Chapter 1
Nelson Abraham Limehouse
Nelson slipped off his polished brown loafers and placed them neatly side by side, the toes slightly under the end of the narrow bed. He laid his wallet, watch, and a folded newspaper clipping on the dresser. Slipping off his white shirt, he sniffed it and hung it on the left side of his closet. His pants he threw in the hamper by the door.
Standing in his stocking feet in the tiny bathroom, he washed his face and brushed his teeth, not even glancing at the reflection in the mirror.
Back in the bedroom, wearing only his boxers and t-shirt, he eased himself onto his knees beside the bed.
Crossing himself, he began. Father, forgive me, for I have sinned. He let his mind go through the day, through the hundreds of thoughts, miniscule and important, all of them laced with human failing. He prayed for forgiveness and the strength to forgive in turn. He prayed that the Lord would bless his work and be with the twelve souls living under his care. He prayed for his brother, Ellstin and the people of Nobles' Holler and lastly, as he did every night, he prayed for God to bless his daughter, wherever she might be, and he also prayed for Francis' son.
Rising to his feet he picked up the newspaper clipping from the dresser and smoothed it out, glancing again at the headline; Task Force Brings Down Domestic Terrorist.
"You'd be proud of your boy, Francis," he whispered. He tucked the clipping into the top drawer and threw back the covers. Setting the alarm for 5 a.m., he crawled in, grateful. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
"Mornin' Boss," James greeted him.
"I wish you wouldn't call me that," Nelson muttered out of habit, knowing after five years, James would continue to ignore the request.
"We got two new intakes comin' today." The young man laid the paperwork on the desk. "That puts us at capacity, and the state inspector is here day after tomorrow."
Nelson glanced at the papers and looked up at James. "We'll be ready, right?"
"Yes, sir. DeVon and Amari spent most of the day yesterday fixin' that broken pipe in the one bathroom. And Yvonne scrubbed the kitchen from top to bottom. Still got mice, but what old building doesn't?" James turned to go. "Oh, and don't forget, that reporter from the Tribune is comin' this afternoon. Paper'll be good publicity for that grant you're writin', maybe bring in some donations."
Nelson grumbled but reluctantly agreed. The interview wouldn't take that much time, and it might attract the eye of someone with cash to burn looking to do some good.
The reporter arrived late, apologizing. "I got off the 'L' at the wrong stop," the young woman said. "Meghan James." She shook Nelson's offered hand and looked around. She was a little shorter than him, dark-haired, with almond shaped eyes that hinted at an Asian heritage. She wore pressed khaki slacks and a crisp white blouse under a denim jacket.
Lazarus House was located in an old firehouse in Garfield Park, sandwiched between the blighted area of North Lawndale, also known as K-Town and the newly revitalized Puerto Rican neighborhood of Humbolt Park.
"This place is really interesting," she said, looking up at the stamped copper ceiling.
"It's on the historic registry," Nelson told her with not a little pride in his voice. "The city has been happy to put the firehouse to use, and with the large kitchen and sleeping area, it was easily repurposed for what we needed," he explained, walking her through the large bay that once housed fire engines, now divided with partitions into a reception area and three small offices for himself and his staff. He introduced her to James, his assistant and Lily, one of the three part-time counselors on staff.
The reporter trailed behind him, her heels clicking on the concrete floor. Nelson pushed open a door and led her into the kitchen. "Afternoon, LaMar," he said to a tall dark-skinned man pouring coffee. Another man stood at the stove, stirring a huge pot of chili.
"Mr. Fox." LaMar shot him a toothy grin. The other man didn't acknowledge them.
Nelson led Miss James to a tiny patio wedged between the firehouse and the laundry next door. The narrow space was lined with flower-pots some overflowing with impatiens and sweet potato vines, several others holding tomato plants heavy with reddening fruit. He pulled out two chairs at a small café table.
As she sat in the offered chair, Meghan asked, "How many residents do you have?"
"We can hold up to fifteen residents, and we're usually full. Most of the men here are recovering addicts, some paroled from prison, some stepping down from detox centers or stepping up from life on the streets." James brought out a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses, pouring one for each of them.
"Thank you," the reporter said. She slipped on a pair of wire-rimmed glasses before she took a sip and tapped some notes into her phone. "What ages do you work with mostly?"
