“Are you coming to a point, Miss Priss?”
“Getting there,” she grumbled.
Ransom laughed.
Prissie sighed. “Look, I think it would be nice if you and Marcus came.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes, please. And do you mind asking Marcus for me. I don’t even know if he has a phone.”
“You could just ask him at school tomorrow.”
“In front of everyone?”
“Meaning Jennifer?” he asked knowingly. She groaned, and Ransom laughed again. “Just us study buddies, then?”
“Us and Koji . . . .”
“Figured he’d be there.”
“And I have a pretty good idea who else my folks might already have invited,” Prissie continued.
“Like Mr. Mailman.”
“Obviously. And Uncle and Auntie Lou. And Derrick and Pearl.”
“The more people you invite, the less special I feel.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.
“You sound pretty excited.”
She thought about it, then admitted, “I guess so.”
“Glad to hear it. And thanks for the invite. See you tomorrow?”
“Okay.”
And . . . it was.
7
THE YELLOW ENVELOPES
Like so.” Long fingers with calloused tips patiently guided Ephron’s hands along the strings of a small harp. “I also brought a recorder, if you prefer woodwinds.”
The blind observer shook his head and offered the instrument back. “I do not know what to say. This is so . . . foreign. Play for me instead?”
“As you wish.” Kester accepted the harp and plucked several open chords before shifting into a simple melody.
Ephron listened with apparent concentration, but eventually, he said, “You arrived after I . . . before Koji took my place.”
“Yes.”
“I appreciate Prissie’s suggestion, but I could not ask you to part with an instrument you obviously cherish.”
Kester hummed. “Fear not. I have seven other harps to choose from.”
“So many?”
“Few angels carry as much baggage as I do,” the Worshiper shared. “A caretaker’s assistance is required whenever I move. I have as many instruments as Shimron has inkwells.”
Ephron laughed, then shyly remarked, “You have large hands, and you sound tall.”
“I am.”
“What else? I cannot picture you.”
“That is easily remedied.” Kester let the song trail off and reached for the Observer’s hands, placing them against the sides of his face. He calmly cataloged the basics of his appearance, then smiled when Ephron located his most prominent feature. “. . . and a large nose.”
“Quite.”
As the younger angel curtailed his curiosity, Kester politely inquired, “May I ask a personal question?”
“Certainly. Anything. Please,” Ephron quickly invited.
“What color were your eyes?”
Squaring his shoulders, the blind Observer replied, “Green.”
“Thank you. I have also been wanting to complete my picture of you.”
With less uncertainty, Ephron extended his hands and asked, “May I try again? The notes are sweet.”
Kester once more entrusted the instrument to his teammate. “Most assuredly.”
Very early on the morning of Prissie’s fifteenth birthday, a soft rap woke her. “M’yes?” she called sleepily, sitting up and glancing at her clock . . . only to remember that Grandma kept the bedside table on the wrong side of the bed.
Koji opened the door a crack. “May I enter?”
She waved him in, whispering, “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Yes,” he replied softly. “Taweel told me you were born long before sunrise.”
Prissie rubbed her eyes and wondered if she was dreaming. Koji was clad in his raiment, which shimmered softly in the darkness. “So you snuck across the yard in angel mode?”
“Indeed.”
“Why?”
“Your family will celebrate the day of your birth, but I wish to observe the moment of your birth.”
With a small sigh, she asked, “How much time do we have?”
“Enough for a song.”
“I’m guessing it won’t be ‘Happy Birthday.’ ”
“No,” he replied, sitting on the edge of the bed.
His song wasn’t in any language Prissie could understand, but it was sweet and light and felt like a gift. Responding bursts of thanksgiving filled her heart, resolving into a silent prayer for Koji, whose friendship really was the best gift she’d ever received.
The Observer’s simple melody trailed off to humming, then a whisper. At the sound of her name, Prissie turned her face to meet his steady gaze. With a small nod, he said, “Now.”
