Wishing Pearl

  © 2011 by Nicole O’Dell

  Print ISBN 978-1-61626-454-3

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-60742-514-4

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-60742-515-1

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  Churches and other noncommercial interests may reproduce portions of this book without the express written permission of Barbour Publishing, provided that the text does not exceed 500 words or 5 percent of the entire book, whichever is less, and that the text is not material quoted from another publisher. When reproducing text from this book, include the following credit line: “From The Wishing Pearl, published by Barbour Publishing, Inc. Used by permission.”

  The author is represented by MacGregor Literary.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Scripture quotations marked CEV are from the Contemporary English Version, Copyright © 1991, 1992, 1995 by American Bible Society. Used by permission.

  Scripture quotations marked ESV are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®, copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  Scripture quotations marked MSG are from THE MESSAGE. Copyright © by Eugene H.

  Peterson 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group.

  Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  Scripture quotations marked NLT 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.

  Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Dedicated to Frank and Pam Smith, my Ben and Alicia Bradley.

  Frank, you were larger than life when I first arrived at Teen Challenge more than twenty years ago, and you still are a truly powerful force in my life.

  Pam, your nurturing soul was a joy to me then, and it still is today as you model what it means to be a godly wife, mother, daughter, and friend.

  You two are a special gift from God, and I’m so grateful, decades later, that we’ve walked this life together. I love you both.

  Table of Contents

  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

  Discussion Questions

  Chapter-by-Chapter Discussion Questions

  The Embittered Ruby Preview

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  My first words of thanks go to my Savior, Jesus Christ. Not only did He rescue me from my own poor choices, but He gave me the privilege to share His truth through my passion for writing. I feel so fulfilled by what He’s allowed me to do, and I am humbled that He would choose me … but so grateful that He did.

  Next, I owe so much to my hubby, Wil, who has so selflessly given of his time and some of his own ambitions to allow me the freedom to live as a full-time writer in a house with six children. What a rare man I’ve married. I love you, Wil.

  And those six kids of mine: Erik, Natalie, Emily, Logan, Megan, and Ryleigh. I pray the words I write will touch your life in some way, for among all the youth of this world, you are my first calling, and I love you so very much. Thank you for being who you are, and for loving me for who I am.

  Grandma Party—with a name like that, need I say more? You’re such a bright spot in my life, and your unfailing support and encouragement of me are so appreciated. You are the best mom and most awesome Grandma Party in the world! I love you.

  I owe a debt of gratitude to my wonderful agent and friend, Chip MacGregor. Chip, you’ve taught me a lot this year, and I don’t just mean about publishing. Your humility, kindness, and humor have spurred me on whenever I got discouraged. I can’t thank you enough for believing in me when your broca and I joined forces to make you take me on as a client and then for continuing to suffer my incessant e-mails. Bless you.

  And Valerie Comer. What’s there to say? Not only have you taught me more than I ever knew I needed to know, but you’ve held my hand over every single word on every single page that I’ve written. Often more than once. I hope my readers realize that this book wouldn’t be what it is without your fine-tooth comb. Thank you for your commitment and, most of all, your friendship.

  My writer-sister-friends. Jenny B. Jones, Cara Putman, Kim Cash Tate, Cindy Thomson, Marybeth Whalen, and Kit Wilkinson. God knew I needed you guys. I’ll never stop thanking Him for uniting us as a tiny little family in the world of books. Your prayers over my writing, my family, and my walk mean so much to me, and I’m honored to be able to pray for you and share this journey with you, too.

  To my CYAW critique partners who had a part in this book: Ann Miller, Lynn Rush, and Diana Sharples. Thank you for dropping everything to take a look when I needed you. Your input meant so much to me, and I’m forever grateful.

  Friends at Barbour Publishing. Not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for your constant support of my work. You have believed in me since day one—still shaking my head in wonderment at that—and you continue to call me one of your own. Thank you for working tirelessly to see the shelves filled with more books for young adults.

  Cynthia Gramm … my heart friend. Thank you for the years of prayers and prodding. You’re the best sista friend a girl could have. I love you. Don’t forget to save a seat on the sea of glass if you get there before me. If it’s me who arrives first, you know I’ll be waiting.

  Chapter 1

  Even the happiest of songs could sound mournful on the oboe if played just right. Olivia Mansfield pulled the instrument from between her lips and traced her fingers along the silver tracks and keys that reminded her of the braces she wore on her teeth last year. The oboe understood her. It sang her somber song. Melancholy and forlorn, her band director once called it. Perfect words to describe its cry and Olivia.

  Buzz. Olivia jumped as the intercom in her bedroom suite intruded.

  “Are you almost done with that incessant noise?” barked a crackling voice.