"Any age, really." Nelson stirred some sugar into his own tea. "Except juveniles. Right now, we range in age from nineteen to sixty-two." He chuckled. "Makes for some interesting arguments in the television lounge."
"How many TVs do you have?"
"One. And one computer."
"For fifteen men?"
"Yes. We believe time spent in service to each other - cooking, cleaning, and laundry are all done by residents – there is daily Bible study, prayer time, and some of the residents hold down outside jobs. Doesn't leave much time for technology, Miss James."
The reporter looked stunned, but recovered quickly, asking about the demographics of the residents.
"There are six African Americans, three Hispanics, and two Caucasians, the rest of the residents are biracial."
"You don't serve women here. Was that a choice? Certainly there are recovering women who could benefit from a program like yours."
Nelson leaned forward in his chair, aware of an opportunity to present something he'd been thinking about for a while. "We've been researching the possibility of opening a second location," he said. "When people are in recovery, relationships are complicated and it's best not to start anything new. Avoiding that is the reason for the segregation. Of course, we would like to serve women in recovery as well. We just don't have the facilities at this point."
The reporter typed furiously, obviously intrigued with this angle for her story. "Where does the shelter get its funding?" she asked, not looking up.
"We get most of our funding from private sources. The Church, of course, is one, but only one of many." This was true. Nelson courted benefactors wherever he could, spending far more time at parties and receptions than he would like. "We also have several grants: one federal, the rest from private sources." Again, much of the time he would have liked to spend with his charges was spent on paperwork.
"I always like to have a personal angle in my stories." Meghan took another sip of her iced-tea and leveled her gaze at him. "You were an addict yourself at one point, weren't you?"
"I was," Nelson said without embarrassment.
"Was it a place like this that helped you recover? Is that why you started Lazarus House?"
Nelson shook his head. "No. I owe my recovery to a friend. She stood by me when I needed her and showed me the way out – showed me that I had a lot to live for." He looked around. "This place is a testimony to her."
"What was her name?" She asked, fingers poised above her keyboard.
"Miss James, some people are private people, and we all ought to respect that."
"But surely. . ."
Nelson glanced at his watch. "I really need to get back to work, Miss James. We have two new residents arriving this morning and there's a lot to do." He rose, extending his hand. The young women regretfully shook it, thanked him, and followed him back out through the shelter, pausing to snap pictures with her cell-phone camera as she went.
Back on the sidewalk in front, she turned to him. "May I take a shot of you?"
Nelson shrugged, and she backed up, framing the shot of the tall black man with the Engine House No. 7 and Lazarus House signs in the background. "Thank you, again," she said, pocketing her phone, but when she looked up, her subject had already turned and disappeared inside the firehouse.
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
Despite their plan to arrive in Chicago well ahead of the five o'clock rush hour, what should have been a nice and easy, five-hour drive into the city became long and miserable for all. Baby Willa, who had been a dream on her last road trip, fussed almost all the way there. Anna, seated in the backseat with Adam, was instructed to give her niece some Baby Tylenol, but it didn't do much good.
Other than stopping for restroom breaks and a fill-up, they decided to drive straight through to lessen the baby's time in the car. There was no point in extending her discomfort, although they knew the discomfort on their ears would be a given.
Seemed like a good plan, and Raylan was making excellent time until they made it to just outside of Gary. A sea of red tail lights flashed in front of him on the expressway, as far ahead as he could see until traffic came to a complete halt. Anna offered to check out the situation on her Smart Phone. An overturned semi which turned into a Life Flight rescue had the Lincoln and all surrounding vehicles trapped between exits. There was nothing to do but to settle in and wait for the accident to be cleared. This was going to take a while.
"Jeez." Raylan let out a long, frustrated sigh. Eventually, he killed the ignition and lowered all the windows, as it was another warm afternoon. Bad idea. The air reeked of road tar and gasoline fumes, and he just as quickly raised the windows back up. Willa continued to fuss at a higher volume. Winona asked Anna to release the straps of the car seat and pass the baby to her in the front seat. The change of scenery turned Willa's fussing into little whimpers. She had big tears in her blue eyes.
"What's the matter there, girl?" Raylan asked, as Winona sat Willa on her lap facing her Daddy. "Have ya' had enough of this car ride?" Shifting his tall frame that was becoming stiff, he declared, "I know I have."
