by Jody Sharpe
As his mind whirs, Reverend Carlos says, “Maggie, you could sing with the choir from the High School. You could sing that beautiful song we sing in church every year, Bless the Beasts and the Children.” Everyone agrees it’s the perfect song.
Josh pipes in, clearly concerned, “This is wonderful, amazing really, but everyone, we have to remember we must be conscious of the notoriety this will bring the town. We have established ourselves now as a town, not where angels reside, but where everyday people give back in an angel’s way. I know for Hannah and our family how hard it was to have the media everywhere hassling us.” He puts his arm around Hannah and she leans on his shoulder. I can see the worry written on her beautiful face.
July North speaks for the first time. Her baby sleeps soundly in her arms. “Willie and I have an idea. We have been thinking hard about this. Reverend, I think your idea with Maggie and the High School choir is great. The angels obviously want her to sing. We could announce it on my show again in the town square like last Christmas Eve when Hannah’s book came out about the town. I’m thinking a week from this Sunday on my show. I can make it work. Maggie and the choir could sing and we could call it “Songfest For The Angels.” No mention of the children’s names, of course, but Mayor Willie and I talked about it. He could be my main guest, explain the miracle of what’s been happening here. We could have Jumbotrons and Main Street sealed off like we did before. We could show the artwork on the screens. We could draw as much focus as possible on the art, a little girl’s speaking for the first time as messages from the angels and get a discussion going of the miraculous meaning to the world. Maybe the angel drawings could tour the country. That way the focus would be taken away from Mystic Bay. We could advertise it as revisiting Mystic Bay and the Songfest. This way, the town will hopefully be spared too much press. What do you all think?”
Guy Benfield speaks up, “Yes, July and Willie, I like this, but The Mystic Bay Town Crier will only advertise the show as a Songfest. I don’t want to write anything that will indicate it’s our child who is the artist. There must be complete anonymity for the children. I could have Dan Pico from the San Francisco Chronicle here to have the story down and published immediately afterwards to our satisfaction. I could give him a heads up as I trust him completely.”
Mayor Willie runs his hand through his grey hair, a worried look on his face. “Yes, we don’t want to start a stampede of reporters again, whatever we do. For what it’s worth, my intuition says we can do it, but we must make a foolproof plan.”
Gabe remarks, “ Madam Norma called me and said she feels these will be the only two drawings from our town. This may be just a first call. Perhaps there will be sightings by children around the world. “
Bette almost whispers, “I’m afraid because those paparazzi and tabloids were so awful here to you, Hannah and Gabe.”
July continues to calm us all. “Don’t worry, Bette. My producers and I will make sure we do it right. We can do this, everyone.”
Jack says, “Whatever we do, it has to be slick and promote the message as a one time only thing. July and Willie, you could explain that the sightings were short-lived. How the children have gone back to normal activities. How now we must wait and see if more children everywhere start seeing angels!”
“But that’s not really true,” Guy says. “Patrick is back to scribbling yet speaking more, and Emma Rose continues to speak.”
July says in that calm yet commanding voice of hers, “I know my business like the back of my hand and have ideas swirling around in my head. Don’t you worry, please. It will be wonderful.”
Josh says, “We don’t want our family interviewed at all, but for some reason, if someone happens to invade our privacy or anyone’s, for that matter, I think it’s best to say, ‘Isn’t this wonderful. Our town has spread some joy to the world. We hand the baton on to other towns. Who’s next?’ Maybe have some examples of good things happening like this in other towns.”
“Great idea, Josh,” says July. Willie concurs. The worry in the room seems to ease. I stare at each person, afraid at the thought of singing for millions. I look at their faces. And then through the talking I hear it again, the rustle of wings. I notice as I go from face to face, some of these folks have mesmerizing, sparkling, starry eyes like Taylors, but the others don’t. They glisten and shine in the light, but only when looking directly at me. What’s happening to me? Have I stopped hearing trees? I can’t see sparkles in Mayor Willie’s eyes, or Jack’s or his family when they look directly at me. But Hannah, Josh, Gabe, January, and July have the firelight look in their eyes like Taylor. They sparkle; they shine like tinsel on a tree, like glistening sunshine on new fallen snow. The auras are all different…soft yellows, oranges, and blues. Then the song sings through my mind; it’s a song for everyone. Everyone heartily agrees, it’s the perfect song. We finish our meeting and I excuse myself, desperately wanting to go home and leave before the others. As I go out to the kitchen, Jenny touches my arm and whispers. “How did it go with Brian?”
