Desert Gift Read online

  Praise for Ransomed Dreams and other novels by Sally John

  “This inspirational [story] reminds readers that it’s never too late for second chances. And when our hope is in God, nothing is impossible.”

  Romantic Times, 4½-star review

  “A thoughtful and engaging novel.”

  Publishers Weekly

  “John has penned an exciting, faith-based story. . . .”

  Booklist

  “Sally John has penned another moving tale. Ransomed Dreams asks hard questions about faith and forgiveness . . . but it also offers hope. It’s worth reading to discover the answer.”

  Crosswalk.com

  “John’s story is surprisingly refreshing and completely upholds biblical truths of faithfulness in marriage. Readers of this book will not only enjoy a good story, but they may also learn valuable truths along the way.”

  Christianbookpreviews.com

  “Ransomed Dreams is another wonderful weave of compelling characters, poignant pacing, and the twin truths that forgiveness is costly but love can meet the expense head-on. Sally John is an insightful, inspiring storyteller.”

  Susan Meissner, author of The Shape of Mercy

  “Sally John has done it again—interesting characters, exotic locations, and a compelling story line. The unexpected twists in the protagonist’s life left me evaluating the sources of my own sense of security. Thought provoking.”

  Kathryn Cushman, author of Leaving Yesterday

  “Ransomed Dreams is another inspiring story from Sally John that profoundly touches the heart. This novel will captivate readers with its characters, intrigue, and twists and turns. A must-read for anyone who has lost their way and their dreams to discover hope!”

  Susan Wales, author and producer

  “Sally John delivers an intense and emotionally satisfying reminder that our lives can change in a heartbeat.”

  Romantic Times on In a Heartbeat

  “Talented author Sally John weaves a web around her readers, drawing them into her characters’ world. . . . Oh, what a satisfying read—one of the best of the year.”

  Novel Journey on The Beach House

  “[Sally John] writes an enthralling story with fully developed characters that are experiencing problems that many women of faith face daily. And she does it with warmth, realism, and sensitivity.”

  Armchairinterviews.com on The Beach House

  “Once in a very long time, a book comes along that has the ability to touch hearts, change lives, and inspire hope. Castles in the Sand is one such book . . . a profound, inspiring read of a family torn apart and the long road home.”

  Readerviews.com

  Visit Tyndale’s exciting Web site at www.tyndale.com.

  Check out the latest about Sally John at www.sally-john.com.

  TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  Desert Gift

  Copyright © 2011 by Sally John. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph of woman copyright © Masterfile. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph of road copyright © Masterfile. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph of background woman copyright © RelaXimages/Corbis. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph of mountains copyright © Jeffrey T. Kreulen/Shutterstock. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph of cactus copyright © S1001/Shutterstock. All rights reserved.

  Author photo by Elizabeth John. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Jennifer Ghionzoli

  Edited by Kathryn S. Olson

  Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920, www.alivecommunications.com.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  John, Sally, date.

  Desert gift / Sally John.

  p. cm. — (Side roads)

  ISBN 978-1-4143-2786-0 (pbk.)

  1. Marriage—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3560.O323D47 2011

  813'.54—dc22 2011001191

  For Troy and Elizabeth,

  now Mr. and Mrs.

  Give honor to marriage, and remain faithful to one another in marriage.

  Hebrews 13:4

  Acknowledgments

  As always, a team supported my storytelling efforts. My heart overflows with gratitude to:

  My readers, for the precious notes that affirm and uplift.

  The late Myrna Strasser and the staff at WDLM-FM, East Moline, Illinois, for introducing me to radio.

  Jane Hull and Peggy Hadacek, for insightful talks about marriage.

  Carla and Chester Genack, for car repair information.

  Patti John, for the ticket to Hollywood.

  Gary and Millie Heniser, Leanne Payne, and Bill and Harriet Mouer, for teachings.

  Christopher John, for the exquisite description of desert quiet.

  Elizabeth and Troy Johnson and Tracy John, for research.

  Tim, for being Tim for thirty-seven years.

  Agent Lee Hough of Alive Communications and editors Karen Watson, Stephanie Broene, and Kathy Olson, for keeping me going.

