Angels at Christmas

by Debbie Macomber

  “They said I had to be nine years old before I was responsible enough to take care of a dog. Well, I’m nine and I do all my chores and I do my homework and I don’t cheat on tests or anything.”

  He hesitated, thinking he’d better tell the whole truth. God knew anyway. “Sometimes Mom has to remind me about my chores. But I try to be good.”

  Carter paused, wondering if God might say something back. He listened intently, his eyes closed, but no matter how hard he concentrated he couldn’t hear anything. That didn’t mean God wasn’t listening, though; Carter understood that.

  “If You could find a way to get me a dog for Christmas, God, I’d really like it. I promise to take care of Rusty and train him right. I’ll make sure he’s loved. Thank you.”

  Finished now, Carter lowered his head and whispered, “Amen.” He stayed on his knees a few minutes longer, in case God wanted to talk to him, after all. Eventually he climbed back into bed.

  God had a dog for him, a special one. Carter was sure of it. He didn’t know how the dog would arrive. Maybe his grandparents would give him one for Christmas, maybe not. He’d just wait and see. He might not believe in Santa anymore, but Carter believed God answered prayers. All he had to do now was be patient.

  “You heard?” Gabriel asked Shirley. The Prayer Ambassador had once worked as a guardian angel and her love for children was the reason he usually assigned Shirley the prayer requests from boys and girls.

  “A dog,” Shirley repeated.

  “There are more important requests, if you prefer,” Gabriel said.

  “No,” came her immediate reply. “I want to help Carter get his dog.”

  “I thought you would.”

  “It’s just that…”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s just that I could probably take on two or three such requests while I’m on Earth,” the angel said with utter confidence. “But I know why you haven’t given me more than one.”

  “You do?” Gabriel asked. “And why would that be?”

  “My real assignment is to keep watch over Goodness and Mercy. Heaven knows, and I don’t mean that as a pun—” she paused and gave him a smug smile “—those two need looking after.”

  “Indeed they do,” Gabriel agreed. “But it seems to me that you’ve taken part in their schemes a number of times.”

  “Under protest,” Shirley rushed to explain. “I knew they were headed for trouble and I tried to warn them, but they wouldn’t listen to me. So what choice did I have?” She shook her head ruefully. “You can’t imagine the trouble I’ve saved you on other assignments. But I’m only one angel and there’s only so much I can do on my own.”

  Gabriel didn’t need a reminder of the problems these three had caused. Yes, he did expect Shirley to be a supervisor of sorts for the other two, but as often as not they’d led her into temptation. Still…

  “As the most responsible of the trio—”

  “That would be me,” Shirley said, cutting him off. She folded her wings close to her back without revealing any degree of eagerness as Goodness and Mercy had done. Shirley was the picture of calm serenity, of unquestionable confidence.

  “Let me point out the time limitations involved,” Gabriel said. “All three of you need to return to Heaven on Christmas Eve.” This shouldn’t come as any surprise, since it was one of the terms always set upon them during visits to Earth at this time of year.

  A look of panic flashed into Shirley’s eyes. “That means we have barely a week by the earthly calendar.”

  “Don’t forget, we need you back for the festivities,” Gabriel told her.

  “Yes, of course.” She did seem unusually concerned with the temporal constraints, which he found odd, considering that they’d answered prayer requests in less time than that.

  “If there are problems, I can come directly to you?” Shirley asked.

  It went without saying that with Goodness and Mercy, there were bound to be problems. “Of course.”

  On second thought, Gabriel wasn’t so sure of that. He’d seen compassion and a new depth in Mercy; she understood the seriousness of her assignment. Harry Alderwood’s days on Earth were few, and Mercy would have to convince Rosalie to move and at the same time prepare Harry for the crossing. Heaven awaited his arrival.

  As far as Goodness went…That was an entirely different story. Beth Fischer had lessons to learn, obstacles to negotiate—obstacles of her own making. It might not be as easy as Goodness assumed to steer her toward the future. Gabriel would keep a close eye on this assignment.

