“It’s really kind of you to help, Mr. Sullivan,” Alexis replied,
“but I don’t want to put you out. You have your shop to get back to and Cliff to take care of. Why don’t I just—”
“Miss Richmond—” J.D. held the truck door wide and held out a helping hand her way “—we’ll have you home in no time.”
“Oh…um…thank you.” J.D. slipped his hand under her elbow as she stepped up to reach the truck floor. For half an instant, she felt his warm breath on her cheek. Then she was up and seated on the black leather seat next to Cliff. “I do appreciate it,” she said, turning just as his eyes lifted from her legs. His mouth softened as his gaze skittered away. She tugged her skirt back to her knees, feeling her cheeks flush.
She hadn’t blushed in years.
RUTH SCOFIELD
became serious about writing after she’d raised her children. Until then, she’d concentrated her life on being a June Cleaver-type wife and mother, spent years as a Bible student and teacher for teens and young adults and led a weekly women’s prayer group. When she’d made a final wedding dress and her last child had left the nest, she declared to one and all that it was her turn to activate a dream. Thankfully, her husband applauded her decision.
Ruth’s first book was published in 1993 just a month after her return to her native Missouri after years in the East. She often sets her novels in Missouri, where there are lakes and hills aplenty, and as many stories and history as people. She eagerly expects to write two dozen more novels.
Take My Hand
Ruth Scofield
And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love.
But the greatest of these is love.
—I Corinthians 13:13
I wish to thank Karen Williamson, my daughter
and teacher of students with Behavior Disorder, for her help in the understanding of educational terminology.
Dear Reader,
A society is often judged by how it treats those in its society that are nonstandard. The growing awareness and treatment of students with Behavior Disorder is a case in point. These students sometimes have physical disabilities, sometimes emotional, but all deserve a chance to learn and shine in their knowledge. This story touches that need. God loves each of us with a passion beyond description.
I hope you enjoy Alexis and James’s story. They are typical of all the small-town folks who live around the lakes. Just like you and me.
You may write to me at: P.O. Box 1221, Blue Springs, MO 64015.
Contents
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
Epilogue
Chapter One
Alexis Richmond looked up as a man paused in her open classroom door. He stood tall and knee-locked, his thighs molded inside his denims as though holding his own against a gale wind. His lightning glance showed dark brown eyes full of vexation, framed in tired lines.
She continued to stack papers and waited.
The father of her new student, she assumed. The Lake Trails Elementary School office had called only an hour ago to let her know her class would now number twelve. Twelve was a large group for a special-needs class. Alexis taught students classified as having a behavior disorder—often among other disabilities. Thank God for the help of Kathy, her para-professional.
The stranger’s gaze took her in with a quick skim before his mouth tightened with sheer determination. He glanced behind him. “Come on, Cliff.”
The boy eased around the corner into view. Alexis knew he was nine years old from her brief glance at the sketchy notes sent down from the office. He wore rumpled brown shorts and a T-shirt ripped at the shoulder. His knees and elbows, sporting a couple of scabs, appeared as sharp points on his skinny limbs. He looked clean, at least.
“Get in here” came through the father’s gritted teeth. His large, work-worn hand clamped the boy’s thin shoulder as though preventing a dash for freedom.
Now this was a great start…. Coming to a new school was not a happy event for this pair.
The man’s jaw showed evidence of a sketchy shave, and he didn’t look a whole lot neater than his son. Both could do with a good haircut. However, the boy’s face looked scrubbed to a shine, and she caught the fragrance of a familiar soap.
Casual dress didn’t bother her, as long as a student was clean and modest. She preferred wearing simple things herself, and today had chosen a sleeveless, flowered cotton dress that skimmed her body in loose comfort. She liked the fact that the blue print matched her eyes. She’d felt like celebrating spring this morning.
She was thankful this pair had arrived while her other students were in Music. She had about twenty minutes of quiet time before the kids returned. She usually needed the break; teaching special-needs students demanded patience and one hundred percent teacher focus. But at least now she had a few moments to give this new child her undivided attention. And the dad. They both looked a little lost, she thought.
She let out her breath. Time to take charge, she guessed. She moved out from behind the desk. “Hello. I’m Miss Richmond. And you are…?”
Far back in his dark eyes, a spark of startled awareness flickered a moment before he answered. It elicited a quick, surprised reaction in her middle. As though they had met before, somewhere. Sometime. Yet Alexis knew they hadn’t.
Assuming her professional armor, she ignored the feeling.
“J.D., ma’am. J. D. Sullivan.” He handed her a large brown envelope, fat with what she suspected were the child’s school records. “This is my son, Clifford.”
“Hi, Clifford.” Alexis looked directly at the boy. “I’m glad to meet you.”
The child didn’t answer, but defiance gleamed from his dark brown eyes before his gaze darted to the bank of windows.
J.D. frowned. “Answer the lady, boy.”
Cliff remained silent a moment, then, when his dad squeezed his shoulder, he mumbled, “’Lo.” But the boy didn’t return his gaze to hers.
The child’s behavior was in keeping with why he’d been placed in her class. Complicating the problem, the child had just lost his mother, and Missouri was half a continent away from where he’d lived in California. All this was new to the child.