Loving Tenderness

As they walked in silence, Hannah’s gaze followed the dance of sunshine through the branches. She was mesmerized by the dappled design shimmering on the grass.

“Thanks for inviting me,” she said, breaking the quiet. “I’m usually not comfortable with strangers.”

Andrew slid his arm about her shoulder. “Were you always shy?”

His gentle touch surprised her. “I’m not really shy,” Hannah said, immediately realizing she’d opened a door she preferred to keep closed.

“So what is it then?”

“It’s the way I was brought up.” She hoped the explanation would suffice. And yet, when she looked into Andrew’s eyes, she felt a nudge to be honest. If her background was going to chase him away, then she’d better reveal it now before she had too much at stake in their friendship.

Let brotherly love continue. Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.

—
Hebrews
13:1-2

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Letter to Reader

A
ndrew Somerville’s headlights caught something moving along the shoulder ahead of him, and he leaned forward to make out the silhouette. A driver in distress, he figured as he slowed.

Hypnotized by the swish-swish of his windshield wipers, he peered through the early April downpour. A yawn escaped him, and he lifted his hand to cover his mouth, then drew back his shoulders, hoping to relieve the tension he’d felt ever since returning months earlier to Loving. Loving, a town he’d once called home. Despite the town’s acceptance, he now felt like an outsider.

A frown tightened his forehead as he rolled past, observing the silhouette of a woman gripping the hand of a small child. Their coats were sodden in the midnight deluge. Without hesitation, he pulled onto the shoulder ahead of them. His curiosity grew as he observed them through the rearview mirror.

After he’d stopped, the woman seemed to hesitate and drew the child to her. She didn’t step closer but waited for him to make a move.

Andrew opened his car door and stuck his head into the driving torrent. “Can I help you?”

A clap of thunder covered his voice, and the woman tilted her ear toward him, letting him know she hadn’t heard.

He ignored the downpour and stepped onto the shoulder. “Do you need help? Can I give you a lift?” His vision blurred as raindrops streamed past his eyes.

She looked down at the child clinging to her pant leg as if weighing her options. “Do I know you?”

“No. I live in Loving. Andrew Somerville.”

She moved closer, her eyes probing his as she tried to place him. “I know your name.”

Andrew beckoned her. “Then climb in. I’ll give you a ride into town.”

She headed for his sedan, looking as weighed down as the soggy clothes she wore.

Drenched now, Andrew slipped back into the driver’s seat and leaned over to push open the passenger door. The child began to climb in, his eyes glazed with exhaustion and confusion, but when the woman realized the car had bucket seats, she opened the back door and motioned the child inside, then slid in beside him.

In the dim overhead light, Andrew winced, seeing a nasty bruise marring her cheek and a bloodied cut on her lip. Automobile accident? He felt his scowl deepen as he tried to recall an abandoned car on the road behind him, but he’d seen nothing.

“Thanks,” she said, pulling the door closed. “I’m sorry. We’re getting your seats wet.”

His seats seemed the least of her problems. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, then listened to the click of the
seat belts before he shifted into gear and rolled out onto the highway.

“Where’s your car?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

She didn’t respond.

A silent chill filled the air, and he studied her through the rearview mirror, curious as to what had stopped her from answering. She was an attractive woman despite the bruises and her wet hair plastered against her scalp.

“It’s a personal problem,” she said, finally, her eyes narrowing when she saw his frown in the mirror.

The comment made him more inquisitive, but he stopped that line of questioning. “Where are you headed?”

“I’m tired, Mom,” the boy whimpered.

“Be patient, JJ. We’ll be somewhere soon.”

In the mirror, Andrew saw the child snuggle closer to her side. The boy looked about school age, maybe younger, and Andrew noticed for the first time that he was dressed in pajamas beneath his jacket. His bewilderment turned to concern, and she still hadn’t answered his question.

“Where are you headed?” he asked once more.

“I—I’m not sure.”

He heard a tremor in her voice, and his mind sailed back to days when he didn’t know where he would spend the night, either. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

She responded with silence, then a lengthy sigh. “It’s difficult to talk now.”

Through the mirror, he saw her head tilt toward the child. The boy seemed to be nearly asleep, and that comment as well as her bruised face gave him an answer.

“Husband problems. I’m sorry.”

She glanced toward JJ. “He’s not my husband. He’s my ex.”

Ex. Divorced. Her comment stopped Andrew cold, and he felt his mouth tighten at her brusque statement.

