Sweet Surprise: Romance Collection

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

  Tears stung her eyes as she got out of her car, her mind on the family they were helping.

  “Hiya.” A young girl, maybe twelve or thirteen, jumped down from the front porch and made her way to Angel’s car. “Like my new do?” She made a primping gesture.

  Angel recognized the girl as a member of the Henderson family. She’d seen her a couple of times during the project. “Looks just like Oprah’s hairstyle, Shanika. Or at least the way she was wearing it on her last magazine cover. I think she has a new—what’d you call it?”

  “ Do—”

  “—a new do every day or two.”

  Shanika nodded. “She has her own private hairdresser.”

  “That style looks nice on you. And aren’t you wearing some makeup?”

  Shanika dropped her gaze, shylike. “Yes, ma’am. Part of this program was makeovers for Mama and me. They did me today. Mama gets done Saturday. We got some new clothes, too.” She touched the lapel of her crisp white shirt, ran her hand down her stylish new jeans.

  “I see that.”

  “I’m supposed to help you paint tonight. You need a hand with your stuff ?”

  “Sure.” Angel gestured at paint trays and rollers in her backseat and picked up as many as she could hold.

  Shanika gathered the rest of the items, and they walked toward the house, picking their way around the huge trash receptacle and various building supplies.

  “We sure are glad y’all put a new swing on our porch,” Shanika said as they walked up the front steps. “Our old one had some cracked boards down the middle. Kinda caught you in a ticklish spot, if you know what I mean.” Shanika’s dark brown eyes sparkled. “Thank You, Lawd, for a new swing.”

  That cracked Angel up—Shanika’s cute mannerisms. It took her awhile to quit laughing. “I love a porch swing.”

  “We do, too. Mama says she doesn’t really need to watch soap operas. She can sit right here on the porch and see them day and night.”

  Angel laughed again. This girl was delightful. She would like to take an interest in Shanika’s future, give her guidance and advice, that sort of thing. She’d like to see her make something of her life.

  When they got inside the house, Angel could see they were among the first to get there. A quick glance out the kitchen window told her Cyril’s car wasn’t there yet. Perhaps he’d stopped to pick up something. She was looking forward to seeing him.

  While Shanika changed her clothes in the bathroom, Angel made her way into a bedroom and put down her paint supplies. Working on Project Hope had given her a great sense of fulfillment. And it gave her opportunities to be in close proximity to Cyril.

  Now that was icing on the cake!

  Angel glanced at her watch and noticed a smudge of paint on it. She wiped it off. Good thing it was her old one.

  Nine o’clock already. The evening had gone by quickly. She and Shanika were finishing up the third bedroom. Shanika was at her side, rolling paint on the wall in fast, even strokes. Though the girl was young, Angel could see she was industrious. She’d go somewhere in life, this girl.

  Shanika leaned her paint roller on the side of the tray, opened a can of paint with the special instrument, and then poured more paint into the tray. She closed the can, whisked her roller through the paint, and started painting again.

  “Shanika?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “You’re a hard worker.”

  “ ‘We’ll work till Jesus comes, we’ll work,’” Shanika belted out in song. “ ‘Till Jesus comes, we’ll work, till Jesus comes, and we’ll be gathered home.’” She giggled. “That’s an old hymn Mama likes to sing, especially when she’s trying to get us to help her clean house on Saturday mornings.”

  Angel smiled at her. “You have a dramatic flair, too. That’s a winning combination. Hard work and personality.” Shanika reminded her of Oprah, with her honey-colored skin and beautiful hair and expressive eyes. “What do you intend to do with your life?”

  “Oh, I don’t know…”

  “What’re your interests?”

  “I love to read.”

  “That’s good. My mother always said reading expands your world. Do you want to go to college?”

  Shanika stopped painting. Her eyes lit up. “Someday I’d like to be a teacher. And maybe a principal.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I hope I can go to college.”

  “You hope? Of course you can. If a person puts her mind to it, she can do anything she wants to.”

  Shanika resumed her painting.

  “I guess you know about Oprah’s rise to fame?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She started out with slim pickings, but now she’s got plenty of money. And houses and cars. And TV shows. And she makes movies. And she owns a magazine. And—”

  “—and she’s smart and…generous…and gifted…it seems like she has the power to do just about anything. I guess you could say she’s got it all.”

  Shanika didn’t respond.

  “Who knows? Maybe you’ll be the next Oprah, Shanika. Now that’s what I call success.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Angel was surprised. “What?”

  “Oh, I’m not saying Oprah isn’t successful. Everybody knows better than that. She’s on the”—she paused like she was thinking—“pinnacle—that’s one of my spelling words this week. She’s on the pinnacle of success. She’s riding the high wave. She’s not only rich and smart and generous and gifted, it seems like she’s got something about her I can’t explain…”

  “I’d say it’s an ethereal quality. Whatever it is, it draws people to her.”

  Shanika nodded vigorously. “But none of that’s real success, in my book.”

  “What is real success, in your book?”

  Shanika held her paint roller in midair. She took on a theatrical stance, putting a hand over her heart and clamping her eyes shut. “ ‘If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.’ ”

  Angel was momentarily stunned. “You’re…quoting…1 Corinthians 13?”

