Mr. Pomeroy strolled through the door at that moment. “You can come in and help him when he does the next batch, Princess.”
“No, thank you.” The last thing she wanted to do was spend more time with Ransom outside of school. “I have a lot more people on my list this year, so I need extra time to shop.”
Her father favored her with a long look. “In that case, I suggest you make room in your schedule for the icing, and maybe some of the baking as well. You could use the extra income, and I could use an extra pair of hands.”
“You’ll pay me?”
“I have room in my budget for some holiday help,” he agreed.
“Thanks, Dad!” She paused, thinking. “Would it be okay if Koji helps too?”
Smiling warmly at the young angel who’d been living under his roof, Mr. Pomeroy said, “Sure, sure. As your mother says, the more the merrier.”
Prissie was happy to be lending a hand during the open house, especially since Ransom wasn’t there for once. Humming along to the Christmas carols on the radio Pearl kept behind the counter, she wiped tables and made sure the bread racks were stocked. Saturday mornings were mostly filled with regulars, so Jayce and Auntie Lou visited with friends and neighbors while they did a brisk business in Loafing Around’s famous potato rolls.
Glancing around the bakery’s small dining area, Prissie couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d forgotten something. Running through her mental checklist of duties, she couldn’t figure out what, but every time there was a lull in the activity, the nagging feeling resurfaced. She was still puzzling when the bell over the door jangled, letting in a gust of cold air and another customer. Turning with a ready smile, Prissie gasped, “Padgett! What brings you here?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” he replied. Padgett Prentice worked as a ranger at Sunderland State Park, north and east of town and nearly adjacent to the Pomeroys’ farm. With his high cheekbones and black braid, he looked Native American, but he was actually another member of Jedrick’s Flight. “This is my first time visiting your family’s bakery.”
Prissie couldn’t think why the Caretaker might suddenly decide to drop in and anxiously asked, “Is anything wrong?”
He studied her face. “Does something seem to be wrong?”
That gave her pause. Something had been bothering her all day, and she couldn’t put her finger on it. “Maybe,” she admitted in a low voice. “I don’t know what, and I don’t know why … but I have a funny feeling. It’s hard to explain.”
Padgett nodded patiently. “There are times when feelings are nothing more than that.”
Prissie frowned. “So it’s nothing?”
“I didn’t say that,” he gently countered. “However, letting emotions dictate your decisions can be as unwise as letting appearances influence your opinions.”
She got the idea he’d said something very wise, but with no idea how to respond, Prissie asked, “Are you here to see Koji? He’s in the back.”
“I’d be pleased to see him, but I was not Sent for any specific purpose,” he replied. “I’m here with my boss.”
“Abner’s here too?”
Padgett turned to the big front window. Sure enough, Abner Ochs stood outside, his hands clasped behind his back as he bent low to scrutinize every lovingly laid detail on her father’s gingerbread house. Lifting a finger, the apprentice signaled to his mentor. Abner entered and casually glanced around. “Coffee, I think.”
“Yes, sir,” Padgett replied. With a polite nod to Prissie, he took his place in the short line at the front counter.
Left alone with the balding park ranger, she said, “Good morning, Abner.”
He gazed over the rims of his glasses. “Prissie Pomeroy,” he mused aloud. “You seem better.”
“You knew I was sick?”
“I did,” he acknowledged. “If Tamaes were able to fend off illness with that blade of his, it would not have visited you.”
“Oh, I suppose so. Say … would you like to sit down?”
“If you’ll join us.”
“I’m sure that’d be fine.” She followed him to one of the small tables.
Padgett brought two cups of coffee. He added cream and sugar to Abner’s before passing it along, then sipped his black. Searching for something to say, Prissie began, “I was wondering about the time when I was lost in the caves. Afterward, Padgett ministered to me, and I felt better.”
Abner’s gaze swung to his apprentice. “Did you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very thoughtful. The girl had a long day.”
“Yes, sir,” his apprentice agreed.
