If it had not been for the rumble of the bus tires crossing the railroad tracks signaling the soon approach of her stop, Marcie may very well have missed it, for her eyes were so filled with tears her vision was blurred. Her thoughts were occupied by her inner sorrow, so she was not paying attention to the progress of the bus.

Nevertheless, she raised herself off the seat, pulled the buzzer cord to signal her desire to get off, and gripped onto the isle hand-rail to steady her weak knees. The driver began to pull away from the hot sultry, unkept area as quickly as her feet touched the sidewalk, causing her to grip her purse more tightly under her arm and move safely away from the moving vehicle. He, too, didn't like the appearance of the neighborhood and expressed his disgust by rudely moving the bus before his dejected passenger was safely dispatched.

What did he care anyway? His heartless eyes didn't notice the tear-stained cheeks nor her stumble as he jerked the bus away from the curb. He didn't know the integrity of her heart and that this seedy tenement housing was all she had been able to afford.

Then. What now?

Her feet were as lead bricks as she walked the half block to her rented ruoom. Up the steep stairs she climbed, hanging on to the railing carefully lest she get slivers in her hand from the old, rotting unpainted wood.

She thought each step upward might be her last. Her heart was in her throat and her head felt dizzy with the shame that had been flung in her face moments before.

Fired. Fired! Marcie, dear Marcie who had never taken a thing consciously in her brief nineteen years of life, had been accused of stealing from her employer, and was fired. The shame and mortification of it filled her soul.

As she had boarded the bus to go home, she felt everyone on it must know she was an accused thief. She could not look at anyone. Oh what was she to do? They had said she need not report in on Monday; they would hold an investigation which would probably take months, and in the meantime she was fired and her last two week's pay was being withheld pending the outcome of the investigation.

The same old steep steps greeted her, the same old peeling door awaited her as she fumbled in her purse for her keys. She entered her rented room, looked about at her rented furniture and slumped down in her rented chair. She put her hands to her face and bent over her knees and let the tears come freely. No one could see her here. She sobbed her heart out.

Her pay gone, her weekly room and board fee due, and no job. Her brief life flashed before her eyes; she had spent her life in an orphanage for as long as she could remember; she had been told her parents were killed in an accident . . . she was too young to remember any more than that at the time, and apparently there weren't any relatives, or at least any that wanted to take her.

She was always watching people come and go, and taking some child with them. But never her. She had tried so hard to be liked. The few times she had been chosen to try out at a home, they always returned her saying they had found some fault; either she was too slow an eater or too picky, or too skinny and so surely she must be sickly, or something. Always something.

They couldn't understand that she was nervous and wanted to be accepted so badly that she couldn't eat, and certainly couldn't eat fast. It wasn't that she didn't like the food; it just couldn't pass the lump of longing to "belong" that was in her throat. She would have eaten anything, just to make them like her, but she couldn't eat quickly.

How she wanted a mom and dad to love her and accept her and tuck her in bed at night. But no one kept her. Then she became too old, and no one pointed to her any more to even give her a try. She was too gangly she heard some say; no, they wanted someone younger. Well she had been "younger" and she had not been "wanted."

Marcie had tried so hard. She had worked with great diligence at everything she had been given to do, many times out-working other children in families. At times when she was sick, she never let on that she didn't feel good for fear of being rejected, but even that didn't work. So she was left behind. Finally when the matrons encouraged her to come forward so the prospective adoptive parents could view all the children, she would just bow her head and sadly turn away. It broke her heart to see all the others joyfully leaving and not returning.

Then came her day of coming of age to be released. Her diligent work habits would finally pay off, and as she left the orphange which had been her home, she quickly found a joob and a room with board to get her started. Granted, it wasn't fancy, but it was honorable, and she had a feeling of self-worth as she veraciously paid her way without taking advantage of others or accepting something for nothing.

Never mind the misunderstanding mind of the bus driver. He was only looking at externals. He couldn't see Marcie's scared but honest and trusting heart. She was used to this treatment by now from the drivers, and had considered that it was as a thorn on a rose bush. Not that she would be presumptuous to consider herself a rose, but comparing like with like, she saw many thorns, and indeed, should not there be a budding rose on the stem?

But today the thorn pricked her already breaking heart and she let her tears flow as drops of blood into her hands.

All had been fine until she was called into the office today and told she was fired. How could this have happened to her? She had worked so hard for them for over a year; had been so faithful in giving them a full day's work for their skimpy pay. She had never taken long lunch breaks like the others did, nor expanded her mid-morning and afternoon breaks. But that didn't count when the final charge was made and she was dismissed, even to the withholding of what she had earned.

