Sweet Surprise: Romance Collection

by Wanda E. Brunstetter, Kristin Billerbeck, Kristy Dykes, Aisha Ford, Birdie L. Etchison, Pamela Griffin, Joyce Livingston, Tamela Hancock Murray

  “Thank you, Mrs…?”

  “Sister Wilkins.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Sister Wilkins.” Angel smiled at her.

  “Same here, sweet thang. In this new Sunday school class I’m starting, we’ll be studying a book called The Dedicated Life for Christ. The course’ll run for three months. Unless we get to enjoying our self so much that we keep going. You know how Sunday school is. Everybody wants to share. I’m sure a-hoping you’ll become a member of my class.”

  “I…I’m not…sure…”

  “Oh, there’s Cyril.” Sister Wilkins clasped hold of Cyril’s hand as he walked by.

  He stopped in the aisle.

  Sister Wilkins pawed over his hand as she looked up at him, her eyes as twinkly as stars. “How’s our resident bachelor today?” She winked at Angel. “Do you know this young lady?”

  He smiled at Angel. “I certainly do.”

  Angel looked away, thinking of the romantic times they’d had recently. Her breathing was so short, she was afraid it was jiggling her cotton top.

  “Cyril, I was just telling her”—Sister Wilkins gestured at Angel—“about my new Sunday school class. I was asking her if she’d join it.” She turned to Angel. “I checked, and you aren’t enrolled in any of our Sunday school classes, so I thought you’d be a prime prospect. Cyril here”—she thrust her hand toward him—“is joining. Pastor Kyle’s doing a rotation thingy in Sunday school and asked Cyril to take a break from the middle-school boys and help me get this new class a-going. Will you commit to us?”

  Angel hated being put on the spot like this. If I join this class, the next thing you know, they’ll be asking me to do other things…

  “I know you’ll find it interesting. And we need to become more dedicated to Christ. All of us. Studying how to do it will help….” Sister Wilkins’s voice trailed off, question marks forming in her faded blue eyes.

  Angel fiddled with the zipper on her purse. Sister Wilkins was speaking the truth. Angel couldn’t deny it. And her mother would readily agree.

  “Won’t you please come?”

  Angel’s cell phone rang, and she was glad for the interruption. She whipped it out of a side compartment of her purse and noted it was her mother. She turned to Sister Wilkins. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll only be a moment.”

  “Go right ahead, sweet thang.”

  Angel took the call and told her mother that yes, she would pick up some butter and that she would be on her way in a few minutes. Then she closed her phone.

  Sister Wilkins shifted in the pew, the scent of lavender wafting through the air again. “We all need to make time for the work of the Lord.”

  Angel squeezed the tiny phone in her hand. The work of the Lord? All she knew right now was the work of Rue de France. Well, the lack thereof. With hardly any customers, she was consumed with worry, not work.

  “ ‘Only one life, ’twill soon be past, only what’s done for Christ will last.’ That’s an old poem—”

  “I know. My mother quotes it all the time.”

  Sister Wilkins rose to her feet, wincing in pain. “I got a hitch in my get along.” She laughed as she touched the small of her back. “Just don’t get old, folks. Just don’t get old.”

  Cyril made eye contact with Angel, and they both laughed with Sister Wilkins, enjoying her antics.

  “Well, I know you got to go. I heard you a-telling your mother you were on your way. So I won’t keep you.” Sister Wilkins smiled. “But I hope you’ll join my class.”

  Cyril nodded. “I second that.”

  “I…well, I’ll have to see.”

  “Food for thought, right, Angel?” Cyril’s penetrating gaze seemed to pierce the sinews of her soul.

  Angel slowly nodded. My, he looked serious. What was he thinking?

  “Well, what do you think, Cyril?”

  Cyril looked down at Sister Wilkins but didn’t say anything. He was too busy ponderating, as his grandfather liked to say.

  “I thought she was a perfect prospect for my class. I thought she’d commit. I really did….”