  Everyone at Tyndale House, for bringing it all together.

  Blessings to you all.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Part 2

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Chicago

  At precisely twelve minutes and thirty-five seconds past ten
o’clock in the morning, Central Standard Time, Jillian Galloway’s world ceased to exist.

  She noticed the time because she was a clock watcher, a habit born of working in radio, where fractions of moments truly mattered. When her mike was on and the clock’s second hand swept up toward the twelve and listeners were staying tuned in because they wanted to hear the national news at noon, she wasn’t about to introduce a new subject.

  But there stood Jackson, her husband, introducing a new subject while at the front door, buttoning his black wool overcoat. An assortment of luggage was at his feet, packed and ready to go. Outside, a cab waited at the curb. Somewhere up in the stratosphere a jet soared, making its way to O’Hare airport, where, in a very, very, very short while, they would board it.

  She shifted her gaze from the large wall clock beyond his shoulder and made eye contact with him. “What did you say?”

  “I said I’m not going.” He repeated the words that simply did not fit into that morning’s time frame nor anywhere in her comprehension.

  “Jack, what are you talking about?”

  With a sigh—the exasperated one he seldom emitted except in the kitchen when one of his gourmet concoctions failed—he lowered his shoulder bag to the floor. “I can’t keep this up. I just can’t.” A wince settled into the lines around his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “Honey, you’re not making any sense. We’re on our way out the door. What on earth . . . ? What can’t you keep up?”

  “Us, Jill. Us. I can’t keep us up.”

  Beneath her wintry layers of blouse, sweater, silk scarf, and wool jacket, perspiration trickled down her sides. Her gloved fingers ached around the handle of her laptop bag. Her ears burned from the slap of his words, forcing her to let them inside.

  Jack’s grimace tightened until his hazel eyes were all but seamed shut. “I’m sorry.” He spoke in his professional doctor tone: soft, gentle, giving an unpleasant prognosis to an unsuspecting patient. “I can’t explain it. It just is.”

  She swallowed, gulping around the sudden lump in her throat. “You’re tired. You haven’t had a real vacation in forever. We both need this trip. A little downtime in the sunshine. A little rest. Then we’ll talk. We’ll decipher whatever this is all about.”

  “We will talk, but not now. I need some space, some serious space.” He shook his head. “The truth is, I want a divorce.”

  The clock’s pendulum ticked and tocked, back and forth, back and forth. It carried off irretrievable moments. It divided time into a before and an after.

  Jill blinked. She cleared her throat. The lump remained. She blinked again. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Try.”

  “I have been trying since I woke up this morning.”

  “Since you woke up this morning? So it’s out of the blue, this . . . this . . . this need for space. That can’t be. People don’t wake up and say they want—want . . .” He hadn’t said it, had he? Not the D word. Not really. He didn’t mean it.

  “Don’t, Jill, please. Don’t analyze. Don’t stick a label on it. It just is.” His face smoothed, the creases unfolding as if the burden of the prognosis were no longer his to carry. He opened the front door and grabbed hold of her two bags. “I’ll walk you out to the cab.”

  “Jack! This is crazy! I can’t leave now.”

  “Yes, yes, you can. So many fans are counting on you. Let this go for now and focus on your work. You don’t want to disappoint them.”

  “We need to talk!”

  “We will. When you get home.” He hurried outside, down the porch steps, and along the sidewalk he had scooped clear of snow before breakfast, knowing the whole entire time, with every shovelful thrown aside, that he wasn’t going with her.

  They would talk when she got home. When she got home.

  She wouldn’t be home for five weeks.

  Jill stood, motionless. Her loving husband of twenty-four years had just announced that he wanted a divorce.

  Behind her the clock chimed a quarter past the hour.

  Chapter 1

  Aboard a flight from Chicago to Los Angeles

  When Jill was a little girl, her father nicknamed her Jillie Jaws. He asked, What choice did he have? Not only were her initials JAW, she was also without question, from birth, a motormouth. When air first hit her lungs, she never even cried. She yammered. Yes sirree, Jillian Autumn Wagner always had something to say.

  Until now.

  Four hours into it and she had nothing to say.

