Divine

  In addition, the counselor had noted that Emma was suicidal. "I feel trapped, like I'm in a prison and I can't get out," Emma had told the counselor.

  It was that part that had caught Mary's attention. Trapped in a prison. The words could've been her own once, a lifetime ago. Mary sighed. Dozens of abused women filed through the doors of the DC shelters every day. She couldn't meet with all of them, so for the most part she left counseling to her very able staff.

  But this one . . .

  Mary tucked the file under her arm and nodded at the door down the hallway. "I'll be waiting." She smiled at Leah. "Bring Emma to my office when she's ready."

  Inside the small room, Mary shut the door and studied Emma's file again. Once in a while God brought someone who needed to hear her story. Her entire story. Her story of gut-wrenching heartache and sorrow and finally her story of victory.

  Her love story.

  Without ever meeting her, Mary was convinced that Emma was one of those women.

  She stood and went to the window facing S Street. The sun was passing behind a cloud, and an anxious feeling plagued her. Days like this it all came back, the horrors that had trapped her and threatened to consume her. Fear and deceit, pain and addiction. Faithlessness and promiscuity and a desire to end her own life.

  In Bible times people would have called her possessed of those horrors. Demons, they would've said. People today were reluctant to use that word, but whatever the wording, the effect was the same. Bondage and helplessness, with no way out.

  Until she met Jesus.

  She was no longer a slave to her own seven demons but a willing servant, dedicated and indebted to the Master, determined to make every breath count for His purposes alone. Her devotion was that strong.

  Mary looked up and found a place beyond the passing cloud. What horrors did Emma Johnson face? In what ways did she need to be rescued?

  A long shaky breath left Mary's lips. Her job was easier when she stayed busy, stayed in the present day, making rounds between senate committee hearings and ministry on the streets of DC. But sometimes when the situation warranted it, she allowed herself to go back to the sad, sorry beginning. Telling her story was one way of underlining the truth, one way of making sure that the pain she'd suffered hadn't been without reason.

  She swallowed hard and leaned into the windowsill. What were people thinking these days? Jesus wasn't merely a good teacher, and He certainly wasn't only a man—the way the world saw men. There had been no marriage or family for Jesus Christ. He'd come to set people free. Period. And that's just what He'd done in her life. People didn't understand the power of Jesus—not the real power.

  It was her job to tell them. Her job to tell Emma Johnson.

  Jesus had rescued her, saved her from horrors that otherwise would've killed her. That wasn't something a normal man could've done. Her rescue hadn't come at the hands of a mere mortal—no way. It had come through the working of a mighty God.

  Mary felt her anxiety ease. She would tell Emma every piece of her story so the woman might understand the real Jesus, the one people often didn't know about. Her story alone was proof that Jesus was who He claimed to be. Not just a good teacher or a kind leader, but God in the flesh. Because it would've taken God to redeem someone like Mary. Someone like Emma Johnson. God Almighty, Lord and Savior. Wholly man, yes. But more than that.

  Wholly divine.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

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  Emma Johnson's hand shook as she signed the names

  and ages of her two daughters on the day-care

  form—Kami, four,- and Kaitlyn, two. Both had Emma's pretty brown skin and delicate features. She lowered herself to their level and kissed them each on the forehead.

  "Be good for Mama." Emma stood just inside the day-care door and watched them stand shyly together a few feet away and eye a pile of dolls and building blocks. "It's okay. You can go play, girls. Go on."

  But they only moved closer to each other. Emma wanted to cry. What had they ever done to deserve the life she'd given them? They shouldn't be here at the day care of a battered women's shelter. It was a weekday morning. They should be watching Barney or Sesame Street, safe and secure at home while she thought about what to fix for lunch.

  But life had never been that way for them—not a day of it.

  "Mama—" Kami looked up at her—"is Daddy here?"

  Emma's heart sank. "No, baby. Daddy's far away. You're safe now."

