Robin Lee Hatcher | Beyond the Shadows

"This is a gem of a read by a gifted, veteran author. Hatcher's empathy with human nature shines in the distinctive voices of her characters. Put this one on your must-read list, especially if you know someone who struggles with any kind of addiction." — RT Bookclub, TOP PICK REVIEW

"Beyond the Shadows is a heartwarming, heart wrenching read. Written from a few different points of view, we have access to the thoughts of not only Deborah but also her parent's, their Pastor, some neighbors…folks who should have been tuned in to see the problem, strong and caring enough to address the problem yet did nothing. Nothing until it was almost too late. Isn't that the way it often goes? We church goers are masters at hiding pain, addictions, and social faux pas. It's not the way we want to be, but we're so fearful of being judged and condemned we seal our secrets in and pray it always stays secure. Any reader can identify with the situations/characters and plot in this book. The gripping writing compels us to read on, hoping the situation will get better, but loops and turns Ms. Hatcher spins in the plot leaves us breathless at the end. I don't have to say it – but I highly recommend this book. It should be in the library of every church. It should be read by anyone who has ever felt the burden of keeping a secret that has shadowed their lives."
— The Road to Romance

"Award-winning romance and inspirational author Hatcher (Catching Katie) tackles a difficult subject: the frequency of alcoholism among churchgoers and the church's reaction to it. Hatcher's many fans will enjoy this thought-provoking romance, which would also make a good reading-group choice."
— Library Journal

"Robin Lee Hatcher tackles a tough subject with great honesty in Beyond the Shadows... an excellent, intense study of alcoholism and the price people sometimes have to pay for love."
— At Home with Christian Fiction

"Beyond the Shadows comforts and cajoles us to return to the fold if we have strayed away from the word of God. Told in a unique set of voices, the story opens with Deborah's rendition of her tale. Secondary characters follow her narrative in their turn, each speaking their own opinion of her story. Ms. Hatcher's scenes unfold effortlessly and merge into a solid telling of the Clermonts' struggles as Deborah faces the humiliation and horror brought on by Gideon's silent self-destruction. Can she save her family before he destroys them all? Beyond the Shadows is an emotionally charged story that will squeeze your heart with the realization of true faith."
— Diana Risso, Romance Reviews Today

"Beyond the Shadows: A Love Story is a touching account of one woman's spiritual journey. It is a beautiful inspirational story with themes of finding and embracing the Christian faith. I suggest this book to anyone needing a faith lift."
— Round Table Reviews

"Brave. Redemptive. A beautifully written story that will bring hope and healing to many.”
— Francine Rivers, best-selling author of And the Shofar Blew

"Robin Lee Hatcher holds nothing back in this painfully honest, deeply moving story about one couple's journey Beyond the Shadows of alcoholism. I read the novel in a single sitting, riveted to the page, grieving as Gideon made his descent into the pit, dragging his family and friends down with him. For those of us who've been mired in the pit, or looked down at a loved one who seems beyond redemption, Beyond the Shadows offers the gift of hope. Read it for yourself, then buy copies for every Deborah and Gideon you know. Beyond the Shadows has the power to change lives for good.”
— Liz Curtis Higgs, best-selling author of Thorn in My Heart

“Writing from a heart of love, Robin Lee Hatcher opens our eyes to the pain, struggle, and hope of a woman who adores her husband . . . a man who can’t conquer his addiction to alcohol. Beautifully penned, Beyond the Shadows is a testimony to the faithfulness of God and the courage of all those who dare to love . . . even when love seems futile.”
— Angela Elwell Hunt, author of The Debt

“Beyond the Shadows perfectly captures the raw emotions of a Christian marriage struggling to survive—the terrifying ambivalence between love and hatred, faith and despair. Above all, God’s mercy shines through.”
— Brandilyn Collins, best-selling author of Eyes of Elisha and Dread Champion

