Hosea's Bride. Dorothy Clark
experimenting with a new cinnamon syrup to pour on the apple pies they asked me to bake for the welcome dinner. Have a taste. I’ll be right along.” Angela waved her friend off to the kitchen and turned back to her computer.
“There he is.” Leigh’s green eyes widened. “Wow! He is a hunk.”
Laughing at her friend’s enthusiastic, under-her-breath comment, Angela turned to follow the direction of Leigh’s appreciative gaze and found herself looking straight into her past. It was so unexpected she could only stare as her past and present walked toward her in the form of their new, tall, blond pastor.
“Angela? What’s wrong?”
Leigh’s sudden grip on her arm broke the numbing paralysis of the shock. Angela shook her head. “Nothing.” She had to get out of there before he saw her! If she could reach the back door—
“Nothing?” Leigh stared at her friend. “You’re as white as that little lie you just told me.” She pulled a chair forward. “Sit down before you pass out. I’ll go get you some water, unless—” Her eyes narrowed as she studied Angela’s face. “Are you going to be ill? Do you need me to help you to the ladies’ room?”
The ladies’ room! She would be safe there until she could think what to do. Angela shot Leigh a look of gratitude and shook her head. “No, thanks. I can make it on my own. You stay here. I’ll—”
“Ladies, I’d like you to meet our new pastor.”
Too late! Angela’s stomach heaved. Lord, don’t let me be sick. She drew a long, deep breath, rose to her feet and turned around as Walter Foster, one of the elders of the church, continued his introduction.
“Pastor Stevens, this is Leigh Roberts and Angela Warren. They are in charge of special activities. If you need someone to come up with interesting ideas for outings, make unusual and beautiful decorations, or research a missionary project these are the women you call on.”
Hosea Stevens smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He reached for Leigh’s extended hand. “Do I address you as Miss or Mrs. Roberts? Or do you prefer Ms.?”
Leigh laughed. “Ms. is too generic a term for my liking, Pastor Stevens. And I’m not a Mrs. for a few months yet. Actually, it’s Dr. Roberts. But that’s too formal. Call me Leigh—everyone does.”
“Then Leigh it is.” The pastor gave her another smile and turned to take Angela’s offered hand.
“And you, Angela Warren?” His gaze skimmed over her face. “Are you married or modern or—?”
“It’s Miss Warren, Pastor Stevens. I’m not married, or modern.” His strong fingers curled more tightly around her hand.
“You’re shaking, Miss Warren. And your hand is like ice. Are you ill?”
There was genuine concern in his voice. Angela’s eyes filled. It had been six years, but she remembered that concern. She shook her head and looked down at their joined hands. Father God, please—make him let go of my hand. Help me to get out of here! She gave a little tug and Pastor Stevens released her hand.
“You are pale, Angela.” Walter Foster stepped closer and laid a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “Maybe you should take her home, Leigh.”
“No! I—I mean, no…please.” The last thing she wanted was Leigh fussing over her and asking her questions. Angela forced a smile. “There’s no reason for Leigh to miss the meeting. I’m perfectly capable of taking myself home.”
She didn’t dare look at Hosea Stevens. Instead, she grabbed the purse she’d laid on the table and turned toward her friend. “Leigh, can you—?”
“Don’t worry about me, Angela. Barbara Adams can drop me off at your place to pick up my car.” Leigh’s voice took on its professional tone as she studied Angela’s face. “Are you certain you’re able to drive home?”
Angela nodded her head. “I’ll be fine. And I’ll expect a full report on the meeting in the morning.” She opened her purse and searched for her car keys as an excuse not to have to look at the men. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me—” She jumped as Leigh’s hand touched her forehead.
“You don’t have a fever, Angela, but still, I think you must have picked up that summer flu bug that’s going around. Drink lots of liquids, and go straight to bed. And if you need anything, call me. Otherwise, I’ll check on you tomorrow, I won’t wake you when I get the car.”
Angela nodded and turned toward the exit.
“I hope you feel better soon, Miss Warren. We’ll remember you in our prayers.”
Angela paused with her hand on the push bar of the glass door and glanced back over her shoulder. “Thank you, Pastor Stevens.” A shiver ran through her as their gazes touched. Quickly, she pushed the door open, stepped out into the warm summer evening and hurried to her car.
The keys in Angela’s hand jingled as another nervous tremor shook her body. She stared down at them, frowned, then slowly lifted her head and swept a startled gaze around her bedroom. She didn’t remember driving home.
Dropping the keys onto her dresser, she hurried to the dormer windows and yanked the curtains closed. Even here, in the place that had been her home for the last six years, she felt exposed. Was there no place she could be safe from the past?
Angela turned and threw herself onto the bed as the pain in her heart swelled and spread. She had worked so hard to leave her past behind. No one in the town of Harmony knew about her—no one—until now.
Oh, why had Pastor Hosea Stevens come here?
A sob erupted from Angela’s throat into the quiet of the room. She buried her face in her pillow as the tears began to flow.
“Hello?”
“Angela! Finally! If that machine had answered one more time I was going to get in the car and drive over there.”
“Hello, Leigh.”
“Hi. Sorry about that tirade, but this is the third time I’ve called, and I was getting worried. How are you feeling?”
“Terrible.” Angela rolled over onto her back and covered her swollen, burning eyes with her free arm.
“I’m not surprised. I’ve never seen the flu hit anyone so hard or fast. I thought you were going to faint.” There was a significant pause. “Our new pastor seemed quite concerned about you.”
Oh, no! Angela bolted to a sitting position. She could almost hear Leigh’s eyebrows waggling over the phone, and the last thing she needed was for her friend to start playing matchmaker.
“No comment, eh? All right. All right. Your silence is shouting at me. We’ll discuss Pastor Stevens another time. Is there anything you need? Chicken soup or something?” Leigh’s low laughter came floating over the wire. “Not that I can make any. But I can run to the store and buy you some.”
Angela sank back down onto her pillow and covered her eyes. Her head was spinning from her sudden movement. “Thanks, Leigh, but I’m fine for now.”
“Okay. I’ll hang up so you can rest. But if you’re not better by tomorrow I’m paying you a professional visit after church. Even OBs know how to treat the flu. Oops—I’m being paged. Call if you need me. Bye.”
Church? Tomorrow was Sunday! Angela’s stomach churned. She slammed the receiver down and ran for the bathroom. What was she to do about church? What was she to do about her life?
She reached the bathroom just in time.
The teakettle whistled.
Angela read the Bible verses one more time, then went to make her tea as she pondered them. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your