The Garden Gate

by Christa J. Kinde

  “Why not?”

  She didn’t know how else to explain it, so she pressed her hand over her heart and murmured, “It aches down deep.”

  Koji must have understood what she meant . . . because he smiled.

  “Unfair,” she whispered. “Angels shouldn’t gang up on their friends.”

  Screeching filled the room as people pulled desks together. Ms. Knowles roved through the classroom, confirming groups. When she stopped beside theirs, she bluntly asked, “Are you sure you can work together?”

  Ransom clasped his hands behind his head and tipped back in his chair. “We’re cool.”

  Prissie pursed her lips, but said, “I have no objections.”

  The woman hummed and made a note, moving on, and Ransom whispered, “Brr. Where’s the joy? Where’s the fellowship?”

  “You’re expecting kind of a lot from a study group,” she retorted, fixing her attention on the hand-out.

  He laughed. “Fair enough.”

  She shot him a sour look, but it was no use. He probably had no idea he was picking up her dad’s phrases.

  Ransom jerked his thumb at Marcus, saying, “As long as we lay it all out there for him, I’m good. It’d be crazy if I didn’t make sure my best friend knew what’s what about eternity.”

  Prissie gaped at him, and then her gaze slid sideways to Marcus’s face. He was staring back at her with such a pained expression, she burst out laughing. “Ransom, I think Marcus has been Faithful for a while now.”

  He swiveled to stare at his friend. “No kidding?” Marcus rubbed the back of his neck, and Ransom’s attention bounced back to Prissie. “How’d you know?”

  She chose her words carefully. “I found out when he came after me in the caves. It was very reassuring to know he was . . .” Prissie gestured to the slouching Protector. “How would you put it?”

  “Faithful works,” Marcus replied. “Let’s stick with that.”

  Ransom’s shock swung toward joy, and his eyes took on a shine. Punching Marcus’s shoulder, he said, “You never said so!”

  “Not my place to speak up.”

  “Now that’s just crazy! Who’d keep something so important a secret from the people who are important to them?”

  “You have the makings of an evangelist, Ransom,” Koji offered out of the blue.

  He blinked, then nodded. “I pretty much had you figured for a Christian, what with you being Miss Priss’s conscience and all.”

  Koji gravely replied, “Our friendship will extend into eternity.”

  Ransom grinned. “I like the sound of that.”

  Marcus shoved his hands deep into the pockets of the leather jacket that covered the bold pattern of his wings, but to Prissie’s eye, he couldn’t hide the joy he found in fellowship with Ransom. With a smile that would have turned Jennifer into a puddle, he replied, “Yep. Long haul.”

  4

  THE BLIND OBSERVER

  Kester lowered his set of panpipes, distracted by the expression on his mentor’s face. “Who are you texting?”

  Baird was flopped over a pile of three beanbag chairs, his fingers tapping fast on his phone. “Pastor Kern, official church business! So don’t scold me for keeping kids from their homework. Yet.”

  “I see.” The tall Worshiper stood and crossed to the corner, trading woodwind for brass. As he fiddled with the stops on a french horn, he remarked, “You seem pleased.”

  “Overjoyed!” The redhead beamed at his apprentice. “Sounds like he talked to a kid on Sunday. New believer. Zeal overload. Questions on the doozy level. But he’s a little young for the usual new believers course. Youth pastor recommended me to take him under my wing.”

  “You are on the doozy level?”

  Baird just grinned.

  “Do you have time for an additional mentorship?”

  His question went unanswered as the redhead pushed up onto his knees, goggling at the display. With a whoop, he scrambled across the room and shoved his phone under the other angel’s prodigious nose. “Best. Sending. Ever!”

  Kester read the contact information in their pastor’s latest message. “Ransom Pavlos.”

