Hosea's Bride

Light from the oncoming car pierced the night, spreading in an ever-widening swath across the pavement behind her as it approached. She had to hide. But where?

The deeper darkness of a recessed doorway appeared on her left. She darted up the short flight of stairs, then wedged against the side wall as a long black car pulled up to the intersection. She grabbed the doorknob and gave it a violent twist. The latch clicked back as the gleam of the headlights threw her shadow against the painted wood. At that moment, she yanked the door open and leaped inside the building. She slammed the door closed and collapsed against it, her chest heaving with silent sobs.

“Good evening.”

She jerked upright as an elderly man smiled and handed her a leaflet. In the center of the cover was a large cross with the word Crossroads emblazoned on the horizontal bar.

Hysterical laughter bubbled up in her throat. She was in a church. Of all places!

DOROTHY CLARK

is a creative person. She lives in a home she designed and helped her husband build (she swings a mean hammer!) with the able assistance of their three children. She also designs and helps her husband build furniture, and does remodeling and decorating for family and friends. When she is not thus engaged, she can be found cheering her grandchildren on at various sports events or band and chorus concerts, or furiously taking notes about possible settings for future novels as she and her husband travel throughout the United States and Canada. Hosea’s Bride is Dorothy’s debut novel. Her first historical romance, Beauty for Ashes, will be a June 2004 release from Steeple Hill Women’s Fiction. Dorothy enjoys hearing from her readers, and may be contacted at [e-mail].

Hosea’s Bride

Dorothy Clark

www.millsandboon.co.uk

And I will betroth thee unto Me for ever; yea,

I will betroth thee unto Me in righteousness,

and in judgment, and in lovingkindness, and in

mercies. I will even betroth thee unto Me in

faithfulness: and thou shalt know the LORD.

—Hosea 2:19-20

This book is lovingly dedicated to my best friend,

hero and husband, Ralph; my children, Craig and

Tina, Brenda and Jay, and Cory; my grandchildren,

Megan, Shaina, Mason and Hillary. How could I

ever write books about love without you in my life?

You are all wonderful and special, and I love you to

pieces. To my sisters Virginia and JoAnn, thanks for

the prayers and support. Marjorie, thanks for those

things and for being so careful of my time

(Mt.10:41). To my nieces and nephews, thanks

for rallying around, guys! I love you all. To Johnny,

Orv, and Jody Kay, who live forever in my heart.

And most of all to my Lord and Savior,

Jesus Christ. Truly, in Him, all things are possible.

Special thanks to Pastor Ron Jutze and his wife,

Shirley, for their unfailing love, support,

encouragement and prayers on behalf of my writing

ministry. I will never forget Pastor Ron’s reaction

when he read the prologue! You guys are the best!

To God be the glory!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Prologue

Gelina pressed back against the storefront, scanning the unfamiliar street. It looked safe. She stepped out of the shadow, her stiletto heels clicking against the concrete as she ran to the curb and dashed across the connecting road.

From the side street the low, powerful hum of a geared-down motor sounded.

She hadn’t lost them!

Her heart lurched violently in her chest, pumping terror through her veins. She broke into a dead run down the deserted sidewalk toward a patch of darkness under a broken streetlight.

Maybe I should throw my purse into the middle of the road. Maybe he’ll stop looking for me if I give him the money!

Light from the oncoming car pierced the night, spreading in an ever widening swath across the pavement behind her as it approached. She had to hide. But where?

The deeper darkness of a recessed doorway appeared on her left. Gelina darted up the short flight of stairs, then wedged back against the side wall as a long, black car pulled up to the intersection. The black fishnet stockings stretched across her thighs caught on the building’s rough stones.

Where to go? Tony won’t be satisfied until he makes an example of me. If he finds me, he’ll kill me just to show the other girls, she thought frantically.

A sob caught in Gelina’s throat, choking off her air. She leaned her head back against the stones and closed her eyes. Oh, God! Oh, God! If You’re real, help me. Help me!