She held very still, not wanting to muck up the moment Koji wanted to witness. But then she remembered that she probably had a terrible case of bedhead and reached up to check her hair.
“You have completed fifteen years of life and have embarked upon your sixteenth.” Koji tilted his face toward the ceiling. “The others are singing on Tamaes’s behalf.”
“For me?”
“For joy.”
Prissie pushed ineffectually at her hair. “You guys don’t need much of an excuse to break into song.”
“We need no excuses when there are reasons,” he said seriously.
A pang of loneliness stole into her soul. “Koji?” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“I wish you could stay.”
“I am here.”
She fidgeted. “I mean . . . forever.”
Koji slowly reached up and poked a strand of her hair into place. “Eternity awaits.”
“No, I meant . . . !”
“Prissie,” he interrupted. “Do not rush ahead. I am here.”
“Obviously,” she mumbled, embarrassed when he kept right on smoothing her hair. Either he was absorbed with exploring the texture, or he was trying to comfort her.
Koji said, “Now is better. Now is enough. Stay with me here.”
Thinking back over her conversation with Baird, she sighed. “That may take more faith than I have.”
“Ask for more.”
Prissie blinked at him. “Can I do that?”
“Indeed.”
“Should I ask for extras for you while I’m at it?” she offered. “And Tamaes, of course.”
She could tell he was smiling when he said, “Your mercy is lovelier than any crown. May your faith shield us all.”
When Prissie emerged from the spare room, she was surprised to find Momma waiting at her grandparents’ kitchen table. “Good morning, Priscilla,” she said warmly as she tapped the ribbon-wrapped bakery box in front of her. “Your father left us a little something. Let’s go find some overpriced coffee to go with it!”
Prissie propped her hands on her hips. “Are you keeping me away from the house while everyone gets ready for my party?”
“That’s the general idea,” Mrs. Pomeroy replied. “Any birthday wishes?”
“Let’s shop!”
Her mother laughed. “Sounds good. Where to?”
Although a tempting array of possibilities tumbled through her mind, Prissie felt a distinct tug in one direction. “Actually, would you mind if we went to Harken’s . . . I mean Mr. Mercer’s?”
“I’m not sure he’ll be open this early,” her mother cautioned. “And it’s safe to say you’ll be seeing him later on.”
“Let’s try?”
“Sure, sweetie. I’ll give him a quick call and offer to bring him coffee.”
“Yes, please.” Prissie quickly added, “And . . . may I invite Koji along?”
Mrs. Pomeroy smiled softly. “If you like. He’s been helping your brothers set up, but I’ll let him know he’s needed elsewhere.”
Half an hour later, they pulled into the lot behind The Curiosity Shop and bundled their way
from the car to the store, wafting coffee in the crisp, morning air. Harken was ready. Mismatched chairs were pulled around a low table with four place settings. “Thank you for including me, but I don’t want to take away from your father’s gift to you.”
“It’s okay,” Prissie promised. “There will be fifteen pastries in here — one for each year. Plenty to share.”
She carefully lifted away the box’s lid, revealing tiny works of art in neat rows. Each unique. Each perfect. Harken exclaimed, “I had no idea Jayce did this for his family. Extraordinary!”
“Daddy gets extra fancy for Momma’s and my birthdays. He likes to show off his patisserie skills.”
Her mother laughed softly. “This isn’t showing off, sweetie. To your father, this is an expression of love.”
When Momma finally turned into the driveway after a meandering return trip, several cars were lined up in front of the apple barn, including Harken’s. Prissie half-expected a noisy greeting when she stepped through the front door, but even though there was ample evidence that several people were somewhere close by, the only one there was her dad. While he took possession of her coat, she poked her nose into the family room and felt a thrill of anticipation at the sight of a mound of instrument cases in the corner. “Baird and Kester are here?”
“Sure, sure,” her father replied with a smug expression. “Come on into the kitchen.”
