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Angel in Shining Armor

By Marlene Worrall

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Angel in Shining Armor

MARLENE WORRALL

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Angel in Shining Armor is © 2015 by Marlene Worrall. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce in whole or in part in any form or medium.
All Scripture contained within is from the Authorized King James Version. Copyright©2000 by Zondervan. All rights reserved.Published by Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530, U.S.A. Library of Congress Catalogue Card Number 99-75836.
By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author.

All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1544212661
ISBN-10: 1544212666


DEDICATION


For Bill...just because.



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


I would like to extend my deepest gratitude to JoAnn Durgin and Teresa Lily for their expertise and counsel. My heartfelt thanks also to Linda White, Lee Coryell, Debra Newell, Phd, Ann Bell, Cecil Murphey and Dr. David Hawkins. Thank you to my many friends, supporters and prayer warriors. You know who you are.
And to my beloved sister, Verna Kallevig, for believing I could write before I began the journey.
Most of all, I thank God Almighty for anointing me to pen this book and causing it to come to fruition. To Him be the praise, honor and glory.








Review

“Ms. Worrall creates a solidly-crafted real─life romantic adventure based on biblical principles. The characters are artfully woven and the story line draws you in. Marlene brings in a great deal of life adventure while illustrating how one can live a righteous life in whatever setting one finds oneself. I did not want to put the book down! Excellent read.
Debra A. Newell, B.S., M.S., Phd. Author, Creative Director and Editor: A Strand of Pearls.
April 14, 2014.