  Shanika opened her eyes. “It’s called the Love Chapter.”

  “I know. Where’d you learn it?”

  “At my church. I help teach a children’s Sunday school class. I help them memorize scriptures.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “No, ma’am.” Shanika dipped her paint in the tray and put it to the wall, then kept up with her steady strokes. “It just takes practice.” She smiled. “Practice to learn it, and then practice to live it.”

  Angel swallowed hard. “Shanika…you’re something…you know that?”

  Shanika shrugged.

  “You didn’t answer my question, though.”

  Shanika gave Angel a sideways glance.

  “What is real success, in your book?”

  “What I just quoted. The love the apostle was talking about is the love for the Lord. Jesus said I am the way, the truth, and the life. Nobody comes to the Father except by me. Putting Jesus, His work, and His Word above all else—that’s what real success is, in my book.”

  Angel took a deep breath and slowly released it. Rue de France was the center of her world—not Jesus Christ. And before Rue de France, other things had crowded out the Lord. She’d pushed Him aside in her feverish quest for success.

  But you did it for a good reason, came a dark voice. You wanted to take care of your mother.

  And that’s right and good and worthy, Angel responded in her heart.

  But what about 1 Corinthians 13? The Love Chapter? An enlightening voice.

  Love? I’ve got plenty of love.

  Not the right kind.

  A warring seemed to be going on in Angel’s soul as thoughts ricocheted thr
ough it.

  Sure you have love. Look. You’re involved in this project.

  What’s your motive? I’m not only interested in what you do, but why you do it.

  But I empathized for the family. A truthful answer. I identified with them. I gave of myself in this project.

  “If I give all I possess…but have not love, I gain nothing.”

  Angel winced. What had Shanika said about the love 1 Corinthians talked about? That it was referring to the Lord and putting Him first? That’s real love, Shanika had said.

  The nugget of wisdom hit its mark, piercing Angel’s heart. Lord, she prayed in anguish of spirit. What should I do?

  Put Me, My work, and My Word first in your life.

  I will, Lord, I promise I will.

  She was so happy, she hugged Shanika in a sisterly hug. “Thank you, Shanika.”

  Shanika looked puzzled.

  “For bringing me manna from heaven.” The manna was light and sweet and good, and Angel envisioned big fluffy dumplings raining down from the sky. The thought made her smile with a newfound joy.

  Shanika quietly went back to her painting, as if she possessed the wisdom of the ages.

  Angel thought about the irony of the situation. She wanted to give guidance and advice to Shanika, and Shanika ended up giving them to her.

  She saw her vision again. Manna. A fitting vision for a cook. Lord, thank You for speaking to me through this young girl. Forgive me for not putting You at the top of the list in my life. Help me to do better.

  “Please help me achieve real success,” she said aloud.

  “What’d you say?” Shanika stopped painting and looked at her.

  “I was…well, I was praying.”

  “That’s something I do all the time. Morning, noon, and night. It’s what my mother taught me to do.”

  “Mine, too. And from here on out, I’m going to do more of it.”

  Chapter 9

  C yril came out on the front porch and restacked building supplies in preparation for tomorrow’s work. He saw Angel in the yard cleaning some paintbrushes and rollers under a faucet by the light of the spotlight someone had hung on the eaves. She’d worked hard on this project, and he admired her. He wished—

  “Cyril? I need to talk with you.” Angel turned off the faucet.

  “What’s up?” He figured she needed to know something about tomorrow’s assignment.

  “Can we talk when everyone’s gone? I need to tell you something important. I’ll meet you here, on the front porch, if that’s okay with you?”

  “Sure.” This must be serious, by the tone of her voice. He recalled passing by the room where she and Shanika were painting, and he overheard Shanika quoting a Bible verse. Hmm…

  Fifteen minutes later, when the last person left, Cyril went through the house locking the windows. He stretched his tired muscles as he turned off the lights. He was used to exercise but not this kind of labor. But every ache was worth it. To him, this was a part of working for the Lord. He recalled a scripture where Jesus taught that if we offered a cup of cold water in His name, we were doing it as unto Him.

  I’ve done this project for You, Lord.

  He made his way through the front door and locked it behind him, then glanced around and saw Angel sitting on the porch swing.

  “Have a seat.” She patted the space to her right.

  He sat down beside her and pushed hard with his foot, and the swing went back and forth. He laughed. “Reflex, I guess. You sit on a porch swing, and you want to get it going.”

  She nodded. “You should’ve heard Shanika tonight. She was telling me her mother would rather sit on the porch than watch TV.” She started laughing.

  He looked over at her. What did she mean? And why was she laughing?

  She stopped laughing and proceeded to explain what Shanika had said about TV and soap operas and porches. “I’m bungling this.” She tried again. “I can’t seem to capture the essence of what she said.” She smiled. “Oh, forget it.”

  “You wearing on my nerves, girl,” hollered someone from next door. “If you don’t change them clothes, I’m gonna beat your buns.”

  “There!” Angel’s face was animated. “That’s what Shanika was talking about.”

  He laughed, and she joined in.

