| Author: | J.R. Tompkins | ISBN: | 9781311342232 |
| Publisher: | J.R. Tompkins | Publication: | August 9, 2014 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition | Language: | English |
| Author: | J.R. Tompkins |
| ISBN: | 9781311342232 |
| Publisher: | J.R. Tompkins |
| Publication: | August 9, 2014 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition |
| Language: | English |
For social worker Helen, Jake's struggle to rescue injured seven-year-old Sam off the sheer face of Black Mountain goes beyond all measure, moving her heart as no other case ever has.
When backpacker Jake ventures out on a weekend wilderness hike into the southern Sierra, he never expects to become the hero of young Sam's life.
Will the desperate, overnight, nine-mile struggle to keep Sam alive ultimately save his life? Can Helen draw upon Jake's quiet heroism, and somehow find the hero within herself? Jake, Helen and Sam discover there are costs to personal heroism, risks in making a difference, and an ultimate price to be paid.
A FEW RANDOM EXCERPTS FROM “Price of the Child”:
“Jake slid by Helen out of the bathroom, scenting her gentle perfume. He turned back as she began drying Sam from his bath. Could there be a greater beauty?, he wondered. He stood admiring the picture of her arched red dress as she knelt to dry the toweled whiteness of Sam with the white bathtub and tile and towels of the room, outlined by the sharp rectangle of the bathroom doorframe. He gasped. Somehow, he had forgotten to breathe.”
“Jake hadn’t heard the sound now for at least five or ten minutes. Oh, God, the child is dead, he thought, fighting to keep his left foot from slipping as he pushed higher along the steepening rock face. He made the mistake of looking behind him. There was nothing but air, for at least fifty feet. His fingertips were white from the grip he had on the granite. He struggled just to pause and take a breath. What he was going to do when he got topside, he had no idea. Shards of granite slipped from under his left foot and he stopped sliding.”
“Helen couldn’t help imagining the hopeless guilt of losing Sam to Barton’s abuse for the rest of his childhood, despite her best efforts to change his life for the better. She had seen the light go out of young eyes before. She couldn’t imagine what the loss of Sam’s light would do to her fundamental opinion of the world, and her own place in it.”
“Now Helen truly understood why Jake felt so protective of Sam. She remembered how Jake had described Sam’s gaze that day in the woods. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing forever that way Sam sometimes looked at her.”
“Jake held Sam as the seven-year-old relaxed his hug, resting himself against Jake’s chest, his eyes still wakening. This just seems so simple, Jake relished, Sam’s warmth resting on my heart. He envied Sam’s father, a moment before wondering if the man was capable of appreciating Sam at all. Jake filled his lungs with breath, and felt Sam’s head rise and fall. This is true peace, Jake thought. This must be what parents feel in those rare moments they get to treasure their children.
Jake looked down upon Sam’s dark strands of hair, his eyebrows, the tiny lashes of his sleepy eyelids, and wondered to himself what it must be like to have a child like Sam for a son. What must it be like to share the birth of one’s own child?, he wondered. What would it be like to feel so attached, so intrinsically bonded, so protective of one’s own best connection with time and the ages, of generations past and future, of another human life, of their time?
He looked down at Sam's small fingernails, and gently touched Sam's fingers with his own. How could anyone turn away a child like Sam, or any child, ever? How?”
For social worker Helen, Jake's struggle to rescue injured seven-year-old Sam off the sheer face of Black Mountain goes beyond all measure, moving her heart as no other case ever has.
When backpacker Jake ventures out on a weekend wilderness hike into the southern Sierra, he never expects to become the hero of young Sam's life.
Will the desperate, overnight, nine-mile struggle to keep Sam alive ultimately save his life? Can Helen draw upon Jake's quiet heroism, and somehow find the hero within herself? Jake, Helen and Sam discover there are costs to personal heroism, risks in making a difference, and an ultimate price to be paid.
A FEW RANDOM EXCERPTS FROM “Price of the Child”:
“Jake slid by Helen out of the bathroom, scenting her gentle perfume. He turned back as she began drying Sam from his bath. Could there be a greater beauty?, he wondered. He stood admiring the picture of her arched red dress as she knelt to dry the toweled whiteness of Sam with the white bathtub and tile and towels of the room, outlined by the sharp rectangle of the bathroom doorframe. He gasped. Somehow, he had forgotten to breathe.”
“Jake hadn’t heard the sound now for at least five or ten minutes. Oh, God, the child is dead, he thought, fighting to keep his left foot from slipping as he pushed higher along the steepening rock face. He made the mistake of looking behind him. There was nothing but air, for at least fifty feet. His fingertips were white from the grip he had on the granite. He struggled just to pause and take a breath. What he was going to do when he got topside, he had no idea. Shards of granite slipped from under his left foot and he stopped sliding.”
“Helen couldn’t help imagining the hopeless guilt of losing Sam to Barton’s abuse for the rest of his childhood, despite her best efforts to change his life for the better. She had seen the light go out of young eyes before. She couldn’t imagine what the loss of Sam’s light would do to her fundamental opinion of the world, and her own place in it.”
“Now Helen truly understood why Jake felt so protective of Sam. She remembered how Jake had described Sam’s gaze that day in the woods. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing forever that way Sam sometimes looked at her.”
“Jake held Sam as the seven-year-old relaxed his hug, resting himself against Jake’s chest, his eyes still wakening. This just seems so simple, Jake relished, Sam’s warmth resting on my heart. He envied Sam’s father, a moment before wondering if the man was capable of appreciating Sam at all. Jake filled his lungs with breath, and felt Sam’s head rise and fall. This is true peace, Jake thought. This must be what parents feel in those rare moments they get to treasure their children.
Jake looked down upon Sam’s dark strands of hair, his eyebrows, the tiny lashes of his sleepy eyelids, and wondered to himself what it must be like to have a child like Sam for a son. What must it be like to share the birth of one’s own child?, he wondered. What would it be like to feel so attached, so intrinsically bonded, so protective of one’s own best connection with time and the ages, of generations past and future, of another human life, of their time?
He looked down at Sam's small fingernails, and gently touched Sam's fingers with his own. How could anyone turn away a child like Sam, or any child, ever? How?”
