Fixing His Broken Ballerina: Volume 1



  Fixing His Broken Ballerina

  Volume 1

  By

  Sheila Holmes

  Copyright © 2016 Sheila Holmes

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

  Cover by Sheila Holmes

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  Acknowledgments

  Within the Awesome Love Series, this is the second book. I am grateful for the opportunity to complete this book with its characters (old and new), who have the same spiritual assets and liabilities as you and I. And all looking for someone to love them “warts and all.”

  Daniel, my precious angel of a husband, continues to encourage me and make me laugh when I get far too serious about my writing. Each morning he makes me laugh before I ever get out of bed, and I’m still laughing at his jokes, funny tales, and impersonations when we retire at night. I’m so grateful for his sense of humor.

  Our adorable daughter, DanniLaii, continues to be my third best friend, right after Jesus and my husband. She is funny like her dad, and is truly a cohort. Her greatest contribution to this story is making me laugh. That is no small task. I needed her humor to remind me that writing should be a joy, never a burden.

  Being members of Westover Church in Greensboro, North Carolina has been one of the outstanding contributors to- and blessings of our lives. Pastor Don is ever faithful (over twenty years now) to not only teach us the uncompromising truths of the Bible, but teach us how to flesh out those truths in our lives. We will ever be thankful for his love of the Savior and teaching us to do the same.

  Jesus, thank you for your encouragement as I've written. It has been therapeutic. You and I have had some really wonderful times together while unfolding this tale. When I got stumped in some places, not knowing how to express something most effectively, You stepped right in and showed me. I am thankful for your help, and will ever be thankful to You for redeeming me.

  Books by Sheila Holmes

  Wedding Woes Series

  A Wedding Disaster… Or Was It?

  A Catastrophic Wedding Reception… Or Maybe Not?

  Wedding Designed by Email… KiirstiAan's Nightmare?

  Non-Fiction

  With This Ring: Creative Ways to Give Your Purity Ring to Your Future Spouse

  Christmas Romance Plans (How-to) Series

  Christmas Romance: 25 Dazzling Days to Romance Your Spouse 'til Christmas

  The Twelve Days of Christmas: A Romance Plan

  Awesome Love Series

  Becoming His Awesome Beauty: Volume 1

  Becoming His Awesome Beauty: Volume 2

  Fixing His Broken Ballerina: Volume 1

  Fixing His Broken Ballerina: Volume 2

  All in a Name Series

  Joyful, Joyful

  From Grace Abounds Grace (coming Winter 2016)

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Books by Sheila Holmes

  Prologue

  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

  A Word about Fixing His Broken Ballerina Volume 2

  About the Author

  "And we know that all things work together

  for good to them that love God, to them who

  are the called according to his purpose."

  Romans 8:28, The Bible.

  Prologue

  Friday morning, the perfect day for packing up the personal belongings from her office (all of which didn’t even fill one medium size brown box) and leaving this place. Her boss had told her that he would miss her (and no doubt all the profits she single-handedly brought into the company), and that she should take all the time she needed that morning to reclaim all her “stuff” before turning in her keys and vacating the premises. Plus, he all but begged her to reconsider leaving.

  The truth was he really would miss Chelsetta. She was a hard-working and talented young woman who had applied for one job, but handled her interview so well that she had been hired for another at a salary plus commission that was to her just staggering. At first it had scared her, but she took right to it, and in the five years she’d been employed by them, she’d been able to earn and stash away in a savings account a sum that was in the mid five figures. All that and she was only twenty-six years old.

  With a small smile, Chelsetta picked up the name plate on her desk. Before tossing it into the box, she read her name on it, and asked herself for the thousandth time who in the world would name a sweet innocent little baby Chelsetta? She was more than ok, however, with her last name, Kellington. It was dignified and elegant. She was actually sorry that one day she’d be giving it up and taking on her future husband’s name. Heaven help her. What if his last name was something like Boynton or Gumpton, or Hogg?! Well, she’d have to trust the Lord on that one. She was a traditional woman, who would take her husband’s name no matter what it was. At least she was pretty sure she would.

  During the first two years or so working for this company, the thrill of making each deal sustained her, followed by regular commission checks that would choke a horse. After a short time, however, Chelsetta found that by the time she exited the elevator on the first floor and walked to the bank across the street to deposit them, she felt deflated. No more emotional high. Just a deposit receipt in her hand and the realization that come Monday, she’d have to start the process all over again with a new client or two.

  Before the last two drawers of her expensive designer desk were emptied, Chelsetta walked to her designer coffee brewing machine and made herself a cup of designer Island Coconut coffee. After doctoring the liquid with a dollop of creamer, Chelsetta walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed her an unbelievable view from her sixth floor work domicile.

