"Nothing on earth could save a person from that." Emma's words were pinched by emotion, almost too soft to hear. "So what about me? How do I find that love, Mary? that love of Jesus that's so big He's all I could ever need?"
Mary felt elation race through her veins. Telling her story was draining. It took her back to unspeakable darkness and horror, back to doubts and uncertainties and loneliness that drove her into a life that should've killed her. But she would tell it over and over again until she died, for the privilege of having a woman like Emma ask her about Jesus.
Mary explained to Emma about the forgiveness of Christ and His power to break strongholds. "Is that what you want, Emma? To give your life to Jesus and let His power set you free?"
"Yes." Emma set the blanket aside and slid to the edge of the cot. "But the way I treated my mother, the danger I put my girls in . . ." She hung her head. "I've been so far from God." Her voice fell as she looked at Mary again. "If He could only forgive me."
"He already has." Mary smiled, and somewhere in a thriving mission in Portugal, she could see Nigel smiling too.
Mary stood and held out her hands. When Emma came to her, Mary could see that she understood. She was indeed forgiven. Set free by the only one with the power to do so. Mary met her eyes. "Let's pray, okay?"
"Okay" Emma smiled through her tears.
Mary prayed, and then she did for Emma what Nigel had done for her so long ago.
For a long time, with the arms of Jesus, Mary hugged Emma.
* * *
Chapter 26
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Emma could hardly wait to make things right, When she woke the next morning, she hurried to her room to wake the girls. She found that they had spent a peaceful night with Leah.
Kami ran to Emma, smoothed the hair from her face, and said, "Hi, Mommy . . . your face isn't so purple."
There was no time for sorrow, not anymore. She took Kami's hand and kissed it. "That's right, honey. No more purple for Mommy."
Kaitlyn spilled out of bed, her favorite tattered blanket tucked between her thumb and forefinger and pressed to her face. "Mommy . . . eat?"
"Yes. Let's get dressed and go down to eat." Emma's heart sang with a giddiness that filled her to overflowing. It was hard to imagine that just twenty-four hours ago she'd considered ending it all, giving up on life and her children and everything good God still had for her. She kissed Kaitlyn on the cheek. "Mommy has a lot to do today."
Every minute of the morning routine was like a celebration for Emma. The sweet high sounds of her little girls' voices, the way their hair felt in her fingers as she combed it and fashioned a ponytail for each of them. The sensation of their small hands in hers as they walked to breakfast. The stream of sunshine through the windows in the cafeteria.
All of it she would've missed if it weren't for Mary Madison. Mary introducing her to Jesus Christ.
After breakfast she found Leah Hamilton, the teen volunteer at the front desk of the shelter. She was talking to a thirtysomething mother with two small boys at her side. Leah had her hand on the woman's shoulder.
"That's right, yes," Leah was saying, "you can stay here at no cost."
"And no one will know?"
"We believe in very strict confidentiality." Leah's tone held compassion and sympathy. She was a beautiful girl, self-possessed and articulate. "We ask you not to tell your husband where you're at. If you decide on a time for counseling with him, you'll meet at a neutral site." She handed the woman a clipboard. "I'll need you to read this and fill it out."
The woman's hand shook as she took the board. Her boys were silent, empty-eyed.
I know what you're going through, Emma wanted to say. And in that moment something struck her. Maybe one day she would have the chance to do for someone else what Mary had done for her. What Nigel had done for Mary. The thought made the day even brighter, her heart even more filled with joy.
When the woman and her two sons had gone into another room, Leah smiled at her. "Emma, 1 hear this is a big day for you!"
"It is." Happy tears stung at her eyes. The voices in her head had been silent since she prayed with Mary last night. Completely silent. "I never finished writing the letter to my mom. So I'm going to see her instead, to tell her I'm sorry."
Leah touched Emma's hand. "I'm so glad. I was hoping this would happen before I left."
"You're leaving?" Emma put her arms around her daughters. The feel of them against her legs was as right as her own heartbeat. "But you're . . . you're so good for this place."
