Nila's Hope (12 page)

Nila's eyes widened. “No! Of course not. You two are the best.” She shook her head again. “It's not you. It's my problem.”

“All right.” Lydia patted Nila's hands and then clasped hers together. “Whenever you want to talk, we're ready to listen. Oh look, here come our drinks.”

A strangely familiar voice said, “One chai tea and one caramel latte.” The barista placed two steaming drinks and embossed napkins on the table. “Hello, Nila.”

Nila swivelled, shock opening her mouth in a small “O.” She glanced at the nametag pinned to the woman's uniform. “Deborah.” She tilted her head. “What are you doing here?”

She winked at Lydia as she said, “Oh, I work wherever I'm needed. And I was needed here today.” She bent closer to whisper in Nila's ear. “There's a message for you on your napkin.”

Nila lifted her mug and saw the words written in delicate cursive.
Psalm 10:14-15.
She crumpled the napkin and stuffed it in her pocket. When she looked up again, the barista was gone.

Lydia cleared her throat, drawing Nila's attention. “Do you two know each other?”

“No, not really. She was the cabbie who drove me home Friday night.”

For some reason, the light in Lydia's eyes reminded her of the enigmatic cabbie/barista's.

Nila squirmed, picked up her latte, and sipped. The hot liquid burned her tongue and her throat. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked them away before taking a more tentative sip.

“Strange, isn't it,” Lydia said, “that she would be working here today?” Her wink echoed Deborah's. She smiled as confusion puckered Nila's brow. “Our heavenly Father really does work in mysterious ways.” She sipped her tea. “Umm, that's good. How's your coffee?”

Nila struggled to respond. “It's…good.”

The napkin in her pocket seemed to pulse. She stood, removed her coat, and slung it over her chair. With a sigh of relief, she sat and smiled at Lydia. “What are we baking today?”

 

****

 

When Will arrived home with his load of lumber, he backed as close to the house as he could and propped open the back door.

“Want a hand with that?” One of the crew, Len, poked his head around the corner.

“No, thanks. I can manage. I don't want to slow you guys down. Sorry about the cold draft.”

By the time he'd carried all the lumber downstairs, Will was panting. He leaned against the concrete wall to catch his breath. He looked around and pictured the barren space as a warm family room with a large-screen TV on the far wall and a big, comfy couch facing it. But what else? What colors? He could build just about anything, but decorating wasn't his thing. He had been counting on Nila's ideas to finish the project. What if she'd changed her mind?

He trudged back up the stairs and headed to the shop for his tools. He'd just picked up the circular saw when he heard Guy behind him.

“There you are. I've got something to show you. You're gonna want to see this.”

Will frowned, set down the saw, and followed Guy across the street into Will's mother's backyard. Guy stopped and pointed at the ground under the kitchen and bedroom windows.

“Look there. See those holes? Someone used a ladder or something to look into these windows since the last snowfall. Any idea who might have done that?”

Will's frown deepened. “No idea.”

Slashed tires and now this. Daniel must have an enemy after all. Or was it him they were after?

“Good thing you came today. I don't know what's going on, but someone's up to no good. Thanks for showing me.” He sighed heavily and turned to go.

“No one's gonna get past our system. Don't you worry.”

Guy's assurance fell flat. Will clenched and unclenched his fists as he stomped back to the shop.

The vandalism to Daniel's tires had been bad enough. Now it looked as if his mom was in danger, too
.

He looked behind him, imagining an enemy lurking nearby.

 

 

 

 

13

 

After she'd helped carry the grocery bags into the kitchen, Nila shrugged out of her coat. As she hung it up, her hand brushed the pocket holding the crumpled napkin. She seemed to hear an echo of Lydia's words,
Remember, dear, that the truth will set you free.

But what was truth? She'd thought she knew, but now everything was mixed up. How could she tell anyone the truth if it put them in danger?

She shut the closet door and leaned against it, eyes closed. She wanted to obey God. But she couldn't forgive Nick. The pain went too deep. But she still needed her Savior. Was He there?

“Jesus, speak to me, please,” she whispered.

Silence. Dead silence.

She straightened her shoulders and went to the kitchen. Her smile felt so plastic she was afraid it would crack.

