Heaven Sent Husband

“This stupid dress makes me look awful!” Staring at herself, Ketura turned around and studied it. She had paid more for it than she had ever thought she would spend for a dress. Indeed, her trip to Neiman Marcus in Dallas had been her first. She had felt like a poor relation and was certain she had seen disdain in the eyes of the cool-voiced saleswoman who had waited on her.

As she recalled how embarrassing the trip to Neiman Marcus had been, Ketura flushed. She did have one outstanding trait, and that was her beautiful complexion. It was as smooth and clear as a woman’s skin could be, but she never saw that quality and remained distracted by the few faint freckles across the bridge of her nose that she considered unsightly. Now she looked again at the dress and tried to find something good about it. She had not liked it much at the store, but the saleswoman had talked her into buying it. “With your height, you have to wear a style like this, dear,” the woman had said.

“Like what?” Ketura wondered aloud now. “Like somebody’s spinster aunt?”

That’s who the dress seemed suited for, she thought, despairing as she studied her reflection. The short-sleeved button-front chemise, made from a smooth, pale yellow fabric, fell just below her knees. The demure oval neckline was outlined with satin appliqué, and the tiny buttons covered in satin, as well.

Maybe it wasn’t that bad, she decided, but so out of sync with her usual, sporty style that she felt as though she were dressed in a costume.

Ketura finally turned and sat down at the edge of her bed to put on her shoes. The shoes were also new and rather attractive, and Ketura had surprisingly small feet for her height. The shoes were overpriced though, and now she wished she’d put her hard-earned money toward something more practical, like a good pair of jogging shoes. Or better yet, used the money for a donation to people who had no shoes at all.

While slipping them on, she glanced at the clock on her bedside table. “Time for Cinderella to go to the ball,” she muttered darkly.

She went downstairs and found her parents in the family room. Her father greeted her with a smile. “Well, now,” he said with appreciation, “don’t you look nice, Ket.”

He came over to stand beside her, and no one seeing them together could mistake their relationship. Roger Lindsey was six foot three with blue eyes and blond hair that had gone mostly gray. For a man of fifty, few lines marked his face or marred his strong features. Ketura always felt she was looking at a masculine version of herself when she looked into her father’s face.

“I hate this dress,” she murmured between clenched teeth.

“Hate it? Why, how can you say that?” Her mother looked genuinely surprised. “You look lovely. I’m sure Charlie will think so, too.”

“I paid too much for the dress and the shoes. Just think what the mission in Bombay could have done with that money.”

“Well, that’s very true,” her mother replied placidly. “But young women need new clothes once in a while, too, and you told me yourself that you didn’t have anything to wear for tonight.”

Roger looked at his wife and shook his head. “I have to agree with Ketura. I remember it was Thoreau who said, ‘Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.’” He smiled and his eyes crinkled up at the corners. “Besides, Charlie probably won’t know the difference. I don’t think he appreciates anything but numbers.”

The skinny, dull accountant wasn’t the man for his Ket, Roger thought. Still, it was good to see her going out tonight and having some fun. He studied his daughter, who now sat on the couch next to his wife, and couldn’t help but wonder why she had not been as popular and sought-after as her older sisters. They had gone through dozens of boyfriends during high school and college, and Roger remembered finding the house crowded with them—gawky young men—everywhere you turned. This had not been the case with Ket, and it hurt him somehow, for he knew that this younger daughter of his who looked so much like him felt insecure. He had wanted to say, Don’t compare yourself to your sisters, Ket. They are who they are and you’re what God made you. A tall, strong, beautiful woman in your own right.

However, he had never been able to find an opportunity to say this. So now he said, “I think you look beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Ketura smiled, despite herself. It was just her dad and she knew he felt obliged to say such things, but the compliment made her feel good nonetheless.

“It’s about time for Charlie to get here, isn’t it? Where are you going?” he asked.

“We’re going to the movies. Some film about space travel. Scientists are stranded on another planet. Or maybe they get stranded on the way to another planet…. I’m not quite sure.”

Her mother glanced at her with a puzzled expression. “I thought you hated movies like that.”

“Well…it wasn’t my first choice. But Charlie thought it would be fun.”

