Texas Weddings (Books Five and Six)

by Janice Thompson

  Moments later, she made her way out of the building. She looked up at a cloudy sky, lost in her thoughts. “What am I supposed to do now?” A breeze blew across her face, and served to calm her slightly. Angel’s heart nearly broke as she thought about how she had failed. Again. Dejected, she reached into her pocket for her car key.

  Empty. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Her heart began to pound as she contemplated the possibilities. Had she lost them in the building? She didn’t want to have to go back in there. Not today. She replayed the events of the last few minutes over again. No. She hadn’t carried any keys into the building. She must have left them in the car.

  Angel wound her way around the building to the side parking lot, where her silver car sat, glistening in the afternoon sun. She glanced through the front window, amazed to find her keys dangling in the ignition. “Oh, man. Now what?”

  She always carried a spare key in her purse, but the purse, unfortunately, remained in the car, as well. A third key hung on the wall at home. Little good that would do her now. She leaned against the hood of the car, deep in thought. Immediately the alarm began to go off.

  Angel covered her ears and tried to think. “I can’t call home, anyway. I’ve got no cell phone.” She stared through the window at the purse once again. “My whole life is locked up in that car.” The alarm continued to ring out.

  Instinctively, she began to pray. Lord, if you’ll get me out of this, I’ll… Well, no point in making rash promises. Angel wasn’t sure what she would have promised, anyway. A shimmer to the right caught her eye and she looked down into the grassy area that separated Tennyson Towers from the service station next door. “What’s that?” She reached down and picked up a piece of wire.

  ***

  Peter ended his shift and climbed into his car to head toward home. If traffic didn’t present much of a problem, he might have time to stop off at the feeding center on his way to double-check some supplies.

  He squinted against the afternoon sunshine and sneezed a couple of times to fight off the lingering aroma. No time to worry about the smell now. He had so many things on his mind, including thoughts of Angel. His interests in her weren’t romantic - not at all. He saw her as someone who needed his help—a hand up. Problem was, he hadn’t yet figured out a good way to pray about this situation. He fought to formulate the words, but finally managed. “Lord, I know you’ve led me to Angel. She’s Your child and You love her just as much as You love me. Thank You for giving me a chance to make up for the mistakes of the other men in my family. I’m going to do some good in this world. Help me accomplish that, Father. Let me start with this poor, lost girl.”

  Something inside him told him to swing by Tennyson Towers on his way home. Perhaps, for lack of a better place, she had set up residence there. It had seemed that way when he dropped her off after yesterday’s lunch, anyway. Maybe he could find her and…

  Peter wasn’t sure what he’d do if he found Angel today. It would look like too much of a coincidence if he just happened by, wouldn’t it? He struggled with what he would say, should she see him. He didn’t want to be deceptive, but he did feel a need to help. She looked like someone who could use some serious help.

  As he turned onto The Strand, Peter prayed. Tennyson Towers beckoned from a distance. He slowly drove to the front of the building, where he hoped to catch a glimpse of Angel. Nothing. Pulling into the parking lot, he spied her. There she was. But, what in the world? She stood alongside a beautiful silver sports car with a metal coat hanger in her hand. He eased a bit closer, more curious than ever. Angel fought to get the car unlocked—or so it would seem.

  “Oh Lord. Has it really come to that?” His heart nearly broke as he contemplated the idea. Should he do something? Say something? He could hear the car’s alarm now—blaring loudly. She seemed to ignore it, as she worked feverishly to get the car open. Peter watched it all, horrified yet intrigued. None of this seemed to make sense, and yet he couldn’t deny the reality of what he was seeing with his own eyes.

  Angel reached up with the back of her hand to wipe the sweat from her brow, clearly unaware of his presence. He inched his car along, hoping not to arouse her suspicions. Just as he passed behind the silver vehicle, she dropped the piece of wire and stepped away from the car, hands up in the air.

  As if waiting for a police car to come along.

  He struggled with his emotions, trying to decide if he should telephone the police or just leave and pretend he had seen nothing. He opted to wait—at least a few moments more. “I’ve got to give her another chance.”

  Just then she turned and walked toward the building. For a brief moment, she looked his way. He turned his head quickly. She made her way toward the back of the building once again. Peter pulled into a parking space, prepared to wait as long as it took.

  What he was waiting for, he couldn’t be sure.

  ***

  “Hello, Nardo? Can you do me a favor?” Angel tried to hide the quiver in her voice as she spoke over the borrowed phone to her older brother. The alarm shrieked in the background, making it nearly impossible to hear.

  Or think.

  “What’s up, Angel?” He sounded agitated. She must have interrupted his work.

  Angel trembled. “I need someone to come and rescue me.”

  “Rescue you?” Now he sounded worried.

  “Sort of, anyway. I locked my keys in my car.” She bit her lip and waited for his predictable response.

  He groaned. “Is that your alarm, I hear?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Angel. Not again. This is the third time in a month.”

  She wiped the perspiration out of her eyes. “Yeah. Only this time I’m a lot farther away.”

