15
THE SUNRISE SERVICE
Listen to this,” Adin used the tip of a dagger to force up Tamaes’s chin. “One of Prissie’s brothers speaks of angels. He has learned the Messenger’s true nature.”
“Thank you for bringing news from home.”
“I’ve found Prissie’s favorite. They even call him her twin.” The demon sneered. “Sounds familiar, does it not . . . Tamaes?”
“I am familiar with both my name’s meaning and my memories.”
“We were brothers, were we not?”
“For a time.”
“Do you still love me?” The demon stroked the scar that marred the Guardian’s face. “I’m touched you kept the name I gave you.”
His captive’s smile twisted ironically. “Be wary of assumptions, Adin. They continue to lead you astray.”
The demon backhanded him. Rage roughened his voice as he swore, “That boy is mine!”
“Beau? Yours?” Though it hurt to laugh, Tamaes wheezed in amusement. “He has belonged to God these eight years. His life is hidden from the likes of you.”
Adin glared viciously at the two minions cowering by the entrance.
Tamaes couldn’t resist adding, “And what God hides cannot be found.”
This time, the demon swung out with his blade, and blood spattered stone.
Prissie slouched down in the backseat of the big van, too tired to care about good posture. She leaned slightly into Tad’s warmth.
“Okay there, Priss?”
“Too early,” she grumbled.
He smiled. “The baker’s daughter doesn’t remember what five in the morning looks like? You realize that Dad is up by four every day.”
“I know.” As Tad’s calm gaze returned to the passing scenery, Prissie stifled another yawn. This was the one time of day when her big-big brother was wide awake. “But I don’t like being up with the chickens . . . unlike a certain farmer’s grandson.”
“Well, you’re not alone.” Tad pointed to Neil, who was catching a nap under the cover of his hoodie. “And it’s safe to say you’ll be glad you sacrificed a little sleep.”
“I know,” she repeated. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
The van was surprisingly quiet, considering how full it was. Prissie could hear the low hum of her father’s tones coming from the driver’s seat. And Koji was draped into the row ahead of theirs as far as his seatbelt would allow. He and Beau were embroiled in a discussion of the whys and wherefores of dying Easter eggs. Something they’d done the day before. It was no surprise that the artistic Observer had enjoyed the procedure. In fact, once they finished coloring the hard-boiled eggs, Momma had given the go-ahead to dye the uncooked ones. Zeke had even run out to check for duck eggs so Koji could continue experimenting with patterns and colors.
“And the marshmallow hatchlings?” the young angel asked.
Beau shrugged. “Just a spring thing. Eggs and chicks, lambs and bunnies.”
“Does this also account for the chocolate eggs?”
“Hard to go wrong with chocolate anything,” Prissie’s younger brother replied. “Momma doesn’t go in for the whole Easter bunny and jelly bean thing, but Dad always makes ridiculously good truffles. He’ll break them out after dinner.”
Koji frowned in a puzzled way. “Jelly . . . beans . . . ?”
Beau snickered. “Face it. All that stuff has nothing to do with anything that really matters. Where we’re headed now. What we’re doing next. That’s the real deal.”
“Indeed.”
When Koji turned his head to check on her, Prissie gave him a sleepy smile. “There will be much song.”
“And truffles,” he replied solemnly.
Tad interjected, “I could do with an egg salad sandwich about now.”
At the mention of food, Neil whined, “When’s breakfast?”
“You ate three cinnamon rolls before we left,” Prissie scolded.
“Food eaten while mostly asleep doesn’t count,” he replied.
The van slowed, pulling over in front of an unassuming apartment complex south of town. Ransom and Marcus climbed in, claiming the last remaining seats. Jayce cheerfully announced, “Fifteen passenger van, now at capacity!”
Prissie had been in the loop for the day’s plans, and she was okay with including her study buddies. Ransom turned around in his seat in order to individually greet all present, including her. “Hey, Miss Priss!”
“Good morning,” she replied, all politeness.
He elbowed Marcus, who offered a general, “Yo.”
