Title: Where Was God? (Their Hearts Burned to be Together)
Genre: Christian Fiction Romance Suspense
Author: Sheila Jackson
Publisher: Concerning Life Publishing
Pages: 226
Format: Paperback/Kindle
Purchase at AMAZON
Where Was God? Fayth Angelica Hope, questioned after the death of her father. Reared by a mother who could give, Cruella Deville, a run for her money as, “The Queen of Mean,” Fayth turns her back on the church, her faith, and love. She believed, no, just and merciful God would have abandoned her to the harsh brutality of her mother’s iron fist. Her emotional and spiritual scars run deep, lasting into adulthood.
As a promising investigative reporter, she decides to change her name. Her given name of Fayth has more curses attached to it than blessings. She hopes the switch to Angelica will give her the clean slate she desires.
Assigned to investigate financial advisor Jasion McCoy, Angelica goes in determined to expose him for embezzlement. She hopes the story will advance her career as one of the top reporters across the country. Instantly, there is an attraction. But she hides her feelings from him. After a series of missteps, broken heartedness, and rejections in her past, she buries the notion of any man, especially a man of his caliber, ever loving her. With the evidence stacked against him, she believes his only interest in her, is to keep from going to prison.
Top-notch financial advisor Jasion McCoy is in the middle of an embezzlement scheme. When Angelica Hope shows up in his office, he knows he’s in trouble. She is one of the hottest investigative reporters in
Prologue
Fifteen years earlier
Twelve-year-old Fayth Angelica Hope sat motionless next to her aunt as
the mourners flooded the Saint Gabriel Baptist Church fellowship hall. She
rolled her red, puffy eyes heavenwards as she tried to make sense of her
father’s death. Bursts of laughter jolted her senses. What is so funny, she
thought? The grieving faces she had seen earlier now beamed with
excitement. Stories and jokes about her father’s life filtered throughout
the small, stuffy room, which sent flames shooting from her nostrils.
“My father is dead and these people are celebrating,” Fayth cried as
anger continued to well up inside her petite frame. Shaking her head in
disbelief, she collapsed onto her aunt’s broad shoulder, giving in to the tears
that tugged at her heartstrings.
“That’s what people do after funerals, baby. They remember the dead,”
Beatrice said, cuddling her arm around her distraught niece. “Your dad was a
good man.”
“I don’t want to be here, Auntie,” she pouted, wishing she could wiggle her
nose and disappear into thin air, like the character, Samantha Stevens, in Bewitched.
“None of us want to be here, sweetie.” Beatrice brushed the curls from her
niece’s moist face. “I miss my brother, too. But he’ll always live on in our
hearts.
She was angry with everyone, especially God, for taking her father away from
her. “My dad was all I had.” She sniffed as she lifted her head to survey the
room.
Fayth frowned and thumbed up her nose at those who were laughing and
stuffing their greedy faces with free food and drink, while she mourned the
loss of her father. Vultures, she muttered through clenched teeth.
“Sweetie, you have me, your mom, and baby sister. You’re not alone.” Beatrice
leaned down and planted a kiss on her brow.
“My mother doesn’t care about me, Auntie.” Her lips quivered, but she
managed to steady them for fear her secret would escape. Who would believe her
anyway? No, it was best to keep her lips zipped or face the consequences that
were sure to come.
She’d noticed the sparkle in her aunt’s brown, oval-shaped eyes had
darkened when they became fixated on the brazen woman across the room.
“Shh. Don’t talk like that, baby. Your mother is grieving too,” Aunt B
whispered, never taking her eyes off the woman.
Her aunt’s smile faded
from her chubby, round face. Beatrice’s body stiffened in her seat, after
watching the woman pressing one of her alluring fingers to a man’s lips.
Fayth craned her neck to get a better view of the woman─her mother, the new widow, flirting with a strange man. Her
stomach did somersaults. The sight was enough to make her want to barf. Her
father wasn’t in the ground an hour before her mother shamelessly flaunted her
curvaceous body.
