Her Daughters Preacher
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Jeannie Sharpe
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Before Corey Knew Him, The Girls Met Luke
Camden, Maine
“Do we have to go to church?” Hailey’s voice was sharp, her arms crossed as she stood nose-to-nose with her mother.
Corey sighed as she turned, zipping up Sarah Anne’s little pink jacket. “I think it’ll be good for you. It’s been a while since you’ve been.”
“Not for me,” Hailey muttered. “I went to church with Grace last week.”
Corey ignored her tone. “Sarah Anne, where are your shoes?”
“I’m sorry, Mommy.” Sarah Anne disappeared.
Corey went to help, and Hailey trailed her down the hall. Corey stopped at her doorway. Sarah Anne’s shoes were on the wrong feet, and she was sitting on the edge of her bed, clutching her tiny Bible, tears welling up in her eyes.
“I love Jesus, but I don’t want to go without you, Mommy.”
Corey’s heart clenched. She kneeled, brushing the hair from her daughter’s dampened cheeks. “Honey, you’ll learn so much. You can come home and tell me all about it, okay?”
Sarah Anne’s lips trembled. “Please, Mommy. Go with us.”
“Maybe one day,” Corey whispered, forcing a smile. “But not today.”
She stood, trying to sound brisk instead of broken. Broken? Yeah, that preacher across town broke my spirit.
“Come on, girls, Sunday school starts in twenty minutes.”
They drove the two blocks to Camden Baptist Church in silence, the hum of the tires filling the space between them. When Corey parked, Sarah Anne burst into fresh tears.
“Remember, I’m working at the diner this morning. I should be done and back to pick you up by the time church is over, so look for me. I won’t be late.”
“Okay, Momma,” Hailey said as she opened the SUV door and stepped out, pulling her sister’s hand. “Don’t be a crybaby, Sarah Anne.” She turned to wipe her sister’s face with her sleeve. “Mommy doesn’t want to go.” She slammed the car door. “Bye, Momma.”
Corey watched them until they reached the grand church’s entryway.
“I wanted Mommy to come,” Sarah Anne sniffled.
“She didn’t want to. Just drop it.” Hailey tugged her inside.
Corey blinked back her own tears as she drove to the diner. I wish things were different, Sarah Anne.
Just as she pulled up, her phone buzzed. Scott Freeman, her landlord—for now.
Scott
Your rent is now late. If you don’t catch up on last month’s rent and pay this month by tomorrow, I’ll have no choice but to evict you.
Scott
Your things will be on the street the moment you leave for work.
The words hit like a punch. Her heart sank, the phone slipping from her hand and onto the seat beside her.
I can’t lose another home. Not again.
She parked on a side street near the diner and buried her face in her palms. God, I need a miracle.
***
The morning sun poured through the tall stained-glass windows of Camden Baptist Church, washing the pews in ribbons of red and gold. Luke Anderson stood near the back doors, towering above most of the congregation, waiting for the next wave of families to file in from Sunday school.
At six-foot-three, with dark-blonde hair and a square jaw that could’ve belonged to a movie star, Luke had grown accustomed to the attention he received. Women noticed him. Men noticed him. But the truth was, he’d rather be invisible. Handsome was fine—useful, sometimes—but character mattered more.
He served as the church’s lead pastor, though lately he’d been questioning the whole picture of religion after seeing too many polished faces hiding too many secrets. Still, he came week after week, delivering God’s word to help those who were broken in spirit.
The children spilled from their classrooms in a noisy rush of laughter and chatter as they went to children’s church. That’s when he saw them—two girls standing apart from the crowd, one holding the other’s hand at the end of the hall.
The older one, maybe twelve, was tall and bright-eyed, all attitude, he guessed, with protectiveness for her younger sister, since they looked exactly alike. The younger girl, who couldn’t have been more than six or seven, had tear-streaked cheeks and was clinging to her.
Luke crouched before them, his voice gentle. “Hey there. Is this your first time with us? Did you enjoy your Sunday school class?”
The little one ran her hands down her cheeks. “I did. I learned about Jonah and the big fish.”
“Are your parents already in the sanctuary?”
She shook her head. “No, sir. We don’t have a daddy anymore. He’s dead.”
Luke gasped. “Oh my… I’m so sorry.”
Before he could say anything more, her sister shot him a quick look. “My sister is mistaken. Our father isn’t dead. Our mom and dad are divorced, and we live with our mother.”
Luke nodded slowly, taken aback by her maturity. “Thank you for telling me.” He offered a small, reassuring smile. “Your mom sounds like she’s doing a good job—you both seem like strong young ladies. My name’s Luke, and what’s yours?”
“I’m Hailey, and this is my sister, Sarah Anne.” She reached up to shake his hand and gave a hesitant smile.
Sarah Anne squeezed her sister’s hand and turned her body toward her, hiding her face.
“Well,” Luke said, standing again, “you’re welcome here anytime. And if you ever need anything—or a second cookie before service—just come find me.”
That earned a giggle from Sarah Anne.
“I teach the six-year-olds’ class, but I couldn’t be there today.”
“I’m six.” Sarah Anne grinned at him.
“Well, how about that. So, you will be in my class next Sunday?”
They started to go. “See you then.”
“I think we will be back. Our Mommy wants us to come now.” Sarah Anne waved at him.
Luke watched as they scurried up the few steps to children’s church. Hailey abruptly turned. “Pastor Luke, do twelve-year-olds go into the sanctuary?”
“Yes. Do you want me to wait on you?”
“No. That won’t be necessary. I’ll go in and can sit with some of my friends. Thank you, though.”
She is so polite. Very impressive.
But something stirred deep inside him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that those two carried a far heavier load than their small shoulders should bear. And for some unknown reason, he wanted to know more.
As folks funneled toward the sanctuary, Luke lingered by the glass doors, greeting the last few families as they arrived. As the service began, the choir’s opening chords drifted through the rafters of the building. The praises were so majestic—the praise band complemented the rising voices perfectly.
***
The air was heavy and gray as she briskly stepped to the door of the diner. It was one of those Sundays that felt like rain.
Herb’s Diner buzzed with the low hum of the television and the clang of silverware. The smell of coffee and bacon wrapped around her as she slipped into her shift. She poured coffee, cleared plates, and smiled at all the customers. By closing time, her feet ached, but her pocket was full—one hundred ninety-eight dollars.
When she and the others were clocking out, she volunteered to take out the trash. “I’ll do it,” she told Vicki and Rob. “You two go ahead.”
“You’ve been great,” Rob reassured her. “You should work more Sundays.”
“The tips were great. A lot better than normal.” She grabbed her apron. “I actually could since my girls are going to church now.”
I need to go pick them up.
Rob laughed. “Don’t you need to go to church with them?”
“I can’t.” She grabbed the heavy bags, pushed through the back door, and stepped into the alley, the door locking behind her.
Raindrops hit her face as she trudged to the dumpster. The ground was so slushy and muddy back here. She slipped as she heaved one bag into the dumpster, then another. As she turned to go, she noticed a manila envelope, half-soaked and smudged, wedged against the dumpster wheel.
She frowned. “What in the world…”
It had old, caked, and grimy mud on it and was oddly heavy when she picked it up. With shaky hands, she peeled back the flap and froze.
What?
Stacks of bills began to fall to the ground as the paper gave way. Her pulse started racing, and her throat went dry as she reached for the two bound wads of cash and stuffed them into her purse. She looked around, the alley empty, the parking lot quiet, and quickly stuffed the envelope halfway into her purse and took off running to her Tahoe.
She glanced around the carpark—there wasn’t a person in sight. She started the engine, shifted into reverse, backed out, and eased onto the road. As she drove, her eyes kept drifting to the halfway hidden envelope in her bag. At a stoplight, she caught the edge of the envelope.
Something faint was written along the bottom edge. She rubbed at the crusted mud with her thumbnail until the letters slowly spelled Missions.
Her chest tightened. Oh, Lord…what is this?