  “Shanika was so cute, the way she said it.”

  He sat there, enjoying the moment and enjoying being with her.

  “Cyril, I wanted to tell you, I learned something new tonight.”

  “I did, too. Roy showed me how to lay ceramic tile.” From his sideways glance in the dim light cast by a street light, he could see she was itching to talk. But he figured he’d have a little fun with her. “First, you trowel the adhesive on the floor. It’s real thick, like peanut butter, and then you lay the tile on top of that, and you put little spacers between them. And then you let it dry for a good twenty-four hours. And then, when it’s dry, you go back and put in the grout—”

  “I don’t mean to interrupt you but—”

  “You can’t wait to tell me about your conversation with Shanika, right? Other than the one about the porch…and soap operas?”

  They both laughed.

  “Did you hear us talking?”

  “I heard her quote from 1 Corinthians 13. That’s all. I was on my way outside to get more tile from Roy’s truck.”

  Angel told him how she and Shanika had been teamed together, how impressed she’d been by her, how she wanted to give the young girl guidance and advice. But the tables turned, and Shanika gave Angel the best guidance of all.

  “The best guidance?”

  “I’ve got my priorities right, Cyril.” Angel looked over at him, her eyes brighter than the stars that filled the night sky. “Shanika helped me see what’s important in life.” She continued talking, giving him the details.

  “That’s wonderful.” He’d been praying for Angel ever since Pastor Kyle recommended it, and this was news that thrilled him. Now, maybe they could—

  “I’ve been ministered to tonight, Cyril. By a young girl.” She told him about the manna from heaven she’d pictured at Shanika’s wise words. “I learned so much from her.”

  “Sometimes in our Christian walk, we struggle with things, and—”

  “You have struggles?”

  “Of course I do. We all do. We’re human. The important thing is to let the Lord speak to us in our struggles.”

  “He sure spoke to me. Out of the mouth of babes…”

  “When the Lord speaks to us, whether it’s through a person, or through His Word, or in prayer, or however He chooses to do it, well, it’s like you described. It’s like—”

  “—manna to our souls.” She laughed. “I guess you could say I got some soul food tonight. Food from heaven. And food from Shanika.”

  “Food for Angel.” He took her hand, drew it to his lips, and kissed her fingers. “How about”—his voice grew husky—“angel food?”

  Chapter 10

  A ngel’s heart beat a little trill when Cyril tapped on the kitchen doorway of Rue de France at the stroke of noon. Her heart did that every time she saw him. She wanted to be with him every minute, and she was sure he felt the same way, though neither had said the magic words—I love you—yet.

  “Come on in,” she said.

  “I figured you were back here.” He made his way toward her.

  “Shouldn’t you be eating at Main Street Cafe?” He had his own restaurant. And this was lunchtime. And business was business. And he’d eaten lunch here for four days in a row.

  He drew her to him and put his cheek to hers. “There’s a motive to my madness,” he said into her hair.

  She returned his embrace warmly, longingly. She remembered when Cyril had said that phrase after her pie was such a hit at the Project Hope planning meeting. After that, her business had picked up. Though people weren’t lining the sidewalk to get into Rue de France, she was having a better flow of customers.

  “A person can eat
ham and butter beans just so much.” He winked at her.

  She smiled, knowing Main Street Café had lots of menu choices, all of them delicious. She led him into the dining room and gestured at a table.

  “Okay. I admit it.” He pulled out the chair and sat down. “I thought maybe if I eat here a lot, it’ll influence more townspeople to try Rue de France.”

  She handed him a menu, then leaned down and straightened the sweetener packets on his table. “Thanks, Cyril.”

  “But the real reason I came back today…is because I can’t stay away from you.” He trailed his finger up the back of her hand.

  Oh, Cyril…I’m sure you’re Mr. Right. She almost shouted out Thank You, Lawd, Shanika-style but managed to restrain herself.

  “What’s good today?” He looked down at the menu.

  You. She recommended some choices, stumbling over her words, her heart still hammering.

  He placed his order.

  She headed for the kitchen. I think True Love just knocked at my door.

  The days progressed into weeks, and the weeks into months.

  Happy days…

  Happy weeks…

  Happy months.

  Cyril procured a grant for downtown refurbishment and got the townspeople on board, and Nine Cloud got spiffed up. Paint. New awnings. Flowering shrubs in planters. Benches. Even new streetlights.

  “Charming,” people were saying.

  “Good for business,” Cyril always commented. “And no new housing areas yet,” he added with a laugh.

  Cyril saw the Lord perform spiritual transformations. Ted White from White’s Hardware recognized his need of a Savior. Joe Freeman from the funeral home experienced a heart healing and came back to church. Some teenagers found Jesus and gave up their drinking.

  Cyril was thrilled for Angel when Rue de France took off. She gave the Lord the credit.

  “The Lord blessed me because I put Him first and everything else second,” she liked to say.

  Besides her hordes of lunchtime customers, she came up with the brilliant idea of teaching French-cooking lessons on Monday and Tuesday nights. She advertised in area newspapers and now had a long waiting list. She’d told him it was fast becoming the mainstay of her business.