A Man's World

"Jim_MEY!"
"Damn!"  She had jumped so hard that her finger had slipped and now three "f's" resided in the center of her perfect typed copy."
"Best run, word has it that good ole' Charlies on the warpath and all the junior editors are in an extra pissy because of it."  She nodded and reminded herself not to simper- it had taken a good month for her to remember not to try to flirt her way out of trouble here.  She still had to pinch herself to remember to answer to "Jimmy;" on her very first day she had almost given herself away when she hadn't reacted with enough gusto to the questionable pictures of showgirls that one of the copy editors had provided.  Sighing she pulled the cover over her Underwood No. 5, her pride and joy and her only possession of any value.  When she had first moved to the city she had paid for it dearly; ruefully running her hand over her slowly returning brown locks she wondered what her friends and family would think if they could see her now.
The editors office was never a safe place for an aspiring reporter, you were twice as likely to get fired as you were to get words of praise.  Steeling herself she pushed in the door.
"About time, Mullen.  Sit."  She did, reminding herself to keep her legs spread wide and not cross her ankles as her cotillion teachers had once so forcefully instructed. 
"Now, I've read your latest article."  She kept her eyes on her knees, barely letting herself breath.
"And It's horse shit.  Mullen, you've got a good brain for prose but no one cares about this nonsense.  People want a REAL headline, Bobby Millers been writing up a piece on prizefighting and I'm fixing to run it on the front page."
"I'm sorry sir, I just thought-"
"Stop thinking!  I don't pay you to think, I pay you to write."  She sighed, inwardly.
"Yes sir."
"Now, I have an assignment for you, something that people really do want to read about.  Some society lady from Boston is in town and she's throwing a charity ball down at the Metropolitan Art Museum, go see if you can chat her up, get her story.  Shouldn't be too hard of a job, pretty ladies, plenty to eat-after the shit you send me I shouldn't be rewarding you like this."  She nodded, rising and brushing her trouser legs off as she did.
"Saturday night, nine pm.  Oh, and Jimmy?  Don't give me any more of this shit."  He slapped her article into her chest and she turned, letting the door close behind her.
Back at her desk she slid the rejected article into her bag.  "Hundreds of Women Assaulted by British Police in Brutal Attack against Peaceful Protesters."  Her British brethren would have to wait.  Silently she cursed whatever Bostonian aristocrat was making her leave her impassioned writing for a night of silly talk and town gossip.  Reaching her hand into her pocket she let her fingers graze the black velvet box that she had taken to carrying with her.  Timothy no doubt had given up the ring for lost, along with his would be betrothed- but somehow by holding the ring she felt closer to him and closer to home. 
Though she hated to admit it, Sarah was just a little bit homesick. 

One Step Closer

Ramona bustled around the crowded streets of New York. She had been here a week, and still she could not grow accustomed to the amount of people that lived here. Where did they all come from? There did not seem to be enough buildings to house all of them, yet still they came ever pushing and shoving onto the busy street. Every time she stepped off the front steps of The Plaza, she felt as if she were taking a plunge into the sea, yet this sea was made up of bright colors, and at times just as unforgiving as the water.

Today, Ramona was sure she would make progress. She could feel it in her bones. Her eyes fell to the address she had scribbled in haste. Why was it she could never read her own handwriting? One Times Square, 1475 Broadway was her destination.  Ramona felt the crowd jostle her to and fro as she made her way to Broadway. In no time she was there. Standing in front of the New York Times building. The white stone seemed to shine in the grime of the city. Putting her shoulders back, just as her mother taught her, Ramona climbed the marble steps, hoping and praying she would find her sister within these doors.  

Clues

Rain streaked the windows of the rolling train. Ramona watched as the raindrops blend together in a watery blur. She leaded her cheek on the cool glass, and the heat from her breath created fog on the icy window. For it being summer, the weather outside was unbearably bleak. Sarah’s letter lay crumpled in Ramona’s gloved hand. She had read it so many times she feared that the ink would soon disappear from the page. Her search in New England had not been productive. She had worn herself almost thin looking for her lost friend.  If she did not find Sarah at the next location she would abandon her search.  Ramona’s mind flickered back to a night, like this, when she and Sarah had curled up on Sarah’s bed to talk about the future. Sarah had gone on and on about being a writer. It was that night that she had shown Ramona her works under her pen name James Mullen.