Once again, Prissie braced herself for the roar of voices, but the kitchen was just as empty. She glanced up at her father, who stepped aside with a showman’s flourish, allowing her to see the kitchen table. Prissie squeaked in surprise at the sight of a huge, tiered cake. The elaborate birthday cake could have been the centerpiece at a wedding banquet, except it was completely pink. Fondant and icing roses, fussy bits of white chocolate lace and candy pearls — hours must have gone into its creation. “So pretty!” she gasped.
Her dad was grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll make sure Ransom knows!”
Prissie felt like she’d been tricked. “He did this?”
“From start to finish,” Mr. Pomeroy boasted. “He’s been itching to try something on this scale, so I turned him loose.”
“Well, it is pretty,” she admitted, stepping closer to admire the details. Something in a deeper shade of pink caught her eye, and she leaned around to see what had been set amidst the pillars holding up the topmost tier. Prissie’s eyes widened in recognition of the ceramic coffee mug with Daddy’s Little Princess printed on the side. It was stuffed with dozens of cream soda-flavored suckers.
She bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud, and her father chuckled. “Those boys seemed pretty pleased with that addition. Glad to see their personal touches are appreciated.”
“Unbelievable,” she whispered. Just then, Omri and Lavi twirled into the room, flitting around the cake before darting back the way she’d come. They landed on top of Koji’s head; he stood just inside the kitchen door, eyes bright. Pointing to the suckers, she asked, “You?”
“Indeed.”
She indicated the mug. “And Marcus?”
“Nice young man,” her father interjected approvingly.
Koji nodded. “Our parts were small. Ransom dedicated many hours in an effort to please you.”
She shook her head, repeating, “Unbelievable. So where is everyone?”
“Here and there,” Mr. Pomeroy replied vaguely. He plucked a yellow envelope from the counter and offered it to her. “I believe you know the routine?”
“A treasure hunt?” Momma loved birthday games, and this was a family favorite. She hadn’t been treated to this particular one since she was Zeke’s age. Quickly opening the message, she skimmed the clue before giving her father a long look. “Did you stash something or someone in the chicken coop?”
“Go and see,” he replied, holding out her coat.
“Can Koji come with me?”
“Sure, sure. And there’s no hurry. Enjoy yourself.”
As soon as they were out the door, Koji’s fingers brushed the back of Prissie’s hand. “Put on your mittens. It is cold.”
That was probably the main reason Momma usually didn’t give her a hunt. Most of Prissie’s brothers had spring and summer birthdays, so picnics and scavenger hunts were normal, but the weather rarely permitted them in January.
Omri darted ahead of Prissie and Koji, leading the way to the chicken coop. Prissie opened the door and smiled at the sight of Milo sitting on a bale of straw with Maddie on his lap. As the door shut, she asked, “Does she remember you?”
“It’s possible. Jude told her to keep me warm, and she’s doing her best for her guest.” Milo offered her an egg. “She’s gone above and beyond.”
Prissie giggled. “Maddie laid an egg in your lap?”
“The spirit of generosity is alive and well in the midst of the Pomeroy family!”
Glancing around, Prissie said, “We followed Omri here. Is Taweel close by?”
“Always,” answered the Guardian’s deep voice.
She turned in surprise. The ceiling was too low for Taweel, so the big warrior was down on one knee, his blade drawn, but his stance relaxed. Omri turned a somersault atop the Guardian’s head, landing on his stomach in thick, black hair and kicking his tiny heels.
Milo brought out a yellow envelope. “I trust you know what to do with this message?”
Accepting it with a nod, she whispered, “Thank you for being here. All of you.”
With his usual, easy smile, Milo replied with unusual formality. “We count it a privilege to be given a place at your table, Miss Priscilla.”
Back outside, Koji asked, “Where does the next clue lead?”
“Don’t you know?” He shook his head, so she passed it to him. “Then we can take turns solving them.”