  Relief eased her little girl's features. Kami took her sister's hand and made four tentative steps toward the toys. Emma could read her mind. If Daddy wasn't here, then maybe it was okay to relax long enough to pick up a dolly or build a tower with her sister. Emma felt tears in her eyes. How could she have let things get to this point? She shivered and crossed her arms in front of her. "It's all right, girls."

  Kami gave her one more look, and for a moment their eyes held. Then with fearful little steps she led Kaitlyn the rest of the way to the toys. Slowly they dropped to their knees, and Kami picked up one of the dolls. She hugged and rocked it and patted its plastic head. "It's okay," she said to the doll, her voice a precious singsong. "You're safe here."

  One tear spilled onto Emma's cheek. Her girls were in a safe place now. She looked over her shoulder at the hallway and beyond it to the front door. So what did her children need her for? She could walk out, couldn't she? What was stopping her? She could leave the girls with the day-care lady and disappear into the streets. She could buy enough crack to take her from the nightmare of living, and that would be that. Charlie would live the rest of his life knowing he had caused her death. And her daughters . . . well, someone would take them, give them a home.

  "Emma?"

  She jerked her head back around and raised her eyebrows. "Yes?"

  The woman behind the counter had gray hair and soft wrinkled skin. Her eyes held a kindness Emma had forgotten existed. "I need you to sign one more form."

  Run, Emma . . . sign the form and run. She held out her hand. Her fingers shook harder than before. "Okay."

  Across the room, Kami passed the baby to Kaitlyn. As Emma signed the form, the white-haired lady walked over to the girls and squatted so she was eye level with them. She took another baby doll from the pile and handed it to Kami. "There. Now you each have one." The woman's voice was gentle. She motioned toward a box across the room and nodded for the girls to follow her. "Come on, come take a look at the doll clothes over here."

  The girls looked at Emma, their expressions as familiar as they were fearful. "Mommy?" Kami pointed toward the box. "Please?"

  "Yes." Emma nodded and gave the girls a small wave. "Go . . . Mama'll see you later."

  She watched them take the hands of the older woman. Yes, someone would see that they found a good home. She could leave and never look back. It was the right thing to do. She would return to Charlie one last time and tell him it was over. At least he couldn't threaten the girls then. And if he beat her up, so be it. If he didn't kill her she'd find the drugs to do it. Or maybe she'd skip seeing Charlie, get the drugs, and be lost to the world in an hour.

  Emma took a step back. "Bye." The word was quiet, empty.

  The white-haired woman looked over her shoulder, and their eyes met. "They'll be just fine. Go ahead to your appointment."

  Emma didn't want an appointment. She wanted a fix—and fast. Why was she here, anyway? She took another step back and nodded. "Thank you. I ... I won't be long."

  "Take your time. Leah phoned up from the front desk." The woman smiled. "Mary's waiting for you."

  Mary Madison.

  That was the reason she'd come, wasn't it? Several days ago when Charlie had exploded at her, she'd been desperate for help, desperate for something that would take her and the girls out of the apartment and away from his rage. When he was finished with her, Charlie did what he often did. He sped away and left her moaning on the floor, the girls screaming from their bedroom.

/>   Then she'd taken the girls and gone to stay with a friend, but it was hardly a healthy atmosphere. Her friend sold crack, and Emma spent most of the next four days as high as a kite. She knew that if she stayed there, she'd overdose for sure, and if she went back to Charlie he'd kill her. So this morning, she'd grabbed the yellow pages. She found the heading Abuse Shelter and dialed the number before she had time to think.

  After an initial discussion with a staff counselor, she had an appointment with Mary. The Mary Madison.

  Emma turned and headed down the hallway. Mary was the reason she'd come. Everyone in the country knew Mary Madison's story—at least the public details. The woman was always in the news, gaining ground for the city's downtrodden. She was powerful and beautiful, a survivor. No question something had turned life around for Mary, and Emma was curious. But now . . . with her girls safe, the other possibility—getting enough drugs to end it all—loomed even more tempting than meeting Mary Madison.

