Angels Unaware

By Beth Nelson

Angels Unaware, is the story of how God used two childrenBrandon Avery an autistic child who intruded upon his fathers idyllic life, and Dorcas (no last name recorded) the child of a drug related rape, to break down the barriers of anger, bitterness and hatred, heal a marriage and bring wounded young people and adults to Christ.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781467040181

Book preview

© 2011 Beth Nelson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 11/10/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4670-4016-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-4017-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-4018-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011917748

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

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

Epilogue

Forget not to entertain strangers for thereby some have entertained angels unaware.

Hebrews 13:2 KJV

This book is dedicated to all the special children who are angels unaware and to my own angels—my grandchildren: Samantha, Adam, Christopher, Jamie Lee, Kalei, Arynne Jaika, Alyssa, Adrienna, Lucas, Rachel, Rebekah, Kristi, Ethan David, Deserae, Wesley, Emmit, Emma, Karen, Mark, Ruth Ellen, Marisa. And to my adopted grandchildren: Chrystal P. and Dylan P.

Chapter One

April 2005

Penny Rhodes burst into the science lab gasping for breath. Her thick, dark brown hair in its customary French braid hung almost to her waist. A red sweatband encircled her moist forehead and she was wearing a red tank top with matching running shorts. Are you going running this afternoon, Prof’ Bryan? It’s a great day for it—the breeze is awesome!

Professor Bryan Avery looked up with irritation at the science major who was a sophomore at Dayton University, where he had been teaching for three years. Ordinarily Penny amused him. She was an attractive, intelligent student of high energy and impetuosity that kept her on the edge of being expelled. Somehow she managed to keep her grades above a 2.0 level and lately she had been back at a 4.0—at least in science. Of course she had a crush on Bryan. This was a familiar phenomenon to Bryan. It went with the territory. He couldn’t understand how some teachers allowed these crushes to become affairs and sometimes scandals, however. He had found that with courtesy and good humor the crushee usually went the way of all crushees—usually to the star quarterback. But today Professor Avery did not feel courteous or good-humored.

What is it, Penny? he asked brusquely, his dark brows drawn together.

Penny was nonplussed. This was not the easygoing teacher to whom she was accustomed. Taking an abrupt step backwards, she let go of the door, letting it slam behind her. Nothing—that is, I can see this is not the time. I’ll just get my test booklet and make like a tree and leave. Have a good afternoon.

Professor Avery grunted as she got the booklet from the counter at the back of the window- encircled room. Penny let the door slam again after giving a toss of her braid over her shoulder and a final surreptitious glance at her teacher. He was such a hunk as he sat at the computer with unseeing, dark eyes squinting against the late afternoon sun that splashed through the windows onto his surprisingly disordered, dark, curly hair. A blue, patterned sweater and jeans outlined his slim, yet muscular, frame.

It was very still in the room now that Penny had left. Bryan hoped that no one else would come in—that they would all be heading for their weekend activities. He thumped the table resoundingly and uncharacteristically.

Under ordinary circumstances Bryan Avery was a placid man—a man who was slow to anger and unfailingly tolerant of the peccadilloes of others. But this was no ordinary circumstance.

Bryan looked once more at the small article on page twelve of the local newspaper. He had read it accurately. Alexis Stoddard, who recently received the Outstanding Human Services Award for her innovative contribution to children with severe emotional and behavioral disorders is joining the faculty of Wilmington College as a consultant to the Human Resources Department. She will assist in implementing a course designed to train students in the treatment of children with multiple disorders. She will also be available to other colleges and universities in the area.

A flood of emotions washed over him—the number one being frustration and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. What cursed fate was causing Alexis Stoddard to reappear in his life when everything was going well? He had the position and a certain amount of prestige that he had pursued for the past few years. And Chelsea was more than anyone could want. His expression softened and a smile teased the corners of his well-shaped mouth.

Only last night he had gone home to find his wife wearing a soft, teal blue jumpsuit that caressed her slim, but curved body. Her naturally silver-blonde hair shone in the candlelight of the perfectly appointed dining room table. At the finish of his favorite meal—tossed salad, salmon puff and chocolate mousse—she had said, I have something wonderful to tell you, as they were clearing the table and taking the dishes to the kitchen.

