Touched by Angels (Angels Everywhere #3)(75)

He’d no sooner knocked than the door flew open and there was Jenny, standing on the other side. When she saw him, her face lit up with a smile as bright as a July sun. As long as he lived, he’d never grow weary of seeing Jenny smile.

“Mornin’,” he greeted her, touching the edge of his hat in a genteel salute.

“Oh, Trey, you’ll never guess what.”

Before he could prepare himself, she leapt into his arms. Whatever it was that brought Jenny this close must be good, he thought.

“Irene phoned this morning!”

“Irene’s your agent, right?”

“Right.” Then, not giving him an opportunity to ask anything more, she blurted out, “John Peterman phoned and asked if she had an audio of me.”

Trey didn’t know who this John Peterman was, but he was fairly certain he wasn’t going to like the other man.

As soon as she could, Hannah left the deli to find Joshua. If she explained how she’d been pressured into setting a wedding date, surely he’d understand. Surely he’d be sympathetic and willing to listen to reason.

The angry, pained look in his eyes haunted her, especially knowing that she was responsible for putting it there. Joshua didn’t deserve to be treated as if she were ashamed of loving him. Yet she could find no fair way out of this dilemma.

Her first stop was at Joshua’s office. When he wasn’t there, she didn’t know what to do. Depressed and miserable, she started walking, barely aware of her destination. She was unconscious of the street sounds, the people who moved crisply past her; all she could think to do was walk.

She appreciated Joshua’s feelings. If the situation were reversed, she’d feel the same way. Joshua was an honorable man, and it went against his grain to be involved with a woman engaged to another man. Nor was he comfortable meeting her without her parents’ knowledge.

Hannah didn’t like that aspect of their relationship, either, but for now it couldn’t be helped. She didn’t want to break the engagement with Carl until this matter with the school had been cleared up.

Suddenly aware of her surroundings, Hannah realized she was close to her grandmother’s apartment.

Sylvia’s tired eyes brightened when she opened the door. “Hannah, my dear, this is a pleasant surprise!”

Hannah kissed her grandmother’s cheek.

“I just brewed myself a pot of tea. Join me, please.”

“I’d love some tea.” Hannah followed her grandmother into the kitchen, then carried the tray with two dainty china cups into the living room.

Hannah loved this room, with its personal touches. An end table with a small clock that had been in the family for close to a hundred years. Antique photographs. Hand-crocheted doilies. An array of family photos lining the fireplace mantel.

Hannah’s favorite picture was one of her grandfather taken when he was a young man recently emigrated to America. Another favorite was of her father as a youngster, less than ten years of age.

“Sit,” Sylvia instructed after settling herself in the oak rocker she loved. She took a sip of tea, then held the delicate china cup with both hands. “Actually, I wondered when you’d come. I’ve been waiting, you know.”

“Waiting for me?” Hannah turned from the familiar photographs and met her grandmother’s keen eyes.

“I know you far too well not to recognize when something is bothering you.”

Hannah lowered her gaze. She didn’t bother to deny that she was troubled. Nor was she surprised that her grandmother had guessed. She suspected Sylvia had known her true feelings from the moment she’d introduced Carl.

“You look tired, Hannah.”

She was unbelievably so. But the bone weariness that drained her energy had little to do with the long hours she worked at the deli or the number of customers she served. It was a fatigue of the heart, of pretending to love Carl, of giving the impression that she was happy.

“You don’t need to tell me anything you don’t feel comfortable sharing.” Her grandmother’s tone was loving and tender. “Just sit with me a spell and soak in the silence. I don’t know how a person can sort everything out unless they can hear themselves think.”

Sylvia swayed gently in the oak rocker and sipped her tea. A soft creaking noise eked up from the hardwood floor beneath the braided rug.

“It’s about Carl and me,” Hannah said after a long while. She stood and walked over to the fireplace, where a gentle flame flickered over the logs. After running her hand against the top of the mantel, she turned and faced her grandmother.

“I guessed all this involved Carl.”

Hannah smiled to herself, appreciating Sylvia’s insight. She sat on the braided rug next to her grandmother. Sylvia’s hand stroked the top of Hannah’s head.

“I’ve been praying for you for a good many years, Hannah. Long before you were born, I asked God if He would see fit to give my son a child, and He gave us you.”

It was a story Hannah had heard often. Her childless parents had longed desperately for a baby. The doctors had told them it would take a miracle.

Like Hannah in the story of Samuel, a familiar one in the Bible, her mother and family had prayed diligently for a child. Samuel’s mother, like her own, had wept and pleaded with God in the temple with such anguish that Eli, the priest, had assumed she was drunk. When she spoke of her longing for a son, Eli had assured her that God had heard her prayer and that in a year’s time she would have a son.