Red Rose Bouquet: A Contemporary Christian Novel (Grace Revealed Book 2)

by Jennifer Rodewald

  “But you did get out. And anyway, what you did wasn’t that bad when you look at—” Her. Her life, her bondage. She couldn’t get those words out.

  “Do you know what God says about rebellion?”

  He sure knew a lot about what God said. Did this come from being a preacher’s kid?

  “Divination. He matches it with witchcraft. And He hates it.”

  Cheryl fisted the gray T-shirt beneath her hand, afraid to look at him, to allow the hope breathing life into her spirit to grow any more. It wasn’t the same. Her sins…

  “Sherbert—”

  “Don’t, Brock.” She winced. Killing hope hurt. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

  She felt his chest cave in as air drained from his lungs.

  Apparently he felt the puncture wound too.

  When I was a child, I believed.

  Saved seemed so wonderful. So secure. Especially when my mom died. Heaven was a promise, and I owned it.

  But then I found out something horrible. There are some things in life that simply cannot be forgiven.

  Not just unforgiven. Unforgivable.

  There is no greater agony than to be that woman.

  ~31~

  You’re unforgivable.

  Cheryl stared at the image on the overhead screen. That wasn’t actually what the printed words read. But that was what she heard. Felt. Believed.

  Even as Brock’s wife—with his devoted love surrounding her new everyday reality—she couldn’t dislodge the conviction.

  The sign overhead said abortion is murder, and she couldn’t argue the point. Her baby, who should have been going on eleven next month, was dead.

  Unforgivable.

  Tightness gripped her chest, and the muscles in her neck and shoulders contracted. Sharp pain traveled from the base of her skull into her brain, sending violent flashes of light into her eyes. She squeezed her eyelids shut just as the ringing in her ears began.

  This was why she had quit church. But Brock’s dad—now her father-in-law—had been such a gentle and gracious man. His mom had brought her into her heart and family with unreserved love. She never would have guessed this would be posted in their church.

  A gentle touch against her neck nearly made her bolt from her chair. She forced her eyes open as the large, warm hand of her husband cupped around the base of her head.

  He leaned until his nose brushed just above her ear, and whispered, “I’m sorry.” With his thumb he began to softly knead the cramped muscles in her neck. “We can go home.”

  Cheryl pressed her lips together, her eyes drawn to the public announcement still glowing at the front. Though the Kellys didn’t know—she knew Brock would not betray her ugly secrets—she felt as if those bold, jagged words had been posted just for her. To make sure she wouldn’t ever forget.

  Suddenly a voice in her head, vile and fierce, took aim at her festering wounds and let the fiery arrows of condemnation loose with deadly aim.

  I know the truth. Brock does too. He can’t love you. It won’t last. You’re too ugly, too dirty. There is no salvation for you.

  Brock’s hand moved until his arm curved around her shoulder. With gentle pressure, he pulled her securely into his side. “Let’s go, love.”

  He can’t love you. Frozen, Cheryl tried to blink.

  “Stop looking at it, babe. We’re going home.”

  You’re too ugly, too dirty.

  Her head throbbed, and it seemed that she could not pull in a full breath. The world began to tilt, causing her stomach to lurch. Brock stood, pulling her up beside him. Bending, he reached across her to gather her purse and the Bible he’d given her, and then with her anchored under his protective arm, he led her outside.

  Her head thumped with stabbing pain and nausea blurred her vision as Brock drove her home.

  ~*~

  Brock knelt beside the bed, a glass of water and four Advil in his hand. The plate of toast sat untouched on the bedside table.

  “Sherbert, you need to eat. This stuff will rip up your stomach if it’s empty.”

  She opened her eyes and slowly tilted her head to look at him.

  Agony had a look that ripped a heart in two. Pain knifed through his chest, followed closely by anger. What had Dad been thinking? Didn’t he understand—

  Of course he didn’t. His dad was just like he’d been two months before. So set on the righteous cause to protect the unborn that he hadn’t considered the post-abortive woman.