White light from the car’s headlamps swept across her eyelids. They were turning in her direction. She was trapped! Fear writhed like a living thing in her stomach.

The car started a slow crawl down the street toward her.

No! Oh, God, no! I don’t want to die!

With a spasmodic jerk, Gelina spun around and grabbed the knob on one of the double doors beside her. Her clammy hands slipped on the cold, polished brass. Locked!

The hum of the car motor grew louder. Her heart bucked like a wild thing. She grabbed the other knob and gave it a violent twist. The latch clicked back as the gleam of the headlights threw her shadow against the painted wood. At that moment, she yanked the door open and leaped inside the building. She slammed the door closed and collapsed against it, her chest heaving with silent sobs.

The hum of the powerful motor faded away down the street.

“Good evening.”

Gelina jerked upright and spun about.

“I’m afraid the service has already started. But better late than never.” An elderly man smiled and handed her a leaflet. In the center of the cover was a large cross with the word Crossroads emblazoned on the horizontal bar.

Hysterical laughter bubbled up into Gelina’s throat. She was in a church. Of all places! Tony would never—

“We’re quite crowded because of our guest speaker, but if you’ll just come this way, I’ll have one of the ushers seat you.”

The hysterical laughter died. Gelina stared at the man. Was he blind? Any fool could see she didn’t belong in a church. Her long, brassy-blond hair swung side to side as she shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll just wait here a moment.”

The hum of that powerful motor sounded nearer. A car door slammed. Gelina dropped the leaflet and whirled to face the door. She jumped when the man touched her arm.

“You’re in trouble, aren’t you?”

Mute with terror, she nodded.

The man gave her a little push as footsteps approached the door. “Go through those doors. Hurry!”

She stumbled forward, caught her balance and ran.

“…so there’s no need to be afraid, no matter what your situation or circumstance. Our God is a big God. He’s King of Kings, and Lord of Lords. The great I Am. He watches over His children to care for them, to protect them. But I don’t expect you to take my word for it. God Himself tells us in His word.”

The preacher’s words seemed to fill the room. Gelina took the church bulletin a smiling usher handed her, slid into an empty spot in the back pew on the right and glanced over her shoulder at the double doors. They remained closed. She clasped the bulletin and her gold shoulder bag in her trembling hands, took a long, deep breath to calm herself, and looked around for another exit.

“Look at Psalm ninety one, verse three. ‘For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler.’ Verse five; ‘You will not fear the terror of the night, or the destruction that wastes at noonday.”’

Gelina snapped her gaze to the tall, blond young man standing in the pulpit. His head lifted. He looked out over the congregation.

“And just look at the promises God makes in verses fourteen, fifteen and sixteen.” He began to quote by heart. “‘Those who love me, I will deliver; I will protect those who know my name.”’ His gaze slid over Gelina—came back and held her own gaze captive. “‘When they call to me, I will answer them; I will be with them in trouble.”’

Gelina stiffened. Her long, scarlet nails poked holes through the bulletin and dug into the gold purse. Was he talking to her? No. That was foolishness.

“‘I will rescue them and honor them. With long life I will satisfy them, and show them my salvation.”’

Nonetheless, Gelina sagged with relief when the pastor’s gaze shifted, swept over the people.

“Who are these promises for? They’re for those who love God, who know His name. They are for His children. For those who walk in close, personal relationship with Him.”

The pastor placed both hands on the pulpit and leaned forward. “Are you a child of God? Do you have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ?” His gaze swept over the congregation again. “If not—all you have to do is ask. God’s salvation is available to all. He loves us.” His gaze slid back to Gelina. “He loves you.”

The softly spoken words shot like an arrow straight to her heart. Tears welled into her eyes and spilled over. She couldn’t stop them, couldn’t pull her gaze from the young pastor’s face as he stepped out from behind the pulpit and descended the few steps to the center aisle.

“If you don’t know how to ask, come forward and I’ll pray with you. Just come forward—we’ll ask Him together.”

