Reflections of the Redeemed

A short story by guest author

This week’s short story is written by guest author

A.C. Downer

! A talented young writer who I am proud to feature. If you would like to show A.C. some support please like, comment, restack, or subscribe to A.C’s Substack!

Happy reading and I pray God blesses you with the reminder of His redemptive love ❤️

~Merissa Nicole

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Marshall paused when he reached the red door, his knuckles poised as if to knock, but his heart expressing the opposite with loud, frantic thumps in his chest. He forced himself to take a deep breath, but it was no use. Realizing he couldn’t just stand there forever, Marshall rapped his knuckles smartly on the door’s surface just as it swung open. A girl around his age stood in the doorway, a curious half-smile caressing her strangely familiar features. She wore a white dress with flowing sleeves, the hems delicately laced in tiny flower embroidery. 

“Hi–” She began, then stopped. Cocking her head to the side she gave Marshall a strange look, and all the lines he had practiced for this moment flew out of his head, blowing with the fallen leaves down the street. Did she know? Could she tell?

“Hi, I’m Marshall. Marshall Quail,” He managed to stutter out, watching as something akin to recognition filled her eyes. 

“I was told by a social worker that I could find you here,” He added, then, as an afterthought: “You’re Margaret, right? Margaret Quail, my sister.” 

---

Marshall rapped his pencil against the school desk, watching the clock count the seconds. Tick, tick, tick. He looked down at the neglected homework in front of him, glanced at the other students across the room, then stopped. Paused. Breathed. Marshall was in detention…again. He grimaced at the thought of Mr. and Mrs. Hadaway shaking their heads in frustration, then their long talk about what went wrong. 

It was the same conversation over and over again, but he never seemed able to snap out of it. One fight after another, the frequent bad attitudes and rude comments that somehow came naturally. It wasn’t that Marshall was proud of his own mistakes, he wanted to stop, but just never knew how… 

From his pocket Marshall took a small, faded picture. It was the same one he had kept with him all those years in foster care. And continued to carry with him. It showed a man and a woman smiling in front of a small gray house. The woman held a swaddled baby in her arms, and a little girl held on to the woman’s hand, gazing stoically at the camera while the man tickled her under the chin in an attempt to make her smile. A young boy (Marshall could only assume it was himself) stood by the man’s side, grinning cheekily at something past the camera. 

The photo was torn in places, soiled in others, and thoroughly wrinkled due to so many years residing in the pockets of jeans and sweatshirts, but for Marshall, it would never stop making his chest swell with love, anger, and sorrow all at once. Maybe his parents were gone and—sure— Marshall had his bad experiences with different foster parents, but Mr. and Mrs. Hadaway had always been good to him. They truly were the only ones that made him feel like family. But that photo Marshall carried, constantly reminded him that he wasn’t alone. He had siblings. Out there, somewhere, in the great unknown… a brother and sister who probably felt the way he did, struggling with the same weaknesses and unfillable voids. 

---

Marshall glanced out the window of the classroom and quietly prayed, God, please, help me to change for the better. He stared at the photo once more, then whispered, “And maybe you can help me find my family.” 

“I’m sorry, sir, but there is no mention of a Peter Quail in our records.” 

The social worker’s voice echoed in Marshall’s head as he pressed his face to the cold pane of his room’s window. The white, yellow, and red glow of headlights streaked down the roads in the distance, and streetlamps loomed over them every few yards. Any stars that might have appeared were hidden by the thick night, and the only glow from the sky was the wan moon’s pale light. Marshall looked at it, and he wondered if somewhere, right at this moment, his little brother was looking at the same moon. What was he thinking? Was he wondering why Marshall and Margaret hadn’t found him? Marshall put his head in his hands and groaned. This was his fault– yet he had been so sure that that was his name. If he was wrong, then he had done the unthinkable and forgotten his little brother, but if he was right… Marshall trembled at that thought. What could’ve happened that he would be gone from their records? 

“Please, Lord,” Marshall prayed silently. “Please protect him, wherever he is.” 

