{"id":207,"date":"2008-06-12T09:45:40","date_gmt":"2008-06-12T14:45:40","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/\/?p=207"},"modified":"2008-06-12T09:47:51","modified_gmt":"2008-06-12T14:47:51","slug":"a-promise-for-tomorrow-by-sara-dubose","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/?p=207","title":{"rendered":"A Promise for Tomorrow by Sara DuBose"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

It is time to play a Wild Card<\/span>!<\/strong> <\/span>Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour<\/a>. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his\/her book’s FIRST chapter!<\/p>\n

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!<\/em>
\n<\/span><\/p>\n


\nToday’s Wild Card author is: <\/strong><\/div>\n
Sara DuBose<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

and her book:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

A Promise for Tomorrow<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Randall House Publications (March 25, 2008)<\/p>\n

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

<\/a>\"\"<\/a>Sara DuBose is a motivational speaker and author of three other novels: Where Hearts Live, Where Love Grows, and Where Memories Linger. Sara is also author of Conquering Anxiety, published by the Presbyterian Church in America. Her other writing credits include numerous articles and stories for publications such as The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, Today\u2019s Christian Woman, Virtue, Decision, The Christian Reader, and Family Life Today. She also appears in several anthologies published by Multnomah and Barbour. Sara received a first place fiction award from Putting Your Passion into Print and a first place fiction award from the Southeastern Writer\u2019s Association. She currently travels as a speaker for seminars, festivals, civic clubs, schools and churches and may be contacted at www.saradubose.com. Sara and her husband live in Montgomery, Alabama. She is the mother of two daughters.<\/p>\n

Visit her at her website<\/a>.<\/p>\n

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:<\/span> <\/strong>
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/a>\"\"<\/a>Chapter One<\/p>\n

It was 2:50 Friday afternoon. In ten more minutes, the bell would ring and we\u2019d be free for summer vacation. I doodled on a piece of notebook paper trying not to squirm, but every little curly-cue I made represented another second toward freedom. Our teacher, Miss Puckett, was in the middle of her farewell address, so I pretended to listen. Actually, I\u2019d become a pretty good pretender during those past nine months. Miss Puckett was so boring.<\/p>\n

From the corner of my right eye, I detected a slight movement, and I heard someone in our class said, \u201cWhat the h_______ . . . ?\u201d<\/p>\n

Since I rarely heard anything more than \u201cgol-ly,\u201d I turned to the window by my desk. A round face pressed against the windowpane near me. Nose first. Flat. The eyes set in a wide stare. As I watched, the freak\u2019s hand flew up in a wave. Instinctively, I waved back.<\/p>\n

\u201cFlea,\u201d Miss Puckett called. \u201cFace the front. All of you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho is it?\u201d I heard someone say.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s just a curious child. That\u2019s all.\u201d Miss Puckett had a strange expression on her face. I decided she must be tired of seeing children.<\/p>\n

About to obey Miss Puckett\u2019s command, I then saw a second figure\u2014a man. He grabbed the waving hand and pulled it down to his side. The man\u2019s face appeared strained, like someone trying to open a pill bottle with his teeth. Maybe he was scolding the child. I couldn\u2019t tell. Mesmerized, I watched him twist her arm. The child seemed to stumble and then regain her balance. I think I saw her shudder as she brushed against his overalls.<\/p>\n

Miss Puckett\u2019s voice again broke into my thoughts, and I belatedly turned to face her. \u201cGather your supplies, class. The bell is about to ring. Once again, have a good summer. It\u2019s been a pleasure having you in fifth grade.\u201d<\/p>\n

