Butterfly Summer

“Talk about hiding your light under a bushel!” Ethan didn’t realize he’d said it aloud until Heather gusted out a nervous laugh.

“That’s what my mom always says,” she admitted shyly.

“Listen up, boss lady. When I tell you to walk, I want long, fluid strides. Walk forward. Look up. Stop. Half turn.”

Heather had been around enough photo shoots to know the drill, so he wasn’t worried. Click after click, he shot two rolls in rapid succession, moving from one camera to another.

“Ladies and gentleman,” he muttered to himself, “a star is born.”

DAVIS LANDING:

Nothing is stronger than a family’s love

ARLENE JAMES

says, “Camp meetings, mission work and the church where my parents and grandparents were prominent members permeate my Oklahoma childhood memories. It was a golden time, which sustains me yet. However, only as a young, widowed mother did I truly begin growing in my personal relationship with the Lord. Through adversity, He blessed me in countless ways, one of which is a second marriage so loving and romantic, it still feels like courtship!”

The author of over sixty novels, Arlene James now resides outside of Dallas, Texas, with her husband. Arlene says, “The rewards of motherhood have indeed been extraordinary for me. Yet I’ve looked forward to this new stage of my life.” Her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her, as she’s been at it since the eighth grade!

Butterfly Summer

Arlene James

To Kathryn Springer, Irene Hannon, Valerie Hansen, Patricia Davids and Lenora Worth, a great group with whom to work. Your creativity, dedication and cooperation are much appreciated.

God bless, Arlene.

Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits: Who pardons all your iniquities, Who heals all your diseases.

—Psalms 103:1–3

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Prologue

Heather stuck her nose into the elaborate bouquet and inhaled deeply, but not even the beauty of the flowers or their heady aroma could dispel the anesthetic odor of a hospital, however well-appointed the room. Decorated in jewel tones with dark cherry furnishings, the spacious suite where her father had taken up residence and endured test after test had become a place of tension and worry for her and the remainder of the Hamilton family.

She closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer heavenward. Gracious Lord God, please don’t let it be serious.

She had uttered or thought the words so often over these past few difficult days that they had become a private litany, and still she could not quite fathom the idea that Wallace Hamilton might actually be seriously ill.

Tall and urbanely handsome, with his thick silver hair, dark eyes and long, patrician face, he had always seemed larger than life. At fifty-nine, Wallace was still a force to be reckoned with, not only within the Hamilton family but also within the publishing world, at least that part of it centered here in Tennessee.

Now his expensive, expertly tailored suits had given way to silk pajamas and his lean, fit frame had begun to appear gaunt. Yet Heather could not believe that he wouldn’t soon rise, button on one of his famously pristine white shirts, knot his silk tie and stride off to once again control Hamilton Media, the family company that he’d built into a small empire from the weekly newspaper established by his grandfather.

Her mother, Nora, entered the sitting room from the bedchamber beyond, pulling the heavy door closed behind her. Petite and elegant, Nora looked more like Heather’s sister than her mother, despite the silver threading the shoulder-length gold of her hair and the new shadows around her enormous hazel eyes.

While Heather herself looked older than her twenty-seven years, her mother could easily pass for forty rather than fifty-five. Heather accepted without question the fact that she had not inherited her mother’s pale beauty. It was more important to her that she take after her mother in other ways, because there was no one in the world whom she admired more than Nora Hamilton.

Her mother might appear tiny and elfin, but she possessed a backbone of steel and a fiercely protective nature, which any mother of six required. She routinely placed herself between the world and her family, shielding them all with prayer, showering them with love and guiding them with pragmatic wisdom. She could not, however, protect them from illness. Only God, in His infinite mercy, could do that.

Today they would learn whether Wallace had been spared the worst or if God would allow the specter of death to hover over him.

Nora folded her arms and looked around the room at her grown children, hugging herself tight. “The doctors are with your father now. He wanted to hear the news alone. They’ll be out to speak to us next.”

