Finding wings, p.1
Finding Wings, page 1
“I loved this sweet romance wrapped around the life of sisters. Deborah Raney captures the love of family like no other. Finding Wings will delight readers from beginning to end.”
—RACHEL HAUCK, New York Times best-selling author
“A warm and wonderful love story written with a deft hand, Finding Wings tackles true-to-life family issues and shows how faith and strength of character can bring hope and healing.”
—ROBIN LEE HATCHER, best-selling author of How Sweet It Is and Cross My Heart
“Finding Wings was the perfect read for me during quarantine. It’s a captivating romance that also explores the themes of sisterly love and what it means to sacrifice for family. The book sparkles with faith, hope, and love.”
—ELIZABETH MUSSER, author of When I Close My Eyes and The Promised Land
“In Finding Wings, Britt Chandler’s journey toward love is a beautiful reminder to both reach for our dreams and recognize the joys in where we are planted.”
—KATHERINE REAY, best-selling author of The Printed Letter Bookshop and Of Literature and Lattes
“With her customary small-town charm and oh-so-memorable characters, Deborah Raney delivers big in Finding Wings. Britt, the youngest Chandler sister, finally gets her story—and her man—in a swoon-worthy romance that wraps up this marvelous series.”
—TAMERA ALEXANDER, USA Today best-selling author of With This Pledge and Colors of Truth
“Finding Wings features the lovable Britt Chandler, who’s still trying to find her place in the world. Raney pairs her with Rafe Stuart, a faithful, honorable man who’s filled with past regrets. The story takes the characters on a compelling journey of discovery and redemption. Finding Wings is a lovely tale of faith and family that’s sure to please fans of contemporary women’s fiction!”
—DENISE HUNTER, best-selling author of the Bluebell Inn series
“Finding Wings is a wonderful conclusion to Deborah Raney’s Chandler Sisters series—not because everything ends perfectly, but because the sisters’ happiness is realistic. I love each sister’s story, but Britt’s is my favorite as she discovers that embracing the unexpected circumstances in her life reveals God’s best for her.”
—BETH K. VOGT, Christy and Carol Award–winning author
Finding Wings
© 2020 by Deborah Raney
Published by Kregel Publications, a division of Kregel Inc., 2450 Oak Industrial Dr. NE, Grand Rapids, MI 49505.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations in reviews.
Distribution of digital editions of this book in any format via the internet or any other means without the publisher’s written permission or by license agreement is a violation of copyright law and is subject to substantial fines and penalties. Thank you for supporting the author’s rights by purchasing only authorized editions.
The persons and events portrayed in this work are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Scripture quotations are from the ESV Bible® (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Raney, Deborah, author.
Title: Finding wings / Deborah Raney.
Description: Grand Rapids, MI : Kregel Publications, [2020] | Series: Chandler sisters
Identifiers: LCCN 2020019553 (print) | LCCN 2020019554 (ebook) | Subjects: LCSH: Domestic fiction. | GSAFD: Christian fiction. | Love stories.
Classification: LCC PS3568.A562 F56 2020 (print) | LCC PS3568.A562 (ebook) | DDC 813/.54--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020019553
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020019554
ISBN 978-0-8254-4670-2, print
ISBN 978-0-8254-7720-1, epub
Printed in the United States of America
20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 / 5 4 3 2 1
To my sweet sisters, who were my first friends and remain my very dearest friends.
Therefore the LORD waits to be gracious to you, and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the LORD is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him.
Isaiah 30:18
CHAPTER 1
November
BRITT CHANDLER COULDN’T HELP THE smile that came as she approached the freshly installed sign near the entrance to their long driveway. She tapped the brakes. The Cottages on Poplar Brook Road, the ornate wooden sign read. Billboard was more like it, the curlicue letters holding their own beneath painted silhouettes of poplar trees. The massive sign had cost a small fortune and even more to have it—and its smaller counterpart at the highway turnoff—installed. But Britt and her sisters agreed it was worth it, given the rather remote wooded acreage where they lived. More than one of their Airbnb customers had gotten lost trying to find the way on the curvy Missouri road.
Her phone chirped, and seeing her brother-in-law’s name on the Caller ID, Britt pressed the button on the steering wheel to answer. “Hey, Quinn, what’s up?”
“Not much. Are you home right now?”
“I will be in about two minutes. Why?”
“Would you mind looking in on Phee? At the new house.”
“Sure. Is everything okay?” She didn’t like the worry that had slipped into Quinn’s voice. “She’s working awfully late, isn’t she?”
“As usual. And it’s probably nothing, but she was feeling kind of puny when I took lunch by around one. I’m at the house here in town, but she’s not home yet and she’s not answering her phone. She’s probably just working outside, but I’m out the door to a meeting at church and I’d feel better if somebody checked in on her. Maybe persuade her to go home if you can.”
“Ha. You forget this is my stubborn big sister you’re talking about.”
“I remember. Believe me, I remember.”
Britt laughed. “Let me get my groceries put away and I’ll run over there. I have something to send home for you anyway.”
“Oh?”
