Francine Rivers

by Redeeming Love

  “You don’t act like it.”

  “Angel got between Michael and me. Don’t let her come between us, too.”

  “You put her there!”

  “No, I didn’t,” he said fiercely. “Can’t you see what she does?” He wanted to beg her to listen. He couldn’t bear the look on her face. “She’s broken Michael,” he said, his voice cracking.

  “Michael’s stronger now than he ever was.”

  “That’s why he’s on his knees?”

  “He’s fighting for her the only way he can.”

  “Miriam, she got her hooks into him and then ripped him to pieces.”

  “Are you really that blind? Michael’s the one who tore through all her defenses. She loves him!”

  “If that were the truth, wouldn’t she have stayed? Nothing could have driven her away. But she didn’t stay, did she? She left him just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “And here you are trying to tell me she has a heart.”

  Miriam sat down heavily and looked up at her husband’s embittered face. Had she really thought to save him by herself? What arrogance! He was further from her now than if he had gone back to the mountains to look for gold. All she knew was what she felt. “I love her, too, Paul, as much as any one of my own flesh-and-blood sisters. Whatever you think of her, I know her, and I’m going to pray every day of my life that she comes back.”

  Paul slammed the door as he stormed out.

  Angel lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. She knew she had done the right thing, but sometimes her longing for Michael became so intense it was physical pain. Was he well? Was he happy? Surely he would have given up on her by now. He would have come to realize they were never meant to be together. She knew he would never forgive her, but he could go on with his life. He would have Miriam. He could have children.

  She couldn’t let herself dwell on it. If she did, she would drown in self-pity. It was over, finished, behind her. She had to go on. She closed her eyes, pushing the pain down. She rose and dressed, thinking over the wonderful things that had happened.

  Cherry was settled with a couple who owned a bakery. She was happy and adapting to her new life. Little Faith had been adopted by a Baptist family and was now living in Monterey with her new brothers and sisters. And she was learning to read and write, for letters had come.

  As much as Angel loved living with the Axles, she knew she couldn’t remain with them forever. They had been far too kind already, providing her with shelter, protection, and friendship. They had even seen to a new wardrobe for her. Given the choice of what she wanted, she had asked for dove gray and brown wool in simple styles.

  Susanna was the one who insisted on tutoring her. Angel despaired of learning what Susanna laid out, but her new friend insisted. “You’re quick, and it’ll come to you. Don’t expect so much of yourself so soon.” The lessons were hard, and Angel wondered if the effort would be worth the labor.

  She thought about going back to work for Virgil, then dismissed it. Somehow, she knew that wasn’t what she was intended to do. But what was?

  Susanna took her along when she did the buying for the family. They wandered through the markets purchasing meat, vegetables, bread, and sundry items. Angel learned to bargain. It wasn’t much different from selling pans to miners. She knew how to bluff. She knew how to pretend indifference. And she usually got what Susanna wanted for rock-bottom price.

  “One look into your baby blue eyes and they practically hand over their goods for free. They fall all over themselves to serve you.” Susanna laughed. “And imagine getting a proposal at the market.”

  “It wasn’t a proposal, Susanna. It was a proposition. There’s a big difference.”

  “Well, don’t look so grim. You said no, and very politely, too, I might add.”

  Maybe if she wore sackcloth, men wouldn’t notice her. Even in dove gray, men’s heads turned when she passed. Few bothered her, and she suspected it was more because Susanna Axle was beside her than any credit to her new purity. The Axles were well known and highly respected in the community. Angel wondered what would happen if she were out from beneath their protective wings. At the first sign of hardship, would she weaken again? It was a thought that made her swallow her pride and accept the Axles’ continued goodwill.

  She even began going to church with them, feeling insulated and protected with Jonathan and Priscilla on one side and Susanna on the other. She drank in the words of salvation and redemption though she felt she had no right to them. She was so hungry and thirsty, she panted like a deer after the water of life—remembering as she listened the dream she had had in Duke’s bordello in Portsmouth Square.

