All God's Promises (A Prairie Heritage Book 7) Read online

  Table of Contents

  All God’s Promises

  The Books of A Prairie Heritage

  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

  Part 2

  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

  The Books of A Prairie Heritage

  Tabitha, Girls from the Mountain, Book 1

  Stealthy Steps, Nanostealth, Book 1

  About the Author

  All God’s Promises

  ©2016 Vikki Kestell

  All Rights Reserved

  Scripture Quotations Taken from

  The King James Version (KJV)

  Public Domain,

  and

  The New International Version (NIV)

  The HOLY BIBLE,

  NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®.

  Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984

  International Bible Society.

  Used by permission of Zondervan.

  All rights reserved,

  and

  New Living Translation (NLT).

  Scripture quotations marked NLT

  are taken from the Holy Bible,

  New Living Translation,

  copyright 1996, 2004.

  Used by permission of

  Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.,

  Wheaton, Illinois 60189.

  All rights reserved.

  All God’s Promises

  A Prairie Heritage, Book 7

  by Vikki Kestell

  Also Available in Print Format

  —

  SO MANY UNANSWERED QUESTIONS.

  Who am I really? Kari wondered again. I am not KariAnn Hillyer. Not KariAnn Granger. They tell me my real name is KariAnn Thoresen Michaels.

  But who is that person?

  She frowned. And where are my sister and brother? Who took them? Where are they now?

  “Lord, my uncle and my cousins urge me to trust you. They say that you will help me through this difficult transition. And they say that you know where Elaine and Samuel are, that I can trust you—that in you the lost are found! I am so new to this faith thing, though. It is hard to believe you will find them after so many years.”

  —

  Kari pledges her considerable fortune toward the search for the social worker who, thirty-three years earlier, took three-year-old Elaine and infant Samuel from the scene of an accident—the same accident that killed Kari’s parents—and sold them in an illegal adoption.

  And she is not alone in the search for Elaine and Samuel. Private investigators Anthony Esquibel and Owen Washington join efforts to unearth the identity of the social worker and trace the adoptions of Kari’s siblings.

  Will the last of the lost be found? Will Kari discover for herself that all God’s promises are true?

  The Books of

  A Prairie Heritage

  One family . . . steeped in the love and grace of God, indomitable in their faith, tried and tested in the fires of life, passing forward a legacy to change their world. The compelling saga of family, faith, and great courage.

  Book 1: A Rose Blooms Twice

  (A free eBook available from most online book retailers.)

  Book 2: Wild Heart on the Prairie

  Book 3: Joy on This Mountain

  Book 4: The Captive Within

  Book 5: Stolen

  Book 6: Lost Are Found

  Book 7: All God’s Promises

  Faith-Filled Fiction™

  http://www.faith-filledfiction.com/

  http://www.vikkikestell.com/

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to

  our eleven wonderful grandchildren:

  Ben, Damion, Eddie, Josiah, Noah,

  Miriam, Jael, Abbi, Maqinzy,

  Nate, Aubri,

  (and still counting)!

  You bring us such joy!

  I pray for you daily to know

  Jesus, the only Savior,

  and serve him with your whole hearts.

  May you be fruitful branches

  in his eternal kingdom.

  May you walk all of your lives in

  All God’s Promises.

  Acknowledgements

  Many thanks

  to my esteemed teammates,

  Cheryl Adkins and Greg McCann,

  who give selflessly of themselves

  to make each new book the most effective

  instrument of God’s grace possible.

  I love you.

  —

  Cover Design

  Vikki Kestell

  Hymns

  I Need Thee Every Hour

  Lyrics, Annie S. Hawks, 1872

  Music, Robert Lowry, 1872

  Public Domain

  —

  Silent Night

  (Stille Nacht, Heilege Nacht)

  Joseph Mohr, 1818

  Public Domain

  —

  It Is Well with My Soul

  Horatio G. Spafford, 1873

  Public Domain

  To My Readers

  This book is a work of fiction,

  what I term Faith-Filled Fiction™.

  While the characters and events are fictional,

  they are situated within the historical record.

  To God be the glory.

  Prologue

  July 1991

  KARI FELL ASLEEP THAT NIGHT comforted by a peace her understanding could not fathom. She slept deeply until, in the dark, early hours before dawn, she began to dream.

  In the dream, she stood on the road that ran east from Søren’s farm, out onto the prairie. From far down that road she spied the dust of travelers coming toward her. They walked, some together, some singly, all with their eyes on her.

  Then she saw her mother and father. Their faces radiant and joyous, they stretched their arms toward her.

  Mommy! Daddy!

  Daddy reached her first and she could smell the familiar scent of his cologne on his collar before they touched.

  Always, at this point in her nightmares, before his arms reached her, she would awake, filled with that unseen dread she knew only as The Black—the dense curtain that hid something vital she could never grasp or recall, something she struggled to remember but could not, the thing that terrified and grieved her so deeply.

