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Linda Heavner Gerald

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Beaufort Betrayal Dad
by Linda Heavner Gerald  N.A. 

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Publisher:  Publish America ISBN-10:  1462675247 Type: 


Copyright:  2012 ISBN-13:  9781462675241

Price: $1.99 (eBook)
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Beaufort Betrayal is a mystery thriller. The ending will shock you. Guaranteed that you will not figure it out. It is a Christian book the includes sailing and locations in several cities.

The setting of Beaufort, N.C. is perfect for this tale of betrayal.  Tory finds herself immersed in a web of lies.  It is difficult to know whether the people in her life are trust worthy or out to harm her.  Her love for sailing is the very act which saves her life.  God is there all the time even though she forgot to include him in her choices.

Beaufort, I still treasure and remain tied to that charming, old town. The betrayal resulted in haunting nightmares which have caused fear in my mind, but the coastal town still delights my heart. I remember well the day that I realized, as I walked down the street, that I possessed no memory. Not only did I not recall who I was or any facts pertaining to myself. I did not have the faintest idea where I was or where I was going.
The day was one of those rare days, when you look up at the Carolina blue sky, seeing not a cloud, you smile. I was certain that it was an early spring day because the heat had not yet begun. In fact, it was slightly cool. The breeze off of Beaufort Sound, plus the fluffy clouds which covered the sun periodically, made me wish for a sweater.
When I realized that I possessed no idea of where I was going or why,I did not feel the panic which you might think would have occurred. I felt perfect peace and was quite happy. For some reason, I decided that I should turn around and walk the opposite way. Suddenly, turning to do just that, I was face to face with a young couple. They looked so happy and smiled kindly, even though I almost walked into them. That was my first indication that things were terribly wrong. Struggling to regain my memory while navigating the busy street, it was very strange. My mind seemed to be a collage of information. Most of my memories were of facts; few memories seemed available about me.
It was early afternoon on that beautiful spring day. I would still have hours of sun but what would happen as dark descended, if my memory did not return? Still reason prevailed, as the thought surfaced that I must have been going somewhere in the direction that I was headed. So, I turned around again. This time, I almost caused a man who followed me too closely to stumble. He was not so kind as the beaming couple. Glaring at me, he mumbled something about "making up my mind." I wanted to explain that there was a real possibility that I no longer possessed that part of my anatomy, but decided not to complicate a very serious situation.
As I continued walking slowly down Front street, I glanced at each car, house, the marina and restaurant, nothing. No bolts occurred to my lapsed memory. It was as if I had been dropped in a foreign town. Had that been the case? I started to perspire in spite of the cool day.
NOw, I had walked way past the marina and was approaching the restaurant. I could see the words: "Spouter". Not a single spark of recognition. The wind was blowing the delicious smell of salt water which slightly burned my nostrils. That senational sense stirred my being. I knew that I had a kindred tie with the ocean. Beyond any doubt, I was also sure that I must be a sailor. The sound of the halyards beating loudly against the masts of the boats tied in the marina; that was a familiar and treasured sound. All of those beautiful boats which I had passed earlier, was one mine? I contemplated returning to the docks.
Then I noticed the pristine Victorian homes across the street. There weren't many of them, maybe a dozen. They looked so inviting. I wished that I belonged to one. Suddenly, a beauty stood out from the others. Not because it was larger, they were all about the same size, but because it looked older yet better maintained. The gardener was working in the blooming azaleas. The bright pink and white blossoms were so beautiful. He was singing an old hymn which I recognized: The Old Rugged Cross. Was I experiencing recognition? Maybe I was not doomed.

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