Wise beyond her twelve years, she knew exactly the types of games her
mother played to get what she wanted from the opposite sex. And love wasn’t one
of them. When she and her mother locked eyes, Fayth knew that meant trouble,
with a capital “T”. Wearing a provocative, low-cut, hip-hugging black dress
that left nothing to the imagination, her mother sashayed in their direction.
“Beatrice, why are yhu babyin’ this gal?” Gladys yelled, yanking her
daughter from her sister-in-law.
Like a rocket, her aunt flew from her seat. Standing eye-to-eye, the two
faced off. “I’m not babyin’ her,” she snapped. “If yhu weren’t so busy throwin’
yourself on that man over there,” Beatrice pointed in the man’s direction, “Yhu
would know that yhur child is grievin’.”
“Mind-yhur-own-business,” Gladys growled with one hand propped on her
curvy hip. “At least I can get a man… unlike yhu.”
“I swear Gladys Hope, I don’t know what my brother ever saw in yhu,” she
said, pointing one of her plump fingers in her face.
“All of this.” Gladys seductively slid her smooth, caramel hands down
the length of her hourglass figure.
Fayth wanted to find a rock and crawl under it, as she gawked up at the
battling women from her seat, mortified by their actions. It wasn’t the place
or time for a standoff. It was a homegoing for her father. Or had they
forgotten?
“Gladys, yhu can give Cruella Deville a run for her money as the Queen
of Mean,” Beatrice barked. “And just in case yhu don’t know the difference,
this is the house of God, not a whorehouse.”
Shocked by her aunt’s foul language, Fayth’s hair stood on end,
especially as the crowd began to stare at the women going back and forth with
insults.
“Well, at least I don’t look like Cruella.” Gladys raised an evil
brow at her sister-in-law. “And for the record, yes, I know this is a church,
yhu old saddlebag.”
Fayth heard snickering from some of the onlookers.
“This old saddlebag,” Beatrice quipped, “Has been tendin’ to yhur
grievin’ daughter.”
At that moment, Gladys realized her daughter’s prying eyes were watching
them. “Fayth, don’t yhu see grown folks are talkin’? Gon’ over there where them
kids are.” She shooed her in their direction. “I have some unfinished business
to tend to.” She turned, rolling her eyes in Beatrice direction.
The crazed look in her mother’s eyes scared the bejesus out of Fayth.
“Yes, ma’am.” She leapt from her seat to escape the feuding women. As she
straightened her black pleated, knee- length dress, she noticed one boy in
particular trying to get her attention. His fresh-cut fade, average height, and
smooth, bronze skin gave him an edge and maturity over the other boys in the
room. Saint Gabriel Baptist Church had only fifty or so members, and he wasn’t
one of them. She would have remembered a cutie like him.
Thankful the battle scene between her mother and aunt didn’t scare him
off; she walked over and introduced herself.
“Hi. I’m Fayth.” She wasn’t shy when it came to meeting people. “I
haven’t seen you around here before.”
“I’m JC… and no, I don’t live here in Augusta
Her heart sank in her stomach. She used every muscle in her tiny body to
keep from breaking down in front of the stranger. “Thank you,” she managed to
get out.
“I tried to get your attention at the funeral, but your mother seems to
have a tight rein on you,” he said, giving her a puzzled look.
She didn’t respond, and instead, faked a smile. You don’t know how
tight of a rein, she grumbled inwardly.
Closing the distance between them, he took his handkerchief from his
jacket pocket and wiped a tear from her cheeks. “You’re just as beautiful as
your name,” he said with confidence.
His gentle touch sent goose bumps up her arms. She never knew such feelings
existed between a boy and a girl until now. “You don’t mean that,” she said,
blushing. “My mother doesn’t think so.” She lowered her head in shame at the
hurtful admission spilling from her lips.
