Pocketful of Pearls, a novel by Shelley Bates

Book two in the Elect Trilogy that began with Grounds to Believe
and ends with A Sounding Brass.

"Absorbing and poignant. With a deft hand, Bates examines how our Lord's unfailing grace can set even the most broken spirits free."
--Deborah Bedford, author of If I Had You and When You Believe

"Pocketful of Pearls is the powerful story of a woman brutalized by an evil perversion of faith, and her empowering journey to true faith and love. Shelley Bates is a brave and talented author who looks at the darkness as well as the light."
--Bestselling author Mary Jo Putney

"For readers new to the inspirational genre, as I am, Pocketful of Pearls must be close to the Gold Standard. Its themes are deep and universal, rejecting the notion of a punishing Deity, and embrace the tenet that the healing power of faith and love can remedy any seemingly hopeless situation. The author demonstrates a power of riveting storytelling and offers a message very much worth hearing, especialy for people whose lives have been touched by violence or abuse towards women. Regardless of one's religious denomination--or lack thereof--this is a book that resonates in the heart. I literally couldn't put it down."
--Ciji Ware, best-selling author of A Light on the Veranda and Island of the Swans

"Seldom does one find a hard hitting Christian novel; the norm for the genre is sweetness and light. Yet, this book defies the standard to deliver a compelling story that shines a light on cultic activity that diverts just a shade off of true faith. This is a wonderful book that illuminates II Peter chapter two."
--Amanda Killgore, Huntress Reviews

"Chained by her religious sect’s rigid rules and tormented by the sick demands of the sect’s leader, Dinah Traynell finds small comfort in the rebellion of bulemia and the love of a pet. Then a shabby beggar appears on her doorstep, and she offers human kindness in secret, lest she be judged for consorting with a 'worldly' person. Dr. Matthew Nicholas would never have guessed that false accusations could oust him from his position as a university professor, much less that he could be robbed on the road and left without the means to feed himself. The shelter offered by a lovely, emotionally wounded woman seems a gift from heaven, until God asks him to help her overcome an insidious trap. How can he help with her problems when he’s still running from his own? Bates delivers a gut-wrencher with poignant style and refreshing breaths of humor. Her depiction of spiritual and physical abuse--especially the nature of the abuser--is spot on. Dinah is an engaging and convincing heroine, though Matthew doesn’t quite match her depth."
--RT BookCLUB Magazine

"This story was horrifying and compelling. Many times throughout the book, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I was sucked into the vortex of the story and, to be honest, it left me a little shaken. This novel, a continuation of Bates’ RITA Award winning Grounds to Believe, was beautifully written and profound. I’ll be waiting for book three, A Sounding Brass, which is scheduled for release in August 2006. An insightful look at a disturbing, real issue. This book is highly recommended."
--Sara Mills, Focus on Fiction

"The novel has a unique plot with intriguing characters. Not having been in a similar situation, it's difficult to identify with Dinah, but it's easy to sympathize with her pain. It's frustrating as a reader to be a spectator to such horrific events and feel helpless to do anything about them, except to turn pages. Dinah's gradual transformation from membership in a toxic church to independence is slow but very believable. The storytelling is straightforward and fascinating. Supporting characters, such as Matthew, Dinah's mother, and other members of the church, add dimension and realism. Although God's true hope is eventually revealed to Dinah, a sense of heaviness pervades most of Pocketful of Pearls. It's not entirely clear until the last pages whether justice will prevail or if there will just be closure to the horror. With such a heavy theme, a thread of levity would have helped to make the novel more readable. Overall, Shelley Bates forges bravely ahead with a topic many would shy away from, shining light onto a religious situation that looks, on the surface, like truth but in reality is a giant lie."
--Melissa Parcel, BookLoons

"Anger at unfairness, compassion for the hurting, and a desire for justice are just a few of the emotions the reader experiences through this captivating novel that exposes the “toxic church” and reveals the healing power and freedom that comes with the Truth. This book is entertaining, and is a good reminder of the need for accountability and honesty for those in leadership positions. It exposes the risks and costs of excluding those requirements. Bates does an excellent job at handling delicate topics with skill and strength. She leaves the reader with a sense of hope and satisfaction. "
--Kay Tira, Author's Choice Reviews

