“I’m suggesting that there is a time and season for everything, as the Preacher once wrote in Ecclesiastes, and that now, as we are getting closer to the truth we’ve sought for years, the answer is finally on its way. There were times answers took a while to get from heaven to earth; battles in the heavens. And I think, considering all other things… a battle has been waged without our realizing it on its fullest scale, and the answer has come. Where we go from here,” Masao answered, “is anyone’s guess, but once I read what I have found in the rest of the Hebrew text, you just might agree.”
“And that is,” Edward asked.
He sounded hesitant, yet eager. He sounded wary and weary. He sounded like he wanted the full truth, once for all, but was afraid to embrace what was to come.
Petrified yet somehow, enthused.
Which is exactly how she, herself, felt as she considered what was in store for them as Masao prepared to give them this final bit of news.
Forty Six
At Masao’s words, Mark nearly dropped his hot chocolate.
That would never do, he thought, scolding himself. But what’s all this been about a Hebrew fragment? If I could get my hands on – No, he interrupted himself. You’ve done enough to get yourself in trouble – or potential trouble – listen and stay out of it.
“You brought it with you,” he asked tentatively.
“Oh, no, it is much too fragile,” the man said, his narrow eyes narrowing even more with his smile. “I brought only my notebook; the translation is written there. I keep copies of the translations here, and a few more places, to be on the safe side.”
“Smart thinking,” he heard Jason say, on his right. With Masao and Tom to his left, and Jason and Edward on his right, along with Tawny, and the rest of the women on the left-hand wall. everything felt amplified. Rose and S. Gillam were across from him near the fireplace, and had been silent nearly the whole time.
Was that girl going to say anything?
He watched her a moment, then returned his gaze to his hot chocolate.
“So if everyone is ready,” Masao continued, interrupting the thoughts and worries building in Mark’s head, “I will begin, and then, I think it best to pray and head our separate ways for the evening, if there are no objections. I believe Miss Rose is tired, and I do not wish to burden her with any lengthy conversations apart from the point.”
Rose smiled weakly at the man, a bare flush coming to her cheeks. “Merci, Masao. I greatly appreciate it. I feel like I could sleep for a week,” she said, laughing gently.
And for the first time since she’d come home, her laughter sounded like tinkling bells. As though the real Rose – the one who had left – was just returning.
“Very well,” Masao said. “And quite understandable. So, without any further ado,” he continued, “on to the rest of the interpretation. First, to remind you of what the beginning said, it basically informs the reader of three things: first, Timothy is, indeed, the one who made the mirror. Second, that this mirror is different from all others he created prior to it, and third, that one of his nieces,” he paused a moment to check his notes, “Galya – we do not know her age at the time – fell through the mirror.”
That said, he glanced around the room. When he finally met Mark’s eyes a moment, he continued. “And so here is the next section of the letter; there is one more section I am working on, but I have enough to be helpful once more, I believe.”
“Alright,” Edward said. “We’re listening.”
Mark watched as almost everyone in the room move forward; moved closer to Masao, even if it only meant to move their elbows to their knees. He turned to face the man, giving his full attention, as well.
““And while I do not understand what happened to our dear Galya – the church and I have been praying day and night for her return – I believe she is gone forever from us. But I also sense that somewhere – or maybe some time – she is still living. For as Mary Magdalene once told Peter, she sensed Jesus’ presence with her even before she saw Him, thinking He was the gardener. She was terrified, and yet, in the moment she comprehended what occurred, she fell into His arms, shaken only in the surprise of it. In her heart, she knew He was still with her; she just didn’t know if she would see Him. His promise had come to pass, and she was the guardian of it sent to the world to proclaim good tidings,”” the man read, turning the page.
Mark’s heart beat within him at a rapid tempo, and he sensed sweat forming around the edges of his hair. He finished his hot chocolate and moved to set the cup and saucer on the table in front of him.
““I have thought over what may have caused a difference between this mirror and the other eleven I have created. Each, I have been painstakingly devoted to getting correct, and each, very different from one another. I had hoped to create them as symbols representing the twelve dreams God Almighty has given me; I believe each dream is representative of a future but quite present reality in the heavenly realm we do not yet see in the earth. And this was the culminating piece. With the first eleven, I was able to utilize water from the Red Sea while living in Eilat, and from the Timna Valley, sandstone and copper. I was routed from there by angry Moabites who did not wish Jesus Christ preached as the One, and had to leave the mirrors behind with my cousin Elkanah, who assured they would be taken care of. So this mirror, made of wood instead of copper, and using different water; water from here, in Jerusalem, is a change only God would have known about. And now that I am in old age, I cannot reattempt to make eleven more like it for a matched set. I will have to trust.””
Masao set his notebook down; Mark felt like his head would explode.
How can this possibly be the truth, he thought. How can a wood-based mirror survive this long, and how is it that the man who created it would be someone we’ve heard of. Someone in the Bible itself? Not only does it make no sense, but the mirror should be in a museum somewhere, should it not, if this is really true?
