Felicia Mason - Gabriel's Discovery

The artist who’d created the piece had put a lot of time and effort into it.

Bible verses in a flowery script ringed the border of the quilt. Gabriel tilted his head to read the one on the left.

“It says, ‘Come unto me all ye that labor and are weary and I will give you rest.’”

He turned. Susan Carter stood there looking like sunshine on a cloudy day. A flowing gold pantsuit flattered her. He extended a hand in greeting.

“Good morning.”

“Prompt.”

“That’s the marine in me.”

Susan cocked her head. “I didn’t know you were a marine.”

He nodded. “Two tours.”

Susan filed that information away. It might come in handy somewhere down the road.

Gabriel faced the quilt. “This is phenomenal.”

“Thank you. We like it a lot. I thought we’d begin by giving you an overview of what it is we do here. I’ll show you around the business office here, then we’ll go next door to the shelter. Can I get you a cup of coffee to start?”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’d like that.”

Susan directed a comment to the receptionist. “We’ll be in my office, then walking through. I have my phone if anything comes up.”

Susan turned a smile on Gabriel. “Ready?”

He nodded. With another look at the quilt, Gabriel turned to follow her.

Just then, a woman burst through the front doors.

“Help me! Help me!” she screamed. “He’s got a gun!”

Susan reached for the woman’s hand to drag her to safety, but Gabriel was already there, shielding both Susan and the hysterical woman.

Blocking the door, he stood sentinel.

“Let me deal with this. It’s what we do here,” Susan said, trying to push him out of the way.

Gabriel, however, was an immovable force. “You don’t deflect bullets.”

“Neither do you.”

Without looking over her shoulder to confirm it, Susan knew that Christine had activated the alarm notifying security.

“He took my pipe,” the woman said. Her dirty blond hair caked with grease and dirt looked as if it hadn’t been washed in months.

A man approached. He eyed Gabriel and tried to peer over his shoulder. He didn’t look enraged and he didn’t have a visible firearm, but he held a baseball bat in his hand and bounced it off his thigh.

“May I help you?”

“My woman. She came this way.”

“I’m not your woman,” the woman called from within.

“She took some things that belong to me.”

Gabriel eyed the bat in his hand. “What are you going to do with that?”

The man looked down, then grinned at Gabriel. “Me and the boys were just gonna go play some ball.”

“Then I’m sure you don’t want to keep them waiting,” Gabriel said. “I used to hit a few in my day. Where do you play?”

A security guard in a brown uniform came up behind the man. Gabriel saw him, but not a muscle or eyelash revealed it. Instead, he continued to look directly at the man in front of him. The man looked him up and down suspiciously and again tried to peer over Gabriel’s shoulder.

“You a cop?”

“No,” Gabriel said.

The man flexed and took a step forward. Gabriel did likewise, and the aggressor paused, taking full stock of Gabriel. Though he wasn’t muscle-bound like a bodybuilder, it was clear that Gabriel didn’t miss any workouts.

“Is it worth it?” Gabriel asked.

“Worth what?” the man said, his voice gruff and irritated.

“Whatever your dispute is with her, is it worth going to jail over?”

“Jail?” His eyes narrowed. “Thought you said you wasn’t a cop.”

“I’m not. I’m Reverend Gabriel Dawson, pastor at Good Shepherd Christian Church.”

The man smirked. “What’s a preacher gonna do, take me out with a Bible?” But the smirk faded when Gabriel took another step forward. The man took in the size and strength of the preacher.

Gabriel shrugged. “It’s not about taking somebody out. It’s about doing the right thing.”

“But she took…”

Gabriel nodded over his shoulder. “You can leave, or we can escort you downtown.”

For the first time, the man looked over his shoulder. The security guard stood there. And a Colorado Springs Police squad car was headed down the street.

The man swore. “Tell her I want my stuff.”

Gabriel nodded.

With another look at Gabriel and the guard, the man loped off, disappearing between houses a few doors down.

The police car continued on down Galilee Avenue. For a moment, Gabriel looked surprised, then he chuckled and sent up a silent “Thank you.” The cruiser was just on routine patrol.

“Hey there,” the guard said, sheathing his own billy club as he approached. “You really a preacher or you here about the job? We could use a man like you on board. That was smooth.” He stuck out his hand. “Solomon’s the name. Edgar Solomon.”

“Nice to meet you,” Gabriel said. “And, yes, I’m really a pastor.”

“Too bad,” Solomon said. Then he flushed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Gabriel laughed. “I know.”

The two headed for the door.

“All clear, Christine,” Solomon told the receptionist. “I’ll tell Ace to keep watch on the back perimeter just in case. And I’ll leave a note for Lambert and the night shift.”

“Thanks, Solomon. Reverend Dawson, Ms. Carter is waiting for you in her office. Right this way, please.”

Gabriel shook the guard’s hand and then followed Christine.

“I’m sorry you had to get in the middle of that,” she said a little later as she poured him a cup of coffee. She refilled her own mug and placed the carafe back on the burner.

“Does that happen all the time?”

She shrugged. “It’s not unheard of. We’ve seen Janie before, though. She and her man get into it and she runs down here.”

“Can’t you help her?”

Susan sighed, shaking her head. “It’s the drugs. She’s a crack addict. I’ve talked to her several times. She’s even spent a few nights at our emergency shelter.”

Gabriel looked confused. “I thought this was the shelter.”

Susan motioned for him to sit. “The shelter next door is primarily a long-term transitional facility. Women and children stay there up to nine months, until they can get their lives back in balance. We have emergency houses, but we keep those locations secret.

“People know we’re here,” she said. “Word has gotten out that you have to be drug-free to stay here. For some, that’s a really big problem. Janie refuses to go to a rehab center. We can’t treat addictions at Galilee.”

“So what will happen to her now?”

Susan sighed again. “She’ll go home. They’ll get high and they’ll forget for a while why they were angry at each other.”

Settling in his seat, Gabriel balanced the coffee mug on the chair arm.

“What happens to the women who stay next door? After they leave?” he clarified.

Susan smiled. “That’s what I wanted to see you about, Reverend Dawson.”

He took a sip of the coffee, held the mug up in silent salute and smiled. “I thought you were going to call me Gabriel.”

Flustered at both the smile that sent her insides tumbling and at the way her normally open office suddenly seemed crowded, filled with nothing but Gabriel’s presence, Susan smiled back over the edge of her cup.

“That’s right,” she said. “Gabriel.”

Gabriel couldn’t truthfully say what he’d expected to see at the Galilee Women’s Shelter. He’d had some vague notion of the place being sterile, unwelcoming, much like an unemployment or public assistance office. What he saw surprised him.

Plenty of lush green plants and framed children’s artwork decorated the walls and halls. Susan explained that the shelter’s business and intake divisions, as well as staff offices, were here. Next door consisted of the living areas and lounge and kitchen spaces of the transitional housing for women and children.