For the rest of the drive down into Harper, Ransom talked with Uncle Lo. The man asked, “Your father turned you down?”
“Flat. No surprise, since he’s not a morning person.” His laugh held an odd note. “Dad says anyone who voluntarily leaves their bed before ten is too perky for their own good.”
“You? Perky?” Marcus asked. Prissie could hear the smirk.
“Who knew?” Ransom replied. “But he’s holding true to form. Doesn’t much care what I’m into.”
Prissie winced. That was . . . sad.
Once they entered Harper, Mr. Pomeroy didn’t turn toward the elementary school where the DeeVee usually held its services. The church was hosting a special sunrise service at a nearby park, and Baird had made a special point of inviting them all.
Sunrise was still a little ways off when they pulled into the half-filled lot. Momma and Grandma Nell set off through the milling people, intent on securing seats for a crowd. Ransom loitered, waiting for Prissie to exit the vehicle. “Huh,” he said, looking surprised.
“What?” she demanded, pulling the sleeves of her thick sweater down to cover her hands.
“I kinda thought you’d do like at Christmas.” He gestured vaguely. “Foofy dress. Easter bonnet. Ribbony things.”
It was hard not to get defensive. “I do have a new dress,” she replied carefully. “I’ll change before we go to our church later. But . . . no bonnet.”
“That would be a little too last century.” Marcus favored Ransom with a smirk. “But if you have your heart set on ribbons, I’ll bet that Ida person would be all over it.”
“Only if you wear the bonnet!”
“Not a chance,” Marcus replied, pushing his hands deeper into the pockets of his leather jacket.
Koji spoke up. “This morning’s service was designated ‘come as you are.’ I have observed several people still in sleeping attire.”
Prissie glanced around in surprise. “Pajamas? Seriously?”
“Yep,” Marcus confirmed. “We’re completely overdressed.”
The center of activity was definitely under the sprawling picnic pavilion near the middle of the park. People spilled out in every direction, and all sported casual attire. Guys with morning stubble and baseball caps. Kids with bedhead. Prissie spotted several ladies with blankets wrapped around their shoulders. As the Pomeroys made their way toward their seats, the speakers whined, and someone strummed a few chords on an electric guitar. “Baird!” she exclaimed softly, straining to see.
Neil waved them over, grinning ear to ear. “Check out Baird’s footwear. Very Easter appropriate!”
Ransom laughed first, but he was tallest. Prissie and Koji were up on tiptoe, trying to get a decent look. Daybreak was close, so it was getting easier to see. She first spied Kester, who looked as polished as ever in a dark suit with a soft pink tie. And then she spotted the worship leader, resplendent in plaid pajamas and bunny slippers. Groaning to Koji, she whispered, “Well, those aren’t raiment, but . . .”
“. . . they are just as comfy,” he finished, eyes sparkling.
Momma hustled them toward seats just as Dennis Kern stepped to the center microphone, a mug of coffee in his hand. “Good morning!” he greeted. “Is it a little early for anyone else?” Several amens and subdued laughter came from every side, and their pastor smiled broadly. “The ushers are under orders to push a doughnut hole into the mouth of anyone who ya
wns. Also, if you’re in as much need of coffee as I am, there are tables on the north and south sides of this structure. Please do help yourselves at any point throughout the service. This is a casual gathering.”
Ransom elbowed Prissie. “Me and Marcus are gonna raid the foodstuffs. Want something?”
“Checking out the competition?” she asked.
“And here I thought I was being subtle! I might like to see what other bakeries put out. Let’s call it research. Hope it’s edible!”
Prissie said, “Something hot to drink. And thanks.”
Pastor Kern spoke calmly over the low hum of activity, in such a chit-chatty tone that Prissie didn’t realize at first that he was well into his sermon. Well, it was more of a devotional. “. . . emotions running high. We have an edge because we know what that Sunday sunrise would bring. But they weren’t looking forward to a new day. Jesus’ disciples were swamped in the sorrow that comes with being separated from someone you love.”