“It’s a surprise, but you might want to save room for dessert when you get home from your meeting.”
“My mouth is already watering. Thanks, Britt.”
“No problem.” Britt ended the call and eased her Ford Escape up the lane. She frowned. Her oldest sister’s pregnancy had been pretty routine, but Phylicia’s morning sickness had dragged on for almost five months now—and not just in the mornings. Britt knew Phee was weary of it, especially when she had so many things she wanted to accomplish at the house she and Quinn were building on the property.
Britt peered up through the windshield and sighed to realize that the autumn colors were all but gone. The last smattering of leaves clung tenaciously to the poplars and dogwoods lining the lane. Before long, snow would blanket the countryside, leaching the landscape of the glorious golds and reds it had worn only a few weeks ago. Of course, winter had its own beauty here in southeast Missouri, but Britt wasn’t ready for that yet. Especially not for how short the days had grown. She glanced at the dashboard. Not even six o’clock and it was already dark!
Still, her spirits lifted, as they always did, when the cottages came into sight. Lights gleamed from the cottage windows and even from a distance, Britt could see Joanna moving around inside, no doubt obsessing over the plans for her spring wedding.
Farther up the lane, she spotted Phee’s car in front of the two-story home under construction at the far end of the property. The house currently sported a roof and a pretty stone facade. If not for the field of mud where a front yard would be next spring, it almost looked like it might be occupied. Phylicia and Quinn were hoping to move in before the baby arrived in March. But since they were doing a lot of the work themselves, Britt had her doubts they’d make that deadline. Of course, she would never reveal those doubts to her oldest sister. Phee was nervous enough about being ready for the baby’s arrival—a child she and Quinn jokingly declared had been conceived on their honeymoon in Hawaii. For now, they were living a few miles away in another house Quinn had built. Or at least that’s where they slept. They spent nearly every waking hour at the construction site. Britt loved that they would soon all live here on the same property, but she sometimes worried that her sister overdid things. Half the time Phylicia forgot to eat lunch until Britt or Joanna reminded her. Or Quinn brought her a sandwich from town.
Remembering the cookies she’d baked this morning, Britt parked in front of her cabin and pulled her cell phone from her purse. She dialed Phee, but the phone went to voice mail. “This is Phee. You know what to do.”
Britt waited impatiently for the tone. “Hey, you. I’m bringing over some cookies for you to take home. I made Quinn’s favorite. Oatmeal scotchies.”
The sisters all doted on Quinn Mitchell and for good reason. Britt wasn’t sure how they would have managed getting their little Airbnb enterprise up and running without him. But things were going surprisingly well, despite some rather major hitches at the beginning. She and her sisters made a good team. In fact, only yesterday Phee declared that they’d built their renovation fund back up to the eleven thousand dollars they’d started with after purchasing the cottages free and clear. If Joanna’s idea for opening a wedding venue here at the cottages took off, they could probably breathe easy where money was concerned.
She turned off the ignition and, as she did every time she arrived home, she stopped to admire the tiny stone cabin she’d claimed for her own. Dim lamplight outlined Melvin’s silhouette on the windowsill, tail twitching, anticipating his nightly treat, no doubt. Her mother’s tuxedo cat they’d inherited after Mom’s death had decidedly become Britt’s. Her sisters might argue with that claim, but Britt’s cabin was where Melvin was fed, where he slept, and less happily, where his litter box resided. Mom would have loved knowing that Melvin had taken to country life so quickly. In some ways it felt surreal that the first anniversary of Mom’s death was approaching, yet in other ways, it seemed an eternity since they’d had Mom in their lives.
Britt unloaded groceries from the back of the Escape and glanced toward Quinn and Phee’s house. The lights were on inside, and she didn’t see Phee outside. It wasn’t like her to not return a call. She might be on the phone with someone else. Maybe Daddy had called from Florida. He’d been keeping in touch with Phee more often now that he was going to be a grandpa.
She heard the thud of Melvin jumping down from the windowsill and a second later he appeared in the kitchen. “Hey, buddy. Sorry, but you’re going to have to wait a few minutes for your treat.”
Britt gave him a quick head-to-tail stroke, then shrugged out of her jacket and put the groceries away before dialing Phee again. Straight to voice mail. Hmm. Well, no matter. She’d walk the cookies over and make sure everything was okay. The exercise would do her good after the three warm-from-the-oven cookies—and cookie dough worth three more—she’d snarfed while baking them this morning.
She slipped out of her boots, changed into tennis shoes, and donned her jacket again. The night air was cool and the ground soggy from recent rains, but she knew the lane by heart, rain or shine. Picking her way across the makeshift boardwalk Quinn had laid leading up to the house, she listened to the sounds of the Missouri night. A gentle breeze rustled the branches overhead, and a barn owl hooted above her somewhere in the canopy of the largest poplar.
Not that long ago, she would have been terrified to be alone in the night, but something about this beautiful spot of earth she and her sisters owned had cured her of that almost as soon as her name was on the title.
