Like Sweet Potato Pie (27 page)

“Yeah.” My breath misted, and I thought suddenly of Adam. The way he’d looked at me standing at Tim’s truck door, and the way he’d called my new heart “beautiful.” His lips briefly brushing my forehead.

I twisted my bandaged finger inside my coat pocket. “Did you really come just to see me?”

“Shore did.” She took my arm and walked with me, catching my eyes with her dark ones. “Lord put ya on my mind, an’ I wanted ta see how ya were doin’.”

“You mean like about the house?”

“No. About your heart. Your faith.”

I wrapped an errant scarf end around my shoulder, not sure how to answer. “I’m trying,” I replied, not meeting her gaze. “It’s … well, it’s hard sometimes, Beulah. I’m not as strong as I thought.”

A gust of wind puffed my bangs back from my face, and I covered my ear with my free hand. Wind, expressive as it might be, sometimes stung.

“God ain’t asked ya to be strong. He’s asked us to lean on
His
strength and call on His name for help. He says no temptation is too strong to overcome.”

“Well, that’s just it, Beulah. I … just don’t know what to do sometimes.”

“About?”

I swallowed hard and played with the fringes on my scarf. “Stuff,” I mumbled. “Men. One I used to date. Plus a lot of other … uh … problems.”

She stopped there on the sidewalk, and my black Mary Janes scuffed to a halt in the thin layer of snow. “What? I haven’t actually done anything yet about any of them. I’m just …” I shrugged. “Considering.”

Beulah’s eyes suddenly brimmed over, and she cupped my cold cheek in her brown hand. “ ‘Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift all of you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail.’ ” Her voice caught in a sob.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. She looked so serious it frightened me. “Who’s Simon?” I managed, lips quivering with cold.

“We know him now as the Lord Jesus’ disciple Peter.”

Beulah’s black hair, threaded with a few strands of gray, ruffled as she steadied her voice, still heavy with tears. “It ain’t easy bein’ a Christian, Shiloh. Jesus knew it. Even Saint Pete failed Him, which is why Jesus prayed for his faith. Because He knows how hard it is sometimes to follow. To hear His voice.”

I played with a silver earring, which chilled against my skin. “I’m trying to. And you’re right. It’s hard.”

“Nobody ever said it would be easy.” Beulah took my arm again and walked by my side, wiping her face with her free glove. “But you’ve got God on your side, woman! Do ya trust Him?”

“I guess so.”

“No, Shiloh. Do ya
trust
Him? Ya can’t guess about this.” She turned again to face me. “Trust and faith, in the face of all that’s hopeless, is what it’s all about! Either ya do or ya don’t. If ya don’t, then jest walk away now ‘cause ya ain’t never gonna make it. But I’m here to tell ya that nothin’ on the face of this earth satisfies like my Lord Jesus Christ and His plans! They may be nothin’ like ya had for yourself, but that don’t mean a thing.” She patted my arm. “You ever plant seeds, Shiloh?”

“Seeds? Like for plants?”

Plants again. And those rough hands patting soil around a tender green seedling. Why didn’t Adam Carter just stay out of my head?

“The Bible talks about seeds. Says Jesus is kinda like the sower. You know—a person who plants crops. But not all the seeds grow up into healthy plants. Some grow where the soil is dry and wither before they take root. Some get choked out by thorns or fall away when the problems get too big. Only a few of ‘em make it strong and tall and healthy.” She poked me. “So you gotta choose, baby. Who ya gonna be?”

I pursed my lips, which burned in the icy wind. Desperately needing a new coat of lip gloss.

“I want to be the healthy plant. I love Jesus. I really do.” My hands tightened in my pocket. “But …”

“No buts about it! He
loves
you, Shiloh Jacobs! Don’t ya get that?”

“No, I don’t.” I didn’t mean to be so blunt, but that’s how I felt. “Everybody talks about love, but nobody seems to know what it means. My mom used to say she loved me when she beat me. Now Carlos says he loves me again, but he … I don’t know. I give up.”

“ ‘Love is patient,’ ” Beulah quoted, putting her hand on my shoulder. “ ‘Love is kind.’ Read it. It’s in His Word. Jesus loves ya more than ya can possibly imagine. He created ya before the foundation of the earth. Do ya know that? He’s the Good Shepherd, who gave up His life for His sheep. For you. While ya still hated Him.”