  Setting the medicine on the plate and the glass to the side, he pushed his fingers into Cheryl’s hair. “Can I lay beside you, or will that make it worse?”

  Her eyes slid shut, but she lifted a hand to cup his jawline, her touch speaking in her silence. I need you.

  He hadn’t bothered to change when they got home, so in his starched button-down shirt and good jeans, he slipped beside her on their bed, careful to keep the jostling of the mattress to a minimum. She rolled to her back, her face tilted slightly up and her eyes shut. Moisture lined her dark lashes, and when a bulb of a tear emerged from the outside corner of one eye, Brock’s emotions ruptured. His hand trembled as he moved to brush her tears.

  “Sherbert, they don’t know.” Hoarse, his voice wobbled in his throat. “You have to believe me, love. If they knew, they would never—it wouldn’t have happened like that.”

  “If they knew, they’d hate me. They’d be so disappointed for you.”

  He cradled her face with one hand. “No. They’d feel terrible about today, I promise. Cheryl, they just don’t know how it hurts. Forgive their thoughtlessness, just like you forgave mine. In their zeal for the unborn, they have missed the women who walk away completely shattered. But if they knew—”

  Her eyes opened, panic sparking in them. “No. Please, Brock. Please don’t.”

  She was wrong. He was certain. He knew his mother—she’d tear up for Cheryl’s heartache, take her into a death hug, and beg for her forgiveness. And his dad…he’d understand, and the depth of his ministry would grow. Compassion marked his parents, despite what had happened today. They would shift with the revelation, and it could change lives.

  He knew. Because his life was shifting.

  “Brock.” Cheryl gripped the fastened buttons at his chest. “Promise me…”

  Her blue eyes pleaded, making his heart hurt more. Leaning close, he brushed her face with his own.

  “Promise.” Her whisper cracked.

  Right or wrong, he couldn’t deny her. It was, after all, her story to tell. Or not.

  “If that’s what you want. I promise.”

  ~*~

  He knew that cry. Brock moved against the mattress, his eyes adjusting to the dark.

  His wife lay at the edge of their bed, huddled in a tight ball, arms clenched over her ears. Brock pushed to an elbow and reached for her trembling body, pulling her against his chest. Cheryl was locked in another nightmare. Why did this continue?

  Another moan escaped from the bundle in his arms.

  He pushed the hair from her face and moved to whisper near her ear. “I’ve got you, Sherbert. It’s over, love. It’s all over.”

  God, why won’t you set her free?

  Cheryl shuddered, and her tears seeped warm through his shirt. “Please…please…I’m so sorry…” Broken words lifted from her throat, chopped by breathless sobs.

  She was forgiven. If God’s Word was true, and if He was the God Brock knew Him to be, then she should be healing. Recovering. Not still writhing with this unbearable guilt.

  Please, God. I beg You on her behalf. Set her free.

  The verses he’d been poring over lifted to his mind.

  It was for freedom that Christ set us free…

  He rescued us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the Kingdom of His beloved Son…

  They were true, weren’t they? God’s Word was true. All of it. So why did this continue?

  “Cheryl, wake up. It’s just a dream.”

  A drea
m that should have stopped. God, why won’t you take them away?

  “Please make it stop…”

  “Cheryl.” He shook her shoulder. “Wake up. You’ve got to let this go.”

  Was that it? She was trapped. How could she let it go? She didn’t choose to have these nightmares. She didn’t choose to live in defeat. People didn’t choose that kind of life. She ached for healing, longed for freedom.

  Where was Truth? If Christ set her free in His forgiveness, then why was she not free?

  With a sharp inhale, Cheryl stiffened in his arms. Brock tightened his hold.

  “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

  She pulled in another staggering breath.

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It’s okay.”

  Her body relaxed, and then she tucked her head into his chest. Brock leaned back against his pillow, pulling her with him. Her hands anchored behind his shoulders, and he felt her whimper against him.

  “Same dream?”

