Tin Angel

by Raine English

  TIN ANGEL

  Romance Writers of America®

  Golden Heart® Award Finalist

  By

  Raine English

  Digital Edition

  Copyright 2012 Raine English

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or any portion thereof, in any form. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient, unless this book is a participant in a qualified lending program. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at Raine@RaineEnglish.com.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters in this book are fictitious and figments of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Linda Ingmanson

  Cover by Char Adlesperger

  www.RaineEnglish.com

  For the first time in Alice Hart’s life, she likes the way she looks.

  The ugly duckling has become a swan. But how could this be?

  She’s ninety years old, far from young and beautiful…

  Alice Hart is a lonely old woman who believes true love happens only once in a lifetime. When the angel Christmas tree topper given to her by the fiancé she lost sixty years ago comes to life, Alice’s wish to be young again is granted, but she’s given only ten days to find true love or die unfulfilled. So she concocts a story that she’s Alice’s long lost niece, hoping to attract the attention of her handsome tenant.

  Disillusioned by his experiences with high-maintenance women, Jack Billings yearns to find an old-fashioned girl who is more interested in his heart than in material things. When his elderly landlady vanishes, her newly arrived niece, Ally, seems to hold the clues to her disappearance. Jack at first dismisses Ally as another material girl, but as he digs deeper into Alice’s mystery, he learns that Ally is more than what she seems and worries that the girl he’s coming to love might be a scam artist or worse.

  Table of Contents

  TIN ANGEL

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Coming soon

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “How’s this look?”

  Alice Hart leaned forward in the overstuffed armchair, squinting her tired eyes to get a better look at the tin angel Jack Billings had set atop the Christmas tree. Wrapped with faded gold foil and netting, the angel was almost as old as she.

  “The tree looks wonderful, Jack. Whatever would I do without you?” She smiled at the handsome young man who’d come to her rescue countless times over the five months he’d been renting her upstairs apartment. A tumble of black hair fell across the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. He brushed it back and flashed her a Cary Grant grin.

  “Aw, you’re such a charmer, you’d have no trouble rounding up one of your other admirers.” He stepped down off the stool and stood next to her chair.

  Alice swooshed a wrinkled, liver-spotted hand through the air. “Go on, it’s Saturday night. You mustn’t waste your time with an old woman. Go on, before you’re late for your date.”

  Jack’s deep, throaty laughter filled the parlor. Alice liked the sound of it. She didn’t get many visitors. Pastor Riley and Doc Brooks didn’t count. They came weekly out of obligation, but Jack came because he wanted to. She tucked the wool blanket on her lap snugly around her legs. If only she were young again, she just might pursue a man like Jack.

  “What makes you think I have a date?” He got down on one knee and rested an elbow on the arm of her chair. With his chin in his hand, he stared deeply into her eyes. “There’s no one I’d rather be with than you,” he teased, but there was a kindness in his voice that touched her.

  “Careful or you’ll make me blush.” She plucked at the blanket with long, spindly fingers—fingers that had once been beautiful and able to fly gracefully over ivory piano keys. But that was years ago, before the arthritis had set in. “The tree looks beautiful,” she said, shifting her gaze.

  “Beautiful, indeed. I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you.” He leaned over and gently kissed her cheek.

  His finely sculpted lips were warm. A tingle ran down her spine, burning a trail of shame. She was ninety years old. She shouldn’t still have these feelings. Yet she realized that was one of old age’s cruelest tricks. While on the outside she had grayed and withered, inside she still felt twenty-five.

  Alice squeezed his large, strong hands and bid him good night. After Jack left, she leaned back in the chair and stared at the Christmas tree. The glass ornaments twinkled against the multicolored lights. A deep, hollow feeling filled her chest. This could very well be her last Christmas. At her age, how many more could she expect to have? Tears pricked at her lids. She never imagined her life would turn out as it had, but then does anyone ever imagine they’ll wind up alone? Even now, after more than sixty years, she could still picture Thomas Long’s face—his lopsided smile that sent her heart pitter-pattering every time he flashed it her way, and those deep chocolate eyes that looked straight into her soul.

  A tear trickled down her cheek. The war had taken Tom before they could marry. But he wasn’t the only one who’d died that awful day in 1942. She’d died along with him. At least in spirit. If it hadn’t been for Hart Theater, the family business where she played the piano each night, she’d have had no reason to ever leave her parents’ rambling Victorian home.

  Jasper, a sleek black cat with piercing gold eyes, jumped onto her lap. He curled into a ball and let out a raspy, contented purr. “At least I’ve got you,” Alice whispered, stroking his back.

  She shouldn’t have let life slip by. Surely there could’ve been someone, somewhere who’d have found her attractive. If only she’d put herself out in the world, perhaps she’d have met someone…someone like Jack. He was just the type of man she would love to have met when she was young. The kind of man Tom had been—gentle and considerate. A lump formed in her throat. Nothing about life was fair.

