Still Close to Heaven

by Maureen Child

  He dropped a gentle kiss on the baby's forehead, then chuckled gently. "She's got quite a grip on it too," he said. Then he shifted his gaze to stare at Rachel like a man stumbling out of the desert and finding a lake full of cool, clear water.

  The coin. Rachel’s breath caught. Angela had grabbed the coin. She had held her baby's small hand, and the two of them together had clasped that golden coin while Rachel spoke of Jackson.

  Magic. It had to be. Rachel glanced down at Angela's tiny fist and carefully pried the little fingers free of the gold chain. She sucked in a breath of air; her head spun. Glancing at Jackson, she whispered brokenly, "The coin. It's… gone."

  "What?"

  "Angela and I were holding the coin together while I told her about you. It was there. Now it's not."

  He jumped to his feet, paced off a couple of steps, then came back again. Anxiously, he shoved one hand through his hair. "But you told me in the saloon that you had already tried wishing me back."

  "I did. Lesley said I couldn’t do it."

  "If you didn't do it, then… Angela?" Jackson’s gaze shifted to the smiling baby.

  "Is it possible?" Rachel stood up on suddenly shaky legs and moved in close to the man she had never thought to be with again.

  "How could she have wished for me?" he asked, smoothing his palm gently across his daughter's small head.

  "Maybe," Rachel said softly, "maybe she wished with her heart. Maybe this happened because a baby is so pure. So innocent. Her soul is so new, she’s still close to Heaven."

  "No closer than I am, right now," Jackson whispered. But would they stay this way?

  Tears blurred Rachel's vision again, and still he looked wonderful. But she had to know if he was here to stay or not. There was only one way to be sure. Cradling their daughter between them, Rachel held her breath and leaned her head against his chest.

  He held himself stiffly, waiting.

  Rachel felt his desperation as her own. She closed her eyes, murmured a quick, heartfelt prayer, and listened.

  Long, silent moments passed, the only sounds in the room that of the impatient baby, fretting to finish her meal.

  "Rachel?" he asked and his voice rumbled in his chest. "Dammit, woman, tell me what you hear. Or don’t hear."

  A strangled laugh squeezed past her throat. She lifted her head and grinned at him through a new, heavier sheen of tears. "It’s beating, Jackson. Your heart is beating!"

  He released a pent-up breath and slapped one hand to his own chest. After a long minute, he returned her grin with one of his own.

  "Looks like I'm home," he said softly, unbelievingly, and threw one grateful glance toward Heaven. "Thanks, Les."

  Angela chose just that moment to remind her parents of her presence with a squall loud enough to shatter glass.

  Her father laughed, took her into his arms, and promised, "You cry all you want to, sweet pea. It is the prettiest music your daddy's ever heard."

  Rachel’s forehead dropped to his chest, and when he wrapped one arm around her shoulders to pull her tight against him, she smiled in the darkness. "You won't think so when she wakes you up out of a sound sleep."

  "Honey," he assured her, "I'll always think it's a beautiful sound. Besides," he paused for a quick, hard kiss. "I don’t plan on you and me getting a helluva lot of sleep, anyway. Not for a long time."

  Grinning like a fool, Rachel settled herself back on the bed, took the baby from Jackson, and began nursing her again.

  But now, there were three of them together in the moonlit darkness. And Rachel knew that this hour before dawn would always be special to her. This time when they were all still close to Heaven.

  Epilogue

  TWENTY-SIX YEARS LATER

  Even the sun had made a rare springtime appearance, showering the gathering with light and warmth. The entire town of Stillwater had turned out for the ceremony. Rachel Tate glanced over the familiar faces.

  Sam and Mavis and their three children. Hester and Charlie with the twins. She smiled and smothered a chuckle as she spotted Sally and Mike O'Hara sitting in the midst of their six rowdy sons.

  "What are you laughing at?" Jackson whispered and bent his head close to hers.

  "Nothing," she answered, letting her gaze move over him with a wonder that hadn’t faded in the slightest over the years. His dark hair, still a bit too long, was sprinkled with gray now, but those green eyes of his had lost none of their magic. Impulsively, she leaned in and planted a quick kiss on his cheek.

