Adventures with the Angels of Love

She was there again, among the swaying branches above the bay. Her hair was long and lustrous black. He would run his fingers through it and find in her eyes a reflection of his own love for her. Never had a woman so moved him as Naida. Only when he found her did his life truly begin. God had sent him to find her, they both knew it. Why had he lost her so soon?

For an instant the moment returned to him, her screams, his running with the rifle he grabbed so fast he didn't remember if he or Naida had reloaded it the day before. He'd had a quick image of himself cracking the rifle butt across the bear's head. He knew they were both doomed if the rifle had only bullet or two left in it. He screamed out

'Save her. Oh, Father, save her!'

Then he was grabbing her, pushing her down and behind him. Blood from her hit him in the face. She was moaning in pain, from deep within her she gasped for life, rolling away from the beast that had reared up. In a second he turned around for another attack. Marshall hated himself for trembling as he raised the rifle to his eyes. Quickly he squeezed off a shot. It hit the bear near his left cheek and glanced off. He roared in pain and raised himself to his full height, taller than Marshall, pawing the air. But the shot had stopped his advance.

Marshall's thoughts raced. He had to aim truly now and finish it. He cocked the gun as the bear came toward him. He shot again, not knowing how many bullets were left. Naida was screaming. The second bullet hit the bear in the shoulder. He danced backward and roared in pain. Quickly Marshall aimed again higher and shot off twice more, scoring in the bear's neck and head. That did it. With a lurch the bear wheeled backward, writhing in agony. He fell to the earth and lay there, finally still. His blood was everywhere, thicker and darker than the woman's. Marshall was covered with the blood of them both.

He threw the rifle down and turned to find Naida. She no longer cried out, her arms were gripped around herself. She wasn't breathing. He yelled to her, again and again, calling her back to him, but he feared she was gone. No one was near to call for help. He picked her up. Then it was his own sobs he heard, his own heart that was breaking, his life that longed to follow her past this tragedy. That is what he remembered of her last moments with him.

But he did not run away from his grief. His leaving was given to him as a healing, a way to make peace with pain and to deepen his understanding. The angels had taught him well, and that day they came to him in answer to his cries. They ministered to him and sent him forth. He had never told anyone where or why. Those few years following Naida's death began as a trial of faith and endurance, but they became for him a touchstone that he might endure living with only the Lord for his comfort. No one else could understand that as he could, not even Ruth. That is why the past had to belong to him alone, at least for now. Now he had another task, and very little time.