  She stared past the gleaming Christmas tree, through the leaded glass windows, out to the snow-lined street. She’d lived in Silvercreek her entire life. She’d watched the small Connecticut farming community become a bustling industrial town, but she’d never truly been a part of it—just a bystander looking in from the outside. She sighed and closed her eyes. What she wouldn’t give to be able to live life over, if only for a few weeks. To be twenty-five again and in love…

  Something sharp scratched Alice’s arm. She opened her heavy-lidded eyes to find Jasper stretching contentedly on her lap. The grandfather clock ticking softly in the room’s shadowed corner showed midnight. She’d fallen asleep in the parlor again. She pushed out her bottom lip and shook her head sadly. Pretty soon she’d be sleeping through the night in the chair.

  Nudging the cat off her lap, Alice reached for her cane. Even with support, her legs were wobbly, and her joints ached from rheumatism. Slowly, she made her way to the bedroom. She slipped into a nightgown and then took the hairpins from the bun at the top of her head. Long silver strands cascaded down her back, falling just below her waist. She’d always worn her hair long, even as a child. It covered her like a blanket, hiding her imperfect features—the thin straight nose, the overly full lips, the dark wide-set eyes, and the square jaw. No
t to mention her tall, lanky frame. Yes, she was far from beautiful, but her hair was exquisite.

  Despite the twinge of pain in her gnarled fingers, she plaited her hair expertly from years of practice. She pulled back the down comforter and climbed in between the flannel sheets. Her stomach rumbled angrily. She’d not eaten dinner again. The only time she remembered was when she ate with Jack. Thank goodness for Jack. Without him, she’d most likely starve. Ignoring hunger’s grumbling, she closed her eyes and let sleep take hold.

  She slipped into a world where her body no longer ached and her heart wasn’t broken. She floated on a cloud, and in her dreams, she became whatever she wanted—a beautiful young girl in love. As she drifted deeper into sleep’s abyss, the years melted away.

  “Dance with me.” Tom’s eyes sparkled. The pale light cast glints of gold on his sleekly combed hair. His fine, black tuxedo, tailored to perfection, accentuated his muscular build. She’d never seen him more handsome.

  He took her hand and brought it to his lips, then led her through huge double doors into a candlelit ballroom. The orchestra began to play a waltz. She placed her hand on his shoulder, and he swept her across the polished floor. Their steps matched perfectly. He pulled her closer, holding her tight, as they twirled. His warm breath tickled her ear, and she relaxed against him, content to be in his arms. They danced round and round through cotton-candy clouds, but suddenly, he was ripped from her, disappearing in a swirl of mist and fog.

  “Don’t go. Don’t leave me,” she cried.

  * * *

  Alice awakened to find dawn’s purple glow beaming in through her window, but her tired eyes burned as if she hadn’t slept a wink. That dream! So vivid, almost as if it were real… Why, she could still feel the warmth of Tom’s hand in hers, the scent of roses and beeswax candles lingering in the air, the effortless sway of their bodies moving in rhythm. She tried to drift back to the dream so that she might summon Tom again, but the moment was gone. She sighed and blinked the sleep from her eyes.

  Jasper prowled onto her pillow and let out a series of loud meows. Food was a priority for the cat, if not for herself. She stepped into a pair of warm, fuzzy slippers and reached for her cane. Jasper led the way into the kitchen, where Alice poured a cup of cat food, then put the kettle on for tea. The cold, drafty room made her shiver, and she went into the parlor for a throw.

  The Christmas tree sparkled in the morning light. She glanced up at the tin angel on top. Tom had given it to her before he left for war as a token of his love. Every time she looked at it, she felt as if the angel wrapped her in its golden wings, replacing her loneliness with serenity. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “I know it’s served no purpose to have mourned you my entire life, Tom. I should have tried to live…to love again. Not that anyone could have taken your place, but to waste my life…well, I realize now that was wrong.”

  The room went black. She blinked quickly, trying to make out anything: a piece of furniture, the Christmas tree, something…but it was as if she’d fallen into a cavern so deep that not even a pinpoint of light could penetrate. Had she gone blind? Perhaps she’d had a stroke. Oh Lord, was she about to die? She reached for her cane, but her hand froze on the brass handle. A piercing blue light illuminated the parlor. Oh no, it was too late. Death had claimed her.

  At her feet lay the tin angel. When she reached for it, a gust of wind more powerful than a February Nor’easter blew her into an overstuffed armchair. The angel rocketed into the air and spun like a top, then burst into tiny glittering particles that fell around her in a shower of gold dust. An exquisite figure emerged—pixie-like in appearance, its gossamer wings fluttering like a butterfly’s.

  “What’s happening?” Alice whispered, gripping the chair.

  A tinkle of laughter more melodious than church bells spilled from the angel’s bow-shaped lips. “Don’t be frightened, Alice. I’ve granted your wish.”

  “Wish? I haven’t wished for anything.”

  The angel floated nearer. “But you did. You wished for youth and love.”

  “A feeble dream.”

  “But a wish, nonetheless.”

  Alice frowned. “Maybe, but I know better than most, wishes don’t come true.”