  But this time, this time Daddy’s arms curled around her, and she sank onto his shoulder. She was again six years old and he was comforting and holding her. Kari wept in exquisite joy. She clung to his neck, burying her face in the scratchy hollow below his jaw.

  Daddy! Kari felt she could not get enough of his strength, his warmth, his love. She would never let him go. And she would never need to face The Black again.

  But she was wrong. The old nightmare began to intrude.


  It was dark—so dark! She was on the side of a black, moonless highway. Daddy and Mommy had put her far away from the narrow shoulder of the road, far from the faint outline of their car, broken down on the edge of the highway.

  “Wait here where it’s safe,” Daddy had said. “Watch over them for us.” He had hugged her before he and Mommy went back to the car to try to fix it.

  Kari had stayed close by her charges—just as Daddy had asked.

  Until the blinding lights of the semi-tractor and trailer swept down on her parents and carried them away.

  The grinding of the truck’s brakes jangled in Kari’s ears—the wheels as they locked and screeched on the roadway, the tires as they squealed and shredded, followed by the hideous rending of metal. The sounds of the collision went on and on until there was only silence.

  Silence and darkness.

  In her dream, Kari lay curled into a ball in the dirt and weeds trying in vain to push the sights and sounds from her mind. With her eyes squeezed shut, she clung to Daddy’s neck, clung as hard as she could, blocking out the horror. Blocking out everything. Everything.

  Then strong hands pulled at her, trying to pull her away from Daddy.

  “No!” Kari protested. She clung harder and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Kari,” Daddy whispered. “Open your eyes.”

  He wanted her to look? Look at The Black?

  “No, Daddy! I don’t want to!” No! I don’t want to, Daddy!

  Daddy’s mouth breathed in her ear; his voice grew insistent. “Please, Kari. Open your eyes.”

  “No, no! I can’t!” Kari squirmed and burrowed deeper into his shoulder.

  “Kari! Open your eyes!”

  Kari’s eyes flew open. Unseen hands ripped her from the comfort of Daddy’s arms where she had, in her imagination, hidden from the horror she had witnessed.

  She looked around. She was no longer near the side of the highway in the dark. She was in a room, a brightly lit room, struggling, trying to reach—

  Those same unseen hands restrained her, but for the first time she could see what she strained toward: A man bending to pick up a tiny girl with curly brown pigtails; a woman holding an infant in her arms.

  The man spoke to the person gripping Kari, holding her back. “We do want this little girl and the baby boy, but I’m afraid, well, we don’t want her,” the man insisted, thrusting his chin toward Kari, “She’s too old and likely too set in her ways. We don’t want her.”

  “Don’t worry; it won’t be a problem,” the faceless woman restraining her declared. “She’s been catatonic since we picked her up, night before last. Hasn’t said a word until now, in fact. We’ll send her into foster care. She’s so traumatized she likely won’t remember a thing.”

  “What about their family? Won’t someone come looking for them?”

  The woman laughed, sounding confident. “Nope. We found the father’s address book. The only emergency contact was some church denominational headquarters back east. We called them. Turns out the Grangers were missionaries and have been out of the country for years. The woman from the church headquarters said that neither of the parents had any family.”

  She temporized. “Well, the woman we talked to said that the man did have an uncle but that they had no record of his name or where he lived. Apparently, Mr. Granger and his uncle were not close. Hadn’t been in contact for years. The situation is perfect, really.”

  “But what if someone from that church calls back, asking more questions?”

  “Oh, we’ve already sent them a letter. Thanked them for their help; told them we’d located the uncle and that he had made provisions for the burial and the children.”

  “What about the police?” the man demanded.

  “Stop worrying. I have an arrangement with the officers at the scene; I will pay them, too. They will ‘neglect’ to put the two smaller children into their reports. They will only mention her.”

  “Yeah. We don’t want her,” the man frowned, “but what if she talks?”

  “She won’t talk.” The woman shook Kari and twisted her arm. “You hear me, little miss? You aren’t going to remember any of this, got it? If you tell anyone about this, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t been born.”

  She slapped the side of Kari’s head with her palm and jerked on her arm when Kari cringed and whimpered. Kari tried to pull away but the woman yanked her close. She leaned into Kari’s face.

  “Look at me!” the woman hissed.

  Kari stared, terrified, into the woman’s face. She gagged on the woman’s cheap cologne infused with cigarette smoke and noted her hard eyes and harder mouth and the plastic tag pinned below her collar . . .

  “That nice man and woman are going to give your sister and brother a good home. But if you ever mention your sister or brother to anyone—if you ever say their names—well, very bad things will happen to them. Do you hear me? In fact, if you ever even think about your sister or brother again, I will know it, and I will have that man and woman throw your sister and brother in a river to drown.”