“I see,” he said. “Then how about the shelter?”

“Yes, that will do,” she said, her voice heavy with resignation.

“They’ll treat you well there. Some of us from the church do volunteer work for them. It’s been a wonderful experience for me,” Andrew said, shifting the subject to something more positive.

She fell silent for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice seemed to come from miles away. “You don’t need to hear my problems.”

“We’ve all had them,” he said, assuming she’d heard about his. He gave her another glance in the mirror.

“You’re related to Philip Somerville. Everyone’s heard of him.”

“He’s my older brother.”

“I’m Hannah Currey.”

Andrew realized his name meant nothing to her. Or if it did, her voice hadn’t registered it.

She drew the boy closer. “This is my son, JJ.”

“Hi, JJ,” Andrew said, hoping to break through the child’s fear. “It’s kind of late for a young man to be out in his pajamas. I’m glad I can give you a lift.” He tried to make his tone upbeat, but he didn’t feel lighthearted. The memories took him back to his troubled years and his fall from grace. Regret shot through him, realizing what pride and arrogance had done to his life.

“I could go to a motel,” Hannah said, “but I left without money, and I don’t know when I can…” Her voice faded as if she realized she’d said too much.

“I’d be happy to give you a loan,” he said, surprised as the words left his mouth.

“No. Thanks. I have a job. I can sort things out tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.
The uplifting Broadway song from the musical
Annie
raced through his mind as he looked at the storm beating against his windshield. He hoped the sun would come out tomorrow for her, and for himself for that matter. “Where do you work?”

“Loving Hair Salon. I’m a shampooer.”

Earning a living as a shampooer didn’t leave much money for luxuries, he guessed. Yet as he looked at her through his mirror, he noted the determination on her face. He hoped the expression wasn’t just hiding insecurity. Years ago he’d learned to put on a mask of confidence.

He turned down Washington Street and headed toward Loving Arms. “The shelter belonged to the Hartmann sisters. They ran a rooming house with the same name. Maybe you know them.” He looked into the rearview mirror and saw her shake her head.

Andrew pulled to the curb and felt for his umbrella in the storage pocket on his door. He pulled it out, then had another thought. He dug into his pocket, located a business card, and handed it to her across the back seat. “If you ever need anything, please let me know.”

Hannah stared at the small card and slipped it into her shoulder bag. “Thanks,” she said, but she sounded skeptical.

As Andrew leaned across the seat rest, he noticed the boy had fallen asleep. “Here’s my umbrella.” He extended it over the seat. “If you hold it, I’ll carry your son up to the door.”

She ignored his offer. “No, don’t trouble yourself. I
can carry him.” She pulled her purse onto her shoulder, then pushed against the door.

Andrew disregarded her refusal. He slid from the seat and hurried around to shield her from the rain. He had to admire her, beaten and bruised, yet determined to survive.

The storm had lessened, but a steady rain continued to fall, and the curb gutter had flooded with water. When he reached her side, he held the umbrella above her head as she climbed out and hoisted the boy into her arms. He’d thought her determined, but now stubborn seemed more accurate.

“Thanks so much. I’m sorry about the wet seats.” She pushed the door closed with her shoulder and stepped away before he could act.

Her apology astounded him. He held the umbrella over her as she made her way up the sidewalk and climbed the stairs to the broad porch. Once under its cover, she stopped. “I don’t want to keep you. Thanks again.”

This time he took the hint and backed away, wishing she had taken the umbrella. He could have returned tomorrow to retrieve it. He realized he wanted to learn more about the woman and boy. She intrigued him beyond reason.

The bruise and bloodied lip clung to his thoughts as he made his way back to the car. Out of the rain, he waited while she pushed the bell, and when the porch light finally snapped on, he shifted into Drive and pulled away.

Hannah frowned as the porch light suddenly flashed in her eyes, and a shiver prickled through her from the cold night air against her damp clothing. She’d never thought it would come to this—a shelter for abused women.

She had made it on her own and protected her son, but tonight she’d been degraded for the last time by the man she’d once vowed to love until death parted them. He’d deceived her in so many ways, and she wondered how she had been so gullible. Her stomach turned at the memories.

Hannah watched a shadowy figure move behind the curtained window and shifted JJ’s weight in her arms as she waited. The door slipped open a notch while a chain latch controlled the gap.

Tired eyes studied her through the opening. “Can I help you?” the woman asked.