Gelina couldn’t breathe. She reached down and gripped the hard seat of the wooden pew fighting an inner urge so strong she shook with the force of it. She bit down hard on her lower lip to stop the sobs clawing their way into her throat, and looked down at her lap, horribly ashamed of what she was—of how she looked.

She drew a shuddering breath and tugged at the black leather miniskirt she wore trying to cover her slender thighs. She couldn’t go forward. God wouldn’t want her. She was too dirty, too shamed, too—

“He loves you! Just as you are…Jesus loves you.”

The words rang through the room.

Gelina jerked her head up and met the pastor’s steady gaze.

“Just as you are.”

The quiet words were accompanied by a feeling of warmth, of well-being that Gelina had never known. Wave after wave of it washed over her. God loved her. He knew what she was, and He still loved her! Somehow, someway, deep down inside, she knew it was true. She could feel it. She could feel God’s love for her.

Suddenly, everything inside her went still. Gelina drew a long, deep breath and closed her eyes as the despair and terror that had filled her were swept away by a peace she could not understand.

Awed by the sudden certainty of a Heavenly Father that loved her, that cared about her, she gripped the back of the pew in front of her and rose to her feet. The open church bulletin fluttered down, covering the gold shoulder bag that slid off her lap and fell, unheeded, to the floor. She drew another steadying breath, stepped into the aisle and walked forward.

The gold-and-diamond rings on Tony’s hands glittered as he shoved the swinging doors open, stepped into the sanctuary and swept a searching gaze over the pews full of people. There was no leather-garbed blonde in sight. Cursing under his breath, he moved toward the empty spot in the pew on the right to get a better view.

If Gelina had gotten away because of that talkative old fool in the vestibule… His foot brushed against something on the floor as he stepped into the pew. He glanced down—there was a church bulletin covering some woman’s purse.

Stupid woman! Tony drew his lips back in a sneer, sat down and reached for the purse. He froze as the old man that had followed him into the sanctuary stepped to the end of the pew and shook his head.

Tony threw the man an ugly look, then rose to his feet and again scanned the assemblage. There was no sign of Gelina. She wasn’t there—unless she was the one that circle of people up front were praying over.

He snickered at the thought, gave the purse a vicious, satisfying kick, then shoved past the old man and left the sanctuary.

Angela pulled the new, cream-colored turtleneck shirt over her head and glanced around the lovely bedroom. Two nights she had slept here. Two nights she had been safe from the terror that had threatened her every night since her mother and stepfather had forced her into prostitution to pay for their drug habits.

She broke off the thought, snipped the tag from her new, brown wool pants and pulled them on. That life was behind her now—if she could escape the city. Her stomach knotted. She had stayed hidden in this house yesterday, but she didn’t fool herself that Tony had given up the search. He couldn’t afford to let her get away.

Angela shivered, and sat down to lace on her new shoes. If only they would deliver her car, she could be gone before Tony woke up and hit the streets looking for her. She glanced toward the small alarm clock on the nightstand and her gaze skimmed across the Bible resting there. A frown creased her forehead. Should she ask God to help her escape? Would God do that?

Angela bit down on her lower lip, shot a quick look at the closed door, then shut her eyes. “God, if that pastor was right, and this is the sort of thing You do—would You please help me to escape Tony? I need to get out of town so I can start a new life. Thank You.”

Heat climbed into Angela’s cheeks. She must be crazy, asking God for help. She never asked anyone for help. It had been just her against the world for as long as she could remember.

She shrugged off the odd feeling, tucked in the turtleneck, fastened the belt of the slacks and reached for the matching plaid blazer. Her movement, reflected in the full-length mirror hanging on the open closet door, caught her attention. For a long moment she stared at the young, slender woman looking back at her.

Born again.

The phrase the young pastor had used popped into her mind. Angela smiled, then leaned forward and stared hard at her reflection. Her smile was different. There was less brittleness, less of an edge. And her eyes looked softer…warmer.

