CONVERGENCE

Ronan James Cassidy

Description

THE REDEMPTION SERIES: 100 years after Margaret Anne transformed an American family, comes the profound 4-part finale to the Calhoun saga.

BOOK TWO: Convergence
Sacrifice birthed the unsettled world of Margaret Anne. Now, only surrender can pave the way for closure.
Benjamin Mattingly Sonneman, a prisoner and captive to the sins of the past, has been tasked with delivering an ancient and valuable cross to its rightful guardian and heir – his estranged child – in Baltimore. As he prepares for his journey, he learns of the inspirational history behind the artifact, the shadowy lineage that binds cross to child, and receives warnings of the adversities he will confront along the way.
Soon after embarking on his quest, time spent with his dubious travel companion begins to unravel the miserable realities of Matthew’s own haunted past and illuminate the mistakes that ensnared him within the unstoppable odyssey of the cross.
When Matthew repeatedly ignores reminders regarding the importance of his faith and the traditions of those he represents on his sacred pilgrimage, he must answer to the consequences
of his choices.
And with every added hurdle to his course, the crushing storm of uncertainty over what truly awaits him in Baltimore relentlessly intensifies, threatening to consume him whole.
“Convergence” is the captivating continuation of the Redemption series, uncovering the next intricate layer to the Margaret Anne saga of fate, faith, and reckoning.

Sujets

• Religion
• Christianisme
• the Arts
• Philosophie et théologie
• Literature
• Christianity

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse
• Date de parution: 18 mai 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9798823006736
• Langue: English

Extrait

Convergence
 
 
REDEMPTION
BOOK II
 
“And do not lead us into temptation, But deliver us from the evil one. For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.”
Matthew 6:13 ( NKJV)
 
RONAN JAMES CASSIDY
 
 
 
 

 
 
AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: [phone]
 
 
 
© 2023 Ronan James Cassidy. All rights reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
Published by AuthorHouse 04/18/2023
 
ISBN: 979-8-8230-0674-3 (sc)
ISBN: 979-8-8230-0673-6 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023907384
 