“Man-o-man! Robin Lee Hatcher’s Beyond the Shadows took me back in time, reminding me what it was like then and how different it is today. This novel honestly reveals the power of alcohol addiction and the number of innocent lives affected by it. Beyond the Shadows is a stark reminder of how easy it is to separate ourselves from the One who can restore us to sanity.”
— Rich E., grateful recovering alcoholic, 9 years

“Psst! The church is hurting and its citizens are the walking wounded. Nobody addresses modern women’s issues better than Robin Lee Hatcher, and Beyond the Shadows is no exception. This poignant, fiery, bleeding portrayal of life with an alcoholic rings with authenticity. Thank you, Robin Lee, for writing about pain and struggle and, therefore, the unfathomable grace of a living, caring, Holy God. Thank you for offering hope and redemption on every page.”
— Lisa Samson, The Church Ladies and The Living End

"The prolific, award-winning Hatcher offers this message-driven story of the impact of alcoholism on a Christian family in the 1950s... Many short first-person testimonies by other characters work surprisingly well to round out the story."
— Publishers Weekly

No, no, I’m sure,
My restless spirit never could endure
To brood so long upon one luxury,
Unless it did, though fearfully, espy
A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.
—John Keats, Endymion

Lead me by your truth and teach me,
for you are the God who saves me.
All day long I put my hope in you.
(Psalms 25:5)

It was after Pastor Clyde said his last prayer, words meant to comfort me, Andy’s widow. It was after friends and people from our church and the community came and whispered their condolences as they touched my hands that I kept folded tightly in my lap. It was after Andy’s father, his face stoic in grief, led his weeping wife away. It was after my parents had kissed me and told me they loved me. It was after I thought myself alone in that row of gray folding chairs at the grave side, the cold wind buffeting my back.

It was after all that when I saw him, a stranger, standing under a leafless tree, staring at the casket before it was lowered into the grave. The collar of his overcoat was turned up, and he gripped the brim of his hat with one hand, lest it be blown away. He wasn’t one of those soft-spoken men from the funeral home, and he wasn’t dressed like a groundskeeper. I knew he must have come because of Andy.

Seeing that I’d noticed him, he removed his hat and approached. “Mrs. Haskin.” He stopped before me. “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, the words like sandpaper in my throat. Meaningless words, really, in a mind gone numb with pain and loss.

“If there’s anything I can do for you, anything you need, anything at all...” His sentence drifted into silence.

I nodded, wanting him to go away, wanting to be left alone. What I wanted even more was to die and go to heaven with Andy.

It wasn’t right that I should be left behind. Andy and I were supposed to grow old together. Andy was supposed to build a bigger barn this summer, and I was supposed to plant roses along the white picket fence that bordered our backyard. Andy was supposed to have sons to help him on our small farm, and I was supposed to have daughters who would wear pretty ribbons in their hair and be spoiled by their daddy.

I stared down at my hands. Black gloves against a black skirt. Black like my heart. Black and empty and bottomless.

“Come home, Deborah,” my mother had said to me countless times in the months since Andy died. “You’ve done your best, but it’s time to be practical. It’s time you sell that place and come home to live with us. Dad and I want you here. You know we do. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“This is my home, Mother,” I’d always responded—words I presumed I would need to repeat often before she would be convinced I meant them.

How could I make her understand that I couldn’t leave the farm? Not as long as I was able to meet the mortgage payments. This place had been Andy’s dream, and letting go of it would be like letting go of him all over again. This land was all I had left of my husband, these forty acres and the small house and aging outbuildings that sat on them.

Strange, I suppose, that I wanted to stay, given it was the farm that took Andy from me. Yet it was here, on this farm, where I felt closest to him. He’d loved the land so. He’d had the heart of a farmer beating in his chest, despite being raised in the city, despite the years he’d spent in the military, fighting wars and leading other soldiers.

It was on a hot August day, as I pondered my most recent telephone conversation with my mother, that the stranger from the cemetery came to the farm.