  Prissie had begun avoiding the kitchen, and she had a feeling Koji had noticed. He always did. It wasn’t that she disliked the angel who’d taken up residence on their refrigerator, but Ephron made her uncomfortable. The soft-spoken Observer was almost pretty with his neatly pointed ears and fine, fair hair, but she couldn’t help staring at his hollowed cheeks. His raiment hung loosely from bony shoulders, and neat bandages hid his blinded eyes. There were other scars too; they were the reason Taweel always carried his teammate in and out. Ephron couldn’t walk.

  However, it was the restless way he rubbed his fingertips together that drove her crazy. She wanted nothing more than to charge across the room, grab his hands, and beg him to stop. Prissie knew how much Koji used his hands — ​writing neat rows of strange letters, sketching little things from around the house, illuminating his class notes in crayon. Seeing Ephron’s hands empty made her sick.

  Was it wrong to be unhappy? After all, everyone in his Flight seemed completely grateful that their teammate was back in their midst. Was she ungrateful for wanting more? The longer she waited, the more distressed she felt on his behalf, and her plague of conscience finally drove her to her knees — ​figuratively speaking. The prayer was short, but earnest. “He’s still suffering. What can I do?”

  Prissie needed advice, so she took Beau up on his offer, cornering him in the barn while Koji was off with Tad at the pig shed in the back forty. Not sure how to broach the subject delicately, she jumped right in. “Did you know there’s an angel on our refrigerator?”

  “Is that where he is? I sorta figured he was in the kitchen, but I wasn’t really sure. I can’t see him.”

  “Then how did you know he was there?” she demanded, mystified.

  “I can hear him sometimes,” Beau explained. “He sings at night. It’s nice.”

  “It’s Ephron,” she confided. “The one Milo was carrying . . . back then.”

  Her brother’s expression grew solemn. “You said he was banged up really bad. Is he doing better?”

  “I guess,” she replied unhappily. “He’s healing and all that, but I’m worried about him.”

  “How come?”

  “Well, he’s an Observer — ​the sort of angel whose whole job is to watch — ​but he can’t do that because he’s blind.” Twirling the end of her braid around her finger, she said, “Do you realize how bizarre this sounds? Anybody would think we’re crazy.”

  “I know,” he replied with a shrug. “But it’s not, and neither are we. So . . . is this Ephron guy depressed or something?”

  Prissie was suddenly really glad that Beau was her brother. She searched her mind for a word to describe the Observer’s demeanor. “Fidgety.”

  “Huh.”

  With a sigh, she got to the point. “I was hoping you could do something for me, or with me.”

  “Sure. What?”

  “You could pray,” Prissie said, blushing since the request seemed sort of personal. “I’m not very good at it, so I thought maybe if we’re both praying, it’ll make a difference.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he replied, pulling a small notebook and pen from his jacket pocket. “Anything specific?”

  Prissie goggled at her brother. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a notebook, Sis,” he deadpanned. “People write stuff in them. They’re real handy.”

  “You keep a notebook with you at all times?”

  “Pretty much.” Beau fanned through the pages, explaining, “I write down stuff I need to remember.”

  “Like homework assignments?”

  “More like memory verses and prayer requests.”

  Prissie blinked. “You do that?”

  “Well, sure,” he replied, his blue eyes taking on a mischievous shine. “You see, back when I was a kid, one of my Sunday school teachers challenged the
whole class to do this, and I gave it a shot. Habits have a way of sticking if you let them.”

  “Milo?” she gasped.

  “Yeah,” he replied with a crooked smile. “Milo.”

  A few days later, Beau stuck around after dinner and offered to help her clean up the kitchen. Since this might be considered a minor miracle, she figured something was on his mind. When Koji left them alone, she knew something was up.

  Beau grabbed a dishtowel and rolled his eyes in the direction of the refrigerator, whispering, “Are we alone?”

  Prissie nodded, quietly explaining, “Taweel carried him out a little while ago.” She felt bad because Ephron had probably asked to leave in order to spare her feelings. His consideration stung.

  “Who’s that?” Beau asked in a low voice.