With an aggrieved look, Abner protested, “You don’t have to call me sir, Mr. Prentice. We’re not on duty at the moment.”
Padgett only took another sip of his coffee. “You have a question, Prissie?
“I was just curious,” she said. “You’re able to minister to people. Could you have gotten rid of my fever?”
Abner inclined his head. “That’s certainly within my realm of experience; however, such things aren’t done according to my will.”
“So you could, but you don’t unless God tells you to?”
“I can do no more or less than what I am bidden.”
Padgett quietly pointed out, “You already told her that, sir.”
“Did I?”
“Yes, I remember,” Prissie murmured. “I suppose I just didn’t understand what you meant the first time.”
With a small smile, Abner said, “Then you have benefited from the repetition. Many do.”
The bell over the door jangled again, and Padgett remarked, “We should be getting back, sir.”
Prissie glanced at the kitchen door, surprised that Koji hadn’t put in an appearance yet. He had to know his teammates were here. “Will I see you again soon?” she asked, oddly reluctant to let them go.
“I don’t have any way of knowing,” Abner replied candidly. “But if I were to guess, I’d say yes. Our paths are likely to cross again soon. If not in winter, then certainly in spring.”
“Oh? Why then?”
Standing, Padgett explained, “Your class is one of those scheduled to visit the park in April.”
“Which part?” Prissie asked curiously.
“The orienteering trails.”
“Again?” With a shake of her head, she waved a hand. “I’ve been on those trails three or four times before!”
Abner’s gaze was keen as he replied, “As you have already acknowledged, there is often a benefit to repetition.”
3
THE UGLY
WHISPERS
She’s utterly clueless,” Marcus grumbled. “And childish.”
Harken’s deep chuckle rolled through the empty shop. “The faith of a child is precious in the sight of God.”
The Protector shook his head incredulously. “This one has the faith of Thomas.”
With a widening smile, the Messenger countered, “Then let her see, let her touch, and let her faith be strengthened.”
Prissie knew she must be dreaming, for she often dreamed of the hayloft in the barn. It was a recurring nightmare grounded in a frightening fall during her early childhood. Her fear of heights lingered, and she automatically checked to see how close to the edge she was standing. But several things had changed from the usual pattern. For one, it was wintertime, although she wasn’t cold, even with bare feet. Also, it was nighttime. This dream had always taken place on a spring day, with sunlight streaming through cracks and between rafters. Turning to check the window near the peak of the roof, Prissie spied another major difference. She wasn’t alone.
Padgett’s raiment shone softly in the darkness as he worked his way across bales of straw on his hands and knees. He was barefoot too, and his long, black hair dragged on the ground as he shuffled along. For the life of her, Prissie couldn’t figure out what he was doing, but the longer she watched, the more frightened she grew. His expression was solemn as he reached out to cup something
that wasn’t there, then pressed his hands firmly in midair. When he murmured something softly to no one, she finally whispered, “Padgett?”
“Prissie,” he answered, sparing her a glance. “What brings you here?”
She blinked in confusion and dared to speak a little louder. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? This is our barn.”
“I know, and I’m grateful for the haven it’s become,” he calmly replied. Shifting further along the row of bales, he distractedly asked, “How much can you see?”
“Only you. What are you doing?”
“Ministering to those in need.”
So that was it. Someone else was here, someone she couldn’t see. If that person needed a Caretaker’s attention, it could only mean one thing. “Someone’s hurt?”
“Yes.”
Hugging herself, she squinted hard into the dimness, but it was no use. “Why can’t I see what’s happening?” she complained.
He turned inquiringly. “Do you wish to see?”
“I … I think so.”
Padgett nodded once. “Then open your eyes.”
Suddenly, Prissie was surrounded by angels, and the combined light of their raiment banished the shadows. Unfurled wings lent splashes of color, but most of the wounded warriors bore distinctive tattoos on their arms and shoulders. Low groans, muffled voices, the scrape of boots, and the metallic clank of weapons filled the loft. The angels leaned against the walls or sat on the straw, but many were simply strewn across the floor.