Ramona bolted upright. James Mullen. Her mind raced with a swirl of uncontrollable thoughts. She un- crumpled the paper and found the line she had look at so many times:

Where I go, I shall no longer be Sarah Turner.

It all fit! She knew where to look now, though it would not be easy...   

Ramona could hear the echo of Sarah’s lark sounding voice, “One of these days I am going to New York. I will show the world that a woman can write just as well as a man. And you will come with me, wont you Mona?” 

New York! Ramona’s mind wheeled and turned, then the jubilation came to a startling halt. New York was one of the larges cities in the country, far bigger than Boston. How in the world was Ramona going to find Sarah in that city?

Father, she prayed, how am I going to find her? How?  Then it came to her from the dark shadows of her memory. A newspaper. Sarah had to be at a newspaper, and Ramona was going to search every single one till she found her friend. 

A Port in a Storm

Tears streamed down Ramona’s face as she lay on her bed. The afternoon light was shinning in her yellow room, far to bright for her discomfort. Her chest ached as she pictured the look in Sarah’s eyes when she had confessed the “truth”. The letter Sarah had sent her lay wrinkled at her side. Ramona’s eyes found the paper and she held it before her, blinking it into focus.  

And now, my darling Mona, I shall not tell you where I am going, except that it is not to Maine. I may once have been pregnant, but now I am utterly without child again. Where I go, I shall no longer be Sarah Turner.

And that was her biggest clue of all. Slowly she got to her feet and searched around for her old hat box and found it on a shelf in her wardrobe. She had not touched it since her mother had died and a thin layer of dust covered the faded pink lid. Lifting the lid she found dozens of folded pieces of paper. Each one had a prayer scribbled on it. It was her prayer box. Every time she had a prayer she would write it down on paper, date it, then toss it in the box. Once the paper was in the box it was in the Lord’s hands.  Ramona carried the box to her writing desk scribbled a prayer on to a fresh piece of paper, dated it, and placed it softly in the box. She put the lid back on then looked around the room. Relief and peace flooded through her veins as she walked back to her wardrobe. She removed simple clothing, a few blouses and skirts, and folded them neatly into her carpet bag. Ramona shrugged on her light blue travel jacked and was tying the ribbons of her hat under her chin when a knock came on the door.

“Yes?” she said, and Gerald opened the door.

“Madame, Mr. Magathan is here.”

Ramona felt hot color flood to her face. How could she have forgotten about Stephen?

“Um… Tell him I will be down in a moment Gerald.” He bowed his head and exited the room. 

Ramona paced the room for a few moments, thinking about what to tell him, then with a deep breath she gathered up her bag and went down the stairs to the Parlor.

Stephen was standing with his back to her, examining a painting of a garden that hung on the wall. His dark locks shown in the sun that streamed in  through the parlor window. Her breath caught in her chest at the sight of him. She wanted to run to him, and it took all of her will power not to.

“Hello, Stephen.” She said.  He spun around and smiled at her. Oh that smile.  Ramona felt her knees beginning to shake. She smiled back at him, but weakly.  His smile faded a little.

“Were are you going?”

Ramona thought for a moment. She could not lie to him, whatever Sarah had said. She would not tell him everything but she could not lie to him.

“I need to go find Sarah. She is in trouble and I cannot leave her alone, she needs me.”

Stephen raised an eyebrow. “What sort of trouble?”

“I cannot tell you, I promised not to tell.”

He nodded solemnly. She knew he did not understand.

“Stephen, I don’t like keeping things from you… But you must know that I would tell you if I could.”

“Mona dear, you do not need to explain anything to me. “ He walked over to her and put his arms around her, holding her tight. She melted into his arms and for a moment time stood still.

“Can you give me an idea of where you are going? “ he whispered into her hair. “I must admit that I don’t like the idea of you traveling alone.” Ramona looked up into his light green eyes and saw that he was truly worried. Her stomach flipped as she realized this.

“Do not worry Stephen, I will be fine. I have prayed about this and know it is what I have to do.”

He sighed and nodded. She knew he would understand in time, but she did not know how much more time they would have. He needed to understand now. She was tired of lies. He had to know.

“Ste” she said (her new nickname for him) “I know my friendship with Sarah does not make any sense to you, but you need to know that she is not just my friend, but my sister.” He raised his eyebrows again. “Well yes dear, figuratively.”

Ramona shook her head. “No not figuratively. She IS my sister, though only half blood. She is my father’s daughter.”

