Garrison knew more than anyone how vast sums could be diverted from worthy causes to greedy pockets. He did not intend that his ministry fall into the hands of anyone of that ilk. He also knew that by its very nature a television ministry needed a man in the pulpit who could not only inspire and lead his flock but also preach a rousing good sermon.
“We must choose a man with showmanship but not a showman,” Garrison cautioned the members of the Church of the Airways Council. Nevertheless in late October, after Reverend Bobby Hawkins’s third appearance as guest preacher, the council voted to invite him to accept the pulpit.
Garrison had the power of veto over council decisions. “I am not sure of that man,” he told the members angrily. “There’s something about him that troubles me. There’s no need to rush into a commitment.” “He has a messianic quality,” one of them protested. “The Messiah Himself was the one who warned us to beware of false prophets.”
Rutland Garrison saw from the tolerant but somewhat irritated expressions on the faces of the men around him that they all believed his objections were based solely on his unwillingness to retire. He got up. “Do what you want,” he said wearily. “I’m going home.” That night Reverend Rutland Garrison died in his sleep.
September 12, 1991
Ridgewood, New Jersey
DURING THE MASS, Sarah kept glancing sideways at Laurie. The sight of the two caskets at the steps of the sanctuary had clearly mesmerized her. She was staring at them, tearless now, seemingly unaware of the music, the prayers, the eulogy. Sarah had to put a hand under Laurie’s elbow to remind her to stand or kneel. At the end of the mass, as Monsignor Fisher blessed the coffins, Laurie whispered, “Mommy, Daddy, I’m sorry. I won’t go out front alone again.” “Laurie,” Sarah whispered. Laurie looked at her with unseeing eyes, then turned and with a puzzled expression studied the crowded church. “So many people.” Her voice sounded timid and young. The closing hymn was “Amazing Grace.” With the rest of the congregation, a couple near the back of the church began to sing, softly at first, but he was used to leading the music. As always he got carried away, his pure baritone becoming louder, soaring above the others, swelling over the thinner voice of the soloist. People turned distracted, admiring. “ ‘I once was lost but now am found . . .’ ” Through the pain and grief, Laurie felt icy terror. The voice. Ringing through her head, through her being. I am lost, she wailed silently. I am lost. They were moving the caskets. The wheels of the bier holding her mother’s casket squealed. She heard the measured steps of the pallbearers. Then the clattering of the typewriter. “ ‘. . . was blind but now I see.’ ” “No! No!” Laurie shrieked as she crumpled into merciful darkness.
* * *
Several dozen of Laurie’s classmates from Clinton College had attended the mass, along with a sprinkling of faculty. Allan Grant, Professor of English, was there and with shocked eyes watched Laurie collapse. Grant was one of the most popular teachers at Clinton. Just turned forty, he had thick, somewhat unruly brown hair, liberally streaked with gray. Large dark brown eyes that expressed humor and intelligence were the best feature in his somewhat long face. His lanky body and casual dress completed an appearance that many young women undergraduates found irresistible. Grant was genuinely interested in his students. Laurie had been in one of his classes every year since she entered Clinton. He knew her personal history and had been curious to see if there might be any observable aftereffects of her abduction. The only time he’d picked up anything had been in his creative writing class. Laurie was incapable of writing a personal memoir. On the other hand, her critiques of books, authors and plays were insightful and thought-provoking. Three days ago she had been in his class when the word came for her to go to the office immediately. The class was ending and, sensing trouble, he had accompanied her. As they hurried across the campus, she’d told him that her mother and father were driving down to switch cars with her. She’d forgotten to have her convertible inspected and had returned to college in her mother’s sedan. “They’re probably just running late,” she’d said, obviously trying to reassure herself. “My mother says I’m too much of a worrier about them. But she hasn’t been that well and Dad is almost seventy-two.” Somberly the dean told them that there had been a multivehicle accident on Route 78. Allan Grant drove Laurie to the hospital. Her sister, Sarah, was already there, her cloud of dark red hair framing a face dominated by large gray eyes that were filled with grief. Grant had met Sarah at a number of college functions and been impressed with the young assistant prosecutor’s protective attitude toward Laurie. One look at her sister’s face was enough to make Laurie realize that her parents were dead. Over and over she kept moaning “my fault, my fault,” seeming not to hear Sarah’s tearful insistence that she must not blame herself.
* * *
Distressed, Grant watched as an usher carried Laurie from the nave of the church, Sarah beside him. The organist began to play the recessional hymn. The pallbearers, led by the monsignor, started to walk slowly down the aisle. In the row in front of him, Grant saw a man making his way to the end of the pew. “Please excuse me. I’m a doctor,” he was saying, his voice low but authoritative. Some instinct made Allan Grant slip into the aisle and follow him to the small room off the vestibule where Laurie had been taken. She was lying on two chairs that had been pushed together. Sarah, her face chalk white, was bending over her. “Let me . . .” The doctor touched Sarah’s arm. Laurie stirred and moaned. The doctor raised her eyelids, felt her pulse. “She’s coming around but she must be taken home. She’s in no condition to go to the cemetery.” “I know.” Allan saw how desperately Sarah was trying to keep her own composure. “Sarah,” he said. She turned, seemingly aware of him for the first time. “Sarah, let me go back to the house with Laurie. She’ll be okay with me.” “Oh, would you?” For an instant gratitude replaced the strain and grief in her expression. “Some of the neighbors are there preparing food, but Laurie trusts you so much. I’d be so relieved.”