“I need a place to stay,” Hannah said, finding it difficult to say the words.

The woman shifted her sleepy gaze to JJ, then to Hannah’s battered face. “One minute.” She brushed strands of gray hair from her cheek and closed the door.

Hannah heard the rattle of the chain before the knob turned and the woman opened the door fully.

“Come in,” she said, stepping back as Hannah entered. “I’m Lucy Dagan, the night manager. I’m glad you found us.” She closed the door and locked it, then turned back and motioned toward a hallway. “Let me show you to a room.” She tugged her robe around her frame and retied the sash.

“I’m Hannah,” Hannah said as she hoisted JJ into her arms more securely and followed Lucy down a hallway beyond the open staircase. Lucy opened the second door and turned on the light. “While you get him undressed, I’ll find some clothes for you both. What size does your boy wear?”

“JJ’s a size four,” Hannah said, frustrated she hadn’t at least taken some of their clothing from the house, but
escaping had been her only thought and packing would have awakened Jack.

Lucy disappeared for a moment and returned with two towels, then vanished again into the hallway.

Hannah bent over her son, pulling off his soggy garments and drying him off while her mind sorted through the horror of Jack’s intrusion a few hours earlier. Yet as the vision threatened to fill her mind, the kindness of Andrew Somerville covered it. She’d been frightened when he’d pulled onto the shoulder until it dawned on her that the man’s car was white and Jack’s was deep blue. She’d feared Jack had awakened and followed her, ready to beat her again for running away. Her hands trembled while the memory swept over her.

As she straightened, Lucy returned with an armful of clothing. “Try these,” she said, dropping the garments onto the bed. “Hopefully you can find something there for tonight and the morning. Tomorrow you’re welcome to go through our wardrobes and find whatever you need.”

“You’re very kind,” Hannah said, wishing she was home in her cozy bed—at least, what had once been her cozy bed.

“I’ll let you be,” Lucy said, backing toward the door. “It’s late, but if you need anything, just let me know, I’m right next door.” She stepped into the hallway, then halted. “The bathroom’s across the hall.” She gestured toward the doorway. “Good night.”

Hannah said good night, and when the woman had gone, she tucked JJ into the bed. Then she sank onto the edge of the mattress and buried her throbbing face in her hands. She felt violated, dirty, empty. What had happened to the God of mercy and loving kindness that the Bible spoke of? She’d believed once, but Jack’s viola
tion of her home and of her had been another example proving that God’s plan didn’t take her into account.

She brushed the angry tears from her eyes and picked through the clothing Lucy had given her. A faded nightgown slipped from beneath the stack, and she lifted it. Too large, but it would do. She laid the other garments on a chair in the small room and stepped into the corridor.

The bathroom door stood ajar, and she pushed it open and went inside. The light flashed across her face as she flicked the switch, and Hannah felt startled to see the dazed look in her eyes, the sunken, pale face that stared back at her, cheek darkened by a large bruise. She touched her lip and winced at the sting of the wound. Blood had dried, and beneath it, she felt the swelling.

Hannah locked the door and slipped out of her sodden clothing. She pushed back the plastic shower curtain. The old-fashioned tub on clawed feet looked clean and had been supplied with soap and shampoo. She took a washcloth from the stack and turned on the tap. Cool water ran across her hand until the temperature finally rose, and she stepped into the tub and the cleansing water.

The heat struck her chilled skin and burned, but she didn’t care. She lathered her body, scrubbing away the soil and trying to scrub away the feeling of Jack’s hands. The bruise on her cheek smarted as she soaped her face, and for the first time, she saw the dark contusions on her arms from Jack’s fingers.
Oh Lord, why? If I only understood.

Salty tears mingled with the water as she shampooed her hair, fighting the visions that assailed her behind her closed eyes. She rinsed the soap from her hair and body, searching for answers. What could she do now to pro
tect herself? She’d divorced Jack because of his abuse, a divorce that had wounded her deeply. She’d grown up believing that marriage was a promise to God, but then God had promised to love her and care for her, and He hadn’t seemed to be holding up His part of the bargain, either.

Divorce hadn’t helped. Jack harassed her on the phone. He’d come to her apartment, and she knew he’d followed her on occasion. She had nothing to offer him. The love she’d had for him had died little by little with each slap, each punch. She couldn’t take a chance. If he slapped her around, he would soon abuse their son. Divorce might be against God’s will, but allowing her son to be battered seemed worse.