Page 44 of Justice Delayed

Mrs. Trent eyed her with a thoroughness that Melender hadn’t encountered since her grandmother died. Sudie had the same penetrating yet compassionate gaze that looked beyond facades and into a person’s soul. “To us that means opening our home to those in need. You have no place to stay. We have space to offer. Stay with us, Melender. Break bread with us. Let us come alongside you for a time on your journey.”

Melender swallowed a lump in her throat. She didn’t doubt the sincerity in the other woman. “Do you know why I was in prison?”

“Yes, but Brogan says you’re fighting to prove your innocence.”

The bluntness of the reply surprised Melender. No one had given her the benefit of the doubt. She’d learned early on in prison that few were truly innocent, but most everyone claimed to have not committed their crime. She’d stopped saying she wasn’t guilty of the kidnapping or murder long ago when she’d realized no one cared. Now, looking at Mrs. Trent, she managed to get the words out. “I never hurt Jesse.”

The older woman nodded once. “We don’t think otherwise. Now, I expect you could use some more personal things.”

Melender blinked back tears She wanted to hug the other woman for believing in her. To regain control of her emotions, Melender focused on the second part of the statement. “I was going to pick up a few more outfits before my shift tonight.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I called some of the younger women in my Bible study to help gather some clothes and other necessities.” Mrs. Trent extracted three department store bags from underneath a counter opposite the kitchen island that served as a workstation. “We guessed on the sizes, so if something doesn’t fit, we can exchange it.”

Staring at the bags, Melender tried to process what Mrs. Trent was saying. “This is for me?”

“Brogan told us that everything you owned had been destroyed.” Mrs. Trent pushed one of the bags into Melender’s hands. “I told them to start from the ground up in the way of clothing.”

Melender set the bag on the floor, then squatted and opened it. Rifling through the contents, she noted t-shirts, shorts, skirts, sundresses, undergarments, and socks. Most appeared to be in her size too. Mrs. Trent placed the other bags next to the first one. In one, Melender found more clothing similar to the first bag. In the third bag, a pair of sneakers, flip flops, and sandals, plus several hairbrushes, hair accessories, shampoo, conditioner, feminine products, and a small box holding a generous gift card to a local discount store.

“This…” Melender cleared her throat as a warm feeling of being loved wash over her. “This is too much.”

Mrs. Trent laid a hand on her shoulder. “Please don’t feel you can’t accept it. These young women were delighted to do this for you.”

Melender stood, her head bowed in an attempt to hide her tears. “But if they knew who I was…”

“They do.” Mrs. Trent spoke softly. “Ever since Brogan called yesterday, the ladies and I have been praying for you and your difficult circumstance.”

This outpouring of God’s love on her life came just when she needed it the most. Mrs. Trent enfolded her into her arms, holding her close as Melender let herself cry, releasing emotions she’d kept bottled up for years. Knowing her heavenly Father used his people here on earth to minister His love surrounded her in peace that passed all understanding.

She wasn’t alone.

* * *

Brogan struggledto see over the three copier paper boxes as he mounted the steps to the Trents’ home. He should have texted his aunt to meet him at the door before grabbing the boxes from the back seat of the SUV. Now he tried to shift his load to one side in order to use an elbow to push the doorbell. But before he could attempt that, the front door opened, and he saw a pair of bare feet on the threshold.

“Need some help?” The laughter in Melender’s voice warmed him more than the heat of the August day.

“Yes, please.” Brogan twisted sideways to maneuver into the house without dropping his load.

“Brogan, dear, I’ve set up space for you in one of the back rooms,” Aunt Colleen said. “This way, down the hall.”

He moved by memory more than sight behind her and into a room on the right.

“You can set the boxes on the table.”

After putting down his load, he straightened to see she’d outfitted the small space with a long folding table and a couple of straight-backed wooden chairs with padded seat cushions. “This will work out great, thanks.”

“It’s no problem.” She eyed the trio of boxes. “Now, can you tell me what this super-secret project of yours is? You were rather cagey on the phone when you asked about space to go through some files.”

“Is that everything?” Melender said from behind him.

Brogan turned to see her just outside the door. He looked back at his aunt. “All the FBI files from the kidnapping of Jesse Thompson.”

“Any word from Fairfax County Police about those files?” She came into the room and touched one of the lids.

“I’ve filed an FOIA but haven’t heard back yet.” Brogan flexed his fingers to get the blood circulating again. “That could take weeks, so for now, we’ll start with this.”

“Not until after dinner.” Colleen squeezed past him to exit the room. “It’ll be ready in about ten minutes.”

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