She stepped closer and lifted her hand to touch the young woman in the mirror. The reflected fingertips met hers and a sense of wonder filled her. It was really her. A new her.

“Hello, Angela.” The brown, heavily fringed eyes staring back at her from the mirror widened in surprise. Even her voice sounded different. It sounded…gentle. How had these things happened? She started at a soft rapping on the door.

“Miss Warren?”

“Just a moment.”

Angela slipped on the blazer, took one last awed look at her reflection and turned toward the door. Her gaze fell on the tube of bright-red lipstick sitting on top of the dresser among the crimson blush and other items of makeup. With one quick swipe of her hands she picked it all up and tossed it into the wastebasket. It landed on top of the gold purse, black-leather miniskirt, net stockings and other garish items of clothing covered with cutoff tresses of long, brassy-blond hair.

Angela brushed her hands together in satisfaction, turned her back on the wastebasket that held all that remained of Gelina, and opened the bedroom door.

“Yes, Mrs. Parker?”

“I just wanted to let you know your car has been delivered. It’s in the—” The woman stopped and stared.

“Surprised, Mrs. Parker?”

“Surprised? I’m astounded.” The elderly woman pursed her lips and made a slow circle around Angela. “My, my! I’ve seen transformations before, but this is…well…it’s astonishing.”

The woman laughed at her own reaction and reached up to touch one of the soft, silky wisps of brown hair framing Angela’s face. “I love your hair. That short style is perfect on you. And the color is wonderful.”

Angela smiled. “The credit is yours, Mrs. Parker. You picked it out.”

The woman laughed again. “That’s true. I did. But I only bought what you asked for.” She swept her gaze over Angela’s slender body and nodded in obvious satisfaction. “The clothes fit well.” She looked down at the suede pant boots. “Are the shoes all right?”

“They fit fine. Everything fits. I can’t thank you enough for going to all this trouble for me.”

Angela reached for the new brown leather purse on the dresser. “If you’ll let me know what I owe you for the room and the shopping…for arranging for your hair stylist to come, and all the rest of your help, I’ll pay—”

“Hush.” Angela glanced down at the hand Nora Parker placed on her arm. “It was no trouble, dear. It was a pleasure. I’m glad Pastor Barnes suggested me to the visiting pastor when he asked for people who would be willing to help you. There’s no charge.”

“But—”

Nora Parker smiled and shook her head.

Angela suddenly felt extremely awkward. What should she do? No one had ever done anything to help her without expecting payment.

“Would it make you feel better to pay, dear?”

Ah! Angela’s face tightened. She was back on familiar territory now. She knew this game. A sudden sense of disappointment filled her. She ignored it and nodded agreement. “Name your price, Mrs. Parker. I won’t quibble.” She reached into her purse for money. Nora Parker stayed her hand. She looked up and met the elderly woman’s gaze.

“If someday you meet a young woman in trouble…you help her in my name. That’s the payment I want, dear.”

Angela was so shocked, she barely felt the gentle squeeze the elderly woman gave her hand before she left the room.

Elaine Madison’s Home for Abused Women and Children. Angela copied the address out of the telephone book onto the stamped envelope, signed Nora Parker’s name to the card, then slipped it and the money orders she’d bought inside and dropped the envelope in the local mail slot on her way out of the post office. The first installment on her debt to Mrs. Parker had been paid. It would never be enough.

She hurried across the parking lot, unlocked her new car, then pulled the map she needed first from her travel bag and backed out of the parking place. When the light at the corner stopped traffic, she exited the parking lot onto Oakwood Boulevard and headed north.

What a beautiful morning! Beautiful, but chilly for early September. Angela pulled up behind a green van stopped for the red light at Trenton Street and leaned forward to adjust the heater. She would have to include a coat when she stopped to buy her new wardrobe. And maybe one of those fleece jackets she’d been seeing everywhere.

A long, black car rolled to a halt beside her.

