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- Herausgeber: Christine Dillon
- Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
- Sprache: Englisch
Two women. One collision course with truth.
Physiotherapist Esther has survived cancer, but wounds within her family remain unhealed. Is her revived faith the reason for the rift or could a simmering secret be the root cause?
Cosmetics consultant Rachel buried her past - and her father’s God - but the past refuses to stay buried. Will she continue to run or is confronting her pain the way to freedom?
Can God’s grace shine even in the darkest of shadows?
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
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Grace in the Shadows
Book 2
Christine Dillon
Links in the Chain Press
www.storytellerchristine.com
Grace in the Shadows
Copyright © 2018 by Christine Dillon
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for brief quotations in a book review.
All Scripture quotations, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental. The characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes.
Cover Design: Lankshear Design.
ISBN: 978-0-6481296-4-6
For Jenny, with whom I’ve had many adventures. So thankful you’re my sister.
In memory of my aunt, Letitia Helen (1942-1976), much loved by those who knew her. She used the last of her strength to introduce someone to Jesus. May I use my last breaths as wisely.
Find out more …
Contents
Notes to readers
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Storyteller Friends
Non-fiction by Christine Dillon
Fiction
Enjoyed Grace in the Shadows?
Bible Storytelling
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Book 3 in the Grace series
Prologue
Notes to readers
* Christian authors are told not to put miracles in their stories. This seems like peculiar advice since God is a God of miracles. One of the reasons for this advice is that people don’t want to raise the false expectation that God will always work miracles. Sometimes he chooses not to.
The miracles in this story are real stories that happened to people connected to our family. Both stories were more dramatic than I’ve described, as both people immediately became Christians. There are more details about the real stories in the acknowledgments section at the back of this book.
* This book is an Australian story and thus, mostly uses Australian conventions of grammar, punctuation, and spelling.
Prologue
Late 1960s
Sydney, Australia
It was love at first sight.
And second. And third.
Each memory was a lustrous pink pearl from a necklace she now kept locked away. Out of sight but not entirely out of mind.
The first pearl was their first meeting. She pressed so close to the glass that it fogged, blurring the outline of the pink-wrapped bundle beyond. Years of pestering her mother and now the day had come. She had a baby sister.
Finally.
She hopped on the spot. As though her sister read her mind, the tiny eyes snapped open and the little rosebud mouth opened in a yawn. She liked to think that, even then, her sister was seeking her out through the glass separating them.
The second pearl was the memory of her mother as she cradled the baby close and enclosed her in love. Had Mum held her the same way? Like she was the most precious baby in the whole world? Her sister latched on and sucked. She could almost see her growing.
She hugged her arms around her waist. Did her mum remember she had an almost eleven-year-old daughter, or was she too cocooned with the baby?
She leaned forward. “Do you think I’ll ever have a baby?”
Her mother smiled. “Probably—most girls do. But don’t grow up too quickly. I want my daughters with me as long as possible.”
It was special to be wanted. Like being wrapped in her favourite mohair blanket on a winter’s evening.
The third pearl was the first time she’d held her sister. The responsibility lay heavier than the child. Like she held a delicate china figurine.
She gazed down. Oh, the little cutie-pie. Solemn dark blue eyes stared back at her. What did they see? An older sister who already adored her? No kid would ever bully her sister. She’d be a hovering presence. A wall of protection. A hero.
The subsequent years had added more pearls. Creamy, dreamy memories. Times that became her only joys in the struggle wearing her down.
One pearl she remembered far too often. It had been a blazing beauty of an autumn. Bright blue skies, crisp mornings, and breezes which blew the leaves in languid eddies.
Her little sister swished through the fallen leaves, giggling as they crackled underfoot. She stooped down and threw armfuls of leaves into the air. They swirled around her in whirls of red, yellow, and faded brown.
Oh, how she loved this little sister of hers. How could she think of leaving her?
She swooped down and tickled.
“Don’t, don’t,” her sister squealed.
They chased each other around the trees until they were both worn out. A sunbeam sliced through the leafless branches and illuminated the toddler in a warm glow.