Leah blushed. "Thanks. It might be something I come back to." She grabbed a bright blue folder from her desk and held it up, her eyes shining. "I've been accepted to Juilliard, the art school in New York City! I prayed that if God wanted me going to school here and working at the shelter, they would turn my application down cold." She made a cutting motion with her hand. "But if it was His will ... I'd love to celebrate Him through the arts—any way I possibly can." She squealed. "I guess it was His will!"
Now it was Emma's turn to rejoice. "Leah, that's wonderful!"
"Mary's going to take a day off and show me around Manhattan." She paused. "It's where she used to live, you know."
"Yes." Emma smiled as Mary's story—all of it—came together in a moment's time. "She told me about New York."
She looked at Kami on her right and Kaitlyn on her left and then at Leah. "When my girls are grown, Leah ... I want them to be just like you."
The two of them hugged.
Five minutes later Emma and her girls were in a cab heading toward forgiveness and reconciliation and home—the place that had always been home to her no matter what choices she'd made.
And if that wasn't proof that God's power was real, nothing was.
***
Grace Johnson was working in her garden when the cab pulled up. She set her spade down and slowly peeled off her yellow rubber gloves. All the while her eyes never left the backseat.
Was it Emma? She hadn't called, hadn't said anything since the phone call she'd made a while ago saying that she and the girls were fine. Every day since then Grace had spent hours searching the city for Emma and then hurrying home, praying constantly, willing the phone to ring so she'd know where they were. Grace hadn't been by Charlie's again—if Emma said she wasn't going back there, then there was no point.
The passenger was paying the cabdriver. Grace stood, and the gloves fell to the ground. It looked like there were children in the backseat also. She was halfway down the sidewalk when Emma opened the taxi door. Their eyes met and held, and in an instant's time Grace knew something had changed. Not just the fact that Emma and the girls had come, but something in Emma's face.
In her eyes.
Emma climbed out and waited for her girls to follow. That's when Grace saw the cast on her daughter's arm, the bruises on her cheek. New bruises. When they were all standing on the sidewalk, Emma shut the door with her good hand, and the driver pulled away from the curb. Emma turned, and the three of them walked the rest of the way up the sidewalk together.
"Mom . . ." Emma was smiling, but tears glistened on her swollen face. Her words were broken, colored with a lifetime of regret. "I'm so, so sorry."
Grace's knees felt weak, her world spinning from the impossibility of what was happening. She took her daughter into her arms, held her close, and rocked her. "Emma, you came home!"
"Yes." Emma's hand came up along one side of her mother's face. "I was so awful to you, Mom. The whole time ..." A single sob slipped from her throat. She put one hand to her mouth and waited until she had control again. "The whole time I only wanted you to grab me and hold me and make me stop. But I was so ... so rude and rebellious." She shook her head, clearly desperate to be understood. "Please, Mom, forgive me."
"Honey . . . you're here. That's all that matters." However Emma had gotten the bruises, she was home now. And she had been right! There had indeed been a change. No, not a change—a miracle! She cradled E
mma's head against her own, and the tears came for both of them.
"Gamma." Kaitlyn tugged on Grace's sleeve.
Grace drew away long enough to sweep the child into her arms. She pulled Kami close also, and the four of them stayed huddled that way. "Dear, God . . . thank You," she whispered. Then she spoke close to Emma's ear. "What happened to you? How come you're here?"
"It's a long story, Mom." Emma laughed through her tears. Then she looked toward heaven and laughed harder. "But it has the happiest ending of all."
Grace started to lead them toward the house when she stopped. "Are you here for good?" She had to ask. The fresh bruises told her that Emma had been to see Charlie not long ago. "Or is Charlie waiting?"
"Charlie's in jail. I'm free from him and from so much more." Emma's expression grew serious. "I still need counseling, and I want to go to church with you. Church and a Bible study maybe." Her whole face was taken up with a smile. "But it's a beginning. The beginning of the rest of my life—" she looked at her girls—"the rest of all of our lives."