“All mothers think their kids are beautiful,” he said, furrowing his
brow.
She’d noticed the weird look he’d given her. It was the truth. Her
mother never once told her that she was beautiful. “Not mine.” She debated
telling him why, but decided against it. She feared the repercussions if word
got back to her mother. For some unexplained reason, she was completely
comfortable in his presence but not comfortable enough to share her terrible
secret.
“Well, it’s the God’s honest truth. I think you’re beautiful, no matter
what your mother says. When I grow up and get married, my wife is going to look
just like you,” he admitted, smiling from ear to ear like the Cheshire Cat.
“Marry,” Fayth gulped. “My mother says I’m too black for anyone to love
me. And you know y’all boys only want them light skin girls.” The spunk in her
voice returned as she placed a hand on one of her narrow hips.
“Girl, don’t you know black is beautiful. Your mother is wrong. I like what I
see,” he said, eyeing Fayth from head to toe. “You remind me of my older
sister’s Barbie dolls… the African American ones.”
“Nobody ever complimented me with such nice words before, but my daddy.”
Her lips trembled and her voice caught in her throat at the mention of her
father. She managed to force back the tears that threatened to fall. Things
were going well between them, and she didn’t want her crying to scare him
off.
“Really?” he asked in disbelief.
“Really.”
“So you expect me to believe that no boy has ever told you how pretty
you are?”
“My mother is strict. And it will be over her dead body before any boy
comes near me.” She wrung her hands together as she glanced around the crowded
room for her mother. The last she’d seen or heard of her mother, she was about
to go fisticuffs with her aunt. “I’m surprised she hasn’t caught me talking to
you.”
“Well, let’s sneak outside before she does.” He gently pulled her
clasped hands apart and cupped them in his.
“I don’t know,” she said, fidgeting with the charm bracelet dangling
from her wrist. Her heart was racing a mile a minute. After all, she’d just met
him.
“I really like you, Fay Fay. And I want to get to know you better,” he
said, looking down at her with his big, brown, puppy dog eyes.
She liked the fact that he’d already given her a nickname, which made
the butterflies in her stomach flutter, but the fear of Gladys’ wrath lingered
in the back of her mind. Fayth hesitated for a second and dismissed the voice
of reason. She figured her mother was probably too busy preying on an
unsuspecting pair of britches to stick her claws into to notice her
absence. “Okay. But only for a few minutes, though.”
The hot sticky, August heat did little to deter the new friends as they
found shade under an oak tree. Underneath was an inviting old wooden bench. The
scorching heat intensified the stench coming from a nearby cow pasture, but it
wasn’t strong enough to chase them back inside.
The six-foot-tall corn
stalks surrounding the fellowship hall blocked the summer breeze. But the two
hardly noticed.
“I feel as though I’ve known you all my life.” JC broke the
silence with a more mature and serious tone to his voice.
“I know,” she agreed, staring down at the withered grass beneath her
feet. Now that they were alone, she became a bundle of nerves under his intense
stare.
“Are you nervous? Your hands are trembling,” he asked, gently rubbing
them.
“A little. I’ve never been alone with a boy before.” Her heart leaped
with excitement, but fear trailed closely behind.
“Fayth, I want to give you something to remember our friendship.” Taking
a tiny gold cross from around his neck, he swept her locks aside
and draped it around hers.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, with her back facing him. Her trembling
hands enveloped the tiny cross.
“Do you believe in love at first sight?” he asked, turning her
around to face him.
“Yeah. I guess. I don’t know,” she said, trying to make sense out of
what was happening between them. My father is dead. I should be grieving,
not talking about love and feelings and stuff with a boy I hardly know.