“What?” he whispered.

Ramona sighed. “I don’t know if Sarah knows, I don’t think she does, but I discovered this only a few weeks ago. I was going through some of my mother’s things and found a box buried in the attic. It had letters in it dating back almost twenty years ago.  They were love letters, they were not to my mother, but to my father. And they were signed from Katherine Turner.”  

Stephen’s eyes widened as Ramona spoke, and she knew he was trying to sort all of this out in his legal working mind. She looked at the grandfather clock, time was running out, the train would be leaving soon.

“I am sorry I don’t have much time to explain everything, Ste.” She said taking his hand.  He looked down at her, and she noticed tears were on the brim of his eyes.  Her heart ached.

“Are you crying for me?” She said, placing her hand on his cheek.

“My heart mourns for you Mona. You have been through to much my love.”

“My love?” She whispered, softly, stammering over the last word.  

His ears turned a vibrant shade of red as he nodded.  Ramona’s heart pounded in her ears.

“I love you, Ramona.”  Their eyes met and Ramona could no longer feel the pain she had kept built up inside her for so long. Every thing that had happened with William did not matter. He was in her past, and now, she realized she wanted a new future, a future with Stephen.

“I Love you too.” She said as earnestly and passionately as she could. Tears were beginning to leak from her eyes again. Stephen reached up, and brushed them away with his finger. A large smile was stretched across his face and Ramona could not help but mirror it. 

He bent down and kissed her softly at first, then so full and deep that  Ramona  felt dizzy when they separated. Stephen held her tight for a long time until he spoke.

“Please let me come with you.”  He whispered. Ramona looked up at him and smiled weakly.

“Ste, I have never done anything on my own. I have never known much of the world outside of Boston.  I need to do this alone.  I need a chance to be an adult.” She was trying so hard not to cry. Why did she always get so emotional?

He was looking at her again, with that blazing look that sent shivers up her spine.  Oh how she loved him!

“Then go.” He said softly, his eyes full of tender warmth.  Ramona hugged him again.

“I will write when I get to where I am going.” She said looking up at him again. He nodded and took her hand slowly up to his lips and kissed it. 

“I will not stop praying for you till you are back here.”

“I will return, with or with out Sarah. I just need to know she is safe.”

He nodded again. “Stephen, please do not worry. If there is one thing I know how to do, it is persevere.” She stood on her toes and kissed him. Taking in everything that she could, from his smell to the feel of his hair. Out of breath, she bent down and gathered her things. Looking into his green gaze again, she smiled.

“I love you Stephen Magathan. You are my port in a storm.”

He smiled at her. “Be safe my love.” And with her heart aching, Ramona turned and left. 

Our Place

Bugs swarmed in the summer air as George Ramsey made his way to his destination. The twinkle of stars were barley visible through the rising buildings and glowing lights of Boston, yet he did his hardest to find them as he walked toward the park. The glitter of stars always comforted him, and George knew that tonight was going to be one of the nights that he needed the comfort. In his left hand he held, a now crumpled, piece of paper. On it were scribed only two words: our place. He had known what they meant and when to go there. The summer crickets chirped as he made his way deeper into the park, following a familiar path that lead to a wooden bench. The bench was occupied, as he knew it would be. He approached and the shadowy figure came into focus.

“Hello Katherine.” He said, and occupant on the bench jumped.

“George! You gave me a fright.”

“I am sorry Katie.” He said softly as he moved to sit next to her. In all his years of knowing Katherine she has still managed to keep her youthful beauty. Her brown hair was speckled with gray, but to him she would always be young. Yet tonight there was something different about her appearance. Her hands were clenched in her lap and she had, what appeared to be dark shadows under her eyes that she had tried to hide with ample amounts of makeup.

“I am happy you came.” she said, her voice quivering for a moment.

“You knew I would.” He said tenderly, taking her hand.  He looked up at Katherine and noticed tears streaming from her blue eyes.

“What is wrong Katie May?” He asked, calling her by her old pet name.

Sorrow filled her eyes and she began to cry. “It is Sarah, George.”

“Sarah?” He asked.

“Yes. She has run away, and Tom and I don’t know where she has gone.”

George sighed. Sarah had always been rebellious, bit this was not entirely expected.

“Does Ramona know where she has gone?” He heard Katherine ask through her sobs.

“I do not know. Ramona does not speak to me about her friends.”