  And young Carter Jackson—this wasn’t an easy prayer request, either, despite what Shirley seemed to think. She might be a relatively senior angel, but she had a few lessons to learn herself.

  “Can I see Carter?” Shirley asked.

  “Of course.” As he’d done with the others, Gabriel parted the veil between the two realms and offered Shirley a chance to assess the situation.

  Sitting at the breakfast table, Carter watched his parents closely.

  “You remember this summer you said I could have a dog when I’m nine, Dad?” he asked, braving the subject dearest to his heart.

  His dad exchanged a look with his mother. “I remember.”

  “I’m nine now.”

  His father put down his fork, and the careful way he laid it on the table told Carter this was going to be an important discussion. “Son, it hurts me to tell you this, but we can’t afford a dog.”

  “Dad…”

  “I’m sorry. I know you’ve been hoping to get a dog, but we can’t manage it financially, Carter.”

  Despite his efforts, Carter’s eyes filled with tears and everything in the room went blurry. His mother came to stand behind him. Embarrassed to be caught crying, Carter wiped his face with his sleeve and gulped several times.

  “As soon as we can afford one, we’ll get you a dog,” she whispered, placing her hands on his shoulders. “We promise.”

  “But you promised before,” Carter challenged. “You said I could have a dog when I turned nine. And then you said I had to wait until Christmas. And now…”

  His father looked as sad as Carter had ever seen him. “I’m sorry, Carter. I’m doing the best I can, and so is your mother.”

  Bailey had started to cry, too. Carter tried to stop, but all he could do was sniffle back the tears. He felt like running away from the table. He couldn’t eat.

  “What about Grandma and Grandpa Parker?” he asked, clinging to the dream that his grandparents would give him the dog he so badly wanted.

  “I’ve spoken to them,” his father said.

  Carter felt hope spring to life as he held his breath, waiting to hear the verdict.

  “If your grandparents buy you a dog, that’s just the beginning of what it’ll cost. There’s a whole lot more that goes along with owning a dog.”

  “He could eat my food,” Carter insisted. He’d already considered this. “I don’t mind sharing.”

  “Then there are shots.”

  “I’ll take them,” Carter said. It didn’t matter how much they hurt, either.

  “The shots are for the dog, Carter, and they’re expensive.”

  “Oh.”

  “There’s the license and obedience school and neutering and a dozen other costs. All of that would drain the family budget. It won’t be long, though. Okay?”

  Carter wasn’t sure he should believe his father. “How long?”

  “David.” His mother’s voice was soft and filled with warning, almost as if she feared his father would make another promise he couldn’t keep.

  “I don’t know, but I promise that as soon as we can afford it, you’ll get your dog.”

  That was the same thing his mother had said. Carter swallowed hard. He couldn’t ask his father’s parents. They lived back east and they mailed their gifts, which had arrived last week. The gaily wrapped presents were arranged on the coffee table with a miniature Christmas tree his mother had bought at the grocery sto
re for five dollars. His one hope had been Grandma and Grandpa Parker—his mom’s parents—and according to his father, it wasn’t going to happen.

  His last chance, his only chance now, was God. And with everything inside him, Carter believed God would send him a dog.

  Six

  Rosalie Alderwood was humming “O Come, All Ye Faithful” in the kitchen while Harry watched the news on TV. This was Wednesday, their traditional shopping day, and the advertised grocery specials were in the morning paper. Soup was on special, tomato, his favorite, two cans for a dollar. So was ice cream—three half-gallons for only six dollars. The brand wasn’t his favorite but ice cream was ice cream, and Harry had always had a weakness for it. He didn’t have much appetite anymore, but the thought of chocolate ice cream was appealing.

  For years—ever since his retirement—Harry and Rosalie had done their grocery-shopping in the middle of the week.

  “Should I get the car warmed up?” Harry asked. He’d put off the conversation with his daughters about selling it; maybe he’d call them tonight.

