Paragon Multimedia LLC. Chandler, Arizona

492 Pages·2010·1.45 MB·English

Paragon Multimedia LLC.
Chandler, Arizona
This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are
imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The
opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and
do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher.
Silent Discourse
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2008 Zanne Kennedy
VII
This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by
any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express
written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied
in critical articles and reviews.
Paragon Multimedia LLC.
http://www.paragon-multimedia.com
ISBN: 978-0-9823371-0-3
(Previously ISBN 978-1-4327-1755-1 and 978-1-4327-2052-0)
Paragon Multimedia LLC and the “Paragon” logo are copyrighted and belong
to Paragon Multimedia LLC.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
To reorder: www.zannekennedy.com
Acknowledgments
The author would like to acknowledge the following:
God and His unconditional love. After all, God’s unfailing love is the story I live in!
David Morrow, editing, lawful counsel and constant loving support.
Together we may finally discover what ‘glu-glux of the blowhole’ really means.
Brian Morrow, for your great sense of humor, wonderful financial tidbits, and
counsel. For your unwavering love, support and prayers. For loving the bird lady in
spite of herself.
Erin Dodson, who laughed in all the right places. For reading my books just because
I asked while taking care of your husband, two children, and Aunt. For falling in love
with Nicolaus and his friends, but mostly, for your constant love, support and prayers.
Jean Kennedy, for your constant love, support, and prayers. For reading and editing.
For staying up all night crying at the sad parts.
Nick Kennedy, for your constant love, support, and prayers.
Pearl G., for being a God-sent friend. For loving God with your entire mind, body,
soul, and spirit right out in front of all of us.
Lori Heyd, for encouraging me to start, and not give up. For your advice & spiritual
support.
Editors:
Millie Hannum, You are a God sent, and what timing!
Cheryl Booth, editor, for taking up the wand and adding the finishing touch of
magic. Cheryl is also a ghostwriter—for more details, visit: www.gr8writing.com or
email [email protected]]
Artist:
Cali McCullough, for going to Lancaster County for a photo shoot ten days before
your wedding.
Sue Cullumber, for your great photos visit, http://auniqueviewphotography.com
Readers:
Angela Bolton, Vickie Bolton, and Shelley Moreno For all the comments,
suggestions and creativity. Thank you! To Amy Aston, for being Nicolaus’s expert
poker guru.
I would also like to thank all the readers that pick up Silent Discourse and the series; those
who have fallen in love with Nicolaus and those who find a deeper relationship with God
through Nicolaus’s life story.
Zanne Kennedy, author of:
Silent Discourse, Still, Small Voice, Profound Silence, Dissonant Melody,
Beautiful Conflict, and Righteous Revenge
Silent Discourse series
Silent Discourse
Still, Small Voice
Profound Silence
Dissonant Melody
Beautiful Conflict
Righteous Revenge
(forthcoming)
In Loving Memory of Roy and Helen Morrow
In Honor of Nick and Jean Kennedy