Great-Aunt Sarah is coming to visit us? he teased with a chuckle. Great Aunt Sarah was born with a persimmon in her mouth—or at least so Chelsea claimed. She was Chelsea’s great-aunt on her father’s side and as disagreeable as anyone could be.

You must love me a lot to marry me with the threat of Great-Aunt Sarah visiting once or twice a year looming over your head, she had said shortly before their wedding. At the moment, Great-Aunt Sarah was the furthest thing from his mind.

Laughing over her shoulder as she put the dishes into the dishwasher, she said, When you hear the news, you may wish she was, but he knew she was joking, for there was a radiance in her eyes. When they were settled on the new ivory sofa with the blue and ivory pillows, she had leaned toward him with her brown eyes alight. Taking his hands in hers, she said, Bryan, we’re going to have a baby.

Bryan thought he was already as happy as anyone could possibly be, but such a well of joy sprang within him that he kissed her eager lips, gathered her slim body in his arms, and carried her upstairs.

And after the loving, they had fallen asleep in one another’s arms dreaming of the child for whom they had waited so long.

And now this.

He crumpled the newspaper and tossed it across the room. Alexis always came back to haunt him—an interminable ghost of Christmas—and New Year’s—and Valentine’s Day Past. He swore once more and began pacing about the science room.

Memories washed over him, increasing his rage and pain and feelings of humiliation and rejection—feelings that he had thought were long gone and forgotten. After all, he had grown beyond them—hadn’t he? He remembered the first time he had seen her biking up the long hill to the small New Hampshire district school where they both taught. Her books were hanging precariously from the left handlebar in a green and yellow woven bag.

The sight had made him grin and he had asked another staff member who she was.

Special Ed assistant teacher. I think she’s working on a degree in speech pathology. She’s very religious—a little odd, but, the computer instructor said with some hesitation, you have something in common. She just lost her husband and five year-old son in a car crash. The kid who hit them was high on coke.

Bryan’s wife of five years had died in a bizarre skiing accident just eight months before when she collided with a tree. They had been high school sweethearts and had married just out of college. She was a pretty blonde who lightened up the world around her. He blamed himself—he had called out to her just at that moment and she had turned her head. He would never forget that terrible moment. The following weeks were torture. He saw her everywhere he went until he couldn’t bear to be in their little house or that little town anymore. So he had come to Hillville.

He made a new life slowly and determinedly—burying the anguish. He had carved out a niche in the small school teaching, running, biking and coaching a little league team in the summer. He kept himself so busy and so tired he could forget and sleep—sometimes. One or two young women in the area had their eyes on him; he was polite and humorous but definitely uninterested. No more pain and self-blame for him. There could never be another laughing, gentle, caring Sandy.

Until Alexis. Every day he saw her pedaling determinedly up the hill. At school she was friendly to all the staff, but spent most of her time with the children who obviously loved her.

He discovered that she had a sense of humor. She brought her children from each of the elementary grades to the science room for the science fair. She approached him as the first group began looking at the various models in a very orderly fashion—much more orderly than some of the regular classes, he noted. With a twinkle in her pansy blue eyes and a wide smile, she said in a sotto voice, I especially like the exhibit in the left corner of the room.

His eyes flew to the table where a display of miniature airplanes and helicopters with whirling propellers was surrounded by a group of excited children. Puzzled, his eyes met her laughing gaze. She pointed downward. Underneath the table was a grinning, hunched second grader—one of the children from the class that had just left. Their shared laughter as he paged the second grade classroom created the first tenuous bond between himself and Alexis Stoddard.

The following day it was raining and she was walking to school with the ubiquitous green and yellow bag. He gave her a ride. Before long he was biking to school himself and he picked her up in his battered Chevy whenever it rained or snowed. Other teachers did as well, but he planned his schedule so that often he would be the one to give her a ride.

They were very different and yet there were bonds that drew them together. He was an atheist and somewhat of a pragmatist. He was quiet and easygoing. Alexis was religious—though she hated that word. I’m one of God’s children—saved by His grace—and I want to live appropriately, she would say with a contagious smile. She often sounded pedantic—judgmental, but her actions belied her words, Bryan observed. She was unfailingly charitable and evidences of her thoughtfulness could be found throughout the K-12 school: notes of appreciation and encouragement, surprise nosegays and occasional cartoons on bulletin boards.