Ketura shrugged and forced a smile. She actually dreaded a two-hour simulated ride through outer space, which would either put her to sleep, or give her a whopper of a headache with the earsplitting special effects. But, while pretending to give her some say in the matter, Charlie had pushed his preference. She’d sensed that if she didn’t give in and agree, he’d most likely sit pouting through any film that was her choice.

Her father returned to the book he’d been reading and Ket watched a news show with her mother. Seven-thirty came and still no Charlie Petrie. Ket felt partly relieved, partly annoyed and partly anxious, anticipating she might be stood up. Finally, at seven-forty-five the phone rang.

“I’ll get it,” Lucille said. She went over, picked up the phone and said, “Hello? Oh, yes, she’s right here. Tell her what?” She hung up the phone and turned slowly to face Ket, a worried frown on her face.

Suddenly Ket knew what had brought the frown to her mother’s face. She stood and said quietly, “He’s not coming, is he?”

Lucille Lindsey shot an agonized glance at her husband and then turned back to face Ket. “No, he said something had come up—an emergency of some kind.”

Ket met her mother’s sympathetic gaze for a moment and felt her eyes fill with tears. She took a deep breath and willed herself not to cry.

“Right. An accounting emergency. Someone forgot to file their taxes. They just realized it,” she joked. Her parents both smiled but neither laughed, she noticed.

Ket avoided looking at them. She sat very still and stared straight ahead. She felt something happening deep within, in some silent, invincible place.

She suddenly became aware that a resolution was forming inside, while not in words, in some way she was saying, I won’t be put through this kind of humiliation again! With an effort she kept her face straight and shrugged. “Well, all dressed up and no place to go.”

“Let the three of us go see a movie. I wouldn’t mind getting out tonight,” Roger said quickly. He saw the pain that had flickered across his daughter’s face and wanted to do something to take it away. He knew that her pride had been hurt badly, and anger washed through him. I’d like to tell that Charlie Petrie what I think of him! To treat a young woman like this…! However, he could say none of this, for a look from his wife, who knew him very well, stilled him on that subject.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Daddy. Why don’t you and Mom go? I think I’ll just change clothes and go out for a little drive.”

Watching as Ket walked stiffly out of the room, her parents waited until the sound of her footsteps faded.

“Oh, Roger, I’m so worried about Ket! She’s not happy.”

“I know she isn’t, but I don’t know what to do about it.” His glance moved to the portraits of their three daughters on the mantle over the fireplace. He studied them for a moment and shook his head. “She’s always putting herself down. She doesn’t think she’s as pretty as Carol or Jenny.”

“I know, and that’s wrong. Carol and Jenny have a different kind of beauty.”

“Well, that’s true enough. They look like you. I wish Ket had taken after you instead of me.”

“Don’t say that, Roger!” Lucille came over and put her arm around her husband. “God made her just as she is.”

“I know. I wanted to tell her that, but somehow I never can.”

Shaking her head almost in despair, Lucille said quietly, “It’s something she’ll have to come to on her own. It’s strange, Roger. She’s such a fine girl. So honest and strong in every way. So bright and caring.”

“And such a clear thinker, too! She can read other people, but she’s never really figured herself out.”

Upstairs, Ketura pulled off the dress and tossed it across the room where it landed on the floor in a heap. Such anger was rare for her, but Charlie Petrie’s rejection had stung terribly. She didn’t know why it hurt so much. She didn’t even really like him and didn’t respect him anymore, either. He was such a coward. He didn’t even have the nerve to cancel on her himself, but had left her mother to do it. Who needed a guy like that?

Picking up her dress and throwing it across a chair, she yanked off the shoes and panty hose, then pulled on a pair of comfortable khakis, a favorite blue polo shirt, socks and sneakers. Feeling much better, she grabbed her purse and left the house. She got into her blue convertible, started the engine and put the top down. She’d bought the car used, at a reasonable price, but it was still the most impulsive, frivolous purchase of her life. The aging vehicle wasn’t even entirely reliable, but Ket loved the feeling of freedom she experienced while driving with the top down. The wind ruffled her hair as she pulled away from the house and cruised down the street, and Ket felt all her cares blown away with it.