The rattle of pans and fragrance of cooking food brought her to her senses. She better wash the redness away from her face and prepare to join the other boarders for supper. She must not waste this meal that was paid for, nor invite questions, which surely would happen if they saw her blotchy face from crying.

The cracked mirror above the rusty sink helped shield the extreme red and puffiness around her eyes as Marcie splashed cold water on her face. She buried her face in the coarse towel and leaned back against the wall, not minding the peeling old wallpaper, shutting out all sight, and with it, the sounds.

Lowering her hands from her face, her eyes rested on the wall clock and she realized she had a few minutes before she must go downstairs for the evening meal.

She'll count her money and see how bad off she is. Losing the two week's pay would hurt tremendously, but perhaps if she were frugal with what she had, and her landlady would allow her to stay a week without pay in advance, she might be able to land a job again. She counted her money.

The situation did not look good. And slumping down in her lumpy chair she also knew that finding a job without a reference from her former one would be very difficult. Oh what was she to do? She rested her head on the high back of the chair, totally discouraged.

The tinkle of the supper bell interrupted her unproductive thoughts and she slipped her tired feet back into her shoes and went to what could be her last meal.

Marcie hoped that "shame" or "thief" wasn't written on her forehead as she entered the diningroom, but no one really noticed her entrance. They were too busy engrossed in their own thoughts. Their own little worlds. Their own troubles.

Except for one. They called her Anna. No one knew from whence she had come. Rumor among the boarders that had been there a while had it that she just appeared one day, saying her name was Anna, and that she cleaned floors in a nearby warehouse, evenings. Her age was not fathomable for her eyes were sharp, yet kind, her skin wrinkled, yet fresh, her back stooped, yet her step quick. Little passed her wise countenance without notice, and when she could, she offered a helping hand, or word, or touch. And as the world sometimes is, it rejects love, for it cannot handle it without believing that it couldn't be free, without strings. Judging it by its own standards, and thereby missing out on God. And so, often, Anna's kindnesses were rejected or looked upon skeptically.

But these things were not important to Anna. Her calling and purpose was higher. She minded not the things that so easily beset others, and remained firm to her mission. She belonged to an Army that could not be destroyed because of lack of acceptance or approval or apparent victory and success. Many a battle was won without recognition given to this warrior, except for an act of Grace when she would be permitted the joy of assurance in her heart that victory was obtained. For her battles were fought in the loneliness of her solitary room, on her knees, when no one could see her, and she would look up with seeking, trusting eyes and call upon the Almighty to intervene on behalf of some poor soul.

Anna had learned the secret of communing with God and bringing to Him first, her every need, and then, unselfishly, the needs of others she was granted the honor to observe. And with eyes of love, many a sinner was brought to the Throne room and Anna, herself, had fewer and fewer needs. She was only passing through, and her ultimate needs would one day be met when she would see her King. This was Anna's life, and hope, for she had been delivered out of an horrible pit, and knew no other Friend. This was the only Friend that stuck close to her. She did not want to go back to the Pit.

She never talked about her cloudy past, for she had been delivered from it, and feared, lest her good life might end and she be sent back. She had found in the Holy Book of Life that winning souls was wise and covered a multitude of sins. She must have a multitude of sins for the torment she had been through. Not remembering anything good, except that which happened since her Friend delivered her.

He simply took her by the hand one morning when she was out walking, while the dew was still on the grass, and walked her feet and her heart to freedom. She would never willingly go back.

On and on she was led, while she was given a new heart by the Heart Maker, and came to this boarding house where no questions were asked, and everyone was content to know her only as "Anna."

Marcie slipped into her usual chair and began to dish up her plate. She would force herself to eat. She did not notice Anna as she bowed her head before she filled her plate. It was the custom to mind your own business in the boarding house, unless one was of a mind to be cruel, so usually the table conversation was without meat or meaning, each hoping to escape some crticism or be at the mercy of some officious person.

To Marcie's relief the meal was over quickly and without incident. She rose and began to help clear the table. The landlady, old Mrs. Grimm, noticed this unprecedented action and took the plates from her hands.

"Here, Marcie, you're payin' for this, don't you go helpin' out the cook."

"Well, I thought maybe I should. Mrs. Grimm . . . could I speak with you alone a moment?"

Her pleading eyes forewarned Mrs. Grimm that something unpleasant was about to transpire . . . after all . . . "no one worked for nothing, did they?" and so she hardened her face as she moved to the side to hear what Marcie had to say.

Marcie began quickly, "Mrs. Grimm, I lost my job today, and they withheld my pay. I was hoping, that is, since I've lived here for a year now and never missed out on paying my room and board on time, I, ah, I would like to ask you if I could stay next week and look for a job, and pay you at the end of the week when I get my paycheck? I'm . . . I'm sure I'll find another job right away."

