Read A Test of Faith for Free Online Page A

reward today.
    “Again, Daddy?”
    The question pulled Anne from her thoughts, and she looked up to see Faith gazing up at her father, her most persuasive expression on her face.
    “I think—” Jared’s low tone was clearly holding backlaughter—“you have another appointment.”
    Anne recognized her cue. “Come on, sweetie. Time to do your hair.”
    The look on her daughter’s face as she eyed the hairbrush was far from enthusiastic.
    “Come on, squirt.” Jared closed the storybook and lifted Faith from his lap to the ground, giving her backside a pat. “Go with Mama.”
    Faith pouted, but she did as her father bid and followed Anne—albeit slowly—back upstairs to her room.
    Once there, Anne rubbed Faith’s back—a surefire way to calm her. “Okay, now, hold still, honey. It won’t hurt so much if you don’t pull away when I’m brushing.”
    The stiff set of Faith’s shoulders spoke volumes. She wasn’t buying it. Okay, time for a distraction.
    “When I was little—” Anne started brushing again.
Slow and even strokes. Easy … easy…
“My mommy used to brush her long, beautiful hair every day.”
    “She had long hair?”
    Anne nodded. “Just like yours. And she would put it in long, pretty braids with ribbons. Just like we fix your hai—”
    “Braids are
stoo
pid.”
    Anne pressed her lips together. Yet another lovely trait her daughter was perfecting: that sullen, mutinous tone.
Patience…
That one word was becoming a mantra for her life.
A soft answer turns away wrath, right?
    “Hold still, honey. We’re almost done.”
    Unfortunately, being still wasn’t in Faith’s makeup. The little girl fidgeted, dancing from one foot to the other, squirming like a worm frantic to escape the hook. “Pleeeease, Mommy, can’t I go outside?”
    “Fine!” Anne slammed the brush down on the dresser and grabbed one of Faith’s hair bands. She handed the piece of plastic to Faith, shaking her head as her daughter shoved it on her head, barely breaking stride as she made for the hallway.
    So much for our morning ritual
.
    Anne made her way down the stairs, then watched her daughter out the kitchen window. Faith’s neighborhood friendswere already waiting in the backyard. She jumped in the middle of them with a squeal, and they rolled and tumbled, all giggles and arms and legs. Without a pause, they jumped up and raced to the large evergreen in the yard, scrambling up the limbs like a pack of playful squirrels.
    Of course, Faith was the first to reach the tree. And the first to grab a branch and launch herself upward. Anne saw her daughter’s jeans catch on a branch and tear, but Faith didn’t even seem to notice. No surprise there. Faith was more at home in torn jeans and scruffy tennies than anything else.
    Anne shook her head and turned the burner on under the teakettle. Whatever happened to the little girl she’d always dreamed of? To the dresses and ribbons and lace?
    A small laugh escaped Anne. Faith was as fond of dresses as she was of braids. And the last time Anne put a pretty bow in Faith’s hair, it ended up on the dog as a makeshift leash.
    “Whatcha thinking, Beautiful?”
    Anne glanced at Jared over her shoulder, then turned back to the counter, reaching to lift a mug from the rack. “I don’t know. I’m just wondering how a child I carried in my body can be so different from me.”
    The teakettle whistled, and Anne snapped the burner off, then poured the steaming water into her cup. She looked at Jared, but he shook his head.
    “None for me, thanks.”
    She nodded, gathered up her tea bag and container of honey, and went to sit at the table. Jared joined her, silent, waiting. Anne tried to sort through her thoughts as she dipped the tea bag in the water, watching how the color changed with each dunk.
    “Faith and I …” She sighed. “We don’t seem to connect on anything. It’s as though we’re from two different planets.”
    Jared took her hand and held it, the solid