  She shook Kari. “Nod if you understand.”

  Kari, a deep, dark tunnel opening before her, somehow nodded. Then the tunnel swallowed her and the darkness was spilling over her, filling her mouth and eyes with thick sand until she was choking and retching, until consciousness began to fade.

  The woman turned back to the man, “See? She won’t say a word. Now give me the money.”

  Kari struggled up from the dark tunnel and tried to scream, “No! You can’t take them away! You can’t take them!”

  They ignored her. Did they even hear her? Or was she screaming her protests only in her own mind? She tried to open her mouth but the dark—The Black—flooded in.

  “No!” Kari struggled against the suffocating feeling of sand clogging her throat and managed to croak again, “No!”

  And then she was screaming. “No! You can’t take my sister and brother!”

  Kari’s shrieks woke the house. A frantic Max thundered down the stairs and reached her locked door first; Søren was right behind him.

  “Break it, Papa! Some ’un’s hurting Kari!” the terrified boy shouted.

  Søren’s shoulder popped the flimsy lock and he spilled into the room; Kari was sitting up in bed, still shrieking. Max, scared nearly out of his skin, fell to his knees sobbing—something he would vigorously deny later on—as Ilsa arrived at Kari’s door.

  Wide-eyed, Ilsa watched Søren sit on the bed and wrap his arms around Kari. He held her, rocked her, and repeated her name. “Kari! Kari, it’s all right. Kari, it’s just a bad dream. Kari!”

  Kari’s screams dwindled and she relaxed into Søren’s embrace. Instead of shrieking, she babbled.

  “I saw, Søren, I saw! Daddy made me look and I saw The Black! I saw them!”

  Ilsa sat on the edge of the bed facing Søren and took Kari’s hands. “You had a bad dream, Kari. You are safe. We have you.”

  “Yes, Kari. It was a bad dream,” Søren repeated. Max crept up onto the bed and put both his hands on Kari’s arm.

  “Please be all right, Kari,” he sobbed. “Please be all right!”

  Kari made an attempt to calm herself, conscious of Max’s young, impressionable heart. She shuddered and took a gulping breath. “But, Søren, Ilsa, it wasn’t just a dream. I remembered!”

  “Remembered what?”

  “I remembered what happened after they told me Daddy and Mommy were dead! The police took us somewhere and there was a woman. And then a man and a woman, a couple. They-they said, “We don’t want her! But we want the little girl and the baby!”

  It was so clear in her mind now—so very clear. Kari made herself breathe slowly. “Søren. Ilsa. They took them.”

  “Took who, Kari?”

  “They took my little sister and baby brother,” Kari whispered.

  Søren and Ilsa exchanged baffled looks.

  —

  HOURS AND MANY CUPS OF COFFEE LATER, Kari remained a
damant and critical of herself. “All these years! I forgot them all these years! How could I?”

  Søren finally believed her. “Kari, you were a child. You watched your parents die—you were traumatized. It’s not your fault.”

  “But—”

  “Listen, Kari. If someone took your brother and sister, then we’ll find them. We will start an investigation.”

  “I remember . . . seeing some sort of tag on the woman’s coat. A name tag. Marge something. It started with an ‘S.’ Marge S.”

  Søren touched Kari’s face. “All right, then. Owen found you; we’ll have him start looking for this woman, this Marge S. She had to be a social worker, right?

  “And we’ll get that guy you used in Albuquerque—what was his name? Anthony something? He’s an investigator, too, yes? If this woman was a social worker the year your parents died, there can’t be many with the name of Marge, can there? And there would have to be a record of your brother and sister’s adoption the same year somewhere in New Mexico, right? We will find it.”

  “But what if we don’t find them, Søren? I have forgotten them for so long! What has become of my little sister and baby brother?”

  “Do you recall their names, Kari?”

  Kari blinked and her brows drew down. “Funny you should ask. I have forgotten them all these years, but . . . but it feels like their names should be right on the tip of my—oh! Sammie! My baby brother’s name is Samuel, but we called him Sammie!”

  “And your sister?”

  Kari nodded. “I think . . . Elaine! Yes; Elaine and Samuel. How could I have forgotten?”

  “Kari,” Ilsa said quietly, “They aren’t babies any longer. You said your sister was three and you were six? She would be, what? Thirty-five, now? Your little brother would be thirty-three? They aren’t children anymore. They aren’t in immediate danger.”

  Kari considered what Ilsa had said. “I-I know you’re right. But I’m having trouble seeing them . . . grown.”

  She thought a moment longer. “And now that I remember them, it means I am not the sole heir of Peter Granger—his estate does not belong exclusively to me.”

  Kari turned to Søren. “I had already been praying about using my inheritance for God’s glory. I still intend to do that with my portion, but now Clover and his firm will need to make provision for Elaine and Samuel in the probate, too.”