1

“I’ll be leaving the Reservation real soon,” Ayita High-Eagle told her mother.
“Good, ‘cause this house is too crowdy for the three of us, and I ain’t kickin’ Wally out longs he brings in a paycheck. No matter how meager it is,” her mother said as she stirred soup in a broad pot on the old stove dominating the cramped kitchen “One of these days I’m gonna move off the Reservation, too. ‘Soons I find someone who’s gonna support me better than Wally.”
“I told you before, Mother, you don’t have to put up with him. I can get you a job at Joey’s. They’re always looking for good servers.”
“Ya, well I told you, I ain’t interested in workin’ for nobody. We git by on what Wally brings in.”
“But you don’t even like him!” Ayita lamented.
“I told you... I’m stickin’ with him ‘til I git someone better.” Her mother continued stirring and alternately sampling the black bean soup, a steely resolve evident in her tone and manner. She sprinkled in more spices before pouring a generous dose of dark sherry into the soup and taking a long swig of wine from a tumbler.
The pungent aroma wafted through the air, tickling Ayita’s taste buds. “May I sample it?”
“Help yerself.”
Ayita tasted a large spoonful of the soup.
Her mother smiled, raising her eyebrows. “Well?”
“Delicious.”
Ayita turned her face away from her mother so she wouldn’t see the tears and overwhelming emotions surging inside her. Today’s the day
Her mother spooned the concoction into stoneware bowls and then placed them on the shabby wooden table. Fresh sourdough bread was cradled in basket. Ayita broke off a crusty end and spread butter on it generously. She took a bite. Black bean soup was her favorite, but today she dawdled with it, preoccupied. She had no appetite.
She checked her watch: 2:30. Time to leave. It was her day off work, and she had a riding date with her best friend, Marjoi. She had other plans, too, but she had no intention of sharing them with her mother.
“Thanks for the soup, Mother. I have to go” She threw the remaining soup in the garbage and then washed her bowl, placing it on the drying rack. A few steps took her into her tiny bedroom. Once there, she slipped off her tracksuit and donned tattered, leather jeans, adding a weather-scarred, leather jacket to her woolen turtleneck. She tightened the strings on her cowboy hat, pushing back long, cascading, black hair.
Ayita glanced at the mirror above her dresser. Her suicide note was in plain view, scrawled on an envelope with some cash tucked inside it. When she failed to come home tonight, her mother would call the sheriff. The suicide note and cash would be easily discovered. Ayita was glad she’d had the insight and courage to pilfer money from the drunken men who hung around the shack with her mother while she often lay sprawled, half-naked, passed out on the sofa.
Ayita studied her face in the mirror. Why had so many people fussed over her high cheekbones and almond-shaped, black eyes? Folks had raved about her beauty ever since she was young. But the reflection she saw mirrored the deep despair lodged within her.
Strangely, the shack on the Cherokee Reservation felt oddly cozy today. Standing at the door, she flashed it a last glance. I’ll never see it again.
“Good-bye, Mother,” she said, desperately trying to mask her troubled emotions as she peered into her mother’s lovely face. She looked young enough to be her sister, and sometimes Ayita even called her by her given name, Juanita, because of it. She stared at her mother for a couple of minutes, choking back tears. I’ll never see you again. And I love you until my heart aches.
“Bye, bye” Her mother’s words were slurred. She didn’t bother looking up from her coveted spot on the sofa, remaining glued to the blaring TV. The glass of wine rested in front of her on the coffee table.
Ayita stepped outside, surveying the tumbledown shack one final time, shivering involuntarily. It was a bitterly cold November day, and snow was forecast for the weekend. She climbed onto her bicycle, and began cycling the six miles to the Circle K ranch. Marjoi had been her best pal since their first meeting at school, when they had both been thirteen. Now, six years later, Ayita was an accomplished equestrian. She would always be grateful to Marjoi’s folks, who had generously paid for riding lessons for both girls.
Marjoi was waiting for her in the barn She was strapping the saddle on Black Diamond as Ayita walked in. They greeted each other with a customary hug before trading tidbits.
Brown Boy neighed his greeting, moving his large, lean body friskily about as Ayita approached him. She opened his stall and walked him over to a wall, laden with hooks and saddles. Pulling one down, she began strapping it on him.
Her secret weighed heavily on her mind, but she was determined not to burden her best friend with her decision. She didn’t want to be talked out of it, for it was engraved in stone, as far as she was concerned. The trauma that had pushed her over the edge flashed back into her mind.