Marshall sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, his hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles were turning white. His eyes bore holes through the quaint little coffee table in front of him and into the carpet. Even his knee had stopped its anxious bouncing, and lead seemed to fill Marshall’s bones. It was strange that he should feel this way when he had looked forward to this day for such a long time. Just last evening he had been giddy with excitement at the thought of him and his siblings finally being together for the first time. All those long meetings with the social workers, all those anxious hours and fervent prayers, they all had been leading up to this moment.

It wasn’t that Marshall wasn’t excited; he was more excited than he’d ever been in his life. Yet now that it was actually happening, Marshall was greeted with a bountiful number of nerves. 

Marshall had met on several occasions with Margaret before, however he had not seen Peter since their original separation as young children. Would they blame him, Marshall wondered, for letting the foster care system take them away? Margaret had showed no signs of this, and Marshall figured it could be because they were twins— both fifteen, and both likely to take the same amount of blame. Peter, on the other hand, was thirteen. Which meant he was the youngest. Which meant Marshall should have been protecting him. 

Marshall should have kept their family together. Yet he had failed. 

 “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, dear,” Mrs. Hadaway advised suddenly. Marshall jumped, looking up at the small, gray-haired woman in front of him. 

Mrs. Hadaway had kept a relatively calm demeanor, but Marshall noticed the restless way her eyes flit about when she thought he wasn’t looking, likely searching for new things to clean. She had hardly sat down all morning. As a result, the house was spotless, but she didn’t seem quite able to stop. She had straightened the quilt on the wall at least ten times already. 

Mr. Hadaway appeared at her side, clutching a large cup of black coffee. Marshall was fairly certain that was his fifth this morning. 

“She’s right, son. There’s nothing to feel guilty about. Anyone would be happy to have an older brother like you,” Mr. Hadaway rumbled. 

Marshall nodded his thanks, but he wasn’t so sure. 

“Hello Mr. Quail, Miss Quail, and of course Mr. and Mrs. Hadaway. Nice to see you all here together. I’m Natalie Karson, the social worker who’s working on the case with Peter Quail.” 

Marshall leaned forward in his seat eagerly, exchanging a look with Margaret that clearly urged him to be patient while Natalie plowed through her pleasantries. 

“It seems that due to a minor name change we were unable to locate the whereabouts of your brother. However, we believed that there may be a chance that he was adopted, and his name was changed, which would explain why Peter Quail was not among our current records. After checking through some documents, we have found that this was indeed the case, and we are working now to arrange a visit. We will send the location later tonight. Does Sunday work for you?”

Marshall was shell-shocked. He opened his mouth, searching for words, but not finding any. He kept waiting for someone else to answer, but when he glanced up, everyone was looking at him. “Yes,” Marshall half-whispered, his voice sounding choked and too high.

“What was that, sir?” 

“I uh– said yes. Yes. Sunday works great.” 

“Splendid. I will allow you a moment to discuss this. If you have any questions, I’ll be just outside.” 

Marshall took a deep breath, holding his hands palm up on his knees as Natalie left him, Margaret, and the Hadaways alone in the social worker’s office. Marshall stood up at last, turning to face his sister. The moment their eyes met they collided in a bone-crushing hug. 

“I told you,” Margaret murmured, releasing Marshall and turning thoughtfully towards the window. “I told you, didn’t I? All we have to do is have faith, and God does the rest.” 

---

Little pinpricks of pain shot up Marshall’s foot, and he knew he had been sitting too long. He pushed himself off the deck, stretching and giving an overexaggerated yawn for the amusement of his siblings. Margaret rolled her eyes, muttering something about someone “staying up past their bedtime.” Marshall shot her a grin. 

“What can I say? I need my beauty sleep,” He quipped. Peter let out a peal of laughter, and Marshall grinned even wider. “Something funny about that?” he growled playfully. 

“Not that,” Peter replied slyly, suddenly splashing the contents of his water bottle over the front of Marshall’s blue flannel. “But that was!” He yelled, hopping off the car and skipping off to a safe distance while Marshall sputtered and attempted to wring the water from his shirt. 