  Her mind wandered as she held with both hands and sipped from her mug, looking from this height down over the busy streets below. Traffic was brutal down there, with people who appeared ant-size scampering to and fro. As she stared mindlessly at the pedestrians crossing the main intersection below, she again reviewed why she was leaving this well-paying position and taking on a teaching position in computer science at a community college across several state lines, in a rather small rural area.

  Well, most importantly, that old adage seemed to be true with her. You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl. She missed living on her daddy’s ranch in the white-picket fenced rolling hills of Kentucky. Oh, how she missed getting up in the morning before dawn, saddling Brewster, and riding for an hour before her day started. During that time, she saw no one, just acre after acre of green, green grass. Every morning on her ride, Chelsetta road to the crest of one particular hill, where she’d stop and look down in the valley at the house her dad had built for her seven years before. He had always told h
er that once she finished her education, he would turn the deed (he called it the “pink slip”) over to her and she could start right back into keeping the books for the ranch, only now he’d pay a goodly salary that went along with her degree-achievement, even if her degree wasn’t in accounting.

  She felt so blessed to have acquired a position at a community college that was only twelve miles from the KMK Ranch. She’d be able to ride in the mornings again. Something she hadn’t done in five years. And, although she wasn’t interested in any more bookkeeping, her dad still told her the house was hers, regardless of what she chose to do for her livelihood. She couldn’t help but grimace when she remembered how she’d told her dad when he first offered her the house, that she had no intention of living in that… what was it she called it? Oh, yeah. That “podunk place.” Her sights had been on big city life. Huh! Who would have thought that she’d be headed right back home to the very place she’d tried so hard to get away from.

  Chelsetta knew that her daddy’s prayers were probably responsible for bringing her back home. And, that was just fine with her. He’d always been a great example of a godly father. After her mom had died following a long, slow fight with breast cancer, he’d grown spiritually even more. He said that he spent a lot more time in The Word and in prayer since he was alone in the evenings. And while Chelsetta wouldn’t see him during the day, they’d probably resume the sharing of evening meals. That was more than ok with her!

  As she continued sipping from her mug and watching humanity ebb and flow down on the street below, Chelsetta watched the whole upcoming “event” in slow motion. And, she couldn’t do one thing to prevent it.

  A relatively old beaten up car was making its way through the intersection. The driver wasn’t passing through on a yellow light. It was green. She was doing exactly what she responsibly should do on the avenue. She wasn’t speeding. Well, at least Chelsetta didn’t think she was. She was neck-n-neck with the car in the slow lane. And, all the other cars on either side of the island seemed to be traveling at the same speed.

  From the opposite direction came a beautifully stylish luxury car. It was new, and shiny, and going way too fast if, as the rear end turn signal indicated, it planned to turn left.

  “No,” said Chelsetta in a low voice, almost as though talking to herself. But, right on the heels of it, she spoke louder, as she saw the inevitable unfolding right before her eyes. The upscale vehicle was executing a left turn… directly into the driver’s side of the old clunker.

  “No!” Chelsetta screamed, then followed it with three more quick bursts. “No! No! No!!!”

  Even though she knew it was going to take place whether she wanted it to or not, she jumped when the cars rambunctiously collided, throwing her three-quarter full cup of Island Coconut coffee against the window, shattering the cup and splattering the latte brew all over the window. Strange as it seemed, even to Chelsetta, she couldn’t help but notice right there in the middle of that disastrous crash, that the pattern it left on the previously spotless glass was in the rather rudimentary, but still unmistakable shape of the state of Texas. Huh! How odd!

  When her previously misdirected mind again returned to the horrendous scene six floors below her, she judged by the two extremely accordion-pleated vehicles that the passengers in both cars were either dead or should be. Diving for her desk phone, she ripped it from its charger and returned to the window. She had never needed to dial 911 before, and she was stunned how quickly they responded. The first ring hadn’t even completed before she heard the voice saying, “911. What is your emergency?”

  “At the corner of Inman and Jefferson… two cars… It looks bad… Has to be injuries, bad ones!… Um… Hurry, please!…” As she continued watching out the window at the cars below, she again confirmed within herself that the extent of the damages to the cars was going to be nothing compared to the damage to the passengers that were still inside them.

  “Oh, please hurry! It looks sooo bad!”

  “Ma’am. Two rescue vehicles have already been dispatched. You should be seeing them about now…”

  Chelsetta disconnected the call without the courtesy of thanking the woman for her assistance. She could see the two rescue vehicles weaving between cars and pulling up into the middle of the intersection. She stood transfixed as she saw the workers remove someone from the luxury car’s driver seat and place her… yes, it was a woman!… on a gurney. Chelsetta could see even from six floors up that she was in bad shape, really bad shape. She realized how correct her evaluation was when she saw a large white sheet or blanket, she couldn’t tell which, pulled up over not only her body, but over the woman’s head. Chelsetta couldn’t see from her distance that the two workers exchanged acknowledging head shakes. She did see, however, that they then slowly wheeled the body off into a newly arrived coroner’s wagon.

