The Golden Angel Read online

  © 2001 by Gilbert Morris

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2011

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-7051-1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

  Cover illustration by William Graf

  Cover design by Josh Madison

  To Paul and Shirley St. John

  Johnnie and I are so grateful

  that God has put us together.

  You two have been a blessing to us.

  The pilgrim way is sweeter

  with companions like you!

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  PART ONE

  The Misfit 1913–1921

  1. The Rebellion

  2. Woman of the Masai

  3. Out of the Sky

  4. The Awakening

  5. Among the Clouds

  6. “Part of You Will Die Soon. . . .”

  7. The Sky Is Falling!

  PART TWO

  Quaid 1921–1922

  8. On Her Own

  9. A Thief in the Night

  10. A Hero in the Kitchen

  11. “Maybe I Should Go. . . .”

  12. A Vision for Tomorrow

  PART THREE

  Fortune Summer 1922

  13. Practice, Practice, Practice!

  14. Jo and Rev

  15. In the Spotlight

  16. Date With a Star

  17. The Door Opens

  18. The Hound of Heaven

  PART FOUR

  Illusions Fall 1922

  19. A Hollywood Party

  20. Making Movies

  21. Love Under the Lights

  22. Between Heaven and Hell

  23. “Do You Really Love Me?”

  24. The Real Adventure

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Rebellion

  1913

  As soon as Erin Winslow awoke, the thought of facing another day at school oppressed her like a heavy weight settling on her spirits. As always she awoke in a sudden rush, not coming out of sleep slowly in stages but instantly at one moment of time, completely aware of where she was and of the circumstances around her. She lay there in the darkness of her room, her inner clock telling her that dawn was still at least half an hour away. It was a gift she had, even at the age of nine, of knowing time in a strange, intuitive fashion.

  I won’t go to that old school today—I won’t!

  She rolled off of her narrow bed and dressed quickly in the darkness. As always, she had put her clothes on the chair beside her bed, and now she slipped into them quickly. The air was hot and humid, and as she donned underwear and a khaki dress, then slipped on stockings and a pair of worn black leather shoes, the dread of facing another day in a classroom increased.

  Not wanting her parents to see her, she would have exited out the window if she could have, but it was barred to keep out prowling leopards and other dangerous wildlife. She opened the door silently, not allowing it to squeak, and moved down the short hall through the living area of the house and carefully turned the front doorknob. She held her breath, waiting for a sound. None came, and she felt a quick satisfaction in making her escape.

  Closing the door silently behind her, Erin paused only for an instant. The outbuildings were mere shadows in the ebony darkness just before the dawn, but she knew every inch of ground in this territory as well as she knew the layout of her own room. When she reached the fence, which was tall enough to keep out all but an agile leopard, she pushed up the bar, stepped outside, and pulled the gate closed after her. As soon as she was outside the gate, she moved through the predawn darkness, breathing in the warm air with its accompanying smells.

  Traveling in the dark in the African veldt could be dangerous, but Erin had grown up with such dangers. Now she breathed in the scent of loamy earth and the green fragrance of the woodland as it closed in a hundred yards from her home. She took a well-beaten path and moved steadily away from her house, totally familiar with her surroundings.

  She reached an opening in the thick brush. The land began to lighten as the sun peeked over the eastern hills, bringing with its warmth a sense of gladness that Erin always enjoyed at first light. She was a perceptive child, more aware of her environment than most white people. The native Masai, with whom Erin felt quite at home, were completely at one with this world and needed neither watches to tell time nor barometers to forecast a storm. Even at her youthful age, Erin had somehow soaked in some of this gift from her Masai friends.

  The day before, Erin had endured great humiliation at school and had arrived home full of rebellious thoughts. Just before going to sleep, she had told herself, I’ll just go out in the morning and stay until it’s too late to go to school! The plan had seemed simple enough, but even as she watched the pale sun rise, touching the hills with glimmers of light, driving away the shadows from the African world, she understood that it would not do to skip school.

  Slowing her pace as the sun turned orange in the tawny sky and illuminated the veldt, she slowed to a halt, then sat down on a fallen tree. Her heart was sad and discouraged, but at the same time an anger she could not explain gnawed at her insides.

  She sat there motionless, listening to the sounds of chattering birds and monkeys screaming as they swung effortlessly through the trees to her left. Her eye caught the fluttering wings of a bird dropping down before her to perch in a thorn tree. Instantly she identified it as a black-throated honey guide. She knew the bird well, for her Masai friend Nbuta had taught her the strange habits of the honey guide two years ago. “This bird,” he had told her, “will lead the honey badger and even a man to the hives of bees. He feasts on the leavings of the raid.” Erin suddenly remembered how Nbuta had smiled and added, “If no honey is left for the honey guide, it will lead the next man to a snake or a lion. . . .”

