“How can I thank you?” Leah whispered through her tears.
“By loving her, guiding her through the years for me. When she’s older and has questions about me, tell her how God brought the two of us together, tell her that He handpicked her family for me.”
“I will,” Leah promised, rubbing the moisture from her cheek.
The two women hugged and after she’d dried her eyes Leah returned to the nursery. Andrew was gently rocking back and forth, staring down at the face of his newborn daughter. One tiny fist was clenched around his index finger. The newborn was holding onto her daddy’s hand.
“It looks like the two of you are getting along nicely,” Leah commented.
“I still can’t believe she’s really our daughter,” Andrew said.
“I don’t have a single doubt she belongs to us,” Leah assured him.
“Have you decided on a name?”
“Yes,” Leah said, her response automatic. “Angel.” Someday she’d tell her husband and her daughter about seeing the special Christmas angel, but not now. The angel had been His sign to her, His confirmation. She would carry that very special gift with her through the years.
“Angel?” Andrew repeated slowly, glancing up. “But I thought you had three names already chosen and I don’t recall any of them being Angel.”
“It seems fitting to me. Do you object?”
“Angel Lundberg,” he said again as if testing it on his tongue. “It feels right. Angel Hannah Lundberg.”
“My turn to hold her,” Leah said.
Andrew stood and gently placed the sleeping baby in Leah’s arms. Angel arched her back and stretched, yawning before she nestled comfortably in Leah’s arms, as if this were exactly where she was supposed to be. With that Angel Lundberg immediately returned to sleep.
“You’re willing to marry me?” Monica asked, unsure if she should trust what Chet was saying. “But why now?”
“Because I know you’re right. I’ll regret letting you go the rest of my life. I love you, Monica. I heard a voice telling me what a fool I was and if it wasn’t the booze speaking, then . . . hell, I didn’t think anyone up there cared about me.”
“I love you, Chet Costello. I can’t explain that voice, but whoever or whatever it was, I’m thanking God.”
He smiled and gently kissed her. “Next thing I know we’ll have a couple of kids and I’ll be a regular churchgoer.”
That sounded like heaven to Monica. “Would you kindly shut up and kiss me again?”
He pulled her to him as if she were the most precious thing he would ever touch, as if he cherished every moment spent with her.
Monica inched her mouth from his and stared up into his face. His eyes met hers and it seemed they were filled with a thousand regrets.
“I love you so much,” she whispered.
“You must.”
“Stop.” She pressed her finger over his lips. “I don’t pretend to know everything there is about the Bible and God, but I do know that He said He would forgive us when we ask. If it’s peace of mind you’re seeking, it’s available.”
“In church.”
“No.” She pressed her hand over his heart. “You won’t find what you’re seeking in any building.”
“I killed a man,” Chet reminded her. “He murdered my partner and attempted to kill me. That’s a little more serious than jaywalking.”
“Do you think you’re the only one who’s ever done something he wishes he hadn’t? You say this man you murdered attempted to kill you first. What you don’t seem to realize is that in some ways he succeeded. He’s reached out from the grave and gotten a stranglehold on your heart and your life.” Monica saw Chet as a man whose life had been shredded to ribbons with the ax of revenge and regret. “Your time of hate is over. You can stop punishing yourself now.”
“My time of love is about to begin.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, winding her fingers into the hair at the base of his neck. “Now, what was it you were saying about the two of us getting married?”
“Soon, Monica, I’m not going to be able to wait for you much longer.”
She could feel the heat coming into her cheeks. “I’m not going to be able to wait for you much longer either. I don’t think there’s ever been a woman more eager to give up her virginity than I am.”
They kissed and the heat of their love and need was like a spontaneous combustion. Monica didn’t know what would have happened if her father hadn’t happened upon them just then.
It was the sound of Lloyd clearing his throat that broke them apart. “Dad,” Monica said breathlessly. “Oh, Dad, you’ll never guess what—”
“Reverend Fischer,” Chet said, taking charge. He looped his arm around Monica’s waist and held out his free hand to her father to shake.
“I take it congratulations are in order?” the reverend asked.
Chet nodded. “If you don’t object, I’d like to marry your daughter.”
“Object,” her father said, laughing. He slapped Chet across the back. “I’m thrilled for you both. You don’t mind if I announce it at this evening’s service, do you?”
Chet looked at Monica, then back at her father. “I’d be more than pleased.”
Together the three of them walked toward the church, where the music swelled and teased the golden silence of the night with its lyrical melody.
* * *
Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy stood in the choir loft, looking down on the congregation that had crowded into the church for Christmas Eve services.
“You should all be pleased with your efforts,” Gabriel announced from behind them in a voice as light as yesterday’s dreams.
The three prayer ambassadors whirled around. Gabriel hadn’t meant to surprise them, but he was well pleased with their accomplishments. His trips to earth were few and far between, but this was a special night, one created for exceptions.
“Timmy has his father for Christmas,” Shirley said proudly, “thanks to a bit of manipulation with the airlines and a certain passenger.”