Wally had lasted over a month. One night, when her mother had stepped out, he had tried to rape her, crudely managing to rip off most of her clothes. A husky bear of a man, she was no match for him at l02 pounds.
Adrenaline racing, Ayita had smiled flirtatiously at him. “Let me get you a drink.” She’d darted into the kitchen.
Wally had chased her, leering at her and trying to grope her, but she was too fast for him. Moving with the speed of lightning, she’d grabbed a colossal kitchen knife, its gleaming blade pointing at his chest. He lunged, trying to grab her arm and wrest it from her, but the knife carved into his arm. He screamed wildly as it plunged deeper into his upper arm, tearing a deep, long gash.
Wally went into shock. Ayita seized the opportunity to flee to the neighbors. They phoned the sheriff, but Wally somehow managed to roar off in his old rusted-out truck. Ayita knew better than to press charges. Her mother would never believer her. She would turn it around and say it was Ayita’s fault ─that she’d teased him.
Occasionally, one of her mother’s boyfriends chipped in money for living expenses, but except for Wally’s recent contributions, Ayita was the sole bread earner in their household. She loathed that responsibility. Still, she felt protective of her mother and didn’t have the heart to leave her penniless. So, over the years, Ayita had pilfered cash from the pockets of visiting men too inebriated to be aware of her scam.
She could never refuse her mother, but she had come to realize that her love for her mother was not reciprocal. The only love her mother really had was the bottle. That...and her sex life. Juanita was never dry for a single day, although she did hit dry spells with men. It was during those times Ayita felt important. She would hand over some of her meager savings and, for a brief interval, they shared something akin to friendship. But she was quickly tossed aside the moment the inevitable new man showed up.
Marjoi frowned “Are you feeling all right? You look rather pale.”
Ayita was jolted back to the present “No, I’m fine...just fine” She plucked down a saddle from its wall hook and strapped it on her beloved Brown Boy. Holding the reins, she walked him out of the barn. Shivers coursed up and down her spine as she reflected on the dark secret lodged in her breast. Mounting Brown Boy adroitly, she gathered her wits, trying to sound nonchalant. “Ready?” she asked Marjoi.
“Ready.” Marjoi echoed.
Marjoi dug her heels into the horse’s belly. Ayita followed suit. They galloped off together, keeping each other in close range. Icy winds chilled them and bit at their faces as they galloped along the well-trodden paths that weaved throughout the mostly-cleared acreage on the ranch.
“It’s such a beautiful, clear day.” Marjoi cantered close to Ayita. “Doesn’t it make you glad to be alive?”
Ayita wanted to scream her plan to her best friend, but she was determined not to share it. She would savor this last ride with her bear friend. Later, when they returned to the barn, she would water her beloved Thoroughbred and take him out alone...for her final earthly ride. “I find winter depressing, in spite of the blue sky,” Ayita’s voice was flat.
“A brisk ride usually cheers you up,” Marjoi reminded her.
Riding the winding, familiar trails that meandered throughout the acreage, Ayita felt strangely at peace.
At last they cantered back to the barn. It had been a long and arduous ride. Sweating profusely, the horses greedily gobbled water from the aluminum pails the pals had filled with water and placed in their stalls.
Ayita walked purposefully from one stall to the next, working her way through the barn, stopping briefly at each one. She was allowing herself the luxury of one last glimpse at the graceful Thoroughbreds she had grown to love. Bidding each one a silent farewell, she stroked some of them on their long, sleek necks and rubbed cheeks or foreheads of others. She would say good-bye to her beloved Brown Boy at the last minute.
Stopping in front of Brown Boy and Black Diamond’s stalls, where Marjoi monitored the watering process, she lingered, watching the horses drink and cool down. A pang of apprehension churned in her gut. Trying to sound nonchalant, Ayita asked, “Do you mind if I take Brown Boy out again? I just feel like riding him solo.”
“Of course,” Marjoi was puzzled. “I don’t know why you want more of this freezing weather, but suit yourself. I’m heading inside to warm up.”
When Ayita was sure Brown Boy was rested and had had his fill of water, she unlocked the stall door. It was time to go. She tightened the strings on her cowboy hat, pulled on her ragged gloves, and led the thoroughbred out of the barn, holding the reins. He trusted her. She had loved him the first time she had laid eyes on him. And they had bonded. A stab of guilt sliced through her. She shook it off.