  He couldn’t concentrate on what Sister Wilkins was saying as she jabbered on. All he could think of was Angel. She was pretty. Check. And she was single. Check. And she had get-up-and-go. Check. And they’d had such good times together lately. Check.

  But she’s not interested in Kingdom doings.

  Uncheck.

  Cyril clearly saw that now. Every time they’d been together in the last few weeks and the subject of God or the church had come up, Angel hadn’t had much to say.

  Disappointment that was sharper than a hunger pang hit him in the gut. No, the heart.

  Chapter 7

  A ngel sat in her living room, surfing restaurant sites on her laptop on yet another dateless Saturday night, trying to glean ideas.

  The proverbial saying, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” was certainly applicable here. She couldn’t keep her thoughts off of Cyril. Apparently, that wasn’t the case with him. What was going on? They’d had many Saturday night dates in a row. Now she only saw him in church or downtown when their paths happened to cross.

  “Well, I guess that leaves me some free time to devote to the church rebuilding project.”

  She picked up Pastor Kyle’s letter she’d received in today’s mail and reread it. He was pleading for volunteers. When she saw the part about the four children in the family and no father, tears came to her eyes. That meant a single mother working her heart out to make a living and raise the children. That sounded familiar. She knew what it was to be in need. And she knew what she had to do.

  She put the letter down, picked up her cell phone, and called the pastor. She told him she wanted to sign up for the project and mentioned her areas of expertise. When she found out only nine other people had volunteered, she was flabbergasted. But she didn’t say anything.

  Their conversation came to a close, and she clicked off her cell phone with more force than necessary. “Ten volunteers for a project this massive? That figures.” She was feeling sarcastic tonight—not her usual modus operandi. But it couldn’t be helped. She’d moved to Nine Cloud with high hopes, only to have them dashed.

  The townspeople resisted progress….

  Her restaurant wasn’t doing well….

  And her budding romance had turned out to be no romance at all. She didn’t know what had happened with Cyril and her. Whatever had been afloat had sunk like a capsized ship.

  On second thought, maybe she did know what happened. He was always talking about God and church, and it irked her sometimes. Maybe he sensed that about her, and maybe that irked him. After all, he was Mr. Evangelist.

  Now, when she saw him, she felt awkward and uncomfortable. Before, she’d been so happy every time she was with him. She thought it was the start of a meaningful relationship.

  “Relationship? Ha.” She closed her laptop, made her way to her desk, and sat down. “Cyril Jackson III, you’re too heavenly minded to be any earthly good.” At least any good to me.

  She grabbed a pencil from the penholder and drew a house on the back of Pastor Kyle’s letter. She put a front door on it, windows on either side, and flowers out front, all stick drawing, kindergarten-style.

  “I don’t know what the future holds for me concerning Mr. Right.” She couldn’t keep the acrimony out of her voice.

  “But one thing I do know. I’ll work my heart out for this poverty-stricken family.” She had a strong back and a good eye for righting things. She could hammer nails and paint walls and gather debris. And anything else they requested of her.

  Meantime, she would work her heart out for Rue de France, too. She would see success, come what may. It was the driving force in her life.

  “Hi, Cyril. This is Pastor Kyle.”

  “Well, hello, Pastor Kyle.” Cyril pointed the remote and hit the MUTE button. Wonder why the pastor is calling? He would see him in the morning at church. “What can I do for you?”

  “I
noticed you were the first one to sign up for the church rebuilding project. I wanted to express my thanks.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. This family…what’s their name?”

  “The Hendersons.”

  “The Hendersons are going to be mightily blessed. But the ones who work on it will get the biggest blessing. I’m convinced of that.”

  “You’re right, Cyril. It’s more blessed to give than receive, the Good Book says.”

  “Amen. Who’s going to head up the project?”

  “That’s why I’m calling. Will you…be the team captain?”

  “I…uh…”

  “You have business savvy…and Roy Johnson signed up to be a volunteer…and he can give you good advice. He’s got his contractor’s license now…and he’s—”

  “Why don’t you make him team captain? He’s much more knowledgeable about building than I am.”