  Five more minutes had been the plan—but not anymore. She hurried to the wall and jabbed the TALK b
utton. “I’ll be at least another half hour, Chuck.” Charles hated when Olivia called him that, almost as much as he hated the sound of the oboe. Which wasn’t nearly as much as he hated her.

  “Well, hurry up.”

  The speaker clicked and fell silent.

  Olivia tipped the bell of her instrument in the direction of the door and blew a long, angry note, loud enough to make her stepfather’s acne-scarred skin crawl just like he made hers every time he came near. She could wait and practice later when he wasn’t home, but why should she? Only two more years of high school band and then, hopefully, a prestigious music school somewhere very far away. Making that dream come true required practice—lots of it. It wasn’t her fault Charles couldn’t tolerate the sound.

  The door to her room flew open. Mom rapped her knuckles on the frame then bustled in looking perfect as usual in her designer clothes and impeccable makeup. Her big brown eyes surveyed the room.

  “Hi, Mom. Thanks for knocking.” Olivia gave her a raised eyebrow then continued her song. If her room were smaller, it might be considered a pigsty. Luckily, the enormity swallowed the mess, making it look only mildly untidy. Hopefully Mom wouldn’t complain too much about all the dirty designer clothes littering the walnut floors.

  “Sorry. I’m just in a hurry.” Mom rushed over to the king-sized four-poster bed and yanked the silk duvet cover up over the rumpled sheets. “I wish you’d take better care of this beautiful room, Liv. Charles has been more than generous to pay for all of this and everything else you’d have only dreamed of having—like this Egyptian cotton.”

  Yeah, Charles had bought Olivia all that stuff, but only so he’d look good to everyone else—certainly not to make her happy. “I never asked him for any of this.” Olivia swiveled in the desk chair she’d pulled to the center of the room and gestured at her expansive quarters. The sitting area looked like a high-tech home theater pictured in a magazine, and the marble and granite bathroom would have satisfied a queen. The jetted tub was nice, but Olivia would never admit that to Charles. “Besides, I’m going to get in the bed in a couple of hours anyway, so why bother?”

  Mom’s spiked heels clicked as she strode across the room, swept up a pile of dirty clothes into her arms, then dumped them down the laundry chute near Olivia’s bathroom door. “You know, Norma can’t wash the laundry if you don’t drop it down.”

  Whatever. Norma could come up here and get it if she wanted it—she sure got paid enough. Time to change the subject. “Where are you going anyway?”

  “Don’t you remember?” Mom turned to the mirror while she spoke and tucked a nonexistent errant hair back into her long dark waves.

  When would she cut her hair into a more age-appropriate style—at least shoulder length? “Don’t tell me this is your shopping weekend in Chicago.”

  “Yep. Tonight’s a fancy downtown dinner with the girls and a night at the Ritz. Saturday is for shopping on Mag Mile and dinner again. Then we’ll work off the calories with a lakefront bike ride on Sunday.”

  Two nights? Home alone with Chuck? “Will Jake be here?”

  “Probably for some of the weekend. But he’s definitely going to want to get out and have fun with his friends—he’s only got three weeks left before he leaves for college. Try not to get in his way too much.”

  “That’s my job. Stay out of everyone’s way.” Why should this weekend be any different? Olivia slumped in her chair.

  Mom stacked some books that had slipped to the floor from Olivia’s built-in bookcase. “Just try a little harder to be nice to Charles. He’s never been anything but wonderful to you.”

  Gag. “No, Mom. Daddy was wonderful. Chuck … exists.” Olivia threaded her fingers through the layers of her silky black hair to find the purple streak she’d added a few days ago. She twisted it around her fingers and put the ends in her mouth.

  “Quit that. Do you know how many germs are in your hair?” Mom swiped the clump of hair from between Olivia’s lips. “Now give me a hug. I’ll be home in a couple of days. Just try to be pleasant. Okay?” She pulled Olivia back to arm’s length and smiled as she slid her hand down the back of Olivia’s head. “I’ll buy you something special—purple to match that streak of rebellion in that gorgeous hair of yours.”

  Great. A present. Mom’s answer for everything—she sure hadn’t acted like that when Daddy was alive, and she wouldn’t have even if she’d had the money. Olivia mumbled her thanks as Mom hurried from the room, high heels clacking on the wood.

  Olivia rushed to lock the door, her plan the same as every other day: stay out of everyone’s way. Nothing new. Probably shouldn’t have started the weekend off with the oboe serenade though—much better not to draw attention to herself. But it was too late to worry about that. Her eyes drilled holes in the intercom. A shame she couldn’t see through it into the rest of the house. Go down and make peace, or stay hidden as long as possible? It would help if she knew whether he was already drinking.

