Redeeming-Love-By-Francine-Rivers

R E D E E M I N G L O V E
boxes in from the storeroom and stock the shelves behind the counters.
Angel worked hard, stopping for the noon meal and then returning to her
labor until Joseph closed and locked the door after dusk.
Rebekkah handed her an envelope over dinner. “Your wages,” she said
simply, and Angel blinked, feeling her throat close up. She looked at Joseph
and Meribah, then back at Rebekkah. Rebekkah nodded at her son. “She’s a
good worker.” Angel hung her head, unable to speak. Rebekkah set a dish of
potatoes beside her. “Eat. You need some meat on your bones.”
Later that night, Angel sat on her cot, a lantern burning, and counted her
earnings. She had made more in a half hour at the Palace, but she had never
felt so clean and proud.
The next day Rebekkah asked her to measure out beans into five-pound
sacks, then tie and stack them. When she finished, Angel straightened the
bolts of fabric and stood them up rather than stack them. Meribah came
over and said the display looked very nice and it would be much easier to
handle the bolts that way. “Joseph just got a shipment of tubs. Would you
help me bring them in? We can stack them in the back corner.”
Each day Rebekkah gave her duties to perform, and each evening when
the door was locked and the CLOSED sign put out, Rebekkah paid her.
“Look what just arrived,” Joseph said, patting a crate.
Angel set her broom aside and tucked several strands of hair beneath the
scarf covering her head. “What is it?”
“Michael’s stove.”
Her heart leaped into her throat at the mention of his name. “I’d better
finish sweeping,” she said. Joseph watched her for a long moment and then
went back to his own work.
Angel was distracted at dinner. As soon as the dishes were cleared and
washed, she excused herself. Meribah came downstairs a short time later.
“Joseph and Rebekkah are going over the accounts,” she said. She hesitated.
“You hardly ate anything at dinner. Are you feeling well?”
“I’m fine.” Angel couldn’t stop thinking about Michael. As long as she
was moving and working, she could hold the longing at bay. She looked at
the big crate against the wall. Word would have to be sent, and then Michael
would come and get his stove.
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