Dorothy Clark - Hosea's Bride

What was wrong with her? Why should she be so agitated by a simple smile? Angela threw off the sheet and clicked the lamp back on. She was being ridiculous. Her sleeplessness had nothing to do with Hosea Stevens—she was probably just hungry.

She jammed her feet into her slippers and headed for the kitchen, but nothing in the cupboards looked appealing. It was indecent of a pastor to be so handsome and charming! But why it should bother her one way or another was beyond her. She wanted no part of any man. She had wanted nothing to do with men ever since her mother and stepfather had—

Angela snatched her mind back from the brink of that dark abyss and went to the sink for some water. She had thought she was free of the past. Now, every time she saw Hosea Stevens it all came rushing back. And if—when—he remembered…

Angela shuddered, set the glass of water on the counter and walked over to the window. Moonlight bathed her small backyard with silver radiance but she was too upset to appreciate the loveliness of the scene. She had never expected to feel an attraction for a man, but tonight, when Hosea Stevens had looked at her…when their gazes had met…

Oh, stop! Angela turned her back on the moonlight outside the window and went over to drink the water. Why was she indulging in such romantic nonsense? That odd feeling was only a momentary aberration. She was terrified to be around the man, for goodness’ sakes. At any moment he might recall that night when she had stumbled into the Crossroads Church to get away from Tony. But still—

Still nothing! Her safety depended on her staying as distant from the man as possible. She slammed the door of her mind closed on all thoughts of Hosea Stevens and headed for the library. There was one sure way to exorcise such foolishness from her mind—work. Lots and lots of work.

The image wouldn’t go away. He simply could not get it out of his mind. Hosea rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and stared down at the list of scripture references he’d prepared for Sunday’s service—all he saw was Angela Warren’s face. The problem was, he wasn’t sure why.

Was it because, as her pastor, he was concerned over what she had called her preoccupation? Or was it something more basic? Tonight, when their gazes had met he’d felt as if he’d been slammed by a pile driver!

Hosea leaned back in his chair, rested his elbows on the padded arms, and slowly rubbed his chin against the tented fingers of his joined hands. He’d never felt such a strong, instantaneous attraction to a woman. Maybe this was the beginning of love. Maybe this was the answer to his prayers for a woman to cherish and share his life with. He’d been praying for a couple of years now. Was Angela Warren God’s answer to those prayers? Could she—an ex-prostitute—be God’s choice for him?

Hosea looked down at the Bible on his desk and pursed his lips in contemplation. There was certainly precedent. God had told the prophet Hosea to marry a promiscuous woman as an example of God’s love and mercy toward wayward Israel.

“Whoa!” Hosea snapped forward in his chair. “You’re letting you’re imagination run away with you, buddy! It’s far too early to be thinking of marriage. And that precedent doesn’t apply. Angela is not a promiscuous woman. Her sin has been forgiven by the Lord, remember? It’s as if it never happened.”

Hosea closed his eyes. It made no difference. Whether his eyes were open or shut, Angela Warren’s face was there in his mind—her lovely, smiling face. He blew his breath out in a long gust and opened his eyes. If this was not of God, he had a problem. And if it was of God, he still had a problem. He curved his lips into a wry smile. At least he knew where to find the answer. He closed his Bible and rested his hands on top of it.

“Father God, You know my heart. You know my hunger and desire for a woman to love and share my life with. And You know, also, that I would rather be lonely all of my days than make the wrong choice. I choose not to trust in my own feelings, or rely on my own understanding. Therefore, Father, once again, I come to Your throne of grace and say, choose Thou for me. Have Your way, Father. Make Your will known to me, in this, as in all things, that I might obey. And, Father, as her pastor, I ask for Your wisdom and guidance in helping Angela Warren. Her distress is obvious. And if it is rooted in her past as I suspect—if that’s the real reason she’s been avoiding me—please help her to know she can trust me. I ask it in the precious name of Your Son, Jesus, my Lord and Savior.”

There. The first, most important, step in the resolution of his dilemma had been taken—he had placed it in the Lord’s hands. Now, all he had to do was stay yielded to God’s will. Not always an easy thing to do. But, God’s grace was sufficient.

Hosea folded the list of scriptures, tucked it into his Bible, and glanced at his watch. One o’clock—so back home it would be eleven. Good! His parents never went to bed before watching the evening news. He grabbed the phone’s handset, punched a memory button and leaned back.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hosea!” He could hear the happy smile in her voice. “You don’t usually call this late.” The smile faded away. “Is there something wrong, honey?”

“No. I just wanted to talk.” He took a deep breath. “Mom? Do you remember that young prostitute I told you about when I first started preaching?”

“The one at the Crossroads church? The one that was born again?”

“That’s the one. She’s here. She’s an active member of my new church.”

“You’re kidding! That’s wonderful, Hosea! I’m so pleased she’s still walking with the Lord.” Her laughter danced out of the receiver into his ear. “But how astonishing that the two of you ended up in the same church halfway across the country! It’s almost as if—”

Hosea smiled. She’d got it. There was nothing slow about his mom when it came to the things of the Lord or her children.