"Pocketful of Pearls is a novel I found hard to read at first. There are some scenes that where extremely hard for me to get beyond, however once I did get past these scenes I found an excellent novel that I’m glad to have read. Ms. Bates does a wonderful job of allowing us to watch as Dinah struggles with what she thought was the truth and what the truth really is. I did find the ending a little too open for my liking, and her transformation seemed to happen just a little too quickly, however it all did work together to make for a novel I’ll likely never forget. Pocketful of Pearls is a story of a woman coming to terms with what her life was before and moving beyond that. This is the sequel to Grounds to Believe but can be read alone. There is a third and final book planned for this series that is sure to be just as heart-wrenching and powerful as this one is. Fans of women’s fiction will likely enjoy Ms. Bates inspirational tale, however be warned that this story tackles some tough issues, namely sexual abuse and its effects on not only the one abused but those around her. Ms. Bates is sure to be a true asset to the growing popularity of Inspirational Women’s Fiction."
--Wendy Keel, The Romance Readers Connection

"Readers will be lost in the vivid world that Shelley Bates paints with incredible detail and masterful storytelling. Ultimately, through the story, readers learn the distinction between a religious life of rules and a true relationship with Christ. The characters ring with realism in their speech and flawed personalities. The resolutions of the mountain of difficulties will help readers learn how to handle their own struggles."
--W. Terry Whalin, FaithfulReader.com