“It’s going to be all right, Mom,” Amy, Heather’s older sister, said from the sofa.

Melissa, the youngest, promptly rose from her seat on the arm of the sofa and shoved her hand into the pocket of her frayed jeans, asking, “Anyone want a cola?”

“You just finished a cola,” Timothy, the second-oldest brother, pointed out, pushing away from the wall and bringing his hands to his hips.

Tim was the Hamilton most like Wallace. As vice president of Hamilton Media, he had little time or patience for anything that took him away from the business except family. Unfortunately, he seemed to resent that their oldest brother, Jeremy, who had a more mellow disposition, had been handed the reins of the business when Wallace had entered the hospital. It didn’t help that they’d recently uncovered an embezzlement scheme by one of their most trusted employees, who also happened to be a good friend of Jeremy’s.

“Yeah, well, I’m having another,” Melissa retorted, striding rapidly from the room, ostensibly headed for the vending machine down the hall.

Heather suspected that she just couldn’t bear the pressure any longer. Melissa resembled Amy in looks, both having inherited their blond hair and enormous, doelike eyes from their mother. But unlike Amy, who at thirty was senior managing editor of the family-owned Nashville Living magazine, twenty-three-year-old Melissa was something of a wild child.

Christopher, Heather’s twin brother, rose to his full six-foot height and crossed the room to their mother, whom he enfolded in his muscular embrace. With his dark, wavy hair and burly build, he couldn’t have looked less like Heather if he’d tried, especially when wearing his policeman’s uniform. Something about that dark-blue suit of clothes, with its gun belt and tools, added consequence to his already impressive stature, especially when he was standing next to their petite mother.

“Amy’s right,” Chris told Nora. “No matter what the doctors have to say, everything’s going to work out for the best.”

Nora nodded. “God takes care of His own.”

“No doubt about it.”

The door opened at Nora’s back. She and Christopher stepped aside to allow the doctors into the room. One of them, an older man with thinning steel gray hair, Heather had never seen before. He had to be the specialist Luke Strickland had called in from Nashville. Dr. Strickland himself was well-known to them. In his midthirties, with dark hair and eyes, the tall, handsome, charismatic physician had quickly won the respect and trust of the entire family.

It was Dr. Strickland who swept his gaze over the family. “I’ve just spoken with Wallace, explained our diagnosis and outlined our treatment options.”

Heather glanced at Amy, a knot of dread coiling tight in her stomach.

“How bad is it?” Tim demanded, but Jeremy stepped forward, forestalling any reply.

“Hold on a minute, Luke.” At a lean six feet and two inches, Jeremy was the tallest of the three Hamilton brothers. He had the same dark, wavy hair as the other two, but instead of brown eyes, his were a vibrant, piercing blue. The eldest at thirty-five, his calm, confident manner and quiet, evenhanded leadership had made him a favorite at Hamilton Media. Yet he and Tim seemed eternally at odds. “Melissa needs to hear this, too. Give me a minute to get her in here.”

Tim rolled his eyes, obviously impatient with the delay. Fortunately, Melissa walked into the room just then. She took in the heavy atmosphere and threw out one hip, a soft-drink bottle clutched in one hand.

“Are we having a wake or what?”

“Melissa!” Tim scolded.

Melissa immediately colored. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Jeremy tossed Tim a look and laid a hand on Melissa’s forearm, effectively quelling both before nodding at Dr. Strickland.

The younger doctor folded his hands and spread his feet slightly, balancing his weight. “I want you all to understand that the treatment options for your father’s condition have greatly improved in the last few years.”

Nora closed her eyes at that foreboding announcement. Jeremy immediately crossed the room to stand beside her and Christopher. Amy rose from the sofa, the fitted jacket of her stylish suit pulling taut across her slender shoulders as she folded her arms protectively. Heather tucked her hair behind her ears and hid her trembling hands in the voluminous folds of her full skirt.