Glancing back to the window, I watched the two figures disappear around the corner of the building.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy pleasure is to get out of here,\u201d Betty muttered. We occupied the two desks closest to the window on the back row. Betty also lived across the street from me. As we scrambled for our books and headed for the door, Betty said, \u201cYou wanna race home?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cIt\u2019s too hot. You go ahead.\u201d I grabbed a wad of hair and held it up from my neck. \u201cDo you have a rubber band so I can make a ponytail?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. Fix it at your house. Say, you\u2019re not gonna hang around here, are you?\u201d Betty glanced back to the window.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot for long. But I do want to know who they are.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, you\u2019re so nosey. Aren\u2019t you hungry?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, I guess but . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut what?\u201d Betty countered.<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I\u2019m not gonna hang around school one minute longer than
\nI have to.\u201d<\/p>\n

As we left the room, my eyes drifted up to the calendar Miss Puckett kept posted by the door. Friday, May 27, 1955. I\u2019d thought this day would never come. Betty scurried down the hall ahead of me but then called back over her shoulder.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you come over later for a snack?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n

I watched Betty scoot down the steps and retrieve her bike parked next to mine in the metal frame stationed to the left of the front entrance.<\/p>\n

Betty was my best friend, but we were about as different as corn bread and ice cream. She was always in a hurry to get home to her paper dolls or child\u2019s embroidery kit. Not me. I liked to take my time, to look for adventure. But, frankly, it was hard to find adventure in Sugar Hill, especially when my dad was the pastor of the Presbyterian Church.<\/p>\n

Standing at the top of the steps, my eyes gravitated to the familiar yellow bus parked in the bus lane. As usual, the bus driver\u2019s shoulders were slumped toward the steering wheel. Somehow, I sensed he was glad this was his last round. What a boring job, driving 30 elementary and high-school kids back and forth through about 20 miles of Sugar Hill countryside.<\/p>\n

Two or three other cars waited to pick up children. I recognized Mrs. Whittaker\u2019s Buick. I knew it was Mrs. Whittaker\u2019s because they were the only family in Sugar Hill with a Buick. Mr. Whittaker held the top spot with our Fairway Mill Company. No wonder he could drive a Buick. And, wouldn\u2019t you know, his daughter, Gloria, had wound up in my fifth grade class right in the middle of the year. They were from Ohio, so Gloria knew more than the rest of us in the \u201chick town\u201d of Sugar Hill, Alabama. At least, she thought so.<\/p>\n

After the bus pulled away, I noticed an old black pickup truck parked across the street. It appeared empty and lonesome, like something you might see in a junkyard. I wondered if it might belong to the strange man who had jerked the girl away from the window.<\/p>\n

Then I remembered how the odd couple had turned toward the side of our building. I decided to run down the steps and take the turn leading to the senior high school. Maybe I\u2019d at least see my brother, Rand, and we could ride home together.<\/p>\n

Like an old married couple, our two school buildings somehow managed to hold on to each other by a covered walkway at the lower level. A parking lot for teachers sat in front of the high-school building, but we kids used it for fancy bike riding and skating whenever we had the chance.<\/p>\n

When I reached the high school, several of my brother\u2019s friends nodded or waved. Rand\u2019s best friend, Frank, liked to tease, so he called and said, \u201cHi, Squirt. Lookin\u2019 for Rand? He\u2019s already headed home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I\u2019m just lookin\u2019. Did you see a weird man and a little girl come
\nby here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou mean Ole Man Boyd and his daughter?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess.\u201d I switched my books to the other hip.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, I might have seen them earlier. Can\u2019t imagine what they are
\ndoing here though.\u201d Frank rolled his eyes. \u201cThat girl can\u2019t possibly go to school.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s retarded. Haven\u2019t you heard about Mavis?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, not much. I do know a Mr. Boyd who lives out by the lumberyard.\u201d I tossed my head in that general direction. \u201cAnd everybody knows about his No Trespassing sign.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, right. Mavis is his daughter and she\u2019s as crazy as a loon.\u201d
\nFrank wheeled his eyes again, more dramatic this time. \u201cI\u2019ve heard she stays locked up most of the time. Reckon her dad can\u2019t help it since he has to work.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I s\u2019pose not,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWatcha doing down this way?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI want to see the girl again. Guess I feel sorry for her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t waste your worry. Ain\u2019t one thing you can do. Boyd probably dropped by here checking for some extra janitor work or something. Besides, isn\u2019t your mama gonna wonder where you are?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe. But. . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLook, go home. Okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI will in a minute. I hafta go inside to the bathroom.\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank gave me a funny grin. I suppose he wondered why I hadn\u2019t thought to do that before leaving the elementary school. I just smiled and headed inside.<\/p>\n

