The Trouble with Angels (Angels Everywhere #2)(80)

"Pastor.” Bernard stood when he noticed Paul standing in the doorway. "Mrs. Johnson said she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to reach you or not.”

"I came as soon as I heard.”

Madge’s eyes fluttered open. "Pastor,” she said in a voice so weak, Paul had to strain to hear. "Good. Good,” she repeated weakly. "I’ve been waiting for you.”

"You want to talk to me?” Paul asked.

She moistened her dry lips. Again her voice was low, and she closed her eyes as though the effort drained her of what little strength she possessed. "Yes.”

"She’s been repeatedly asking for you,” Anna explained softly.

"Alone.”

The request came from Madge.

"Mom wants us to leave her with Pastor Morris,” Anna said to her father. The two left the room.

When they were gone, Madge opened her eyes. They were dull with pain and drugs. "It won’t be long now,” she whispered.

"No,” Paul agreed. "Are you afraid, Madge?” Perhaps that was the reason she wanted to talk to him privately, he thought.

She smiled, and Paul swore it was one of the most beautiful smiles he’d ever seen. "No. I’m thinking about when we adopted Anna,” she said. "How eager we were for our little girl. Bernard and the boys had a room all prepared for her. Waiting to love her.” She paused, and Paul suspected she needed to renew her strength before she continued. "God is waiting to welcome me with the same love we had for Anna.”

"Yes.” Paul had never doubted that Barbara was in heaven or the warm welcome she received.

"I’ll be healed at last,” Madge whispered.

"Healed?” The word tightened around his vocal cords. He’d pleaded with God, begged, implored, bargained. He would have sold his very soul to have seen Barbara healed.

Faith. His faith hadn’t been a tiny mustard seed. When they’d first learned Barbara had cancer, and the odds given her, Paul had been confident, even cocky. His faith was the size of an avocado seed.

Through it all, his wife had remained committed to God’s will. It came to the point that Paul couldn’t bear to hear the words.

God had willed his wife to this terrible disease.

God had willed her to suffer.

God had willed her death.

Dying himself would have been easier to bear.

Now he stood at the bedside of yet another woman of faith. A woman who had loved and served God faithfully. And she too was about to cross the bridge that led from one life to another.

She too talked of healing.

"There will be no cancer in heaven,” Madge whispered.

"Would you like me to read to you from Psalms?” Paul asked. He didn’t know what to say to her.

"Barbara is healed.”

Paul felt as if the softly whispered words reached up and slapped him hard across the face. Jolted, he stepped back involuntarily.

His wife was free of cancer. Free of pain. Free of earth’s restrictions. He was the one who was bound, tied up in doubts, choking on skepticism, gagging on all the trite phrases good people of God had force-fed him.

If one more person told him that all things worked together for good for those who loved God, Paul swore he was going to vomit. If another well-meaning church-attending zealot dared to approach him with trite words, he didn’t know if he’d act responsibly.

Faith and despair.

Despair and faith.

So alike he couldn’t tell them apart any longer. They’d merged in his mind and his heart until he wasn’t able to distinguish one from the other.

"Call them,” Madge whispered. "I waited so you’d know.”

He frowned. Know?

Unwilling to question Madge, he returned to the waiting area and called the Bartelli children and Bernard. The four gathered quietly around Madge’s bedside.

Paul opened the book of Psalms, the very one he’d read at Barbara’s deathbed. As he whispered the words, he realized that for the first time since Barbara’s death, he found solace in the verses.

Faith and despair. For the first time in two long years, he was beginning to understand the difference.

There is no cancer in heaven, Madge had told him.

Barbara was healed.

17

There wasn’t one logical reason that Joy could name for keeping the red dress. Three hundred and fifty dollars was a lot of money to pay for something to hang in her closet.

Even if she dragged it out and admired it once or twice a week, it would take a long time to justify that much money for one silly dress.

Ted hadn’t even seen her wearing it. That was what distressed her the most. It would have been much better if he’d come to see her, to explain what was happening between him and Blythe. She could have put on the red dress just so he’d know what he was leaving behind. That was ridiculous, of course. One didn’t wear a party dress for a big brush-off.

As it happened, Ted had phoned. The coward. It had all been very polite. He’d stiffly announced that he’d asked Blythe to marry him. By then it hadn’t come as any big shock. Joy knew something was up when he’d canceled dinner with her family. His message had come through loud and clear.

It was over. Nice knowing ya, kid. See you around sometime.

Joy was a big girl. She accepted his decision, dealt with the pain and disappointment as best she could. Nevertheless, she was downright sorry about the red dress.