Please, God, she prayed. Please. Oh, please.

“How bad is it?” Jeremy asked softly.

Luke Strickland swept the room with his dark, compassionate gaze before nodding to the other doctor. The specialist took one small step forward, lifted his chin and changed all their lives.

“Your father has leukemia.”

Chapter One

The door into the corridor opened and Dr. Luke Strickland strode through it, bristling with purpose. In the weeks since Wallace’s diagnosis, Heather had come to greatly appreciate the good doctor’s utter devotion to his profession and his deft bedside manner. She couldn’t help thinking that the Hamiltons and the Davis Landing Community General Medical Center were blessed to have him, despite the fact that he again wore that carefully blank expression which she had come to dread.

“Is everyone here?” he asked without preamble.

Timothy stopped his pacing long enough to frown. “All but one—as usual.” Tossing out his hands, he demanded of no one in particular, “Where is Melissa?”

“You didn’t seriously expect her to show up, did you?” Jeremy asked mildly.

Tim fixed his brother with his intense brown gaze and lifted an eyebrow imperiously. “Today, considering what’s at stake, yes.”

The pair were often at odds, but these days they just couldn’t seem to keep from butting heads, whether over Hamilton Media or the family itself, and Heather quickly moved to intervene in her own mild-mannered fashion.

“I called her cell before I came up in the elevator. No answer. I don’t think she’s coming.”

“Well, that’s just great,” Tim grumbled, folding his arms.

“It’s probably for the best, actually,” Heather offered quietly. She glanced at her twin, Chris, expecting and receiving his silent support. “You know Melissa doesn’t do hospitals well.”

In truth, Melissa had been edgy and distant ever since their father’s diagnosis. More often than not, she seemed to try to escape her problems rather than face them head on, and that appeared to be the case today. That was an issue that would have to be addressed at another time, though. Heather decided that she would have a private talk with her baby sister as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

“I suggest we just get on with it,” Amy said pragmatically.

Her senior by three years, Amy was also Heather’s boss at the magazine. Unlike Tim, though, Heather didn’t mind yielding authority to an older sibling. Amy was everything that Heather herself was not, a high achiever, self-assured, even forceful, not to mention well-groomed, stylish, graceful. In many ways, she was Timothy’s female equivalent, except that she had been blessed with their mother’s beauty and was blond and blue-eyed, whereas Tim was dark like their father.

Heather, on the other hand, was just…Heather. Mousy, meek and quiet, stuck in the middle, always living too much inside her own head and content to be there.

It had always been that way. Even in high school, Heather had been the sister who’d disappeared into the woodwork, while Amy had been elected homecoming queen and most popular. Heather had persecuted herself with envy back in those days. Eventually, however, she’d come to accept that God had a different role for her.

As a result she’d managed to avoid jealous feelings for their beautiful blond, but troubled, baby sister. The others considered Melissa overly dramatic and rebellious, which she could be, but Heather sensed a deep well of pain in her, especially lately. Then again, their father’s illness had shaken them all.

Dr. Strickland led the way from the sitting area into the bedroom of the hospital suite, with Jeremy, Tim and Amy following in that order. Heather and Chris crowded in behind them. Their mother stood at their ailing father’s bedside, looking decades younger than her husband of thirty-five years, which just pointed out how very ill he was. Heather went straight to Nora’s side and squeezed her hand.

During the weeks of her father’s hospitalization, Heather had grown even closer to her mother. She supposed it was natural since she and Nora were often the only ones rattling around the house these days, especially after Vera Mae, their housekeeper and cook of many years, went home for the evening. The longer Wallace was ill, the more Melissa seemed to stay away. The other four Hamilton siblings had moved out years ago, keeping apartments and penthouses around town.

Nora momentarily laid her head on Heather’s shoulder in a gesture of affection, then lifted her cheeks to receive supportive kisses from her other children. She slid a look around the room.

“Melissa?”