“Look, look. The sun is shining right on me.” Her sister raised her arms above her head, tilted her face to the sun, and laughed as she twirled.
Pure joy.
Another pearl. Another memory to lock away.
1
1996
Sydney, Australia
Rachel opened one eye. The early morning light glowed around the edges of the floor-length curtains. She yawned, rolled over, and thwacked her arm against solid flesh.
He groaned.
“What-d-ya hitting me for?” He propped himself up on one elbow. “Trying to get my attention?”
“Sorry.” She wasn’t about to tell him she’d forgotten he was there.
He reached over and drew her to him. “Best night of the month.” He couldn’t come more often, or his wife would get suspicious. She had end-stage lymphoma, and he got away for three days respite.
Rachel curled her lip. Rachel’s respite. Glad to be of service.
“Can’t you come with me to the hotel?” He kissed her shoulder.
“Not possible. I’ve got an extra shift at work.”
“Why does it have to be you?”
Better cover up quick, or she’d be late. She scooted away from him and grabbed her silk robe off the floor.
He lunged for her. “C’mon babe. Don’t be cruel.”
She batted his hand away. “I can’t miss a day.”
He pouted his lips. “You work too hard.”
Said the man who had a job that allowed him time off work to care for his wife. Working at David Jones wasn’t like that. There were plenty of younger women queueing for her job.
Rachel slid the mirrored doors of her wardrobe to the side and took out the hanger with the crisply ironed black dress. Once in the bathroom, she turned the lock.
Hot jets stung her skin as she washed her hair. As she stepped out of the shower she glimpsed herself in the mirror. Did her hips look more rounded? How was that possible with her diet and exercise regime?
She blow-dried her hair and dressed. The diamond earrings had been a gift from a previous partner. She’d kept the diamonds and dumped the guy. He’d been too clingy.
Rachel opened the top drawer of the bathroom cabinet and took out her makeup kit. She squinted at the mirror. Was that a faint line on her neck? A cobweb of fear brushed across her heart. She’d fought hard, but forty was around the corner. Could she keep her job if she began to look old?
With swift, practiced strokes, Rachel covered her face with foundation and added mascara and eyeshadow. The lipstick must wait until after her fruit and coffee. Even without the lipstick, a young version of her mother stared back at her. Would her mother recognise her now? It had been more than twenty years.
Her chest and throat tightened. How could she face her mother? Still unmarried. Sure, there’d been men, but her mother wouldn’t be impressed there’d been more than one. For Mum, life was simple. Marriage, children, and stand by your man. That was a laugh. Rachel’s first man had jumped ship right when he was most needed.
She’d always intended to write and let her mother know she was safe, but it had never happened. What kind of person was she, that she’d cut herself off from her family? She’d loved them once. At least, she’d loved two out of the three. The other one she was only too glad to never see again.
Rachel dabbed her nose with a tissue, careful not to smudge her makeup. Then she unlocked the bathroom door and strode back into the bedroom, banishing the ghost of her past. She walked on stockinged feet to the kitchen. If she hurried, she could finish breakfast and leave before Mike even got out of bed.
After breakfast, she went back into the bathroom. Mike’s footsteps padded across the carpet, and his presence loomed at the door. Ignoring him, she outlined her lips and stretched them for the lipstick. A quick blot. Perfect. One advantage of her job was discounted makeup and plenty of free samples.
Mike came into the bathroom in his towel. He knew better than to delay her now she had her lipstick in place.
He patted her bottom. “Looking hot in that skirt. Tighter than before. Must be the cheesecake last night.”
She stifled a harsh retort. She hadn’t been mistaken. All she had to do was look at dessert and she gained weight. Could she go to the gym more often? More often, how was that even possible? She practically lived there already.
The train clattered into St James Station, frozen in the 1930s by the yellow and green tiled walls, curled iron balustrades, and wooden handrails.
Once inside the station bathroom, she placed a hand on the wall to steady herself as she slipped off her comfortable shoes and replaced them with high heels. They tortured her feet, but heels were one of the unwritten expectations at work. She peered in the mirror. No lipstick on her teeth, and only one tiny strand of hair out of place. She tucked it back in. Perfect.