“Awful,” I blurt out. “I have to go. I’ll tell you later.” I almost run home, splattering my shoes in puddles, wet wind in my face. Home is where I’ve always felt safe with my two beloved mothers. Home! I’ll go to my animals and the pine tree in the backyard. My biological mother means nothing to me. She gave me life, that’s all. I take the manila envelope, holding it out before me letting the rain soak in, hopefully ruining the information inside. Brian seemed so proud, gathering it carefully for me. The rain comes down, pouring now as I run. I can’t hear the trees anymore but realize I’m crying too hard. I stop by a puddle near my house and listen. I stand still, my canvas shoes already soaked. Four little yellow roses fall lightly, then land in the water. I look around. There are no rose bushes anywhere in view. They came from the rainy skies. Is this a sign? My tears stop. Only rain wets my cheeks now. I’m not frightened anymore because beloved nature has given me her sign. Go slowly like falling snowflakes to the ground. How beautiful they are, a heavenly gift blown in from a neighboring bush. I must stop and take time to admire the beauty of the earth and not concentrate on my worries, now so insignificant. Angels are calling the children. I start to sing the song I’ll sing for the masses, the song I remember, It’s the song Mr. Beasley whistled once as he walked the shore with the tide rolling by. Bless the Beasts and the Children. It’s the perfect song. It’s what we’re all about in this seaside town with a harbor shaped like the top of a heart. It’s what we humans need to do. We must be like knights in shining armor. We are the blessed children and the beasts of the world’s greatest hope.
11
Rainy Winds Of Night
Gram and GG are sitting in their recliners when I arrive home. GG’s wearing her blue and pink evening attire, aka, her bathrobe. Gram is dressed in her blue sweater and scarf ready for her date with Tim. They both look concerned as they see my face. Taking my wet shoes off on the porch and coat off at the coat rack, I’ve left the manila envelope on the end of the front porch, knowing the drips from the gutters will soak it through. I don’t want GG and Gram to know about the men in Polly Ann’s life. King finds my hand and licks it. “What happened with Brian, dear, and the meeting?” Gram gets up and strokes my head. “You’re so wet, let me get a towel.”
“No, I’m fine, really.” Looking at their worried faces, I know I must tell them at least about Jack. Telling Gram what Brian said about all the men my mother is in contact with would hurt her. I’ll throw the envelope in the trash when they’ve gone to bed. My stomach growls; I didn’t eat lunch or even have one of Helen’s cinnamon rolls. I explain the story Brian told me about Jack Benfield meeting Polly Ann.
“It just can’t be Jack. I hope not anyway. It would cause so much angst for Stella, Jenny, and Guy. There’s never been any sort of sign of this at all. Wouldn’t I have seen something? Wouldn’t you two know about it?”
Gram says gently, “Mother, it can’t possibly be Jack, even though there was th
at time Jack dated Polly Ann!” I almost fall off the chair. I’ve never heard this. Jenny surely doesn’t know about this either.
“What? When was this?”
“Oh, Maggie, there was a rift between Polly Ann and Stella before you were born. Stella and Polly Ann were good friends in High School, but then Jack and your mother went out a time or two after Stella and Jack broke up during the summer they all came home from college. It was brief as I recall, but when they got back together, Stella never spoke to your mother again. Polly Ann said Stella wouldn’t even look her way if they walked by each other on the street. But Polly Ann didn’t try to talk to her either. No, my intuition says no. If that dear Jack thought he was your father, he would have come forward. He’s that kind of man. It’s never crossed my mind. It’s someone we don’t know I feel, someone who lives far away. I’ve always thought that.”
“I know you both would tell me if you had a vibe about it. It just can’t be him.”