  She gazed around her room. The huge LCD television with its projection system along one wall of the sitting area. The dorm-sized refrigerator stocked with soda and snacks hidden in the alcove beside the bookcase. The swimming pool of a bathtub. Yeah, she’d just stay up here. It’s not like she’d be suffering some great hardship—as long as he left her alone.

  Olivia’s stomach fluttered at a knock at the door. Not him. Not already. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me. Open up, Liv.”

  Phew. Just Jake. Olivia flipped the lock and threw the door open to find her lanky brother filling the doorway.

  Jake held up a plate with two slices of thick Chicago-style pepperoni pizza. “Brought you some dinner.”

  Olivia smiled as his garbled speech brought to mind the hours upon hours she let him hold fingers to her lips or place his hand over the muscles in her neck as he tried to learn to speak even though he couldn’t hear.

  “You mean there’s actually some left after you plowed through it?” Olivia faced him so he could read her lips. She raked her fingers over her open palm in the sign for plow as she accepted the dish.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jake folded his arms across his chest. “Besides, I ordered two larges.” He winked one of those brown eyes all the girls seemed to love. “Gotta gain more weight before basketball season.” He rubbed his flat stomach and puffed out his cheeks.

  “Right. You’ll never be fat.” Fun problem—to have to gain weight. Olivia motioned for Jake to step all the way in then secured the door again before taking her dinner to the overstuffed sofa in her sitting area. She pulled her legs up and nestled into the corner with her plate resting on her knees.

  Jake tipped his head toward the locked door. “You hiding out from King Charles?”

  “How’d you guess?” Olivia took a big bite. “Mmm. This is so good.” Sauce dripped onto her chin. She caught it with the back of her hand then licked it off.

  “Gross.” Jake shook his head, black curls bouncing. “Well, I’m going out with some of the guys from the team in a little while. Stay in your room, okay?” His gaze darted around the room. “Need anything before I go?”

  “Need anything?” Olivia stared at the fringe on the edge of the East Indian area rug. “Yeah. I need you to take me with you.” She touched her clenched fists together then pointed at Jake.

  “You’ll be okay if you stay out of sight.” Jake put his hand on the door. “It’ll be fine.” He ducked his head under the frame on his way out, glancing over his shoulder with a nod and a wink.

  That’s what you think. Olivia locked the door behind Jake. If only he didn’t have to leave. Tonight or ever.

  Alone. Again. Olivia thought she heard the ticking of her digital clock. Great. Now she was going crazy imagining things. No way could she sit in that room alone with a thundering sense of doom all night. But who could she call? Jordyn! She’d never been inside the mansion, but she’d told Olivia to text her anytime. Sliding her sleek new cell phone open to expose the k
eyboard, Olivia tapped out a plea. CAN U COME OVER? Charles would leave her alone if someone else was with her. Olivia stared at her phone, willing the text message notification to chime a reply.

  In less than sixty seconds, the phone vibrated and beeped the text tune. SURE. 4 A LITTLE WHILE. IN TROUBLE—HAVE TO BE HOME BY 10.

  Jordyn in trouble? Impossible. Olivia chuckled. Well, ten o’clock was better than nothing. Maybe he’d be passed out by then anyway … or just getting started. She shuddered. GR8. C U SOON. HURRY.

  Olivia knelt on her bed and parted the gauzy curtains at the window overlooking the four-car garage. Soon the farthest door lifted, and Jake’s black sports car roared to life. Another present from Chuck. At least her brother wasn’t completely fooled by him like Mom seemed to be. Olivia watched Jake back out of the driveway and squeal his tires as he sped away. She fell back on her bed and crossed her arms over her eyes.

  What would she do when he left for college? Who would look out for her then? He’d hardly ever be back, with school during the week and basketball games on the weekends. Not to mention the parties. Besides, if she were him, Olivia would never come back.

  Funny, even though Jake was two years older and twice as big as his little sister, Olivia had felt protective of him through the years. Helping him learn to talk. Learning sign language herself so she could help him communicate when people didn’t understand his muted, halting speech. Shielding him from teasing kids. Now Jake was the strong one—popular and athletic, good-looking—plus he’d learned to read lips and speak very well. He’d be fine at college. Jake didn’t need her anymore, but what would she do without him?

  Right on time, fifteen minutes after the text message, Olivia’s door shook with a knock. She threw it open, reached one arm out, and pulled Jordyn in. One quick glance up and down the hallway assured Olivia that Charles was nowhere to be seen. She shut the door and locked it as fast as she could.

  “How’d you get in the gate?”

  “Your brother passed me on his way out, and he let me through. He said you were the only one home—”