Part 21 (2/2)

Michal had a right to feel hurt, to feel abandoned, to resent how the men in her life-her father, her brothers, her husbands-pa.s.sed her around like a moldy fruitcake at Christmas: ”Here, you take her this year!” Yet other women in Scripture were similarly misused and still managed to transcend such situations to honor G.o.d. It isn't circ.u.mstances that should determine our actions; it's a desire to please G.o.d above all things. So easy to say, so hard to do, and don't I know it! Let's keep reminding ourselves: Bad Girls blame their situations. Good Girls rise above them.

When times are good, be happy; but when times are bad, consider: G.o.d has made the one as well as the other. Ecclesiastes 7:14

Good Girl Thoughts Worth Considering

1. Have you ever dated, or been married to, a man who was popular or very talented? What sort of feelings did that bring out in you? Did you find some constructive ways to turn any potential jealousy into joyful support? How might Michal have done that?

2. We get to know Michal's father, Saul, quite well; we never even meet her mother in these stories. Why do you suppose that is? Do you see any ”like father, like daughter” tendencies in Michal's actions or personality? If so, which ones?

3. List any good traits Michal had that we might emulate. Make a list of negative ones as well. Do any of her personality traits match your own? Of those you might long to change, which one has the most potential for improvement, and how might you go about that, practically speaking?

4. Why do you think Michal helped David escape? Did she realize she might never see him again? Were her lies to her father justified? To whom was her first allegiance-her husband or her father? Psalm 59 was David's version of the same scene. Did the Lord use Michal's bravery, then, for his good purpose?

5. When Michal's father gave her to Paltiel, she had no choice in the matter. Again, how might a G.o.dly woman have managed to honor her marriage vows, even when her father didn't? Should she have run away and thrown herself at David's mercy? Opposed her father? Enlisted Paltiel's help in finding David? Think through the possible ramifications of those choices, or others.

6. Have there been times you were told to do something you knew was wrong? How did you handle it? How would you handle it today? Can you find a biblical basis for your actions then or for your twenty-twenty hindsight now?

7. Considering the evidence we're given in Scripture, did David love his wife Michal? Why or why not? How did his love for her (or lack of it) affect her responsibility to honor G.o.d? If David did not show her sufficient love, what other resources might Michal have looked to? And where else may we turn for love and affection if we're unmarried or have an unresponsive mate?

8. What's the most important lesson you learned from the story of Michal, a woman ultimately not seeking after G.o.d's own heart or her husband's either?

10.

I BEG YOUR PARDON.

Bliss like thine is bought by years

Dark with torment and with tears.

EMILY BRONTe.

The boldface headline covered the front page of the Post and Courier like a ladle of steaming she-crab soup covers a bone-china soup plate: ”Mayor Hosts Gala Public Reception at White Point Gardens.”

Brus.h.i.+ng a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes, Anita scanned the news story for more details. Well. The mayor wouldn't be too ”gala” about seeing her there tonight. It wasn't His Honor she'd be seeking out though.

She tossed the newspaper on her narrow bed, thankful for clean sheets and a firm mattress, and let out a lengthy sigh. The article said the public was invited. No problem. She was as public as it got. Probably half the men there could claim they knew her once-in the biblical sense. For the rest of them, her reputation preceded her. In her heyday she'd been, if not Charleston's finest, at least its busiest.

Leaning forward, she brushed her hair in long, slow strokes from scalp to feathery black ends that almost touched the floor. The stiff bristles tingled against her skin, tugging at her roots as she swept her arm downward in one fluid stroke after another. Anita marveled at the simple pleasure of it, grateful no one was watching in frank approval, eyes glazed with l.u.s.t, with greedy hands reaching out to touch the soft, dark strands.

It seemed like decades ago. It seemed like yesterday.

A whisper of a breeze stirred the bedroom curtains, ushering in the faint scent of lilacs blooming in her landlord's garden one story below. Spring. A time for new beginnings, her parole officer had insisted. A good season for starting from scratch.