  She bit her lip, hoping she hadn’t just shared something she shouldn’t. She’d been very stingy with information about her angelic friends up until now, and her brother hadn’t complained. Maybe it would be all right to share a little more. Taking a deep breath, she replied, “He’s a guardian angel from the same Flight as Milo and Koji.”

  “Flight,” Beau murmured. “That sounds sort of official. Flights of angels?”

  Prissie started slowly, but the words soon came in a rush. She’d been holding in so much since last summer. Even though she didn’t tell him everything, the things she did share widened Beau’s eyes. It was a relief to finally break her silence, and she said as much.

  “Twins are supposed to have secrets,” he said with a sidelong glance. “Might as well make the most of it while it lasts. Your birthday’s almost here.”

  Until she turned fifteen in a couple more weeks, Prissie and Beau were both fourteen. With everything else going on, it had slipped her mind. “I was looking forward to this one.”

  “But you aren’t now?”

  “It’s hard to feel like celebrating in the middle of a mess.”

  “Maybe celebrating will take your mind off the mess,” Beau suggested nonchalantly.

  She knew her brother all too well. Giving him a sharp look, she asked, “Are Dad and Mom planning something?”

  “Duh.”

  “And you know?” His smile said it all, and Prissie felt a sudden spike of anticipation. “What?”

  “Can’t say!” Beau replied. “But I think you’ll like it. Nope. I know you’ll like it!”

  Prissie tried to scowl, but her attempted ferocity fizzled. Her family hadn’t forgotten her special day, even in the midst of their assorted tragedies. It wouldn’t be the same. How could it be? But Beau’s hint was enough to give her a little hope that her birthday might actually be happy this year.

  It was really strange, talking to Beau like this. She trusted him because he was family, but this was the first time she’d ever felt as if she was talking to him as a friend. Turning back to the sink, she tried to work her way up to the thing weighing heaviest on her heart. “Koji, Milo, Ephron, Taweel, and the rest are all Faithful, but there are angels that aren’t.”

  He gave that some thought. “Demons?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I met one, and he seemed really nice. He’s the one who . . . .” Prissie’s voice faltered, but she forged ahead. “Taweel is here because my own guardian angel was captured. Tamaes has been missing since Christmas.”

  “Captured,” Beau echoed softly. “Demons kidnapped your guardian angel?”

  She nodded numbly. “Adin hurt Ephron, he took Tamaes, and I kind of think he’s after me. If he finds out you know about angels, he might try to hurt you too.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “Obviously,” she muttered. “But I’m sure your guardian angel and his mentor are doing everything they can to keep you safe.”

  “I have a guardian angel?” Beau asked, sounding startled.

  “Everyone does.”

  His blue eyes darted around the room, and he leaned close to ask, “Do you think he’s close by?”

  “Always close, but not always in the same room,” she said with a measure of authority. “They work together to establish a sort of boundary around our home.”

  “Smart,” he said. “So you know a lot of angels?”

  “I’ve met all of Koji’s teammates,” she replied.

  “Are they amazing?” he asked.

  “Completely.”

  Beau grinned, and then his brows shot up. “That’s right! I wanted to talk to you!”

  “We are talking,” Prissie countered.

  “About what you had me praying about,” he expanded. “I think I have a good idea. At least, I hope it’s a good one.”

  “You mean about Ephron?” she whispered, glancing towards the barren top of the refrigerator.

  “Yeah. I had this idea when I woke up this morning, and so I pulled up a search engine this afternoon and looked for blind artists. There’s a whole bunch of them.” His expression mingled hope and excitement as he explained, “I found pictures of art by people who lost their sight but not their desire to create. Painters, sculptors, weavers, potters — ​you name it!”

  Prissie stood straighter, her mind spinning through possibilities. “He can’t see, but he can still use his hands,” she mused aloud.

  “Exactly.”

  Brightening, she whispered, “I think I know what to do!”

  It took a few days to arrange things to her satisfaction, and even then, Prissie had to wait for her chance. In the arm-chair beside the piano in the family room, she bided her time. No one was doing their homework at the table this evening, so maybe tonight was the night. The Pomeroy kitchen was always a busy place, but an opportunity presented itself just before she was supposed to cross the farmyard to the lonely bedroom over at her grandparents’ house.