  Even with the rebellious spirit that lay in Erin at that moment, she had to smile, for Nbuta had been teasing her. She had learned to trust the towering Masai warrior, but she had also discovered that the man’s sense of humor often led him to make exaggerated statements. While she was enjoying the early-morning freshness and reflecting on these memories, time passed without her concern or awareness. Erin had absorbed the Masai attitude toward time. While other white people were enslaved to watches and schedules, Erin had learned simply to let time carry her along, to not let life hurry her.

  Now as she arose from the fallen tree, knowing that she was being foolish and that she would have to go to the hated school, she turned and moved reluctantly back toward the house. The world about her seemed to be stretching awake in the morning stillness. As she crossed a grassy pasture, cabbage butterflies scattered at her footsteps and fluttered from flower to flower, and high above her a hawk soared ever upward on rising thermals. She was tempted to turn from the path and go to the river’s edge to watch the white egrets as they dotted the darkness of the water, but she kept to her resolve to return home.

  Close to her house a white-maned bush pig materialized out of the
brush. He stared at her with red, malevolent eyes, but she wisely stood her ground and made no threatening moves. After scratching his raspy hide with a sharp hoof, he turned and disappeared. Erin saw the female dashing after him, leading a bunch of striped piglets, which squealed mightily as they dove into the lush vegetation.

  Erin stiffened at the sound of her own name. Her mother was calling her, so she picked up her pace until she reached the fence enclosing their property. She saw her mother standing in front of the house, and with reluctance Erin opened the gate and made her way across the fenced-in enclosure until she stood in front of her.

  “You’re going to be late for school, Erin. Where have you been?”

  “Just out looking at the sunrise, Mother.”

  Katie Winslow had the same blond hair at the age of thirty-eight she’d had as a girl. Even with her hair tied back and wearing a simple, shapeless housedress, she was still a striking woman, although the years in Africa had aged her somewhat. Her blue eyes searched Erin’s face intently. “Were you outside the gate, Erin?”

  “Yes, I was, Mama.”

  “Your father told you never to do that in the dark.” She paused, awaiting an apology from her daughter that was not forthcoming. Her disappointment pulled her mouth taut. “All right, now go inside and get ready for school. Don’t forget to wash your face and brush your teeth.”

  Erin moved inside with resignation, but she revealed her anger in the set of her back. She went at once to her room to make her brief preparations. After pouring some water from a pitcher into a porcelain basin on the washstand beside her bed, she gave her face a cursory scrubbing and brushed her teeth with some baking soda she kept in a pottery jar. Then standing before a small mirror on the wall, she pulled a brush through her luxurious blond hair. Staring back at her was a sturdy child with wide-set eyes, and she whispered to the image before her, “I hate that old school—I hate it!”

  She picked up her books bound with a leather strap and stepped out of her bedroom. When she reached the large room that served as a kitchen, dining area, and living room, she found the rest of the family waiting. Her brother Patrick, two years older, snapped at her, “Why don’t you hurry up! I’m starving to death!” Patrick was a stringy boy with dark brown hair and dark blue eyes.

  “That’s enough from you, Patrick,” their father ordered. “Sit down, Erin.” Barney Winslow had the same black hair he had brought to Africa with him years before. His features were somewhat battered, for he had been a prizefighter while a young man, and his struggle to survive on the dark continent had left lines around the corners of his eyes. He had a scar that ran down his right cheek in front of his ear and disappeared where his neck joined his jawbone. He was wearing a pair of worn khaki drill trousers and a light blue shirt unbuttoned at the neck. His hands were strong and square, and he wore a simple wedding band on the third finger of his left hand. “Your mother tells me you went outside the gate before dawn. I told you not to do that.”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

  “Well, don’t do it again.” Barney bowed his head and asked a quick blessing. He spoke to God in an intimate fashion, as a man would speak to his friend, yet at the same time in a voice filled with respect and just a touch of awe. “Our Father, we ask that you help us to have grateful hearts for this food. Let us never take for granted all the daily blessings that come from your hand. In the name of Jesus, bless this food and keep us safe this day, and help us to be your representatives, declaring the gospel wherever we go. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  Patrick speared a pancake and plopped it onto his plate even before his father had finished uttering the amen.

  “You had your eyes open while Daddy was praying!” Erin accused.

  “How would you know that unless you had your eyes open, too?”

  “You always have your eyes open.”

  “That’s enough, Erin,” Katie said. “Now eat.”

  Erin was a light eater and lingered over her meal. The pancakes were soft and delicious, made especially so by the dark honey that Erin herself had gathered along with Nbuta.

  “If you don’t want that pancake, I’ll eat it,” Patrick offered.

  Erin blinked her eyes, for she had been thinking of school and dreaded the moment when they would have to go. “No. I want it.” She did not really want it, but her disagreeable thoughts about school caused her to deny her brother the pleasure of an extra pancake. She forced herself to eat half of it while her parents talked about the business of the mission field. Being the daughter of missionaries was the only life she knew, and mealtime conversations quite naturally tended to focus on the needs of the people they were called to serve. She heard her father speaking of the sick and those who were in trouble, and of the trips that he would make to hold evangelistic services deep in the interior. To Erin, this was his everyday business, and having heard it all before, she was only half listening now.