“Wow, so…,” Me’chelle began, then stopped short.
“I can’t believe…,” Jason said quietly, then let his words run off.
“Seriously,” Mark said simultaneously.
Their words were a jumbled mess, and he gave off a nervous laugh. It reminded him of a Disney hyena, and he covered his mouth just as quickly.
“So all this means what,” he asked when he was able to recompose himself. “So the guy had twelve dreams, and created twelve mirrors. The other eleven had copper and sandstone involved in the process, and were left with his cousin Elka-whatever.”
A sudden shiver ran through him, and he started as Masao corrected him.
What is that, he wondered.
“Elkanah,” Masao said. “Yes, so it would appear… But what if the wood – or the water, for that matter – changed the process enough that it caused a shift? Or maybe he knew the twelfth mirror would have an unusual gift attached, but did not realize what it was until…”
“Until Galya fell through it,” Paloma asked, finishing the sentence Masao allowed to slide.
Tawny stood, stretched, and sat back down as Mark continued to rack his brain for some explanation. “Or maybe it was a fluke; a mistake in some process. Have any of you ever thought about that?”
Edward let the legs of his chair down and scooted back into a seated position from where he’d been laying in the recliner. Confetti scattered, running underneath the couch at the sudden movement, surprising the women.
Eugenie was barely able to move her feet in time not to be plowed into, and everyone began to laugh; even her.
And it was good to see her laughing. It happened so rarely anymore.
“So, are we gonna pray, or what,” S. Gillam spoke up as the laughter died down.
Finally, they bowed their heads, seeking God’s face, His wisdom, His guidance, and His protection. Finally, finally, a peace settled over Mark, and – he hoped – everyone else present, too.
Including whoever or whatever he sensed now was watching.
> Forty Seven
Perpignan, France… April 10, 1707
Galya took Amabel’s hand and helped her strike the chords of the harp. “Gentle,” she told the little girl as she pushed her hair out of the way so it wouldn’t get tangled. “Just your fingertips, Un Peu ... juste les pointes,” she said again.
She could only imagine the scream that would ensue if blonde hair and harp strings got tangled together.
“Je tiens à essayer par moi-même; je vois ce que vous dites, la Tante ... Je vais être gentil.”
Galya smiled down at her and nodded.
“Alright, then. Give me a moment; I will move back and watch. Just keep your hair aside and your fingers soft. Play each chord in a row,” she told the girl. “Listen to each string and feel it. It will speak to you, if you listen. And together,” she continued with another smile, “they are meant to sing.”
“Comment les chaînes chanter, Tante? Je ne comprends pas!”
“Well,” she began, not sure how to explain. “They sing quietly… very quietly. You only hear it when they work together.”
“But…,” the young girl began. “Cela n'a pas de sens. Si les chaînes chanter, pourquoi ont-ils seulement chanter ensemble? Pourquoi ne pas chanter solos?”
“Well,” Galya began again as she heard the door behind her open. “You see…”
She sighed.
“What was the question,” she heard her husband ask as he approached.
“Pourquoi ne la harpe uniquement des chaînes chanter ensemble et non pas sur leur propre,” Amabel repeated. ”I do not understand.”
“Why, they do sing separately, Mon Ange,” he said. “But it is harder to hear them because their voices are not a strong as when they sing together.”
The girl beamed at him.
“Why did Tante not just say so,” she wanted to know, looking from Gaspar to Galya a moment.
“I believe she was working on the answer,” he told her. “Were you not,” he asked, turning to meet her eye to eye. His, thankfully, held a twinkle.
“Oui,” she said with a smile. “I was.”
“So, you are teaching the girls to play the harp now,” Gaspar asked Galya later in the day, when they had some quiet. “Or was there more to it than this?”
The sun was just beginning to set, and it made her hair look like fire as she approached him.
“Amabel, she has heard us play and wanted to know what it felt like,” she told him, settling on the couch next to him. “How can I refuse? She is such a lovely and sweet child.”
Gaspar turned toward her, taking her into his arms. She leaned her head into his shoulder as he spoke.
“If only you knew the antics her brothers used to play on her – on she and Adele both, really – before you arrived; when they were younger. The girls would just allow it, even though later, I would find them hiding under their bed, crying. Their hearts, they are tender. André’s, too, sometimes,” he told her.
While it was true that the girls had sometimes done things to provoke their brothers, Gaspar was more concerned about the matters of each of their hearts.
And Amabel’s was the most tender of them all. It had always been so.
“I would imagine, oui,” his wife said.
He could feel the vibration of her voice against his chest, and it brought him comfort.
“Just know that if you begin something with her, in terms of lessons, she will want them to continue for a very long time,” he told her. “The same goes with Adele. They have been through too much already in their short little lives – all five of the children have – but the girls have a habit of not letting go. This is why they still weep for the Sylvains to come back. And I do not know how to help.”
He reached for his wife’s hand in the silence that lay between them and sighed.
If I knew, I would have helped a long time ago, he thought.
