was clear and easy to read; and not only that, but it was the third one she'd taken in the past four weeks, so she knew she could no longer explain away her nausea with the usual proclamation that she was stressed from a mountain of school work and the dread of the upcoming final exams. Neither would she be able to look any of the Carpenters in the eyes... ever again, she imagined. Because they had instilled their Christian morals in her, day after day, week after week, driving her to church and telling her repeatedly about God's love and Jesus' sacrifice for her sins.

She'd never outright denied belief in their God, but she wasn't convinced of the Bible's veracity, either. She and John had been over that subject time and again, with him verbally listing reasons to believe the Bible, and her tossing back arguments she'd learned at school and discussed with Greg. But she'd always tossed them back innocently, as though asking a question of her teacher... and John, seeming to think Diana's faith was simply being tested, would grin, give her hair a gentle tug, and say things like, "Yeah, I remember struggling with doubts like that, but we know that-" and then he’d go on with more of his evidence.

OK, maybe it was all true. But she couldn't see God right now, and that was a good thing, because the anger on His face must be intense enough to burn holes through the center of the earth. Diana Grace Hawthorne was just one more of the many girls in this world to give in to a guy before marriage and to land herself in a heap of trouble that could have been avoided... like Hester Prynne could have avoided all of that pain with Father Dimmesdale if she'd just stayed the heck away from him.

But then she never would have had a Pearl, and she might never have known the joys of motherhood. She'd been brave, though. Brave to bear her punishment, to carry on with her pregnancy, to shield and protect the child as though she'd been born into the most natural of relationships. She'd been brave and bold- wearing that scarlet letter for the remainder of her life, no matter how many people stared at or shunned her for her indecency.

In many ways, Diana admired Hester- almost felt a little inspired as she remembered the story she'd read for eleventh grade English. But she wasn't Hester, and the father of her child was far from a preacher. He was just the opposite. What would he say when she told him? Should she tell Greg first, or John?

John was her best friend, aside from Kayla, but he was bound to be furious, and God- if He was real- only knew what John Carpenter might do to Greg when he learned the horrible truth. Or not so horrible, depending on how a person chose to look at the situation- as a judgmental hypocrite or an open-minded, kind-hearted person, or as someone who would acknowledge the wrong in her deeds but would accept the child with open, loving arms.

Her stomach wretched, and she pressed a hand against it while lowering the pregnancy test stick to the sink surround, lifting tired, golden eyes to the mirror. The disheveled, dark spirals that reached toward her waist gave testimony to her miserable night, in which she'd tossed and turned and fretted over what the stupid test would say the next morning.

Now she knew. A third confirmation. The only step after this was to visit the doctor for a blood test, and thankfully she was old enough to receive treatment without a parents' consent.

But what about the baby? Could she keep him? Or her? She was just on the brink of graduating high school, with plans to attend college, to earn a degree in English literature; but how could she attend college with a baby on her hip? Was adoption the answer, or would Greg insist on marrying her, and then to help her through college as any good husband and father would do?

But Greg wasn't exactly husband or father material at this point in his life- he, too had dreams. Dreams of becoming a professional ghost-hunter. Did she want her child raised by someone with such a strange lifestyle? She'd seen first hand how strange his life could be, as she'd sat with him one night in his dining room while his parents were away, candles lit all around and the Ouija Board pointer swiftly spelling out words while their fingers were barely touching the dumb thing.

She shivered. That part of her life was over, thank goodness, because even though she wasn't convinced that spirits were controlling the pointer, she'd found herself gazing into her closet at night, expecting some dark specter to come out and grab her. Feared it like she used to fear the monster in the closet or under her bed.

According to the Carpenters, the one to fear in this situation was once again God. Because playing with a Ouija Board- trying to contact the dead- was just another item on the Bible's long list of no-no's.

Sighing, she sank onto the closed toilet and stared down at her pink, cotton night gown and the tan knees that poked out below the hem line.

How was she going to tell everyone? How was she going to go on with her life? How was she going to raise a baby alone? Because if Greg didn't marry her, she'd leave... she couldn't expect the Carpenters to help her with a baby. She'd made the mistake, and she'd have to deal with it- alone. No if's, and's or but's.

Three, loud knocks sounded on the wooden door, and her stomach lurched as she sprang to her feet and grabbed the test stick off of the sink.

