The Trouble With Angels Page 0,91

tightened around his vocal cords. He'd pleaded with God, begged, implored, bargained. He would have sold his very soul to have seen Barbara healed.

Faith. His faith hadn't been a tiny mustard seed. When they'd first learned Barbara had cancer, and the odds given her, Paul had been confident, even cocky. His faith was the size of an avocado seed.

Through it all, his wife had remained committed to God's will. It came to the point that Paul couldn't bear to hear the words.

God had willed his wife to this terrible disease.

God had willed her to suffer.

God had willed her death.

Dying himself would have been easier to bear.

Now he stood at the bedside of yet another woman of faith. A woman who had loved and served God faithfully. And she too was about to cross the bridge that led from one life to another.

She too talked of healing.

"There will be no cancer in heaven," Madge whispered.

"Would you like me to read to you from Psalms?" Paul asked. He didn't know what to say to her.

"Barbara is healed."

Paul felt as if the softly whispered words reached up and slapped him hard across the face. Jolted, he stepped back involuntarily.

His wife was free of cancer. Free of pain. Free of earth's restrictions. He was the one who was bound, tied up in doubts, choking on skepticism, gagging on all the trite phrases good people of God had force-fed him.

If one more person told him that all things worked together for good for those who loved God, Paul swore he was going to vomit. If another well-meaning church-attending zealot dared to approach him with trite words, he didn't know if he'd act responsibly.

Faith and despair.

Despair and faith.

So alike he couldn't tell them apart any longer. They'd merged in his mind and his heart until he wasn't able to distinguish one from the other.

"Call them," Madge whispered. "I waited so you'd know."

He frowned. Know?

Unwilling to question Madge, he returned to the waiting area and called the Bartelli children and Bernard. The four gathered quietly around Madge's bedside.

Paul opened the book of Psalms, the very one he'd read at Barbara's deathbed. As he whispered the words, he realized that for the first time since Barbara's death, he found solace in the verses.

Faith and despair. For the first time in two long years, he was beginning to understand the difference.

There is no cancer in heaven, Madge had told him.

Barbara was healed.

Chapter Seventeen

There wasn't one logical reason that Joy could name for keeping the red dress. Three hundred and fifty dollars was a lot of money to pay for something to hang in her closet.

Even if she dragged it out and admired it once or twice a week, it would take a long time to justify that much money for one silly dress.

Ted hadn't even seen her wearing it. That was what distressed her the most. It would have been much better if he'd come to see her, to explain what was happening between him and Blythe. She could have put on the red dress just so he'd know what he was leaving behind. That was ridiculous, of course. One didn't wear a party dress for a big brush-off.

As it happened, Ted had phoned. The coward. It had all been very polite. He'd stiffly announced that he'd asked Blythe to marry him. By then it hadn't come as any big shock. Joy knew something was up when he'd canceled dinner with her family. His message had come through loud and clear.

It was over. Nice knowing ya, kid. See you around sometime.

Joy was a big girl. She accepted his decision, dealt with the pain and disappointment as best she could. Nevertheless, she was downright sorry about the red dress.

After placing the plastic wrap over it, she pinned the sales receipt to the front and hung it on the back of the closet door. She stepped away to admire it one last time before heading for the department store.

"Keep it."

The voice came as distinctly as if she'd left the radio playing.

"Keep the dress," the same voice repeated.

Joy whirled around to be sure someone wasn't standing behind her. She shook her head as if she had water in her ears. Obviously she was hearing things. Sure, she'd been under a lot of pressure lately, but she didn't think it was bad enough for her to be hearing strange voices.

The dress.

Her gaze softened as she studied the bright, gay color and remembered how special and beautiful she'd felt wearing it.

"All right," she