Elizabeth Street was awash with people. She turned right into the flow. She wasn’t the only one dressed in David Jones black and white. The lack of colour might seem limiting, but as long as employees looked neat and professional, they could follow their own tastes in style. Rachel winced as she remembered her first job. The oil from the fish and chips shop had invaded every pore. If she’d been there any longer, she’d have turned into a blob of grease.
David Jones had been on Elizabeth Street forever. It still had the original sandstone exterior which shoppers from the war years would recognise. Most of the interior was modern, but sometimes Rachel would ride up the original metal cage lifts and imagine the grandeur of past eras.
She entered through the staff entrance and made her way to the beauty department. The basement and ground floor were crammed with the concessions for every major cosmetics brand. The bigger the company, the better the spot, with the biggest brands close to the entrances. She’d started with a small brand in the basement and, with hard work, had moved up to a major, international brand near the main doors. Now she could glimpse natural light instead of being buried underground.
Rachel had thought she was early, but Yvonne was already laying out samples. Perhaps she should have caught the earlier train. Their manager had resigned recently and now the race was on to see who’d be promoted. Yvonne had a chance, but her toadying ways were a little too obvious. Margaret was better liked, but being married with children counted against her. The cosmetics company preferred singleness and ambition, which gave Rachel the advantage. Maybe the company would bring in someone from outside. She hoped not, because she needed the money. Rent in Sydney was high, and her current man’s guilty conscience couldn’t be relied upon to prop up her income. She’d learned to budget. A tough lesson for someone with her upbringing.
There was a click of high heels behind her. Rachel spun around.
“Made it,” Margaret said, breathless. “Didn’t think I would. Billy had a slight fever last night and then screamed about going to Grandma’s.”
Yes, Rachel did have a chance to get the promotion. If only she had a better education. Perhaps the cosmetics company would allow her to work towards something like a business or marketing degree one evening a week. How many years would that take?
Rachel unlocked the cupboard with the wedding appointment notebook. She rang the first number on the list for tomorrow.
Once the calls were done, she drifted over to the next makeup concession to greet Alice, one of the few friends she’d made at work. They usually had lunch together at least once a week.
“I applied for the manager’s job as you suggested,” Alice said. “Have you received a response to your application?”
“No,” Rachel said. “But it’s been less than a week since the closing date.”
“I thought they were in a hurry.”
“Maybe, but they’ll need to narrow the possibilities down to a short-list.”
Would her name be on the list?
2
Esther hurried across the car park between the physiotherapy and the accident and emergency departments. The day had started out normally but had deteriorated.
She’d been cleaning her teeth before leaving for work when she’d heard the thud in the kitchen. One look at her grandmother sprawled on the floor, face the colour of wet paper and one leg twisted at an impossible angle, and she’d known. Broken femur.
The ambulance officers had almost needed to knock Naomi out to get her out of the house.
Esther glanced at her watch. She had less than an hour before Mrs Oliver arrived for her back treatment. The nurse had rung to say Naomi would need a total hip replacement. Esther’s boss, Sue, had insisted Esther go and visit before the surgery.
Naomi lay still, eyes closed. Her colour was a little better, but her breathing was shallow.
Oh, Gran. Get well. What if she lost her? The statistics weren’t good for old people and broken hips. Stop it. Gran has as many years as God chooses to give her but losing her would be hard. There’d been too many losses. Her health, her fiancé, her home. Her relationship with her father had been smoothed over, but that was because he didn’t know where she lived. What would he do when he found out?
Naomi stirred, sighed, and opened unfocused eyes.
“Rachel—” she murmured.
That was odd. Gran’s mind was usually razor sharp. “Gran, it’s me. Esther.”
Naomi started and her eyes focused. “Of course. Sorry. Wasn’t sure where I was.”
Was the confusion the result of the pain, the medication, or waking up from a deep sleep? After all, her grandmother was eighty-five. Until today, she’d been as lively as a sparrow.