  Oh, no… she’s dead!

  “Jesus, please help whoever’s left!” It was a softly spoken request that escaped Chelsetta’s lips. Then, bowing her head, the tears overcoming her, she eased herself for the last time into the cushy and expensive desk chair to mourn the lost one. When she arose, she couldn’t bring herself to look yet again out the window, for fear that she might actually see the fate of any other passengers. So instead, she deliberately kept her back to the window and continued her task of clearing out her office.

  Within the hour, Chelsetta Kellington vacated both the office and the building, walked with her half-filled box to her car on the third floor of the parking deck diagonally positioned across the street and drove off, never again returning to that place.

  She had no idea that as she drove off to experience the unfolding of God’s Plan in her own life, that the five sincere words of her prayer petition had already been answered by her Gracious Lord. His Answer? A resounding “Yes, my child! I am in control.”

  And moreover, the “help” would have a rippling effect that touched not only the lives of the accident victims, but a host of challenging and challenged little ones.

  Chapter 1

  Even as Giselle was entering the intersection, she sensed something was not right. The car to her right in the slow lane was slowing down… radically. She couldn’t figure out why. They both had the green light. No pedestrians were testing their patience or safety by stepping out into the flow of traffic. She did peripherally see people on the curb looking toward her car, then the big fancy car, then back at her, almost in a breath-held expectancy. Or was it a breath-held dread?! What was going on? Focusing back on the street ahead, she now saw what they saw. That big expensive car had lights signaling for a left turn, but the speed of the vehicle was accelerating… fast! That didn’t make any sense!

  There wasn’t one thing she could do to avoid the inevitable. And, as she waited for the impact, which was going to be directly into her driver’s side door… or was it going to be head-on?…, she found herself saying out loud, “That car’s going to hit me.” It wasn’t yelled, or spoken through a panicked voice. It was simply stated as fact.

  A split second before impact, however, it was a different story. She let go of the steering wheel, threw her hands up, covering her eyes, and let loose the most blood-curdling scream ever heard. She already knew this was going to be bad, and she didn’t want to see it. Not having the presence of mind to brake in order to lessen the impact speed, she simply lifted her foot off the accelerator, drew up both legs and swiveled away from what she knew would be the point of impact.

  Gasps and screams could be heard exiting every mouth, whether pedestrian or car passenger, in and around that intersection at the sound of metal smashing metal into an accordion-pleated collage of destruction.

  Had either one car or the other been at a stop when the collision occurred, damage to cars and persons in either vehicle would have, of course, been greatly reduced, but still bad. But, that was not the case. Giselle knew her speedometer was reading in the neighborhood of thirty-five miles per hour before impact, while the offending car appea
red to be traveling not only faster, according to witnesses, but had continued to increase its speed when it slightly swerved into the oncoming intersection traffic. Put the combined speeds together, and Giselle, as well as the driver of the car at fault, hit each other at an estimated eighty miles per hour. Or, possibly more.

  The 911 services had received upwards of thirty to forty phone calls within a two minute time frame, which accounts for their having arrived so quickly. And, it was call number fourteen made by an unnamed young woman on the sixth floor of an office building that made all the difference. It wasn’t the call to 911 that was decisive, but the simple prayer petition for help that she had made on behalf of the victims. By all worldly measures, everyone involved should at that moment have been in the presence of either Jesus or… the unthinkable alternative!

  *****

  Conyer Whitefield and his much loved Aunt Tierney were laughing and talking as she drove them down the main thoroughfare in town. She was pointing to businesses she owned on this main thoroughfare, and telling Conyer the background of how she’d added them to her holdings.

  “That one,” Tierney said, pointing to the Fresh ‘n’ Fruity Juice Shoppe, “was an accidental acquisition.” Conyer looked where she pointed. Oh, he’d been to one of those about six blocks from his home. Their drinks were good, really good!

  “Oh!” Conyer responded with surprise, “Aunt Tienrey, I go regularly to one of those close to home. They are so good, I go there probably two to three times weekly as a substitution for lunch. It’s on my daily jogging route. So, you own that?”

  “Actually, I own fourteen of them. And, until recently I could have named every address and town they’re located in. My memory is fuzzy about them now, however. Fortunately, I don’t need to remember them. And, I plan to open three more, one locally in the downtown area, and two more in beach towns. One is in a refurbished structure and the other is a new structure… or will be.

  “Glad you like the product, Dear Boy, because when this old vessel wears out, and I go to be with Jesus and my precious Derrick, like it or not, they’ll be all yours.”

  The discussion was taking a depressing turn. Conyer was supposed to be having a fun day with his aunt, so he quickly turned the topic around a bit. “How were they an ‘accidental’ acquisition?”