As evening approached, they talked and learned more about
one another. The crickets and all the country critters sang their evening songs
as the two made plans to meet somehow at Augusta Vacation
Bible School
Later, JC surprised her when he pulled a pack of Strawberry
Twizzlers from his pant pocket. He tore open the plastic wrapping and pulled
out one of the red, chewy candies. They nibbled from opposite ends, stopping
when their lips met. They held each other's gaze for what seemed like an
eternity. Neither knew what to do next until an infuriated woman broke their
trance when she came galloping in their direction, kicking up dust with each step
she took. The two became fearful because the woman’s visage mimicked a
possessed person. She and JC jumped at the sound of her mother’s thunderous
voice as she spewed brimstone and fire with each word she spoke.
“Gal, brang yhur lil’ fast tail here. And boyyyyyyy, yhu betta get
your mannish behind away from that Jezebel daughter of mine,” Gladys barked,
with fire in her eyes that could sear through flesh.
Gladys snatched her by the arm, like a rag doll, and then turned
on her heels and unleashed a mouthful of expletives on the young boy who’d
shown Fayth nothing but respect. Fayth’s young face rushed with
heat. She glanced over her shoulder and saw JC scared stiff from her mother’s
antics.
Hauled away like a common criminal in front of the remaining
mourners, who’d now migrated outside because of all the commotion, Fayth braced
herself for the beating that was sure to follow. The floodgate opened, and the
tears erupted down her flushed cheeks with a vengeance. At that pivotal moment,
her faith in God died. With a strike to the face, she believed God had
abandoned her to the harsh brutality of her mother’s iron fist.
Chapter One
Fifteen Years Later
“Sorry I’m late,” Angelica said, rushing into her therapist’s
office, tastefully adorned with African paintings and figurines. “But the
traffic was bumper to bumper.”
Twenty-seven-year old Angelica Hope decided to sever ties with her first
name, Fayth, after moving from the country town of Augusta Louisiana
“No problem, my next patient called and canceled
just moments before you arrived. So looks like you’re in luck…have a seat,” Dr.
Hawthorne gestured towards the beige leather sofa adjacent her. She slid her
glasses down her narrow, brown nose while flipping through some medical files.
“Last week, Angelica, we ended with you talking about your father. Today, I
want to discuss your mother, since she’s the source of the nightmares. Tell me
about her and the abuse you suffered after the death of your father.”
Angelica settled back on the comfy sofa, caught her breath, and hoped
she didn’t sound like a blubbering fool at the end of her session. She hated
crying, and she hated sharing her feelings even more. It made her feel weak.
Investigative reporters were supposed to be tough. She asked all the hard
questions not the other way around. But here she sat across from a shrink,
opening up about a past that she’d rather forget.
“My mother demoralized me every chance she got. I still have nightmares
about the evil thing she did to me.” She wrung her hands together, fighting
hard to control her voice. “I remember coming home late from Vacation Bible
School
“Who is Gladys?” Dr. Hawthorne interrupted, looking confused.
“My mother,” she said in a deadpan tone.
“Why do you call her Gladys?” she asked, peering over the rim of her
bifocal glasses.
“Because she said demons don’t have mothers.”Angelica squeezed her eyes
shut as the humiliating words slid off her tongue like hot lava.
She opened her eyes and focused on the soft, soothing, neutral paintings
on the wall. It helped to relax her. The office walls of Angelica’s
previous therapist had been bland and overly decorated with certificates and
plaques, displaying only medical achievements. There was no doctor-patient
connection, so she ended her sessions. Dr. Hawthorne’s office had the comforts
of home, which allowed her to open up more than she had expected.
“Why would she say something so cruel?” she asked, scribbling in the
folder.
“Now that’s the million dollar question both you and I would like to
know,” Angelica retorted.
When the nightmares and sudden crying spells invaded the new life
Angelica was trying to live, she sought professional help. The anger and hatred
she’d suppressed over the years for her mother had proven to be more than she
could handle. Gladys continued to control her every thought, in spite of her
resistance.
“Okay. Continue with what happened when you arrived home.” Dr. Hawthorne
insisted.