 
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Scripture quotations marked NKJV are taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
CONTENTS
To My girls
To My editor
To My brother
Prologue
Chapter 1:     Perdition
Chapter 2:     Les Affaires de l’Ascendance
Chapter 3:     The Siren of the Golden Cross
Chapter 4:     The Song of the Siren
Chapter 5:     Le Commercant
Chapter 6:     Passage into the West
Chapter 7:     Focal Point
Chapter 8:     Songs of Emancipation
Chapter 9:     Extrication
Chapter 10:   Musings
About the Author
TO MY GIRLS
“I put these words down to give permanence to our time here, which must and will come to pass. But know that our love is eternally bound and preciously held by the Lord. My greatest hope is that you will find my love in your heart always and that it will be a beacon to guide you home on your darkest days.”
TO MY EDITOR
“Without the eternal gifts of your unbound and gracious love, always dedicated and never wavering guidance, and tender and merciful care never bound by expectation; your unending sacrifice and your ever hopeful eye towards the days ahead and the simple pleasures never to be overlooked in this life, none of this would have been possible. Being able to share this project with you has been an adventure I will always remember as I do your heartfelt smile, the warming embraces that always brought sweet sunshine to even the sourest of days and the proud, loving, and delighted look in your eye whenever we parted ways. There are no words to express the feeling in my heart but I hope that there were times enough when it showed all the same. I love you and miss you lots and lots, forever and always. I thank you from the bottom of my bursting h eart!”
TO MY BROTHER
“There is love even in our darkest hours. And while our worlds were often apart and the things left unsaid or done can only be amended through the gifts of today, I will always cherish your desire to set me free of those chains fastened to the bedrock of the past. If I can say one thing beyond thank you and I’m sorry, it would be to let you know that the gifts you have given will shine on forever, and the things of the past, once stained by the imperfections of the present, will return with the shine of the heavens, reborn and known in their proper majesty. That is the power and the truth of the love that comes from your heart, even when those things you cherish are set to endure the sorrows that will one day shape the rebirth of your eternal hope in the things once said, though not yet duly rega rded.”
PROLOGUE
“There are certain truths manifested in earthly love that are etched into the fabric of our lives, our souls, our spirit. They are indelible pieces of art that tell the very story of who we are. A story made permanent and sung throughout the heavens. These truths are indisputable and beautiful and protected in their innocence and sincerity by the glory of God. This world shall never have them but know they do mark the time we all have shared and are a source of eternal light. We carry the truth of God’s love with us al ways.”
“ SEEDING THE ARC OF HISTORY”
Chapter 1
PERDITION
A ccording to the sometimes difficult to transcribe handwritten text etched into the black notebook with pens of differing types during May of 1977, though the notations were also relevant to certain days, months, and years that occurred before the author rendered his memories into words during that fateful spring season, more than three years would come to pass before the man that left her on the beach would receive word from that phantom siren of the shifting tides. By the time the first of her letters arrived out of the blue, fate had already played its hand. The father of the boy conceived of the promise of that eternal sunrise was nearly three years into a prison sentence. She had informed him that they had a son and politely requested that he come and meet David once he was able to do so. Four more years remained until he would be eligible for parole or an early commutation of his sentence.
The former of those two aforementioned scenarios was highly probable given the societal advantages of any boy being raised with the supplemental provisions of a reasonably capable father. The latter proposition, however, was still regarded as a fact that was nothing short of impossible in the mind of the hapless prisoner on the morning when he read the first of her clever and hope-filled missives. On the night he crossed paths with the boy’s mother on the beach walk, he was still capable of dwelling within the light and the darkness on a nearly equivalent basis. Yet, by the time he had received the first letter from that beautiful yet fallen former matron of Charleston society in prison, he was, by way of both a necessity to survive and a further hardening of all of the sensitivities of his soul, almost entirely shrouded in darkness. Moreover, he was losing touch with his ability to entertain even the subtle pleasantries and more sanguine expectations of the civilized world as he knew it not so terribly long ago. Though there were few to notice the woeful transformation, he was by all accounts near to becoming an empty being, one who no longer saw any benefit to acknowledging, let alone engaging, his humanity. In that regard, her unexpected correspondence was timely.
For indeed, when the first of her warmly couched missives arrived, the boy’s father received the letters with little interest in either the breathtaking woman with ties to the brighter days of his past or the young boy who belonged to the climax of the last of his fond memories. He was already that far gone. Thankfully, her words did manage to plant a seed that would bear fruit in another season. At first, he read the letters that would continue to arrive as a way to escape his boredom. He even responded to her now and again for the same reason. He sent unenthusiastic, though serviceable, letters to the various resorts and towns she jumped to and from with the changing of the seasons. He asked dull questions regarding what life was like in the outside world, and he inquired about how little David Michael had been progressing along with the affairs of an impressionable young lad.
The boy’s father felt no disdain for the woman or his little boy, mind you. Thoughts of the outside world and a life beyond the walls of that prison were simply a luxury that he could not afford. Not if he wanted to stay as frosty as ice and remain cognizant of his need to act without feeling at all times and under any circumstance. He had learned that a detached protocol in regard to conducting his daily affairs was required of him if he wished to remain alive in a place such as the “Goody” in the years following the Civil Rights Movement and the long-awaited widespread desegregation of South Carolina’s public schools. He was the minority on the inside. There were plenty of inmates who would have gladly killed him for little more than his creamy upbringing. Beyond that, he had been shunned by those same vaunted connections of the past that evinced such hatred from those within the penitentiary, and there were none that he knew of that would advocate for him in those unspoken ways of preserving one of their own. He was alone, and he existed in a very precarious state.
As more time passed, the father of the boy, who would much later in life arrange to have Mr. Cassidy cornered on that misconnecting flight from Chicago to Birmingham, was generally overrun by fear, self-loathing, and self-condemnation. He had digressed to the point that he valued nothing, save small doses of shared misery and, at times, the aching desire to exact vengeance upon anything that might suffer the torments of his rage in accordance with the desolation someone or something was forcing him to endure. He was desperately lonely and hurting, though he had nearly repressed those weaker feelings that belonged to the illusions of his childhood. Still and all, he was not capable of harming another living soul if unprovoked. Therefore, he was generally useless to the small-time gangs of misfits that would have bothered to take him into their fold. He remained in isolation and was always exposed. There were many days that he did not expect to return to his cell for lights out, and he wondered who might know that he was no more. He wondered who might care.