Worry harshened Esther’s voice. “Have the medical staff told you what’s happening?”
“That I’ll have surgery this afternoon? Don’t you worry about me. Betty and Joan had falls and hip surgery, and they’re back to normal.”
Esther’s lips twitched. Trust her grandmother not to make a fuss.
“Isn’t it your lunchtime, Esther? Please don’t avoid eating because I can’t.”
“I didn’t want you drooling.” Esther said.
“Only a rabbit would drool over your kind of lunch.”
Esther patted Naomi’s hand. “Obviously your humour has survived.”
“Looks like I’ll be needing it. The doctor said I might be in here for two weeks. Will you be my therapist?”
“I work in outpatients.” Besides, the hospital would never allow her to treat her own family. “You’ll have a therapist who specialises in rehabilitation but once you’re home, I’ll crack the whip.”
The sides of Naomi’s mouth curved up. “You’d better not crack it too hard, or I’ll kick you out.”
“You know I’m willing to find my own place whenever you want me to.”
“Don’t you dare.” Naomi shook a finger at her. “I’ve loved having you as a housemate.”
It was an unusual arrangement but it worked.
Tears pricked Esther’s lashes. People died every day under anaesthesia. Especially old people. Finding that her grandmother was alive had been a blessing to counterbalance all the pain of last year.
“You’re quiet, dearie.”
“Just thinking Dad would never have thrown me out if he knew it would lead me to you.”
“God loves to take the worst things and bring good out of them.”
Esther kissed her grandmother’s hand. “You were one of the best gifts God gave last year.” Finding out Gran loved Jesus was another blessing.
“Thinking is fine, but don’t worry about me,” Naomi said.
“You know me too well.” A band constricted Esther’s chest. “You’ve become so important to me.”
“The feeling’s mutual, as you well know.” Her grandmother blew her a kiss. “Even if something should go wrong, you know we’ll meet again.”
“But I’ve just met you. I don’t want to lose you.” Not when her relationship with the rest of her family was strained or rocky or both. Why, oh why, couldn’t she be part of a normal, loving family?
“And you most likely won’t, but it might be a while until I can manage around the house.”
With Esther’s lingering tiredness, they might need help. “The therapists are great. They’ll soon have you back in top form.” Esther wagged a finger. “Make sure you behave yourself.”
Naomi winked. “When do I do anything else?”
Naomi would soon be a ward favourite.
Footsteps crossed the floor to their quiet corner. “Mrs Macdonald, I’m here to give you the pre-medication.”
“Isn’t the pre-med to make me calm?”
“Something like that,” the nurse said. “Most people prefer it.”
“I’m not most people. I’m quite calm. Jesus has things firmly under control.”
The man raised his eyebrow. How many of his patients talked like this?
“If I don’t make it through the anaesthetic, I’ll go straight to meet Jesus.” Naomi chuckled. “At my age, that’s more of a gift than a curse.”
He backed away. “The orderly will come soon to take you down to surgery.”
Naomi turned back to Esther and smiled weakly. “You taught me a lot last year.”
Esther had never considered that her trials might inspire someone else.
“I don’t want to be dopey when I’m wheeled into the operating theatre.”
Esther suppressed a shudder. Too many reminders of her surgery a year ago. “Let’s pray together before you go. Dear Jesus. Thank you that we live in a country with a good medical system and that Gran can be in this particular hospital. Thank you that we, as your followers, have nothing to fear. Amen.”
“Come here, dearie, and kiss your old gran before you go.”
Esther smoothed her grandmother’s hair and kissed her forehead, careful not to lean on the bed and jar her grandmother’s hip. “Love you. I’ll ask the nurse to call me when you’re out of surgery.”
If Naomi made it through surgery.
3
Rachel had pushed herself tonight. An extra ten star jumps. An extra round of weights. An extra series of burpees. An added half kilogram weight for her triceps. An added kilo for her biceps. This was one battle she was going to win. No, not merely win. She was out to conquer and beat her body into submission. To not give Mike any reason to comment on her weight.
Arms and shoulders. Abs and back. Buttocks and thighs. Her muscles burned. Good. She was working hard.