GG and Gram have tried to shield me. They tried to make my life so good without a mother and father, and they truly succeeded. I look down and pet King. I don’t want Jack to be my father. For me it would be wonderful, but for Jenny and Guy and Stella? No.
Mabel made hot chocolate before she left; I get up and get us each a cup with marshmallows floating on top. Trying to make Brian’s information go away and focus on the best news of the day, I sit down, telling them about the meeting and Patrick’s latest angel painting and the decision for me to sing one of my favorite songs. How July’s planning the event in town square again. GG and Gram cry happy tears to think I will sing for the angels. They chatter like Bubbles does, conjecturing how they want a front row seat. When it’s time for me to get ready for my job, I realize I left out the auras of everyone in the room. Should I tell them about seeing golden starlight eyes, and hearing wings rustle? It’s best keeping it to myself for now. Maybe I was light-headed, stressed out by Brian, no food all day, and emotionally drained. Now, I’m much calmer. God made sure of that, sending little yellow roses falling around me. My life is good; it doesn’t matter about my father. It never has. Has it? No, I have to concentrate on The Songfest for the Angels and how wondrous it will be to sing for everyone.
The wedding party has all but gone from the restaurant. It’s been a busy Saturday night and I’m thankful for that. No time to obsess about everything Brian said. Jack, Tad, Jenny, and I were so swamped there was no time to talk, although Jenny asked what had happened with Brian. I gave her the brief synopsis of men, leaving out the part about her dad, of course. I watched Jack for a moment while he was working. Do I look like him? Not really, though his mother was Italian, his skin is olive, and his hair is dark like mine. I’ve thought I looked like a dark haired version of my mother and must have a Mediterranean father. Jenny has Jack’s same tall stature, same smile, yet eyes and skin of Stella’s Dutch background. But what could he and my mother have been arguing about, I question, walking home in the late night rain. I have an umbrella and find it soothing to walk home smelling the rain, the nourishing water refreshing life around me. Noah is coming by at eleven. Gram will be in bed after her movie date with Tim and GG will be asleep. I’ll make him some tea, we’ll sit by the fire and I’ll try to be unruffled, hoping the emotion won’t ruin the romance blooming. I’m perplexed and elated at the same time. Why did Brian pick now to show up? My anger at my mother comes to the surface. Why did she do this to Gram, to GG, and to me? Why couldn’t she just tell the truth, then leave, and at least be civil, writing us a card at Christmas, calling now and then. I push back the negativity. The angels want me to sing? I’m not a professional singer; just sang in the teen choir, soloing occasionally. I think of the sparkling eyes of my friends, the sounds of the wings coming from where? What is happening? The angels are calling us now and I’m seeing auras and diamond eyes and hearing wings flutter! Incredible! I stop and listen. Yes, I hear them for sure; I can hear the trees through the melody of rain.
12
Noah’s Angel
Noah knows I’m here. He sits at his desk in his bedroom reading over and over the words in the letter. Lorraine found Smarty rummaging through a box on the floor of his Dad’s old letters, scattering them everywhere. Ironically, yet meant to be, of course, the bunch she picked up first produced a letter addressed to Marshall Greenstreet, sent to his old New York address, post marked thirty years ago from Mystic Bay. Noah reads the letter again then turns around to see me standing in the corner. It’s the first time in his life he has seen me so vividly, his guardian angel.
His mouth opens, he can’t speak. Even though I’m seven feet tall, I know I don’t scare him, for all his life he’s felt my presence. He had an awareness of me sitting by his bed when he was a child, an outline, a transparent glow. But now he sees me clearly, standing taller than most humans with eyes reflecting angel light like all angels. My white robe is cinched with a gold tie. My wings are dimmer to the eye; their purpose takes me traveling with golden shine to each dimension. To me I’m just an angel; to him I’m the comforting glowing presence he remembers. He used to talk to me and tell me his troubles as a child. He wondered who his biological mother and father were and I would help him find the strength inside to wait…wait till he was a grown man to find the truth. It’s been almost twenty years since he’s needed me like this. He needs me now.