They were outside of the barn. She mounted Brown Boy expertly and galloped off, easily in control. Barely a trace of nervousness remained. After all, she had contemplated suicide for a very long time. It was the only way to escape her intolerable situation. Her mind raced through the series of events that had led her to this final breaking point. Was her life flashing before her as she neared the point of death?
Ayita had to focus on her mission. Shivers of fear coursed through her in spite of her resolve to end her life. She had to snuff out the lonely, gaping voice screaming inside her, yearning for love, acceptance and a meaning to her sordid existence.
Galloping feverishly down the well-trodden trails, she dug her heels into the thoroughbred’s belly, causing him to soar down the valley at a speed she had never before known. He raced faster and faster, his long, graceful legs moving with the speed and agility of a racehorse. Earlier, she had staked out the giant boulder looming in front of them.
She had only seconds to get it right.
Digging her spurs into his belly while simultaneously jerking back his reins would cause him to rear up and throw her. She held her breath waiting for it. She would hit her head on the boulder and die instantly. It was the perfect plan.
Brown Boy had a mind of his own. He became unsteady, his long, graceful legs barely managing to skirt around the massive rock while dodging the rocky terrain.
He slowed to an irregular gait and then suddenly sped up. He was acting erratically. Panic seized her as she realized he was spooked and crazed.
She was on a runaway horse!
Her plan had gone awry. Brown Boy reared up. Frantically, she struggled to hold onto him. She found herself praying he wouldn’t throw her onto a small rock, for she might only be maimed if that happened. She became forced to guide him through the rocky terrain so he wouldn’t stumble, perhaps breaking a leg. She didn’t want him to get hurt. She cared about him, and she needed him. It was a long way back to the barn.
At last she decided, I’ll try again tomorrow. Fierce winds stung her face and soared through her body, causing her to wish she had dressed with more layers. Brown Boy headed for the creek. The area was grassy and peaceful, with a smattering of Weeping Willows. A red-breasted Merganser chirped gaily from one of the tree’s barren branches. A sandpiper flew overhead.
She dismounted, allowing her horse to roam and drink freely. The gentle hum of water trickled over the underwater foliage. She had to rethink her plan before she lost her nerve. Fresh determination settled over her. She would guide Brown Boy back to the massive rock and try again. Remounting, she cantered back toward the ominous boulder, passing clusters of Arbutus trees.
The sky was cobalt blue, accented by billowy, white clouds. In spite of the arctic wind, she found the weather stimulating. Why does nature seem particularly appealing today? She was losing some of her nerve in spite of her long-time plan to snuff out her own life. Niggling, fearful thoughts ricocheted through her brain. Suppose I’m not killed instantly but instead break my neck. I could become a quadriplegic.
She strained to think calmly. An expert equestrian, she planned to stage the perfect “accident.” She would view the failed attempt as merely a rehearsal. Now she would perform the show and give a flawless performance!
Digging her heels into the horse’s belly, she goaded him into galloping at breakneck speed. She felt elated in a dangerous way until she realized to her horror that her Thoroughbred was spooked and had become a runaway again. She had lost all control of him as he raced on in a wild frenzy, oblivious to her frenetic attempt at controlling him.
Through no logic she could identify, an instinct for survival kicked in. She struggled frantically to remain on top of him. Fear gripped her like a thousand icy fingers, choking her, clouding her judgment.
They raced frenetically through the grassy meadow. If he threw her now, she would probably break some limbs, possibly her neck. She doubted she would die instantly.
He sped wildly ahead. In the next instant, she lay on lush green grass in the meadow. Her whole body ached. A sharp pain shot through her right shoulder as she glanced toward Brown Boy. He stood frozen to the spot on which he had thrown her.
Dazed and in shock, she remained on the ground. Then, to her utter horror, glancing upward, she saw two sets of hooves poised to stomp her! In that split second, she stared, mesmerized, at a tall, blond man clad in shimmering silver. Astride the horse, he was forcing him backwards and away from her.
She scrambled to her feet, disoriented. Her body ached. She opened her mouth to thank the gallant stranger.
He had vanished!
Did an angel intervene to save my life?
Instantly, she reflected back on what her granny had told her. “You have a guardian angel. I have prayed for you every day since you were born.”