  He wiggled his eyebrows at her, mouthed the word "Later," then turned back to listen to whatever their youngest daughter was saying. At eight, little Christine had opinions on everything and didn't hesitate to share them.

  Rachel leaned forward to sneak a peek at her other children, dressed in their finest clothes for the occasion. Twelve-year-old Sam, named for his father's business partner, was perched on the edge of his seat. He had always had enough energy for two or three healthy boys, she thought, smiling to herself. Next to him was Davis. At sixteen, he was already as handsome and as tall as his father. Like his father, he had a fine talent for working with wood. The boy had big plans for the Tate-Hale construction firm.

  And then there was Angela. Her firstborn. The child conceived on one of those two stolen nights she and Jackson had claimed so many years before. The child she had been carrying when they were married.

  The child Destiny had demanded be born.

  Rachel sighed and leaned back in her chair, her gaze shifting to the hastily erected stage in front of her.

  From somewhere off to the side, a small band, costumed in matching blue and red uniforms, struck up a tune. The crowd quieted as a lone man climbed the steps to the stage and moved to its very center.

  "My friends," he said in a practiced tone that reached the far edges of his audience. "We’re here today to honor one of Stillwater' s citizens."

  "Come on, Governor," someone in the back shouted. "No need to be so blamed formal. Get Angie out here!"

  Pockets of applause greeted that statement.

  Jackson grinned at Rachel and grabbed her hand to hold in both of his.

  "You’re right, friend," the governor shouted back with a laugh. He turned to one of his aides and took the scroll being handed to him. Then, he looked to the edge of the stage and waved one hand. "Angela, come on out here and say hello to your friends."

  Hoots and hollers rose up over the thunderous applause that followed Dr. Angela Tate as she took the steps and walked with a long, easy stride to the governor' s side.

  Jackson squeezed Rachel's hand tightly.

  Holding out the red ribboned scroll, the politician announced, "This commendation is awarded to Dr. Angela Tate in gratitude for her service to the Territory of Washington. Almost single handedly. Dr. Tate stopped a cholera epidemic that — without her — would have cost hundreds of lives."

  Angela grinned, took the scroll, and held it tightly.

  "You are a credit to your community, doctor," the governor went on, clapping his hands and beaming the smile of a politician in an election year, "We thank you."

  "Atta girl, Angie," a deep voice, sounding suspiciously like Sally's oldest son, Mike Jr., yelled.

  As the crowd came to its feet in a roar of approval, Jackson pulled Rachel into his arms. He bent his head to claim a kiss that left her breathless.

  Unseen by the cheering mob, someone else beamed a proud smile. Lesley pulled his lace hanky from his sleeve and carefully dabbed at his eyes. As he tucked it back into place, he spared a glance for the couple who had overcome so much to be together.

  "All is as it should be. They’ve done well," he said to himself.

  Another voice, one that carried the roar of thunder in a whisper, said with a chuckle, "Didn’t I tell you it would be so, Lesley?"

  "Yes, Sir," the little man replied, coming to attention.

  "Surely you didn’t doubt Me?"

  "Not for a moment, Sir," Lesley assured the voice before gi
ving his former charge one last satisfied nod. Then he faded away into the sunlight.

  Jackson and Rachel, holding on to each other, as always, smiled proudly at their daughter, a blessing born of a love stronger than time, stronger than Fate.

  And now, a sneak peek of THIS TIME FOR KEEPS by Maureen Child

  PROLOGUE

  Los Angeles, Present Day

  Tracy Hill died in a freak bowling accident.

  She never would have been at the bowling alley in the first place if it hadn't been for the new, blue-eyed lawyer working for her advertising firm. She'd agreed to meet him there and had taken her friend Linda along for moral support.

  Of course, if ol' Blue Eyes hadn't bought the fries and if Linda hadn't cheated on her diet, the accident wouldn't have happened. As it was, Tracy sat on the bench awaiting her turn and watched as Linda shoved two French fries into her mouth just before picking up her bowling ball.

