The Trouble with Angels (Angels Everywhere #2)(15)

Paul’s sense of guilt increased tenfold. He shouldn’t have stayed away so long. He moved into the living room and was surprised by how frail Madge looked. He shouldn’t have been. He knew what cancer did and hated the disease with everything in him.

Madge leaned back on the recliner, swaddled in blankets. Her once bright eyes were dulled with medication and pain. How thin she’d become, he noted, and her skin was unnaturally pale and sickly. The house smelled of disease and struggle.

It had been two weeks or more since his last visit. Paul was angry with himself for his selfishness. These people were part of the flock he’d been assigned to minister.

"Pastor Paul,” Madge whispered. Her weathered face brightened with a smile when she saw him. "How good of you to stop by.”

"I apologize for not coming sooner. Time just seems to slip through my fingers.”

"You’re so busy.”

"I’m never too busy for you.”

Madge managed another weak smile.

"I’ll get some tea,” Bernard said. "Madge enjoys a cup of tea now and again.” Her husband said this as though he held on desperately to this one small part of their lives that they continued to share.

"Sit down, please,” Madge invited.

Paul claimed the chair next to her. He knew she was in pain, knew she struggled not to let others realize how very bad it was. He knew all this because of his own wife.

How he missed Barbara in that moment. It had been hell on earth to watch the ravages of cancer strip away first her health, then her looks. The end was the cruelest aspect of the disease. It had stolen Barbara’s dignity.

"It’s such a beautiful day,” Madge said, gazing longingly out the window. "Bernard brought me a poinsettia. I’d forgotten how pretty and red they can be. I do so love flowers.”

Bernard returned just then, awkwardly carrying a tray with mugs and a teapot.

"You should have used the china cups,” Madge said.

"I prefer a mug,” Paul said quickly, not wanting them to worry about serving him on their finest dishes.

"I’m not much good at this,” Bernard apologized as he set the tray on the coffee table. "Madge was always the one who could do such a pretty tray with those fancy linen napkins and the like. I tried, sweetheart.”

"You did just fine.”

Paul intercepted a look the long-married couple shared. One that was laced with a love so strong, it had bridged nearly fifty years.

"I brought along something I thought might help,” Paul said, handing the worn book to Madge. "It was Barbara’s, and she read it often. I’d like you to have it, and pray you find the same solace Barbara did in the psalms.”

Madge lovingly ran her gnarled hand over the top of the leather-bound book. "Psalms and Proverbs.”

"The words were a comfort to her, especially on the nights she couldn’t sleep.”

"What a beautiful thing, to bring us your own saintly wife’s book,” Bernard said. He reached inside his back pocket, brought out a wrinkled white handkerchief, and blew his large nose. Paul thought that the older man’s eyes shone with unshed tears.

"I’ll treasure this little book and be sure it’s returned to you when the time comes.”

Paul drank from his mug. He had nothing to offer these godly people, but Barbara had reached out from the grave and lent him a hand when he needed it.

"Now tell us about Joe,” Madge said after taking one small sip of her tea. The mug wobbled as if it were too heavy for her to lift. Bernard gently removed it from her hand and set it aside.

"I came to ask about you,” Paul said, barely able to watch the tender way in which these two cared for each other.

"Joe will be home from college soon now, won’t he?”

"Soon.” Paul was eager for his son’s arrival. Joe’s homecoming was the one bright spot in Paul’s holiday. The two would be together, and it would almost be as it had been in years past when Barbara was alive.

His son was a subject he found easy to discuss. He told the Bartellis about Joe’s classes. As he finished speaking, he realized Madge had fallen asleep, and he dropped his voice.

"Bless you, Reverend,” Bernard said, his face revealing his gratitude. "I swear this is the first time Madge’s slept in nearly two days.”

"How are you holding up?” Paul asked the older man.

Bernard’s gaze skittered away from Paul, and he seemed uncomfortable with the question. "I’m not the one suffering.”

"But in many ways Madge’s cancer is as demanding on you.”

"I don’t mind taking care of her,” he said, and his voice was stiff with pride. "I do a better job than those people in the hospital. At least when I touch her, I do it with love. To those doctors and nurses Madge is just another old woman. To me she’s the woman I fell in love with and married all those years ago.”

"What about your children? Are they coming home for Christmas?”

Bernard set his mug back on the tray, being careful not to make the least bit of sound for fear of disturbing his wife’s precious rest. "No. They’re spread out all over the country, and we don’t want them risking the drive or taking on the expense of a plane trip.” He lowered his head and focused on his folded hands. "The doctors told me they weren’t sure how much longer Madge would last. Maybe six months more, but it could be over as soon as three. The children will want to be here then.”