Koji’s hand slid easily into Prissie’s, who sat still as stone. Never before had a message been so tailored to her needs. Her heart beat a little faster. What else would he say? And would it help when the time came for her to say goodbye to her best friend?
He continued, “They’d lost their best friend, their constant companion, and in the cruelest possible way.”
First, Koji. Now, Tamaes. Prissie could clearly picture the disciples’ shock, confusion, and pain. In one day, everything fell apart. Their Easter weekend had been her Christmas Day. Their separation was her anxiety.
“Knowing what we know now, we await that sunrise with a smile on our faces. We’re celebrating. We’re commemorating. We know it’s Resurrection Sunday,” Pastor Kern explained, waving his mug so much, he was in danger of sloshing his coffee. “After a sleepless night, the disciples had nothing to look forward to but another bad day. How could they face the world knowing that their faith had betrayed them? Their Messiah was dead. They’d believed a lie. Jesus left them with nothing but false hopes and empty promises. A legacy of confusion. An inheritance of shame.”
That part made Prissie think of Adin. For a little while, she’d believed his lies. And according to Aril, Adin’s hopes were as false as he was.
“None of them could picture their lives without Jesus. So they gathered together. Friends, family, and fellow-believers. Just like us.” While he continued, Baird began to softly strum his guitar. And Ransom and Marcus returned with a teetering plate of pastries and steaming cups of cocoa.
“Thanks,” Prissie whispered.
Ransom nodded distractedly. The message had most of his attention.
Pastor Kern scanned those assembled and smiled. “There were no doughnut holes to share, and no brunch plans, but they met up. They reminded one another of Jesus’ promises. They held onto love, even though their faith was frazzled and hopes were dim. And on the first day of the week, the sun rose.”
Baird’s plucked notes swelled, and all eyes shifted toward the eastern horizon, which was awash with coral and pink. Right on cue, the sun slid into view, to an appreciative murmur and patter of applause.
“Couldn’t have timed that better,” said their pastor. He took a long drink of coffee, then lifted his cup to toast the eastern sky. In ringing tones, he exclaimed, “He is risen!”
As one, the congregation answered, “He is risen, indeed!”
That night, Prissie’s sleep was interrupted. The dream stole her breath, and in the worst possible way. She was suddenly sitting on the roof of the barn, high over her farm. It was broad daylight, and the view was amazing . . . but it did devastating things to her stomach. Straddling the peak, her legs clamped down on rough shingles, and her hands scrabbled for a solid grip as she willed herself to wake. “Why does it feel so real?” she whimpered. And then she spotted him.
Limp and listless, the battered warrior sagged against their barn’s cupola, his dull gaze fixed on the house. “Tamaes?” she called.
His eyes widened, and his gaze slowly slid to her face. At the sight of his charge, the Guardian’s shoulders straightened. “Prissie?” he rasped.
Tamaes’s armor was missing, and his raiment looked like it had been through a shredder. She could easily see the bruises and welts that littered his body. “You’re hurt!” Without a thought, she pushed up on her hands and knees and started to crawl forward. But . . . he was so far away, and they were so high up. Her body locked down, and she began to shake. “Why the roof?” she wailed in frustration.
“Do not try,” Tamaes soothed. “Not for my sake. I can see you. That is enough.”
“That’s ridiculous!” she exclaimed, surprised at how furious she was at him. “Seeing you isn’t enough! Not for me! Do you know how worried I’ve been? And now you’re here, and I’m supposed to do nothing?”
His responding chuckle caught, and he gripped at his side. “He told me your spirit was broken.”
Prissie inched forward. “Adin’s a liar!”
Tamaes watched her slow progress with a faint smile on her face. “Truly, Prissie. I am content to see you safe. There is no need for y – ”
“No!” she snapped, swiping at angry tears. “I’m going to reach you! Everyone . . . everyone has been sick. Taweel is so sad, and Milo . . . he had to take time off work! And Ephron was shaking . . . and Beau and I have been praying for you. He and I . . . we pray together every morning. And at night. And between times. So many times!” All the while she rambled, Prissie forced her quaking limbs to move. Tamaes was hers. God had given them to each other, and she wanted him back!