“Oh George how can you be so cruel? You know they are more than friends…”

George pressed his lips together. He knew Katherine would bring this up again. All he wanted was to be with her, yet all she could talk about was Sarah.

Sarah. 

“What do you want me to do about it Katie?” He asked, somewhat frustrated.

 She looked up at him, her blue eyes shining with tears. “George,” she said softly “She is your daughter.

George let a deep sigh escape pass his lips. True, Sarah was his daughter, but an illegitimate one at that, and she did not know, at least not to his knowledge. Nor did Ramona, and he was going to keep it that way.

“Katherine I am not going chasing after that girl of yours. If she has gotten herself into trouble then I do not want Ramona’s name tainted by association.”

Katherine looked at him, stunned.

“Tainted by association!” She squeaked, “How dare you! You have never been there for her, not once.”

“Katherine, she is my bastard and nothing more. Besides she looks nothing like me. How can you know she is mine?”

“George she is just like you! She has your brown curling hair, and your pig headed stubbornness. She thinks like you do, always planning her next step. She has a mind, and she is intelligent.”

“Which is proof she is not Tom Turner’s child.” He said sarcastically. Thomas Turner was not known for his intellect. He had bounced around from job to job, leaving the family almost destitute. If it were not for the money George funneled into an account they would be reduced to paupers.

Katherine took his hand and squeezed it tightly, and he returned the pressure.  She had been his sweetheart when he first came to America. Katherine had been hired as a recording secretary for his new bank and they had grown close, first friends, then lovers. Yet Katherine came from nothing, and in turn had nothing. His parents had refused to let him marry her, and they promptly arranged a marriage with Mary Mahoney.  At first George had gone willingly to Mary, yet after their first child had been born she had begun to change. Mary became hysterical and he could not cope. That is when he found Katie again. She took him back, and they started a long lasting affair, an affair that produced a child. Sarah.

“Do you have any idea where she could be?” He asked, as tenderly as he could.

“Somewhere in New England.”  She said softly, and George nodded.

“I will see if Mona knows something.”

Katherine sighed and looked relieved at his words.

“I am not making any promises Katie, but I will try.”

“Thank you George.”

He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips, then rose to go.  As he left he heard muffled sobs echoing through the dark night. 

The Train

The rocky coast slipped away, and soon the train was swaying through the trees.  Sarah clutched the carpet bag to her chest.  She was alone in the compartment, her last companion had departed when the Ticketmaster had walked through the hall booming, "Hartford, Hartford, next stop Hartford!" Her traveling jacket was tight, so tight in fact that she had lost control again.  This time in front of Mona.  Damn it, she couldn't become a fainting filly, not now.  Her whole life she had despised women like that, but now that the time was so ripe she was slipping- and she must not falter.  The lying was getting easier now- especially when it was laced with truth.  It would be hours before Mona read her confession; if she knew her friend she would not be able to bear the thought of her predicament easily and would shy away from anything to do with it.  And what a confession. Closing her eyes, Sarah let herself drift off as the train gently rocked and swayed towards her clandestine destination. 

I am most sorry to lie to you. my dearest of friends.  I know that once you learn the truth-the whole truth- there is no hope for further friendship between us.  I will start then at the beginning...

The rain clings to Sarah's hair as she musters her last reserve of energy to heave her trunk over the threshold of the dormitory.  With a groan, the trunk lid gives way and white underthings spring out to sprawl across the wet tile. 
"Oh damn it all to hell!"  A snort from behind her, a young gentleman with grey eyes and an amused smirk stands up from the rocker he had been lounging in. 

 "Watch yourself, or you'll be out of here before you even begin.  Mrs. Mullen, your dorm mother- well they don't call her the dragon lady for nothing."

"I shall try to remember, thank you sir." Fighting to regain her composure is of no avail as a blush creeps slowly up her neck.  "I am Miss Turner, pleased to make your acquaintance." His eyes are playful as he bends over her hand with mock severity.

"My dear, you can pretend at propriety all you wish, but I know you for what you are-" Hoping her look is properly offended, Sarah hazards a smile.

"And pray tell what is that?"

"Why, you're just like me.  Incidentally, my name is Eric."

When I first met Eric, I was so swept off my guard; Mona he was  perfect.  We sat for hours and talked about nothing and everything-we danced and laughed and he had the world and my heart in his hands.  I suppose, in retrospect, he never lied.  He didn't tell me he loved me, he showed me- though in showing I suppose he lied with something beyond his words.  I am getting ahead of myself though.  That fall was perfect, and I lost track of my life, of my classes, of writing you. 