  The door was ten feet away. She had twenty bucks in her pocket. She could buy some cheap crack, take it in an alley somewhere, and be dead in an hour. Her breathing came quicker, shallower, and somewhere deep in her chest her heart skittered into a rhythm too fast to feel.

  Do it, Emma . . . end it all. You're worthless. No one needs you.

  She put her hands over her ears. The voices had left her alone all morning, but they were back. She gave a quick shake of her head. "Stop!" She hissed the word and waited.

  Your girls are better off without you. . . . Leave and don't look hack, Emma. Crack's as close as a cab ride away. . . .

  Her hands were damp with sweat, and she wiped them across her jeans.

  Don't waste time, Emma. Go! The voice was shouting at her, laughing at her.

  Fine.

  No one needed to tell her the obvious. She would go, and • she would take three times the crack she'd ever taken before. No more terrifying nights, no more hiding in the closet with Kami and Kaitlyn, no more longing for a man who couldn't love her without hurting her. She could take the drugs, and an hour from now there would be no more missing her mother and Terrence and the life she'd left behind. No more nightmares or drugs or voices in her head. No more danger for her girls.

  Never mind about Mary Madison. She walked to the door and gripped the steel bar.

  "Emma?"

  She turned and tried to grab a full breath. It was a young woman, a girl no older than twenty. "Yes?"

  The girl smiled and held out her hand. "I'm Leah Hamilton. I work at the front desk."

  "Oh." Her throat was so dry she barely squeaked the word out. What was the girl doing, stopping her? Emma ran her tongue along the inside of her lips. "Okay."

  "You aren't. . . leaving, are you?" Leah looked down at Emma's hand still on the door. "Mary's expecting you." She smiled. "She's looking forward to meeting you."

  Air, that's what she needed. She pushed the door open a crack and sucked in a partial breath. The whole time she kept her eyes on Leah's. "I . . . I'm not feeling well." She could get away from this girl. Slip out, grab a taxi, and be dead before lunchtime, right? No one would know the difference.

  Go, Emma. Run and don't look back. You're worthless. . . . What good are you doing anyone by staying alive? Better dead than living your life. . . . Everyone you know will be better off without—

  The voices were incessant. Emma pushed the door farther, but Leah stepped around her and opened it before she had a chance. "Let's stand out here together." She patted Emma's shoulder. "The first time's always the hardest."

  "It is?"

  "Yes." Leah was pretty, and something in her eyes spoke to the dark places in Emma's soul. "It's easy to convince yourself you shouldn't be here. You're not worth the time." Leah looked intently at her. "Know what I mean?"

  The voices were silent. "Y-y-yes. I think so." Emma hugged herself and tried to stop shivering. It was summer after all. Eighty degrees and sunny. Did Leah know what she'd been thinking? Were the voices in her head loud enough for even a stranger to hear? She watched an empty cab drive by, the cab that could've taken her to another part of the city, where the drugs would be a sure thing. But with Leah standing here . . . what would it hurt, meeting with Mary? Just this once. She could take a cab and get the drugs later.

  "Emma?" Leah's voice was gentle. She leaned closer, searching her eyes, her heart. "Did you just leave the man who's been hurting you?"

  "A little while ago. I . . . stayed at a friend's house until I came here."

  Leah took a step in the direction of the door. "Emma, you ready?"

  "Yes." Fear put its icy fingers around her throat.

  You're nothing but trash, Emma.

  "Come on." Leah held out her hand. "I'll take you to Mary."

  Emma squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "I cant . . ."

  "You can." Leah took her hand and led her back inside.

  The fight left as quickly as it had come. Tears flooded Emma's eyes, and she felt her body go limp. What was she thinking? She couldn't kill herself, could she? What would happen to Kami and Kaitlyn?

  When they were inside, Leah let go of her hand but stayed next to her. "Mary's office is just down the hall."

  Emma blinked so she could see. Leah was taking small steps, hardly making progress, and still it took every bit of Emma's energy to move her feet. She looked up and met Leah's eyes. "Is it. . . always this hard?"