  “Good idea.” Rosalie came to stand in front of him, a dish towel in her hand, and glanced at the advertisements in the paper, spread out on the coffee table.

  “You’ll want to get a few cans of the tomato soup that’s on special,” he said.

  “Yes,” she agreed.

  Because Rosalie had gotten so absentminded, Harry had begun compiling lists of items they needed to pick up at the store. This morning they were out of both milk and bread. He didn’t want to miss that ice cream, either. He planned to arrive early enough to have his selection of fresh flowers, too. Maybe a potted poinsettia in honor of the season…His pleasures were few.

  “I’ll get my coat,” Rosalie told him.

  Harry nodded and reached for his car keys hanging on the peg by the door. She left, and knowing Rosalie, it would take her ten minutes to get ready. And that was after telling him to start the car. Early on in their marriage, that habit used to irritate him, but not anymore. This tendency to dawdle was part of Rosalie’s personality and Harry had learned to accept it.

  Before he went out to the car, he checked the refrigerator.

  Another of Rosalie’s longtime habits was her inability to discard things, even rotting food. He didn’t understand it but had realized years ago that he was the one who’d have to toss the leftovers. Thankfully, with her cooking so little, there wasn’t much. A quick inspection of the contents revealed several odd items. Frankly Harry had no idea why they needed anchovy paste or five varieties of mustard. Good grief, he hadn’t even known they made that many.

  Sure enough, it was ten minutes before Rosalie appeared. She’d put on fresh lipstick and combed her hair. “I’m ready, Harry.”

  “Me, too.” Rosalie didn’t drive. His own abilities were severely limited now and he took to the road only when necessary. In fact, he hadn’t driven since he’d gone to see the doctor on Monday. The days of Sunday-afternoon excursions into the country had long since passed.

  One of the advantages of shopping on Wednesday mornings was the lack of crowds. Mostly it was a few folks like Rosalie and him. Recently the store had gotten motorized carts for handicapped and elderly patrons, which made the whole experience a lot more pleasant.

  Harry drove the motorized cart while his wife strolled by his side, filling the basket. Not once in the past year had Rosalie complained about the fact that he was the one who wrote their grocery lists, a chore she used to do.

  They’d just turned down the soup and canned vegetable aisle when Lucy Menard entered from the other end. Her face brightened as soon as she saw them.

  “Rosalie,” Lucy called out. She left her own cart and hurried toward her friend, arms wide open.

  The two women hugged for an extra-long moment. During World War II, after Rosalie and Harry were married and while he was off fighting in Europe, she and Lucy had roomed together while working in the Portland, Oregon, shipyards. At one time, they’d been as close as sisters. In fact, Lucy was godmother to their oldest daughter, Lorraine. Ever since Jake, Lucy’s husband, had died, they hadn’t seen much of her, which was sad. Mostly Harry blamed himself. Getting out and about was so difficult these days….

  “I swear it’s been a month of Sundays since I saw you two,” Lucy said, stepping back. She looked good, better than the last time Harry had seen her, which was…well, no wonder. It’d been at Jake’s funeral.

  “I’ve been meaning to let you know I’ve moved,” Lucy said excitedly.

  “Moved?” Rosalie seemed to find that hard to believe.

  Lucy beamed. “The kids finally convinced me that with Jake gone, I shouldn’t be living on my own.”

  “I’m surprised you’d leave your home,” Rosalie murmured. She glanced at Harry, then looked away. If it was up to Rosalie she’d delay moving as long as possible.

  “I got a place at Liberty Orchard, the new assisted-living complex off Frontier Street.”

  That caught Harry’s attention and he instantly straightened.

  “Harry’s been saying we need to do something like that, too, but I don’t think I can,” Rosalie admitted sheepishly.

  “I said the same thing.” Lucy nodded. “I figured after living in the same house for thirty years, I was too old to make that drastic a change. I told my children they were handing me a death sentence, moving me out of my home.”

  “That’s how I feel,” Rosalie said, once again avoiding Harry’s gaze.

  “But you did move,” Harry broke in. “And you’re happy now, right?”

