Prologue
Wait quietly for the LORD,
Be patient till he comes…
—Psalm 37:7
“Ladies and gentlemen!” The jaunty emcee spoke in a deep radio announcer’s voice. He stood on the stage between two preteen girls, a microphone in his hand. “Let’s congratulate this year’s winner of the countywide spelling bee, who now advances to the state competition, and from there, we hope, on to nationals!”
The sparse crowd in the school auditorium applauded politely. As family members of the participants, they were naturally inclined to exhibit more enthusiasm for their own child. By the time the winner was announced, only one group of relatives held any genuine interest in the program.
The girl who knew how to spell “metamorphosis” smiled politely in return. As the host lauded the runner-up, the county’s best 12-year-old speller waited as if she were quite at home taking first place.
The girl who had not known 30 seconds ago how to spell “metamorphosis” took a trembling breath, smiling sweetly through tears. There was a slight increase in the level of applause. Blonde and blue-eyed, she had won over the audience with her display of anxiety at each word aimed her way and unabashed joy with each correct spelling.
The host congratulated the winner now, shaking her hand. Shorter than average, she lifted her chin, looked him straight in the eye, and thanked him, clearly mature beyond her 12 years. Her straight, reddish hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She had played the game well. Intensely. Focused. Never hesitant.
“Tell us,” the emcee said, “what would you like to do when you grow up?”
“I’d like to be a White House correspondent. A Helen Thomas for the twenty-first century.”
Laughter rippled through the audience.
Though it easily could have been construed as being aimed at her, the girl didn’t seem to mind. She gazed at the cluster of people in the front row still cheering for her. Why would she need the crowd’s approval? She had a loving family and a plan for her life.
A young woman sat huddled in a pew, a large bulging knapsack beside her. Groups of people were scattered throughout the sanctuary. The wind rattled the stained-glass windows.
Another woman, somewhat older in appearance, walked along the pew before hers and sat down, facing her. “The snowstorm isn’t letting up. We should leave now. Your bus won’t be going anywhere tonight.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded. “The highways are closed down. Please, I’ve food and plenty of space for you.”
“I’ll just stay here.” There was a stony edge to her tone. Hard, resolute.
“It’s too uncomfortable and drafty. I think enough townsfolk have shown up to take all the stranded travelers home for the night.”
The young woman blinked. Her curly hair hung about her shoulders, matted. “Why would you take me home?”
The other woman smiled. “Someone took me home once. It’s my turn.”
“You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“I know you need a place to sleep.”
“I’m pregnant. Nineteen. Single. No means of support. People react to me as if I were a leper.”
The older woman bowed her head for a moment, her forehead against the back of the pew. When she raised it, tears glistened in her eyes. “Sweetheart, I was there. My daughter is eleven now. She’s always wanted a baby sister. Or brother.” Holding out her hand to the other, she stood. “Let’s go home.”