To tell the truth, I really wanted to stall, to decide what to do next. Somehow, I\u2019d hoped this summer was going to be different from all the others. Maybe Gloria was right. Maybe we did live in a hick town.<\/p>\n

When I stepped into the senior high girl\u2019s bathroom, my stomach churned at the sight. The whole area looked like a crazy person had come through throwing paper towels and bits of toilet paper everywhere. Who had done it? Mavis crossed my mind, but one person couldn\u2019t create this much damage in a quick trip to the bathroom. This mess seemed like a premeditated attack or maybe a misguided attempt to celebrate the end of school.<\/p>\n

Suddenly, I wanted to wash my hands, but at the first sink, a pukey
\nfeeling crawled inside my throat at the sight of a large chunk of gooey caramel nestled by the drain. On the mirror above the sink, a large blob of bright pink lipstick formed a grotesque kiss on the glass, blurring the strange dark eyes glaring back at me. In fact, as I studied my image in the mirror, my eyes seemed bloodshot. Maybe it was the lipstick. I frowned at my limp bangs and pale face and decided I\u2019d better get out of there before my lunch came up.<\/p>\n

As I stepped outside, the air felt warm and still. Several dark clouds swept across the sky. One cloud hovered over a small pecan grove nearby. Maybe we were in for a storm. The thought of cooling rain cheered me up as I headed back toward the hill.<\/p>\n

When I reached the front of the elementary building to get my
\nbike, Mr. Boyd and Mavis were still nowhere in sight, even though the black pickup remained across the street.<\/p>\n

Maybe the couple I\u2019d seen wasn\u2019t them after all. Maybe the creepy man had kidnapped that little girl and planned to take her who knew where. Right then, I decided to squelch the scary thoughts and go home.<\/p>\n

As I rode past the high school and football field, my mind flashed back to Mr. Boyd\u2019s No Trespassing sign. I remembered Rand and Iriding our bikes down by the lumberyard in the spring. Once we almost crossed his fence, but we chickened out.<\/p>\n

When I got even with Corley\u2019s cotton field, two things happened. It
\nstarted to sprinkle, and I was aware of something behind me. I hugged the left side of the road and peddled a little faster. A flash of lightening sliced the sky.<\/p>\n

Just then, I saw our dog, Splendid, running toward me. She must have wondered why I wasn\u2019t home yet, so she\u2019d come searching for me. The minute she spotted the bike, she hesitated and started wagging her tail. I braked quickly, hoping to tell her to wait. But it didn\u2019t happen. She bounded out into the road. I glanced behind me, recognized the pickup just as Splendid crossed, and yelled, \u201cStop!\u201d<\/p>\n

Then I heard the sound of brakes squealing, and I saw a splotch of blue denim overalls as the driver\u2019s door flew open.<\/p>\n

\u201cGit that flea-bitten dog off the road!\u201d the man yelled, stepping into the rain.<\/p>\n

The pickup door blocked my view, and I couldn\u2019t see Splendid. Was she okay? I threw my bike into the last thin row of cotton and ran. Half-sitting, half-lying in the middle of the road, Splendid looked limp. I didn\u2019t see any blood, and she didn\u2019t whimper. Then, as I bent over, her tail thumped the gravel. I prayed the rain would stop.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you hit her?\u201d I yelled over my shoulder, my teeth clenched.<\/p>\n

