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© 2013 Life & Deliverance (The Florida Irish) Book 2 by Suzanne D. Williams
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Scenes in this story may contain graphic and/or sexual situations not suitable for young or sensitive readers, but are framed by Christian morals and/or solutions.
“Tá Spiorad an Tiarna orm, mar gur choisric le hola mé.
Chuir sé uaidh mé ag tabhairt an dea-scéil do na boicht, §
ag fógairt a scaoilte do bhránna
agus aiseag a radhairc do dhaill;
ag scaoileadh lucht géarbhroide saor;
ag fógairt bhliain ghrásta an Tiarna.”
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised, to preach the acceptable year of the Lord (Lk 4:18-19).
FROM LOVE & REDEMPTION (The Florida Irish) Book 1:
May 1870
Patrick Finnegan smiled in at them, his forehead wrinkled.
“I’m early,” he said. “I hope that’s all right.”
“Of course, I appreciate your coming up here. It seems everywhere I go people want my attention.”
Patrick Finnegan nodded sharply and, removing his hat, twisted it in his hands. “I understand.”
Michael backed away from the doorway and waved him into the room. “Please, come in. What is it you wanted to talk to me about, Mr. Finnegan?”
But Patrick Finnegan stopped, seemingly nervous at the sight of Anne. “Mrs. O’Fallen,” he said. “I hope you’re feeling better.”
She offered him a smile. “I’m tired, but that’s nothing rest won’t cure.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. He redirected his gaze to Michael. “I realize this will come at you as unusual, but you speak Gaelic?”
Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Some. I’m afraid I’m a bit rusty though. Why?”
Patrick paused, licking thin lips. “Well, twofold really. If I might be bold?”
Michael nodded, and Anne’s curiosity built.
“Matthew 19:5, that is what you quoted?” he asked. “‘And they twain shall become one flesh’.”
“You speak Gaelic?” Michael asked.
“As you said just said, ‘some’, though, I fear, yours is much better than mine.”
“Why don’t we take a seat?” Michael gestured to a pair of high-backed chairs set around a small, round table in the corner.
Patrick stepped over and perched delicately on the edge of a seat. “Thank you,” he said. He cleared his throat. “I mention the verse because it seems significant, given your wife’s injuries.”
Michael shifted in his seat, his brow wrinkling. “I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”
“Perhaps, I should back up a bit.” Patrick glanced at Anne. “You were injured in the storm. Correct?”
Michael answered for her. “She was.”
“I was praying that night,” Patrick continued. “The Lord placed a burden on my heart such as I’ve never felt before, and in the midst of my prayers I saw a face, a woman’s face. I knew she was gravely ill, almost to death. However, God impressed on me she must live for she was the support for another with a work to do.”
Patrick stood to his feet and crossed the room to the bed. He took Anne’s hand, a strange, familiar gesture.
“It was your face I saw,” he said. “I knew it the moment your husband brought you to the platform. While standing there, I saw the struggle you’ve had in your heart. I must tell you. Do not be afraid to rely on your spouse for God would heal the fear you’ve held in your heart. He brought you together and wants you to know that your husband cannot do what he needs to without you.”
Her fingers warmed in his, the heat from his touch spreading up her limbs, almost as if he held some power within.
“If I could ask ...” Michael interrupted. “Who are you that you know all this?”
Patrick turned his head, smiling softly. “I understand your feelings. This is obviously odd., so let me introduce myself. I am Reverend Patrick Finnegan.”
“Reverend?” Anne blurted.
He nodded sharp. “Yes. Ten years ordained. My story is the other half of my reason for being here. But before I get to the telling of that, I have to say this.” He released Anne’s hand and faced Michael squarely. “They tell you your voice is a gift, and indeed it is, but God has kept you all these months because of the job He has for you to do. You have known this?”
Michael pressed his hands hard to his knees, but spoke confidently. “Aye,” he said.
Her heart leapt.
“Then I have only confirmed what you knew already and this is the way God works.”
“What is it ... this work I am to do?” Michael asked.
Patrick’s countenance changed, growing lighter. “That involves my own story, for you are the answer to a prayer I’ve long had since I was a child.”