After the movie had played for a few minutes, Cassaundra pushed the pause button. “If I tell you something confidential, will you promise to never mention it again?”

            “Of course.”

            “You’ll never tease me about it?”

            “Never.”

            “You won’t laugh?”

            “Is it funny?”

            “Yes. In a way.”

            “I’ll do my best.”

            Her serious demeanor dissolved and she laughed. “Always honest, aren’t you?”

            “I try to be.”

            “Okay. I’m from Peewee, West Virginia.”

            He pressed his lips together and managed not to smile. “If I didn’t know there is a Peewee, West Virginia, I’d probably have to laugh. But I guess I laughed it out the first time around.”

            “You’ve actually heard of it?”

            “Been there. Well, sort of. When I was around twelve, my youth group went on a trip white water rafting. Late at night, I was dozing on the bus, and some of the kids were reading the names of small towns as we passed them. City kids, we’d laugh at names like Peel Tree, Hepzibah ,and Henpeck. I heard someone say Elizabeth followed by Peewee, Unincorporated. You can imagine a busload of adolescents carrying on after that.”

            Cassaundra sighed. “Actually it would be hard for me to imagine. I didn’t have a normal childhood and I can’t relate to going on a trip with middle class kids from a church group.” She sat silent for a moment, staring at the open Bible on his coffee table. “And I can’t relate to this God of love you preach about.”

            “Why do you keep coming to church?”

            “I didn’t say that I didn’t want to relate. I said I can’t.” She pressed the button on the remote and the movie resumed playing.

 

Cassuandra entered church quietly. She sat in the back row to the right, as always. As usual, the single women who had their eyes fixed on Doug sat in the middle front rows. She wondered why, with so many eager-to-marry women throwing themselves at him, he spent so much of his free time with her. He admitted he was ready for marriage, yet she was the only woman he dated, and they didn’t really date. They just sort of hung out together.

            The small independent church on the outskirts of the city had been dormant for years. Now, with a progressive young pastor, they were growing. Doug’s preaching style was low key but powerful. He seldom raised his voice, but often lowered it in an effective manner. Cassaundra noticed people would lean forward so they wouldn’t miss a word.

            As she listened to the prelude music she thought back to the Sunday she road her bicycle by the church, paused at the door, and listened. Doug was speaking about a void in a person’s heart that only God could fill. This caught her attention and she attended the next Sunday. She had been attending faithfully for over a year, in spite of the fact that her void remained unfilled.

            The music ended and she listened intently as Doug presented his carefully prepared message about the simplicity of the gospel. As always, she struggled with the loving father concept. Her analytical mind sifted it down to the facts. She tried to make it personal, but the doubts crept in. A loving father who sacrificed his only son for her sins? Why did this loving, heavenly father allow her unloving, biological father to neglect, belittle, and abuse her. How could a God sit in heaven and allow the horrible things that took place on earth and do nothing?

            Doug ended his message by doing something he seldom did; he changed topics at the end and recounted a story about angels protecting missionaries. His comments about angels surrounding and protecting God’s children seemed to take him by surprise. His excellent speaking skills allowed him to wrap it up gracefully, but she knew him well enough to know he was a bit unnerved.

            She only spoke to Doug for a few moments as she left church. When she arrived home her empty house felt even emptier than usual. The few friends she had would be busy with families. Doug would be involved with the church all day. She dropped her large work purse on the table and wondered why she didn’t carry a lighter one for church. She noticed the mail she had picked up on Monday and sighed, knowing she hadn’t gone through the mail because she wanted to avoid the brown envelope. A card from a friend she had met in grad school announced a new baby. She placed it on the front of the fridge as a reminder to send a gift. After tossing the junk mail in the recycling bin, she studied the envelope. The block printing didn’t look familiar. The envelope was securely sealed. She put it back in her purse.

            A strong desire to talk with Doug overwhelmed her. He’d be at lunch with church staff. She pushed the desire aside, went to her bedroom, and changed her clothes. Sweat pants and shirt suited her mood. She plopped down on the bed and looked at the ceiling. “God? Are you real?” she whispered. Receiving no answer, she rolled to her side and fell asleep. When she woke, she went to the kitchen and warmed some soup. She slowly sipped her hot soup and thought about angels.

            It was only two and she had a long afternoon and evening ahead of her. She decided  to take advantage of the time and get some of tomorrow’s work in order. Lost in her work, only breaking for a light dinner, the hours flew.