After several moments, Galya sat back up, her hand remaining in his. She looked down at their entwined hands, and then into his eyes.
“What is it,” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
And then, she smiled. And the smile was sweeter, brighter, more beautiful than he had ever seen.
“Nothing is wrong,” she said. “But we will be having a baby.”
Forty Eight
Boston, Massachusetts… May 10, 1942
Shannen broke down in tears, clutching her stomach a moment as the news was read in church: more people forced to wear the Star of David. More people under the control of a maniac that most of the world either cheered or ignored.
She thought back to when she’d been reading Gone With the Wind; back to the times, as a child, when she’d pondered the difference between being a slave and being a Jew, and the swell of emotion within her refused to stop.
She felt like someone had thrown her into the undertow and walked away in the middle of a storm; felt as though she would drown, or at least need help to find dry land again.
And maybe that was the point: in Europe, Jews weren’t allowed the dry land of freedom. They were being hunted; they were being killed… and most of the United States, a far as she was concerned, was hurting things even more. Even here in her beloved Massachusetts; here, where she had lived and married and had borne her daughters. Here, where she hoped to raise the children God had blessed her with.
Even here, people were turning away from her; away from Shannen Rose and Eve Angela; away, even, from her husband, simply for being married to a Jew. And it stung.
How could it not?
The handful of families that still interacted with them were all either family, or Jewish. The only stores, laundry facilities, and restaurants where they were allowed without issues were those run by Jews, or places Steven could go into, but would have to do everything on his own. And still, often he was heckled there.
What had happened to their nation? To their state, and their city?
This wasn’t Europe, and yet, it was almost as if Hitler had stepped foot on the soil here. It was as if what he said was authoritative here, and not just in Germany and Belgium and Poland. And so, their family – along with two Jewish families from Poland they had befriended – had formed a bond.
“Now, we do not believe that everything Hitler is doing is helpful or just or good,” she heard the pastor say. “But he has a point, does he not?”
What?
What was Pastor Fredrickson talking about?
She started in her seat, and pulled her daughters – one on either side of her – closer.
“There are troublemakers, and some, we all know, are Jewish. Not all, but many. I can think of several that I have met,” the man continued, going way off-topic now from the Scripture he had read just minutes before, “who would fit this description.”
Steven motioned to her they were leaving, and one by one, their whole row – all family – and the row behind, where the Schindler and Pytlak families were seated, left. While Steven and some of the other men walked out with their heads held high as the pastor continued to drone on about the differences between troublemakers and the rest of the world, Shannen held Eve Angela in her arms, made sure Shannen Rose was holding onto the pocket of her dress, and tried to slink away quietly, without notice.
Her face flamed at the thought of what must be going through the minds of the congregants who stared, but it was nothing she could help. They would not be returning here. Not if she had any say.
She felt a tap on her back, and her mother, Liraz, held her hands out for the baby, who she gladly doled over as they reached the doors.
The sound of shuffling feet behind heightened as she thanked Arkadiusz Pytlak for holding the door and made her way out into the sunlight. The murmurs of the people mixing with the pastor’s continual speech – as though nothing had changed, his words still flowing – stung her ears as she furthered herself from the crowd inside. Shannen Rose let go of her pocket once they traversed the stairs and moved closer to Maude Pytlak, Geoffrey and Otto Schindler, and th
e other children in the family: Michael and Opal’s daughter, Rose Marie, Peter and Lily’s daughter, Jeanette, and Shalom and Jerusha’s daughter, Rachel.
“Hold hands, please,” she told them as she moved her hands to her gently distended belly as they walked ahead of the adults. Jerusha and Liraz moved to her side – Jerusha, with baby Elliott in tow, and Liraz, carrying Eve Angela – and they walked in silence down the street a ways, until it was time to turn north and head home.
Jolanta Pytlak, Maude’s mother, moved closer to them as they walked. Konrad and Malina Schindler, as well as the rest of the men, trailed behind her just a little even as she sped up into the ladies’ and babies’ group.
“It doesn’t surprise me a lot,” Jolanta said hesitantly, “that Pastor Fredrickson would become like so many others. And that was the fourth church we’ve been to in three years that ended up having anti-Semitic values in leadership. I thought-“
The woman smiled at them through tears as they continued walking, her big brown eyes and rounded, hawkish nose dwarfed by the long thick braid of hair she kept plaited like fish scales over her left shoulder.
“I thought that in America, things would be different, and it is better here, but not so wonderful as I had dreamed. People here still hate us… just not as much.”
Forty Nine
Vancouver, Washington… May 10, 2025
Edward carefully laid a hand on the back of the mirror to help support it as he, Masao, Jason, Justice, and Mark maneuvered it down the now-cramped stairs.
The others had insisted he leave it to them, but there was no way he would allow this without being ready and available in the event someone needed a breather partway down.
“Maybe if we just get it out into some sunlight to dust it, we can get a better view of it as a whole,” he had suggested the other day over breakfast when the Henleighs had come over.
The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven Page 59