  She could hear her big brother raiding the fridge, and as soon as Neil thudded up the back stairs, she rushed over to Koji, who was reading on the sofa. Hooking her arm through his, she set her plan into motion. “Can I ask for a favor?” she checked. “Actually, two favors.”

  “If they are within my ability to grant,” he replied, his expression expectant.

  “I want to talk to Kester, but I’m not sure how to reach him. Can you play Messenger for me?”

  Koji promptly replied, “Tomorrow morning.”

  “You’ll talk to him tomorrow?”

  “No. Kester will be here early in the morning so that you can talk to him,” he clarified. “He says it would be his pleasure.”

  “That was fast,” she mumbled.

  “What else?”

  “I sort of wanted to say goodnight to Ephron,” she announced. “Would you come with me?”

  “Indeed,” he replied, dark eyes sparkling.

  Making sure the coast was clear, she snagged the step stool and set it in front of the refrigerator. When she first climbed up, Ephron tensed, but then relaxed. “Hello, precious,” he murmured.

  Slowly, she shook her head. “Why do you call me that? We don’t really know each other.”

  “That is not entirely true,” he countered, lacing his fingers together. “Koji often spoke of your friendship when we met in dreams.”

  “H-he did?” she stammered, glancing at the young angel.

  “He betrayed no confidences, but his love was a clear, bright joy in the midst of a dark time.” Ephron slowly reached out, and his fingertips briefly brushed the top of her head. “In truth, I knew you even before that.”

  “You did?”

  “My place has been here since before you were born. I remember your father’s childhood.”

  “So long?” she gasped, marveling at his youthful appearance.

  “My duties kept me inside Shimron’s tower, so I am little touched by Time.”

  “I understand,” Prissie murmured.

  Ephron kneaded his palm with one thumb, and she wondered if he was fighting against the urge to reach out again. Sorrow welled up deep in her heart, and she gave in to the impulse to place her hand over his. Immediately, he stilled. Doing her be
st to sound natural, she said, “I brought something for you. It’s not much, but I thought it might help pass the time.”

  Ephron’s brows were covered by bandages, but she could see his forehead crease. “For me?”

  Pulling away, she fumbled in the pocket of her skirt for her offering. Pressing an egg-sized lump into his palm and closing his fingers over it, she stiffly said, “It’s my own to give, so no one will miss it.”

  He pushed experimentally at the modeling clay, an astonished look on his thin face. He brightened — ​quite literally — ​and Prissie had to squeeze her eyes shut.

  “Softly,” Koji warned.

  “Forgive me,” Ephron murmured, and the light ebbed. Setting aside the clay, he reached for Prissie with both hands, gently cupping her face. To her utter embarrassment, he leaned down and kissed her forehead, saying, “I thank God for you and for your gifts.”

  “It’s just clay,” she mumbled.

  “Not this gift,” Ephron countered, taking up the lump once more. “Your gifts. God has been merciful to me through you.”

  “Oh,” she replied awkwardly, looking to Koji for help.

  The young angel held out his hand to her. “It is time to say goodnight, Prissie.”

  Whispering her farewell, she hopped down from the step stool just as her mother strolled into the room. Her eyebrows lifted slightly, and she asked, “Did you need something, Priscilla?”

  “No,” Prissie replied, quickly letting go of Koji’s hand. “I was just . . . saying goodnight.”

  Her mother’s expression softened, but all she said was, “That’s sweet.”

  Prissie expected to toss and turn for half the night, so she was very confused when she suddenly found herself standing in the middle of an open plain, hip deep in swaying grasses. Light surrounded her, rippling past like a gentle breeze, tugging at her snowy white dress. With sudden clarity, she realized she must be dreaming. Being out in the open like this was very different than the glade she was used to. She felt much more exposed here, more vulnerable. Biting her lip, she tentatively called, “Kester?”