Half the men in the gym were pretending not to watch her. She ignored them. She wasn’t in the market.
Rachel wiped her head and neck with her already sopping towel. She gulped down half a bottle of water, then moved to a room where she unrolled her exercise mat. The mat would get sweaty, but it would be all her own sweat.
Sit-ups, push-ups, squats. Rachel concentrated on her breathing. Forty-six, forty-seven. Her legs burned. Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty. She straightened and jiggled her legs before picking up the medicine ball. Holding it out in front of her, Rachel lifted her knees and counted her repetitions.
She snatched a quick break to drink, rolled up her mat, and headed for the treadmills.
“What’s with all the extra sessions this week?” one of the fitness trainers asked as she passed. “In training for a competition?”
Rachel shook her head.
“Rather you than me. You’re wearing me out watching you.”
What did he know with his twenty-something body? Hers was on the long downhill slope already, even if the slide wasn’t yet visible to anyone without her x-ray eyes. To most people, her legs and abs were taut and her skin evenly tanned. Bottled tans did the job. No way was she letting the sun age her. Her looks were her greatest asset and she paid top dollar to keep them that way.
Good. Her favourite treadmill was available. The one tucked out of the way.
Rachel walked towards it and then stopped. A young woman was sitting cross-legged on the floor, breastfeeding her baby. The last thing Rachel wanted to see. Her stomach knotted. It shouldn’t be allowed. This was why she never came to the gym in the mornings, even on her days off. The woman had a piece of material draped over herself, and she wasn’t disturbing anyone. Except Rachel. Making a fuss would only lead to questions she didn’t want to answer.
Rachel backed up and found another machine. Normally she enjoyed the treadmill, because her mind could float along without counting repetitions. Today, that was dangerous. The breastfeeding woman had unsettled her, and now the hum of the treadmill made her mind slither down the slippery-dip of memory. She clenched her teeth and concentrated on the control panel in front of her.
The treadmill coursed along. Wide circles of sweat soaked Rachel’s shorts and shirt. The sweat bands around her forehead and wrists were almost useless.
She stumbled and put her hand out to the bar to support herself. If only she could shut off the passing of time as easily as she could adjust the speed of a treadmill. Had Mike thought the added weight was a good thing, or were his words a warning? Did he already have a younger woman in the wings?
The treadmill timer clicked. Now for a series of faster intervals. She cranked the speed up a notch and increased the incline.
Running outside would be more interesting, but gym machines allowed her to sculpt all her muscles without having to think about it. This upmarket gym had proven to be the best place to find the right kind of male friends. Rich ones. She was too fastidious for sleazy bars.
Her lungs sucked at the air and she swiped the towel across her forehead and cheeks. The best thing about speed intervals were that they left no energy for thinking. Thinking was a bad idea. There were too many alleys she didn’t want her mind to wander down. It was better to skate past the entrances than explore.
Her feet pounded along, her speed dictated by the machine. Like her life. Things happened and she reacted. She liked to think she was in control but she wasn’t. Life was a never-ending sequence of work, gym, and counting calories. Interspersed with beauty treatments and monthly haircuts.
One of her friends in primary school had owned a mouse. It was amusing to watch it running in its wheel. Running, running, running, but never getting anywhere. Sometimes, with a supreme effort, the mouse would get a little ahead but he’d slip back a millisecond later, more exhausted than ever. What would the mouse think of her treadmill? Of her life? Would he question why she did it?
Rachel adjusted the dials for the rest interval. It wasn’t what anyone else would call a rest, but it was no longer a sprint. Rachel took a deep breath and focused on expanding her chest and feeling the muscles in her neck, back, and shoulders.
The slower speed allowed her mind to drift. Today it drifted back to her first boyfriend. She shook her head as though to shake the memories out of her ears. He refused to disappear. Her stomach clenched like someone was wringing out a wet shirt. She must not think about him. Must not think about what happened afterwards.