But the thing that had brought them closest was when he had finally told her about Sandy. He remembered vividly the moment he had told her. It had been a raw, dark day—the anniversary of her death. It was unbearable—unthinkable. He had never talked to anyone about it. But he told Alexis as they drove up the steep hill to the school.

She was not a pretty woman—she was nothing like Sandy. She had an unruly mop of red-brown hair that framed her plain, round face, but the compassion in her blue eyes, the gentleness of her touch as her hand touched his as it lay on the steering wheel of the old car, had created a pool of light in the dark recesses of his heart.

Before many months had passed, he, who had felt he would never love again, had grown to love her. He was sure his feelings were reciprocated. Even now, five years later, he could remember every word of her response to his declaration of love; the expression of pain on her face—the tears standing in her incomparable eyes—the wide mouth trembling. I can’t do it, Bryan. I thought I could. I deceived you.

You’re not going to tell me you don’t love me, are you? he had interrupted roughly.

"No, I’m not going to tell you I don’t love you. I do. You are the most beautiful person I know. You have helped me through the most difficult time of my life. I thought I would never laugh again—never love again. Putting her head in her hands, she sobbed silently for a few minutes.

Finally, she raised her eyes and spoke just above a whisper, I belong to the Lord. By your own admission, you don’t. The Bible says not to be ‘unequally yoked together with unbelievers.’ I was wrong to encourage you. I hope someday you can forgive me.

Bryan was a remarkably tolerant and forgiving person. But there were times when he became implacable. Don’t count on it, he replied with ice-cold rage as he left the empty science room.

He blocked out the picture of her laughing husband and son that she had shown him the day she had finally confided in him the pain and loneliness she had felt after their death in an automobile accident. She had no right when he had finally opened himself up to someone—had become vulnerable—to trample on his heart.

For months he was torn with rage, pain and humiliation, although most of his acquaintances would never have known it. He would never allow himself to become vulnerable again. He would look for a more demanding job at a college or university. He would take his pleasure where he could. But never again would he become vulnerable.

Two years later he had achieved both goals—a permanent job at the University of Dayton in Ohio and no commitment to anyone. He hadn’t thought of Alexis for months. Then he received a letter from a friend saying that Alexis had left UD28 and was working in Human Services with children with severe emotional, behavioral and physical problems. She had concluded by saying, I’m sure she’s very good with them. She is one of the most caring people I have ever met.

Bryan couldn’t believe the anger and outrage that overwhelmed him. His friend had moved to New Hampshire a few months after he had and she met Alexis in the choral group they had all sung in. The shared moments of laughter and quiet times were suddenly as fresh as though he had never forgotten them—and her betrayal. Why had his friend mentioned Alexis Stoddard? Of course, she didn’t know he had loved her. Or had she? What kind of hold did this woman—this very ordinary woman—have over him? None. Would he never forget? Of course he had. He hadn’t thought of her for months. He swore roundly and went to a bar—something he never did.

A month later while he was running, he met Chelsea—a soft spoken, gentle woman who was also beautiful with a slim, gently curved figure, brown eyes and glorious silver-blonde hair. Running or biking regularly had become part of his daily routine. It cleared his mind of challenges connected with his work and kept him in good physical shape—to say nothing of it being a pleasure.

Initially his defenses were up, but eight months later when he had proposed there had been no rejection scene. She had come into his arms joyfully and they were married on Valentine’s Day—a picture perfect wedding. His life was as near perfect as this imperfect world would allow. Sometimes he held her and looked into her laughing eyes and wondered what he had done to deserve her. The only ripple in the calmness of their existence was their concern that she had not become pregnant. And now even that joy was to be theirs.

And here was Alexis rearing her ugly head again. At that moment the phone rang. He drew a long breath. He was being ridiculous. He had forgotten her. She had probably forgotten him. They would probably never run into each other—and if they did, what of it? He had a near perfect life. She had no power over him any more. He had too much to be grateful for. He picked up the receiver.

Darling, do you feel like a father?