Tears welled up in Ayita’s eyes. She’d been so certain she wanted to die, but when she had seen the terrifying hooves poised to stomp her, she had cried out “Spare me, God.” In that same instant, the thoroughbred was pulled back by its mysterious rider. He had backed the horse up and away from her, giving her a chance to get out of harm’s way.
Ayita stood rooted to the spot. Stunned. Brown Boy mulled frantically before gradually settling down. She had been miraculously saved from a hideous finale. The prayers of her granny drifted into her consciousness. She remembered sitting on her granny’s lap, while she read psalm after psalm to her, ending with her favorites─the twenty-third and ninety-first psalms. She recited the twenty-third psalm aloud in thanksgiving to God. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” She shivered at how close she had come to death’s door.
Ayita had been taught the prayers of protection from her earliest memories. The ninety-first psalm was a psalm of protection. Her grandmother had prayed the Lord’s Prayer and the psalm of protection over her life every day until she went to Glory.
Her granny had told her that angels were a species entirely different from humans and that their mission was to guide, protect and help people on earth who requested this supernatural protection by asking God for it. She also said that in some cases─albeit a mystery─persons were chosen, seemingly at random, to be protected by angels. Someday God would reveal all these mysteries.
Her granny had been one of the few true believers on the Cherokee Indian Reservation. In times of crisis, many unbelievers had sought her out, requesting prayer. Known for her profound faith, she never turned anyone away. When she laid hands on the sick and prayed fervently, the person was invariably healed.
Tears brimmed in Ayita’s eyes. God had loved her enough to spare her life. It was not her time to die. Did she have work to do on this earth, just as her granny had? Shakily, she remounted Brown Boy and trotted back to the barn, feeling as though she’d been reborn. She knew this miraculous event would shape her life forever.
After Ayita had watered her horse and led him tenderly into his stall, she whispered to him how sorry she was to have tried to use him to end her life. She stroked him and kissed him for a long time. Then, finally, she knew in her heart that he understood and forgave her.
She hurried from the barn to the Petersons’ house. The door was unlocked, and she let herself in. Marjoi met her in the hallway and hugged her.
Ayita’s face told the story. It was covered with dirt and deep scratches. A large goose egg jutted from her forehead. A long gash, matted with coagulated blood, zigzagged across her neck. Her leather riding gear was ripped, exposing her bruises. She knew she was a frightful sight.
“What happened?” Marjoi asked, eyes wide. “I thought you were acting strange. Right after you left, I sensed you were going to do something dreadful. I thought about riding out to find you, but I heard a scripture in my spirit: “Be still, and know that I am God.” I began praying fervently for you instead.”
Ayita began to sob. “I tried to take my own life. I wanted Brown Boy to throw me onto that giant boulder...where the path curves before the creek. I figured I would die instantly. But he wouldn’t do it.”
“Oh poor darling.” Marjoi held Ayita close and let her cry her heart out. “I’m going to run you a hot bath in the Jacuzzi and bring you some tea. You’ll feel a lot better after you relax in the tub and get cleaned up.”
Marjoi led Ayita upstairs to the spacious, white marble bathroom. Turning on the water in the Jacuzzi tub, she added lavender and bath salts and turned up the dial on the piped-in music. “Brahms and Beethoven...it will help you relax.” She placed fresh towels and a white terry robe on the green floral chair. “I’ll be right next door in my room,” she murmured, stepping toward the door but leaving it slightly ajar. “I want you to live with us I’m going to talk to Mom about it as soon as she gets home from tutoring.”
Grateful for this new turn of events, Ayita began to relax as the warm water and music soothed her. It was such a treat to bathe in the soaker tub─a stark contrast from the cramped, rusty shower at home. Dreamily, she glanced around at a variety of tropical plants lining the edges of the marble steps that led down to the sunken tub, as if she were seeing them for the first time. Suddenly, she felt everything was going to work out. She was reborn, and she was alive! Dear God in heaven. I’ve never felt so intensely alive!
After a long, leisurely soak in the tub, she felt refreshed and renewed. Wrapping the terry robe around her, she left a steamy bathroom behind and tapped lightly on the door to Marjoi’s room.
“Come on in. Check out your new digs.” Marjoi opened the door, grinning.