* * * “ ‘I once was lost but now am found. . .’ ” A hand was coming at her holding the knife, the knife dripping with blood, slashing through the air. Her shirt and overalls were soaked with blood. She could feel the sticky warmth on her face. Something was flopping at her feet. The knife was coming. . . Laurie opened her eyes. She was in bed in her own room. It was dark. What happened? She remembered. The church. The caskets. The singing. “Sarah!” she shrieked, “Sarah! Where are you?”
~~~
Laurie had been outside, playing with her new music box... She knew some of the words now... "Boys and Girls together..." Suddenly a row of cars was going by her house; she saw people in those cars and she moved closer, even waving at some of those who were looking at her and smiling... She was wearing her pink bathing suit and had forgotten her mother's strict rule not to play near the road... She was turning back when a car stopped and she was picked up and taken into the car which quickly pulled away and soon was on the main road heading for anywhere out of town...
They drove and drove and she had fallen asleep until they arrived at a place out in the country (see book cover). A woman carried her into the house where they had clothes for her to change into. Laurie was only 4 and didn't understand what was going on. She only knew one thing--these people were not her parents! And she wanted her sister, Sarah, calling out for her, asking where she was, crying that she wanted to go home...
But she was not to go home for a very long time--two years... It might have been longer but the circumstances of the man had changed... Laurie lived in fear, even though there were short periods when the couple was nice to her... She had been assigned to help on the farm, collecting eggs from the hens... One day Bic, the man, had even picked up one of the chicks and said she could have it as a pet...
Until sometime later he killed that chick in front of her, enjoying her screaming... But Bic loved her... He would put his big burly arms around her while he rocked her, holding her tightly to his body, while he sang hymns--one of his favorites was Amazing Grace... But as the evening went by, he would tell her that it was time to go to bed... After the first night she learned what was coming and lived in fear of what he did to her in the night... Soon she learned to just go away from what he was doing... She would dream of the girls and boys from her music box--he played it for her each night to fall asleep--and in her dream a little, older boy told her what to do while Bic was touching her...
Bic and Opal had earned money singing in bars and then, because he sang hymns often, he was offered a change to be on the radio...As you read, it will become very clear that Bic believed that all that he did was done at the command of God.
After two years she was returned home, but there was never a time when he didn't keep track of his lovely girl... He loved her deeply, so much so that even Opal became jealous. Bic told her once and had to remind her often that there was no way that she could feel jealousy, at least so much so that she outwardly spoke of her feelings. Opal had learned to do exactly what Bic told her to do...
Laurie was changed when she returned. Her family and the church helped as much as possible to ensure she knew she was loved and so happy she was back home... Slowly she returned to their daughter, Laurie; but, within her, she was just as frightened as before... Years went by--she finished school and was in college when both parents were killed in a car accident...
Maybe she won’t. The Lord is warning me it’s time to remind her of what will happen if she talks about us.”
It was at the funeral, when she heard from the back of the church a deep voice, his voice rising above everybody as he sang... She could feel the strong arms coming around her and she was once more a 4-year-old little girl crying and afraid...She passed out...
Her hair. A cloud of curls . . . no, a mass of frizz. Impatiently she brushed it. “The sun will come out tomorrow . . .” she sang softly. All I need is a red dress with a white collar and a dopey-looking dog.
Sarah was by then a successful Assistant District Attorney, but it soon became evident to everybody that Laurie had relapsed in some way. Sarah immediately quit her job and became dedicatd to helping her sister get through all that she was facing... A Happy note: Both Sarah and Laurie had connected to a male friend by the end of the book.... In the meantime, Sarah arranged for her to begin sessions with a psychologist, but Laurie made no effort to even talk initially, although she accepted that she would have to follow her big sister's advice now that her parents were gone... But soon, that man began to notice things that did not fit with what he had been told of her background... He decided to contact a psychiatrist who was totally involved in the study of individuals--girls, mostly, but also boys who had been abused when they were very young... Which had resulted in their creation of somebody(s) who could help them when there was no other help... Clark uses the older medical name, which I prefer because I think it is more understandable to patients and family, of MPD--Multiple Personality Disorder... While they have included this within the broader dissociative disorders, the definition continues to be the same--even if some readers have scorned this book for including the issue...
Readers will be totally involved with everything that happens for all characters... Especially, at the point when a professor who had Laurie in his classes, was murdered... And evidence pointed to Laurie having been involved... Although she remembered nothing...
I hadn't read Mary Higgins Clark for over 20 years during my time when I reviewed upon request. So when I saw this book on sale at Book Bub, which is where I get deals on most of my books purchased these days, I immediately selected it to read one of a former favorite author's book...
I found it somewhat disconcerting when the book was talking about child abuse and church involvement, when I had just posted my thoughts on the evolution of this terrible situation related to the treatment of children and females in particular, becoming more and more prevalent these days. This book certainly reveals what can happen to children during their very early years. For this reason alone, I call it a must-read...
But aside from reality, this is a fascinating, intensely developed multi-mystery that has your attention through to the very last page... Although I haven't read this author recently, I believe this one has to be considered as one of her greatest accomplishments. Taking on a sensitive subject that should be more often addressed publicly, pushing efforts to...do... something!
GABixlerReviews
And just for fun:
Since I had to look for a music box sound for Laurie
(I'm a collector)
I decided to close with these two types of the more elite of music boxes
(I have one similar to the first with much smaller records)
(Don't you just love the sound of thousands of notes?)
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