Fragments of the sunset threw a magenta haze over the west for the summer had brought the long days. Now she drove without thinking, just anxious to get away. Swerving and changing lanes, Ket thought of how her life had been so successful in some ways and such a failure in others. Scholastically, she had always excelled and now in her last months of training for her R.N. she was known at Mercy Hospital as an excellent new nurse. She had always been successful at sports, too, and one tennis pro had told her she could make a living at the game, if she wanted to give her life to it. Ketura had laughed at him. “Tennis isn’t something you give your life to. I need more than that.”

She reached the interstate and as soon as she was clear of the Dallas city traffic, she stepped on the accelerator. As always, as the wind rushed toward her and the road swept by, she experienced that delight in the open car that she could not explain.

She drove for nearly an hour, enjoying her solitude, then finally turned back toward the city. As she sent the car through the darkness, she listened to her favorite station on the radio. It was typical that she would listen to such a station, which played the nostalgia music of the forties and fifties—the famous big bands and the great vocalists of that era. Somehow the music soothed her, and when she got back to Dallas she turned off the highway abruptly and soon found herself at a place she knew very well—the parking lot of the ballpark in Arlington—home field of her favorite major league team.

She parked the convertible, got out and began to walk. There was no ball game that night. The team was on a road trip. The skies had turned a velvety blue-black hue now, and overhead a Cheshire cat moon grinned down at her. The stars were sprinkled liberally overhead, and the air of night felt warm. She moved toward the stadium itself, the home plate entrance, and when she got there thought how different it was here when there was no game. The sound of traffic—of heavy trucks and smaller cars—came to her like a distant hum not unlike that of bees. But here there was a quietness that was almost palpable. Looking up, she walked up to the barred gates and wished that there were a game tonight to take her mind off her ruined evening. She loved baseball and could quote innumerable statistics to the amusement of her father and the displeasure of her mother. “It’s not ladylike,” Lucille always said with a frown. But something about the game—ribald and rough as it was—pleased her.

Finally she turned and began walking over the vacant parking lot, acres and acres of concrete with the tall poles bearing light all around. As she walked her mind returned again and again to the debacle of her date with Charlie Petrie. “I don’t even like him,” she announced aloud, her voice breaking the silence. And she continued to speak aloud as she sometimes did when she was in places where she was absolutely certain no one could hear. “He has absolutely nothing that would appeal to me. He doesn’t care anything at all about the things that I like. He wouldn’t even go to church with me. That’s enough for me to turn him down, but I didn’t! I agreed to go see that stupid movie with him! Why did I do it?”

Abruptly she turned away as if trying to turn away from her own thoughts, but they followed her as she circled one of the huge light poles and meandered around the acres of empty parking lot. But as she did, she faced the truth about herself. “I wanted a date. I wanted some man to like me. What’s wrong with that? Every woman likes that!”

The argument seemed sound enough, but somehow Ket was not happy with it. She turned, shaking her head, and moved back to her car. Instead of getting in, she leaned against it, fixed her eyes on the stadium, thought of the lights and the cheers and the screams of the crowd when one of her favorite players knocked the ball out of the park, and wished again that there were a game. Finally, however, she opened the door and got in. Settling behind the wheel, she said, “I guess I’ve got to face up to it.” She gripped the steering wheel hard until her hands ached, then spoke up firmly, “I’m never going to find a Prince Charming. There’ll be no wedding bells or family for me. I’ll have to fill my life up with other things!”

Overhead she saw the Cheshire cat moon grinning—old silver glowing in the sky—but it gave her no pleasure. Still speaking aloud softly, she argued with herself. “I really should count my blessings. I have so much. I’ve got a good family. I’ve got a good church—and I’ve found a career I love. A lot of women would like to have all of that. And I have India.”

The thought of India washed over her quickly—images of Bombay where she had already made two mission trips with a team of doctors and nurses. Her heart had been touched by that place and the terrible conditions of the people there. She remembered a tiny woman that she had found in the streets, emaciated and drawn, and somehow the love of God had flowed through her and she had sat down and held the woman until she died in her arms. From that moment she had known that someday she would serve God as a medical missionary in India.

