Molly Noble Bull has a BS in elementary and early childhood education with a minor in art from Texas A&I University, now called Texas A&M at Kingsville, and she taught in public and private schools for a total of eleven years. She writes for the Christian market only and has published with Zondervan and Harlequin’s Steeple Hill. Two of Molly’s Zondervan novels were later reprinted and came out from Guideposts, the Book Division. Molly is descended from French Huguenots, and her newest novel, Sanctuary, is the first of three long historical novels in the Faith of Our Fathers series about the Huguenots. Tsaba House published Sanctuary on September 15, 2007 in trade paperback. And she is contracted to write three more novels and two non-fiction books for Tsaba House.
An attractive older woman with flaming red hair stepped out from behind a light pole.
“Whoa!” How did she do that?
Steve Languth had paused at the curb, waiting for the light to change. Had she materialized? Or was he hallucinating? Maybe he’d been reading too many science fiction novels when he should have been writing his term paper.
Sure, she was thin. But a light pole couldn’t be more than six inches wide. As she moved toward him, he concluded that she probably had about a twenty-four inch waist.
And why did she remind him of his wife? She could be Angie’s aunt or mother.
“We need to talk,” the woman said.
“Sorry, lady. I have to get to the bank as soon as it opens.”
“How could you know?” He shook his head. “Are you related to my wife?”
She didn’t reply.
“Well, whoever you are, it was nice meeting you. But I have to go. The bank is about to open, and it is right across the street there.” He started to walk off.
She grabbed the back of his blue shirt and wouldn’t let go.
He put up his hands as if he was under arrest. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“If you don’t do exactly what I tell you,” she said, ignoring his question. “I’ll yell rape as loud as I can.”
Steve released a deep sigh. “Okay, I promise. Now what?”
“We walk into that café.” She pointed to Ernie’s Coffee Shop.
He followed her inside, and they sat down at a booth.
“Now,” she said, “we talk until I have to leave. I have an appointment. So we don’t have much time. And since we both know just about everything there is to know about each other, we can get right to the point.”
“What point?” He shook his head. “Look, you might think you know me, but I know zip about you.”
“What would you say if I told you that the bank is going to be robbed this morning, and everyone inside will be killed?”
His jaw hung loose, and he felt his eyes widen. “You’re in on this! You’d have to be. I’m calling the police.” He started to get up.
She leaned across the table and grabbed his shirt again—the front of it this time.
“Sit down, Steve!”
“How do you know my name?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.” She still held the front of his shirt—with both hands now. “I know the bank is going to be robbed because—” She relaxed her grip on his shirt and finally let go of it. “I came here from the future. Okay?”
“The future?” Stunned, he sat back down.
“It’s 2029 where I came from.”
“I kid you not, lady. You are out of your cotton pickin’ mind.”
“Don’t try to understand. Just listen. I know that you and—and Angie had a fight last night. Angie walked out and went to stay with my—her mother.”
“How could you possibly know any of this?”
“I read an old newspaper—for one thing. And I know that everybody inside that bank will be killed at exactly five minutes after nine.” She glanced at her watch. “That is in five seconds. Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one.”
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
“I heard shots,” someone shouted. “Everybody get down!”
Steve’s heart pounded as he pulled her under the table.
“Are you all right?” he asked once he’d caught his breath.
“I’m fine.” She pressed the palm of her right hand to her chest. “Just a little shaky, I guess. It’s strange having it happen in real time instead of merely reading about it.”
“Assuming I believe you,” he said, “if I’d gone to the bank today, would I be dead?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
He swallowed. “I guess I need to thank you.”
“Angie was . . .” She looked away. “Angie was pregnant on the day . . .”
“What do you mean?” he demanded. “Angie isn’t pregnant. She would have told me.”
“Angie was pregnant on the day of the bank robbery, but you didn’t know because she hadn’t told you yet. She had twins. You’re the father, of course.”
“Twins? What are you talking about?”
“I know this makes no sense. But I’m Angie.”
He shook his head. “My Angie is twenty-years-old and has long black hair.”
“I dyed it red, okay?” She checked her watch again. “I just have a little time left and a lot to say. Please just let me say it.”
He nodded. “Shoot.”
She cleared her throat. “Stevie and Brittany just turned nineteen. Brit needs a kidney transplant. I’m not a match. You might be.
He shrugged. “What can I possibly do even if what you say is true?”
“Stay alive. Make things right with me—Angie. Go to church. I’m a born-again Christian now. I wish I’d done it years ago. And take Brit to see a kidney specialist as soon as possible after she is born. The doctors say that her problem might have been prevented.” Her tense expression melted into a smile. “It’s so good to see you again, Steve. I’d forgotten how blue your eyes were. I would like to kiss you good-bye. But I guess I’ll let Angie do it.” She glanced toward the door. “I have to go.”
“When will I see you again?”
“In about twenty years.” She got up, pressing out invisible wrinkles from the front of her green slacks.
“Promise not to dye your hair, Ang. I like it black.”
She smiled. “I promise.” She looked down at her watch. “I have to run.”
“I’m going to miss you,” he said.
“Then go see me at my mother’s. I’m crying my eyes out about now.”
Then she just disappeared—as if she’d never been there. And in the days and weeks to come, he wondered if she ever had.