Divine (20 page)

It was her grandma who had given her a place to live and encouraged her to go to college. Late into the night, Grandma Peggy would quiz her on upcoming tests and question her about the education process. At her graduation ceremony for her bachelor's degree and again when she'd earned her doctorate in family counseling, her grandma had been there, beaming from the audience, waving and taking pictures, and cheering her on.

Now, with Grandma's steps and abilities slower, she still was a rock of support and encouragement, sharing Scripture like the verse in Joel. She was the quiet support for all of Mary's public accomplishments as well as and her private ones.

Her grandma seemed to know what she was thinking. She pulled the Bible close to her chest and hugged it. "God is faithful in all things, dear." She took Mary's hand again. "He will be faithful with Emma."

"I know."

A curious look filled her grandma's features. "You know what the problem is with the world today?"

Mary smiled. She loved it when her grandma was like this, when she was able to sum up all the godly wisdom of a lifetime and put it into a sentence or two. "What's the problem, Grandma?"

"People want to make Jesus into some Gandhi or Rambo figure. A good teacher or a strong leader." She shook her head, and her eyes shone as they hadn't in years. "You know why Jesus had the power to rescue you, Mary Madison?"

Mary grinned. She knew, but she waited for her grandma's answer anyway.

"Because—" Grandma Peggy jabbed her bony finger in the air for emphasis—"Jesus is God Almighty. He is
divine."
Her energy dropped off a bit. "The world can only be rescued by a divine power."

"I'll remember that." Mary put her arms around her grandma's thin shoulders and hugged her. For a few tender moments, the two of them prayed for the political leaders on Capitol Hill and for Emma and for the world—that people might recognize the divinity of Christ.

Afterwards, Mary gave her one last kiss. "Be well, Grandma." She took a step back. "I need you."

"You don't need me." She grinned and waved Mary off. "You need Jesus. Only Jesus."

Mary gave her grandma a teasing look. It was certainly true. She had remained single because of that truth, devoting her life entirely to the work of God, allowing herself to bask in a love that was unconditional and constant. Still . . . she lowered her chin. "Jesus is enough. But I need you too. So be well."

Then her grandma's smile faded, and tears filled her eyes. She touched her fingers to her lips and blew Mary a kiss.

Mary did the same, holding her grandma's gaze for another few moments. As she left the room, her eyes caught a familiar sight sitting on top of her grandma's dresser.

The small red-beaded purse.

It was the single item that represented to both her and Grandma Peggy the certainty of God's promise, His providence, and His power. Mary smiled at her grandma once more and turned to leave.

All the way to the car she talked to God, begging Him the same thing she asked of Him every time she left Orchard Gardens.

Please, God, don't take her yet.

***

Mary arrived at her office a few minutes early.

Emma was reaching a breaking point, she could tell. Listening to Mary's story was probably calling to mind the pieces of her own past, and with it two contrasting emotions: great hope and great despair. The last time they were together, Mary had seen the hope. Emma talked of writing a letter to her mother and regretting her choices.

But as Emma realized the depth of her bondage and the enemy of her soul tried to lure her into thinking change was too difficult, despair was bound to come. When it did, Mary wanted to be on her knees.

There was a knock on the door, and Emma slipped inside. She looked distant, as if her mind were crowded with conflicting thoughts. She sat down and smiled. "I started a letter to my mother."

"Good." Mary studied her. "How are you feeling about yourself?"

"Glad I'm here." Emma thought for a minute. "I should've done a lot of things differently."

Mary drew a slow breath.
Here's the battle, God. Give me the words.
"What about Charlie?"

Emma bristled. A shadow fell across her face, and she slid back in her seat. "A part of me thinks that maybe . . . maybe I could've gotten him help." Her chin trembled, and she bit her lip. "I still love him."

Don't react,
Mary told herself. She kept her tone even. "I understand. That's part of the trap, part of the prison of abuse." She leaned over and touched Emma's knee. "Stay with me, okay? Stay with the story. The answers are coming."

"Maybe . . ." Emma's voice cracked. She brought her fingers to her throat and massaged her neck. "Sorry." She struggled for a moment. "Maybe I should have the answers now."

"They won't make sense to you. Not until you hear the whole story. Please, Emma. Trust me."

"Okay." Emma's voice was small.

"Before I start today, I want to pray." Mary closed her eyes. "Lord, You are the greatest power on earth, more powerful than any situation or addiction or abuse." She felt the arms of Jesus around her. "We ask that Your power reign over us today and in the coming days. Please, God, set Emma free as You—
only
You—can do. Amen."

Mary stood and opened the window. An early fog was burning off, and the fresh air would help to make the dark parts of her story that lay ahead bearable. She sat down and folded her hands. "After my arrest and conviction for grand theft auto, I fell even further from the little girl I'd been, the one who still missed her mama and her grandma. The nightmares and lying were still there, and I felt driven to hurt myself. I'd bite my fingernails and tear at them. Sometimes I'd pull one completely off."

Emma winced. She ran her fingers along the scars on her forearm. "I did that once."

"Anything
to transfer the pain." Mary paused. "But the years I spent in juvenile detention added more layers to the hurt. I turned my back on God. I told Him I didn't believe in Him and that He wasn't real anymore. Some of the kids introduced me to cocaine, and I became crazy addicted to it, taking it every day, hiding it in my room and in my shoes. Without faith, well, anything was permissible for me. The affair with my math teacher. The way I acted around the boys ... so they could sneak me drugs. All of it made me feel powerful, like that was the way life was supposed to be lived."