  Not that anyone would have listened. The flight attendants had spent more time buckled in than not because of air turbulence. A sullen thirtyish woman in the window seat wore a headset and kept her nose buried in a novel that sported a strikingly handsome Fabio-type on the cover. The aisle seat remained empty.

  Of course it remained empty. It was Jack’s.

  Her jaw quivered. The movement had no relationship to yammering.

  What would her father think? Skip Wagner thought the world of his son-in-law.

  Her dad? She was concerned about her dad? What about her audience?

  Don’t even start, Jillian. Do not even start.

  But of course she had started, thanks to Jack’s introduction of the subject. He had said her fans were counting on her.

  Jack was a kind man, a physician in the classic sense. He was a gentleman who wanted nothing more than to help his patients feel better. That he actually said he wanted a divorce was inconceivable. As if that weren’t enough, he had added insult to injury by mentioning her fans. Moments later as they stood at the curb, he’d done it again. At the echo of his voice in her head now, she could scarcely breathe.

  “You will be all right,” he had said. “This trip is about you meeting your fans.” He gave her a quick hug, the stiff-armed sort he used for his elderly, frail mother. Then deftly, one hand under her elbow, the other on the open car door, he ushered her into the backseat of the cab as if she were another scoop of snow tossed aside.

  “Jack, I’ll go later. I’ll get another flight—”

  “No!” He shook his head vehemently. “No. I must do it this way. I’m sorry.” He shut the car door.

  Before the driver pulled from the curb, Jack had scurried away, making it halfway up the sidewalk without a wave or backward glance.

  And that was that.

  At breakneck speed he had detonated three explosions: He wanted a divorce. He didn’t want to talk about it for weeks. He mentioned her fans.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  Her fans were women who listened to her radio show and planned to read her new book. They were women from across the country who trusted her advice on how to prevent a husband from doing exactly what her husband had just managed to do.

  More specifically they were women in Los Angeles who had already paid money to eat lunch with Jill Galloway. They had paid money to hear her speak about how to communicate in marriage. They had scheduled it on their BlackBerrys for tomorrow.

  Before the cab had reached the end of the block, her jaw quit working.

  Except for the tremble.

  She was supposedly an expert in marital discourse. How did it happen that in ten words or less, with absolutely no forewarning, her own husband had exploded their world with “I want a divorce” and then sent her off to the airport?

  The scene was so totally out of character for him it made her head swim. The Galloways were the poster couple for a healthy marriage. They had worked hard for over twenty years at keeping it healthy. She had taught on the subject for a dozen years. She had a solid grasp of the ins and outs—

  A sharp jab against her arm startled her.

  Her seatmate moved her elbow from the armrest. “Sorry.”

  Jill nodded and then shook her head and hoped it was a universal sign for “no problem.”

  “Excuse me.” The woman pushed the headset from her mane of dark hair. “No one is sitting in the aisle seat. You could use it.”

  Jill ga
zed at the empty seat.

  “Uh, are you all right?”

  She nodded, shook her head, and nodded again. You don’t want to know.

  “Do you need the attendant?”

  Jill’s lungs craved air. Her chest felt like it was on fire. Maybe words were piled up inside. Instead of their usual flight off her tongue, they had lumped themselves together and now spontaneous combustion was occurring.

  Maybe she was having a heart attack!

  Miss Sullen reached up and snapped on the call light.

  Jill blurted, “It’s my husband’s seat.”

  “Okaaay.” Her voice rose on the last syllable.

  “He’s in Chicago.”

  The woman’s eyebrows twitched.

  “And I think he just left me.” Jill unbuckled her belt, snapped off the call light, and moved into Jack’s seat, affirming that he really and truly was not coming.

  The burning sensation lessened. Maybe speaking aloud had released some of the pressure. Maybe what helped was giving voice to truth, the hard truth that she was on a plane somewhere over the Rockies and her husband for no conceivable reason was not.

  She shut her eyes. She couldn’t even articulate a prayer. Where was God in all this anyway? A simple answer was that He allowed this situation for a reason. A reason she could use someday. Something like a new insight to share with other women or like material for a lesson plan.

  Her chest went all hot again. The simple answer did not resonate. No way, nohow.