“Yes, I’ve got India. That’s my future. Something to work toward. My life can really make a difference. As for Prince Charming, who needs him? Even if I met a man I really liked, that would only complicate things. God obviously doesn’t want me to get involved with anyone right now, so I’ll be free to do the work He’s called me to,” she reasoned.

With determination she started up the car and headed toward the exit. Somehow she knew that this night had changed her life. “No Prince Charming for me,” she murmured as she headed toward home.

When she reached the house, Ket was surprised to see that the lights were still on. She went inside and found her father, dressed in his pajamas and a robe, sitting at the kitchen table. He was dipping graham crackers into a glass of milk—his favorite snack. Looking up, he said at once, “I’ve been worried about you, Ket.”

“Oh, I’m all right. You shouldn’t have waited up.”

Roger Lindsey sat there struggling for words. The love he had for this daughter of his was enormous. Perhaps it was because she needed him more than his other two daughters, although he cared deeply for them. Now he dipped a graham cracker into the milk, bit it off, swallowed then said, “Try not to care too much. He’s not worth it.”

“No, he’s not.” Forcing a smile, Ket came over and put her arm around her father. “Don’t worry about me, Dad. I’m all right. I have plenty going on in my life. I have plans. My training will be over soon, and I’ll be an R.N.”

“And then you’ll be going off to India and leaving us.”

“Yes, but that’s what God has called me to do. So, you wouldn’t want me to do anything else, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” He stood, suddenly put his arms around Ket and hugged her tightly. “I’m very proud of you, daughter,” he said huskily. Then he turned and left the room, saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ket quickly showered, put on her nightgown, but she was thinking of her father. He wants to help, she thought, but he doesn’t know how a woman who’s rejected feels. I don’t think any man could ever understand that—but he’s a sweet thing. Why can’t I find one like him, who loves tall plain girls?

Finally she got into bed, turned the reading light on and propped herself up. Picking up the thick Bible from her bedside table, she began to read. The Bible was her favorite book. She read other things, of course, but this was the one that really appealed to her. She was reading now all the way through the Bible from Genesis to Revelation and had reached the thirtieth chapter of Isaiah. He was her favorite among the major prophets, and she settled down, forcibly putting everything out of her mind except the text that was before her. She had an enviable way of focusing on the thing at hand. Other things might occur, but once she was in this mode, whether it was studying medicine or the Bible, or reading a poem, she had learned the secret of total concentration.

She began reading and the first verse said, “Woe to the rebellious children, saith the Lord, that take counsel, but not of Me.” She thought about that for a moment, for she also had the habit of reading a verse, stopping and thinking, and meditating upon it. “A hard thing to say to the old Israelites,” she murmured. Then she read the second verse, which said, “That walk to go down into Egypt, and have not asked at My mouth; to strengthen themselves in the strength of Pharaoh, and to trust in the shadows of Egypt!”

Somehow the verse seemed to reach out. “This is really a tough thing. God is saying that the old Hebrews trusted the strength of Pharaoh rather than putting their trust in the Lord God.”

And as always, she tried to make a personal application. Lord, have I done that? Have I trusted in something else beside You? You know I don’t want to do that, for You are my hope and my trust. And I love You more than anyone else, or anything else. So, let me trust You and not in Egypt or anything this world offers me.

A sense of approval and peacefulness came to her. It was not something she could have described to anyone else, but as she prayed and meditated, Ket often felt that when she surrendered herself to God, He gave His approval by this sort of feeling. Suddenly a startling thought touched her. Maybe I’ve been trusting the worldly things to get a husband instead of trusting God.

The thought disturbed her for it was almost as if a hand had been laid on her. Slowly she began to review her life. She was well aware that all women did things to make themselves attractive and, deny it as they might, they laid plans to get a husband. It was not a thing women talked about, for traditionally the man was the one expected to do the pursuing. Women did not bait traps and catch husbands that way—at least none of them that she had known admitted it.