“We need to talk about that,” Gabriel said sternly. Shirley was new to prayer assignments, and had much to learn. He noticed she’d picked up a number of bad habits from her friends.
“What’s going to happen to Jeff and his family?”
The future could be read by only a chosen few. Gabriel was pleased to offer a view to his young charges. “Jeff and Jody will go on to have another child, but not for two years. They’ll have a little girl. As you can imagine they have a fair amount of readjusting to do first.”
“What about Timmy?” Shirley pressed. “He seems to be a very special young boy.”
“He is. Timmy Potter will grow up to become a top-notch pitcher with his goals set on the major leagues. He has a strong faith that will sustain him all his life.”
“What about Monica and Chet?” Goodness wanted to know next, her eyes eager for a look into the future.
Gabriel was tempted to comment about this last bit of trouble Goodness had gotten herself into with the television screen. He decided against it, however. Goodness’s methods had been unorthodox, but had worked wonderfully well. Chet had gone directly from the Blue Goose to Monica.
“Now, there’s an interesting couple,” Gabriel said, studying the pair who sat in a pew in the front of the church, holding hands. “Chet will go back into police work. It’s what suits him best and he’s good at it. Monica will present him with four daughters and all four will be holy terrors. Their lives together are going to take a fair amount of adjustment as well. They’re both strong-willed people, but their love for each other is much stronger.”
“Leah and Andrew were able to bring Angel home this evening,” Mercy told him, although Gabriel was well aware the couple’s daughter was doing so well she was able to leave the hospital early.
“You might be surprised with what the future holds for them,” Gabriel said. He wasn’t overly pleased with Mercy’s appearance atop the nativity sc
ene, but at least this time she wasn’t racing forklifts along a pier and frightening night watchmen out of ten years of their lives.
“Are they able to adopt another child?”
“No, but three earth years from now Leah will become pregnant with identical twin boys.”
“Twins,” Mercy echoed with delight. “That’s wonderful.”
“I’m proud of you three,” Gabriel felt obligated to comment. Their success had delighted him. “You worked well together.”
“ ‘Surely goodness and mercy shall follow you all the days of your life,’ “ Goodness quoted the well-known Bible verse. “We make a great team.”
“Can we do it again?” Shirley asked eagerly.
“Soon,” Mercy insisted. “We help each other.”
“I think we should all visit Los Angeles next,” was Goodness’s suggestion. “It seems to me that the City of Angels could do with our help.”
The three looked expectantly toward Gabriel. “I’m not making any promises,” he said, and with a sweep of his wings ushered the three ambassadors into the celestial realm of heaven, where the Christmas celebration was just about to begin. All of heaven was awaiting their return.
To Gaylynn Hoffman
My very own personal angel
Acknowledgments
Here it is, the third and final installment of the angel series. Who would have guessed that my ditzy sweethearts would make an appearance three years running? Not me! What fun I’ve had with them. This December they’re visiting New York, one of my all-time favorite cities. The dust has yet to settle.
As with any project, there are a number of people who richly deserve a mention. First and foremost is my family, who so willingly adjust to a variation of home, sweet home whenever I’m working on a deadline.
A special note of appreciation to my agent, Irene Goodman, for carefully reading through Hannah and Joshua’s story.
My editor, Carolyn Marino, as always is a sweetheart to work with.
To Gary Staley, Susan Weaver, and Jim Whitener, the three wonderful Harper sales representatives I met. Thank you for showing me the ropes.
It’s fitting that the last angel book is title Touched by Angels. They have touched my life, and several of you have let me know how they’ve influenced you. I love getting your letters, and treasure each one. You can reach me at P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366.
One
The young man wore a staple in one ear. Brynn Cassidy tried not to stare as he paraded past her and slouched down in the desk in the farthest corner of the classroom. His nose was decorated with a safety pin. The fact that his hair was cut in a Mohawk style and dyed orange shouldn’t faze her. She’d been told what to expect.
Manhattan High School wasn’t St. Mary Academy, the parochial girls’ high school where she’d taught for the last two years. But teaching here was an opportunity she couldn’t let pass her by. She’d accepted this position to test her theories and gain experience in dealing with students from a disadvantaged neighborhood.
Next, a young lady entered the room in a miniskirt, blouse and no bra. Her hair, pitch-black and stringy, covered her far better than her choice of outfits. She glanced around, shrugged, and claimed the seat closest to the door as if it were important to make a fast getaway.
The room filled quickly. The school building itself was said to be dilapidated and run-down, but that didn’t trouble Brynn. St. Mary Academy was a turn-of-the-century structure with high ceilings and lovely polished wood floors that smelled of lemon oil.
When Brynn learned Manhattan High in the Washington Heights area had been constructed in the early 1950s, she’d expected it to be an improvement, but she was wrong. Like so many other schools, Manhattan High had been forced to make some difficult budget choices. Thanks to three failed school bond levies, modernizing the classrooms was on the low end of the priority list.
