Redeeming-Love-By-Francine-Rivers

F R A N C I N E R I V E R S
smiled, the pallor leaving her cheeks and the light coming back into her
eyes. Smiling, she kept it in her hand as Angel put all the others back in the
box and fit the top on. Susanna slid the container back beneath the bed.
“Sometimes he answers quickly.” Still smiling, she held the note out to
Angel. “Read this.”
Angel took it and laboriously made out the neatly scripted words. “‘God,
please, PLEASE, I need a friend I can talk to.’”
It was dated the day before Angel came home with Jonathan.
Michael loaded his wagon with bags of wheat and headed for Sacramento.
There was a mill on the way where he could have the grain ground and
properly sacked for market. It had been a good harvest. He would make
enough to buy a few head of cattle and a couple of piglets. By next year, he
would have bacon and ham for smoking and beef to sell.
He spent the night beside a stream where he and Angel had stopped.
Sitting in the moonlight, looking at the pool, he was filled with thoughts of
her. He could almost smell the sweet scent of her skin in the night breeze.
His body tingled and grew warm. He remembered her hesitant smile and
the startled look whenever he breached her considerable defenses.
Sometimes it was just a word or a look that did it unexpectedly, and he had
felt elation during those moments, as though he, and not God, had accomplished
the impossible. Lowering his head, Michael wept.
Yes, he had learned he was powerless. He had learned a man can live
after a woman breaks his heart. He had learned he could live without her.
But, oh, God, I’ll miss her until I die. He would feel this ache inside himself,
wondering if she was all right, if she was taking care of herself, if she was
safe from harm. Reminding himself that God was watching over her, too,
didn’t help. Angel’s own words always came back to haunt him.
“Oh, I know God. Do something wrong, and he’ll squash you like a bug.”
Did she still believe that? Had his own faith and conviction been so weak
that she couldn’t see it? Had the cruelty she had suffered and her own powerlessness
against it taught her nothing? Did she still think she had control of
her life?
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