He could visualize her in her blue, layered caftan—probably just out of the shower and getting ready for him to come home. She worked mornings at a preschool. She hadn’t wanted to work full-time, as she wanted to be a mother to their children. He grinned with anticipation, I feel like a very lucky, lecherous man with a gorgeous wife. I even checked two books out of the library on fatherhood today.

They laughed together. See you in about an hour. He almost always took a bike ride or a short run on good days before going home. It helped him clear away the classroom irritations or cobwebs before spending the evening with Chelsea. It was almost a surefire way to ensure that he did not take out any of his class frustrations on his wife. He was determined that they would have the best marriage possible. Today the ride would be doubly necessary, he thought as he bent down and picked up the crumpled newspaper with the article about Alexis Stoddard. He had to put her out of his mind once more.

A few minutes later, he was riding with the wind in the crisp spring air. The burgeoning tree limbs were bursting with baby green leaves.. The sky was a glorious blue. A wonderful evening with his wife awaited him—no meetings—no coaching—no plays to attend. And he and Chelsea were going to be parents.

Great afternoon, Prof Avery! Chuck Pendergrass addressed him as he ran around the green in a blue sweat suit.

Chuck was a chemistry student who also played football. Bryan marveled that he had chosen chemistry as the required science for his Bachelor of Arts degree. He was having a difficult time with it. Bryan had been tutoring him two afternoons a week.

He discovered that Chuck was one of three children being raised by their black mother. Their white father had left them when the children were toddlers. Mrs. Pendergrass was determined that her children would make something of themselves. Chuck was just as determined.

Bryan grinned and raised a hand of greeting to the smiling jock, You’re right, Chuck. It’s a great afternoon.

Alexis Stoddard was forgotten.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Why do you have to go away, Alexis? Carol asked, painstakingly forming her words. There was a flat, almost guttural quality to her voice that reminded Alexis of the recording she had heard of Helen Keller’s voice. But Carol was speaking—something she had been unable to do until four months ago. She was eight years old, and this was the longest sentence she had ever spoken.

Tears shimmered on Alexis Stoddard’s dark, thick lashes and with her characteristic impulsiveness she pulled the thin strawberry blonde-haired child into her arms. This initiated a general attack of arms and a babel of voices, interlaced with children’s signing, Don’t go, Lexy.

As she hugged each of the beautiful children wearing braces, headgear and some wearing obscene tee shirts, laughter commingled with tears.

She remembered her first week at the Spring Crest Home for children with Severe Behavior and Communications Disorder (SBCD) two years before. It was a small home in a small town in central Vermont. It was a bit short on the latest décor but long on love and caring. It seemed that Spring Crest had welcomed with exuberant hearts all the un-placeable rejects, as Sal Martello, of the Martello family who ran the place, had put it when he had taken her around. They are people, after all, he had finished as he introduced several of the children with a smiling flourish.

And therein was another whole story, Alexis thought as she hugged dark haired Aggie and said automatically, Wipe your mouth, darling. I like your new outfit. Aggie, who had cerebral palsy and wore braces less and less each day, smiled widely and complied.

The Martellos had come to the United States from Italy. Somehow they had acquired a large amount of money. There were all sorts of stories about its acquisition, most of which had to do with the Mafia. However, Alexis supposed that probably there was a much more accurate and prosaic explanation. At any rate, the oldest daughter, Rosa, whose husband had died of meningitis, was delivered of a plump, Downs Syndrome baby several years after their arrival. They refused to put Carlo in a home, and now he was a cheerful five year-old who could walk and run, though a bit awkwardly, and he was also the youngest resident.

I bet you won’t forget that toad I put in your bed, Lexy, Arnie Parke grinned and blushed in his wheelchair as she kissed his cheek.

How could I? she laughed. I like your tee shirt, Arnie. It had the picture of Shaquille O’Neal and the logo of the Lakers imprinted on it. Alexis still missed Air Jordan of the Chicago Bulls.

Yeah. Arnie sounded sheepish. Every day for weeks he had been wearing a grossly obscene shirt and he would not part with it. It was even difficult to get it away from him and into the washer. Alexis had made a deal with him—she would do his chore for a week and buy him a new shirt if he would wear it. This had required a bit of negotiating with Sal. His wife, Therese Maria, had shaken her head doubtfully when approached with the idea, My Sal thinks they should always do their chores, the kids.