  When the meal was over, Patrick ran off to get his books. Erin interrupted her father to say, “Daddy, I don’t know why I have to go to that old school.”

  “You’ve got to go to school, sweetheart. Everyone has to. We all did.”

  “I’m just no good at it. Please don’t make me go.”

  Barney Winslow shot a quick glance at his wife, who shook her head slightly and raised her shoulders in frustration. The two had talked of this often, and now he simply said, “If you’d try harder, you’d do better, Erin.”

  “I do try hard!” The rebellion in her reached a crescendo at her father’s comment. Erin gritted her teeth and set her jaw. “You don’t believe me, but I try hard!”

  “No, you don’t.” Patrick had come back into the room. “You just give up.”

  “You shut up, Patrick!”

  “That’s enough, Erin, and you too, Patrick. I’m going to start the car. You come with me, Patrick.”

  Patrick stuck his tongue out at Erin and left with his father. At once Katie went over and put her hand on Erin’s shoulder in an effort to reassure her. “It’s all right. You’ll do well today, I’m sure.”

  Erin stood suddenly and shook off her mother’s hand. She loved her mother, but now she could no longer contain her anger, and she burst out, “No, I won’t, Mama! I’m stupid! All the kids do better than I do—even the little ones.”

  Katie at once put her arms around the girl. Her heart grieved for her, and she said quietly, “It just takes you a little longer. You’ll catch up. You’ll see.”

  “I won’t! I won’t ever catch up! I’m just stupid!”

  Erin snatched up her books and left the room. Katie followed her to the door and watched her daughter as she climbed into the car, which Barney had brought to the front door. The ancient automobile made a raucous noise, breaking the stillness of the morning air, and as the car chugged through the double gates, Katie watched them disappear in a cloud of dust.

  Turning back inside, she went to the kitchen, where Pamela, a tall, lean woman in her midthirties, shook her head. “That Miss Erin, she is a problem.” Pamela had served the Winslows for years as cook, housecleaner, and at least partially a mother to the two children. Now she said, “I feel sorry for Miss Erin. She’s always behind. Why is that, Miss Katie?”

  Katie shook her head. “I don’t know. She says she’s stupid, but that’s not so.”

  “No, it’s not so,” Pamela nodded abruptly. “She’s smart enough to know every animal and every bird in the world. It’s just books that bothers her.”

  “She’ll do better as she gets older.” Katie began to help Pamela clean up the breakfast dishes, but her heart ached as she pondered her daughter’s problems with school. Patrick had always loved books and study, but Erin never had. The only interest she had ever taken was when she was a mere baby and loved picture books. But when it came time for her to do her own reading, she had suddenly rebelled. Life had been one continual struggle since then.

  As Katie Winslow moved about her work that morning, she prayed with all her heart for Erin
and wondered what would happen to her. As was her custom, she asked for God’s grace for the day ahead. “Oh, God, keep Erin in your hand this day, for she needs you!”

  ****

  Mr. Franklin Simms was a small man of thirty-five with pale blue eyes and thinning blond hair. His thick glasses gave him an owlish look, and his high-pitched voice often came out rather shrill. The son of missionary parents, he had dedicated his own life to teaching in the mission school, instructing both missionary children and any native children who cared to attend. Now Mr. Simms looked over the class and saw that all were present. His eyes lingered on the four Winslow children. Amelia and Phillip Winslow sat together on the front row. Both of them had auburn hair, a common trait among the Winslows. Their father, Andrew, was the director of the mission station. Along with his wife, Dorothy, they lived in a large house ten miles away from the school, which had been located centrally for the missionaries. Mr. Simms was pleased enough with both Amelia and Phillip, for both of them were manageable and good at their work.

  Shifting his eyes to the seats behind them, Mr. Simms took in their cousins Patrick and Erin Winslow. His eyes drew down into a squint as he saw that, as usual, Erin was staring out the window.

  “The lesson is here, Erin, not in that tree outside.” He waited until Erin looked around and faced him squarely. Mr. Simms felt he had never been able to get control of this child, for she had an independence that was rare even among missionary children. Now as their gazes locked, he made a vow again, I’ll teach this child if it kills us both! Then aloud, he addressed the class. “All right. We will begin this morning with geometry.”

  A slight groan went up from part of the class, but he noted that Erin Winslow relaxed slightly. She always does well at geometry, Mr. Simms thought. Why can’t she do better with history and English and the other subjects?

  “Why do we have to study this old stuff—squares and triangles?” The speaker was Harry Long, the thirteen-year-old son of a missionary whose station was nearly thirty miles away. Harry stayed at Andrew Winslow’s house during the school term. He was an athletic young man not particularly given to studies.