  Her answer came breathless. Hopeless. “Yes.”

  “Tell me what happens.”

  She buried her face deeper against him. “I am there again. At the clinic. It’s dark and cold, and I hear a voice telling me not to go through a steel door. But I go anyway.” She stopped, and a soul-deep cry ripped through her. “He warned me, Brock. It was God, and I ignored Him.”

  Brock fisted the hair he’d been stroking as his throat closed over. He shut his eyes against the burn of tears as her desolation sank through him. How could she overcome such regret when it continued to spear her conscience?

  Believe.

  With all his being, Brock believed she was forgiven. He believed God could heal her of this festering wound. Why didn’t He?

  Cheryl pulled in another quivering breath and continued. “Then I am alone. I hear the sad minor chords of the Sabrina theme, and then the cries begin to take over.”

  The Sabrina song. The one song she couldn’t get through in the music book he’d ordered for her.

  “Why does that song make you cry?”

  “I was playing it when I realized I was pregnant.”

  Brock’s chest seemed to cave.

  “But I’m not the one crying in my dreams.”

  No, she wasn’t. She always begged for the cries to stop.

  “Babies,” she finally whispered. Though her tears came on full force again, words tumbled fast. “I hear the wailing of babies, and I know mine is among them. I cannot escape their accusation.”

  She paused, and another quake of agony seized her body. “They cry because of me.”

  Brock’s jaw clenched tight as his lips trembled. Oh God… Where is Your forgiveness? You said You redeem. When?

  ~*~

  He didn’t respond. Cheryl felt the muscles beneath her face tense as Brock’s arms wrapped tight around her. But he said nothing.

  This was harder than he’d thought, this being married to a woman with a past like hers. Waking him up with her nightmares. Making him watchful and sad with her headaches. Provoking his tears with her regrets.

  She shouldn’t have let him talk her into this. Marriage for Brock Kelly should be all joy and gooey smiles, and their most intimate moments together in this bed shouldn’t be laden with tears of guilt.

  The bride who wore white because he’d wanted her to hadn’t yet changed. She still felt as filthy and wretched as before, and she’d brought it to his bed.

  Brock continued to hold her, though his grip lessened. One hand cradled her head, and he began stroking her hair again. He sniffed, the sound telling her what she’d feared. She’d made him cry. She’d taken the life of another into her own hands, as if she could see the future, known what was best. As if she had been God. Did women in that clinic imagine the everyday death they would live with after their choices? Maybe they didn’t live with it the way she did. Maybe somehow those other women found a way to stymie the shame.

  Maybe she alone was cast out.

  “Sherbert.” Brock’s hand paused, resting against her back. “You’re forgiven. You know that, don’t you?”

  Forgiven by Brock—that was something. But it wasn’t everything—wasn’t enough. What of her baby? Or God? God was the giver of life. Cheryl had taken it. Was that even forgivable?

  Brock moved to his side and rolled her to her back. The hand that had been caressing her hair came to cup her face. “Cheryl, look at me.” With his thumb he tipped her chin so that she would comply. “God doesn’t lie. When He says that He forgives, He forgives. Completely.”

  Her jaw tightened. “I know, but—”

  “But what? Do you think you’re the one sinner on the planet who His grace cannot reach?”

  A tear escaped from the corner of her eye, carving a path against her skin until it dripped onto her hair.

  Brock leaned over her, his nose brushing next to hers as he spoke. “Tell me what we just read the other night. In First John. What did it say?”

  Cheryl’s throat closed over as tears rushed from her eyes. She couldn’t form the words, though she could faintly recall them in her mind.

  Brock waited two breaths. “We confess. He forgives.” He pulled away just enough to trace the streams on her face with his thumb. “I was there, Cheryl. I heard you. You begged, through your tears, for His forgiveness—and I’m guessing that wasn’t the first time you’d done so. He hears you. I know you are forgiven.”

  “What if this isn’t forgivable?”

  “Then the Bible lied. Do you think that’s possible?”