  Oh, God, it was you speaking to me, wasn’t it? It was you. And that night in the cabin so long ago when I smelled that wonderful fragrance and thought I heard someone speaking to me, it was you.

  Everything Michael had said to her, everything he had done, made sense to her now. He had lived Christ so that she could understand.

  Oh, Lord, why was I so blind. Why couldn’t I hear? Why did it take so much pain for me to see that you have been there reaching out to me all along?

  Each Sunday following the sermon, the pastor gave an invitation to anyone wanting to receive Christ as their Savior and Lord. Each time he gave the opportunity to come forward, Angel felt her nerves tighten.

  The still, quiet voice beckoned tenderly.

  Come to me, beloved. Stand and come to me.

  Warmth swept over her. This was the love she’d been waiting for all her life. Yet she could not move. Oh, Michael, if only you were with me today. If only you were here to walk forward with me, maybe then I’d have the courage.

  Each Sunday, she closed her eyes, trying to gather her nerve to answer the call—and each Sunday she failed to do it. She sat trembling, knowing she was unworthy, knowing that after all she had said against God, she had no right to be his child.

  On the fourth Sunday, Susanna leaned close and whispered, “You want to go forward, don’t you? You’ve wanted to for weeks.”

  Eyes stinging, throat closed tight, Angel nodded once and hung her head, her lips pressed together. She was afraid, so afraid she was shaking. What right had she to present herself to God and receive mercy? What right?

  “I’ll walk with you,” Susanna said and took her hand firmly.

  It was the longest walk of Angel’s life as she went down the aisle and faced the pastor waiting at the end of it. He was smiling, his eyes shining. She thought of Michael and felt a rush of anguish. Oh, Michael, I wish you were here with me now. I wish you were here to see this. Will you ever know you struck the match and brought light into my darkness? Her heart filled with gratitude. Oh, God, he loves you so.

  She didn’t cry. She had years of practice containing her emotions, and she wouldn’t give in to them now before all these people, not even with Susanna Axle at her side. She could feel the eyes of everyone in the church upon her, watching her every move, listening for any catch in her voice. She mustn’t make a fool of herself.

  “Do you believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the Living God?” the pastor asked her.

  “I believe,” she said with grave dignity and closed her eyes briefly. Oh, God, forgive my unbelief. Make my faith larger than a mustard seed, Jesus. Let it grow. Please.

  “And do you give your life to Jesus now before these witnesses? If so, would you signify by saying I do?”

  Words meant for a wedding ceremony. A sad smile touched her lips. With Michael she had said “Why not” rather than “I do;” she had come to the end of her endurance and felt she had no choice. She felt that now. She had come to the end of her struggles, the end of her fight to survive on her own. She needed God. She wanted him. He had brought her out of her old life when she had no faith. And now that she knew he really was there, he was holding out his hand to her and making a proposal.

  Oh, Michael, this is what you wanted for me, isn’t it? This is what you meant when you said someday I’d have to make a
choice.

  “Angel?” the pastor said, perplexed. No one breathed or moved.

  “I do,” she responded, smiling radiantly. “I most assuredly do.”

  He laughed. Turning her toward the congregation, he said, “This is Angel. A new sister in Christ. Welcome her.”

  And they did.

  But things couldn’t stay the same. She felt that in her very soul. She wasn’t meant to stay in this safe bubble, protected by the Axles. Sooner or later she was going to have to leave them and find out if she could stand on her own.

  First she had to figure out what she was going to do with her life.

  The purchases put away in the kitchen, Angel went upstairs to her room. She took off her dark cape and hung it by the door. Priscilla had given her the bedroom Cherry and Faith had shared. It was spacious, comfortably furnished, and had a fireplace in the corner. Someone had lit the fire. Angel pushed the lace curtains aside and looked out the window.

  The fog was rolling in, sending puffs of mist past the glass. She could see the wharf and a forest of ships deserted in the harbor. One by one, they were being stripped and sunk for landfill.