  Up and down the length of the Wonder Bowl, pins smashed against the wall and fell into a pit, sending a thunderous crash echoing through the building. Tracy glanced at the lit scoreboard on the wall at the end of the lane and smiled. She was winning.

  Linda held the bowling ball close to her chest and began her halting "lucky walk" to the foul line. As she neared her mark, she swung her right arm back, preparing to hurl the heavy ball down the gleaming wooden lane.

  Instead, that bowling ball slid from her grasp. Her lingers, slick with the grease of too many French fries, couldn't hold it.

  Tracy stared in disbelief as the black ball flew at her. Closer, closer. All she could see was that solid, heavy orb of blackness hurtling toward her head. Then the world and everything she had known splintered in a blinding flash of pain.

  CHAPTER ONE

  "Screw karma, I'm not going back." Tracy shook her head and gave her surroundings a quick glance. If this was Heaven, she wasn't impressed. Honey-toned paneling covered the walls, recessed lighting shone down on her from the ceiling, and the three desks on the golden floor were unremarkable. Golden floor?

  Her eyebrows lifted as she gave the polished gold bricks beneath her feet her full attention. All right, so it wasn't an ordinary office. She shifted her gaze to the bank of windows along the far wall. Outside, a deep blue sky stretched on forever. Frothy white clouds butted up against the building, preventing her from seeing the ground— if Heaven had ground.

  Turning her head slightly, she looked at the three spirit members of the Resettlement Committee. At least, she assumed they were spirits. It was either that, or the three of them were headed for a truly bizarre costume party.

  The instant she saw them standing in front of their desks, she silently named them Tom, Dick, and Harry. Tom wore what looked like a Brooks Brothers suit, Harry looked as though he'd stepped out of a recreation of the signing of the Constitution, and Dick was wearing a floor-length toga, of all things.

  Surprisingly enough, except for the differences in their outfits, they looked a lot alike. Each of them had snowy white hair, pale blue eyes and a worried expression creasing their features.

  A thread of apprehension unraveled inside her. Should she be worried that they were worried?

  "Miss Hill," Tom said in what he probably thought was a most convincing tone. "You must go back. There are rules, you know."

  Yes, she knew. The moment she died, she had remembered each of her previous existences. Along with all of the rules involving Reincarnation. Frowning, Tracy sat down on a straight-backed chair and crossed her legs. "Forget it, guys," she said and folded her arms over her chest. "Been there, done that."

  "I beg your pardon?" Harry asked.

  Apparently, Heaven— or wherever— didn't keep up with slang. She brushed at the soft, worn fabric of her favorite jeans and told herself that at least she had been dressed comfortably when she died. If she had to spend eternity in high heels, she would have really been cranky.

  "Listen fellas," she went on and gave them each a smile before continuing. "From where I'm sitting, Reincarnation is the pits. I appreciate that it's your job to get me back to Earth as quickly as you can, but frankly, I’m just not interested." Actually, all she was interested in at the moment was a nice cold glass of white wine. Almost before the thought had formed in her mind, a crystal goblet appeared in her hand. As she watched, a pale gold liquid rose up in the glass. Smiling to herself, she took a sip. Not bad.

  "Miss Hill," Tom spoke again. "According to our records," he paused to consult an ordinary looking clipboard, "you were not scheduled for collection for several more decades."

  "Decades?" she echoed, her fingers tightening around the crystal stem.

  "I'm afraid," Tom continued, "your… demise was premature."

  "Premature." Reaching up, Tracy pushed her short blond hair behind her ear and wished for chocolate. Instantly, a small, delicately made table appeared at her side. Resting atop it was a silver tray bearing a wider assortment of chocolates than she had ever seen before. Grinning, she chose one and popped it into her mouth. Heavenly, she thought, then smiled. Oh, she could get used to this.

  "If you would please pay attention to the matter at hand," Tom snapped, eyeing her treat irritably.

  "Sorry," she muttered and dutifully swallowed. "But really, premature or not, I died. It's over. Finito. Finished. Done." Tracy shrugged, flicked a crumb of chocolate off of her UCLA sweatshirt and reached for another candy. As she popped it into her mouth, she grinned. "And I'm in no hurry to go back, thanks."