   The vagrant came to the back door the night of Morton Traynell's funeral, just as Dinah was trying to organize food for the hundred or so mourners who filled the front rooms of the old farmhouse.
   The knock was so soft she would have missed it if the group of women helping her hadn't left the kitchen just then, loaded down with plates of rolls, neatly sliced vegetables, and casserole dishes.
   She jerked open the door and stared at the man on the steps. He held a knitted cap in both hands, squeezing it as though it were a washrag. The harsh overhead light gave his skin a yellowish cast--what she could see under a ragged beard.
   A stranger. With a jolt of fear, she stepped back and swung the door nearly closed, its comforting weight between herself and him.
   "I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am," he said softly. He had some kind of an accent, but Dinah was too frightened to take the time to identify it. "I wonder if you'd have a bite to spare a hungry man."
   There were enough bites in the front room to feed an army of hungry men, but food given to a stray off the street deprived one of God's chosen, who could use it for God's work.
   "This is a bad time." The words came out rushed, almost under her breath. "My father was buried this afternoon, and everyone is here for the supper. I'm sorry."
   The gentle hope that had filled his eyes drained out of him as though he'd been punctured. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said. "Sorry to trouble you." He bent his head and turned to go.
   Her loss? Her heart began to pump painfully, torn between fear and pity. "Wait."
   He had been looking down the road for the lights of the next place, but there was nothing down there except the Hamilton River, swollen, brown and rushing with spring runoff. At the thought of what the river had meant to her, and what it could mean to a sad, hungry man who was obviously at the end of his own resources, Dinah felt a chill of apprehension.
   "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Let me get you a plate."
   He came back up the steps as cautiously as a deer. A starving one, in whom fear had been brutally displaced by hunger. "I don't want to be any bother."
   "This house is full of food. You're no more bother than any of the rest of them."
   Dinah shut the door and snatched two paper plates off the table. She stacked them one on top of the other and loaded the reinforced result with vegetables, hamburger casserole, pasta salad, and bread, taking a portion for herself between every spoonful for him. She filled a plastic water bottle with cold water. The man looked dehydrated. Ready to drop. And Alma Woods's casseroles were notoriously salty.
   She shouldered the door open and handed him plate, fork and bottle. "Don't let anyone see you."
   "Thanks, ma'am. Bless you."
   Dinah restrained herself from telling him that he had nothing to bless himself with, much less anybody else, as he faded into the darkened yard. She supposed she'd find the water bottle out there somewhere in the morning.
   She turned back into the kitchen and removed the plastic wrap from a tray of sausages, stuffing two into her mouth as she did so. It wouldn't be so hard if Tamara were here. She should have come back to help during the crisis, to handle their mother with her particular knack, but instead, at the age of seventeen, her sister was as one dead. Hardly out of high school, she'd been put away for her sins, and Dinah was on her own. One of the women came back for more food, and took the plate from her. "How are you holding up, Dinah?"
   Just for a moment, Dinah thought about telling her the truth, but she was in the service of God, separated unto Himself, with a veil drawn between herself and even His People. She had to remember that. It was the only thing that kept her going on days like today, when fear painted the future in dismal, watery shades of gray and black.
   She swallowed the last of the sausage. "Pretty well," she said. "Better than Mom, I think."
   The woman's expression teetered between sympathy and disapproval of someone who would admit in public that she wasn't grieving her father's death as much as her mother was.
   Then again, Mom had chosen Dad.
   The woman settled on sympathy as being more appropriate to the occasion. "Why don't you go out front, dear, and be with your mother. I'll hold the fort and see that everything gets set out."
   But what if the vagrant came back? He looked like he could tuck away three plates of food and still be hungry, but she had sensed a painful politeness that wouldn't let him ask for more. Dinah didn't want this crowd of clean, well-fed people to know she'd spoken to him. "Touch not the unclean thing," they'd say, and they'd wonder what on earth she was thinking, to let someone so potentially dangerous anywhere near her home.
   She was a vessel filled with love, or so said Phinehas, the senior Shepherd over God's flock in the State of Washington. But one demonstrated love by encouraging people to hear the gospel, not giving them handouts that only made them dependent on charity instead of on God.
   "It's okay, thanks," she told the woman who, after all, was just being kind. "I know where everything is." And if she had to acknowledge one more expression of sympathy, she wasn't sure she could hang onto her composure.
   The woman nodded and laid the plate of sausages on her inner arm, then picked up a platter of vegetables in one hand and dip in the other. As soon as the hem of her black dress flicked out of the kitchen, Dinah opened the screen door and peered out. The backyard was quiet and utterly dark beyond the circle of familiarity cast by the bare bulb mounted on the wall over the door.
   "Are you still here?" she asked the dark in a voice that was closer to a whisper than a call.
   Something winked near her feet, and she glanced down. The empty water bottle stood on the top step, the fork laid neatly beside it. The latter was as clean as if it had just come out of the dishwasher. Had he wiped it on his shirt?
   "Hello?"
   But no one answered.
   "Dinah, is someone out there?" Her mother came in with a couple of empty trays. "The boys aren't parking the cars back there in the dark, are they? They'll never get them out of the mud."
   "I was just checking." It wasn't quite a lie. She'd been checking the vagrant's whereabouts, hadn't she? "Mom, you're not supposed to be serving. These people are all here for you."
   Her mother looked so fragile that the trays drooped in her hands. Her hair was beginning to come out of its neat bun, and she hadn't bothered to wipe away the tracks of tears on her face. Not tears for her husband's death, which Dinah was perfectly aware was God's will, but tears of gratitude for the kindnesses of others.
   "I hope not. They're here for Morton. Out of respect. And don't put the sliced roast beef out yet. Save it for when Phinehas comes."
   "Phinehas is coming?" The blood halted in her veins, and then began to crawl, slowly, pumped by a heart that had momentarily forgotten how to work. "When?"
   "He was in Spokane when he called. Missions might be very successful there at the moment, but when he heard of our need, he practically dropped everything. He should be here anytime."
   Anytime. After two months away from Hamilton Falls, overseeing other congregations, encouraging lost souls to God, he would be coming back. Tonight.
   She'd thought the waiting bad enough before, when she didn't know when it would end. The waiting was the worst. But suddenly she realized that time could be compressed into short, painful bursts when the end was finite, and the waiting could actually, physically hurt.

From the book Pocketful of Pearls by Shelley Bates, Warner Faith, publication date August 2005, copyright by Shelley Bates. R and TM are trademarks of the publisher. For more information, surf to Warner Faith.