Free Child of Promise by Kathleen Morgan

sorry, Noah. That was cruel. You deserve better than those lowdown mean tactics.” She laughed, the sound rough and rasping in the quiet kitchen. “It is a good tactic, though, when your back’s against the wall. Lash out, take someone else off at the knees before they can discover your weak spot and cripple you. Funny thing was, I learned that at medical school, where people supposedly go to become caring and compassionate healers.”
    “Sounds like medical school was a pretty hard place.”
    “Yes, it was.” Beth took another swallow of her coffee, then lowered it to stare back at the man across from her. If he thought she was going to bite on that open-ended statement, he was sadly mistaken.
    Noah took a sip of his coffee, then averted his gaze. Beth filled the silent seconds studying his profile.
    It was still an impressive visage. His nose was straight and strong, his jaw solid. Dark blond brows shaded his deep-set eyes, and the shadow of a beard washed the lower half of his face. There were new lines, though, deep furrows of pain and tension on either side of his mouth. And the gray lightly threading his temples added to the perception of age.
    Yet Noah was only thirty-six. Beth knew not only his birthday but also the year he was born. She had committed those details to memory long ago, along with all the myriad bits of information she had managed to glean about the Reverend Noah Starr. A girl in love did that. And Beth had once been a girl in love.
    “What will your sermon be about tomorrow?” she asked, choosing the first thought that entered her mind rather than dwell an instant longer on such maudlin—and pointless— daydreaming.
    Noah’s mouth twitched, perhaps in amusement, perhaps in defeat. It didn’t matter. Beth knew she had won the battle of wills.
    “I thought I’d talk about forgiveness. Seems like something we all need to work on.”
    “Do we now?” Beth cocked her head. “And what sort of insightful message do you have on that topic?”
    Noah chuckled. “Well, I won’t go so far as to claim any great insights. I do better just asking questions, stirring things up. Then I send everyone on their way to work it all through on their own.”
    Beth leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table, cradling the warm pottery mug between her hands. “And what sort of questions do you plan to ask about forgiveness?”
    He shrugged. “Maybe something like why, after we’ve imagined we’ve forgiven someone, the old pain and anger come creeping back in anyway. Makes you question if you truly forgave in the first place.”
    “I’ve had that happen. Bet you have, too.”
    “Oh, yes. Indeed I have.” Noah paused to take another drink of his coffee. “It distressed me greatly, too. Then one day at prayers I began to think more on the matter, and I realized remembering and feeling the pain all over again isn’t the same as failing to forgive. Remembering a hurt is something God gave us to protect ourselves so we don’t make the same mistake again. But remembering isn’t the same as indulging in renewed thoughts of vengeance.”
    Something dark and anguished twisted within Beth. Matthew had begged her forgiveness, and she had thought she had given it. But late at night sometimes, in the dark, aching loneliness, she wasn’t always so sure.
    “Then what are we to do,” she asked, in spite of her intent to keep a safe emotional distance, “with all the anger and feelings of impotence, of pain? If we give it all up to God, why doesn’t He take it and forever put it from us?”
    “I wish I knew, Beth. Forgiveness is a gift. And like many of His gifts, sometimes God gives it to us in all its fullness right away. And then, other times, the Lord lets us wait on that forgiveness a bit.”
    Beth frowned. “Shouldn’t something so all-fired important to God come easier? He’s the one, after all, who puts such store on forgiveness.”
    “Yes, He does, doesn’t He?” Noah smiled. “Some