"Just why did they withhold your pay? What you done?" Mrs Grimm questioned.

"I, well, nothing, er, I . . ."

"Yes?" pressed Mrs. Grimm.

"Well, they said I stole from them, but Mrs. Grimm I didn't . . . I have never . . ."

"STOLE! My land, we have a THIEF in the house? A thief in MY respectable house? What kind of name you bringin' down on us, girl? and you want me to let you stay without paying in advance? I wouldn't let you do that, and in fact if you had the mney, which you apparently don't, I wouldn't let you stay anyway! No Sir! OUT you go, girlie, and the sooner the better. Let's see . . . you paid through Sunday; I'll expect you out then, and listen to me," she said firmly, staring glaringly into Marcie's frightened blue eyes, "I'll be watching every move you make and I'll take a count of everything in your room to make sure you don't run off with anythin' t'aint yours, unnerstand?"

Marcie hung her head. "Yes, ma'asm," and walked away. She knew the other boarders had heard Mrs. Grimm's hard voice and she didn't have courage to face them. She slowly turned about to go to her room, when a gentle touch on her shoulder caused her to look up into the kind, understanding eyes of Anna.

Marcie recognized the old woman as one the boarders had at times picked on unmercifully. Marcie had never understood what they had against this woman, but knew the woman never retaliated.

"Here, Miss, this is tonight's paper. Perhaps you will find something in here. And . . . I'll be prayin' for you," the old boarder said.

Marcie looked at her kind, wrinkled face and her eyes filled with tears at this unexpected show of kindness.

"Thank you," was all Marcie could whisper, and then she quickly ran up to her room, choking back the tears of embarrassment.

A paper. A job. On a Friday night, how was she to find something to tide her over? That would be hopeless. Not even "prayer" could fix that, she said to herself without knowledge, and without thought even as to what "prayer" might entail.

The lumpy chair once again had a body slump into it. Oh well, might as well try, Marcie thought as she flipped through the pages to the want ads. Column after column she read; many jobs were listed that she probably could have applied for, but each one asked for references. Dare she only give the orphanage? No, thy'd ask what she had been doing for this past year, and then she'd be deemed a liar on top of a thief.

She cast the paper aside and with a splitting head-ache decided the best thing to do was wait until morning. She'd get a good night's rest. Or at lest a rest; she must try to block out some of the bleakness that was falling around her.

The rented lumpy hard bed suddenly felt unfamiliar to her as she crawled beneath the rented covers. She lay her head against the rented picky feather pillow and stared at the cracked and peeling ceiling as the light slowly faded from the sunset. The sunset was free.

Were there better days? She thought about what that wrinkled lady had said. She'd pray for her. Pray. What was that? And while thinking on that thought, Marcie drifted off to sleep as an answer to another's prayer.

As Anna began her night's scrubbing of the long hallway floor in the warehouse, her time on her knees wasn't wasted. This faithful servant of God knelt in her work of prayer also, and lifted up a need of another, to an all-knowing God Who mercifully blesses us in our search for Truth. All night long, Anna scrubbed and prayed, and the time seemed as but a moment so close to the Holy of Holies was she.

She never saw the dirt in the water, but saw the hurt of another human being made in the image of God, her Maker. Her hope and her prayer were in the promise that weeping may endure for a night, but there is the assurance of joy coming in the morning. In her heart, she always believed there would be a morning.

After breakfast, Marcie combed through the ads looking for something. Anything. Then her eyes fell on an ad seeking a housekeeper. Curiosity filled her heart as she read on . . . they would pay her bus fare to their town, give her room and board and a small salary in exchange for cooking, cleaning and other light duties on a farm. It said only to call collect to the number listed.

The telephone was in the dining room, and thankfully the room was empty when Marcie got up enough courage to place the call. Her hands shook as she dialed the long distance number and heard the southern drawl of the operator placing the collect call. Yes, it would be accepted. Marcie held her breth. Then she spoke, simply telling that she had been raised in an orphanage and was a hard worker. No, she was rarely ever sick . . . no, she had no relatives that would be visiting her . . . no, she didn't have much to move,nothing more than what could fit into a suitcase . . . all the questions!

But, before she knew it, she was being given instructions on how to pick up her ticket at the bus depot that same afternoon, and she would be on her way!

Marcie looked around to see if the old boarder was any where in the room, so that she could tell her of her good fortune, but she did not see her. She would so have liked to thank the strange old lady who had shown a kindness to her, but it looked that Marcie would leave the boarding house without thanking this one, this only one, who had been kind to her.

