Angels at Christmas

by Debbie Macomber

  “I do,” he confirmed.

  Dr. Snellgrove slowly exhaled. “The truth is, you could go at any time.”

  The words rattled Harry. That wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. He’d assumed he had a couple of months, possibly until spring. Maybe he’d even last until summer. He took a minute to absorb the reality of his situation, then nodded and said, “Okay.”

  As if he feared he might have said too much, the physician launched into a lengthy explanation of cardiac rhythms and stenosis and congestive heart failure.

  Most of his words slid off Harry; instead, the thought of dying reverberated in his head. When would it happen? Would he have time to arrange for Rosalie’s care?

  “Don’t overtax yourself. Use your walker,” Dr. Snellgrove was telling him.

  “I will,” Harry promised.

  “Rest as much as you can,” the doctor went on. “And, Mr. Alderwood—Harry—you’ll have to stop driving. It’s increasingly unsafe.”

  Harry nodded; he’d already accepted that. More arrangements to make…

  No problem there. Harry didn’t have the energy to do much more than take the simplest outing. Most days were spent in front of the television. He liked those court shows best, and the Weather Channel, too. The older he got, the more important the weather seemed to be.

  In Leavenworth this time of year, it was mostly cold and snowy. The stores around town counted on that snow for their tourist business, especially this close to the holidays. The entire month of December was a Christmas extravaganza here. Every weekend, there was a parade featuring an old-fashioned Father Christmas, a chubby Santa and even the Grinch, followed by a tree-lighting ceremony.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” the doctor asked as Harry rose awkwardly to his feet.

  “You got a new heart for me?” Harry managed a grin.

  The other man’s face saddened. “Sorry.”

  Harry thrust out his hand. He wanted to convey his thanks for everything the doctor had done and for his honesty. “Merry Christmas, Doc. And in case I don’t see you again, Happy New Year.”

  Snellgrove shook his hand warmly. “All the best, Harry. To you and your wife.”

  In the waiting area the nurse handed him his coat, which hung on a peg on the wall. He wrapped the scarf Rosalie had knit him twenty-five years ago around his neck. He still wore it every winter. Rosalie was no longer knitting, which was a shame; she’d been an accomplished knitter. Their kids and grandkids had been the recipients of sweaters and mittens and hats, all kinds of beautifully made things.

  Time was…He paused and smiled as he placed his hat on his head. Time was…That phrase came to him more and more often these days. He waited a moment, then slipped his arms into the sleeves of his thick wool coat. It felt heavy on his shoulders, heavier than it had when he’d put it on earlier that morning.

  He wished Nurse Ratched a courteous “Merry Christmas” and prepared to leave.

  Leaning on his cane, he opened the door and steeled himself against the cold before he made the short trek to his car. Like the doctor, his daughters didn’t want him driving anymore or going out on his own. They were right. He’d talk to them about selling the car; maybe he’d call them tonight. In the meanwhile, he’d drive very, very carefully.

  The skies were dark and overcast, and the cold cut right through him. He climbed into the driver’s seat, then started the engine. A blast of cold air hit him as he turned on the defroster. He shivered; it seemed he was always cold. According to the doctor, being cold indicated poor circulation. In other words, Harry’s heart was giving out, and this was just another symptom.

  With his gloved hands on the steering wheel, he waited for the windshield to defrost.

  He could die anytime.

  With that, another realization hit him. He had to convince Rosalie to move as soon as possible. But his wife could be a stubborn woman, and Harry knew he was going to need help.

  Bowing his head, he closed his eyes. Harry believed more fervently now than ever, although he hadn’t been as faithful about attending church and reading his Bible. But when he did go to Sunday services, he walked away with something he could use in his life—a sense of God’s benevolence and a desire to be right-minded and honorable. The Bible was filled with wisdom—and some darn good stories, too. Rosalie generally went to services. The church was only a few blocks away, and every Sunday morning, his wife was there. Their next-door neighbor drove her or one of the girls did, if either happened to be visiting.

  Another thing Harry didn’t make a regular practice of was prayer. He regretted that because he believed God answered prayers. He didn’t want to bother the Almighty with his own paltry concerns. Seeing that God was dealing with the big stuff like global warming and the problems in the Middle East, it didn’t make sense to Harry that He’d have time to worry about one old man. An old man afraid of what would happen to his wife after he died…Only Harry didn’t know where else to turn.

  The inside of the car became his church. With his head bowed and his eyes closed, he whispered, “Okay, Lord, my time’s getting short. I want you to know I accept that. I understand you’ve got much bigger problems on this earth than mine, and better things to do than listen to an old man like me. Nevertheless, I hope you won’t mind if I ask for your help.

  “It’s about Rosalie, Lord. The house is too much for her all by herself. Without me there to look after her, I’m afraid she’ll burn the place down because she’ll forget to turn off a burner or start a flood because she forgot the bathwater was running. I know you love her even more than I do and that’s a comfort. Show me how to convince her to move into that fancy new complex. Let me warn you, though, Lord, my Rosalie can be stubborn. But then, I guess you’ve noticed that.

