Chapter 12
After Liam had prepared turkey sandwiches, both of them were very tired. Liam had gone on a small tirade of his disappointment that there wasn’t any beer, but he had finally stopped and announced that he would be taking the master bedroom. Adela didn’t really care, but argued for the sake of arguing. She didn’t like men getting their way so easily, as her accusers had gotten their way with her so many decades ago.
“I think I should have what you call the ‘master bedroom’ since I’m older,” she had said, standing in the hallway and blocking his passage to the room.
“Ain’t going to happen, Sheila.”
She had heard him call other female angels “Sheila” before and didn’t understand why. Eventually, she had been clued in that it was an Australian term for female.
“Why not?”
“I would say, ‘age before beauty,’ but you’re way older and much prettier than I am. So how about I’m the man of the house, and I get the big bed.”
Adela sighed. “Ah, yes. The man with the big ego needs the big bed. I’ve also heard rumors that such a big ego means other body parts aren’t as impressive.” With that, she glanced down at his pants.
His eyes narrowed on her, and he grinned. “Trust me, Adela, I’m not lacking in that department, but if you want to verify, be my guest. I’m positive it’s still in working order even after a five-year hiatus.”
That hadn’t been the reaction she hoped for. She wanted to make him uncomfortable but had been very unsuccessful in her attempts. Instead, her own cheeks warmed, and without another word, she turned for the smaller bedroom and shut the door.
She sat on the bed and considered what had happened in the past few hours, and felt very insecure about everything.
She could barely remember beginning as an angel and the uncertainty that went with it. She had grown into her role quickly and done her job well. Over time, yes, she had become hardened, and probably a little cocky, but what could be expected? She dealt with death all the time and had done so for centuries. She knew what she was doing and what was expected of her as an Angel of Death.
Now she had been thrown back among the living and uncertainty welled within her. After so much time as an Angel of Death, she didn’t know how to be a human. Remnants of the feeling of her human experiences tugged at her memories, the most prominent being fear as she was led to the gallows.
As she looked around the room, she realized she was once again afraid. Everything was new to her—the gadgets, the appliances, even the feeling of the bedding was different. She remembered the soft glow of candlelight casting shadows on the room, not the bright light of electricity. Bedtime used to be marred in silence except for the odd creature scurrying about, but now she heard the hum of the cars as they drove by and perhaps the dull drone of a TV from an adjoining apartment.
Shaking her head, she marveled at the changes of the world. It was one thing to see it from afar—to observe, but not participate—but it was a very different thing being submerged in it, and it was a shock to all her senses. Gone was the haze and detachment she had felt while being an angel, and in its place was stark reality. It was as if she had been watching a movie for the past three hundred years, and now she had been cast as one of its characters.
She thought of all that she had seen: famine, plagues, and wars. She’d been an Angel of Death through amazing—and heartbreaking—times on Earth. She’d worked the Irish potato famine, World War II, and the Vietnam War. She’d seen death from the street wars of Prohibition and been there for the Hiroshima bomb, as well as the atrocities of 9/11. She’d watched it all with detached fascination, as if it were all a science project to be studied. She never felt any type of connection with any of the souls she delivered to the Fringe—there simply wasn’t time for one to be developed. She always thought it was smart of the Creator to make it this way. She couldn’t speak for all the tiers of Angels of Death, but she felt her job was hard enough without caring about the deaths she needed to deliver to Heaven.
Her work went at such a fast pace, there wasn’t a chance to develop an attraction to the time period. She did, however, find it curious that humans weren’t necessarily interested in the music and art of their time. Often, she witnessed humans who seemed to be attracted to the past. They listened to music, watched movies, and studied art and culture of a past that didn’t belong to them. It was as if they lived in the wrong era. It was intriguing, and she wondered if she could live in any era, which one would it be?
She immediately came to the conclusion that she would go back to the 1600s. Yes, things were more difficult then, but at the same time, they were much simpler. There weren’t computers, phones, and other distractions of today. All of her entertainment, joy, and heartache had been given to her by people, not things.
It was the “things” of today that scared her the most. She had no idea how to use any of the appliances in the kitchen, and she wouldn’t know what to do if someone handed her a computer. She didn’t belong in this era, and her anxiety rose just thinking about her new assignment in human form.
Ten minutes later, as she sat on the bed staring at the pictures of black and white landscapes on the wall, there was a soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” she called, trying to calm her heartbeat from the sudden sound.