  “Oh, yes.” Lucy smiled contentedly. “I always assumed it would take a forklift to get me out of that house. The thought of sorting through and packing up all those years of living just overwhelmed me.”

  Harry knew that was part of Rosalie’s problem, too.

  “Thank goodness the kids came in and made all the decisions for me. They went through each room, packing what I needed and dividing up what I didn’t. One day I was in my home and the next I was making friends at Liberty Orchard. It’s the best thing that’s happened to me in ten years.”

  Frowning, Rosalie regarded her friend. “Don’t they serve meals there?” she muttered. “Why are you shopping?”

  “The meals are great, but a few times a week I don’t feel like being sociable. That’s my choice, you know. I fix myself something to eat. I’ve got my own refrigerator and microwave and that’s all I need.” She held up a box of microwave popcorn and giggled like a schoolgirl. “I love this stuff.”

  “It sounds like the ideal setup,” Harry said.

  “I’m not ready,” his wife murmured.

  Because Harry recognized her fears, he hoped to reassure her and gently urge her along. “Maybe Rosalie and I could come and see you at your new digs,” he suggested jauntily, as though he was proposing a casual visit.

  His hope was that once Rosalie saw the facilities for herself, she’d have a change of heart. If he couldn’t get her to tour Liberty Orchard, perhaps Lucy could.

  “How about tomorrow afternoon?” Lucy said. “Around three o’clock? We have a book club meeting at two and there’s an exercise class before that. I wouldn’t want to miss either one.”

  “They have exercise classes?” Rosalie sounded impressed.

  “There’s something to do every day. Before the move, it was a big deal just to step outside the house.”

  Rosalie shared a surprised glance with Harry. “I know what you mean. We’d love to come by, Lucy.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Lucy said, looking pleased.

  She wasn’t nearly as pleased as Harry, though. This couldn’t have worked out better had he planned it. Lucy’s opportune appearance had led to the next day’s visit in the most natural possible way. It was exactly what he’d prayed would happen.

  They finished collecting their purchases and by the time they returned to the house Harry needed a nap. The doc had insisted he couldn’t carry anything heavier than five pounds, so h
is wife brought in the groceries from the garage. He made it to his recliner and was asleep almost before he elevated his feet.

  Mercy was delighted at how well the meeting with Lucy Menard had gone. She sat in the motorized cart Harry had recently vacated, flushed with pleasure.

  “How did you manage that?” Goodness asked, sitting on the handlebars of the same cart. “Did you know about Lucy?”

  Hands behind her head, Mercy leaned back, gleeful with joy. “I did some research and discovered that Lucy and Rosalie had once been best friends. Then I noticed that she’d recently moved into Liberty Orchard. After that, all I had to do was arrange a coincidental meeting in the grocery.”

  “And, pray tell, how did this ‘coincidental’ meeting come about?”

  “I simply absconded with her remaining package of microwave popcorn. I also shuffled around her collection of DVDs and put It’s a Wonderful Life on top. Which reminded her it’s time for her annual viewing—and that, of course, means she needs popcorn.” Mercy chortled. “Piece of cake.”

  “Did someone mention the bakery?” Shirley asked, fluttering down from above, her wings stirring up flyers in the store’s foyer. A youngster chased after them, then disappeared into the store.

  When Shirley caught sight of Mercy on the motorized cart, her eyes widened. “Don’t even think about it,” she warned. “Gabriel asked me to keep an eye on the two of you. He knows, as I do, that you aren’t to be trusted.”

  “I wasn’t going to take the cart for a spin or anything,” Mercy protested.

  “But you did think about it.”

  Shirley knew her all too well. “I considered it.” Mercy sighed heavily. “But I’m older and wiser now, and no longer given to flights of fancy.” This thing was almost as good as a golf cart (there’d been that unfortunate incident at the Augusta golf course) but if Shirley wasn’t going to say anything, Mercy certainly wouldn’t, either.

  “You’re not to encourage her,” Shirley warned Goodness.