CHAPTER 1
Stepping into my slip, I pulled it up and stole a quick glance out my bedroom window. “Oh, sweet Jesus. She’s here!”
I dashed by my bed, snatched my skirt from it, and hopped toward my bedroom door slipping it on and yanking it up. Swinging my door open, I rushed across the hall and yelled down the stairwell, “Mom! Dad! She’s here!”
Mom’s head popped around the corner. “Already? She’s fifteen minutes early. Get your brother, Esther, and hurry down.”
I bounded to Mark’s door and bounced my knuckles off it. “Oh, brother dearest, move it. Angela’s here.”
Mark’s muffled voice filtered through the door. “Slow down, man. I’m still in my underwear.”
“You better hurry. She’s here now!” I banged the door to make my point.
“Duh, Esther, you wouldn’t want me to greet the new girl in my underwear now, would you, ditz-head?”
I pounded on the door repeatedly. “Then get out of your underwear and get downstairs!”
“Great idea. Then I’d have to greet her naked.”
I gritted my teeth and spoke through them. “You know what I mean. Put on more clothes.” I kept banging the door until it opened. My little brother posed before me in a long-sleeved white shirt and his Fruit-of-the-Loom, maroon briefs.
“Are you happy, dork brain?” he asked. “Do you believe me now?”
Spare me the view, I thought, gawking at the putrid color of his briefs. I pushed past him, charged into his walk-in closet, yanked a pair of black dress pants from its hanger, and marched out again. He strutted toward me with a big grin stretching his face.
The little show off. I bet he fantasizes all the time about walking around in his underwear in front of girls. Twelve-year-old boys think only with their hormones … and it only makes them do the stupidest things. But I don’t care if he wants to parade around like that. He’s a jerk, anyway.
The bulge in his briefs caught my attention. A shiver ran up my spine. I threw the pants in his face and scurried past him. Stopping by the door, I turned to see him pull the pants off his head. “Just get your pants on. You don’t impress me … child.”
I slammed the door, pattered down the stairs, and entered the foyer to discover my parents trying to run in all directions at once. Rushing to the window by the front door, I peeked out.
Oh, no. Mrs. Braxton’s opening the passenger door. There’s the girl. She’s fifteen like me. What a pretty skirt. And that short-sleeved top is nice, too … what am I doing? This isn’t a fashion show. The family’s depending on me to get them ready.
My father rushed into the foyer adjusting his tie as my mom scurried in from the opposite direction patting her hair in place.
“Where’s Mark?” my mother said.
“He’s coming, Mom.”
My father eased my mother and me together, shoulder-to-shoulder facing the door. “Come on. Let’s look shipshape. Mark’ll be along soon enough.” He hurried to the stairs and cupped a hand by his mouth. “Mark. You get down here pronto. Do you hear me, son? On the double.”
A faint voice drifted downstairs. “Coming.”
My father swung around in front of us. “Now, remember, this girl’s been through a lot. She lost her parents at age five and was raised by her great uncle the last ten years. From what I understand, she and her uncle were very close. He wasn’t a churchgoing man, so she’ll probably be a little difficult … of course we’ll have to deal with that after we get her over her grief.”
My mother smiled. “It’s all right, dear. This is the path God chose for us. It will be a wonderful thing to bring someone into the presence of the Lord who has been wandering so long in the forests of darkness. She’ll appreciate the light … once she sees it.”
My father patted my mother’s shoulder. “Well spoken, Ruth. It is truly a wonderful thing to save a soul for Christ.”
The sound of a drum roll echoed behind me; and, without looking, I knew it was Mark thudding down the stairs. A few seconds later, he popped alongside me.
Well, here we stand in a row; Mom, Mark, and me, soldiers in our father’s army … crusaders for Christ.
Images flashed through my mind—mostly sad images. When the door opened, standing in it would be a tear-filled girl struck with the grief of losing her only loved-one. Little did she suspect that she had loved a goat in the forest—a heathen—a Godless man who had led her in the wrong direction for most of her life.
However, good feelings swept all that away, because we were here to correct her past. We would lead her to a full life with Jesus as her savior. She may fight and struggle at first, but it would end in her thanking us—but first the tears.
A knock sounded on the door, my father opened it, and in stepped Mrs. Braxton, the social worker, with one arm around Angela Vitali.
I scrutinized my would-be sister. Angela’s long, straight, chestnut hair appeared as soft as an infant’s. Her pale skin radiated all over her hundred-and-fifteen-pound, medium frame. She beamed beauty without makeup, something difficult for any girl to do. At five-foot four she stood two inches taller than me. A glance at her bust struck a bad note.
A ‘C’ cup. She’s a full cup size bigger than me.
But something seemed wrong—terribly wrong about her face. On it rested a pair of thin lips turned up into a big smile. Not a sign of grief existed anywhere on her.
Death had stolen the only person she ever loved since age five … and she stands there smiling?
Angela set down a suitcase and nodded at each of us in turn. “Hi. I’m very happy to be here, and I’m pleased that you have decided to allow me to share your home.”
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