She could hear Cal Jackson's words, see his stern face as he handed over the keys to her spotless new apartment on Tradd Street. ”Lord knows why, girl, but the governor of South Carolina saw fit to give you a last chance. Once-in-a-lifetime stuff, you got that? Don't blow it, Anita.”

Blow it? Not blinking likely, Cal.

Straightening up, she shook her hair back over her shoulders, then gathered the silky ma.s.s into a neat French twist and plunged a wooden hair clasp into the center to hold it in place. She reached for her cologne, then thought better of it and slipped it into her purse. For later maybe. She didn't want to risk offending the governor with her perfume, however much it cost her, however long she'd waited to own such a luxury again.

Without bothering to look in the mirror, she yanked open the closet door and surveyed her meager choices. Not the navy blue dress. Definitely not the white one either. She didn't care what the mayor thought of her, let alone the crowd, but she cared very much what Governor Sheppard might think if he saw her.

Didn't she owe him? For her life. Her freedom. Her soul. For everything. The honored guest at tonight's reception was the man who'd unlocked her prison cell door. One way or another she intended to show her grat.i.tude for his eleventh-hour pardon.

Her hands dropped to her side, suddenly limp, as the truth crushed against her chest once more. Pardoned! After all the things she'd done wrong, after all the investigations, all the court proceedings, all the years on death row-pardoned, for no reason other than sheer mercy.

How could she possibly tell him what this release from prison meant to her? She'd never been good with words, always spoke too softly to please the warden. What would she say if she met Governor Sheppard face to face-a no-account, murdering prost.i.tute speaking to the highest authority in the state?

Shaking her head to silence a nagging conscience, she felt a slight smile move across her lips. Worry about the words later, honey. Worry about the clothes now. The charcoal gray dress then. Un.o.btrusive. Modest. She held it in front of her, sneaking a glance in the full-length mirror. The loose tunic stretched from chin to ankles, missing her generous curves completely. Made of a soft cotton fabric, it was as gray as a rainy day except for the tiny embroidered flowers that circled the hemline and wrists.

Perfect. She'd never be recognized.

Thirty minutes later she felt the warmth of the late-afternoon sun streaming across her shoulders as she hurried along Meeting Street toward the Battery. All around her, azaleas in full array shouted hosannas to the season with riotous red and pink blossoms. Creamy white magnolias nodded their cool heads in the slight breeze, bathing her senses with their sweet fragrance. The houses grew older, larger, and more ornate, with side porches facing courtyard gardens rather than front porches pointed toward the street, exactly as she'd remembered.

Anita brushed away an unexpected spate of tears. Charleston. Home! It'd been years since she'd walked Meeting Street as an innocent girl, glorying in her own youthful beauty. Fool. That was before her steep descent into a shadowy world of nightclubs and strip joints, of drugs by the gram and men by the hour. When a stubborn john refused to pay, her weak protest earned her a battery of bruises and the first of many trips to jail for disturbing the peace.

What about her peace? Hadn't that been disturbed too?

There wasn't a soul alive who had cared one way or the other.

If that miserable customer of hers hadn't come back, if he hadn't tried to beat her senseless again, she never would've hit him with a weighted doorstop. She'd stopped him, all right. Cold.

Stopped her own life, too. No one noticed if a wh.o.r.e went to prison for murder. It wasn't self-defense, the judge reasoned. She'd asked for trouble and gotten nothing more than what she deserved.

It was hard to argue with the law. No, impossible.

Determined to put such memories behind her, Anita lengthened her stride. White Point Gardens, a landscaped oasis of palmettos along the Cooper River, waited less than a block ahead. The streets were overrun with people of every age and hue, happy to help themselves to free food and entertainment. That was good news for her-the more people, the less likely anyone would take notice of a quiet woman in a gray dress.

She scanned the staging area where a knot of official-looking men stood talking among themselves. Governor Sheppard wasn't with them, nor could she spot his silvery head of hair in the crowded reception line. Wait! There he was, sitting with the mayor in a semisecluded corner of the gardens, balancing a plateful of food in his right hand.

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