The porch light was on and Britt rang the bell. Muffled chimes sounded from inside. Good. Phee had been pestering Quinn to get the doorbell connected. Britt waited and rang again, knocking on the solid oak door for good measure. When that didn’t rouse anyone, she tried the doorknob. Locked.
She knocked again. “Phee? Anybody home?”
Silence. She released a breath, set the paper plate of cookies on the edge of the half-finished porch, and stepped onto the boardwalk. Tiptoeing through the mud to the closest lit window, she was thankful she’d changed out of her favorite boots. She cupped her hands over her eyes and peered inside.
No sign of Phee, but a measuring tape and notepad lay atop a bolt of fabric on the kitchen counter. Britt remembered her sister saying she was going to try to sew all the curtains for this house. Not so much because she could save money that way, but because their mom had made the curtains for their childhood home, and Phee wanted to carry that tradition into the home her own children would grow up in.
Britt knocked on the window. “Phee?” she called again. It was too dark to see a clear path to the next lit window but she trudged blindly, the soft earth giving way beneath her feet. The landscape sloped downward on this side of the house, and by the time she reached the window, it was too high for her to look in.
She turned to retrace her steps but stopped, hearing an unfamiliar sound. Like the high-pitched mewing of a kitten. Holding perfectly still, she listened again. Only this time, she clearly heard her name.
It came again.
“Phee!” she shouted, heart in her throat. “Where are you?” Something wasn’t right.
She slogged back through the damp sod and knocked again on the front door. Then pounded. She turned the handle and pushed with her shoulder, hoping maybe it was just stuck, but it didn’t give.
She stopped to listen again, but only heard the night sounds—water sloshing the riverbanks below the cabins, the breeze, a distant hoot owl. Maybe she’d only imagined hearing her name. Joanna had accused her more than once of having an overactive imagination.
She dialed Quinn, thinking he might have a key hidden somewhere. But his phone went to voice mail and she hung up without listening to the familiar message.
Feeling more frantic by the minute, she retraced her steps along the side of the house and went around to the back door. To her relief, it was open. The cloying scents of sawdust and new paint mingled with the musty smell of rain.
Once inside the mudroom, she heard the sound again. Her name. And this time she was sure it was Phee, calling out to her, her voice weak and trembling. But unmistakably Phee.
Adrenaline surged through Britt’s veins. She ran down the hallway, following the sound. When she reached the kitchen, she stopped short.
Phee was slumped on the floor, her back against the kitchen island. Britt ran to her and knelt beside her.
Her sister’s complexion had a gray cast, and she trembled like the last leaves on the poplars outside. “Britt? Thank God you’re here. Something’s wrong. Something … the baby …” Her words slurred and she clutched at her belly. “Oh, Britt … My baby …” She struggled to push herself up from the floor, revealing a puddle of blood underneath her.
“No! Stay there.” Britt put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. She worked to keep her own voice steady. But there was too much blood. Had Phee already lost the baby? “I’m calling an ambulance, Phee.”
She felt like she was going to be sick. With trembling fingers, she dialed 911.
The dispatcher answered on the first ring. “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency, please?”
“We need an ambulance. My sister is—” She started to say “miscarrying a baby,” but she didn’t know that for sure and didn’t want to scare Phee. But surely … surely you couldn’t lose that much blood and still carry the pregnancy to term. “My sister is pregnant but … she’s bleeding. Pretty bad.”
“Okay, I’m going to send an ambulance. I need you to clearly state your exact address for me.”
Britt gave a little gasp. Quinn and Phee probably had a different address, even though their house was on the same property, but Britt didn’t know what it was. “It’s a new house … still being built. I’m not sure of the address, but tell them to come to 1585 Poplar Brook Road. There are four houses here. We’re at the last house on the left at the end of the lane. You’ll see a sign for The Cottages on Poplar Brook Road.” The words tumbled out on top of each other.
The dispatcher repeated the address in a frustratingly slow singsong voice. “Is that correct? Could you repeat your phone number to me, please?”
Britt did so, growing more frustrated when the dispatcher repeated it back. “Yes. Yes, that’s it. Please hurry!”
“I need you to stay calm and answer some questions for me. Tell me exactly what’s happening. Is your sister conscious and breathing?” Frustrating calm permeated the woman’s voice.
“Yes. She’s breathing, but—” She turned away, whispering into the phone. “There’s a lot of blood. And she’s so pale. And weak.”
“But you’re certain she’s breathing and conscious.”
“Yes, she’s breathing. She’s … sitting up.”
“Okay. That’s good. And how far along is her pregnancy?”
She scrambled to remember. “She’s not due until March.”
Phee gripped Britt’s hand with a strength that surprised her. “March 28. Tell them I was having some contractions earlier. Not hard ones … I’m not even sure they were really contractions, but … Oh, Britt. It’s too early! Way too early—” Her voice broke.
“Did you hear that?” Britt asked the dispatcher. “Her due date is March 28. And she had some contractions.”
“Can you please state your name and your sister’s name clearly?”
Britt did so, her panic escalating. “Please! She’s really pale. Is someone coming? Did you send an ambulance yet? She’s just … so pale.”