  “Lord, when I’m gone, you’ll have to take care of her for me.” He paused and decided he was taking up too much of God’s time, so he added, “Amen.”

  When he glanced up, the cloud cover had broken and sunshine burst upon the snow, making it shimmer with light. Harry watched it for a long moment, feeling good. The problem now rested in God’s hands.

  Two

  Harry’s prayer rose upward, higher and higher through the snow-laden branches of the evergreens. His petition to God whisked its way past the thick white clouds, carried by the warm winds of his love to the very desk of the Archangel Gabriel. There it landed.

  “Harry Alderwood,” Gabriel muttered, turning the pages of the massive book that detailed the prayers and lives of the faithful. “Ah, yes, Harry.” Gabriel remembered the older man. Harry didn’t pray often and seemed to believe he shouldn’t bother God with his petty concerns. Little did the old man know how much God liked to talk to His children, how He longed to listen to them.

  Having the ear of God and sharing His love for humans, Gabriel felt tenderness for this man who was so close to making the journey from life into death. In many cases when death was imminent, the veil between Heaven and Earth was especially thin. Harry accepted that he was dying but he clung to life, fearful of leaving behind those he loved—especially his wife, Rosalie.

  Harry’s days were few, even fewer than the old man realized, and that brought a certain urgency to his prayer. Unfortunately, Christmas was only eight days away, and Gabriel was swamped with requests.

  Two prayers had now reached him, almost simultaneously, from the small Washington town of Leavenworth. The second was from Carter Jackson, a small boy who felt he could trust God more than Santa.

  Carter’s prayer wouldn’t be any easier to answer than Harry Alderwood’s. Requests like this got even more complicated at Christmastime. Heaven was busy, busy, busy. There was work to be done, prayers to be answered, angels to be assigned.

  Gabriel studied the list of available Prayer Ambassadors and saw that his three favorite angels were indeed free. Shirley, Goodness and Mercy were close to his heart, but there’d been problems with them in the past.

  Lots of problems.

  Mercy,
for example, tended to become too engrossed with the things of Earth. Gabriel shook his head in a mixture of amusement and irritation. No matter how short-handed he was, he dared not let those three visit Earth again. Giving Mercy the opportunity to be around forklifts and escalators was asking for trouble.

  Not once could Gabriel remember assigning her a prayer request without regretting it afterward. Okay, perhaps regret was too strong a word. Mercy always managed to straighten everything out at the last second and he had to admit, she did make him laugh. But Mercy with Harry Alderwood…

  “Poor Harry,” Gabriel whispered.

  “Harry,” Mercy repeated from behind him.

  She had a bad habit of sneaking up on him and Gabriel did his best not to leap back in surprise. Controlling his reaction, he turned to face the Prayer Ambassador. She was the picture of innocence, wide-eyed and hopeful.

  “Did I hear you mention Harry Alderwood?” she asked, as her wings made small rustling sounds. This happened whenever she was excited. The mere prospect of returning to Earth had Mercy nearly breathless with anticipation.

  “You did,” he said.

  “If there’s any way I could be of service,” Mercy volunteered, “I’d be more than happy to help.”

  “I’m sure you would, but there’s the small matter of—”

  Mercy interrupted him, raising her hand. “If you’re going to bring up that unfortunate incident with the aircraft carrier, I want to point out that I’ve repented.”

  “Actually,” Gabriel said, clearing his throat. “I was thinking about the time you rerouted that 747.”

  “Oh.”

  Mercy’s cheeks colored, as well they should. That had been the final straw as far as Gabriel was concerned. “I don’t know if I can trust you back on Earth,” he said pensively. But the number of available Prayer Ambassadors was limited….

  “Please, please, please, give me another chance,” Mercy begged, hands folded.

  For all the trouble she caused, Mercy did have a certain knack for getting prayers answered. What humans didn’t always grasp was that prayer requests usually required participation on their end. God liked it when His children trusted Him with their needs, but the Almighty Father welcomed human cooperation, too.

  “Harry’s prayer just arrived,” Gabriel said with some hesitation. “He knows his remaining time on Earth is brief.”

  “Doesn’t he realize he’ll receive a new body once he gets to Heaven?” Mercy asked, seeming surprised by the older man’s reluctance to leave Earth. “It’s so much better here.”

  “He knows,” Gabriel said. Perhaps it would be best if he allowed her a view of Harry and Rosalie. “Come and meet Harry,” the Archangel invited and with one wide sweep of his arm, he whisked away the veil between Heaven and Earth. A moment later the two of them were able to look down upon the town of Leavenworth.

  “Harry, is that you?” Rosalie called when he stepped into the house and closed the door against the bitter December wind.

  “It’s me,” Harry replied in a strained voice. He felt short of breath, and his mind was full of what Dr. Snellgrove had told him. He knew Rosalie couldn’t cope without him; he also knew he’d have to trust that God would answer his prayer.