"Di, you in there?"

"Yes!" She called back with a wavering voice, and John returned, "I'm going to bust if you don't open that door and let me in!"

"What about the downstairs bathroom?" She asked as she rolled toilet paper around the stick and tucked it into the same purse pocket from which she'd drawn it.

"Mom's hogging the downstairs, you're hogging the upstairs!" John blurted with his familiar, exasperated tone. "Don't forget there are men in this house too, and we occasionally need to-"

"OK, OK, I'm coming!" God, don't let him see the tears in my eyes. Tears that blurred the blue diamonds decorating the white floor as she reached for the door knob. Sucking in a breath, her lips pursed, she yanked the door open and scooted out and around a towering, pajama-clad John, who was thankfully groggy and rubbing his eyes, his golden blond hair sticking up like it usually did when he'd been wearing his ball cap all day long.

"Bout time," he grumbled. "Women, I swear." And then he closed the door

The lump in Dian's throat pressed upward, her heart begging her to tell John. Immediately. He'd understand. He'd help. But, after everything he'd done for her, how could she ask him to help her with another guy's baby? Especially a guy he'd never liked to begin with and had warned her repeatedly about?

"I don't know what it is," he'd said after the first few times that Greg had visited, "But I don't like the way he looks at you. And he seems kind of... dark, Diana. I'm not sure exactly what the problem is, but if he pulls anything, I'll have to introduce him to my hammer."

Such a typical, John thing to say. But maybe he'd been right. Maybe she shouldn't have gotten involved with Greg. It was too late to change that now, however. She'd already crossed the point of no return, and there was a child growing inside of her to prove it.

OOOO

Didn't all the women admire him? One would think so, by the stir he caused as he walked through Dee's Diner, Morriston's one and only restaurant. The ladies sitting in the corner sipping their tea while awaiting their orders spotted him first, strolling confidently into view, his broad shoulders straining the black, long-sleeved "fatherly" shirt with the white collar, his dark hair neatly combed, with a stray curl flopped over his thick, black eyebrow on the left side.

Seven-year-old Missy Landon looked up from her counter seat, and her blue crayon rolled down her coloring book to plop onto the floor. Her blonde curls bounced as she leapt down to retrieve it, and her mother, Penny, leaned over so that her bleach-blonde hair brushed against the table top.

"He looks like Superman," Penny whispered while the eggs and bacon sizzled in the background, and the women behind her finally ripped their eyes off of Father Superman to resume whispering and giggling like a bunch of schoolgirls.

Grace McBride rolled her eyes, but then glanced at him again and replied, "Yeah, he does, kind of."

But looking like Grace's childhood heartthrob certainly didn't make him Superman, now did it? And numerous newspaper articles throughout the years could attest to the fact that not all priests are very "fatherly". So being a priest didn't make Davies automatically trustworthy.

"A Bismarck and a black coffee, right, Father Davies?" Kay Wright, the brunette waitress behind the counter, smiled as her rabbit cheeks turned red and she reached for the pot of coffee simmering behind her.

"Wouldn't you be shocked if I asked for something else?" He teased, and Kay stammered until he ejected choppy laughter. "Yes, Kay, the same as always, please," and the middle-aged woman returned his grin before scurrying off to comply. He then shifted his attention to the huddled group of ladies in the corner, and then to Penny and Grace. "Good morning, Ladies."

Grace looked away and pretended not to hear him, but Penny spoke right up with, "Hello, Father Davies," and then delivered a sharp blow to Grace's shin.

Jumping in her seat, Grace sent Penny a hard glare and slowly turned to wave politely at the older man, whose wisdom shone as he took his seat and a beam of sunlight lit the side of his head. Just above his left ear, a small patch of gray hair which contrasted sharply with his young face and strong, chiseled features. Like the Bible says, the 'hoary head' is a sign of wisdom, but she'd yet to witness any true wisdom from the thirty-something priest. Generosity, maybe, but not wisdom: He spent a great deal of time helping his church members with various errands and chores, and had been seen driving through town in his blue pick up, carting furniture and other items to unknown destinations.

Aware of his sapphire eyes questioning her searching gaze, she turned away quickly, listening to chipmunk giggles and an upbeat greeting: "Hi, Father Davies."

"Good morning, Missy," the priest returned, and then struck up a conversation with the elderly gentleman seated beside him.