Emma pulled one knee up, held it to her chest, and encouraged Mary to continue with her story.

"By then I had remembered my last name—Madison. And
I tried to focus on my studies. As awful as my life had become, I still wanted to learn. I made a lot of poor choices over the next few years, but I could read and write and work my numbers. When I turned eighteen, they set me up in the state's work program and sent me to a place called the New Life Center."

"On 5th Street in Washington?" Emma looked surprised. "I've eaten there before."

"That's the place. They gave me a job filing papers in the office." Mary was quiet for a minute, thinking back to that time in her life when she'd met the man who changed her life forever. "That's where I met him."

"Who?"

"Nigel." Mary blinked and looked at Emma again. "Nigel Townsend."

Of all the people God used to show her Jesus, Nigel had the greatest impact on her. But she hadn't recognized any of that in the beginning. Because her first feelings for Nigel had nothing to do with Jesus or His power to save her. She wasn't interested in learning from Nigel.

She was in love with him.

Nigel was the first one to greet Mary the day she was dropped off by a social worker at the front door of the New Life Center in Washington, DC. He was a mountain of a man, maybe thirty years old, burly with tanned skin and a smile that lit the darkest corners of her soul. His green eyes glowed with warmth and kindness and love—a sort of love Mary had never imagined before.

He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

"Hello, Mary." He sat at a desk just inside the front door. "We've been expecting you." He gestured to the hall beyond the desk. "Welcome to the New Life Center, the place where you'll find your freedom." He smiled at her. "You're going to love it here."

There was an accent in his voice, a musical sound to his words. Mary guessed that he was European. The way he talked made him sound both smart and kind. But that first day the shine in his eyes was too bright for Mary to look at.

She fidgeted with her bag and dropped her gaze to somewhere near her feet. "Hello." Without really looking up, she mumbled, "Where do I sleep?"

Nigel hesitated, as if he wanted to say something else. Instead he stood and walked past her. "Follow me."

Once she'd put away her things, Nigel led her back to the desk just inside the front door and explained her situation once more. Working at the center was one of the conditions of her release from the detention center. She could consider her penalty paid in full so long as she spent a year working at the center.

"You understand what we do here?" He took the chair opposite Mary's new desk.

Mary kept her eyes down. He took her breath away, but it was too soon to let him see that. "It's a mission. Food for street people, that sort of thing." She should know. "Clothes and canned food a few times a week, right?"

"Yes." Nothing about Nigel was rushed. He leaned forward over his knees and folded his hands. "But we're about more than food for the body, Mary. We have classes too."

"Classes?" Mary couldn't help but look up. No one had told her that the New Life Center had classes. "On math or history, you mean?"

"Not exactly. I teach classes on Christianity, on getting to know Jesus Christ."

His words frustrated her. "Oh—" her voice went flat— "church."

"Not that either." He sat back and laced his fingers behind his head,- his biceps bulged on either side of his face. "People who come to the center haven't been in a church in years. Maybe never. I teach people how to have a relationship with God, how to find the greatest love they'll ever know."

There it was.

The part that hit her square in the gut and stayed with her every day after that. The part about finding the greatest love ever. Nigel was the first man who had ever talked to her about finding that kind of love. From that moment on she could feel herself falling for him a little more all the time. Nigel Townsend—the man who would rescue her from her ugly past and make her future all sunshine and rainbows.

Mary began a routine, waking early, taking her spot at the desk. Most of the people who came and went from New Life Center were nice to her. "Hi, Mary," they'd say. Sometimes they'd smile. But most of them knew the truth about her.

She was the notorious Mary, the girl who'd been chained to a bed in the basement for five years. The girl who had tried to run and stolen a truck and been convicted of grand theft auto. Her life had been played and replayed for the whole world to stare at in horror.

There was no getting around it, no place where people hadn't heard the awful story. And it
was
awful,- she knew that by then. People had one of two reactions when they figured out who she was. Either they would feel sorry for her, or they'd look her up and down and wish they could have a piece of whatever action she might still be providing.

Nigel Townsend wasn't in either group.

Mary figured she'd work a week, then take the first ride she could get to New York City. She didn't really think Grandma Peggy was still waiting for her, but just in case, she would make her way there eventually. New York was home, so one way or another she'd find her way back.

But all that changed as she got to know Nigel. After fourteen days of working long tiresome hours at the center's front office, having very little money in her pocket, and sleeping on a cot in an oversized closet off the kitchen, the only reason Mary hadn't run was because of him.

Already she had Nigel figured out.
He's one of those poor souls who still believes,
she told herself. That had to be it. Nigel was the pastor in charge of the mission, so that meant he had her grandma's faith and the faith of Ted and Evelyn. It showed in his voice and his eyes and in the gentle way he had about him. Faith was everything to Nigel. But she would change that,- she would convince him that he didn't need God nearly as much as he needed her.

She grabbed a folder from a stack on the desk where she worked. It was mindless work—mostly filing papers—and it barely passed the day. But once in a while Nigel would check on her and give her one of his jumbo smiles. For the next hour her heart would sing.

She picked up another folder and filed it in the lower desk drawer. All her life she'd looked for love. Real love. She'd known it once, with her grandma and her mama. But the customers who had visited her in the basement hadn't loved her. Even the nice ones with the sweet words. Love certainly hadn't come her way while she was in juvenile detention.

Even though she no longer believed in God or the idea that He might have a plan for her life, hearing Nigel talk about the greatest love made her want to know everything about him, how he had gotten so tender and how come—at more then ten years older than her—he still believed in love the way she hadn't believed in it since she was a child.