“Oh.” I felt a sudden chill in my heart, as if the cold wind from that day were still buffeting me. “Yes. I remember you. We spoke at...at the graveside.”

Korea. Fear had been my constant companion when Andy was in Korea. But he’d survived the war. He’d survived and come back to the States. He’d come back to me, his fiancée. I’d thought God had kept him alive so we could marry and have children and be a family. On our wedding day, Andy had promised we would grow old together.

Fifteen months. That was all the time we’d had as man and wife. Just fifteen months before he was taken away forever.

My legs suddenly gone weak, I placed my hand on the doorjamb. That’s the way it always happened. One moment, I was doing all right; the next, the brokenness of my life, of my heart, stole my breath away.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Haskin?” Gideon opened the screen door and took hold of my arm. “Here, ma’am. Let me help you inside.”

I hadn’t the strength to protest, so I allowed him to assist me to the nearby kitchen table where I sank onto one of the chrome-legged chairs.

“I’ll get you some water.” He opened a cupboard door, closed it, then opened another, this time finding the dishware. After filling the glass at the kitchen faucet, he returned to where I sat. “You’d better drink this. You look awfully pale.”

I sipped from the glass, although what I wanted most to do was return to my bed, pull the covers over my head, and wail. I wanted to scream and weep. I wanted to give up.

I shook my head, sipped more water, then glanced at my visitor again. He was about my age, I thought, and he had thick, inky-black hair, a bit disheveled from his hat, and a dark complexion. Or perhaps he’d spent a great deal of time in the sun. I couldn’t be sure which. Wide-spaced brown eyes beneath dark brows watched me with gentle concern. He had a pleasant-looking mouth, and I imagined when he smiled he must be quite handsome.

I was taken by surprise by that thought. I hadn’t noticed another man’s looks since the day I met Andy back in 1950.

Gideon leaned forward on his chair. “Mrs. Haskin, I’d like to help you if I can.”

“Andy was the best kind of friend. The best friend I’ve ever had. He was like a brother to me. When I heard about his death—” He stopped abruptly and closed his eyes, as if his words hurt him as much as they hurt me.

Beyond the glass I saw the barn—more of a large shed, really—the once bright red paint now faded to a blotchy gray. The roof sagged a little in the center.

As if reading my mind, Gideon said, “Andy wrote me last winter and offered me a job, working with him on your farm.”

“He did?” My gaze returned to the man seated across from me. “He never mentioned it.”

“He said he could use my help with building and repairs while he did the farming.” He turned his calloused hands palms-up on the table. “I’m a carpenter by trade. I was having trouble finding work down in California, so it seemed a good idea for us both.”

I remembered something about Gideon Clermont then. Something Andy had written in a letter from Korea: Gideon’s got the hands of a carpenter, and now he’s come to know the Carpenter. Maybe that’s the whole reason I was sent here, Deborah, so I could share God’s love with men who don’t know Him.

I wish mine were as strong. O God, why can’t my faith be as strong as Andy’s was?

You feel so far away, Lord. I need Your presence. Did You leave me when Andy died? Is that why I can’t feel You near? Is that why I can’t hear Your voice? Is that why I feel so utterly lost and alone?

The sound of chair legs scraping against linoleum drew me around. Gideon stood beside his chair, watching me, his smile gone. “I’d like to lend you a hand, Mrs. Haskin. I thought maybe I could come out here on weekends. You know, to do some of the things you can’t do.”

My heart ached. I felt as if my chest were being crushed in a giant’s relentless hand. “I can’t afford to hire anyone, Mr. Clermont. I’m sorry. I’ve leased the land to a neighbor for this year, but—”

“I’m not asking you to hire me. I’ve got a job in Boise as a Fuller Brush salesman. It’s not work I care for much, but it’ll pay the rent.”

“I just want to help out, Mrs. Haskin. As Andy’s friend. Will you let me help you?”