The sidewalk might as well have been made of clouds, because Grace had the feeling they were floating into the house. How long had she waited for this moment, prayed for it? And here she was—her daughter home and willing to try life God's way for the first time.
She hugged Emma and the girls again once they were inside, and then she remembered something. "Terrence is coming by today." She looked at the old grandfather clock on the wall. "In less than an hour."
"Terrence?" Emma absently touched her cast. Her eyes were suddenly wide and anxious. "I thought... he was in medical school."
"He is. He transferred so he's closer now."
Emma stood there, her jaw slack.
Grace ushered the girls into the kitchen and sat them at the small round table. She took a pitcher of juice from the fridge and poured them each a cup. She grabbed four cookies from a jar on her counter and spread them on two napkins. When they were settled, she led Emma into the living room. "Terrence ... he came by last week."
Emma sat down slowly on the sofa. "Last week?" She shrugged. "Why?"
God, please, let her hear this right. "To pray for you, Emma. The two of us have committed to pray for you." Alarm rang through Grace's body. What if the idea of the two of them praying for her was enough to send Emma running again? What if it was more than she could handle this soon? Grace took the spot next to Emma and met her eyes. "I can call him and tell him not to come. Whatever you want, honey."
Emma stood and walked to the window. She held on to the sill and stared out for a long while. Then, perhaps when she had digested the information, she turned and the hint of a smile on her face answered all Grace's fears. "I haven't seen him in so long."
Grace's heart thudded against her chest. "He still cares for you very much, Emma. He loves you."
Genuine shock played on her daughter's face. "He does?" She walked back to the sofa with measured steps, almost trancelike. "I never allowed myself to see him that way. He was my friend, nothing more."
"I think—" Grace's voice was tentative—"he always had a bit of a crush on you."
Emma blinked. "Really?" "Yes, I think so."
The grin still played at the corners of Emma's mouth. But her tone was serious. "Mary told me all I need is Jesus now. It's true,- I know because I've seen it to be true in Mary's life." She hesitated and sat down again. "But I think I would like it very much—" her smile grew—"if Terrence came over today." Her eyes sparkled, even against the backdrop of regret that was still there. "Maybe the three of us can pray together. Mary would like that."
"Mary?" Grace forced herself to be patient. There was so much she didn't know about this new Emma, the changes she'd been through.
"Mary Madison." Emma gave her a quick, tight hug. "I'll tell you all about her."
"You mean . . . the Mary Madison? the woman they feature on the news, the one with the shelters in the city?"
"Yes." Emma's expression deepened. "That Mary."
"Well, honey . . . everyone knows the story of Mary Madison."
"No, Mom." A sadness crossed Emma's face. "Not the way I know it."
Grace couldn't believe it. The famous Mary Madison had counseled Emma? No wonder her change was so dramatic. She touched her daughter's shoulder. "I want to hear every detail."
"Later, okay?" Emma took a long breath and stood. "Right now I want to clean up." Something soft and tender filled her eyes. "Terrence will be here soon."
***
The shower felt wonderful. Emma wrapped her casted arm in a plastic bag and let the hot water run over her, taking with it the pain and regret of every yesterday, every missed opportunity and bad decision since she first rebelled against her mother as a teenager.
She was home! Joy filled her and made her feel like a child again. She replayed in her mind the reunion with her mother, the look on her beautiful brown face as she and the girls climbed out of the cab and walked up the sidewalk. The warm and wonderful way it had felt to be in her arms, making peace with the mother she had never stopped loving.
The years with Charlie had left their mark. The broken bones would heal and the bruises would fade, but she would keep her promise to Mary. Counseling was a must. Otherwise she would never learn how to function in a healthy relationship.