Lydia seemed even more cheerful than usual as she beat cream cheese, eggs, and sugar for cheesecake bites.

“Dave loves these,” she said with a wide smile. “I only make them at Christmas. They're really rich. But I enjoy spoiling my man now and then. How are you doing with those sugar cookies?”

Nila had pressed so hard on the rolling pin, her cookie dough appeared translucent.

“Looks like you're making diet cookies.” Lydia noticed. “Is everything OK?”

Nila bit her lower lip. “Sorry. I guess I pressed too hard.”

“That's all right. Just smush it up and roll it out again. The kids only care about the icing, anyway.” Lydia shut off the mixer, moved closer to Nila, and patted her arm. “Just relax, honey. You're doing fine.”

Tears held back too long slipped past her eyelids and dripped onto the cookie dough. Nila sniffed and wiped her eyes with her sleeve, but once started, nothing could dam the flood. “I—I'm sorry.” She leaned against the counter, her back to Lydia.

“You've been saying that a lot lately, and I wish you would tell me why. I don't know what you're so sorry about. We love you no matter what. Remember?”

Lydia's soft voice generated more tears.

Nila sank to the floor, sobbing. “I—I want to tell you, but he'll hurt you.”

Lydia knelt beside Nila and stroked her back. “What do you want to tell us, honey? No one is going to hurt us.”

Nila turned and looked at Lydia with tear-filled eyes “Yes, he will. I know him. He already slashed the tires on Daniel's truck. He's watching.” Fear raised the decibels of her voice. “He knows. Everything. He knows.”

Dave entered the kitchen, and his bushy eyebrows lifted when he saw both women on the floor. “What's going on? Anything I can do to help?”

Lydia gestured him to come closer. “We need to go to the living room and have a talk. Could you help Nila up?” She rubbed Nila's shoulder once more and stood. “Is that OK?”

Nila nodded and reached for her pastor's hand.

Dave and Lydia each took one of Nila's arms and led her to the couch. Lydia sat beside her, and Dave sat across from them in the rocker.

For several heartbeats, the only sounds were Nila's muffled sobs and the creak of the rocker.

Lydia spoke first. “Now, sweetheart, I think it's time for the truth. Are you ready?”

Nila shuddered and nodded slowly. “I think so, but I'm afraid.” She looked from Dave to Lydia, her eyes wide. “What if he carries out his threats? It'll be my fault. Just like he said.”

Dave cleared his throat. “What has Nick done? How has he threatened you? This is about him, isn't it?”

Another nod. She took a deep breath, held it, and released it slowly. Was she doing the right thing? Or would she regret it forever? But if God didn't care enough to guard them, nothing mattered anyway.

“Nick was released from jail the day of Daniel and Melody's wedding. He texted me that if I told, he'd hurt everyone I care about.”

Silence.

Nila looked up.

Dave's eyes were closed, and Lydia's were wide, her hand over her heart.

“No wonder you've been so troubled,” Lydia said. “We need to pray together.”

Dave opened his eyes. “And then we need to phone the police. He can't be allowed to get away with this.”

The older couple bowed their heads, and Nila followed their example.

After her friends prayed for her peace and safety—and justice for Nick—Nila whispered her own prayer for protection over everyone in her life.

Dave went to make his phone call.

Nila snuggled into Lydia's hug. “I'm still scared, but I know God heard your prayers. I don't think He heard mine, though.”

Lydia stiffened but kept her arms around Nila. “Why do you say that?”

“Jesus said if we don't forgive, we won't be forgiven. And I can't forgive Nick.” She reached for another tissue as her tears soaked into Lydia's sweater. “He's so full of hate. He's evil.”

“Nila, look at me.”

Nila lifted her anguished face.

“Forgiveness doesn't mean agreeing with what was done or saying it was OK. Forgiveness means stepping out of the judge's chair, releasing yourself from the situation. Give it to God, dear one. Give Nick, his actions, and his threats to God Almighty. Let Him be the judge.”