Mrs. Grimm was crisp as Marcie told her she'd be leaving a day early; glad to get rid of the "mark" on her boarding house. But of course not glad enough to refund any of her money, not even for the meals not eaten.

Marcie only had two suitcases. Her total belongings could easily fit in them, and as she had been instructed from the orphanage matrons, she tied them shut with straps so that they wouldn't pop open when tossed about.

She was heading for the front door when Mrs. Grimm put her through the embarrassing ordeal of forcing her to open her baggage so it could be searched. Marcie thought she would die of humiliation, and worse, feared she'd be late and miss her bus. As the search began, a crowd gathered which seemed to please the landlady for it gave her an extra opportunity to show her position of authority and power.

Mrs. Grimm would pick up every item and turn it over in her hands, muttering that it probably was stolen. The gathered onlookers twittered, egging her on, like vultures over a carcass, not knowing their own rotten soul was being defiled. A gentle arm came about marcie's shoulders, and once again she saw the wrinkled face encouraging her, not consenting to the crowd.

Finally, after what seemed hours, though was only moments, Mrs. Grimm finished her search without finding any "evidence" and let her go in time to catch her bus, but not enough time to communicate anything to Anna other than that she had found a job, and handed her the circled ad before running out the door. She couldn't find words to utter a thank you to this landlady, so mortified was she.

The ticket was ready as promised at the station, and Marcie was about to board the bus immediately, not leaving any room for doubt or second thoughts to enter in. After all, what else could go wrong? This was the only thing that appeared available to her. Before Marcie could catch her breath she saw the slums of the city swiftly fading behind her. One day and one night on the bus and she would be in her new world. Surely it would be better, she thought as she lay her head back on the soft seat to rest, while anxious, calloused knees bent once again in prayer for the safety of this girl.

Another call had been placed by this Servant to check on the ad and Anna's wizened heart recognized greed and deception. Quickly she called the bus depot in an effort to intercept the girl, but the call was too late, the bus had left on time. Anna's only alternative was to go to the Father for Help. She would place a hedge of protection around this innocent lass through the power of prayer and the promises in God's Word. And then she would lay herself down in Peace.

The hall telelphone jangled Anna alert. No one else seemed to be around to answer. She made her way out and lifted the receiver, "Hello . . ."

"This is Arnold & Arnold Inc. calling Miss Marcie Wells, please," a business voice said.

"I'm sorry, but Miss Wells is no longer here . . . " Anna replied.

"Oh, say, now. I'm sorry to hear that," the voice replied. "Do you know where I can reach her?" he asked.

Anna remembered Marcie mentioning the name of her precious employer was the same as this . . .

"Could I take a message, sir? I may be able to locate her," Anna said hopefully.

"Well, that would be kind of you, ma'am. It is quite important that she be reached. You see, er, there's been a great misunderstanding, and Marcie can be recalled to her job at once, if she would still be interested in it," the voice went on.

"I see. I shall be glad to tell her if I can reach her, sir, is there anything else you would want to add?" Anna asked.

"Please express our sincerest apologies to Miss Wells. The guilty party has just come forth, totally clearing Miss Wells' name. We will more than make it up to her if she will find it in her heart to come back to work for us . . . actually, she's the best employee we ever had," the now humble voice declared.

"I am sure she will be pleased to hear this. Thank you for calling, and I'll try my best to reach her. She caught a bus this afternoon, but I'll try and leave a message at the other end to have her return. Thank you, sir, for making this right." Anna hung up the receiver.

Now what was she to do? She would have to call that number again and try and leave a message. That was the only way to reach Marcie.

The paper was still in the dining room, and Anna returned with it to place her call. She heard it ringing straight through.

"Ya?" a gruff voice answwered.

"Hello, are you expecting the arrival of a young miss by the name of Marcie Wells?" she asked, hoping they would not remember her previous call when she had pretended to be applying for the job.

"Ya, what about it? Who wants to know?" the burly voice growled.

"A friend. Could I leave a message with you to have her call me?" Anna asked.

"We ain't a message service here, lady. 'An we don'ts like bein' bothered with worthless calls!" he said and was just slamming the receiver down when he heard the anxious voice saying,

"Please, please don't hang up. Please tell her she can have her old job back if she wants it . . ." Anna hurriedly interjected.

The young man thought a moment, then with a gleam in his eye said, "Sure, lady, I'll pass that on to her. That all?"

"Yes, and thank you for being kind, sir," Anna said.

The mendacious illiterate lout hung up the receiver and said under his breath "Lady, that message ain't never gettin' delivered!"

END OF CHAPTER ONE -- TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS TO "MARCIE" ORDER THE BOOK NOW! $6.00 includes shipping in the USA...... send check or money order with title to: