Soon it would all be over. People had told him God does not make mistakes. If God did not make mistakes, what was he? Perhaps after he dove into the deep abyss of the black waters, he would soon face other creatures of doom, even coming face to face with Satan himself.

Charles stood on the rusty iron truss bridge over the Coosa River watching the dark swirling waters beneath. The hour was near midnight and reflections of streetlights could be seen along the edges. It seemed that Charles was looking into the blackness of hell as he placed one leg over the rail.

Soon it would all be over. People had told him God does not make mistakes. If God did not make mistakes, what was he? Perhaps after he dove into the deep abyss of the black waters, he would soon face other creatures of doom, even coming face to face with Satan himself.

He placed the other leg over the rail. Now he was sitting on the edge, ready to take the plunge that would end his life on earth forever. Placing his hands firmly on the rails, he started to push his body to his watery grave. Instead, small hands, grabbing him by the shoulder, jerked him backwards causing him to fall to the floor of the bridge.

Looking up, he saw a young lady. The light shining on her face were artificial lights from somewhere distant from the bridge, but she looked like an angel. A no-good person such as he did not deserve an angel to prevent him from facing his destiny, but there she was, a stern look as if she were someone who really cared.

She spoke with a kind, gentle voice. “Hello, my name is Elizabeth. What is yours?”

Just a simple statement and question — no scorn, no hateful speech — just a few words seasoned with sweetness. Charles saw a cute smile beginning to form as he looked into the face of his angel.

“Ah — ah — I am Charles — Charles Reed” His voice quivered and stammered — not really knowing what to say.

Smiling again, she said, “I had just fallen asleep when my mother came to me in a dream and told me that I needed to come out here. I am glad I did. Won’t you come and sit a spell in the truck with me and my husband?”

Charles looked and saw a young man, evidently a farm boy by his clothing and reddish facial appearance sitting under the steering wheel of an old Chevrolet pickup truck. Charles raised himself up to a standing position and slowly walked toward the vehicle.

The young man stuck his hand through the open window of the truck and said, “Howdy. My name is Jake.”

“Hello, I am Charles.”

“Kinda warm out here tonight. Let’s go to the house and have some iced tea. Lizzie Jane has some ready and we might grab a few egg sandwiches,” replied Jake.

Charles did not know why, but he accepted the invitation and, allowing Lizzie Jane to go first, seated himself on the passenger side of the vehicle, a position Alabama folk call “riding shotgun”.

Jake expertly drove down the street in spite of the loose play in the steering. As he always said, he just bounced when the truck bounced and rocked when it rocked. Leaving Gadsden, the trio rode down US 278 toward Cedartown, Georgia, finally coming to a paved road leading up into the Alabama mountains. Jake did most of the talking — mentioning the weather, how long he and Lizzie Jane had been married, and general things.

“Road hadn’t been paved long,” said Jake. “Up until a few years ago, it might near took a four wheel drive to make it up this road, but the road commissioner wanted a few extra votes, so he put down some tar and gravel.”

Arriving at a white five-room frame farmhouse, Jake parked the truck and said, “Come on in. We will treat you so many ways, you will like some of them”.

Charles was still in some shock and surprise at this couple coming out of nowhere and driving quite a few miles just for him because Elizabeth’s mother had talked to her in a dream. He had never heard of anything like that. Finally, he mentioned the subject.

“Oh, my mother has talked to me since I was a little girl — telling me things and every time I have been in trouble she would tell someone that I needed help and send them to rescue me,” answered Lizzie Jane. “She died when I was very young. I don’t remember anything about it because I lost my memory once and my aunt will not tell me what happened. She said it was best that I did not know.”

“So, you talk to your mother — and she is not living?” asked Charles in a strange tone, wondering within himself what strange couple could this
be -- talking to the dead? They had saved his life -- but why? Why would anyone be interested in a 'pervert' like him? After all, wasn't that what people had called him -- a pervert -- not welcome anywhere?

“Oh yes, she loved me very much and she watches over me like an angel. She is not an angel, of course, because angels are special creations of God, but she is in Heaven and someday I will be in Heaven, too.”

Mmmm -- so she did not consider her mother an angel. That must mean that she is not an angel, either. Charles mind was still going around in circles -- confused -- if this 'angel' wasn't an angel, what was she?

Changing her tone to one of concern, she continued, “Don’t you want to go to Heaven some day?”

“God doesn’t want me. I am no-good,” answered Charles.

“Why do you think that? God loves everybody.”

“Because I ain’t build right.”

“What do you mean, you ain’t built right? God knew you before you were born.”

“Wish I could believe that. Anyway, I don’t wanna talk about it. You would be like everybody else — make fun of me and think I was crazy.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” declared Lizzie Jane. “We are all different. That is what makes the world go round.”

“I still don’t wanna talk about it,” insisted Charles.

“Well, it is way past our bedtime. I will fix you a bed in the other room if you will promise not to do anything rash,” offered Lizzie Jane.

“Okay, I promise. You have already spoiled my suicide attempt. It will take awhile to work up nerve enough to try it again.”

“That settles it. A good night’s sleep will make everything look better in the morning.”

“I doubt it. I am sorry to put you to so much trouble.”

Lizzie Jane prepared a half bed for Charles with clean sheets. “I don’t think you will need any more cover — pretty warm tonight. This is our adopted daughter’s bed, but Linda is spending the night over at a friend’s house tonight, so it is not any trouble at all.”

Going into their bedroom, Jake asked, “Do you suppose we can trust him?”

“Of course. My mother and I discussed everything already. It will be okay. He needs help and the way people are now-a-days, it is going to take special help — from God,” replied Lizzie Jane as she put out the light.

--To be continued

Copyright 2008 by Billie Sue Pilgrim