Penny, who attended Father Davies' church, drilled her grey eyes into Grace and whispered, "Why don't you like him?"

"I don't know him," Grace returned. "I can't say if I like him or not, because I don't know him."

"You've got to stop being so shy about priests, Grace. It's not his fault-"

"Ok, Ok, I know, I know," she sighed and waved for the waitress to come to their table. Looked like she'd wind up feeding her cheeseburger-yes, she liked cheeseburgers at ten o'clock in the morning-to Ginger, her three-year-old German Shepherd.

"I mean it, Grace! I mean, I went to the same church you did, and I was affected, too, but I know-"

"Look, I said I know!" Grace bit her sisterly friend back and lifted the spiral-bound cake catalog from the spot of booth beside her.

Penny eyed it with one, drawn-on brow perked, and then received the book with a thin smile. "I think you like him and don't want to admit it."

"I don't know if I like him," she whispered back, pushing a mound of golden-red curls over her shoulder. "I don't go to his church, I've barely said more than two words to him at a time-"

"Then come to dinner Friday night," she shrugged. "Greg invited him over."

Grace stared at her friend, who appeared to be biting her upper lip. "Penny, why do you sound like you're trying to fix me up with a priest??"

Penny rolled her eyes.

Kaye appeared at the table head, holding a white, carry-out box, and smiled. "You never finish, Grace."

"Guilty as charged," Grace received the box and began stuffing her burger and fries inside. The reason she never finished was because of her poor, abused stomach. Too many sweets from her parents' bakery mingled with too many cups of coffee had played a nasty number on her insides, leaving them extra sensitive. Still, her cravings continued to hound her day after day... she just made sure to limit the amount of junk she ate and to balance it all out with lots of fresh veggies from the Lucas' farm market. Between her walks to the market and her limited diet, she'd shed ten pounds and still could lose another ten, but wasn't in a hurry to do so. Some of the men at the bakery were as ravenous about her as they were about the treats sold there, and since only one of them held her interest, she didn't care to entice them all.

Joe Teague.

Her stomach flipped like it often did while riding the sloping hills in southeastern Ohio.

She stuffed one French fry into her mouth as Penny pushed the catalog over and pointed at a pretty, blue and white Cinderella cake. "That one. Definitely that one."

"OK," Grace peeked over at Missy and slid a napkin over the picture. Pulling the binder back, she closed it over the napkin. "You need it July 19...at..." she closed one eye and Penny cocked her head as she awaited the proper time. Grace pursed her lips, and then, "One o'clock?"

"Two, for the hundredth time," she rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee, her red, neatly manicured nails shining in the sunshine.

"Two o'clock. I'll write it down before I forget again."

"Write on a napkin, put it in your purse, and record it in your computers-" She pointed. "At home and at the bakery this time, Grace. Last year you were an hour late!"

"I'll record it, I'll record it." She lifted her floral purse to dig for a pen.

“And don’t forget where you put the napkin!”

“Call me later and remind me.” Finished writing and wishing she hadn’t left her appointment book at home, she shoved the napkin inside her purse, gathered her binder, and stood as she smoothed her white cotton, Summer dress. Sticking out her tongue, she teased, “See you later, Penniless.”

“Later, McFly.”

They each grinned as she turned away to tap Missy on the shoulder and grant her a hug before parting.

“I’ll be over around eight-thirty to finish the shelves,” Davies was telling the man seated next to him, and Grace paused just as she was about to wrap her arm around Missy. He was a carpenter, too?

“Just wish I could pay you,” the old man returned, and Davies tossed back, “You can repay me by going to the doctor, Evan, when was the last time you went?”

She stiffened as Missy threw her arms around her. “Goodbye, Aunt Gracie, and make me lots of donuts!” The little girl’s laughter brought back Grace’s smile. I’ll do that, Girlie, you just be good or you’ll get coal for your birthday.”

Missy pulled back, her grin revealing two missing, upper teeth. “I’ll try.”

Pinching her nose, Grace squeezed her binder close and headed for the cash register to pay her bill. The father’s conversation with the elderly man was now drowned out by whiny country music and the chinking and beeping of the money machine in front of her. Kaye smiled, plopped her change into her awaiting hand, and waved. “See you later, Grace.”

“Later, Kaye, take care.” With that, she spun away, marching straight for the door, forcing herself not to look back, and soon found herself standing at the driver’s side of her white convertible.