Ayita glanced around the spacious, familiar room and envisioned herself sharing it. A nice warm feeling enveloped her.
“I’ve made a pot of tea, and I want to hear the story right from the beginning,” Marjoi said.
They headed down the curved staircase and into the country kitchen. Marjoi served piping hot tea with fresh scones.
A pungent aroma wafted toward Ayita. “Something smells good. What is it?”
“Roast beef.”
“Nice.”
The yellow walls in the kitchen took on a sunnier hue, far more vivid than she remembered. Her senses seemed intensified. As she took a sip of tea, a torrent of emotions ripped through her again. “I tried to take my own life, Marjoi.” Ayita broke down. Tears streaked her cheeks and she covered her face in shame and remorse.
Marjoi hugged her. “You’ll be all right, my friend. You’ve been through a harrowing ordeal.”
Ayita wiped her tears away with her fingers and relayed the details of the event. At last she said, “Do you believe in fate and angels?”
“I believe if it’s not your time, God doesn’t allow your life to end. And yes, I absolutely believe in the intervention of angels. It’s all through the Bible.”
“You’ve invited me to go to church with you many times, and I’ve accepted the invitation only a few times. Tomorrow, I’d like to go with you and your family to church.”
Marjoi smiled. “I’d love that. I know my folks would, too. I’m serious about wanting you to move into our house for as long as you need to. We have plenty of room. I’m sure Mom will agree that it’s the right thing to do.”
“Thanks. Maybe when I get stronger emotionally, I’ll be able to help my mother. But I can’t live in the gutter with her anymore.”
“I know, Ayita. Enough damage has been done to your psyche already.”
“Yes, I shall start a new life,” Ayita vowed. She took a leisurely sip of tea. “Do you think Satan was whispering in my ear, trying to coax me to take my own life?”
Marjoi nodded, solemnly. “Yes, I do. Evil spirits are real. It’s just that they operate in a spiritual dimension that cannot be seen by the naked eye.”
Ayita reflected on that statement. “That would explain why I felt this compulsion to hurry and get it over with.”
“Satan is always in a rush. That’s one way we can know that he’s behind an evil scheme. God moves with an easy grace. When He’s leading us, we are given a sense of peace in our spirits. It’s awesome when you become tuned in to Him.” Marjoi brewed a second pot of tea and then opened the fridge door and surveyed its contents. “How about a piece of chocolate cake?”
“I’d love a piece. Thank you.”
Marjoi served the cake with the tea.
“I hope your mom agrees to let me stay here,” Ayita said.
“I’ll insist, if I have to,” Marjoi grinned. “Mom has always told me we take on the characteristics of those around us. She has always believed that our surroundings color everything in our lives─all that drinking, swearing and ungodly living burrowed into your subconscious. I think that’s what caused your black moods. I thought you’d been acting weird lately, but I had no idea you were contemplating suicide. I chalked it up to the winter blues. But when you rode off alone, I just got an awful feeling in my gut.” Glancing at her watch, Marjoi jumped up from the table. “Time to put the potatoes on. Mom should be home in about half an hour.” She picked out some potatoes from a rack in the pantry and started peeling them.
“May I help?”
In reply, Marjoi produced another peeler and handed it to Ayita. She filled a pot with water. The pals dropped the peeled spuds into it, as they chatted.
Dinner at the Petersons was congenial. Ayita thrived on their warmth and good spirits. She was like a sponge soaking up their love and support.
After dinner, Marjoi pulled her mom aside. She told her Mom a condensed version of the harrowing tale. Marjoi dashed back into the living room, where Ayita sat, fidgeting nervously on the sofa, pretending to watch the news with everyone else.
Marjoi gave Ayita a high five. “You’re my new roommate!”
“Yes!” Ayita matched the gesture, springing off the sofa.
“How about giving me a hand with the dishes? That is, if you can come off your cloud long enough.” Marjoi grinned at her best friend.
As soon as they were out of earshot of Marjoi’s family, Ayita spoke from her deepest heart. “Thank-you, my dear friend.” Gentle tears of relief and joy trickled down her cheeks. A new chapter in her life had begun. She would never look back. Someday, she hoped, she would be in a position to make a difference in her mother’s life. She felt certain that sharing the Petersons’ home would strengthen her emotionally. Through their love and her newfound faith in God, she believed she would go on to a bright future and have a chance to pursue her secret dream.
Later that evening, she placed a call to her inebriated mother to say she’d moved onto the Circle K ranch and would not be returning to the Reservation. There was a brief silence. “That’s fine.” Her voice was slurred.

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