She took another deep breath and forced her mind past the darkness. Instead, she remembered what happened after he’d gone for good. That was a little safer. Back then, her hair and skin reeked of hot oil and fried onions. There weren’t many job options for sixteen-year-olds. His leaving had forced her to think again. Had led to her job at David Jones.
When she’d left home, she’d taken all her clothes. A rich girl’s wardrobe wasn’t to be sneered at. She tried everything on and sorted them into three piles. Clothes that were keepers, clothes that needed to be adapted, and clothes that were irredeemable. The last pile had made her think. They were too good for rags.
Rachel wiped the sweat off her cheeks and nose.
It hadn’t taken her long to work out that there was no point giving quality clothes to second-hand shops in her area. It was the shops in rich areas who would appreciate them. And those were the shops where she found stuff to fill the gaps in her cupboard. For fifty dollars, she’d come away with a whole new mix-and-match wardrobe.
One minute to go. She kept running. Running, running, running. Three, two, one. Made it. She reached forward to slow the machine down for the final cool down. She must have worked off that cheesecake by now. She didn’t plan to become one of those bimbos who forced themselves to vomit after meals. She was healthy, not crazy.
Rachel switched the machine off, grabbed the towel, and mopped her head. Whew. She’d pushed it tonight.
Now for a shower and an early night to catch up on beauty sleep. Sleep washed away all the stress toxins in her system. Tomorrow was a day off. Maybe she’d sleep all day. Allow herself to forget that the tide of time was already lapping hungrily at the base of the cliff.
4
Naomi was out of bed and sitting in a chair. Esther kissed her forehead. “I’ve already heard you’re a star.”
“The physiotherapist was pleased. My frame and I didn’t break any speed records, but we managed to get to the door and back.”
“It’ll get easier every day. They won’t let you go home until you can walk up the three steps into the house.” Esther pulled her chair close. “How are you coping with the pain?”
“Nothing like childbirth, dear.”
Esther stifled a grin. If only all the patients were of her grandmother’s generation. “Do you think you can cope with two extra visitors?”
“It depends what kind.”
“Joy and Gina.”
Naomi beamed. “They’re not visitors they’re family but I will need a catnap before they arrive.”
Esther draped a light blanket over Naomi’s knees. She’d made it through surgery, but she looked old and frail. Lord, I can’t bear to lose any more family.
She had a meal every week with her mum, and their relationship was better than ever, but she missed the easy relationship she used to have with her dad. She’d been such a daddy’s girl. She’d adored him. Strikingly handsome and full of enthusiasm. Sure, he was rarely at home, but when he was, he’d swing her round and say, ‘How’s my darling today?’
What daughter didn’t love to feel treasured by the most important man in her world? Last year had ripped them apart, and her monthly visits home were a strain, but she wasn’t giving up. He was still upset at her decision to leave Victory Church.
A spot of saliva dribbled out the corner of Naomi’s mouth. Esther’s chest tightened. Such a precious woman. How had she lived without her? There’d been no extended family in Esther’s life. No grandparents, no cousins, no uncles and aunts. The Macdonalds were a small clan, and Mum was an only child whose parents were long dead.
Maybe the loneliness of her childhood was why Esther had such a longing for an older sister. She’d never longed for a brother or even a younger sister. Only an older sister would do. She hadn’t known her hope was futile until she was eight and learned older sisters couldn’t be bought at the supermarket.
Naomi snuffled in her sleep. Perhaps she too dreamed of reconciliation. Lord, bring our family together before it is too late. Give Gran the desires of her heart.
Joy entered the room, followed by Gina with a bunch of flowers.
“My, what beautiful flowers,” Naomi said. “Esther, could you put them in the vase?”
Esther sprang into action.
“Now, I don’t want to talk about myself,” Naomi said. “I’ll live. What have you been up to?”
Esther, Joy, and Gina had been meeting up regularly since the beginning of the year to encourage each other and pray.
Esther turned to Joy. “Have you had any opportunities to talk about Jesus at the cancer clinic?”
“A few words here and there, but nothing like what I had with you.”
Gina laughed. “Well, it’s not often that someone lashes out at God right in front of you.”
