CHAPTER 3
As David followed his sister to her bedroom, the rage he had felt on the day of the Whittakers’ arrival surged in him now. He wanted to punish his sister, to make her pay for her decision. He did not want her there anymore, unless she renounced Jesus.
Deborah laid her leather-covered Bible on the dresser, then turned to face her brother. David glared at her for a long moment, while she stood stock-still, gazing at him. She did not say anything. At last, David hurled a china vase against the wall. It crashed against the wall, then landed in shards. Deborah flinched.
“That’s it!” he yelled. “I’ve had it, Deborah! You have two choices: either you give up this Christian religion, or you leave this house and live elsewhere! The choice is your.” He coughed, then slammed his fist on the bureau; the picture she kept there of herself and David landed on its back. “I mean it—I will not have this any longer!”
Deep sadness welling in her eyes, Deborah nodded. Yanking open the closet door, she dragged out her suitcase and set it on the bed. “I’ve been expecting this day for some time,” she said. “I will leave.” She paused. “But you will be in my prayers, David.”
David marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Deborah leaned against the closet door, tears spilling over her cheeks. She pressed her nose against the door’s smooth wooden surface.
“Help me!” she prayed. “Help me, God. I need a place to stay.”
Taking a deep breath, she tried to think. Of course! The two witnesses could help her! She would go back to them and explain what happened, then seek their counsel. Surely, they’d know where she could go. With trembling fingers, she packed her clothes and a few other things, then left the house through the back entrance. As the door clicked softly behind her, she heard one of the babies crying. David must have frightened them with his temper, she thought.
An hour later, she reached the Wailing Wall. Silently, as she clutched her suitcase and purse next to her, she prayed that God would give the witnesses an opening to speak His message to her. As usual, she found a crowd milling around. Overhead, the sun beat down on her scalp; drops of sweat rolled down her cheeks. “Hard to believe it would be this hot in March,” she muttered.
“Where did they go?” a man shouted. “Think they turned into cowards and ran?”
“Good!” another shouted. “They should run—they know that everybody hates them! I wish they’d die!”
Deborah’s suitcase handle slipped out of her now-sweaty fingers as horror surged in her heart. Her suitcase landed with a thud on the stone beneath her. The witnesses were gone! Where would she go? Who would take her in? “I have no bank account, Jehovah, and no gold,” she whispered. “Help me! Please.”
“He will, Deborah.”
Deborah spun around to find a man with sandy-brown hair standing behind her. He wore a pair of jeans and a dark-brown T-shirt; caring and compassion radiated in his eyes. “What—who—?” she stammered.
“I’m an angel. My name is Andrew.” He touched her shoulder. “God sent me to tell you that He has heard your prayer, and He will help you. He is pleased with your faith, Deborah, and He wants you to know that your prayers for your brother have been heard.”
“That is right.” A familiar voice startled her; she spun around to find Moishe approaching her, followed by Eli. Their bare, dirty feet slid smoothly on the stone tiles. “You trust in God; trust also in Jesus. He will provide, Deborah.”
Andrew nodded agreement. “Come with me, and I’ll take you to a place the Lord has prepared for you.” He nodded at the witnesses, who inclined their heads in return.
Deborah gaped at the angel of death. “You’re—you’re an angel?” Her voice faltered; Andrew nodded. “I’ve prayed that God would allow me to see an angel!”
Chuckling, Andrew led her toward a cab. “God sends angels when there is need for them,” he told her. “And you definitely have that need now.” Removing a set of jangling keys from his pocket, he unlocked the door for Deborah, then slid into the driver’s seat. The cushioned front passenger seat sagged slightly beneath her as she leaned against its back.
Andrew drove Deborah to a hotel in West Jerusalem. There, he found Tess perched behind a pine desk in the office. Deborah glanced at Andrew, then hung her head. “Forgive me, but I have no money. No bank account, and no gold.” She sighed. “My brother threw me out before I had a chance to…”
“Don’t worry about it, baby. This is on the house.” Tess smiled at her puzzled expression. “Or, to put it another way, there will be no charge for your stay here. If you’ll wait here, I’ll have someone get you a key to your room.”
Andrew smiled at Deborah. “I’ll see you again soon.” He left.
Deborah leaned against the desk, pressing her fingertips against the desk’s smooth surface, waiting for Tess. Thank You, God, she prayed. You have indeed provided me with a place to stay. She sighed. Please get through to my brother!
______
Days later, back in New York, Richard paced the living room floor, arms folded across his middle, his brown leather shoes softly thudding on the carpet. Periodically, he reached up to wipe his face as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His latest attempt to call his brother-in-law, Ryan, had met with failure. In the hall, he could hear his wife praying for her brother. Their adopted daughter, Rachel, was in the backyard, shooting baskets. Richard had been teaching her to play basketball in recent months.
“Please, God,” he heard Christina pray, “look after my brother and his family. If any danger has threatened them, please keep them safe.” She paused. “And please make them contact me!”
“Amen,” Richard muttered. Folding his arms across his chest, he shook his head. He’d been making similar prayers, but so far, they seemed to have bounced off the ceiling. Neither he nor Christina could stop worrying about Ryan and Kristen and the children. They hadn’t heard from either of them in many days; their efforts to call them in Rome had been unsuccessful. He rubbed his hair, front to back, then sighed.
Setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders, he marched into the hallway to find his wife. Christina leaned against the wall, gazing down at the tufts of carpet flattened beneath her slippers. “Our prayers have gotten us nowhere this time. We’ve got to act,” he told her. “I’ve got to get to Rome. I’ve got to find out what’s happened to Ryan and Kristen and the babies. I can’t just wait any longer—something may have happened to them.”
Christina nodded agreement. “That’s my fear, too.” She touched her husband’s arm. “Rachel and I are going with you.”
Richard shook his head. “No, you’re not! I’m going alone.” Scowling, he folded his arms across his shoulders. “Ryan would call if he could—his silence tells me that something’s happened. I want you and Rachel safe, Christina. You’re staying behind.” He glared at her as she pursed her lips, a sure sign she was about to argue with him. “Christina, think of Rachel! She needs you.”
Christina frowned. “So does Ryan—he’s my brother, don’t forget.” She paused, twisting a strand of hair around her index finger. “You also forget, Richard—the Great Tribulation is right around the corner. You could still be stuck there when it begins, and then you wouldn’t be able to protect us. Rachel and I will be as safe with you as we would be here.”
“Listen to your wife, Richard.” A familiar Irish brogue startled Richard, and he whirled around to find Monica standing behind him, clasping her hands in front of her waist.
“Mo—Monica—!” He extended his hand. “This is a pleasure!”
“It sure is!” Beaming, Christina rushed toward the angel to hug her. “We haven’t seen you in so long!”
Laughing, Monica embraced them both, then stepped back. Her face turned serious. “Christina is right, Richard—New York will be no safer than Rome when the second half of the Tribulation starts. God has plans for you three that make it necessary for you to go there now.” She paused, a serious expression creasing her forehead. “Because you’re right—Ryan does need you. Things are coming to a head. For everyone.”
Richard nodded his acquiescence. “Monica, tell me. Do you have any idea where Ryan is?”
Monica nodded, her face sad. The pearl earrings dangling from her ears swayed back and forth. “Yes, but the Father has forbidden me to tell you where. Don’t worry, he’s safe. God will lead you to him when the time is right.” She paused. “He wants you to go to Jerusalem, not Rome. And stay together, all three of you—you will be safer if you do.”
Richard and Christina exchanged nods. “We will,” Christina promised. “Please tell Ryan and Kristen we’re on our way.”
Christina was relieved. At least, her older brother was unharmed. Now that she knew Ryan was safe, she couldn’t wait to see him again. She let out a deep sigh as she relaxed.
“I am so glad,” she said. “Richard and I have been so worried!”
Putting an arm around his wife, Richard nodded agreement. “We’ve done our best to keep our worries from Rachel and to pray about them, but it’s been hard.”
Monica smiled, compassion radiating in her eyes. She touched Richard’s arm, then Christina’s. “The Father has them in His hands, Christina. He loves them, and He loves you.” She vanished.
Christina turned toward the end of the hall. “I must get Rachel. We’ve got to pack.”
“Yes. And I need to call Kennedy International Airport and arrange for their next flight to Israel.” Richard strode toward their bedroom, where he made the phone call. When he had ordered three first-class plane tickets, he proceeded to pack a suitcase and trunk. Christina and Rachel did the same.
The flight to Tel Aviv went smoothly; when they arrived at Ben-Gurion Airport, Richard hired a cab to take them to Jerusalem. As soon as they pulled up in front of an imposing hotel, Richard gave the cab driver a tip above the requested fare.
“Well.” Christina sighed, then put an arm around Rachel. “Now that we’re here, where do we go?”
Richard looked up at the luxury hotel the cab had dropped them off at. “Let’s get a room first, then decide.”
Rachel smiled, as she fingered her rhinestone necklace. “I’m getting hungry.” She scratched her forehead. She and her mother both slung their purses onto their shoulders. Rachel wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand.
“So are we, honey. Let’s find a place to check in first, then we’ll get something to eat.” Richard patted her shoulder. “It’s unusually hot here—I didn’t expect to find it this warm in March in Israel.” Rachel made a face.
As they approached the door, a man bumped into Rachel. “Excuse me! I wasn’t watching where I was going.” The man nodded toward the 15-year-old girl, then stood stock-still, rubbing his forehead; a scowl etched his face. He had light-brown hair, tanned skin, and a narrow nose. “You must be Americans.” He immediately smoothed the scowl from his face.
Richard and Christina exchanged glances. “Yes, we are. We just arrived today.”
The man put his hands in his pockets. A welcoming smile spread across his face, although a hard glint still appeared in his eyes. “So many Americans have come to visit our city since Puccini signed the peace treaty, three-and-a-half years ago. It’s my pleasure to welcome you.” He nodded toward Christina, then toward Rachel. “David Weizmann.”
“Richard Daly.” Richard extended his hand. “My wife Christina, and our daughter Rachel.”
The man dropped his hand to his side; he gaped at Richard. “Richard Daly, you said?”
“Well—yes.” Richard furrowed his eyebrows.
David shook his head, his eyes slowly widening. A beaming smile spread across his face as the glint in his eyes disappeared. “Forgive me—a friend of mine has told me about you! He’s an American, too, and he worked for Puccini in Rome until very recently.” He rubbed his fingers over the cleft in his chin as Richard and Christina exchanged stunned glances.
END OF CHAPTER 3