Silent Discourse
Chapter 1
December 1, 1955
Nicolaus
“TruTh”
The night was ominous and had begun to merge into a
winter blizzard that raged brutally outside; it would
likely last past the first hint of dawn. The fierce wind
blasted against the upstairs windows, evidence of the violent
ambiance outside.
By the ghostly golden glow of a kerosene lantern, the
scene that was being played out in the Zooks’s upstairs
birthing room this evening was not one of excited anticipation.
The roar of the storm was loud enough to almost mask the
screams of pain that became wearier as the night progressed.
“Lizzy, how much longer?” Jacob asked one of the
midwives as she made her way into the kitchen for more hot
water and towels.
“Jacob, I suggest you send for the doctor. The child is
breech. If Esther delivers tonight, I doubt seriously that the
child will live.”
“No matter the child, do not allow Esther to die. Promise
me, Lizzy. Don’t let my wife die.” Jacob grasped onto
Lizzy’s arm and refused to let her go.
“If you stay, be in prayer then,” she said, calming his
fears with a pat of her hand and a soothing smile, which
was interrupted by another bloodcurdling scream from the
birthing room. “I believe it’s time,” she said softly.
Cora, Lizzy’s sister, nodded to her from between Esther’s
legs and said in an even tone, “If you will hold on to her,
I think I can manage to ease this child feet first into this
world.”
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Esther let out another scream and clinched hard onto
Lizzy’s wrists. Lizzy climbed behind Esther in order to help
her push, an unbearable undertaking for Esther.
“Wait, Esther, don’t push yet, dear. The cord is wrapped
around your child’s neck. I will ease it off while you collect
your energy for the next contraction.”
Cora slid her dainty hand into the opening, pushing the
child’s rump up and out of the way to venture past it to its
head and neck. She could feel the next contraction start to
take hold and rushed to finish the job at hand. The cord was
indeed just under the child’s chin. In order to deliver it safely
as a breech, she would have to slide her finger between it
and its neck, and then bring the cord over its face, an easy
task if the child had decided to come into this world the
normal way.
“There! Push now, darling,” Cora called out, bracing
herself for the child’s entry. The wind moaned mournfully
with velocity against the window, drowning out Esther’s
screams for mercy as the child finally emerged. The child’s
long legs and small hips emerged first, then his broad
shoulders, and lastly his head, causing Esther to gasp with a
ripping pain that tore her.
“It’s a boy, and he’s alive!” Cora cried out, somewhat
in a state of shock that he was indeed alive and seemly in
good spirits, unlike his mother. “Goodness! I need to stop
this bleeding or we will have a child with no mother.” Cora
stood and handed the infant to Lizzy to bathe and calm him,
for his cries resounding throughout the house were loud and
strong.
“Ok?” Lizzy asked as she bent to watch her sister add the
last stitch, repairing the tender torn flesh.
“She, too, will live. Rest now, Esther. Your child will
need a name. Have you and Jacob chosen one for him?”
“Nicolaus,” Esther whispered as she looked up at her son
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Silent Discourse
and reached for him. He was placid now, the cries and the
crash of the storm seemingly ceasing at the same time.
“I hope I’m not too late.” A familiar voice came from
the doorway; it was Betsy, Jacob’s sister. She was carrying
another kerosene lamp and holding it high to see more
clearly. She took the child without asking and cradled him
in her arms as if he were hers; she had none of her own. She
carried him out to meet his father, unwrapped his covering,
and exposed the dark wet curls upon his head. “Jacob—your
son. His name is Nicolaus,” Betsy said cautiously.
Jacob looked down at the child. “He is the devil’s child.
I curse him with a curse of devastation on whatever he
touches. Take him from my house.” He spoke so low, Cora
and Lizzy could not make out what he had said, but Betsy
heard him loud and clear. He then turned his back to the
child and walked away.
“This child will be special,” Betsy said as she smiled
down at the small frail creature in her arms, not allowing the
reaction of his father to dull this miraculous moment.
~
may, 1969
age 14
Nicolaus tiptoed down the wooden stairs that led into
their big rustic family room, being mindful of the notoriously
creaky floorboard at the bottom. The golden light of early
morning washed over the room and he paused for a moment,
enjoying the silence and peacefulness that remained here.
Leaving quietly by the kitchen door, he carefully closed it
behind him, holding solid to the knob that had rattled for as
long as Nicolaus could remember. He was cautious not to
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disturb his parents who were still in morning prayer. As the
door secured behind him, Nicolaus jolted off into a dead run,
scattering chickens in his path as they squawked their alarm.
The brisk May morning air felt like tiny pinpricks to his
cheeks as he ran along the country road he knew so well,
which was shaded heavily by large, old oaks, like sentries
standing guard. The lane was sheltered from the sun during
the early spring months, allowing only a few rays of light to
filter in from above. The shadows cast a scene on the path
before him that made Nicolaus think of the nearby town’s
stained-glass church windows that he had seen while growing
up in his small Pennsylvania community. The area had been
settled in the late 1800s by a group of Amish families passing
through looking to start farms and homestead on available
land in the area. The soil was fertile for planting, and a few
families turned into many. It was a pastoral scene of beauty,
with the quaint whitewashed wooden houses, barns, green
grass, crops, and bucolic country lanes all there to separate
one boundary from another.
Nicolaus’s destination was a one-room schoolhouse he
had attended for eight years of his young life. Up ahead,
patiently waiting was his best friend Sylvain, who lived
just two miles up the lane. Running past Sylvain, Nicolaus
extended one arm as if he were going to catch his comrade
and pull him captive. Being at least a head taller, his friend
stopped Nicolaus cold in his tracks, knocking him to the
ground in playful fun.
“Ach, your face, Nicolaus. Not again!” whispered
Sylvain, bending down to touch Nicolaus’s discolored cheek
as if in disbelief.
“Sylvain, we will be late. Come!” Nicolaus replied in
English, grabbing Sylvain’s arm and pulling as he began to
run towards the schoolhouse.
Sylvain knew Nicolaus would never confess of his Dad’s
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