Esther grinned. She’d been furious at God for not healing her. Joy’s persistent questions had driven her crazy, but she’d learned she couldn’t escape God when he gets to work.
“You know we’ve been praying I’d have opportunities to tell Bible stories,” Gina said. “Well, I’ve had three. Now Esther won't be the only one sharing her experiences.”
“Well done,” Joy said. “What did God teach you?”
Gina pursed her lips. “Like you said, when we pray for opportunities, we keep seeing them. I was terrified before I opened my mouth, but the fear was gone once I started.”
“You’ve reminded me that I’ve stopped praying for opportunities,” Esther said. “I miss having my faith stretched.”
“Have either of you considered leading a story group at church?” Joy asked.
Esther looked across at Gina. “What do you reckon? Could we do a group with the young workers?”
“I don’t see why not. Stuart would be delighted to have someone volunteer to lead the group but what about your energy levels?”
“I think I can manage it if I pace myself. The only issue is that Gran is going to need me in the evenings for the next few months.”
“Don’t use me as an excuse,” Naomi said. “Besides which, why can’t our place be the venue?”
“Are you sure?”
“You’re not going to host wild parties in my living room.”
Esther chuckled. “That’s true.”
There was a drawn-out pause. Not an awkward pause, but the comfortable pause that happens between good friends.
“I’m blessed,” Esther said. “You and Joy have been like sisters to me.” Her face heated a little. “When I was younger, I dreamed about having an older sister.”
“That’s not unusual when someone is an only child,” Gina said. “Sort of like an imaginary friend.”
“I had a sister,” Joy said. “Sometimes I would have preferred the imaginary sort.”
Naomi had closed her eyes.
“My sister was completely real to me,” Esther said. “I even had a nickname for her. Tickles.”
Naomi licked her lips.
Joy held out her hands to them. “Ladies, why don’t we pray and leave Naomi to rest?”
Maybe that was why Gran wasn’t participating much in the conversation. The anaesthetic must have knocked her around more than she was letting on.
“Gran, do you want to pray with us, or should we leave you and go outside?”
“I’ll survive if you’re quick. Then you and the nurse can help get me back into bed.”
They all held hands. Each prayed first on their own, and then Joy said, “Loving Lord. Thank you for bringing Mrs Mac ... Naomi safely through her surgery.”
Coming from China, Joy still struggled with the informality of calling someone older than herself by their first name, but Gran had insisted.
“Help her pain to be manageable tonight so she sleeps well. May she be a light in this hospital for the few days she’s here. Amen.”
How typical of Joy to focus on the essentials. Not just getting through each day, but taking Jesus wherever they went.
5
A heavy lead ball settled into Rachel’s stomach. Why had she applied for the manager’s job? Ten of them had made it through the application stage. Alice hadn’t, but she’d still whispered, “Hope you get it.” Alice was too nice, and Rachel didn’t deserve it. After all, she wasn’t averse to clambering over a friend to succeed.
The room was quiet. Nine perfect mannequins frozen on their seats. Asking them to all arrive together seemed a form of torture. Rachel’s interview was last. Was there significance in the order? Her stomach curdled and seethed. Dry toast for breakfast would have been better than cereal.
The door to the main office opened and the first interviewee walked out, head held high. Was she confident or faking it? The receptionist’s nails clicked on her keyboard. She looked up. “Yvonne.”
Rachel gave a ghost of a smile. No point in letting her dislike show and making enemies with someone who might become her boss. David Jones was a cushy job compared with many alternatives, and Rachel had no intention of losing it.
Rachel had to use the bathroom twice during the wait. The second time she freshened her makeup.
She peered at her face. How had she ever ended up looking like this? As a kid, she’d been a long way from physical perfection, she’d just wanted to be normal. To be allowed to make mud pies or jump in puddles. But her wishes didn’t matter. Her father had wanted a little doll. Her mother brushed her hair until it shone, tugging it into tight French braids. No wisps were allowed to escape. As a kid she hadn’t known what a corset was, but she’d walked as though wearing one under her high-end clothes. She’d learned to say ‘please,’ ‘thank you’, and ‘excuse me’ like her life depended on it.