Terrence's face came to mind. Kind and conscientious Terrence, devoted to God all the while, even now praying for her. It was another part of the miracle. She remembered her mother's words: "He always had a hit of a crush on you." She closed her eyes and let the shampoo run down her face. Why hadn't she seen the good in Terrence before? How could she have walked away from a man like him and run to someone like Charlie? Seconds passed, and like a sudden storm the guilt and doubt and regret nearly suffocated her.
But then she remembered what Mary had told her the day before. Jesus died to take all the pain from yesterday, to offer people a new life, a new start today. A start that would build one tomorrow on top of another until change in that life became obvious to everyone. It was true. The power of Christ wasn't a one-time fix. It would keep working in her life today and tomorrow and every day that she woke up believing the truth.
As she dressed, applied makeup to the bruises on her cheeks and around her eyes, and straightened her hair, she reveled in that very truth.
And when the doorbell rang, she could feel God whispering to her. Today, precious daughter, is only the beginning. . . .
* * *
Chapter 27
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Three Months Later
Mary Madison took the call on the way to the cemetery.
"Mary, it's Joe." The caller didn't need to say more than that. He was Joe Keane, Senate Majority Leader, and he contacted Mary often. "I'm sorry,- this isn't the best time to be calling."
"That's okay." She tightened her fingers around the steering wheel and braced herself. The abstinence bill had been up for debate that morning. "Give me the news."
"We took the vote." Subdued victory rang in his tone. Joe Keane was a moderate by all standards, but he believed in every cause Mary supported. By Joe's thinking, faith-based or faith-inspired teen centers and shelters and abstinence programs had a beneficial place in the landscape of government funding.
"Well ...?" Mary held her breath.
"It passed! The margin wasn't big, but it passed." He exhaled, relieved. "You were the one, Mary. Your statistics, your testimony. They bought it all."
Mary allowed a smile, one of the few that week. "I had a feeling."
"This is huge. I set up a press conference for you and the supporters for four o'clock on the Capitol steps." He paused. "Will that work?"
"Definitely." Mary pursed her lips. The day would be a roller coaster for sure. "Good work, Joe. We'll catch up later."
"Okay." He sighed. "I'm sorry about your grandma."
"Thanks." Tears stung her eyes. "Me too."
The call ended, and Mary inhaled as deeply as she could. She blinked back te
ars so she could see the road. Jesus. . . how am I supposed to do this without her? Please let me feel Your arms today. I miss her so much already.
The reality was still sinking in. Grandma Peggy was gone. She died in her sleep three days ago, hours after Mary's morning visit. The traffic light ahead turned red, and Mary could envision clearly every moment of their last morning together. . . .
***
She and her grandma had held hands and talked about how well Emma was doing, how close the vote on the abstinence bill could be, and how much they needed to pray for a victory.
Before their visit ended, Grandma Peggy had looked at Mary with tender eyes. "I'm tired. Very tired."
Mary stood and hugged her. "I'll leave then ... let you take a nap."
"No . . ." Her grandma didn't sound anxious or afraid. More like she must've somehow known what was coming. "Not that kind of tired. The kind that has me longing for Jesus." She smiled, and the twinkle in her eyes was bright even through the milky haze of the years. "I'm ready, Mary."
"Grandma, don't talk like that." She reached for her frail fingers. "I still need you."
"You need Jesus, only Jesus." Her tone held a kindhearted scold.
Panic breathed down her neck. "But Jesus gave me you." Mary leaned in and kissed her grandma's brow. "Now get some sleep and I'll see you tomorrow."
Not for one minute had it felt like a final good-bye, like her grandma would be gone in a few hours.
***
Mary took a tissue from the console next to the front seat. She didn't know it was possible to cry so much, but she had no closure, no way to have that last conversation with her grandma—the one where she would tell her how, if not for her, Mary might not have survived.
She would've hugged Grandma Peggy longer and stayed until her heart stopped beating. She would've begged her—if it were possible—to hold on, to not give up. To stay another week or another day. Another hour. It was wrong that she hadn't been there in her grandma's final moments, not there to hold her hand or pray with her or bid her good-bye.