  She remembered another day when she had stood in the upstairs window, watching Michael below as he drove out of Pair-a-Dice. She remembered hearing his voice out of the agony she had brought on herself with Magowan. She remembered Michael laughing and chasing her down in the cornfield. She remembered his compassion, his righteous rage, his tender understanding, his strength. She remembered his all-consuming love. And she knew what he would have her do to find the answers she needed. Pray. She could almost see his face as he said it. Pray.

  Closing her eyes, she sighed wearily. “I know I’ve no right to ask anything of you, Lord, but Michael said I should. So I’m doing it. Jesus, if you’re listening, would you please tell me where to go from here? I don’t know what to do. I can’t stay here forever and live off these nice people. It’s not right. I have to pay my own way in this world. What do you want me to do with the rest of my life, Jesus? I’ve got to do something or go mad. I’m asking. Jesus, I’m begging. What do you want me to do? Amen.”

  She sat for more than an hour, waiting.

  No light from heaven came. No voice. Nothing.

  A few days later, Susanna came to her room after dinner.

  “You’ve been very quiet all week, Angel. What’s bothering you? Are you worrying about your future?”

  Angel wasn’t surprised that Susanna knew what was wrong. She seemed to anticipate people’s thoughts and feelings. “I have to do something,” she said honestly. “I can’t stay here and live off your family for the rest of my life.”

  “You won’t.”

  “It’s been six months, Susanna, and I’m no closer to knowing what I should do than I was the night I came here.”

  “Have you prayed about it?”

  Angel blushed vividly.

  Susanna’s eyes shone, and she laughed. “Well, you needn’t look as though you’ve been caught in an indiscretion.”

  “Don’t look so pleased,” Angel said dryly. “God didn’t answer.”

  Susanna shrugged. “Not yet, maybe. God always answers, in his time, not in yours. You’ll know what you’re supposed to do when the time comes.”

  “I wish I could have your faith.”

  “You could ask for it.” Susanna grinned.

  Angel felt a stab of pain. “You remind me of Miriam.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Susanna’s expression softened. “Faith in God hasn’t come easily to me, either, whatever you may believe.” She got up. “Come on. I want to show you something.” She held out her hand.

  They went into Susanna’s bedroom where they had talked many times before. Susanna let go of Angel’s hand and got down on the floor and ducked beneath the bedspread. She took out a box and put it on the bed. “I have to get down on my knees to get it,” she said, dusting off her hands as she got up. “I should dust under there one of these days.” She tucked a loose curl of dark hair back into her bun and sat. “Sit down,” she said, patting the bed. Angel did as she was asked, looking curiously at the container between them.

  Susanna put the container on her lap. “This is my God box,” she said. “When problems prey on my mind, I write them down, fold them up, and put them through the slot. Once they’re inside this box, they’re God’s problem and not mine.”

  Angel laughed. Susanna sat solemnly looking at her, and Angel’s mirth died. “You are joking, aren’t you?”

  “No. I’m quite serious.” She rested her hands on the box. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but it works. I’m a fixer, Angel. A worrier. I’ve never been able to just let things go. I want to play God, if you will.” She smiled in self-mockery. “Every time I do, things go awry.” She patted the box. “So I have this.”

  “A simple brown hatbox,” Angel said dryly.

  “Yes, a plain, ordinary hatbox, but it reminds me to put faith in God and not in myself. The bonus comes when I see my prayers answered.” Her mouth twitched. “I can see you think I’m out of my mind. Shall I show you?” She took the top off. Inside were dozens of small papers, neatly folded. She sifted through them and took one at random, opening it.

  “‘Cherry needs a home,’” she read. The note was dated. “I like to know how long it takes God to answer.” She laughed at herself. “Since this prayer’s been answered, I won’t put the note back in the box.” She folded it and put it on the bedspread beside her and took out another note.