It became warmer inside the car as the sun beat down. Willa's little cheeks quickly turned to crimson, and Winona took Willa's little shirt off, allowing the baby a chance to cool off.
"There's plenty more juice in the cooler," Adam reminded them. "Anyone want one?"
They all said 'yes' at once. Adam offered to retrieve them from the trunk of the car. Raylan pushed the trunk release on the dash. Adam quickly exited the vehicle and just as quickly returned with the cooler. He passed a couple of ice cold bottles forward to Raylan, and handed one to Anna. Winona reached down into the diaper bag and grabbed a clean bottle. Seeing that her hands were full with Willa, Raylan gently took the bottle from her and filled it with cold apple juice.
Little Willa became very animated at the site of her bottle, and she reached her little hands out for it.
"Oh. Ya' know what this is, don'tcha?" Raylan grinned and handed the bottle to his baby who wrapped her little hands around it.
Winona propped her up against the crook of her elbow, as Willa began to drink. Raylan twisted the cap off the other bottle of blackberry juice and offered it to Winona. She gladly took it.
"Want another one up there, Raylan?" Anna asked, holding her cold bottle up to her cheek to cool her face.
"What else ya' got in there? I'm not much a fan of these two flavors."
Rummaging through the cooler, she said, "There's a couple of lemonades?"
"That sounds good," he said, taking the ice cold bottle from his sister.
"There's some red grapes in here, too," she offered.
"Oh, yes. Please," Winona chimed in, immediately popping one in her mouth.
Raylan let out a groan, as he tried to stretch out his legs.
"You can slide the seat back, if you need a little more room," Adam offered, angling his knees toward Anna, who sat on the other side of Willa's car seat.
"Thanks," Raylan said. "I think I will." And he pulled the lever and adjusted his seat back an inch or two.
Once again in the cooler, Adam asked Winona if she'd like to split a sandwich, giving her a choice of tuna salad or ham and cheese. Popping another frozen grape in her mouth, she answered she'd prefer tuna.
"I'd like the ham and cheese," Raylan chimed in.
"It's huge," Anna said, unwrapping it. "Want to split this with me?"
"Sure," her brother answered, as Winona poked her head between the seats and smiled at Adam. Adam caught her unspoken yet knowing smile, surely caused by the genetics of the two being ham and cheese lovers. Yet another similarity.
It became quiet inside as each one was busy feeding their respective faces. Occasionally, they heard shouting, a curse word, or a horn honking from the parking lot of cars they found themselves in. Anna passed forward an empty paper bag for Raylan and Winona to discard their napkins. It was about that time that Willa popped her bottle out of her mouth, screwed up her little face, and began to cry.
"Honey. What is it?" Winona looked concerned, taking the baby's bottle from her and sitting her up a little straighter.
And then, it came. Willa threw up her earlier lunch all over the front of herself. And it smelled bad. Sour.
Raylan's eyes became wide, as Winona's hand reached down into the diaper bag, fumbling for a cloth diaper to wipe up the mess.
Inside the hot car with no air circulating, it didn't take long for the foul smell to permeate every square inch inside of the cab. In reaction, Raylan lost it and began to wretch. He barely managed to open the car door before he lost his sandwich and lemonade onto the hot asphalt.
Willa let out a high pitched scream.
"I know, baby. It is so sad." Winona tried to comfort Willa, wiping her down with diaper wipes that she promptly discarded into the same trash bag as their napkins. "To know that your LEO Daddy can handle seeing a man's arm get chopped off right before his eyes, but he can't handle a little baby barf."
Despite trying to hold them in, snickers erupted from the backseat as poor Raylan continued to heave it outside of the car. After emptying the entire contents of his stomach, he held his heavy head in his hands and squinted into the sun, looking from a different angle at all of the vehicles ahead to see if there was any sign of movement.
There was no such luck.
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
"She's finally down," Winona said, sliding up behind him and beginning to knead the muscles of his shoulders, tight from driving.
"God, that feels good," Raylan murmured, leaning into her hands.
Digging her thumbs into a knot at the base of his neck, Winona dipped her head, planting a soft kiss at his temple. "So, tomorrow you start your search for Anna's father?"