With a soft noise of dismay, Prissie cautiously approached the nearest, appalled by the nasty wound showing just above his breastplate. As she knelt by his side, she realized that while he was bleeding, the blood wasn’t red, and the gash glowed, as if angels were even brighter inside than out. That hardly mattered, though, for the angel’s face was creased by pain. “Wh-what can I do?” she stammered. “Neil knows about first aid, but he’s asleep. Maybe it would be better if he was here? Or Koji! I know he would help, if you asked him to come.”
Padgett crouched beside her and turned her face so she could only see him. “Don’t be afraid,” he soothed. “I’ll tend to them. That’s why I was Sent here.”
“Please?” she asked, teary-eyed in her dismay. “There are so many of them, and only one you!”
He cupped her cheek and almost-smiled. “When the Spirit compels, it is the same as Sending. God accepts your offering, child of compassion.” He placed a roll of bandages in her hand. “Stay close.”
The gauzy material Padgett used to bind wounds reminded Prissie of raiment, for it seemed to be woven from threads of light. As he worked, she peered in fascination at each of his patients, admiring the endless variety in coloration and trying to memorize each face. By the stitching along their collars, she gathered that most of the warriors were cherubim. Just like Jedrick, they were big, powerful angels with fierce countenances and stern expressions. No one seemed inclined to converse with her, but without fail, those who met her gaze greeted her with a soft, “Fear not.” Their reassurances were touching, and before they were half done, Prissie’s heart brimmed with an odd mix of awe and gratitude.
Just then, a tall angel with turquoise wings trod heavily across the wooden floor, half carrying an injured comrade. This Protector did a double-take when he noticed Prissie. “What is the meaning of this, Caretaker?”
“She is dreaming.”
Helping his friend to the floor, the archer studied her face. “Will she remember?”
“I don’t think so.”
Prissie’s gaze snapped to Padgett’s face. “I’ll forget all this?”
“Do you often remember your dreams?” he inquired.
“Only bits and pieces,” she slowly admitted. “But this isn’t a dream dream. This is really happening, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Prissie,” Padgett assured. “This is real.”
“What if I don’t want to forget?” she whispered, giving the inquisitive Protector a pleading look.
With a shake of his head that sent his long, wheat-colored ponytail swaying, the tall angel answered, “Such things are in the hands of God.” Standing, he straightened the quiver of arrows strapped to his back. “I must rejoin my Flight.”
“I’ll tend to your teammate,” Padgett promised.
The other angel nodded curtly and turned to go, but he paused to address Prissie. “Even if this memory fades, do not fear,” he solemnly urged. “We shall remain. Indeed, we have always been nearby.” Then, to her utter astonishment, he strode through an archway cut into the side of the barn, spread his wings, and took to the sky.
Pointing to the opening, Prissie exclaimed, “There’s a hole?”
Padgett didn’t even look up. “I opened a way, and I will close it when my task is complete.”
She didn’t want to get too close to the edge, but Prissie sidled a little closer so she could look through, and what she saw boggled her mind. The skies were filled with varicolored stars and the brilliant flash of angels’ wings. It might have been beautiful if it hadn’t been a battle.
The ranks of heavenly hosts clashed noisily with an enemy that was hard to make out in the darkness, but their shadowy forms were the stuff of nightmares. Broken wings creaked, foul voices bayed, and weapons slashed brutally. Prissie gripped the wall’s edge and whimpered.
An angel standing guard at the entrance glanced her way, and when his silver eyes met her gaze, they widened. He quickly placed himself between her and the scenes of violence, dropping to one knee and lifting iridescent white wings to block her view of the battle beyond. “Hello, Prissie,” he said, his deep voice gentle.
“You know me?”
“I do,” he confirmed. “Do not be afraid, little daughter.”