Heather gave her head a slight shake, feeling her long brown hair ruffle against her shoulders.

“Did you call the house?” Nora asked.

“She wasn’t there when I left, so I called her cell instead,” Heather said. “No answer.”

Nora sighed and smiled wanly at Dr. Strickland, gripping her husband’s hand. “Go ahead, Luke. What do the latest tests say?”

“Have we beaten it?” Wallace demanded, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

His silver hair had thinned over the past weeks and would soon begin to come out in clumps if they had to continue the chemotherapy.

To Heather’s dismay, Luke Strickland shook his head.

“I’m sorry. The leukemia has not responded to treatment.”

Nora gasped, and Heather closed her eyes. Standing behind them, Chris lifted protective hands, resting one upon her shoulder and the other upon their mother’s.

As a police officer, Chris alone had not gone into the family business, finding nothing at either Nashville Living magazine or its sister publication, the Davis Landing Dispatch newspaper, to spark his interest. Tall and dark like his brothers and just as intelligent, Chris was somehow more physical than either of them. He was also devout in his faith, though his work schedule made regular church attendance more difficult for him than for Jeremy, whom Heather could always count upon to join her and their mother for services.

It was Amy who asked the pertinent question, “What can we do, doctor?”

“The next step is the bone marrow transplant, isn’t it?” Jeremy said.

The doctor nodded. “Yes. In fact, it’s our only other option at this point.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Tim demanded impatiently. “I assume that the sooner it’s done the better.”

“That’s true,” Dr. Strickland agreed, his gaze moving purposefully around the room before coming to rest on Wallace himself. “Unfortunately, none of you is a perfect match.”

Heather covered her mouth with a trembling hand as Nora swayed before abruptly stiffening her spine.

“What does that mean?” Amy asked quietly.

“That we have to go to the national database for a suitable donor,” the doctor explained.

“How long will that take?” Tim wanted to know.

Dr. Strickland shook his head. “That’s impossible to say. We’ll match him as quickly as possible, though.”

“People wait years for transplants,” Amy murmured, frowning.

“That’s true,” the doctor informed her, “but your father’s condition is sufficiently grave to put him at the top of the list. I have to warn you, though, that if we don’t find that perfect match soon, we may have to go with our second choice and hope for the best. Time is our enemy here.”

“But we do have some time, don’t we?” Nora asked with obvious desperation.

“Some. We’re not beat yet, and while we’re looking for that perfect donor we’ll keep him comfortable and support him with appropriate treatments.”

“Meaning more needles, I suppose,” Wallace groused.

Unruffled, the doctor smiled compassionately. “As if a little thing like a needle ever intimidated you.”

Wallace humphed. “Entirely beside the point. No pun intended.”

“We’re going to beat this,” Nora declared insistently, ignoring her husband’s weak attempt to inject some normalcy into a nightmarish situation.

“Goes without saying,” Wallace retorted, waving his free hand dismissively, but Heather noted that his knuckles were white where they gripped her mother’s fingers.

“Mom’s right,” Heather said softly. “We’ll just keep praying and trusting God. He knows how much we need you, Daddy.”

“Thank you, dear. Now, if that’s all, doctor, there are more important matters to consider at the moment.”

Heather bit back a groan, knowing what was coming, just as did everyone else in the room, including Nora. Well or ill, Wallace would always be about Hamilton Media. Heather took comfort in knowing that nothing had changed in that regard. Nora, whose primary concern would always be the well-being of her family, obviously did not.

“Wallace, I forbid you to worry about business at a time like this.”

He sent her an affectionate, amused glance. “Might as well forbid me to die, sugar, which, by the way, is something else I have no intention of doing anytime soon.”

Tammy Franklin entered the room just then through a second door that opened onto the corridor. Busily efficient, the petite, pretty nurse checked the bedside monitors and the IV line at the patient’s wrist, her blue eyes flicking intently from equipment to patient. Wallace ignored her, fastening his dark gaze on his eldest child.