He sighed. "Yeah, I just wish to hell I had some kind of idea where to start."
"Well," Winona said. "You could always start with the police. You know he was a drug addict, right?"
Raylan nodded. Winona looked down, studying his expression. "Is there something else bothering you?"
For a moment, he considered telling her about Karen's offer, but he didn't have the emotional energy to deal with the conversation that would follow. Honestly, he wasn't sure what her reaction would be. He should've stopped trying to predict her a long time ago anyway. Instead, he turned, sliding an arm around her waist and tugging her down onto his lap.
"Hello there," she said, smiling into a kiss. His hands pushed her shirt up, sliding over the soft skin of her back, expertly unhooking her bra. She laughed, low in her throat and lifted one leg, straddling him. "I thought . . ." she kissed his neck. ". . . you . . ." another kiss along his jaw ". . . were tired." Her mouth found his again as her fingers deftly undid the buttons of his shirt.
"Mmmm," he murmured. "Not so much."
They kissed for a long while, hands roaming, taking their time. He slipped his arms out and tossed his shirt onto the floor. Flushed and hot, Winona tugged her blouse off over her head, not bothering with the buttons. He scooped a breast in his hand, and lowered his mouth, sucking. That nipple rosy and taut, he gave the other equal attention. She threw her head back, biting her bottom lip.
He stood, lifting her easily and tossing her onto the king-sized bed. Stripping down quickly as she watched, he tugged at her skirt, adding it to the growing pile of clothing on the floor. He kissed her belly, feeling the ripples of laughter, as his stubble tickled her skin. Working his way down, he slid her panties over her hips, tantalizing her with soft kisses on the inside of her thighs until she moaned, threading her fingers into his hair and guiding him where she wanted.
She held her breath, waiting to see if he was going to make this a 'sweet, delicious torture' or a 'get down to business' affair. She thought it would depend on how tired he was. A low moan escaped her lips when he ran his tongue over her sweet spot, slow like honey. She lay back and settled in for the slow torture. He skillfully used his mouth to build on her desire, allowing her to take the lead and let him know when she wanted more.
Raylan knew her body; every square inch of it. He knew how to play her . . . how to keep her going for a long time. Trying to keep her moaning down so as not to wake the baby, Winona's breathing became harder. She felt herself coming closer to the verge, and her hands clenched into the covers. She raised up on her elbows and threw her head back. Her breathing was heavy, and the pace of her movement increased, as he softly suckled her.
"Oh, my God," she cried out, helpless to keep her voice down. She panted, breathless, as she reached her shuddering climax. Raylan cupped her buttocks in his hands and held onto her as she reached her peak, until the shuddering stopped.
He moved up in the bed, closer to her.
"Mmmmm," Winona murmured into his ear. "Thank you."
He grinned down at her. "You're welcome."
"Now," she said. "What can I do for you?"
He rolled over onto his back. "I'm sure you could thinka somethin'."
Winona moved down on him, teasing. Raylan threaded his fingers behind his head. His mind was again preoccupied with the conversation he knew he was going to have with Winona about the job offer. He couldn't put it off much longer.
But Winona also knew every square inch of his body, what made him tick. He let out a guttural moan as she slowly took him into her mouth, her tongue skillfully gliding over him. His thoughts were abruptly taken off any shop talk, as his body had a mind of its own. He was ready, his need was urgent, and he began to thrust into her willing mouth.
After a time of raising his passion to new heights, she looked up at him. "You want to fly solo or take me with you?"
He answered her by reaching over to the nightstand and quickly retrieving a condom. He opened the package and deftly rolled it onto himself. Then, he tugged at her shoulders to coax her up and over him, and she helped to guide herself on top of him and him inside her.
This time, he was ready to 'get down to business.' He held her hips down against his pelvis with both hands. It didn't take long for her to catch up to his passion, and she could feel herself building to another climax. She began to rotate her hips in little circles, which drove him wild. Afraid their cries would wake the baby, Raylan flipped Winona underneath him in one swift motion. She brought her knees up, allowing him even deeper access, and he covered her mouth with his from above. Three more thrusts and she reached her summit, her moans muffled inside his mouth. He followed her and held her, as their bodies quaked through their epic release.
Talk of moving to DC was nowhere on Raylan's mind.
(To be continued . . .)