Angela’s stomach contracted sharply. Tony! What was he doing on the streets before late afternoon? Bile surged into her throat. She knew the answer—he was hunting for her. She reached down and pushed the button that locked all the doors, then gripped the steering wheel with her trembling hands and stared straight ahead.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Tony staring at her. He said something to the man driving the car. The driver turned his head to look at her and both men laughed. Angela’s heart gave a painful jolt. She stared at the back of the van ahead of her.

God, please—please! Make it move!

The light turned green. Angela let out her breath and moved ahead with the traffic. If only she could pass! But there was no chance; oncoming traffic blocked her on the left, and Tony’s car pinned her in on the right.

Her head began to throb. Suddenly, Tony’s car leaped ahead. She watched in utter amazement as it exited onto the Baker Street Bridge and headed back toward the main part of the city.

He hadn’t recognized her. Tony hadn’t recognized her! She was free. Angela sagged back against the seat, sobbing and laughing.

The flash of her exit sign sobered her. She took a deep breath, accelerated up the on-ramp and headed west toward her new life.

Chapter One

“Hello, the house!”

Angela smiled at the familiar call. “I’m in the library, Leigh.”

“Where else?” The sound of footsteps approached down the hallway. A shiny curtain of smooth red hair swung into Angela’s view as Leigh Roberts stuck her head around the door casing. “You don’t look ready to leave for the welcome dinner at church. How much longer will you be?”

Angela stopped typing and smiled at her best friend. “Give me ten more minutes.”

“That’s cutting it pretty close. I want to make a good impression on the new pastor, and so should you.” Leigh waggled her eyebrows. “He’s young and single, you know. And I hear he’s a hunk.”

Angela laughed. “I’m supposed to be the information expert. I swear, Leigh, if I had your sources I’d be a millionaire.”

“No doubt.” Leigh grinned, then gave an audible sniff. “What is that divine smell?”

“I’m experimenting with a new cinnamon syrup to pour on the apple pies they asked me to bake for the welcome dinner. Have a taste. I’ll be right along.” Angela waved her friend off to the kitchen and turned back to her computer.

“There he is.” Leigh’s green eyes widened. “Wow! He is a hunk.”

Laughing at her friend’s enthusiastic, under-her-breath comment, Angela turned to follow the direction of Leigh’s appreciative gaze and found herself looking straight into her past. It was so unexpected she could only stare as her past and present walked toward her in the form of their new, tall, blond pastor.

“Angela? What’s wrong?”

Leigh’s sudden grip on her arm broke the numbing paralysis of the shock. Angela shook her head. “Nothing.” She had to get out of there before he saw her! If she could reach the back door—

“Nothing?” Leigh stared at her friend. “You’re as white as that little lie you just told me.” She pulled a chair forward. “Sit down before you pass out. I’ll go get you some water, unless—” Her eyes narrowed as she studied Angela’s face. “Are you going to be ill? Do you need me to help you to the ladies’ room?”

The ladies’ room! She would be safe there until she could think what to do. Angela shot Leigh a look of gratitude and shook her head. “No, thanks. I can make it on my own. You stay here. I’ll—”

“Ladies, I’d like you to meet our new pastor.”

Too late! Angela’s stomach heaved. Lord, don’t let me be sick. She drew a long, deep breath, rose to her feet and turned around as Walter Foster, one of the elders of the church, continued his introduction.

“Pastor Stevens, this is Leigh Roberts and Angela Warren. They are in charge of special activities. If you need someone to come up with interesting ideas for outings, make unusual and beautiful decorations, or research a missionary project these are the women you call on.”

Hosea Stevens smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He reached for Leigh’s extended hand. “Do I address you as Miss or Mrs. Roberts? Or do you prefer Ms.?”

Leigh laughed. “Ms. is too generic a term for my liking, Pastor Stevens. And I’m not a Mrs. for a few months yet. Actually, it’s Dr. Roberts. But that’s too formal. Call me Leigh—everyone does.”

“Then Leigh it is.” The pastor gave her another smile and turned to take Angela’s offered hand.