  “I feel like the Lord wants you to do it.”

  “You do?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with the Lord, can I?” Cyril chuckled.

  “No.”

  “All right. I’ll do my best.”

  “I knew you would.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you in church in the morning, Pastor—”

  “One other thing, Cyril.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Will you give one of the volunteers a call?”

  “I’ll call all of them, once I figure out a game plan.”

  “I mean tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  A pause. A glance at the TV screen. “Sure, Pastor. Who is it?”

  “Angel Morgan.”

  Angel volunteered for the rebuilding project? Well, shut my mouth, as Sister Wilkins would say. Cyril had tried to get Angel to sign up for the project, just as he’d tried to get her to join Sister Wilkins’s Sunday school class, to no avail. He said it would please the Lord. No takers. He said it would be rewarding. No takers. He said it would be fun. No takers. He finally got the message. Angel just didn’t have her priorities right. That was when he decided to cool things for a while.

  “Angel wants to help,” Pastor Kyle went on. “She said she can paint walls and trim. And she can drive a pretty good nail. And she said if it’s needed, she’d like to help pick out paint colors and things like that. I’d like you to call her tonight, and let her know we appreciate her volunteering.”

  Cyril quickly summed up the situation. Pastor Kyle must be trying to get him and Angel together. Cyril had had a friend-to-friend conversation with him recently. He’d told the pastor he and Angel had gone on a few dates. He also mentioned he was disappointed in her and hadn’t taken her out in several weeks. “The Lord wants you to pray for her,” Pastor Kyle had told him

  “Cyril? Did I lose you?”

  “No, Pastor.”

  “I feel—”

  “—the Lord wants me to call her?” Cyril interrupted good-naturedly.

  Pastor Kyle laughed. “No. This time, I’m the one who feels that way.”

  Cyril joined in his laughter, for some reason feeling good about the future of his and Angel’s relationship. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  “Oh, I will, Pastor.”

  Angel heard her cell phone ring. She pushed aside her stick drawing of the house and picked up her phone. She was surprised to see Cyril’s number. “Hi, Cyril.”

  “Hi, Angel. How are you?”

  “Fine.” Not really.

  “Pastor Kyle said you signed up for the church rebuilding project.”

  Angel did a double take. Why’d the pastor call Cyril and tell him she’d volunteered?

  “I’m going to be heading up the project. I’m calling it Project Hope.”

  “My, Pastor Kyle works fast. I just called to tell him I wanted to sign up.”

  “I’m glad, Angel.”

  She remembered when he’d tried to get her to volunteer. But that wasn’t her reason for doing it. “When I got his letter, I knew I had to help.”

  “The church appreciates your help. And I know it’ll mean a lot to the Henderson family. I’ve decided to have a planning meeting next Saturday night. Can you make it?”

  What used to be our date nights. “What time?”

  “I’m firming up plans now. I’m thinking about luring volunteers by providing a meal at my café. If I decide to go that route, I’ll probably start it at five thirty.”

  “That’s a great idea. As they say, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

  A pause ensued.

  “Cyril? Are you there?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought we got cut off.” What was going on?

  “I’m here.” Another pause. “Angel, if I decide to have the eating meeting, would you be willing to make some of your chocolate chip pies for dessert?”

  She was caught off guard. Of course she didn’t mind bringing dessert. She loved to cook. But his request seemed a little odd to her—

  “That’s okay. You don’t have to. I’ll get Mama Edwards to make us something, some kind of cake maybe—”

  “I’ll be glad to bring the pies. How many are you expecting?”

  He let out a smirk-laugh. “We have ten on the volunteer list right now, but we need twenty or twenty-five at least, to pull this off. Pastor Kyle wants the house completed in ten days’ time, if possible.”

  “I’m a positive thinker. I’ll bring six pies. Each pie serves eight, so that’ll be enough for thirty people and lots of seconds for the big eaters.”

  “Angel…you rock, as the middle schoolers say.”