Nila released a long, slow breath. “That's a lot like what Will said. I can't really protect anyone, can I? No matter how hard I try. But God can.” She wiped her eyes and sat up straighter. “I thought forgiving meant saying everything was fine. But I can give Nick to God. I sure don't want him.” Another shuddering sigh. “I'll try to remember that God is in control, not me. And not Nick.”

Dave returned, and his frown changed to a big smile. “That's my girl.” He reclaimed the rocker, and his smile dimmed. “A couple officers are coming over to talk to you, Nila. Make sure you tell them everything. Do you have the messages Nick sent?”

Nila squirmed and bit her lower lip. “I smashed my phone. But I remember what the texts said.”

Dave rubbed his chin. “That may be a problem. But we can vouch for you. Don't worry.”

She shivered as she remembered. “I do have the package he sent.”

“A package?”

Lydia's eyes widened. “You mean that present on our porch was from Nick?”

Nila nodded. “I guess it's good that I kept it.”

“Go get it, dear. The police will need to see that.”

Nila started toward the stairs, but the entry closet drew her to it. As though on autopilot, she reached into her coat pocket and retrieved the crumpled napkin.

She didn't look at it until she'd sat at her desk and opened her Bible to Psalm 10. The foreboding verses she'd read days ago jumped out at her again. She closed her eyes against despair. It just didn't make sense. After a quick prayer for mercy, Nila smoothed out the coffee shop napkin.

She seemed to hear Deborah's voice. “A message for you.” The ink was blurred from being scrunched, but the words were still legible:
Psalm 10:14-15
.

She read the verses aloud.

“But You, O God, do see trouble and grief; you consider it to take it in hand. The victim commits himself to You; You are the helper of the fatherless.

Break the arm of the wicked and evil man; call him to account for his wickedness that would not be found out.”

Nila sat back in her chair, stunned. “Why didn't I keep reading? All this time I thought God didn't care, but I'm right there in his word, the victim and the fatherless.” She leaned forward to read the words again slowly and breathe each promise into her soul. At last, joy broke through. “He knows. And He cares. God knows exactly what Nick is doing.” She raised her face and closed her eyes. “Thank you, Father.”

She went to her closet, retrieved Nick's dreadful gift, and rejoined Dave and Lydia.

 

****

 

An hour later, the doorbell rang, and Dave opened the door.

Two grim-faced police officers entered at his gesture of welcome.

“Thanks for coming. I'm Dave Harris, and this is my wife, Lydia. The young lady is Nila Black, the one who received the threats I phoned about.”

The taller officer shook Dave's hand. “I'm Constable Roth, and this is Constable Kruger. You said Ms. Black received threats from a parolee? Mr. Nicholas Parnell?”

“Yes. May I take your coats? Please have a seat. Nila can tell you about it.”

Constable Roth sat on the loveseat facing Nila, and Constable Kruger stood off to the side just out of Nila's view.

Roth opened a notebook and readied his pen. “All right, Ms. Black…may I call you Nila?” She nodded, and he continued. “When did these threats begin?”

She trembled as she told them about Nick's appearance at the wedding reception, the text messages, and the parcel left on the porch.

“Do you have these messages and the parcel?”

Nila bit her lip. “Um, I don't have my cellphone anymore, but I do have the parcel. Here.”

She reached under the couch and pulled out the brightly wrapped shoebox. Constable Roth's eyebrows lifted as he accepted it.

“A gift?” He lifted the lid, and his expression darkened. He removed the doll and photos and examined each one, passing them to his partner. “An unpleasant gift. We'll need to take this downtown.”

Constable Kruger moved into the room to take the box and its contents. He stared at the note attached to the doll, turned and frowned at Nila. “There's no signature, no indication of where this came from. What makes you think this is from your boyfriend?”

Nila bristled. “Nick is not my boyfriend. And I know it's from him. The messages started right after I saw him at the wedding.”

“Right. And where is the phone with these supposed texts?”

Nila looked down, biting her lower lip. “I-I smashed it. The last message said ‘I warned you. Now you will pay. It's your fault.' I knew it was from Nick. He always told me it was my fault when he'd beat me. And I knew he would carry out his threats.” Her hands shook, and she tucked them under her thighs. “I—I had to get rid of it.” She looked up at Constable Roth. “You believe me, don't you?”