She sat there for a long time. The only sound was the antique clock that had belonged to her grandparents slowly beating out the time. It made a solitary echo in her room as she thought, It’s not wrong for a woman to dress up and to make herself attractive, is it, Lord? She didn’t seem to get an answer, but somehow an uneasiness filled her. She continued to read and then finally in the fifteenth verse, one of those moments came when the verse seemed to jump off the page. It was almost as if it leapt right into her heart, it struck with such force.

“For thus saith the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel; In returning and rest shall ye be saved; in quietness and in confidence shall be your strength….”

Somehow the verse nudged at Ket, and she paused again and thought, “In quietness and confidence shall be your strength.” Well, I haven’t done that. I remember back when I was just fifteen how I tried to be like Carol and Jenny and the other girls. I tried everything in the book to catch a boyfriend, but somehow I never was able.

She thought again of the embarrassments and the humiliation she had endured to make herself popular, and how those attempts had failed. Oh, she had attracted a few, but no one that had pleased her. Now she went back and studied the words again.

Lord, are You telling me to just be quiet in returning and rest shall ye be saved? To just let You have this thing?

Again she waited, listening for the impression of some kind to come from God. She had never heard the voice of God literally and did not expect to. Still, there had been so many times in her life when after a long prayer, and sometimes even fasting, God had “spoken” so clearly within her spirit that she knew that God was speaking to her in this way. Now she waited, and the longer she waited the more strongly she believed that the verse was speaking directly to her heart. All right. I’ll rest and wait on You. You’ll be my strength, Lord.

She was growing sleepy now but she continued to read, and when she got to the twentieth verse, once again she was brought up short. “And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity, and the water of affliction, yet shall not thy teachers be removed into a corner any more, but thine eyes shall see thy teachers.”

She thought, What does that mean, Lord? and then the first part of the verse came to her, and she thought, “The bread of adversity and the water of affliction.” I guess that’s what I’ve had as far as romance is concerned. I haven’t had any victory there.

She looked down then and read aloud the twenty-first verse. “‘And thine ears shall hear a Word behind thee, saying, This is the way, walk ye in it, when ye turn to the right hand, and when ye turn to the left.’”

At that moment Ketura knew that God was giving her a promise. It happened before, more than once, and she felt a sudden glad joy as she realized that this was God’s way of speaking to her. I’m going to hear a voice that will tell me what to do. Is that right, Lord? She was very sleepy and closed the Bible. Turning out the light, she lay back and began to repeat the twenty-first verse over and over again. “‘And thine ears shall hear a Word behind thee, saying, This is the way.’” Lord, that’s what I want, she prayed silently.

Sleep came but she did not sleep well. More than once she almost came out of her sleep, and finally when dawn came she awakened.

As soon as consciousness came to her, she had one of those mystic moments when she knew that she was in the presence of the Lord. And the Lord was saying in her heart and in her spirit, and in her mind: This is the way, walk ye in it. Obey me and I will give you a husband….

Ket’s eyes flew open and she gasped. “Give me a husband! Surely that’s not what God’s saying to me!” But she lay there pleading to God for a long time, and the impression did not cease.

Finally Ketura took a deep breath. All right, God. If I’m going to have a husband, You’ll have to give him to me because I’m not hunting for Prince Charming on my own anymore!

Chapter Three

Ketura laid her pen down and flexed the fingers of her right hand. They were aching from writing steadily in her diary for the past hour. Now as she leaned back and studied what she had written, a wry thought came to her. Here I am like a teenage girl, keeping a journal. How sophomoric!

Perhaps it was unusual for someone to keep a journal faithfully for so many years, but it had become a part of Ket’s life. The first page went all the way back to when she was seven years old and had announced firmly to her mother, “I’m going to keep a diary all my life.” Her mother had smiled indulgently, but Ket had found putting her thoughts and emotions on paper a good way to analyze who she was. The shelf in her closet now was filled with a line of blank books bought at the bookstore, all of them filled. From time to time she took them out and studied the careful, adolescent handwriting of her early years, finding that almost as interesting as the contents. It had amused her at times to see how earthshaking and traumatic certain events were to a fourteen-year-old, such as making an error in a softball game, which had cost the team the championship. She had written plainly “I think I’ll kill myself!” at the end of that entry.