However, Sal finally reluctantly agreed, as did Arnie. She helped wipe dishes for a week with Ralphie the other boy assigned to the same job, and Arnie got his new shirt. Arnie had been physically abused by his father and neglected by his mother, who finally left him with an aunt who was too old and unwell to care for him. He became a ward of the state. He had no physical disabilities and was a handsome sandy-haired boy with severe aggressive behaviors so was always returned with descriptive phrases such as incorrigible, mean, and a devil pure and simple. Someone had recommended Spring Crest for him and he was making progress with many setbacks along the way.

Of course, as Sal often said, Alexis, you always think all the children are handsome or beautiful and that they are improving each day—no matter how misshapen their heads or bodies or souls!

And whose example am I following? she retorted with a laugh. And it was true. Sal and his entire staff and family believed that each child was like a cocoon with its own unique butterfly emerging at its own rate.

She recalled the day Samantha had first called her Lexy. Sal had laughed, lowered his dark, graying head with its crisp curls to look at her—really look at her. Lexy, huh? Sammy may have something there, though you seem more like an Alexis to me.

Sammy pulled on his pant leg, bobbing her dark head. She signed, I have something. Samantha was labeled autistic, but both Sal and Alexis felt it was a misnomer. She was too much of a character with a puckish sense of humor that lurked within, surprising staff at intervals.

Sal swept the little girl up and swung her around gently in his arms. What do you have, Sammy?

Sammy laughed and put her hand in Sal’s hair, signing, I have Tommy flea.

Sal put her down to wait with Alexis for the routine she had taught the children.

He does tricks. Do a somersault, Tommy. Sammy made her hands move as though Tommy were doing a somersault. Now a back flip—Tommy come back here. She pretended to be reaching for him, taking several steps. Tommy where are you? Then she motioned for Alexis to bend down, as Alexis had known she would, and reached into Alexis’ thick hair. Here you are, Tommy—oh, no, you’re not Tommy! and she clapped her hand over her mouth giggling along with the other children in the room.

There were so many things to remember—to take with her and bring out at the lonely times—the golden moments. And soon she would have golden moments from Wilmington, Ohio. How long would it be before she knew people there, before she felt like part of the community?

It was as if Sal could read her mind. You’ll make friends, Lexy. Just wear that red nightgown! He laughed as her face flushed.

Hopefully the alarm won’t go off in the night so I won’t have to take people out in my nightgown, she said, remembering the icy February night she had done that. The nightgown was modest—long and flannel—but had two slits to the thighs on the sides, so she had been ribbed mercilessly about her immodesty.

As Alexis continued saying her farewells to the nine children and the five staff members, she thought, I will miss you all. It has been like home but I must stop running and start trusting.

Alexis had been happy—and frustrated—and angry at Spring Crest. But these feelings were finally not directed at herself. For so long at UD28 she had not been able to forgive herself for not being in the car with Kurt and Candy when they died. She had been angry at God. Why should He take someone who loved the Lord as much as the two of them? She had prayed for God to forgive her and to give her calmness and joy once more. But every night she went to bed praying that she could join them in Heaven.

That is, until she met Bryan Avery. Bryan was such a kind and caring man—a true gentleman who made no demands. And he was in such pain himself from the loss of his wife. Alexis hadn’t known Sandy. She had died about a year prior to the time that Alexis had gone to UD28 to work. Bryan had recently moved to Hillville wanting to escape the memories of his wife, who was a lovely, blonde, laughing woman in the pictures with Bryan.

Alexis had learned of the close relationship that he and Sandy had enjoyed when she accepted rides to school with him when it was too cold or inclement to walk or bike to UD28. She had heard of their joys and irritations and understood the great void and pain in his life. Her compassionate heart had listened and reached out to him. She ignored the little voice of the Holy Spirit that whispered, You should not be spending so much time with Bryan Avery. He is not my child. You are too vulnerable—you should be spending time with my people. And suddenly—or maybe not so suddenly—she had found that she had fallen in love with the charming and caring