“Then why is life so hard? Why don’t things … fix themselves? Go easy for a change?” I kicked a blob of snow. “Why don’t the wrong guys just stay away and the right one only show up when everything’s in place? With some magic fanfare to show me he’s the one?”

“You’re lookin’ for Eden, baby! An’ you ain’t gonna find it here. No, until ya die you’re gonna live in a war zone.”

“War? For what? I’ve already chosen His side. What else is there to fight over?” I stuffed my hands deeper in my pockets.

“Ya think that’s it? That once ya said yes and handed over your weapons all the bullets gonna stop flyin’? Lands, people in this state still fightin’ over the Civil War, an’ that ended more than a hundred years ago! Can ya imagine what’s goin’ on in the spiritual realm? How much Satan would like to see ya fall? To ruin your witness? Your life? Your faith?”

Tears reddened Beulah’s eyes. “That precious faith is what my sweet Trinity needs to see. She’s lost. She needs Jesus shining out of you. And nobody would love to smother your light more than the old devil, who the Bible calls a ‘thief.’ Says he comes to wreck your life.”

I brushed some snowflakes out of my bangs and smoothed them to the side. “You really think God wants to use me, Beulah? I’ve lied. I’ve cheated. I’ve … Well, why on earth would He use me to reach Trinity? I just went to church for the first time not long ago, and I wasn’t very good at it.”

“Good at it? Like you gotta practice your pitchin’ arm first?” She chuckled.

I laughed, too, but it fizzled quickly like the lacey snowflakes on my coat. “Why would Satan care about ruining my life, Beulah? I’m not important. I’m not a missionary or a preacher. Do you really think he cares about messing up my crummy situation even more?” I scuffed snow off my shoe into the curb. “I mean, isn’t that what my life has always been? One mess after another?”

But Beulah leaned her face close to mine, unafraid. “ ‘Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith!’ ” She poked me. “That’s 1 Peter 5:8 and 9. You need to put His words in your soul. Read them! Memorize them! Hold them up like a shield when Satan whispers in your ear!”

She took something out of her pocket and handed it to me. “Here.”

I looked down in surprise at the little Gideon New Testament, nearly identical to the one I usually packed in my purse.

“Ya got one, don’t ya?”

“Sure I do. I just … didn’t bring it today.” I wiped my nose with a tissue from my pocket.

“I know. God sorta reminded me that ya might need this one.” She took my arm.

“He what?”

Beulah shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not important either. But I pray, and I listen. And I hear His voice. Ya see, ya don’t have to be a missionary or a preacher to come under attack. Satan hates us because we love the Lord Jesus and can’t wait to destroy our lives and faith. But don’t fear—just keep your eyes on Jesus and let His powerful words take root in your soul!” She caught my eye. “Don’t be fooled, child! We’re
always
at war!”

I looked over at her in surprise. “Why did you come today, Beulah? How did you know …?” I let my words trail off.

“Forget about me. I’m just the Lord’s servant. And I feel that He wants me to tell ya to
wait on Him.
Wait on the Lord, Shiloh,
and He will deliver you!
I promise ya that.”

My throat suddenly choked.

“Ain’t one of His good promises ever failed, baby. Trust Him! He’ll show ya the way. Here. Pray with me.” And she took my other hand and prayed for me right there on the corner of the sidewalk while I shivered, sniffling back tears. Feet freezing in those flimsy Mary Janes.

“That young man a believer in Jesus?”

“Of course he is!” I hugged myself in the cold. “You know him from …” I smacked my forehead with a gloved fist. “Oh. You meant Carlos. Um … no. I don’t think so.”

“Why, who did ya think I meant?”

“Nobody. At least nobody I could be with.”

“Why not, baby? There’s always a way.”

“Not for us. Everything’s all wrong.” I stuck my hands in my pockets. “And he doesn’t even … forget it. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“God can change things in a New York minute, Shiloh.”

“Exactly. I wish He would and park me right in West Village with a good-paying reporting job. This isn’t my kind of town, or my kind of life. Jesus should know that.”

“Jesus knew ya before ya drew your first breath.” Her words came out soft, like snow that barely grazed my cheek. She put her arm around me. “Well, why are ya considerin’ some other fella if he ain’t following the Lord?”

“Maybe he will.” I looked down uneasily. “Maybe it’s God’s plan for me to tell him what I’ve found, and we’ll … I don’t know.” I broke off, looking at my watch. “But I’ve got to clock in, Beulah.”