In complete contrast with his eyes and wings, the enormous angel’s skin was black as jet. His hair stood out in a series of corkscrews around his head, and the hilts of two swords showed above his broad shoulders. Even though he had lowered himself to speak with her, he was nearly as tall as she, yet she wasn’t frightened. He almost seemed … familiar. Catching sight of the stitching on the edge of his collar, Prissie asked, “You’re a Guardian? Does that mean you know Tamaes and Taweel?”
A slow smile spread across the angel’s face. “We serve together in the Hedge.”
“Hedge?”
“A gathering of Guardians,” he explained. “We are hadarim, a hedge of protection set in place by God.”
“Does that mean …?”
Padgett called to her then, and the silver-eyed warrior sighed. “That answer will come in the fullness of time. Go on, now.”
She quickly returned to the Caretaker’s side, and time seemed to stretch; perhaps it stood still. All through the night, she watched the comings and goings of supernatural strangers. These were the Faithful. Heaven was their home, the Lord was their love, and her protection was part of their duty. A few others paused to greet her and allay her fears, and the more she met, the more she cared. She wanted to do something, and a growing sense of urgency built in her heart. But what could she do? Feeling increasingly helpless, Prissie asked, “Is it always like this?”
“No.” Padgett pushed his hair behind one pointed ear, inadvertently leaving a bright smudge of blood across his cheek. Shaking his head, he repeated, “No, it’s not. The enemy has been gathering strength, and they attack with greater numbers each time they rise up.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” he patiently inquired.
“Why are they attacking here?” she clarified.
“I cannot say for certain,” the Caretaker replied as he brushed the hair out of the eyes of a suffering Protector. “This place has seen unrest for quite some time.”
“Because of the Deep?”
“Perhaps. However, it’s fair to say that the Fallen don’t need a reason to steal and destroy.”
By the time he’d seen to the last of the wounded, Prissie’s emotions were in a weary tangle. The senselessness of the enemy’s attacks ange
red her, the pain of the wounded defenders sickened her, and the threat of further violence frightened her.
Gently extracting the last roll of bandages from her hands, Padgett said, “Do not dwell on fear.”
She looked up at him, and her lip trembled. “There’s so much more than I knew about.”
“And there is far more than this,” he rejoined. “May that knowledge stir your heart to greater faith.”
“But … if I forget?”
“Then the memories will be stored up for you like treasures in heaven,” he replied.
“R-really?” she mumbled, surprised when relief brought tears to her eyes.
Padgett held her gaze and gravely declared, “Nothing is lost for those who are found.”
“Are you sure?” she asked with a sniffle.
“Quite sure,” he promised. “You do not hope in vain. When the time for partings has ended, your joy will be full.”
“I guess that’s okay, then.”
Padgett gently pulled her into an embrace. “Close your eyes.” Her lashes fluttered shut, and the last thing she remembered was his voice speaking a simple benediction in her ear. “Sleep in peace, Prissie.”
“You okay, Prissie?” whispered April. “You seem really out of it today.”
She snapped to attention. “I’m fine, thanks.”
April Mayfair peered steadily at her through the lenses of her rectangular-framed glasses, then shrugged. “If you say so.”
Turning her attention back to the front, Prissie was relieved to see that Miss Knowles hadn’t noticed her inattention. She wasn’t usually the type to zone out in class, but she couldn’t seem to corral her thoughts today. Her concentration was shot, so even though it was irresponsible, she gave up, promising herself to ask Koji about the lecture later on.
He was as meticulous a note-taker as she normally was, living up to his angelic order as a future archivist of heaven. His notes were a faithful record of their class periods, even if he did tend to stray off topic. Mixed in with the facts, figures, and formulas were snatches of praise, often in a language she couldn’t read. Prissie thought this alone might have given away his true nature, but Koji didn’t stop there. Unlike other kids their age, he didn’t doodle in the margins; he illuminated them. All along one side of his notes, he added intricate illustrations that he later showed to Shimron, his mentor.
The Broken Window Page 3