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Authors: Sharon Sala

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BOOK: The Chosen
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There was a fragility to her that had never been there before, but her mind was still razor sharp. Ever since Ben and January had called to let her know they were coming to visit, she'd been as anxious as a girl on a first date.

When she saw them coming, she waved but didn't get up.

January immediately noticed the difference in her friend's appearance and felt sad that she'd gone downhill so quickly.

“Good afternoon, you two,” Mother Mary T. said, then waved them toward the other side of the table. “Sit, sit. We have tea and goodies.”

January paused long enough to give the little nun a quick kiss on the cheek, then sat in the nearest chair.

“Me next,” Ben said, and kissed Mother Mary T.'s forehead before sitting down beside January.

“We brought you some chocolates,” January said, as Ben handed over a gold-foiled box of Godiva chocolates.

“Oooh, my downfall,” Mother Mary T. said, and gleefully accepted the rare treat, then pointed to the tea tray. “January, dear, would you pour?”

January did so, putting two sugars in Ben's, sugar and cream in Mother Mary T.'s, and leaving hers plain.

“The cookies are oatmeal,” Mother Mary T. said. “Nutritious, but begging for some raisins or nuts. Unfortunately, Sister Ruth believes in doing without any earthly pleasures, which means I shall not tempt her by offering her any of my chocolates.”

January grinned, while Ben laughed out loud.

They shared their tea and cookies, shifting through the pleasantries that having tea demanded. Finally it was Mother Mary T. who cut to the chase.

“Tell me what's wrong.”

January blinked. The question had come out of nowhere, and yet she was glad the issue had been raised.

“Why do you think something is wrong?” she asked.

“I know you,” the little nun said. “So talk to me.”

January bit her lower lip, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she moved closer.

“He haunts me.”

Mother Mary Theresa flinched. She didn't have to ask who “he” was.

“In your sleep?”

“Everywhere. Awake. Asleep. On the street. In stores. I see him. Why? Why won't he be dead?”

“That's difficult to say.”

January shifted to a different line of thought.

“I have a question. It has to do with theology.”

“I'll answer if I can,” the nun said.

“God says that we only have to ask forgiveness and it is ours, isn't that correct?”

“Yes, if your request is sincere.”

“Okay…say someone is a terrible sinner. Does terrible things, but if, at the end, this someone then asks the Lord for forgiveness, is it granted?”

Mother Mary Theresa sighed. She knew the confusion. She'd suffered through some of the same in her own lifetime.

“So the Bible says.”

“But that doesn't seem fair.”

The nun shrugged. “God isn't about fair. God is about love and forgiveness.”

There were a few long moments of silence. Mother Mary knew where January was going with this conversation, but waited for the questions just the same.

Finally January asked, “So, if someone does something bad…even a lot of bad things…but isn't in his right mind, is it his fault? Does God judge him on what he did, or on his true intent?”

“What do you think?” Mother Mary Theresa asked.

January struggled through tears. She hated Jay Carpenter for the horrors he'd done in the name of God and love, but she couldn't find it in her soul to blame him for the illness that had caused the horrors.

“I think…” She took a slow breath. “I think that he's forgiven, just like anyone else.”

“So you've answered your own question, haven't you?”

“But am I right?”

“You know you are.”

“Dear God,” January said, and covered her face with her hands. “I wished the man to hell, and he was so afraid of that very thing. Is that a bad sin for me?”

The nun sighed. “Sweetheart, God loves us enough to forgive even the worst. It's only we mortals who struggle with such things as forgiveness.”

“Then what is it Carpenter wants from me?” January said. “Why won't he let me be? I didn't do anything to him.”

Ben hurt for her, but he'd promised to stay quiet. However, touching did not require speech, so he reached for January's hand and held it.

“If you do, in fact, see this man's spirit, maybe you're reading the wrong thing into that.”

“But what else could it be other than that he blames me?”

“Maybe he doesn't need anything from you but forgiveness.”

January blinked as if she'd just been slapped. She leaned back abruptly, then stared off into space.

Could the answer be that simple?

She wasn't sure, but she was willing to give it a try.

Twenty-Two

J
ust as they were sitting down to dinner that same night, Ben was called out to a homicide, leaving January home alone. Her hunger had gone out the door with Ben, so she got up from the table and began putting away the food.