            Around ten, she closed her computer, took a shower, and called it a night. Sometimes, Doug called late on Sunday to finalize plans for their usual Monday night date. She left her phone on just in case.

            He didn’t call until noon the next day.

            “Hi, Cassaundra, I’m at the store picking up some things for dinner. Didn’t get home until late last night and slept in. Cornish Game Hens strike your fancy?”

            “Everything you cook strikes my fancy, but it’s time I treated you. I’m not a great cook, but I pick restaurants well.”  She waited but received no response. “Come on Doug. It’s the twenty-first century. A girl can treat a guy to dinner.”

            “It’s not that. I enjoy our dinners here. It’s the only meal I cook all week.”

            This time it was she who hesitated.

            “Tell you what, I’ll take a rain check. We eat here tonight, and you can take me out Saturday night.”

            Cassaundra again hesitated. Saturday night? Usually works on his sermon.

            “If you already have plans, we could make it another night.”

            “No plans. Saturday night will work.”

            “Good. Having your usual busy Monday?”

            “No. Should be able to get away early. I did some work yesterday.”

            “Great. You can keep me company while I prep the hens.”

           

            Another long brown envelope greeted her when she stopped to pick up the mail. Cassaundra J. MacGregor was printed with the same block letters. Smaller letters under her name formed Kassy Jo Anderson. Someone knows where I am. This one was post marked Long Beach, Ca.

            She crammed the mail into her bag and walked purposely to her car. Inside, she glanced at the mail, crumpled and hanging from the outside pocket, and resisted the urge to straighten it. She called Doug. “Pulling out of the P.O. Being careful. Be right there.” She flipped the phone shut before he could respond.

            Twice she slammed on her breaks to avoid aggressive drivers—slammed harder than necessary. Her anger confused her. While stopped at a light she studied the ring. A gift from a friend? A friend that watches for me from his balcony—a friend who insists on opening my car door. Just a friend?   

            When she neared the condo she called him again. “I’m pulling in. I will park, walk up the steps, and ring the doorbell. You will stay in the apartment, you will push the damn buzzer and I will walk up the remaining steps to your condo.” Damn? Now that should get a preacher’s attention.

            Doug smiled, but didn’t speak when he opened the door. She followed him to the kitchen, seated herself at the breakfast bar, and let her purse slide from her shoulder to the floor. “Nothing to say, Rev. Howard?”

            He gave his head one short shake and continued to mix the herbs and seasonings he was preparing for the hens.

            “Okay. You wanted my past. Here it is. I ran away from home three weeks before my fifteenth birthday. My so called home was about as bad as it gets. Abusive, alcoholic parents . . . disgusting older brother. I imagine being a pastor trained in psychology, you’ve heard it all before.”

            Doug nodded and continued to rub the hens with the seasoning.

            My father worked in the mines, when he worked. He’d usually drink up his pay before he got home. The payday I ran away, he came home too sick to drink. I stole the money out of his pants pocket. Got there before Mom came home from the bar, or she would have taken it. I’d been pretend running away most of my life, but this time, I really did it. Folded my few tattered pieces of clothing and placed them in a paper bag.” Cassandra paused, and sadly sighed. “I remember the way I made precise, crisp folds when I rolled the top of the bag down. I wasn’t a psyche major, but even I figured out that my compulsive neatness and cleanliness are coping mechanisms that help me deal with the mess and filth I grew up in.”

            She looked at her purse and lifted it to the bar. “If this God you think so much of is real, I don’t know where he was when all of this was going on.” She paused expecting Doug to say something; he didn’t. “But . . . ” She sighed. “. . . maybe he showed up when I left home.”

            Doug washed his hands, put the hens in the oven, got them each a glass of water, and took a barstool across from her. He placed his hand on hers, but didn’t speak.

            “I walked out to the highway to hitch a ride. Even though I was young, I knew the bad things that could happen to me. I swear I could hear my heart beating . . . can hear it now remembering.” She took a long drink of water. “I walked for a while and that helped me calm down. Every time a car went by, I’d try to hitch a ride, but none stopped, so I gave up and just kept walking. When I was worn out and couldn’t go on, a car pulled over.” She paused and examined Doug’s face. His light blue eyes were looking intently at her.

            “I got up the courage to look into the car. It was a dark night, not a star in the sky. All I could see were the whites of four huge eyes. There I was, poor white trash, looking into a car with two black people sitting in it. I swear, I almost took off running.”