“Are you certain?”
Prissie nodded. “Today, we’re together.”
The Observer accepted the challenge, pondering the silly rhymed clue with an expression of supreme concentration.
Windfalls: gifts with gentle bruising,
Overlooked when folks are choosing.
Damaged goods are all collected
Gramps will see that they’re perfected.
Steady pressure reveals their heart:
A golden treasure, sweet and tart.
Peeking up at her, he said, “I believe this refers to your grandfather’s cider press.”
Taking his word for it, she struck off along the shoveled path. “To the apple barn!”
Even before they made it to their destination, Prissie knew who was waiting inside. With a shushing motion, she eased open the door just enough for them to sneak through. Jedrick stood with Baird and Kester in the center of the display floor, and they were singing. Her heart clenched, and she leaned against the wall, eyes shut as she listened to the trio’s close-knit harmonies. She was so glad her father had said there was no hurry, because she wanted the song to go on forever and ever.
After a short time, Baird’s voice rose in a solo, and Kester murmured, “Prissie?” When she opened her eyes, he offered her a handkerchief and a faint smile. “He will go on all day if you do not stop him.”
The tall angel in his dark trench coat and neatly knotted scarf tucked her arm through his and led her to his mentor. Baird wore outrageously shaggy boots and a fringed poncho — face turned toward the rafters, hands in jeans pockets, voice upraised in tireless praise.
Jedrick inclined his head in greeting, then jostled the much smaller angel’s shoulder with his elbow. “We have been discovered, Myron.”
The Worshiper trailed off with a sidelong look at his captain, but a widening smile for Prissie. “How’s the birthday girl?” he exclaimed.
“Given the circumstances . . . better.”
Baird hummed. “Someone gave you circumstances for your birthday?”
Considering all the upheaval her family had undergone, Prissie couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”
&nbs
p; Propping his hands on his hips, he promised, “Close attention. You’ve grown!”
Prissie unconsciously straightened, then glanced down at their boots. “I’m pretty sure we’re still the same height.”
The redhead pulled Koji into a friendly headlock. “If it’s a matter of inches, I think Koji’s gaining on us!”
Jedrick’s large hand came down on top of the young Observer’s head. “Time is taking its toll.”
Prissie looked her friend up and down. “I think they’re right! We’ll be able to check on the laundry room wall later.”
Koji tucked his hair behind his ear. “I do not think Baird was referring to . . . .”
“Wasn’t there something we were supposed to do?” the redhead interrupted.
His captain’s lips quirked. “Subtle, Myron.”
“Baird,” he grumbled. “The name’s Baird.”
With a small shake of his head, Kester withdrew a yellow envelope from an inside pocket and presented it to Prissie. “With our compliments on your natal day.”
Sighing gustily, Baird asked, “How can you even say that stuff with a straight face?”
Prissie giggled softly as she took the clue, but once she read it, her smile faded.
Koji asked, “What is wrong?”
“Barn.”
Baird glanced at Jedrick. “Is it just me, or is this a barn?”
“The other barn,” Prissie explained distractedly. “We have two barns, three sheds, and a coop.”
Jedrick’s expression shifted. “Is it the barn, or the loft that concerns you?”
She felt color creeping into her cheeks. “Momma knows better than to send me into the hayloft.”
“Maybe it wasn’t your mother’s idea,” Baird remarked. Patting her arm, he urged, “Go on, Prissie. Have faith in those who love you.”
She froze. Even though she’d always sort of known, she was startled to hear the words spoken out loud. Flustered nonetheless, she asked, “You guys love me?”
Baird flung his arms wide. “She gets it in one!”
“Most assuredly.”
“Indeed.”
Jedrick had the final word on the matter. “We love as we are loved.”
Prissie walked into the middle of the oldest barn on the property, which smelled of straw instead of apples. “Hello?”
The Garden Gate Page 7