“Hello, Noah,” I say with a smile. “I know you’re unafraid. I have been beside you so many times and now you can see me fully. It is time you do.”
“Francis?”
“Yes, Noah, I’m here for you.”
He stands, showing me the letter, but I already know what it says.
Dear Son,
I may never know your name but I love you just the same. I held you for a moment when you were born. So sweet and warm you were against my skin. I only gave you up because I am young and scared and have no money of my own. No one in my life can know about you. Oh how I wish I could be with you. Your father said he would give you this letter when you grow up then maybe you would understand.
I had a brief love affair with the man who is your father and so you were conceived in love. I will love you always and keep you as a treasure in my heart. You will grow up to be a fine man. Maybe someday you will find it in your heart to forgive me.
Your loving biological mother
13
The Warmth Of The Fire And You
The fire is blazing yellow and gold with blue tipped flames. “Tell me what happened,” Noah sighs, sinking into the couch holding my hand. I gaze into his beautiful amber eyes, yet surmise something is wrong. There’s a pensive look, a strain in them. He asks again.
“Well, I’ll start with the beautiful news. Patrick painted three angels singing. It’s astonishing, reminiscent of The Starry Night by Van Gogh. Hues of indigo and stars, a watercolor…it’s extraordinary!”
“Really? Oh, my God. This really is happening, isn’t it?” He stands and I take his hand again. “That’s not all, Noah. Patrick says the angels want me to sing.” He is lost for words for a moment, then comes to me kneeling. “Maggie Joy, this is why you were named Joy. You are to sing for the angels.” He puts his head in my lap and begins crying. Not knowing what to do, I place my arms around him. He lifts his tear-stained face to mine and gives me a kiss on the forehead.
“You’re so emotional. It is wonderful, isn’t it?” Noah wants to hear all about the meeting and the plans for the Songfest For the Angels. I explain it will be a week from Sunday on July’s show, and the hesitancy and worry about the media trampling into town again like bulls, almost wrecking the peace of the place, like two years ago. Yet everyone agreed with July, the show must be in the Town’s Square again.
“And Brian?” That’s all he says, still a look of sadness with a residue of tears on his cheeks. Wiping the rest of his tears away, I hesitate, not wanting to spoil the angel moment. But I begin, relaying how Brian thinks he’s found information about men in my mother’s life that could lea
d to my real father. I confess to leaving the soggy envelope on the porch, how I plan to throw it out. I put my head down, explaining Jack Benfield’s ties to my mother. He’s silent, looking over at the fire’s embers finally burning down to a quiet occasional pop. He turns to me, “Will you speak to Jack about this?” His handsome face seems sadder still.
“It seems so unimportant now. I can’t even think about it, with the children’s extraordinary visions of angels. I’m afraid to ask Jack, afraid it will ruin my relationship with them all if I find out he is my father. Why was he meeting my mother? As much as a gift it would be to have a wonderful man like Jack as my biological father, it could destroy my friendship with Jenny. Gram and GG’s psychic vibes say he can’t be my father.”
Noah stands and goes to the window. Rain falls down the panes in lovely patterns, reflecting the firelight. He turns to me, but something has changed in him. There’s sadness now almost unbearable to see.
“What’s wrong, Noah?” He comes back, putting his arms around me.
“I’m overwhelmed right now. Things have gotten worse for Dad. I brought a letter to him today and he didn’t seem to know who I was. My life’s changed, so many things I want to talk to him about and now he’s gone.”
“I’m sorry.” I wrap my arms around him. This beautiful man is so sad. His father’s brain has given way to dementia. And my life is astounding and lovely in part, yet feels out of control, confusing like a convoluted dream. Maybe he’d like to find out who his real mother and father are and feels I’m being selfish, not wanting to know the other information Brian surely found.
Before he leaves, Noah looks at me with concern, “Don’t throw out the info Brian gave you. I will keep it for you, unopened. You might change your mind. In fact I’m sure you will.” He’s right, of course, so as we go outside, I find the soaked envelope and hand it to him. He shakes it out, kisses me goodnight, and leaves.