“Jeremy, I want to know why you haven’t signed that contract with the new accounting firm.”

Jeremy squared his shoulders and calmly replied, “Because I don’t believe it’s in the best interest of the company. Why pay to have done what we already do so well ourselves?”

“Well?” Tim echoed disbelievingly. “How can you say that?”

The whole family knew that Curtis Resnick, a trusted employee, had betrayed both the company and the family—and Jeremy, in particular—by embezzling thousands of dollars.

“We have adequate oversights in place now,” Jeremy insisted.

“Nevertheless, doing our own accounting is what allowed the problem to develop in the first place,” Wallace stated sharply.

“What makes you think an outside accounting firm will be any more honest than our own employees?” Jeremy countered. “The people left in that department are faithful and loyal. They had no part in what happened. They deserve to keep their jobs.”

“Jeremy’s right,” Chris put in. “It’s not fair to punish a whole department for one person’s malfeasance.”

“You have no say in this matter!” Wallace snapped. “Since you opt to put yourself in danger every day rather than take your place in the company—worrying your mother sick in the process, I might add—you have no right to comment.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Dad,” Chris said carefully. “Nevertheless, I agree with Jeremy.”

“You would,” Tim muttered.

“Meaning what exactly, Timothy?” Jeremy asked, sounding genuinely perplexed. “That he takes his faith too seriously for your comfort?”

“Please, boys, that’s enough,” Nora pleaded. “Now is not the time. Your father is too ill for this.”

“I am not too ill to look after the welfare of the company!” Wallace insisted. “My father and grandfather devoted their lives to Hamilton Media, and I simply will not allow a momentary physical weakness to harm it in any way!”

“Please, Daddy,” Heather interjected softly. “If you can trust God with your health, surely you can trust Him and your sons to take care of the company for a while.”

Wallace grimaced shamefacedly. “You’re right, you’re right. It’s just that…” He passed a hand across his forehead, and Nora followed it with one of her own. “I feel so helpless, stuck here in this bed.”

“All the more reason you should rest and let us take care of things,” Tim said.

“Good advice,” the doctor agreed.

“Have a little faith, Dad,” Jeremy put in. “We won’t let you down.”

“Not that faith is an adequate substitute for hard work and dedication,” Tim muttered, and Heather inwardly winced.

Jeremy immediately bristled. “Are you implying that I’m not dedicated, that I don’t work hard enough?”

Tim had the grace to look abashed. “I didn’t say that.”

“You might as well have, so let me remind you, little brother, that I hold the reins at Hamilton Media now.”

“Then do what you should,” Tim demanded. “Bite the bullet and sign that accounting contract!”

“It’s my decision, Tim, and I’m not bound by your opinions.”

“I have a right to my opinions!”

“Please!” Nora interjected sternly. “Now is not the time.”

“We’re all too upset at the moment for this discussion,” Amy interjected reasonably.

“Confound it, this is important!” Wallace bellowed, turning red in the face.

“That’s it,” Dr. Strickland interrupted, placing a quelling hand on Wallace’s chest. “Take it outside, if you please. And you…” He wagged an admonishing finger at the patient. “Calm down. You need to rest.”

Amy stepped up to the bed and bent to press a kiss to Wallace’s forehead.

“At least try to follow the doctor’s orders,” she urged, a wry smile curling her pretty mouth.

“And don’t worry,” Jeremy said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

Wallace nodded curtly, his jaw working.

“I’ll walk you out,” Nurse Franklin said politely but firmly, herding them all toward the door.

Chris was the first to move toward it, saying, “I’m picking up a little overtime tonight, so I’ll see you tomorrow, Dad.”

“Call if you need anything, Mom,” Amy said, following on Christopher’s heels.

“Yes, of course, sweetheart,” Nora murmured. Then she abruptly lifted a hand, stopping everyone in their tracks. “If you talk to your sister,” she dictated firmly, “go easy on her. Melissa is still very young, you know.”