The hours are slipping away as the sun fades over notes, long forgotten in the crisp afternoon air.  Sarah's hair is down, and her eyes are sparkling. 

"And why shouldn't women have the right to vote?  Why, I recall on our last exam that my marks were a full ten points higher than Grant Beauford's, why should he have the right to decide who represents us all to the world?"  Eric is smiling; taking her chin in his hands he tilts her face up and kisses her freckles. 

"You are so charming when you're in one of your passions."  Sarah tosses her curls, impatiently. 

"You, Sir, are exactly the problem.  I am angry, not charming.  Mr. Magathan- Excuse me, what are you doing?  Stop it!  Kisses are not the answer!  Eric!"  Sarah dissolves into breathless laughter and allows his hands to stray to her lace jacket lapels.  In a moment, Eric pauses and meets her passionate blue eyes. 

"I like kissing you, Sarah."  He is almost shy, and for a second she sees not a confident man of the world but a shy adolescent. 

"I like kissing you too.  I trust you."  He smiles, and takes her in his arms once more.  She lets him more easily this time, allowing another wall to fall silently before his wandering fingers. 

The first time I let him love me was both beautiful and horrible.  After, he didn't kiss me or hold me.  In the dark, I wrapped my arms around myself and let the tears fall.  I think it must have left around one in the morning, he didn't wake.  I slipped back across campus, too overwhelmed to even worry about being caught after curfew.  Safe in my room, I resolved to throw myself into my work.  Three weeks later, I had an excellent class average and morning sickness.

"Sarah.  Sarah...Sarah.  Miss Turner?"  Shapes are moving around Sarah's head; somewhere something is clinking metallically.  "Pulse is steady Doctor, it might simply be a case of the female hysterics."  NO!

 Struggling against what seems like an endless current of nausea and blinding light, Sarah tries to slow her breathing, counting.  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight...one, two three four...

"Doctor! She's awake!"  Footsteps clacking across tile and a white jacket comes into view. 

"There, there dear.  Now take this, yes there we go.  Gently."  A piece of cold metal in her mouth, and for a moment everything stills.  A hand brushes sweat from her hair and in a moment the metal is gone and someone is tisking.

"Her temperature is good, nurse I'm going to go call her dorm mother.  Sit with her for a while."  His shoes squeak and a door shuts.  The room is materializing now, Sarah can recognize the school's infirmary.  Closing her eyes she tries to remember how she came here.  A fly, a hot classroom.  Was that only this morning? 

"Oh, dear I'm so sorry."  Sarah tries to focus, the nurse has a kindly round face, and it's filled with concern. 

"What?  What's wrong with me?  Am I dying?  Where did he go...what is he going to do to me?" Her look is full of pity.

"The doctor doesn't know, but I recognize your condition.  You're pregnant, darling." 

The world is spinning again, but this time Sarah won't let it close in.  Fighting, she counts again.  One, two, fifty- she reaches a hundred before she feels safe opening her eyes.

"What do I do?  I was supposed to be a journalist, supposed to be serious- I never wanted to get married this young!"

"Oh, lovely!  He's proposed then?"

"Well no, but now he must, mustn't he?  With a sigh, the nurse turns down the covers and turns towards the door.

"I'll write down the name of a good doctor.  He's gentle, and he doesn't barely leave a scar."

I'm not proud of what comes next.  That doctor, I suppose he was gentler than most, and yet I have never felt more violated.  With any luck, he says, I'll still be able to bear children.  More children.  And now I have a scar on my belly and on my heart as well.  I made the mistake of telling Eric.  He hasn't spoken to me, except for one utterly unforgettable occurrence that still pains me to think of.  And now, my darling Mona, I shall not tell you where I am going, except that it is not to Maine.  I may once have been pregnant, but now I am utterly without child again.  Where I go, I shall no longer be Sarah Turner.  I will miss you, my oldest of friends.  I know Stephen will take the best care of you- else I would never leave.  Give my saddest regards to Timothy, tell him what you must to ensure he does not try to follow.  I have kept his ring as a keepsake of brighter times. Ever yours, Sarah.

The sky had long ago turned to velvety black, and Sarah slipped into the water car that adjoined her traveling car.  There was a small mirror, not much, but enough to wield a knife-her weapon of choice. 