  He groaned and asked the question she had been waiting to hear. “Where are you?”

  “Galveston. The Strand. Not far from that pizza place you love so much.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. When are you going to learn? I told you to get the car with the keyless entry. Remember, Angel?”

  “Yes, I remember, but…”

  “I know. I know. You thought it wouldn’t be safe. You were worried someone else might break in. Now you’re in a car that no one can break into. Even you.”

  “Nardo, please. Watch your temper. And please come get me.”

  “I’m coming, Angel. But don’t you dare say a thing about how I look.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I’m in my workout clothes. I just got home from the gym. I look awful and smell worse.”

  “I don’t care about that.” She sighed. “Just come and get me, okay?”

  “I’ll be in Pop’s old car. Mine’s being painted, remember?”

  “I remember. Just hurry Nardo.” Angel placed the phone down and thanked the receptionist in the law office before turning to leave. She shuffled toward the back of the building, where she dropped down onto a concrete bench. She fought with her own emotions, trying to figure out why nothing seemed to be going her way today. Tears tumbled freely. She couldn’t seem to stop them.

  For some reason, her thoughts immediately raced to one of her favorite scriptures in the first chapter of the book of James, one she had been studying diligently in preparation to teach a Bible study at church next month.

  “Consider it pure joy, my brothers,” she whispered to no one but herself, “whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”

  “Lord, I’m having a hard time finding any joy in the middle of this trial,” she whispered. “I know that my faith is being tested. That’s for sure. But I’m not sure I can persevere. Right now, Lord, I’m not sure I can take one more step.”

  Just as she brought her face to rest in her palms, the alarm, mercifully, went off.

  ***

  Peter watched from a distance as Angel buried her head in her hands. Was s
he crying? He argued with himself about whether to join her or leave her sitting there alone. If he approached her, what would he say?

  Finally the decision was made. He would approach her, talk to her. He would take the time to listen, which would build a bridge of trust between them. Once trust had been firmly established, Angel would be happy to listen to what he had to say. Peter would then carefully, strategically, share the gospel, using all of the tools he had been trained to use. She would respond. All would end well.

  Or so he prayed.

  Peter parked his car and prayed for God’s favor as he made his way across the parking lot toward her. As he approached, he couldn’t help but notice the tear stains on her cheeks and the red, swollen eyes. “Angel?”

  She dabbed at puffy eyelids. “Oh no.” A little groan followed and her brow wrinkled. “Not you again.”

  “Yeah, me. Peter. Peter Campbell.”

  “Right. I remember.” She gazed at him for a moment, and then shook her head.

  Peter stood silently for what seemed like an eternity, hands gripped together. “What’s wrong? Is there anything I can do to help you?” He sat, and turned his full attentions to her need.

  “No. I’m fine. Really.” She sniffled and rubbed at her runny nose with the back of her hand.

  “You’re not fine. Something terrible has happened. You can tell me.” He slipped his arm around her shoulder and prayed she wouldn’t find him too forward.

  Instead, she buried her head in his shoulder, tears intensifying. “Did you ever have one of those days?”

  “Of course. We all do.”

  “Well, I’m having one today.” She sniffled. “Nothing is going right. Nothing.”

  Peter nodded and his heart swelled with anticipation. “Isn’t there something I can do? Would you like to go someplace and talk?”

  She shook her head and dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. “No. Just please sit here with me awhile. I don’t like to be by myself.”

  Ah. The truth came out at last. Angel’s time on the street had apparently opened her eyes to the loneliness, the desperation. She clearly recognized the hopelessness of her situation, but how could he make things better? What could he say to help?

  “I don’t blame you,” Peter said finally. “What would you like to talk about?”

  She shrugged. “The weather. Anything. I don’t care.”

  He began at once to discuss the possibility of rain. Angel smiled as he pretended to do the weather report with a British accent. She seemed to soften even more as he shifted to sports, and laughed aloud as he pretended to play the role of sportscaster.

  Then the conversation turned a bit. They began to talk at length about a local ball player who had recently struggled with a drug problem. She seemed to be receptive to his attempts to interject the Lord into the conversation, even adding tidbits of wisdom that amazed him.

  They talked for ages. Funny, for someone who lived on the streets, she sounded educated. Really educated. The conversation shifted from their unrecognized dreams to the condition of the world. For over an hour they talked. And talked.

  Peter spoke frankly of his relationship with the Lord. He told Angel of God’s love and faithfulness in his own life. He shared with her the dreams God had given him to better his life—to make something of his existence—not waste away with anger like his father had. He told her that the Lord had placed a call on him to touch lives, to make a difference. She listened quietly, and nodded as he spoke. As if she knew and understood.

  Peter’s heart soared. Lord, she seems receptive.

  He looked up as he heard a horn honking. A rough looking guy in a beat up old car gestured for Angel to join him. Surely she wasn’t going to—

  Angel stood abruptly, gaze traveling to the car. “I, uh, I have to go now. But thanks for the conversation.”