            Doug lightly squeezed her hand.

            “The window rolled down, and a voice as soft and sweet as honey said, ‘Where you going this time of night, child? Running away?’ I nodded. ‘Is it so bad, you can’t go back?’ the woman asked. I again nodded, and the lady in the passenger seat told me to get in the back. I got in and the driver started the car.

            It turned out they were returning to their home in Roanoke, Virginia from a revival tour where they had been the singers. One lady had a tambourine. The two harmonized perfectly. Maybe they were sisters. They sang and hummed spirituals so hypnotically that a strange peace came over me. I slept most of the way.”

            Doug wiped at a tear that threatened to escape from one eye and blinked hard. “Wow. What a wonderful story.”

            “Don’t think I ever thought of it as wonderful.” She swallowed hard. “Something you said Sunday made me wonder if those ladies could have been angels. They never told me their names. They didn’t ask me much at all, but I felt they knew about me.”

            “What happened?”

            “All I could think about was getting a job and a room. I was scared to death of being on the street, so I didn’t care where I went. They seemed to know that. I woke when they pulled up to a large house in a lower middle class neighborhood. We quietly walked up the steps. The door had a plaque that said Fresh Start. It was all strange. A couple of times, I was sure I was dreaming. Two women came to the door: one white, one black. The woman who had driven the car simply said, ‘This one’s not knocked-up or on drugs, but she needs help.’  The two women at the door stepped aside so I could walk by. After I walked inside, I turned back to thank the sweet ladies and they were gone. That fast.” She grabbed Doug’s wrist. “Do you think they could have been angels?”

            “Whether they were flesh and blood or not, they were angels.”

            “After I finished grad school, I went to Roanoke and tried to find them. Couldn’t. Hit a stone wall every time I got close.”

            “Hm.” He bent across the bar and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m anxious to hear the rest of your story.”

            “I stopped feeling sorry for myself at Fresh Start. Most of the girls there had tougher backgrounds than mine. Many of them were rebellious, but I was determined to get back in school and make something of myself. Funny, once you admit you need help, help comes.

After a few weeks, staff saw my dedication and helped me in so many ways. I was paid to do housework and enrolled in school. After a time, I was trusted with more important duties at the house and I eventually did all of the office work.”

            “When I graduated from high school, I enrolled in community college and, oh, my gosh, Doug, it would take a long time to tell you everything, but I worked hard, and so many people were so good to me.”

            “It’s an inspiring story.” He took both of her hands. “And it is wonderful.”

            “I saw a good therapist while I was in college. She helped me get rid of what she called lingering shadows from my past. Last week something happened that brought the shadows back.” She took the two envelopes out of her purse and placed them one at a time onto the bar. One came last Monday followed by another today.”

            Doug looked at them, but didn’t comment.

            “I used to always feel like someone was following me. In therapy  we uncovered the root of the feeling. I was underage when I ran away, and I always feared I’d be found by authorities and sent back.” She picked up the top envelope. “I changed my name from Kassy Jo Anderson to

 . . . ” She rotated the second envelope to the top. “ . . . Cassaundra J. MacGregor.”

            “They’re unopened.”

            “You noticed, huh?”

            “Scared?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why?”

            “Someone from my past found me. They found where I am. They even found my post office address.”

            “You’ll not find out who or how unless you open them.”

            She handed the first one to Doug. “Open it and read it to me.”

            Doug studied the envelopes. “Seattle—Long Beach. You sure you want me to do this?”

            “Please.”

            He opened the envelope and read the letter.

 “Hi Kass, It’s your brother Randy. I’ve looked for you for some time. You covered your tracks well. I had to work my way up in the intelligence field before I had the skills to find you. I hope you don’t squeal on me for using official resources for personal use. Of course, you never did squeal on me, and I was an awful brother. But then, our parents wouldn’t have listened, anyhow. It was bad, wasn’t it?

I’ve always wanted you to know that your leaving gave me the courage to go, too. I worked in the oil fields until I was old enough to join the army. While not as smart as you (I noticed the straight As even if our so called-parents didn’t), I did well in the military and got an education. I’m now with a government agency, and I guess it’s an important job because I’m not allowed to say exactly what I do.     

I hope you will be pleased to hear from me, and that we can get together. While not perfect, by any means, I’m a better man than I was a boy. My wife sees to it. We’ll be having our first child very soon. I can’t wait for our little girl to arrive. I’ll do my very best to be a good father.