  She sniffed, searching his eyes in the semidarkness. “Lied?”

  “King David was a murderer. Psalms tell us he was forgiven. Peter was a deserter. Also forgiven. James was a mocker who didn’t believe until Jesus came back from the dead. Thomas was a doubter. Paul was a persecutor of the church. All were forgiven. Do you think the Bible lies?”

  King David was a murderer… She had forgotten that. The man after God’s own heart had taken a life to make his own easier. Just like her. He had been forgiven.

  “Cheryl.” Brock’s voice surged with conviction. “You think that your sin is too big. But it isn’t the degree of the sin that determines God’s forgiveness, but the greatness of His love.”

  Stillness replaced the passion of his voice, and Cheryl lay soaking in his words. Every example he’d given, every claim he’d made—they were true. The Bible said that God forgave.

  Oh, how greatly she longed for forgiveness. Brock was right. She’d begged for it. Repeatedly. But this guilt…

  “Why do I still feel unforgiven?”

  Brock came back to nestle by her face, his lips brushing the moisture of tears that still remained. “I don’t know, love. But I don’t think this guilt is from God. I think the enemy knows exactly where to hit to knock us down, to keep us in the ditch.”

  Either way then, she was stuck. “I can’t fight that, Brock.”

  He pushed away, his hand covering his forehead as if he had a headache. Or he was praying.

  Praying was likely. That was the kind of man she’d married.

  After a moment he looked back to her, the zeal of conviction back in his voice. “Believe God, Cheryl.” With both hands, he held her head. “The voice telling you you’re unforgivable isn’t Him. He says you’re forgiven. He calls you beloved. Believe Him. That is your shield.”

  ~*~

  Believe…she did believe in God.

  I call you forgiven. Redeemed. Friend. Do you believe this?

  Cheryl examined the words on the page. This book of recovery…the very one she’d been hiding. It offered her exactly what Brock had held out to her. Hope.

  Hope rooted in the Bible. God called her forgiven. Redeemed. Friend. With her Bible on the other arm of her chair, she flipped through the references listed above that statement. Ephesians 1:7. Romans 3:24. John 15:15. Every time, Truth said she was forgiven.

  How then did she crawl out from under the weight of guilt?

  Believe Him.

&n
bsp; She’d had to come to a point where she really believed that Brock loved her. She’d hurled every ugly detail of her crimson-stained life at him, certain he’d reject her. He hadn’t. He loved harder. It had changed their relationship. She began to trust him, love him more honestly, and even feel a little more whole with him by her side. Could this be the same kind of thing? Could God be calling her out of darkness, waiting with an outstretched hand for her to simply believe?

  Her attention went back to the book.

  Sometimes when we despise what we have done, we determine how much God can forgive. But you and I, we are not God. He is so much more than we can imagine, and when He offers His forgiveness to you and me, it is complete. God’s forgiveness is where the greatest amount of freedom is found, because when we begin to take hold of it, we will learn to live in forgiveness, and we will become able to forgive others and to forgive ourselves.

  Freedom in forgiveness. From God, and from her baby, whom she’d read in this book was now perfected in heaven and able to forgive her because of the grace of God. Brock had forgiven her, and maybe his parents would too, if she’d give them the chance. Maybe it was time to step into that forgiveness, to live there, and to give it. To herself and to others…her dad, to Michael—the professor who’d fathered her baby—to Andrew…the list would get long. But one by one, she could let go of resentment and live more fully in love.

  Cheryl pulled in a staggered breath as she felt her very soul shift. The thawing continued, and she felt as if, in her heart, she could reach up to the heavens.

  God reached back. Pulled her near, and with that silent, divine whisper, He confirmed the Truth.

  You are forgiven.

  The last of the ice broke away.

  I’ve been angry with you all this time.

  In my heart, I couldn’t understand why you left us when we needed you most.

  I kept thinking, just give me a reason. Let me understand.

  Maybe if I understood, it would be easier to forgive.