Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: BACK TO THE DRAWING BOARD (08/03/17)
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TITLE: The Bible Bookmark | Previous Challenge Entry
By LeslieJean Anderson
08/10/17 -
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“Damn it,” he growled. “Peter – go through the agenda while I check on this.”
Striding swiftly from the room, Marcus glared at his secretary.
“I think it’s your daughter, Mr. Alexander. Downstairs.”
Frowning, he shoved the Exit door open and hurried down four flights. By the front door of the glass-studded entryway stood a middle-aged man in a t-shirt.
“Mr. Alexander?” he said hesitantly.
“Yes – what’s this about?” asked Marcus gruffly, noticing a taxi outside by the curb.
“I have your daughter in the back seat of my taxi. Asleep, I hope. I picked her up at the bus station in New Jersey. The driver said she’d come all the way from California. He called me to take her to the hospital because she’d fainted. But she gave me your name and this address. Said she was just hungry, but I think she has bruises.”
“How much do I owe you,” said Marcus.
“The meter says $105.50.”
Marcus pulled out a hundred, then slapped a fifty on top of it.
“Keep the change. And thanks.”
Pulling out his phone, he called for his car, and ran to the taxi. Reaching into the back seat, he gently patted the cheek of the thin young woman lying on the back seat.
“Abby – wake up. You’re home.”
An hour later Abby was sitting up in a canopy bed nibbling on a cookie from a tray placed on the nightstand by the family cook.
“Maggie,” said Marcus. “I think she’s ready for some scrambled eggs now.”
When the cook had left, Marcus pulled a chair up to the bed. Abby avoided her father’s direct gaze.
“I just fainted, Dad. Everybody made such a big deal of it.”
“Where are the bruises, Abby. The ones not caused by your fainting spell.”
Abby’s crystal-blue eyes began filling with tears which immediately slipped over her long dark eyelashes. As Marcus gently pushed the thick dark hair away from her delicate features, a vision of her mother flashed through his mind.
Then he saw a bruise on her forehead. Tears running down her neck now, Abby pulled the collar of her blouse away from her shoulder. There on her collarbone was another one. A big one.
“Oh, Abby,” said her father, breathing heavily, gritting his teeth to hold back the curses that pressed against his teeth.
His wife’s last words flashed through his head, “Please be careful with her, Marcus. She loves you but you scare her sometimes. You’ll be all she has when she finally comes home again.”
Speechless now, all Marcus could do was to reach out his large heavy arms. Abby fell against his ample shoulders, sobbing.
The next few days were filled with doctor appointments. Her collarbone was fractured. Marcus wanted her to file for divorce immediately, but Abby balked at the idea.
“I still love him. Maybe he’ll change.”
“It’s been ten years, Abby. If your love could change him, he’d be different by now.”
“He’s lost without me.”
“He’s not your child, Abby.”
“But he tells me he loves me.”
“Your bruises tell you something else, Abby. And there have been other injuries, according to the doctor.”
The next night Marcus came into her room with a Bible. Sticking out the top was a bookmark with a pink ribbon.
“Abby, this is your mother’s Bible. She used to say it has all the guidance one could ever need in life. And she could quote the verse on the bookmark by heart.”
Abby pulled out the bookmark and read it aloud.
Love is patient; love is kind.
It does not envy; it does not boast; it is not proud.
It is not rude; it is not self-seeking.
It is not easily angered; it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails. 1 Corinthians 13:4-8
“Was this the way it was with you and Mom,” Abby asked.
Marcus took a deep breath. “Yes,” he finally whispered. “It was.” Then he patted her hand and left the room.
The next morning, Abby asked her father to retain a lawyer. Then she called the pastor of the church where she’d gone to Sunday school as a child.
“Reverend, do you have any mid-week Bible studies? And what time are your Sunday services?”
750 words This is a work of fiction.
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