When she was done, the silence in the apartment was uncomfortable. She heard an approaching siren and, out of habit, looked out the window. The cop car came and went, but she never saw it. What she did see, however, was the man beneath the streetlight.

Her heart sank, then began beating so rapidly that she broke out in a sweat.

It was him.

“Stop this!” she cried out. “Please leave me alone!”

She blinked, and he was gone.

It was, for her, the final straw. She didn't know whether Mother Mary Theresa was right or not, but she was tired of living in a constant state of anxiety.

She grabbed her car keys and purse, and ran for the door. Minutes later, she was on her way to an all-night chapel that she'd visited many times before.

When she pulled into the church parking lot a short while later, her hands were shaking and she wanted to throw up, but this had to be done. The parking lot was well-lit, and to her relief, she saw other cars parked there, as well.

She grabbed her purse and got out, then made a run for the door. Inside, soft candlelight bathed the old Gothic edifice in a welcoming glow. She dipped her fingers in the holy water just inside the doorway, then genuflected as she made the sign of the cross.

So far, so good.

She was in God's house.

Nothing bad could happen to her here.

She moved past a half-dozen other worshipers scattered throughout the pews to the altar at the front of the church. A statue of Christ crucified hung high upon the wall, his features contorted in eternal suffering.

She took a taper, then lit a candle before kneeling before the altar. As soon as her knees touched the floor, she closed her eyes and inhaled, and as she did, she knew she was not alone.

It wasn't a presence she could pinpoint, but she felt no threat, so she didn't try to look. It was enough that it was there.

She prayed, and then she listened, and then she prayed some more. And when there was nothing else to say and no other way to say it, she found herself speaking the words the old nun had left in her heart.

“Lord…I know you've already forgiven him. I can do no less. Forgive me for my weakness in harboring hate. Forgive me for wanting Jay Carpenter's soul in hell. I pray that he's found his peace.”

She felt what could only be described as a breath against her cheek, but when she opened her eyes, there was no one there.

She stood up, and as she turned around, she thought she saw a man standing in the shadows near the door at the end of the aisle.

She started toward him, needing to know that she'd done the right thing, praying that if it was indeed Jay Carpenter's ghost, that it had been put to rest.

But when she got there, the vestibule was empty. Shrugging off the vision as the result of nothing more than a guilty conscience and an overactive imagination, she stepped out of the church, then paused at the top of the steps.

The sky was clear and full of stars, deceptive beauty in a world that was no longer safe. She scanned the parking lot for lurkers before quickly moving toward her car.

As she started down the steps, something blew across her line of vision.

A bit of paper on the ground.

Probably nothing but trash.

Still, she paused, watching until it caught in some shrubs. Curious, she ran down and picked it up before it could blow away, then stuck it in her pocket as she dashed to her car.

By the time she drove home, she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her heart. It didn't matter now if she saw Jay Carpenter's ghost around every corner. She'd released her hold on the hatred she'd felt.

When she got inside, she realized she was hungry. She made herself a sandwich, poured a glass of soda and then settled down to eat at the bar in the kitchen. She was almost finished before she remembered the piece of paper.

She felt silly as she went to get it, telling herself it was probably part of a candy wrapper, and that the inside of her pocket would most likely be sticky, which she deserved for being so melodramatic.

She got her jacket and took out the paper, then carried it back to the kitchen, to the light. As she laid it down on the counter, she could tell there was writing on the other side. Definitely no candy wrapper.

Then she turned it over.

Part of the paper had been torn away, but she read what was there and began to cry.

Through whatever power that had been with her, her prayer had been answered.

Awed by the power of God, she stared down at the words, written in a faint, shaky script:
“…as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

Her heart was pounding, her hands trembling, as she heard the front door open.

It was Ben.

She heard him calling her name, and tried to find the breath to answer.

“Honey…it's me! Did you save me some dinner?” he yelled.

January's fingers curled around the paper.

Then she wadded it up and stuffed it into her pocket as she turned toward the sound of his voice.

ISBN: 978-1-4268-2901-7

THE CHOSEN

Copyright © 2005 by Sharon Sala.

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

MIRA and the Star Colophon are trademarks used under license and registered in Australia, New Zealand, Philippines, United States Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.

www.MIRABooks.com

BOOK: The Chosen
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