  “‘God, give me patience with Papa. If he brings another prospective husband to the house, I may join a convent. And you know I would make a very bad nun.’” Angel laughed with her. “I’d better leave that one in the box.” She took out another. She was silent for a moment before she read, “‘Please make Faith’s nightmares go away. Protect her from the evil one.’” She folded it and put it back in the box. “Do you see what I mean?”

  “I think so,” Angel said. “What if God says no?”

  The possibility didn’t distress her. “Then he’s got something else in mind, something better than what you would think up for yourself.” She frowned and looked down at the full box. “Angel, it’s not always easy to accept.” She closed her eyes and let her breath out slowly. “I had everything planned out for myself at one time. As soon as I met Steven I knew exactly what I wanted and what I was going to do. He was handsome and vibrant. He was studying to be a minister, and he was full of such fire and zeal.” She smiled. “We were going to go west and spread the gospel to the Indians.” She shook her head, her eyes filling with pain.

  “Did he leave you?”

  “In a manner of speaking. He was killed. It was so senseless. He used to go down to the worst sections of the city and talk to men in the saloons. He said they needed God more than others more fortunate did. He wasn’t going to be a rich man’s pastor. Apparently one night a man was being badly beaten in an alley, and Steven tried to stop it. He was stabbed to death.” Her face jerked, and she bit her lip.

  “I’m sorry, Susanna,” Angel said, feeling her friend’s grief as though it were her own.

  Susanna clenched her hand, tears filled her eyes and slowly trickled down her pale cheeks. “I blamed God. I was so angry. Why Steven? Why someone so good, someone with so much to offer? I was even angry at Steven. Why had he been fool enough to go down to those horrible places? Why bother with those people? They’d made their choices, hadn’t they?” She sighed. “It was all such a muddle, my emotions at war. It was no comfort to me at all to know that Steven was with the Lord. I wanted him with me.” She was quiet for a long moment. “I still do.”

  Angel took her hand and squeezed it. She knew how it felt to long for someone with your whole being and know he would forever be out of reach.

  Susanna looked at her. “You said you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do from here. Well, we’re both in the same boat.” She smiled again. “But it’ll come, Angel. I know it will come.”


  The top of the box slipped off the bed, and she let go of Angel’s hand to retrieve it. As she bent over, the box spilled notes all over the floor. Angel went down on her knees with her to help her gather them together and put them back in the hatbox. So many slips of papers, so many prayers.

  Susanna picked up one and glanced at it. She sat back on her heels and smiled, the pallor leaving her cheeks and the light coming back into her eyes. Smiling, she kept it in her hand as Angel put all the others back in the box and fit the top on. Susanna slid the container back beneath the bed.

  “Sometimes he answers quickly.” Still smiling, she held the note out to Angel. “Read this.”

  Angel took it and laboriously made out the neatly scripted words. “‘God, please, PLEASE, I need a friend I can talk to.’”

  It was dated the day before Angel came home with Jonathan.

  Michael loaded his wagon with bags of wheat and headed for Sacramento. There was a mill on the way where he could have the grain ground and properly sacked for market. It had been a good harvest. He would make enough to buy a few head of cattle and a couple of piglets. By next year, he would have bacon and ham for smoking and beef to sell.

  He spent the night beside a stream where he and Angel had stopped. Sitting in the moonlight, looking at the pool, he was filled with thoughts of her. He could almost smell the sweet scent of her skin in the night breeze. His body tingled and grew warm. He remembered her hesitant smile and the startled look whenever he breached her considerable defenses. Sometimes it was just a word or a look that did it unexpectedly, and he had felt elation during those moments, as though he, and not God, had accomplished the impossible. Lowering his head, Michael wept.

  Yes, he had learned he was powerless. He had learned a man can live after a woman breaks his heart. He had learned he could live without her. But, oh, God, I’ll miss her until I die. He would feel this ache inside himself, wondering if she was all right, if she was taking care of herself, if she was safe from harm. Reminding himself that God was watching over her, too, didn’t help. Angel’s own words always came back to haunt him.