  "Often." Leah stopped outside a plain door. "But I can tell you this. No matter how hard it feels, no matter what you've been through, Mary's been there." She offered the slightest sad smile. "You'll like her, Emma. Give this a chance, okay?"

  Emma was shaking again, but at least the voices were quiet. She didn't have the strength to speak, not when fear was clamping its fingers on her throat, making words impossible. Instead she nodded and watched as Leah opened the door. It was too late now. She couldn't run even if she wanted to, couldn't think about getting a cab and driving a few blocks away, going to the nearest alley and—

  "Mary?" Leah leaned inside. "Emma's here."

  From the other side of the door came a voice that was as kind as it was strong. "Thank you, Leah. Send her in."

  Emma managed to get inside, and suddenly she was hit by a force that shook her to the core. She dropped to the chair closest to her, and only then did she look into the eyes of the woman with the face America knew so well. "Hi," Emma said weakly.

  "Emma." Mary stood from the sofa opposite Emma's chair and held out her hand. "I'm glad you came."

  "Yes, ma'am." They were the only words she could manage. Even still, her next breath stopped in her throat. Mary was far more beautiful in person. As she sat back down Emma was struck by her appearance. The woman had delicate features framed by long golden curls and the most brilliant blue eyes she'd ever seen. But that wasn't what made it hard to catch her breath. It was something deeper that came from inside the woman and filled the room. Whatever it was, Emma didn't recognize it.

  Mary sat on the edge of the sofa, and their eyes met. "I read your file, Emma." She reached for a folder, never breaking eye contact. "You need help. That's why I'm here."

  Emma produced a slight nod. Mary was dressed in a navy jacket and pants with a white blouse. Clothes that could've belonged to someone uppity. But the woman across from her was as welcoming as a summer breeze.

  "I've asked God to lead us today." Mary set the folder on her lap. "You don't want to talk, do you?"

  "No." Emma felt another chill. "How . . . did you know?"

  Mary's voice grew softer. "I've sat in your seat, Emma. You think there's no way out of the nightmare." She put her hand on Emma's knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Every once in a while God asks me to give a battered woman space, time. So instead of telling me your story, why don't we start with mine?"

  "Yours?" There it was, the strange rush of emotions, the feeling she couldn't identify. She had figured Mary would demand the details of her life the minute they got started. Details she wasn't ready t
o share. She had never thought for a moment that they would start with Mary's story. The muscles at the base of her neck relaxed some. "That. . . that would be good."

  Mary leaned back in the sofa. "See, Emma, I was just like you not that many years ago. Life wasn't worth living. But then—" her eyes glowed from a place deep inside her—"I met the love of my life. And everything—absolutely everything—changed."

  Emma sat very still. Thoughts of taxi cabs and drug overdoses faded from her mind. She nodded. "Tell me about that."

  "One condition." Mary searched Emma's eyes, her heart, and her soul. "It'll take several sessions to tell you the whole story." She hesitated. "You have to promise me that you and your girls will stay here at the shelter and you'll keep coming until I finish the story." She gave a sideways nod. "Along the way we might talk about you, but only as much as you're ready for."

  Emma blinked. Could she do that? Could she stay here with strangers when Charlie must be desperate for her to come home? She looked out the window. And what about the voices? They were right, weren't they? Several sessions? Days and nights at the shelter? She wasn't worth the time. Mary must have a hundred more important things she needed to do. Why should she think she was worth anything when—

  "I want to make something clear to you." Mary's voice was pleasant, but it demanded her attention.

  Emma lifted her eyes to the woman across from her once more.

  Mary studied her. "Jesus saved me for one reason."

  The shaking was back. "One reason?"

  "Yes." Her tone softened. "To share my story with women like you."

  The chill passed from Emma's shoulders straight down her spine. Had she known? Like Leah earlier, Mary seemed to sense the exact thoughts screaming at her. "You're . . . busy."

  Mary folded her hands and smiled. Again the feeling that Emma couldn't identify filled the room. "I work for God, but this is what I live for. I mean that." Mary waited a few beats. "Do I have your promise?"