“Okay, sugar. But that ain’t exactly the way it’s supposed to work. When ya look for a man, honey, he oughtta be saved and walkin’ with the Lord Jesus. Not perfect, mind you. But saved.”

“Does it count if he’s really handsome? And rich?”

Beulah laughed and slapped my back. “You’re a funny one, Shiloh Jacobs. Ya ever thought a doin’ stand-up comedy?”

“It depends. Would it help pay my bills?”

Beulah harrumphed. “How many bills ya got?”

I hesitated, gazing gloomily up into gray puffs of cloud. “Never mind. I’d better stick with waiting tables.”

N
o.” I drew my chin up to face Carlos, crossing my arms tightly against a gust of freezing wind. “The answer’s no.”

He drew back, those too-thick lashes blinking in confusion. “What do you mean no, amor? To stay at your house? I thought we decided to talk about this.” He put his hands on his hips, irritation flashing across his sun-browned face. The cold breeze carrying a hint of his aftershave, like stumbling upon a long-forgotten memory of our hands entwined, his breath stirring my hair against my cheek.

I quickly turned my head and purposefully inhaled the smell of icy asphalt, trying to clear my lungs. It hurt, pulsing like the still-healing gash on my finger.

“That, too. But I mean you. I’m sorry, but I can’t be … well, anything with you. Ever. We’re done.”

Bare branches from a nearby tree scraped against the wall by the lobby as we stood outside the double doors, headlights of passing cars reflecting in glossy smears across the glass.

It had taken me awhile to decide, but somewhere over the clatter of dishes and squeak of shoes on the kitchen floor, Beulah’s words and verses solidified something in my head. Something that just wouldn’t budge, like the scar across Adam’s knuckles even after years had passed.

Carlos opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Then he shook his head, eyes burning. “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight.
You’re
breaking up with
me?
”

“Technically, no. We’re not together. We were just … discussing. And I’m saying no.” The last words stung, but I got them out. I covered my ears with my hands as the wind blew, wishing I could just as easily block out the aching fierceness of Carlos’s voice.

“I come across the entire world for you, and you say no? Before I’ve even asked you anything?” Carlos’s voice rose in a blaze of Latin temper, and I stepped back.

“What are you saying? You tried to give me my ring back. You told me …” I couldn’t bring my cold lips to form the word
love.

“I never said I wanted you back.”

“Excuse me?” The words hit me with an unexpectedly blunt blow, and I drew in a sharp breath.

“I gave you the ring because I have a big heart. Not because I want some kind of commitment. You’re—you’re all wrong for me. You and your religion. I like the old Shiloh better.” He turned away, facing the snow-dusted, leafless woods and long, lonely train tracks behind the hotel. “At least back then you were fun.”

I flinched again, forcing my chin up. “At least back then I thought you loved me.” I pressed my lips together to keep them from quivering. “I know better now.”

Carlos opened his mouth to retort, but his cell phone rang inside his pocket. I watched in disbelief as he put it to his ear, gesturing me to wait by lifting a finger. “Hold on a second.” His voice scratched me like a rough branch—harsh and prickly. “This is important. Just five minutes.” And he rambled over somebody’s stock balance in great detail, turning away from me. His breath misting up into the bitter night sky.

I stood there for a few minutes, shivering, then stalked off to my car, which glinted under the apricot-colored parking lot lights. I’d just put the keys into the ignition when I heard the low vibrating of my cell phone, indicating old messages from sometime during the day.

I took off my gloves again and pressed the button. And saw, to my surprise, Carlos’s number.

“Carlos here. Listen, do you still have that newspaper I gave you? I just remembered something. Would you mind dropping it off during your break? It’s important. I just need to … uh … check something.”

I pressed it again, brow wrinkling. “Carlos here again. What’s your work address? I’ll just get the newspaper from your car myself so I don’t bother you.”

I flipped my phone closed and tapped it to my chin, feeling something creepy in the pit of my stomach like I did when Ashley called me. Wanting something. But what on earth could Carlos possibly want from me?

The
Yomiuri Shimbun
still lay in the passenger’s seat, now stuffed under my duffel bag, Beulah’s cookies, and the little Bible she’d given me. I pulled the newspaper out, inhaling the sharp, musty scent of newsprint, and opened it. Wondering why Carlos was making a fuss over a week-old Japanese newspaper that, by his own admission, he could barely read.