  Peter’s heart pounded against his chest wall. “Angel, you don’t have to go with that man. I could take you wherever you want to go. Really.” He gave her his most imploring look, but she seemed unmoved.

  The horn honked repeatedly and the guy inside looked perturbed. His jaw remained set, determined. Who was that guy? What did he want with her?

  “No, I really have to go,” she said softly. “Please don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” She crossed the parking lot to the car, leaning in to take something from the man inside.

  Despondent, Peter turned and walked the other way.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Peter spent a near-sleepless night, worried about Angel’s condition and wondering what he could do to help her. His prayers that the Lord would send someone he could minister to had finally been answered. But now what? Her needs seemed so great. What could he, one lone person, do to help someone in such a position of hopelessness? All night long he tossed and turned, as he tried to figure out how he should intervene on her behalf.

  Or even if he should intervene on her behalf. Would it be appropriate for a man, even one fully committed to the Lord, to reach out to a young woman he barely knew? Would he be breaking some sort of protocol by doing so? Should he ask for help from some of the girls from church? One of the girls from the single’s ministry, perhaps? Would female assistance be in order? If so, who would he ask? Who could truly connect with Angel like he had?

  He had connected with her, hadn’t he? Peter’s spirits lifted as the Lord reminded him of the connection just today. But why had she chosen to leave with that awful man? The question tormented Peter now. He should have stopped her, should have intervened.

  Through the sleepless hours, the Lord continually brought to mind the story of the Good Samaritan. This biblical example of God’s love hadn’t turned his head and looked the other way when he came across someone others had neglected. But neither had he taken a long-term over-committed interest. He had simply given the injured man a place to stay and provided for his immediate needs.

  Perhaps that’s all the Lord required of Peter, as well. He could, at the very least, provide for Angel’s immediate needs and make sure she had a place to stay—a safe place where she wouldn’t have to worry about digging through the trash to find food or scavenging through bathrooms to clean herself up. He drifted off to sleep, but fitful dreams kept him tossing and turning.

  The sun arose and so did Peter, stiff and sore after not resting. He contemplated many things as he dressed for work. One thought simply would not leave his mind. His desire to help those in need seemed to be birthed out of a need in his own life. After years of carefree living, Peter Campbell had finally come to the conclusion that his life had to have some direction, a sense of purpose. He had always been a believer, for as long as he could remember, but had squandered so much time in his youth. And so much money. Recent sermons, coupled with personal promptings from the Holy Spirit, had shown him how far he had drifted from God’s plan for his life. Could he make up for it now?

  Yes, he reasoned as he made the drive to work, he would make up for lost time. Out of a sincere passion for the lost and a desire to be useful, Peter would help Angel and others like her. If he had ever doubted this call of God on his life, it was all crystal clear to him now. If Peter had his way, he would eventually open a home for people in need.

  Someday.

  That decision did not arise from his meeting with Angel, but spending time with her had, at least on some level, confirmed it. He would help those who could not help themselves. Something even beyond what the feeding center could afford to offer. He longed to open a transitional living center for those coming off of the streets. They needed a recovery program and a place to be trained for jobs.

  His mind reeled and ideas flowed freely. So did the questions. Where would he house people? Who would assist him? How could he even begin? Could he keep his current job to fund the plan, at least until the ministry could stand on its own feet? He examined and re-examined his motivations and could not help but conclude that his heart remained pure before the Lord in this matter. His heavenly Father would support h
im. Even if his earthly father refused.

  For a second, Peter tried to envision the look on his father’s face when he shared these new plans with him. He would never understand, but then again, his father never seemed to understand anything Peter said or did. They were two different men.

  From two different planets, obviously.

  Peter struggled with a particular memory of his father, one that had always bothered him. It had occurred at the tender age of seven, when his father, then a new agent, had come home with a proposition. “One you won’t be able to turn down,” he had said with a forced grin. “It’s a commercial for a seven year old boy. Peanut butter. You’re the kid they’re looking for, Peter. I know it. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Full of life.”

  His dad had gone on to explain why it was so critical to fill this position quickly. He was trying to make a name for himself in the business. If he could just get this one account, it would open a host of other doors for him.

  But Peter didn’t want to do it. He had clung to his mother’s leg and cried. The thought of standing before those cameras terrified him. He wouldn’t do it—not for his dad or anyone else. He just couldn’t.

  If memory served him correctly, Peter had even lied, telling his father he didn’t like peanut butter. His father had bribed, cajoled and finally threatened. In the end, Peter got his way, and his father lost the account. But Peter would never forget his father’s words, “That’s the last time I offer you anything.”

  And it pretty much had been. As he had grown, the relationship with his father had also grown. . .more distant with each passing day. Peter had always felt like such a disappointment, on so many levels. By the time he reached manhood, they were two different men, going two different ways—his father following the path of money and fame and Peter following the road of ministry. Thankfully, he had found his identity, his true identity, in the Lord—and knew that God would honor his choices.