Her father had beamed whenever people said, “Isn’t she a darling?”
Why could she never get her father’s voice out of her head? If she wet herself as a toddler, she was told she’d never be a Proverbs 31 woman. If she made a noise in church, she was told the Proverbs 31 woman knew how to behave in public. If she interrupted her father, she was told the Proverbs 31 woman would never interrupt. The Proverbs 31 woman had glided through the sky, glowing like some kind of fairy princess. She was always clean, always tidy, always in control, and never ever a disappointment to her father.
Rachel swallowed the acid in her throat. The Proverbs 31 woman was the opposite of everything she’d been. She’d resented the woman because she could never live up to her standard. Maybe even hated her.
Now her mother was the perfect Proverbs 31 woman, but it was the last thing Rachel had wanted to be when she grew up. Yet here she was. A perfect woman. How had appearance become of prime importance to the kid who’d preferred skipping to dolls and climbing trees to tea parties? Odd how things had turned out.
“Rachel, please take a seat.”
Rachel sat down. She’d experimented with all sorts of sitting postures the night before. Sitting right back in the chair with ankles crossed, knees together and her hands on her lap, would hide her fear and still look professional. She smiled to relax her cheek muscles. Did she exude calm confidence without overconfidence?
“Why don’t you take us through your work history?”
That was the problem with CVs. Good interviewers took notice of the details. Would they quiz her on her personal history? If they did, could she present it positively?
“I worked in a restaurant first.” Restaurant sounded grander than takeaway shop and it wasn’t strictly a lie. There had been some tables for customers who wanted to eat on the spot rather than take their fish and chips home.
“I spent five years at David Jones in Chatswood before I was asked to move to the city store. I’ve been here ever since.”
“But not always working for the same cosmetics company?”
“No. Working for different companies gave me broader experience.”
She could handle questions about her current work. She wasn’t her father’s daughter for nothing. Even though she hadn’t finished school, she’d had the best of the best before she left.
She answered a few more predictable questions.
One of the interviewers stared off to the right. Was she even paying attention? The woman’s chin dropped and she reached for the CV in front of her and ran her finger down the page.
Should Rachel be worried?
“Your CV mentions your restaurant job. How old were you then?”
“Sixteen.” Why had the lady spotted the deliberately vague part of her application?
“You don’t mention how many hours you worked.”
What could she say?
The woman pierced Rachel with her gaze. “Well, was it full-time or part-time?”
Rachel’s mouth went dry. “Full.”
The woman glanced down at the form in front of her. “And yet you attended one of the best schools in Sydney.”
The woman’s badgering reminded Rachel of her father. She almost gagged. She wasn’t going to let her father muck this up for her, he’d wrecked enough of her life. Could she somehow spin her reason for leaving school in a positive light?
“Were you expelled?”
“No.”
The woman tapped her forefinger on her thigh. A single word answer would never satisfy her.
“I had a difficult relationship with my father.” Understatement of the year. “I went to live with my grandmother.” Would that satisfy her?
“And?”
Would the woman ever stop probing? A butterfly pinned to a board couldn’t feel more uncomfortable. Rachel’s palms were clammy. Don’t panic.
“I went to a local high school for a while, but it wasn’t great. I finished Year 10 and decided to take a break and then working proved to be more to my liking.”
Had she blown her chances? Had the interviewers noticed the hardness in her voice when she mentioned her father? Little things like attitude could sabotage an interview, especially when there were other good candidates. Why hadn’t she thought to bring a handkerchief to wipe the sweat off her palms?
The short interviewer with glasses took over. “What are some of your strengths?”
Safe ground. Thank goodness.
She didn’t mention what they could see for themselves. It was better left unsaid that cosmetics companies chose staff for their looks and grooming. Cosmetics were about glamour, after all. Her genes, upbringing, and figure gave her a big tick in this department.
“I’m organised and hard working. I have good people skills and repeat customers usually ask for me by name.” A private school education had its uses. Rachel listed a few more things she thought they’d want to hear. She was in the swing now.