  "This just doesn't happen," Dick whispered to himself, wringing his hands like one of the witches in Macbeth.

  "Most extraordinary," Harry agreed with a solemn nod.

  Finishing off her second piece of candy, Tracy stood up, set her wine glass down on the table and looked at the three faces studying her. "Look guys, you can't force me to go back, right?"

  The three of them frowned in concert, then bent their heads together for a whispered conversation. After a moment or two, they straightened again. "No," Tom admitted. "But we do implore you to listen to reason."

  "What reason could you possibly give me to go back to Earth?" she asked. "Every time I have a life, it ends in disaster."

  "Now really," Tom interrupted, "aren't you exaggerating just a bit?"

  "Am I?" she retorted, eyebrows arching high on her forehead. "Check your precious records if you don't believe me."

  Obediently, he bent his head and began flipping through page after page of shining silver parchment. While he looked, Tracy talked.

  "Take the Chicago fire, for example," she said and nodded when the suit frowned. "Not only did Missus O'Leary's cow wipe out most of the Windy City, the damn thing got me, too."

  "Hmm…"

  Ignoring the three of them, she went on, warming to her theme. "Then there was the wagon train."

  "Now really, Miss Hill," Tom said, obviously the spirit in charge. "One can hardly bring up a wagon train incident. At that time, all of those who traveled in such a manner took great risks."

  "Yeah," she shot back. "But how many pioneers died when a potbellied stove fell out of a wagon and landed on their heads?"

  He scowled. "Not many."

  "And what about the Titanic?"

  "Eh?" he muttered and searched through his papers again.

  "The Titanic," she repeated, tapping her foot against the golden floor. "Steerage? Drowning?"

  "Yes, well. Most of the souls on board perished in such a fashion. Hardly remarkable."

  "I’ll bet if you look, you'll find that I'm the only one who drowned in a barrel of beer the night before the iceberg."

  "Oh my," he muttered and looked up from the records.

  "See?" she said, lifting both hands in an exaggerated shrug. "With that kind of history, why would I want to go back? What's next? A satellite drops out of orbit and lands on me?"

  "Now, now," one of them soothed.

  "Forget it," Tracy said flatly and shook her head. "Besides, I wouldn't go through being a kid again for anybody
. I hated being a teenager. Zits and depression. No thanks."

  Tom tossed his ledgers onto one of the matching desks and faced her squarely. "Miss Hill, I must tell you that you are risking eternity with this rash decision."

  "Huh?"

  "Each soul has a different path," he explained in a strained tone. "And each of those souls must progress through many lifetimes to learn the lessons it needs to proceed to the next dimension."

  "So," Tracy said thoughtfully, "You're telling me that if I don't go back, I won't get to go forward either."

  "Precisely." He beamed at her.

  "I can live with that," she said after a moment's consideration. After all, any place where chocolate was available on demand couldn't be too bad. And if she was already dead, she wouldn't be gaining weight. She didn't care what Tom, Dick, and Harry said. This place sounded like Heaven to her.

  "One of you try to talk to her," Tom muttered and stepped back.

  "My dear," Harry said gently, "we really can't allow this situation to go on. You must live the ninety-five years for which you were originally scheduled."

  Ninety-five? Wow. And she had never believed in working out. If she had exercised too, she might have made it to one hundred and ten. If not for French fries and bowling balls, that is.

  "If we could arrange for you to reenter life without having to start from scratch, so to speak, would you reconsider?"

  "You mean. I wouldn't have to be born and grow up again?" she asked, wanting to clarify his offer.

  "Exactly." He smiled at her benignly and waved one hand behind his back at his two cohorts who were trying to get a word in.

  Apparently, his idea wasn't a popular one with the others, but as much as she hated to admit it, Tracy was intrigued. This might just have a few possibilities. "Say I agreed to go back." She added, "Hypothetically," when the three spirits looked triumphant. "You'd have to agree to meet certain conditions."

  "Unheard of," Tom snapped.

  "Hush," Harry told him waspishly.