  The angel lifted an iridescent brow, her gaze leveled at Alice. “Really?”

  With the angel’s stare fixed on her, Alice glanced down over her body. Her eyes widened in disbelief. What had happened to her wrinkles and liver spots? She held out her hand. Whose smooth, supple skin was this? Next she flexed her arthritic fingers, then waggled them when no familiar stiffness stopped her. “Oh my, there’s no pain,” she said in disbelief.

  Alice rose from the chair and, like a child filled with joy, twirled on her toes, then hurried across the room without the use of her cane and with a spring in her step that she hadn’t had in years. She stopped in front of a large gilt-framed wall mirror. “It can’t be true.” The reflection that greeted her was one she hadn’t seen in decades. Luminous smoky-gray eyes. A radiant rosy complexion accentuated by high cheekbones and a wide sensuous mouth, shiny chestnut hair… She ran her index finger over her bottom lip, down her chin and along her firm jaw.

  “I don’t believe it. I’m gorgeous. And young!” Tears streamed down her cheeks. This was how she’d looked in her youth, only the ugly duckling had become a swan. Times had changed and so had the standard of beauty. For the first time in her life, she liked the way she looked. But how could this be? She was ninety years old, far from young and beautiful.

  Alice didn’t know what to do. Part of her wanted to dash into the streets and dance: another part of her wanted to run back to bed, hide under the covers and wake up again. She looked at her agile, young hands and shook her head. She pressed her palms together and took a long look around the room. The same antique rose throw lay across the sofa. And there on the end table stood her favorite photograph of Tom in his uniform, yellowed now with age. Only she had changed.

  Alice shook her head slowly, took a deep breath, and looked back at the angel. “Well, okay, maybe every once in a while miracles do happen. But why now? Why this?” She waved a smooth, wrinkle-free hand in front of herself.

  “Because you’ve been given a second chance at life.”

  “A second chance? I don’t understand.”

  “You’re in limbo, Alice.”

  The blood drained from her face, and the room seemed to tilt. “You mean I’m dead?” Her voice came out as little more than a squeak.

  Golden curls danced around the angel’s face as she laughed. “Let’s not call it that. Let’s just say you’ve had a transformation.”

  Alice leaned against the wall to steady herself. “All right, then, this…transformation, how long will it last?”

  “Till New Year’s Day. Unless you find true love before then.”

  “What! If I haven’t found love in over sixty years, how in the world can I find it in ten days?”

  “It will do you no good to be negative. Besides, Tom is rooting for you.”

  “Tom sent you?”

  The angel nodded. “A soul plagued by guilt can’t rest. He wants you to love again.”

  “But what if I don’t find love?”

  The angel’s radiant complexion darkened. “Then you’ll forfeit this second chance—”

  “And I really will be dead,” Alice said glumly, finishing the tin angel’s sentence. A moment later, blackness enveloped her. “Wait,” she cried. “Don’t leave, there’s so much I need to ask you.” But the darkness swallowed her useless plea. The tin angel had disappeared.

  Maybe this was just another dream? She scratched the side of her leg with her fingernail. The ensuing sting confirmed she was indeed awake. She glanced at the top of the Christmas tree. The tin angel was gone. Great. She’d been given a second chance at life, but she had no idea how she was going to find love.

  The piercing wail of the teakettle sent Alice sprinting to the kitchen. Steam shot from its spout, and water bubbled
from its rattling lid like a science experiment gone awry. She grabbed a potholder, then lifted the copper kettle from the burner, setting it on a hot plate next to the stove.

  Jasper sat on the counter, cleaning his face with his paw. If a cat could frown, that was the look he shot her between licks. Large golden eyes glared at her, and a low growl rumbled in his throat when she reached out to stroke his head.

  “What’s the matter, Jasp? Don’t you recognize me?”

  The cat inched back. “It’s me,” she said with a laugh, “only a new-and-improved model.” She held her hand out for Jasper to sniff until he seemed satisfied she was indeed his owner.

  “I’ve got so much I want to do. I don’t know where to begin.” She looked down at the fuzzy pink slippers too large for her feet and the floral nightgown barely skimming her ankles. “First off, I’d better find some clothes that fit.”

  She left Jasper to finish his grooming and headed toward the bedroom. Inside, she opened her closet and groaned at the stack of cardigan sweaters and stretch pants. They might be all right for an old lady, but they’d never do for a young woman about to have the time of her life. She took a moment to say a prayer of thanks for this miracle, then rummaged through a row of blouses until she came to a coral silk—the one she liked to wear when Pastor Riley came to call. He said it complemented her eyes. Yanking it off the hanger, she tossed it on the bed, then found the pair of black trousers she always wore with it.

  She slipped out of her nightgown and noticed the cotton briefs about to fall down around her knees. She hadn’t realized how much her waist had thickened over the years, leaving her to wonder about the changes that might have occurred to the rest of her body. She already knew her feet were smaller and she’d gained an inch or so in height. She averted her gaze to her breasts. And she knew something else—she no longer sagged.