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Mango A Romantic
Fiction Novel Provided by PneumaSender FREE to Read
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Chapter 12 Dory wondered where they were going. He had said to dress
nicely, but not formally. She chose a dark dress that played off her figure
tastefully, and to that she added a silver purse and silver shoes that matched
the trim on the suit-style dress. She looked business-like, and while it was
her usual manner, she stared for a minute. It had been many days since she
dressed fashionably. All during their honeymoon, she had seemed to be in a
bikini or in a sundress, and in the evenings, in jeans and a simple top. It
had been nice, reminding her of her missionary years. Now, smiling at her
reflection, she said, “But it’s nice to see the old Dory, too.” The smile faded as she realized that this was as close as she would
ever get to an “old” version of herself. She was going to die. God had made
that clear to her in her private prayer times with Him. Yet, she wondered
about so many things – why Hawthorne had been chosen to marry a woman only to
lose her. She knew that her husband adored her, and it was the most wonderful
feeling in the world to know that. Yet, she longed to see him settled in a
new life before she left – a perverse thing to want, since it would likely
include a new wife, but she had the longing just the same. “Oh, Hawthorne, how I love you,” she said, and he appeared
behind her, smiling. “I love you, too. And that is the one thing I will never
tire of hearing – you speaking words of love to me.” She laughed. “Then,
let’s record it.” Hawthorne didn’t think twice about it. It was a marvelous
idea. He pulled out his cell phone and made a recording of her words of love.
He would listen to them again later, but for now, he had a date
at the Lord’s house. So, with a flick of his wrist, he shut the phone and
pocketed it. Then, with a mysterious grin, he led her from the room and out
into the hotel lobby. At the front door of the hotel, she was greeted by a dark,
handsome man dressed in street clothes. He offered his hand and led her into
a black SUV. Hawthorne entered the vehicle beside her and they were soon
driving down busy streets toward what looked like a city center. “Juan Gilberto,” Hawthorne said in introduction, “I’d like you
to meet my wife, Dory.” Juan smiled in greeting, eyeing her through the rearview
mirror and returning his gaze to the traffic ahead of their vehicle. In an
elegantly formal Hispanic accent, Juan said, “I’d like to welcome you to our
tiny island, and more specifically, to the city of my birth. My father, Juan
Gilberto, Senior, is the pastor of a small church just up the road, and since
Mr. Hawthorne wanted to attend an authentic Puerto Rican church, I
recommended my family’s humble worship services.” While Juan pulled the SUV into a parking space in front of a
small, white building, Hawthorne told Dory that Juan was a junior vice
president in their hometown but had graciously agreed to drop everything, fly
out, and be their guide tonight. Dory was touched that Hawthorne would have
thought of this. She had felt out of her element all morning, since Sundays
always meant church in her life. Apparently, Hawthorne had sensed her need,
or had the same one, and so they would spend time in God’s house tonight.
“Thank you,” she said to both Juan and Hawthorne, and their pleased faces
showed that they were glad that their efforts had been so well received. Just as Dory left the vehicle, however, she froze with a pensive
look on her face. The music was very loud and the shouting going on inside
attested to the people’s exuberant style of worship. Juan looked concerned.
“If you would rather, we could find a more sedate service for this evening.”
An amused look crossed her face. “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that. This just reminds me of my
missionary days. I like the passion that is evident in noisy worship just as
much as the deep, quiet style in our church back home. I was simply struck by
the similarities between this church and the indigenous churches of the
village where I served.” Nodding, Juan said, “Oh, I see. Was it a Hispanic
country?” With a faraway look, she said, “Yes,
it was. Pude aprender un
buen Español allí, y también logré hacer algunas
buenas amistades. Las extraño
aun hoy.” Hawthorne put his arm across her shoulder possessively and
cracked a wide grin. ¨¿Mi esposa habla el Español bastante
bien, no es cierto?” Then, laughing, he said, “And
here I’ve been translating for you everywhere we go.” Dory’s face flushed. “I
didn’t want to make you feel bad. You were obviously trying to make things
easier for me, and it made you so happy.” Grinning, she said, “I didn’t
mind.” With a gentle squeeze, Hawthorne said, “Well, then, from now on, you
do all your own talking.” Nodding, Dory allowed herself to be led into the
building. Inside, the church was alive with shouts of praise and the sound
of drums of every type keeping time to an island beat. Singing at the front
of the church was a skinny girl who couldn’t have been older than 14. Her
voice, however, was all grown up, and she managed to make a cheap sound
system pour out sounds that could equally grace any concert arena. When she
stopped singing, the minister went to the pulpit with a wide grin. “Dios les bendiga, Amados Hermanos.” Unable to resist a gentle jab at Hawthorne,
she said, “He said, God bless you, beloved brothers and sisters.” In a
sarcastic whisper that was more laughter than barb, he responded, “Yes, I
think I got that. Thank you.” The service was long – but not much longer than they had
expected. Apparently, Juan had notified his father that visitors were coming,
because they had a special singer, a poet, a saxophone player, and a trio of
musicians, one of whom was playing a traditional instrument called a cuatro. This odd guitar was named for the four strings it
contained. After the music came the preaching, loud and dynamic, and filled
with passion. At one moment, the preacher might be jumping as he related
Christ’s victory over death and Hell, and yet a few moments later, he might
weep at the thought of the souls worldwide who knew nothing of the free gift
of salvation that God offered to all. At the end, while soft music with an
island beat played, the altar call was given and people crowded through the
aisles to pour out their hearts to God in loud tears and exclamations of
praise. Finally, when it looked as if the preacher was about to close the
service, he asked Dory and Hawthorne to come to the front. Hawthorne had obviously not expected this, but in typical Puerto
Rican fashion, the pastor explained to the congregation that God had brought
this special couple to them and that the Lord had a word for them. Then,
handing off his microphone to an usher, he spoke softly to them in the same
elegant English his son used. “I have prayed for you since I learned of your story,” he said,
“and while I believe that God often wants to heal and will miraculously save
us from illness and even death, I believe he is telling me that this sickness
will take your life, Sister Dory. I also believe he is saying that a Puerto
Rican will figure significantly in the outcome of your story, but beyond
that, he has told me nothing more. May God bless you both.”
Then, with no fanfare, but only heartfelt prayer, he took the microphone back
and prayed a benediction over them for the congregation to hear. After the service, empanadillas – a
type of meat patty – were sold outside by the front door on six-foot long
tables manned by teenagers. When Hawthorne asked Juan what the money was for,
Juan told them that they were raising funds to allow a couple from church to
adopt a baby. They had wanted children for years and God had led them to
believe that he would provide them a child, though so far, it seemed
impossible. Swallowing the last of his empanadilla,
Hawthorne took a card from his pocket and handed it to the pastor, asking him
to get in touch with the full details and promising to help smooth the way
for them. Dory looked at him with happy surprise and adoring eyes. Hawthorne
could imagine that helping this couple have a child would feel to her like
the next best thing to having a baby. Glad for the inspiration, he thanked
the Lord for another opportunity to be part of making a miracle. Lord, he prayed inwardly, if I could give Dory a baby, I would.
If I had a way to make such a thing happen, I’d do it in an instant, but I
can’t imagine how. She has such a short time. Please, Lord, help her to have
her miracle in a way that only you could design – something to fill the pain
of never bearing children and watching them grow. It’s up to you, Lord, and I
leave it in your hands. |
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