\u201cNaw, I didn\u2019t hit the dumb dog, but you\u2019d better git her out of
\nhere before I do.\u201d<\/p>\n

Splendid gazed up at me with such sad eyes. I started to pick her up, but then I heard someone say, \u201cShe good dog. I touch her?\u201d<\/p>\n

The first thing I saw was scuffed white patent shoes, like the kind I wear on Sundays. But these shoes were dingy and definitely too tight for the thick feet they encased. I kept my hand on Splendid as my eyes traveled up the child\u2019s body. I recognized the dress I\u2019d seen in the window but now it hung on her like an old sheet thrown over a chair. And then her face. Flat nose. Blank eyes. Stringy blond hair.<\/p>\n

The rain stopped.<\/p>\n

Quickly, I turned back to Splendid because I felt her lick my hand.
\nShe carefully staggered to her feet and wagged her tail.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you all right, girl?\u201d Splendid wagged some more. \u201cAre you just
\nscared?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHug her?\u201d the child asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Mavis, the dog might have mange.\u201d The overalls moved forward toward the child.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy dog does not have mange.\u201d I gave the monster my best stare.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe took her to the doctor for her shots two weeks ago. She is in perfect
\nhealth.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPerfect health until she gits killed. You\u2019d better keep her off the
\nroad.\u201d He grabbed Mavis and pushed her toward the truck. \u201cGet back
\ninside, Mavis.\u201d<\/p>\n

But Mavis balked, giving Splendid a longing look. \u201cTouch?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I whispered. \u201cYou may touch.\u201d I met Boyd\u2019s eyes as if to say, Don\u2019t you dare try to stop her. A peculiar odor, or taste, seemed to hang in the air around Mr. Boyd, but I decided it must be my own sour stomach.<\/p>\n

Mavis hesitated. Then, like a toddler reaching for an ornament on the Christmas tree, she ran her flat palm across Splendid\u2019s head. Splendid must have sensed her need and licked her arm.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe like me,\u201d she said, nodding her head like a rag doll. \u201cI had cat,
\nbut he gone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course he likes you. You are a sweet girl.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI sweet girl?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said, \u201cI\u2019m sure you are.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s time to go, Mavis.\u201d Boyd adjusted the strap on his overalls and
\npointed. \u201cGet back in the truck.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI go now. Bye, dog.\u201d<\/p>\n

On a sudden impulse, Mavis reached down and patted Splendid again, but since Mr. Boyd was already holding the passenger side door open, I don\u2019t think he noticed.<\/p>\n

Splendid and I waited on the roadside by my bike as he cranked up. Without looking at me again, he pulled away, and I watched Mavis turn in her seat. I raised my hand at the last minute, and I saw her hand flutter just like it had done outside our fifth grade window.<\/p>\n

MY REVIEW:<\/h3>\n

A Promise For Tomorrow<\/a> is a nostalgic journey into a small town during the mid 1950’s. Told through the viewpoint of Flea (Fannie Lea), a young pastor’s daughter, A Promise For Tomorrow<\/a> chronicles her life in Sugar Hill during the summer after fifth grade and the rest of that year. Although the atmosphere of the book brings to mind To Kill a Mockingbird<\/strong><\/em>, this book stands on its own and is in no way a copycat.<\/p>\n

Throughout this beautifully told story, Flea and her brother Rand enjoy their youthful freedom yet are always aware of the expectations imposed upon them as pastor’s children. Nevertheless, their explorations take them into some dicey situations, one of which haunts Flea for months. <\/a><\/p>\n

A Promise For Tomorrow<\/a> is the story of one young girl’s dedication to doing what is right and the effects her compassion, courage, and faith have on others in her life. I would recommend A Promise For Tomorrow<\/a> to anyone who enjoys a slow paced, nostalgic look back at recent history.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his\/her book’s FIRST chapter! You never know when […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-207","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-books"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/207","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=207"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/207\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=207"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=207"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=207"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}