“Change of plans, Adela,” Liam said, opening the door. “I’m sleeping in here.”
Adela stood and rolled her eyes. “And why is that?”
“Because it’s obvious that you’re supposed to be in there. The whole room is filled with women’s clothes. And besides, I don’t look good in peach sheets.”
Adela waited a moment, expecting some type of punch line.
“Go on, now. I’m about to strip down, and unless you want to verify your earlier comment, get your cute butt out of here.”
Adela left the room without another word. She didn’t have it in her to verbally spar with Liam further this evening, and the tug of exhaustion was growing stronger with each minute.
She entered the master bedroom and shut the door. Slowly, she went through the clothing provided for her and found a drawer full of silky undergarments. There were so many pretty colors and so soft to the touch. She found a purple nightgown but was hesitant to put it on, as she remembered the neck-to-ankle nightgowns she’d worn every night of her marriage and the night she was taken from her home. It had covered her body, but what she now held in her hand was a simple piece of cloth that would cover nothing and most likely accentuate everything.
Oh, what the heck. She was getting a second chance at being human, and maybe she should embrace it. Yes, she wanted to wear it.
She walked toward the bathroom. Being an angel was like experiencing life encased in bubble wrap and watching it pass by on TV. She hadn’t give much thought to living—her job was simply to deliver souls to their place in Heaven. Yet, here she was experiencing life again. It had been easy to remain detached as an angel, because she wasn’t truly experiencing life on Earth. Her other senses had been numbed. She wasn’t able to smell and taste anything around her, and even when she touched something, it felt unreal, almost as if it was wrapped in a cloud or a plastic covering.
Now it was all very, very real, which she found out the hard way as she slammed head-first into the door that she would usually be able to walk right through.
“Ouch!” she cried out, rubbing the spot on her forehead.
Right. Remember doorknobs.
She opened the bathroom door and stepped in, the rug between her toes gave way to the cold white tile, and she marveled at the sensations.
After pulling off her leather garments, she slowly brought her gaze to her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She gasped. She hadn’t seen herself in over three hundred years and she honestly forgot what she looked like.
Her long, blonde hair hung in a thick curtain down to her waist. Her brown eyes were large, her skin unmarred, except for the red spot on her forehead where she had r
un into the door. Her complexion was creamy-white while her cheeks held just a tinge of pink. She had to admit, she would describe herself as pretty.
Her long neck gave way to broad shoulders, and her breasts were large, yet high and firm; her ribcage tapered down into a small waist, and her hips flared. She brought her hand to her face and the softness of her skin surprised her. Running her hand through the long strands of blonde silk, she loved the way they caressed her body as they fell around her.
She turned around to look at her backside, pulling her hair to the side. Her angel wings were gone and in their place were six crystals the size of pennies, three lining each side of her spine.
It was like she had been reborn or reincarnated, and the crystals represented her birthmark.
A pressure built in her lower abdomen. Something tugged at her memory at what the sensation meant, and she realized that she had to urinate. She stared at the toilet, both excited and apprehensive. Yes, she had seen the device used, and she had even delivered a few souls who died while using it. However, it would be her first time operating it herself.
She sat down, the porcelain cold against her skin. When finished, she turned and eyed the silver knob she knew would flush the waste away. She pushed it quickly and covered her ears at the noise, fascinated as the contents disappeared.
When the water in the bowl had settled, she turned to the bathtub, vaguely remembering her own attempts at personal hygiene and how difficult it had all been. In the 1690s, they had water to heat over the fire and soap to carve. Now all she needed to do was turn the dial and hot water would pour out of the spout into the shiny, white tub. She groaned at the thought of submerging her body in warm water. Turning the knob, she was once again surprised by the loud sound.
As the tub filled, she focused on the counter where numerous bottles were lined up. She picked the bubble bath labeled “wildflower,” flicked the top open, and inhaled the soft scent. Satisfied, she poured some into the tub and watched the frothy bubbles come to life.
After piling her hair on top of her head, Adela stepped into the tub. The water was hot but felt good against her skin. She sat down and slowly leaned back, the cold porcelain giving her goose bumps. She shut her eyes. The scent of the bubbles brought back a memory of a spring day when she was thirteen, a year before she was to be married.