“You’ll pay for that!” Marshall vowed, unable to be serious through his laughter.  Margaret chuckled, picking up Peter’s empty glass and setting it safely back on the side of the deck.  

Marshall chased his brother through the wheat field until both their chests were heaving and they collapsed down on their backs, developing a silent truce in their breathlessness. The stars twinkled above them, and the moon sat like a grinning yellow face in the clouds. Margaret walked over to them, setting her skirts down gingerly as she lowered herself into a sitting position by their heads. 

“I would offer you both water, but…I doubt that would end well,” she said gently, her voice soft and innocent. Marshall chuckled, realizing she was probably right, despite his sudden thirst. His wet flannel still stuck to his shirt as a reminder. The three of them were silent for a while, listening to the crickets sing and watching the tall grasses dance in the wind like a great body of water in motion. 

“You know, I thought I’d made you both up. The social workers said I didn’t have any siblings,” Peter mused, shifting so that his hands were folded under his head. 

Marshall felt a quick stab of anger, which he hastily pushed away. It had been a mistake or, so he wished to believe. How could God’s plan possibly mean splitting up their family? Once again, Marshall forced the thought from his head. 

“I thought you didn’t remember anything?” Margaret made the statement a question, reaching out to brush Peter’s hair from his face. He tried only half-heartedly to swat her away, before giving up and shrugging.  

“Bits and pieces here and there. I didn’t say so because I wasn’t sure,” He replied. 

Marshall understood. They were right in front of him, and he still wasn’t sure how, or why, they hadn’t been over the years, for that matter. 

He knew that Margaret would say it was all God’s plan, but Marshall was honestly sick of hearing that. Seemingly nothing good had come of their separation, yet. Marshall didn’t expect it to any time soon. 

“What do you remember?” Margaret pried gently. 

“Well, how about when we built that treehouse? We slept the whole night in it, didn’t we?” Peter said. Marshall chuckled in response. 

“Yes, Mom and Dad didn’t know where we had gone,” He added. Margaret laughed lightly, no doubt recalling the incredulous looks their parents had given them when they had presented their explanation. 

Peter laughed too, and he told them about when he and his foster sister, Larkin, had tried to float down a river in a wicker basket, only to have it sink immediately. “I would’ve too, but Larkin’s a good swimmer,” Peter explained, flipping on his stomach so he could face Margaret. “She got back on the bank and used one of our fishing rods to drag me out.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Lewis have a garden behind their house,” Margaret confided. “They grow strawberries and raspberries and even jalapeños, sometimes. One time I ate a whole stalk of rhubarb, including the leaves. When I told Mrs. Lewis, she got really scared and told me rhubarb leaves are poisonous. I kept waiting to get sick, but I never did.”

Marshall listened to his siblings share their stories, keeping silent himself, wondering again why they couldn’t have had those memories together. Of course, Marshall knew why, he just didn’t really understand it. 

Suddenly, the screen door behind them creaked open, and Mrs. Hadaway tiptoed onto the deck, her pink slippers hardly making a sound. So enraptured were Margaret and Peter in their stories, they hardly noticed her. When Marshall turned, she gave him a conspiratorial wink as she whipped her phone out from her pocket and mimed taking a photo of the three siblings. Marshall chuckled under his breath but obeyed, turning back to the expanse of land beyond the end of the deck and trying to look casual. 

When Mrs. Hadaway was satisfied with the photos, she tucked away her phone and rang the dinner bell that hung from the rafters over the deck. It really wasn’t necessary, considering they were all right there, but she seemed to take a certain pride in her dinner bell. She loved to tell Marshall how her children would come running after a hard day of play when they heard the glorious bell. Whether because of fond memories, or the desire to make more, Mrs. Hadaway rang that dinner bell every chance she got. 

“Dinner, children!” Mrs. Hadaway sang, before disappearing back into the house. 

Peter hopped to his feet and started for the screen door. Margaret got up too, but Marshall remained where he was, his thoughts racing. 

“You guys go on, I’ll come in a second,” Marshall replied absentmindedly. Peter stopped, turning to look at Marshall quizzically. 

“But, you’ll miss saying grace,” He protested, confusion etched into his face. 

