He lifted his head to turn away but felt a staying hand on his shoulder. He peered around, but no one else stood in the hall.
Are You telling me to eavesdrop, Lord?
He scoured his memory for some verse that implied it was wrong, but nothing came to mind.Lord, forgive me if I’m interpreting this moment incorrectly.
It still didn’t feel right, but he turned his ear to the crack between the door and wall.
Lydia’s voice sounded from the other side of the room. The speed at which it grew closer meant she must be eating up the perimeter. “I don’t even know what justice is supposed to look like anymore. If I quit writing, how am I to figure that out? Yes, I know I’m supposed to lean into You and Your Word, but even You spoke through stories. Of course, Yours brought people back to You, and all mine have done is lead to murder and riots.”
The fast click of heels against wood indicated her steps continued, though her silence lingered for several long moments.
“What am I if not a writer? Are You sure there isn’t another way for me to change into the woman You want me to be?”
Quiet and stillness settled like she waited for God to audibly speak.
An uncomfortable sense of responsibility sprouted within Abraham. Surely God did not expect him to be His spokesman. Just because Abraham believed Lydia should walk away from writing didn’t mean God agreed. Perhaps Abraham should join Mrs. Hawking in the kitchen and leave Lydia to grapple alone.
The floor shook, and glass rattled against tabletops.
Had Lydia taken to stomping like a toddler?
A muffled scream of frustration stretched out before she yelled a clear, “Fine! I’ll quit. No more mystery or romance novels.”
Perhaps Lydia should write children’s books instead. The temperamental tots and she had much in common.
“But You have to help. I’m not as courageous as my characters. I can’t just march into Mr. O’Dell’s office, slap a stack of advance money on his desk, and stride out the door. I just can’t. Not alone. He’d eat me alive.”
Please don’t be asking me to do what I think You are, Lord.
Abraham almost laughed when struck with how similar his and Lydia’s prayers were. If he didn’t think it absurd to declare so soon, he’d say they belonged together. That possibility created a spark of excitement that he wasn’t exactly sure what to do about. He might complain even to himself about being thrust into a friendship with the woman, but in truth, he was eager to discover what it was about her that captivated him so.
Perhaps it was testing God, but Abraham gently pressed against the door. It creaked open.
All right then. He’d take that as a sign God wanted him to do this.
He fully opened the door. “You wouldn’t be going alone.”
Lydia screeched and whirled around, lifting that ridiculous horseshoe in the air.
He approached with raised hands to assure her he meant no harm. “If you need the support of a friend, I will accompany you.”
Her arm lowered, and she gaped like a widemouth bass.
A chuckle escaped at the bizarre comparison. He really must be tired beyond reason to compare the curly-haired beauty in front of him to a slimy, cold-blooded lake dweller.
He stopped outside of swinging range. A horseshoe thrown by her may not pose any real danger, but he’d rather not end up with a headache. “Do you really believe a horseshoe can protect you?”
“Well, no, but I can’t imagine it would feel too good hitting your face.”
“True, but there’s no need to lob it at me. I’m not here to hurt you.” He slowly reached for it, arching a brow in question. He wouldn’t put it past her to test how hard she could swing.
Her head tilted, and she peered at him with a calculating squint. “Are you afraid of me?”
Not in the sense she meant, but he’d never admit that his glimmer of attraction for her frightened him senseless. “You are unpredictable, but I’m confident that I can handle anything you attempt.”
“Is that so?” Mischievousness illuminated her face and curved her lips. “Tell me, Abraham, are you confident enough to make a wager?”
“It wouldn’t be right to take your money.”