Her family were Puritans, as were all those in their village. It had been a Sunday after they attended church, and her mother had suggested a picnic in the hills behind their home. Adela and her parents had packed a small basket and hiked up the hill to a small meadow in bloom with pink, yellow and purple wildflowers. The air had been crisp, but the sun warmed her face as they ate together on the blanket. It had been a beautiful day, and as Adela gazed at all the wildflowers in bloom under the blue sky, she had said a quiet prayer of thanks to God for allowing her to experience such beauty.
After she died, on the rare occasion that she went into the Inner Circle of Heaven, she used to search for her parents, but she never saw them. Evangeline had told her a long time ago that she would never see her family again. Adela guessed they resided in the Inner Circle, a place she would never be. If her Angel of Death work ever ended, she would take up residence in the Fringe.
Sighing, she sunk into the water a little deeper. Her great-grandparents had traveled from England on the Mayflower in 1620 to escape the religious persecution in England.
At that time, England wanted everyone under one church, aptly named the Church of England. The Puritans did not want to follow the strict Catholic practices and elaborate rituals, and they began separating from the church. As pressure mounted for them conform to the ways of the Church of England, a growing number of the population wanted to flee the country.
Adela’s great-grandparents had done just that. They hadn’t known each other when they boarded the Mayflower, but had married shortly after landing in the new world and had raised her fraternal grandfather.
Her father and mother married in 1669, and Adela was born in 1672. Adela was raised to believe that Satan was present in everyday life, and he must be battled at all times through prayer. Everything that went wrong was blamed on the supernatural powers of the devil, whether it be a child’s death, a failed crop, or arguments and misgivings among members of the church. Satan was to blame for everything.
The townspeople lay the blame on Satan, or witchcraft, when two young girls exhibited fits similar to what would be known today as epilepsy. The first woman to be accused of witchcraft was Sarah Goode, a homeless beggar. She was “brought to justice” because of her appalling behavior of being homeless. Sarah Osborne was the second to be accused for marrying an indentured servant after her husband’s death.
While all this was going on, Adela watched with fascination. She didn’t know if the women accused of witchcraft were capable of it, but the evidence presented definitely indicated so. The accusations and hysteria steamrolled leading directly to Adela’s door where she simply practiced healing with herbs. It wasn’t until her own arrest that she realized the blatant lies being told about her and the others accused.
Adela sat up and decided she needed to get out of the bath or she would simply fall asleep. After drying off, she slathered the pink wildflower lotion on her skin, then she eyed the purple silk nightgown on the counter. Slowly, she pulled it over her head, the soft material kissing her nipples and hardening them as it slid down her body, landing mid-thigh.
As she stared at herself in the mirror, she unclasped her hair and it cascaded around her. She was both appalled and fascinated by the purple silk sheath. With her blonde hair and dark eyes, she looked innocent—yet devious—all at once, and she felt very pretty. However, she was horrified that she was even wearing the garment. For some reason, the sensations of the silk against her skin made it sinful, and she smiled, feeling absolutely wicked in the way it made her look and the satisfaction it brought her.
A witch, indeed.
She switched off the light and made her way to the bed, thankful for the small nightlight on the far side of the room to guide her. After pulling back the covers, she slid between the sheets and tried to take in all the new sensations.
Adela ran her hand over the soft peach-colored comforter and cotton sheets. Sleep pulled at her with force, but she relented as she tried to remember what her last night in an earthly bed felt like.
It had been the night before she was arrested. The room had been dark, except for the candle on her bed stand that casted shadows around the room until she blew it out, plunging the room into darkness. The acrid smoke had channeled its way up into her nose, making her eyes water and her sinuses run. The blankets were scratchy wool, unlike the softness of what covered her now. She turned her head on the pillow and rubbed her cheek against the fabric that had the faint scent of flowers from the lotion she had applied earlier.
Human life had changed so much.
Although she was aware of this, she had been an outsider looking in. Of course, she had witnessed the development of the car, the toilet, the telephone, electricity, computers, cell phones . . . and she had probably delivered a soul from someone who had died from every wonderful invention the humans had put on this Earth. She had witnessed all the amazing human creations, but they had never interested her, nor had she paid much attention to them. They were simply part of the world that she no longer belonged. Now, she had been dropped into the middle of it, but her last human experiences were absolutely primitive to what she was facing now.
Every now and then, the clear hum of a car outside startled her. She stretched her body out on the king-size bed. Her hands and feet almost touched each corner, and she smiled as she remembered the argument with Liam about the sleeping arrangements.
She had definitely won that battle without even trying.
As she stared at the ceiling, her eyelids became heavier, and she allowed her eyes to close and the darkness to pull her under.