Dorothy Clark - Hosea's Bride

“Look at Psalm ninety one, verse three. ‘For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler.’ Verse five; ‘You will not fear the terror of the night, or the destruction that wastes at noonday.”’

Gelina snapped her gaze to the tall, blond young man standing in the pulpit. His head lifted. He looked out over the congregation.

“And just look at the promises God makes in verses fourteen, fifteen and sixteen.” He began to quote by heart. “‘Those who love me, I will deliver; I will protect those who know my name.”’ His gaze slid over Gelina—came back and held her own gaze captive. “‘When they call to me, I will answer them; I will be with them in trouble.”’

Gelina stiffened. Her long, scarlet nails poked holes through the bulletin and dug into the gold purse. Was he talking to her? No. That was foolishness.

“‘I will rescue them and honor them. With long life I will satisfy them, and show them my salvation.”’

Nonetheless, Gelina sagged with relief when the pastor’s gaze shifted, swept over the people.

“Who are these promises for? They’re for those who love God, who know His name. They are for His children. For those who walk in close, personal relationship with Him.”

The pastor placed both hands on the pulpit and leaned forward. “Are you a child of God? Do you have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ?” His gaze swept over the congregation again. “If not—all you have to do is ask. God’s salvation is available to all. He loves us.” His gaze slid back to Gelina. “He loves you.”

The softly spoken words shot like an arrow straight to her heart. Tears welled into her eyes and spilled over. She couldn’t stop them, couldn’t pull her gaze from the young pastor’s face as he stepped out from behind the pulpit and descended the few steps to the center aisle.

“If you don’t know how to ask, come forward and I’ll pray with you. Just come forward—we’ll ask Him together.”

Gelina couldn’t breathe. She reached down and gripped the hard seat of the wooden pew fighting an inner urge so strong she shook with the force of it. She bit down hard on her lower lip to stop the sobs clawing their way into her throat, and looked down at her lap, horribly ashamed of what she was—of how she looked.

She drew a shuddering breath and tugged at the black leather miniskirt she wore trying to cover her slender thighs. She couldn’t go forward. God wouldn’t want her. She was too dirty, too shamed, too—

“He loves you! Just as you are…Jesus loves you.”

The words rang through the room.

Gelina jerked her head up and met the pastor’s steady gaze.

“Just as you are.”

The quiet words were accompanied by a feeling of warmth, of well-being that Gelina had never known. Wave after wave of it washed over her. God loved her. He knew what she was, and He still loved her! Somehow, someway, deep down inside, she knew it was true. She could feel it. She could feel God’s love for her.

Suddenly, everything inside her went still. Gelina drew a long, deep breath and closed her eyes as the despair and terror that had filled her were swept away by a peace she could not understand.

Awed by the sudden certainty of a Heavenly Father that loved her, that cared about her, she gripped the back of the pew in front of her and rose to her feet. The open church bulletin fluttered down, covering the gold shoulder bag that slid off her lap and fell, unheeded, to the floor. She drew another steadying breath, stepped into the aisle and walked forward.

The gold-and-diamond rings on Tony’s hands glittered as he shoved the swinging doors open, stepped into the sanctuary and swept a searching gaze over the pews full of people. There was no leather-garbed blonde in sight. Cursing under his breath, he moved toward the empty spot in the pew on the right to get a better view.

If Gelina had gotten away because of that talkative old fool in the vestibule… His foot brushed against something on the floor as he stepped into the pew. He glanced down—there was a church bulletin covering some woman’s purse.

Stupid woman! Tony drew his lips back in a sneer, sat down and reached for the purse. He froze as the old man that had followed him into the sanctuary stepped to the end of the pew and shook his head.

Tony threw the man an ugly look, then rose to his feet and again scanned the assemblage. There was no sign of Gelina. She wasn’t there—unless she was the one that circle of people up front were praying over.

He snickered at the thought, gave the purse a vicious, satisfying kick, then shoved past the old man and left the sanctuary.

Angela pulled the new, cream-colored turtleneck shirt over her head and glanced around the lovely bedroom. Two nights she had slept here. Two nights she had been safe from the terror that had threatened her every night since her mother and stepfather had forced her into prostitution to pay for their drug habits.

She broke off the thought, snipped the tag from her new, brown wool pants and pulled them on. That life was behind her now—if she could escape the city. Her stomach knotted. She had stayed hidden in this house yesterday, but she didn’t fool herself that Tony had given up the search. He couldn’t afford to let her get away.

Angela shivered, and sat down to lace on her new shoes. If only they would deliver her car, she could be gone before Tony woke up and hit the streets looking for her. She glanced toward the small alarm clock on the nightstand and her gaze skimmed across the Bible resting there. A frown creased her forehead. Should she ask God to help her escape? Would God do that?

Angela bit down on her lower lip, shot a quick look at the closed door, then shut her eyes. “God, if that pastor was right, and this is the sort of thing You do—would You please help me to escape Tony? I need to get out of town so I can start a new life. Thank You.”

Heat climbed into Angela’s cheeks. She must be crazy, asking God for help. She never asked anyone for help. It had been just her against the world for as long as she could remember.

She shrugged off the odd feeling, tucked in the turtleneck, fastened the belt of the slacks and reached for the matching plaid blazer. Her movement, reflected in the full-length mirror hanging on the open closet door, caught her attention. For a long moment she stared at the young, slender woman looking back at her.

Born again.

The phrase the young pastor had used popped into her mind. Angela smiled, then leaned forward and stared hard at her reflection. Her smile was different. There was less brittleness, less of an edge. And her eyes looked softer…warmer.

She stepped closer and lifted her hand to touch the young woman in the mirror. The reflected fingertips met hers and a sense of wonder filled her. It was really her. A new her.

“Hello, Angela.” The brown, heavily fringed eyes staring back at her from the mirror widened in surprise. Even her voice sounded different. It sounded…gentle. How had these things happened? She started at a soft rapping on the door.

“Miss Warren?”

“Just a moment.”

Angela slipped on the blazer, took one last awed look at her reflection and turned toward the door. Her gaze fell on the tube of bright-red lipstick sitting on top of the dresser among the crimson blush and other items of makeup. With one quick swipe of her hands she picked it all up and tossed it into the wastebasket. It landed on top of the gold purse, black-leather miniskirt, net stockings and other garish items of clothing covered with cutoff tresses of long, brassy-blond hair.

Angela brushed her hands together in satisfaction, turned her back on the wastebasket that held all that remained of Gelina, and opened the bedroom door.