“Will everyone kindly take a seat,” Brynn instructed nervously. She stood in front of the class and was ignored, which wasn’t surprising since the bell had yet to ring.
Looking for something constructive to do, she walked over to the badly chipped blackboard and wrote out her name.
The bell rang, and several of the kids stopped talking long enough to indicate their irritation at being interrupted. The level of conversation increased once the bell finished.
Brynn returned to the front center of the room and waited. She’d learned early in her teaching career never to outshout her students. It only made her look foolish, and it didn’t work. After five full minutes of being ignored, she went to the wall and flipped the light switch a couple of times. This technique had worked elsewhere but had only a mild effect upon the class. The level of talking decreased momentarily while several glanced her way, then quickly continued their ongoing conversations.
Brynn decided she had no option but to wait them out. It demanded the longest fifteen minutes of her life to stand in front of that classroom until thirty people voluntarily gave her their attention.
It might have taken longer if the boy, Hispanic from the look of him, hadn’t raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. Ten or so other Hispanics stopped talking and turned around on their seats. An African American followed suit, and several of the others clustered together went silent.
The class had divided itself along ethnic lines, Brynn noted. The Hispanics sat in the front, the African Americans chose the back.
Once silence reigned, Brynn stepped forward. “Good morning,” she said with her brightest smile. “My name’s Miss Cassidy.”
“Why ain’t you married?”
“Because I’m not,” she answered simply, preferring not to get trapped in a conversation about herself. “I’m your teacher, and—”
“You’re new, ain’t you?”
“Yes,” Brynn answered politely. “As you already know, we’re involved in an experimental program called Interdisciplinary Learning.”
“That doesn’t sound like something a nice girl like you should be teaching,” one of the boys called out.
Despite herself, Brynn smiled. “We’ll be spending three hours together each afternoon, exploring senior English, world history, and social science. You’ll notice how the classes are grouped along parallel lines.”
“Is she speaking English?” one girl whispered loudly, leaning toward another.
Brynn decided it would be best to explain the concept in simpler terms. “The classes we’ll be studying are connected by subject. We’ll read The Diary of Anne Frank for the English portion, the history section will involve the study of World War Two, and in the last part of the session I’d like to discuss the justification for war and other value clarification.”
“All three hours will be spent with you?”
“That’s right,” Brynn said. “You’ll know me better than any other teacher, and by the same token, I’ll know you. I’d like it if we could work together as a team.”
“If we’re going to be spending this much time with one teacher, then it only seems right that you tell us something about yourself first,” the Hispanic boy who’d quieted the class said. Since she owed him a favor, she agreed.
“What do you want to know?”
“How long you been teaching?”
“This is my third year.”
“If she lasts the first week,” someone suggested under their breath.
“I’ll last,” Brynn assured them. “I’m too young to retire and too stubborn to quit.”
“Where’d you come from?”
“Rhode Island.”
“Why’d you decide to teach here?”
“She’s a fool, that’s why,” someone answered for her.
“That’s not true,” Brynn countered. “As I explained earlier, we’re involved in an experimental program that’s being sponsored by the federal government. I was asked to participate.”
“Why’d you do it?”
The questions were making her decidedly uncomfortable. “Part of the agreemen
t would be that a portion of my student loan would be forgiven.”
“Forgiven?”
“That’s the word the government used.”
“Where’d you teach before?” a Chinese girl asked, her gaze shyly meeting Brynn’s.
“St. Mary Academy. It’s a private school for girls near Rochester.”
“La de da,” one of the boys said in a high-pitched voice. He stood, dropped his wrists, and pranced around his desk.
“Hey, could you set me up with one of those nice Catholic girls?”
Brynn didn’t bother to answer.
“Do you color your hair or is it naturally red?”
“It’s auburn,” Brynn corrected, “and it’s as natural as it comes.”
“What do you think, dummy, with a name like Cassidy? She’s Irish, can’t you tell?”
“Dummy?” Brynn repeated, and then added in a Home Alone voice, “I don’t think so. If he were dumb, he wouldn’t be a high school senior. This brings up something I consider vital to this class. Respect. I won’t tolerate any name calling, racial slurs, or put-downs.”
“You been in girls’ school too long, Teach. That’s just the way we talk. If Malcolm here wants to call Denzil a nigger, he’s got a right ’cause he’s a nigger himself.”
“Not in this classroom he won’t. The only thing I’ll ask of you in the way of deportment is mutual respect.”
“I don’t even know you, how am I supposed to respect you?”
It was a good question and one Brynn couldn’t slough off.
“Especially if the only reason you decided to take this job was so you could be forgiven for something you did to the government.”
“That’s not the only reason I took the job,” Brynn pressed, “I want to teach you to dream.”
“Excuse me?” A girl with her hair woven into tiny braids all over her head sat upright. “You’re making us sound like babies.”
“I’m not suggesting naps,” Brynn explained. “How many of you know what you’re going to do after you graduate from high school?”