  The cat had her tongue for a moment. Her heart fluttered. You rock, Cyril. “Glad I can help.”

  “Man, who made this pie?”

  “This stuff is pure heaven.”

  “Oh, that my wife could cook like this…”

  “Can I have another slice?”

  “Whadayacallit?”

  “Musty.”

  “Musty?”

  “I must have some more.” Hand waving in the air. “Seconds, please.”

  “Is there a name for it?”

  “Whoever made it oughta call it Heavenly Pie.”

  “Oh man, that’s hitting the nail on the head.”

  “Yep. Heavenly Pie.”

  “What a divine thought.” A geehawing chuckle. A stab in the ribs. “Get it?”

  “I sure do.” A last bite. A swig of coffee. “And I’m gonna get me some more.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” Cyril tapped a fork on his glass, making a ping sound. “If you’re finished with your dessert, please find a seat on the other side of the café. The busboy will clean our tables while we have our meeting. But before you get to moving about, I’d like to introduce you to Angel Morgan. She’s the lady behind the Heavenly Pie.”

  The crowd applauded.

  “Angel, would you stand up?”

  Angel stood and smiled.

  “She owns Rue de France, the French restaurant down the street.”

  They applauded again.

  “I hope you’ll try her fare. Everything I’ve eaten at her restaurant is top-notch. She serves entrées…and sandwiches…and desserts…and Heavenly Pie, of course.”

  “There was a motive to your madness.” Angel smiled at Cyril as she gathered her empty pie pans while he turned off the lights.

  He shrugged then grinned. “Wouldn’t you say it was a good one?”

  She nodded. “Maybe after tonight, I’ll have a few more customers.”

  “I hope so. They sure loved your Heavenly Pie.”

  “Heavenly Pie, is it?”

  “Somebody came up with that tonight—”

  “I know. I heard them.”

  “I already told you, you should make it your signature pie for Rue de France.”

  “I really like that name. Heavenly Pie.” She’d give his suggestion some consideration. “I think your idea is br
illiant, Cyril.”

  Chapter 8

  A ngel drove toward the Hendersons’ house where she’d been working for a week. Every spare minute away from Rue de France, she spent at Project Hope. She had spread wallboard mud on the new walls, then taped and sanded them—with instructions from one of the volunteers, of course. She carried debris—strips of carpet, pieces of mildewed walls, sections of old cabinets, even a commode—to the trash receptacle outside.

  She gave decorating guidance to Ms. Henderson as she made selections of paint colors, cabinets, countertops, and new furniture.

  Angel had done everything they’d asked her to do, had been glad to do it. She couldn’t wait to hang the curtains and help decide the furniture placement in the rooms. That would be the crowning touch. The icing on the cake.

  This evening, she would be painting, so she wore her paint clothes—the same ones she’d worn when she painted Rue de France—a T-shirt, faded cut-off jeans, and old tennis shoes. She might as well be comfortable.

  She pulled into the small grassless front yard. Laying new sod would be the last thing they’d do. She envisioned the heavy snow she saw on last night’s news in some other part of the country. Here in Central Florida, it was mild year round, and even though it was October, the sod would be rich and full and green from the day they laid it. She pictured the young Henderson children playing in this filthy dirt pit and then later, their joy at playing on the soft green grass.

  To her right and left, she saw rows of houses like the one they were rebuilding, with hardly any space between them. She heard people talking loudly on porches up and down the street. A horn blared in the distance.

  Somebody was singing at the top of their lungs, and babies wailed.

  Next door, a woman screamed, as if in agony. “You cain’t leave me. I cain’t stand it if you leave me.”

  Deeply touched, Angel shook her head. But at least the church was rebuilding one house. She recalled Pastor Kyle’s sermon illustration on one of the Sundays he put out a plea for volunteers. It was about a young boy standing on a seashore, throwing back stranded sea creatures that lined the shore by the thousands. A man asked him why bother, and the boy said, “I’m saving this one and this one and this one.”