“So that’s why you called.”

“Yes. I’m thinking it’s pretty incredible to be a coincidence. And I’ve never felt this way about anyone. She’s wonderful. But there is a problem. I think she’s still troubled over her past. I need you and Dad to pray about this with me, Mom. I don’t want to make a mistake. I need ‘ears to hear.”’

What a gorgeous September day! Angela opened the sunroof, lowered the windows, and, on a sudden, strong impulse, turned onto Hillman Boulevard. It would take her a few blocks out of her way, but the drive along the river with the tree-covered hills beyond would be worth it. She had earned a little relaxation.

She glanced over at her purse and smiled. Combined with what she had already saved, the sizable pay she had received from the Jones-Thomas Manufacturing Firm for her research report would enable her to take that European vacation she’d been promising herself. And the large bonus check they had given her for finishing before the deadline would take care of new clothes.

Angela’s smile widened. She could get that lovely, burgundy silk pantsuit she had been admiring, and that delicious sage-green dress with the flowing skirt as well. Pleased at the prospect, she braked at the red light, flicked on her directional signal and followed a blue car, overflowing with children, onto Riverside Parkway. The trunk lid of the car was strapped down over piled-up coolers, lawn chairs and a small rubber raft.

Looks like someone’s going on a last picnic before school starts. Angela smiled. What a lovely idea. She glanced toward the river. She hadn’t anyone to picnic with, but a walk along the path would be nice. And she had time… Why not? She laughed, pulled into a parking spot and climbed from the car.

A bird in the branches above her chirped loudly, swooped down out of the tree and flew straight at her head. She let out a startled squeal and ducked, then laughed and turned to watch the bird fly away toward the river. It flew directly over a young woman sitting on a park bench a short distance away. The teenager looked dejected—and familiar. One of the teen group at church?

Angela pulled off her sunglasses for a better view. It was Cathy Anders. She started over the grass toward the girl. “Cathy?”

The teenager glanced over her shoulder. Her hands lifted and wiped across her cheeks.

“Cathy, what’s wrong?” Angela skimmed an anxious gaze over the girl as she drew near. “Are you hurt?”

“N-no.”

Tears shimmered in the girl’s eyes. Angela sat down on the bench beside her and reached for her hand. “Well, there’s something wrong, Cathy. Why don’t you tell me what it is? Maybe I can help.”

The girl shook her head and looked down at her lap. “No one can help.”

All sorts of dire circumstances flashed through Angela’s mind. She took a deep breath and offered a silent prayer for guidance. “I’d like to try, Cathy—if you’ll let me.”

“Oh, Miss Warren!” The teenager broke into sobs and threw herself into Angela’s arms. “My dad found the money I’d saved for college and he took it. My bus ticket, too. He cashed it in and went to Charlie’s. Now I can’t get there for registration and they’re going to give my scholarship to someone else.”

“Charlie’s? You mean the tavern where they have off-track betting?” The girl’s hair brushed against Angela’s cheek as she nodded. “Oh, Cathy, I’m so sorry.” She tightened her arms around the weeping girl. “Surely, there’s something—” Cathy’s forehead rolled back and forth against her shoulder.

“No. I called. They need my share of the money by four o’clock today or I lose the scholarship.” Cathy took a long, shuddering breath and straightened. “It’s no use talking about it, Miss Warren. I don’t have the money now. And I can’t get there before registration. I can’t get there at all without my ticket.” She swiped at her streaming eyes with a balled-up tissue in her hand. “Even if I had the money, if I don’t register they will close me out of my classes.”

Angela took a deep breath to calm a sudden surge of anger. “Let me understand, Cathy. You say your father found your money. Were you hiding it from him?”

Shame washed over the teenager’s face. She nodded and looked away. “I had a savings account where I banked whatever I could save from my pay after I bought food and stuff. But I had to withdraw the money yesterday so I could buy my ticket and be ready to leave early this morning. I hid it in the bag of books I’m…was…taking with me, and he found it.”

Fresh tears flowed down Cathy’s cheeks. “I know that must sound strange and awful to you, Miss Warren, but—” She glanced at Angela, then looked back down at the wadded tissue in her hands. “But I have to do those things. My dad’s a gambler and…and an alcoholic.”

“I see.” The anger in Angela turned to fury at the pain she saw in the girl’s eyes. The anguish of living with an addicted parent wasn’t strange to her at all. She knew, far too well, the pain and humiliation Cathy was suffering.

“It’s not like you think, Miss Warren.” Cathy’s back straightened, her chin lifted. “My dad would never have taken my money if it wasn’t for the alcohol. That’s why I wanted to go to college. I wanted to do medical research.” Tears spilled from her eyes again. “Maybe I could have found a way to help people like my dad.”

Angela’s eyes filled. Her heart ached for Cathy. The denial, and the vehement protection of the parent were all too familiar to her, too. The same insidious emotions had ensnared her until her dreams were dead and her life destroyed. Well, it was too late for her, but it would not happen to Cathy! Not if she could help it. Who needed a vacation in Europe anyway?