CHAPTER 1
An icy morning downpour was a welcome surprise on a dreary summer’s day in Northwest Florida. Although Panhandle residents looked forward to the chill of an early fall each year, milder temperatures seldom arrived before the middle of October. For those who had to scratch out a living beneath the merciless rays of a July sun, the change was well overdue.
The bedazzled students of Gideon Baylor High School were especially pleased to witness a phenomenon that had never occurred in their lifetime. An overcast sky and biting winds made it easier for them to concentrate on their studies. With two weeks left in the season, clear and sunny days would only remind them of the fun they were missing. So, for the next eight months, it was back to business.
Despite the hunger for knowledge some students seemed to lack, Gideon Baylor was the learning institution most parents in Chamberlain County wanted their teenagers to attend. Colleges throughout the state took serious note of applicants who were willing to utilize the advantages their parents’ money had bought them.
Along with its record of academic excellence, the celebrated benchmark also enjoyed a reputation for maintaining law and order. Adhering to a policy of zero tolerance was essential. Reports of drugs, vandalism and violence were rare. For the most part, the youngsters made genuine efforts to settle their differences and work together.
Established in 1947, this revered monument to intellectual achievement was believed to be the beacon that would guide the district toward a rich and joyous future. Unfortunately, there was a stumbling block that threatened to darken the path of every burgeoning genius who embarked upon the quest for pedantic enrichment at Gideon Baylor High.
In many circles, the wealthy reap the first fruits of a prosperous society. The Chamberlain County School System was no different. A substantial percentage of the student body didn’t fall asleep wondering whether or not they’d have a roof over their heads the next morning. Three meals a day were part of an unquestionable routine. Expensive sneakers, designer clothes and a brand-new car imposed no hardships on the residential expenditures. The privileges afforded to kids who come from that kind of money frequently plant seeds that make them forget everyone deserves to be respected.
Yet, despite the misguided laws of a conceited adolescent hierarchy, every special child wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his or her mouth. Hoping to defeat the negative concepts that can cripple the human spirit, some have had to battle the foes of common decency to procure the basic elements of a satisfying life. Struggling to avoid the temptations that afflict an impoverished upbringing and focus on something better, they endeavor to overcome a world that believes they were born to lose. Roberta Parson had to confront that twaddle on a daily basis.
Roberta’s life began in a tranquil neighborhood on the outskirts of Graceville, Florida. Her mother, Nora, was a dentist and her father, Gerald, ran his own construction company. The Parson Family personified the quintessential suburban household. No one could have predicted the tragic turn their lives would take before Roberta reached the age of ten.
One rainy spring night near the county line, a drunk driver plowed head-on into Nora’s car, rendering her comatose for six months. Two weeks before her seventeenth wedding anniversary, the thirty-three-year-old wife and mother passed away.
Devastated by the loss, Gerald found himself struggling to keep his head above water in a raging river of medical bills and credit card debt. Three years later, the grieving widower lost his business and sold the family home. Unable to maintain the only lifestyle Roberta had ever known, he was compelled to make a fresh start in a poor neighborhood and accept any job that came his way. Keeping his daughter safe while striving to help her make sense of the unforeseen occurrences that plague the human race was a monumental task, but the surviving parent didn’t have the luxury of begging off. He knew she would need his love and guidance to sustain her through the darkness of a brutalizing world.
By the time the motherless girl reached her teens, it became evident that her father’s perseverance had made a difference. Although it was no easy undertaking, Roberta eventually learned to reject the malicious influences of the streets and commit herself to becoming a success. Scholastic improvement facilitated the opportunity to excel in sports. It didn’t take long for the unlimited potential of this extraordinary young woman to catch the eye of Gideon Baylor’s athletic director. By the middle of her junior year, Roberta was making a name for herself at one of the most honored academies in Northwest Florida.
Though the remarkable enclosure was frequently acclaimed for the gifted young people who’d traversed its grounds, Gideon Baylor High School employed a faculty of accomplished educators with impeccable credentials. One of them had filmed documentaries on four continents.
After twenty years of exploring indigenous cultures and chronicling the darkest aspects of human nature, Cynthia Melton returned home to share what she’d learned with the students of her alma mater. From the jungles of Africa to the most distant regions of Siberia, this intrepid adventurer had risked life and limb to enlighten her viewers. She’d exposed genocide, corruption and human trafficking. Journalistic assignments had obliged her to record the plight of starving children in third world countries. Some of her most recent productions portrayed the desperate conditions that occur in the wake of natural disasters. Her work garnered the respect of executives in the motion picture and television industries. She’d received numerous awards. Yet, the stalwart producer and director refused to let success go to her head.
Although she possessed the quirks and idiosyncrasies attributed to most artistic people, Cynthia was an unassuming humanitarian with a genuine desire to improve the lives of kids around the globe. Her charitable convictions gave meaning to every facet of this edified altruist’s life. Those same values were handed down to her son, Baxter. Ironically, it was his present set of circumstances that set fire to the community’s renewed interest in the woman who raised him.
Five years earlier, Baxter joined an outreach group that sent him to the Philippines. Seven months into the mission, he and four of his colleagues were taken hostage by a clandestine band of radicals opposed to the presence of anything American in their country.
Over the Labor Day weekend, Cynthia received word her son had escaped his captors and made it to a military base in Manila.
Practically every news outlet on the Gulf Coast wanted a personal interview with the mother of Baxter Melton. However, she preferred to express her elation through a journalist she met in South Florida several years ago. At the time, her husband, Roger, had been accused of a crime he didn’t commit. Through the tireless efforts of that tenacious newshound, the public learned the truth and Roger was exonerated. Cynthia yearned for the day when she could return the favor. Giving her hero a shot at one of the biggest scoops to come along in years settled the debt with interest. There couldn’t have been a more appropriate time to extend the gesture. I know because I was that reporter.