“Shh, do not cry.” Tamaes sounded much closer now, and she shuffled along until a large hand brushed against her cheek, clumsily dabbing at tears. Emotion quavered in his voice as he murmured, “Brave girl.”
In one final scramble, she made it into the angel’s embrace. Only then did she admit, “I’m so scared.”
“I know,” he whispered, tucking her head under his chin.
“Don’t let me fall,” she begged.
“I have you.”
“I’m never letting go.” Prissie tightened her hold.
“Thank you.”
“When I wake up, can you come with me?”
Tamaes quietly answered, “That is not how dreams end.”
Prissie wasn’t ready to give up. “Maybe this time will be different!”
“Oh, little one,” he sighed.
She didn’t want to hear resignation. She didn’t want regret. She needed him to have faith! “Nothing’s impossible.”
He rested his cheek against her hair. “With God.”
Prayers for Tamaes had filled her mind for months. Desperate. Diligent. Dogged. When the lack of a response got her down, Koji had comforted her with psalms, songs, and promises. Maybe she was horribly ungrateful, but she hadn’t prayed for a dream. This dream needed to come true, and if that was impossible, so be it. “Please, Heavenly Father,” she prayed, right out loud. “Isn’t it time for a miracle?”
Tamaes started, and Prissie looked up into his face in time to see tears spill over. She turned to see what he was staring at. Right behind them, large as life, stood her Guardian’s mentor. Taweel grunted. “There you are.”
Jedrick’s voice came next, from the right. “We looked high and low.”
“I am here,” Tamaes answered weakly. “Prissie found me.”
Lucan, the wild-haired angel with iridescent wings, braced his feet upon the roof to their left. “The entire Hedge has assembled.”
Prissie twisted and turned, amazed by the number of angels ringing them. Some dropped down to stand on the shingles, others remained suspended on wings in shades of blue, green, gold . . . even pink. “Please tell me you’re Sent! Sent to Tamaes?”
“Fear not, little daughter,” answered Lucan. Drawing both of his swords, the silver-eyed Guardian relished his next words. “We go!”
Tamaes wrapped his arms even more tightly around Prissie, hiding his face against her shoulder. In a low voic
e, just for her to hear, he said, “Wait for me.”
She woke with a gasp. Koji was shaking her shoulder. “N-not yet! Wait!” she protested, dismayed that she’d lost hold of Tamaes.
“Do not cry,” Koji urged, eyes wide as he patted her wet cheek. “No more tears.”
Then she saw that Taweel knelt behind the young Observer. The Guardian’s eyes blazed as he announced, “We are Sent!”
“For real?” she asked breathlessly. He grunted an affirmative, and relief washed over her. “Then go! Hurry! He needs you!”
“Yes, but I could not leave you alone.”
“I’m fine.”
“I will take no chances. Omri will remain with you.” The little yahavim leapt from his shoulder to hers with a brief flutter of wings. Her confusion must have been apparent because Taweel cleared his throat. “I would have you both safe. There are also two Guardians on the roof.”
“Oh,” she whispered with a smile for the little mannamaker. “Be careful, Taweel. All of you.”
“Have faith in the One who Sends us,” he replied gruffly.
Unconsciously answering Tamaes’s final plea, Prissie promised, “I’ll be waiting.”
16
THE FAITHFUL SERVANT
I used the blade that bears her name,” Adin gloated. “It pierced her heart, severing body from soul.”
Tamaes kept his eyes closed, his mouth shut, and his mind on heaven.
“Your sword has killed the very person it was forged to protect!”
It was frightening how little Adin had changed. Charismatic. Confident. Convincing. This devil was too familiar . . . and knew him too well. Tamaes was aware that these were lies, yet the very idea of hurting Prissie pained him.
“I’ve robbed you of purpose,” Adin taunted. “Shall we celebrate your rite of passage? Where is my blade? You must be pierced!”
Enough. Lifting his aching head, Tamaes held his former friend’s gaze. “Taweel will never have to pierce me. Prissie believes.”
The Garden Gate Page 16