Five minutes later, a young man knocked discreetly on Sarah's car and entered.  A trunk of women's clothing was overturned on the seat, deftly he went to it and fingers through the bustles and corsets, searching.  Plucking out her purse, he stashes it away in his breast pocket, safe.  Pulling out a letter and opening it, he reads, satisfied. 

"Mr Mullen, we are please to accept you as a junior editor at our paper.  Please use this letter as your form of reference and present yourself to One Times Square, 1475 Broadway at your earliest convenience."

Mr. Mullen's blue eyes spark, as he runs through his hand through his newly trimmed hair. 

"Grand Central Station, Grand Central Station, next stop Grand Central Station!"

The Prayer

Stephen sat in his office, surrounded by piles and piles of papers.  Legal documents were scattered to and fro and he was doing his hardest to concentrate on his work. He was supposed to be reading a lengthy contact reguarding Ramsey Bank, but every time his eyes found that name his mind would jump back to a red haired woman with hazel eyes.

It had been an absolute joy to see her enjoy the baseball game. Watching her take it all in was almost like watching a child.  Ramona had not had much of a childhood seeing that it had been lost in the shadows of her brother’s death and her mother’s insanity. He had wanted to give her a fun experience so she could forget about all her troubles for a day. He could tell that Ramona was haunted constantly by the ghosts of her past, and at times dark shadows would cross her bright eyes. He guessed that at those moments she was thinking about her mother. It made his heart ach when he saw how sad she would get.At times he had to stop himself from reaching out and holding her tight. He knew that the rules of society stated that the most he could do was hold her hand and steal a few kisses here and there, yet he wanted more than that. He wanted to hold her so that some of her worry would be given to him.  

He had never cared so much about another person in the world. As a young man, he had buried his head into books, working hard to get where he was, not caring about what happened on the way to success. Even his former fiancé, Caroline, had been a tool to get farther in life. When she had left him, his eyes had been opened to just how selfish he had been. Stephen had almost turned to drinking when a friend of his brought him to the church he attended. Stephen had not really wanted to attend a protestant church service, seeing as his family was Catholic, but it was there that he found what he had been looking for his whole life. 
 He found faith.
 And it was that faith in Christ that had softened his heart and opened his eyes. That had been a year and a half ago, and now he could not imagine his life without his faith.  Every Sunday Stephen would walk down the street to the tall steapled building, with fine stained glass, and friendly people. He had sat in that church hours, even at night when people had left and the streets of Boston were quiet, praying for his family and studying his Bible.

Stephen reached down into a drawer of his desk, and found the now worn leather book. His Bible had been given to him by members of the church and was beginning to fray a little. He carried that book with him almost everywhere, and when he had a spare moment he would take it out and read it.  In those pages he had discovered truth, and most importantly he had discovered love. When he had been courting Caroline he thought he had been in love with her, now he realized he had only lusted after her, not that he had ever acted on it.  She had never cared deeply for him either,  as their marriage had all but been arranged. 

He opened his Bible to 1 Corinthians 13, the chapter dedicated to love.  The chapter described the characteristics of love and what it means. It was one of his favorite passages, espicailly the last verse which read:

“And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.”  He sat there for sometime, the contract now forgotten, reading the chapter and taking in every word. It was as if the words on the page were breathing new life into his very lungs, into his soul.  He bowed his head in prayer.

Father, you have given me so much in this world, so much that I have taken it for granted. You say in your word that love is the greatest of all things, and you demonstrated that for us when you sent your son to die on the cross. I know I have taken not only your love but the love of my family for granted, and I am asking you now Father, to please let me not make that same mistake again. Lord, you said in your word that it is not good for man to be alone, that we need someone to walk the road with us. Is Ramona the one I am meant to be with Lord? You know my heart, and so you know me, and you must know that I am falling in love with her. Is she the one?

He sat there in the silence of his office, waiting for a reply. He knew God did not always answer right away, but he would listen for the still small voice when it came. Not everyone heard the voice of the Lord, because people forgot to listen for it. But ever since he had been saved Stephen had listend and heard. Now he waited in the quiet of the room, waited till an answer finally came.

Yes.  

Chills shot threw his spine and a rush of absolute joy swam threw his veins. The Lord had given him an answer and he felt it in the depth of his soul. She was the one, the one who he would make a life with, the one he had been praying for.