Chantel slept very little the night after she saw the young girl on the streets of New Orleans. She tossed and turned and finally got up. She put on her robe and went to the balcony, where she stood looking out over the now-empty streets. The sounds of the city were still there, but she could only think of the child with the violet eyes.
It has to be Veronique! No one else could have violet eyes and hair like that and look so much like Mama!
For a long time she stood on the balcony, and finally she knew that, whatever else she did with her life, she would have to find her sister. For many years she had felt a sense of loneliness, and since her father had died this had grown even worse. Her heart cried out for a family, and there was none but Perrin, whom she felt quite sure would never be close. But now there was hope.
From somewhere far away came the sound of music—the faint, thin, reedy sound of a piano. She did not know the tune, but it was a haunting melody that she could barely hear. Finally it faded away, and still Chantel stood there. She found herself tensing her muscles, yearning to do something. What she wanted was action, but what action could she take?
In the silence Chantel bowed her head and began to pray. “Oh, God, I can’t pray as I should. I don’t know You as I want to, but I ask You to help me find this girl. If it is my sister, we need each other. Help me, for I am desperate, O God!”
The Mass brought Chantel little sense of peace. She had been praying with all of her heart, but it seemed that the heavens were made of steel and that her prayers could not go through.
Now as the Mass droned on, Chantel was aware of it in a very mechanical way. But her heart was still crying out. Finally the priest stood up and gave the homily.
Usually this was a very dry, brief sermonette of sorts, in which the congregation were enjoined to do good deeds. But Chantel turned her attention to the priest, Father Mohr. He was a tall, thin man with ascetic features and a dry voice that seemed to rustle as he spoke. He emphasized nothing really, and his homilies usually had a soporific effect on his hearers. But Chantel was desperate for wisdom or guidance of some kind, and she listened as the priest read a Scripture from the book of Genesis. It was rather confusing to Chantel, for she was not familiar with this story.
“This Scripture speaks of Abraham, the man of God, who had grown old. He wanted a bride for his son, but the land in which he lived was filled with idolatry. So he called his servant and sent him back to his own home country to find his son a bride among his own people.
“The servant went back, but when he reached his destination, he was in a quandary. How could he find exactly the right girl to be a bride for the son of his master, Abraham? He did a very peculiar thing, and one that I would not ordinarily recommend. He devised a circumstance and asked God to work in the middle of it. First, he took his camels to a well one evening where the women came to draw water. Then he began to pray. Let me read it for you from the book of Genesis:
And let it come to pass, that the damsel to whom I shall say, Let down thy pitcher, I pray thee, that I may drink; and she shall say, Drink, and I will give thy camels drink also: let the same be she that thou hast appointed for thy servant Isaac; and thereby shall I know that thou hast shewed kindness unto my master.
Chantel had never heard of anything like this, and she listened as the priest said, “Many times we want to find the will of God, and we cannot. Here this servant of Abraham made a very dangerous experiment. He set up a condition for God. My children, I would not advise you to try this. It is true that in this instance once it proved to be the right thing to do, for the young woman did come, and she said exactly the words that Abraham’s servant had requested. And so the servant found the will of God, but in a most unusual way. But I warn you that though God did answer the prayer of Abraham’s servant, He did so to fulfill His redemptive plan. This is not an instruction for believers today; we should not try to force God to work in our lives in this way.” Chantel thought hard on this. When she got home, she found her Bible. Not knowing where the story was, she had to read almost the entire book of Genesis before she found it.
Chantel read the story several times, then, feeling rather foolish, she got down on her knees, folded her hands, and put her forehead against them.
“God, I need someone to help me find my sister. And I pray that you will send someone.” She hesitated, then said, “I hope you won’t be angry with me, O God, but you did this once for one man. I ask you, let the next person who comes to me and says, ‘I will help you’ be the person to help me find Veronique.”
This was a different kind of praying for her. Always before she had prayed “Our Father” or “Hail Mary” or the traditional written prayers. She was shocked to discover how difficult it was to speak directly to God. It gave her an odd sense of the vastness of God and the smallness of her own being.
After she had prayed the prayer she felt even more foolish. She got to her feet, looked around the room uncertainly, then shook her head. “It can’t be,” she said aloud. “I will have to do it for myself.”
Four days passed, and every day Chantel did little but think of Veronique. She dressed each morning and searched the French Quarter, where she walked the streets hopeful of catching another glimpse of the girl she believed to be her sister. She also thought about the prayer she had prayed. At times she felt it was the most foolish thing she had ever done. She even scolded herself, saying, “You can’t back God into a corner and force Him to do something. He’s God and you’re nothing.”
Still, the thoughts would not leave her mind, and she found herself praying every day, “Lord, send someone, and let him say ‘I will help you.’”
As the days went by, she kept expecting a stranger to come up and say the words to her, but nothing happened.
Finally, on Friday evening, Chantel was sitting in the parlor. Her heart was heavy. She tried to pray, but there was no answer.
A sound came to her, and she turned as the door opened. “It’s Mr. Neville,” Elise said. “Do you want to see him?”
“Yes. Show him in, Elise.”
Chantel rose, and as Neville entered the room, she searched his face nervously for signs of anger. She saw none, however, for he smiled and came over to her at once.
He put his hand out, and before she could speak, he said, “I know I’ve troubled you with my offer, Chantel. But I came to say that I want to be your friend. If that’s all I can be, I’ll be satisfied.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “I want you to be happy. That’s my fondest hope.” He hesitated, then said, “I will help you with anything I can.”
Suddenly Chantel’s eyes filled with tears. He had said the very words! I will help you. She held onto his hand and whispered, “Oh, Neville, I’m so glad you’ve come. Come and sit down. I have something to tell you!”