It was a strong tradition of the Hadaways to say grace over every meal, and though Peter said his foster family never did so, he himself had become fond of it. Even so, Marshall didn’t exactly feel like praying at the moment. All the talk had shown him how much he had missed, and it gave him a bitter taste in his mouth. 

“I know,” Marshall nodded. Neither Peter nor Margaret moved for a moment. Then understanding seemed to dawn on Margaret, as it always does, and she took Peter’s hand, guiding him inside. “C’mon Pete, before the food gets cold.” 

As Margaret and Peter filed inside, Marshall settled himself back down on his back. He was weird like that, one second yearning for company, and the next— wanting to be alone. Yet, he wasn’t really alone, and the thought unnerved him more than it should have. 

Marshall couldn’t help but recall memories of his own. The rebellious youngster who never would behave. He’d forgotten all about God in those first four years. Then he’d been placed with the Hadaways, and everything had changed. They taught him about Christ. 

It was almost easier when he was alone. Or, when he thought he was alone. That way the only thing he had to worry about was saving his own skin, and yet, it was tiring. Always trying to redeem himself from his constant sins, and working towards nothing but worldly desires. In the process, Marshall had forgotten how he was already redeemed. It was one thing to be told that Jesus had redeemed him of all his sins, Marshall mused, and another to fully realize it. He was already saved, and all God was asking in return was to believe it, which would lead to the following of Jesus Christ. 

Yet it was still hard to understand why they had to suffer so much. Marshall sighed impatiently. He had everything he had ever wanted, so why wasn’t he happy? Perhaps it was that even now, the lingering feeling of loneliness had settled in his bones. Maybe he had accepted it for too long, and now it was a part of him. Maybe it was just a lack of faith. He should have faith, especially after everything that had happened to him in the past few months since he had accepted Christ. It worried him that maybe he hadn’t given Jesus full possession of his heart, as he had thought. 

As these thoughts swarmed Marshall’s head, he searched the sky for something, but what? A sign? He had read in the Bible that God had shown signs to his people, but maybe that didn’t happen anymore. Or maybe it already had. Marshall was suddenly thinking back to a younger version of himself, a version of himself that had been sentenced to detention. Again. A version of himself that had prayed desperately that God would change him for the better, and help him find his family. Now here he was, and though it had seemed like eternity when he was waiting, those prayers were answered. 

“All we have to do is have faith,” Margaret had said, but Marshall was beginning to see faith as something much more than belief, as he had once thought. Faith led to action, but not the type where he was trying to redeem himself. It was the type where he knew he was already redeemed, and not by himself, but by someone much greater. It was the sort of action where he raised his hands in worship or told a friend about Christ. Not because he felt obligated to, but because he genuinely wanted to. 

It all led back to the realization that God was always with him. He had never been left to save himself, nor was he the one who had to redeem himself. Now all he had to do was have faith in it. 

Just as he had this thought the screen door came swinging open (creaking loudly on its hinges) and Margaret stepped out onto the deck beside him. 

“What is it?” Marshall asked, pushing himself to his feet. 

“I figured, if you’re done…thinking, we could say grace out here instead.” Margaret quipped. Suddenly, Peter, Mr. Hadaway, and Mrs. Hadaway were all on the deck beside him. Mrs. Hadaway came juggling a basket of muffins, a plate stacked with sandwiches, and a bowl of salad. Peter was already laden with a large China teapot and several glass cups and carried these with such painstaking caution that Marshall had to suppress his laughter. 

“Oh goodie,” Mrs. Hadaway said with a smile, placing the food in the middle of the circle they had formed. “This is just like a picnic.”  

“Yes,” Mr. Hadaway agreed. “There’s just one thing left. Marshall, will you pray?” 

“Of course,” Marshall said. 

And so, in that field of rippling grasses and expanse of open sky, Marshall began the first of many prayers he would pray for the new family God had given him, and it started something like this: 

“Our Father who art in Heaven…”

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Foundation Scripture:

“I have blotted out your transgressions like a cloud and your sins like mist; return to me, for I have redeemed you.”

Isaiah 44:22 ESV