“Miss? Miss McBride?” Scuffing shoes punctuated the man’s voice. Turning, she frowned at the sight of Father Davies extending the white box- the white-

She stepped back, looked down at the black binder cradled in her left arm, looked at her floral purse strap clutched in her right hand, and sighed. Dropping the purse, she received the white box which contained her meal and then wondered where her keys had disappeared to. Placing the box on the car hood, she said, “Thank you, Mr. Davies, I didn’t realize I’d forgotten it.”

“Of course you didn’t realize it, or you wouldn’t have left it there,” he laughed, but Grace simply pursed her lips as heat filled her lightly freckled cheeks and she reached into her pockets. Finding them empty, she bent to pick up her purse and began rummaging inside for the keys. The father’s laughter had died, but for some odd reason, he was still standing there. Maybe a sense of duty? He wanted to ensure that the lady found her keys and safely made her way out of the huge, dangerous parking lot of Morriston’s only diner? What a nerd, if that was the case.

Or maybe he wasn’t an honest priest, and desired to get in her pants. If that was the case, then he was a flat out blankety-blankety-blank, blank, blank!

When at long last she hooked her hand around the stained glass fox attached to her key ring, she tossed the whole thing once in the air. However, her forced smile vanished when the keys

However, her forced smile vanished when the keys smacked the pavement... and Davies chuckled as he bent to retrieve them. Resisting the urge to tap her foot, she rolled her eyes, extending her palm to receive the rebellious, little keys bent on humiliating her, and offered once more, "Thanks again."

"Not a problem," he squinted against the sunlight. "Be careful, Miss McBride."

But he still appeared rooted to his spot as she shoved the proper key into the lock, opened the door, and tossed her purse into the passenger seat. Plopping into the driver's side, she set the binder next to the purse, started the ignition, and flipped on the radio to unleash one of her favorite songs: In my life there's been heartache and pain; I don't know if I can face it again...

She closed the door and glanced at her green eyes in the rearview mirror, which she then began to readjust so that she could see out the back window.

Tap, tap, tap.

What now? She looked up with a frown. Davies bent to peer in at her, offered a smirk, and raised the white box upon his large palm like an elevator, traveling up the side of her car and into the center of the window. Sighing disgustedly at her scatter-brained behavior, she pressed the button to lower the glass barrier.

"Miss McBride," he said with a teasing lilt like the one he'd used on Kaye earlier.

I wanna know what love is, Foreigner continued through her radio. I want you to show me.

Shut up, she thought.

The priest continued, "Are you one of those people who'd lose your head if it wasn't screwed on?"

Her narrowed eyes dissolved his smile.

"Just teasing, Ma'am. Here you go." And with that, the little box found Grace's loving hand- the same hand which longed to fling the dog food right back out that window. No cheeseburger and French fries were worth this humiliation; although she wasn't really sure why she felt so humiliated. It wasn't as though Superman himself had just caught her acting dingy.

"Thank you for the third time, Mr. Davies. Have a good day."

Nodding with a sparkle in his eyes, he straightened to permit her passage.

As she backed out of her space, a clear voice rose above but in tune with the music, "I'm gonna take a little time, A little time to look around me..."

She jammed on the breaks, and the tires squealed in protest, her body lurching forward since she'd forgotten to put on her seatbelt. Gasping, she reached for the wretched belt just as Davies ducked back in, this time looking alarmed. "Are you sure you're all right, Miss McBride?"

"Fine, fine," she replied, clicking the belt into place, shoving hair out of her face and reaching for the sunglasses on the dashboard. "Was that you singing?"

"Well, yes. Yes, it was me; why, was I that bad?" He laughed, but she gave her head a quick shake, her eyes and hands glued to the steering wheel.

Now that his image was shaded by her glasses, she managed to look directly at him again. "No, not bad, you just caught me off guard." She swallowed. "Have a good day." Oh, man, get the heck out of here, Woman!

"Again, be careful," he backed away with his large hands in his black pants.

With a final wave, she stepped on the gas and screeched out of the lot. A few minutes later, she slowed at a red light and scrambled to find her ringing cell phone from the depths of her cluttered purse. By the time she found the device, the ringing had ceased. Spying an unfamiliar number in the display, she hid the phone back inside her purse before driving on.