“When the church van finally pulled up in front of my house two hours
late, Gladys was fuming. She accused me of sleeping around. True, I had a
boyfriend…JC, which I kept a secret, but nothing happened. My
explanation about the flat tire went ignored. She made me undress and started
sniffing me from head to toe.” Wiping the perspiration from her upper lip, she
continued the horrid details. “Gladys made me stand against the bathroom wall,
spreading my legs apart. She took her index and middle fingers and inserted
them into my private parts, to see if I’d lost my virginity.” She crossed her
legs as spikes of pain shot through the lower part of her body. Her pelvic
muscles tightened at the thought of her mother’s probing fingers inside her.
“Gladys said the police used the technique on whores who were strip-searched in
prison.” Fayth stopped, took a deep breath, and resurrected the memories she’d
tried to bury more than fifteen years ago.
“Gladys always thought the worst of me. She once threatened me, saying,
before she became a grandmother, she’d rip the little bastard out of my womb
and feed the fetus to the town’s stray dogs.” Remembering the past was
taking its toll. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed bitterly.
Unfazed by the sordid details, Dr. Hawthorne chimed in,
handing her a box of Kleenex. “I know it’s painful, revisiting your
abusive childhood. But it’s all a part of the healing process.” She sat back in
her chair and continued. “If you don’t release the anger and hatred you have
for your mother, it will destroy you.”
“I’ll never understand how she could love one child and hate the other.”
Her words caught in her throat as the pain welled up inside. “What did I do
that was so wrong? I was only a child,” she cried, throwing both hands up in
defeat.
“Your mother could possibly have some unresolved issues herself. Do you know
anything about her childhood?” Dr. Hawthorne asked stoically.
“Ha! She would rather have a root canal than discuss her personal life with
me,” she said, wiping her eyes and nose.
“In order to make progress and heal mentally and spiritually, you must talk to
yo─”
“No. I will never speak to that woman, even after my sister informed me that
Gladys is dying from ovarian cancer.” She declared adamantly, cutting her
therapist off. “The day Gladys lost custody of me to my Aunt Beatrice,
she told me to never return to Augusta
“Angelica, this anger you’re holding on to will destroy you. Getting the
answers to your mother’s past could possibly give you some insight to your own
abuse. Allow God to help you. Give your problems over to Him. It’s the only way
you can move forward.” Dr. Hawthorne advised, taking her glasses off and
placing them on the table beside her.
“Where was God, when I was beaten black and blue, huh?” she yelled out
in anguish. “He sure wasn’t rushing down from heaven to rescue me.”
“Please hear me out.” She stressed, moving closer to the edge of her
seat.
Angelica tuned Dr. Hawthorne out when an image of her strapped to a
bedpost, naked and beaten relentlessly by her mother with an extension cord, entered
her thoughts. That day wasn’t how she’d imagined spending her sixteenth
birthday, but it turned out to be one of the best days of her life. Her aunt
Beatrice Hope, who’d come to town to surprise her on her birthday, saved her
life when she walked in on the beating and caught Gladys
red-handed. Unfortunately, the psychological damage had already
taken root, when the Child Protection Agency came to remove her from the home
she referred to as, “Hell.”
Dr. Hawthorne’s voice jolted her back to the present. “I’m leaving,”
Angelica blurted out. She leapt from the sofa, grabbed her purse, and like the
speed of lightening, bolted toward the door.
“Wait. Hold up. What’s wrong?” Dr. Hawthorn shouted, chasing behind her.
She stopped in her tracks. “I know you incorporate Christian principles
with your counseling sessions, but this head shrinking and God stuff just isn’t
working for me,” she said with her therapist in pursuit. “This will be my last
session. If God really loves me, He has a funny way of showing it.”
“You haven’t given Him or counseling a chance, Angelica. You need help.
And quitting is not the answer. I suggest─”
She left, slamming the door shut, before Dr. Hawthorne
could utter another word.
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