  “I have lunch ready,” his wife said as he entered the kitchen.

  He had little appetite, but Harry couldn’t disappoint Rosalie, since she’d made the effort of preparing their meal. At this stage, she only remembered a few of her favorite recipes. Almost always, they had canned soup for dinner. No doubt that was what she’d made for lunch, too.

  Food didn’t interest Harry much anymore. He ate because it was necessary but without any real enjoyment.

  Coming into the kitchen, he saw that he’d guessed correctly. Rosalie had heated up soup. Two steaming bowls filled with bright red tomato soup sat on the kitchen table. What was left in the small saucepan was boiling madly on the stove. When Rosalie turned her back to bring the silverware to the table, Harry reached over and switched off the burner.

  Soon he joined his wife at the round oak table in the small alcove. They bowed their heads, and Harry murmured grace. When he finished, Rosalie smiled softly, her eyes brimming with love. “How did everything go at the doctor’s, sweetheart?”

  Rather than worry her, Harry simply nodded. “I’m as fit as can be expected for a man of my age.”

  Rosalie looked back at him with concern. She seemed about to ask him more but changed her mind. He’d told her what she wanted to hear.

  “Is soup all right?” she asked.

  “It’s perfect.” Not sure how to broach the subject of moving, Harry swallowed three spoonfuls of his lunch, then paused. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d brought it up—far from it. He carefully set his spoon on the place mat.

  “How’s that nice Dr. Snellgrove?” Rosalie asked, shakily lifting a spoonful of soup to her mouth. She helped herself to crackers from the box and crumbled them in her bowl, one cracker at a time.

  “I like him.”

  “I do, too. Did he give you another prescription?”

  Harry shook his head. As it was, the visiting nurse, who stopped by the house every second day, had to use a chart to keep his medications straight.

  “You’re going to be fine, aren’t you?” his wife asked.

  Harry saw that her face had tightened with fear. “Of course I am. It’s…it’s just a matter of getting the proper rest.”

  She instantly relaxed. “Good. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Harry didn’t, either. He sighed. Perhaps he should take this opportunity to introduce the subject—again. “I was thinking that the upkeep on the house is too much for me.” Harry felt that if he described the idea of moving to assisted living as something he needed, he might have a better chance of convincing her.

  Rosalie ignored the comment. Although her face had wrinkled with age, Harry saw her as he had that first time, sixty-six years ago. She’d worked at the lunch counter at a Woolworth’s store in Seattle. Harry had gone over from Yakima to take a short training course, shortly after he’d gotten an underwriting position with the insurance company. He’d worked for the same company for more than forty years.

  It had been his first trip to the big city, and the crowds and noise had overwhelmed him. A friend had suggested they stop at the lunch counter for a bite to eat. One look at Rosalie, and he was completely smitten. Until then, he would’ve scoffed at the very thought of love at first sight. He never did again. One look and he’d fallen head over heels for his beautiful Rosalie.

  “Harry?”

  He blinked, surprised at the way he’d become immersed in his memories.

  “You’re finished your lunch?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “I’m not very hungry.” She didn’t seem to be eating much herself, he noticed.

  “I’ll fix you something later,” Rosalie suggested.

  “That would be good.” He lingered at the table. “Dr. Snellgrove wants me to use my walker.”

  Rosalie pinched her lips together. “Haven’t I been saying the same thing? If you fall down again, I won’t be able to help you up, sweetheart.”

  This was a problem. A week ago, he’d fallen and, struggle as he might, he couldn’t get back on his feet. Rosalie had tried to help and soon they were both exhausted. As a last resort, she’d phoned the fire station. They’d sent out an entire crew, embarrassing Harry no end, although the firefighters couldn’t have been nicer. He purposely hadn’t mentioned the incident to Dr. Snellgrove. No reason to. He was fine, a bit chagrined, but no worse for wear.

  With careful movements, Harry shuffled into the family room and settled down in front of the television. Rosalie carried their soup bowls to the sink and after rinsing them out, sat in her own chair, beside his.

  “Oprah will be on soon,” she informed him.

  This was her way of letting him know she’d be watching the talk show. Rosie liked Oprah and Dr. Phil, and while she’d grown fo
rgetful in some areas, she had no trouble remembering when her favorite shows were on. Harry hated to admit it, but he’d come to enjoy them, too. The complete lack of common sense exhibited by some of the folks on those programs continued to astonish him, and he was always heartened by the occasional portrayals of heroism.

  “We might think about visiting Liberty Orchard one of these days,” he said, reclining in his chair. He reached for the afghan Rosalie had knit him years earlier and spread it on his lap. The cold never seemed to leave him.

  “I don’t see any rush, do you?” Rosalie asked.

  Rather than go into what Dr. Snellgrove had told him, Harry said, “Like I was saying earlier, this house is too much for me now. I don’t see any reason to delay. We could put our name in, anyway.”

  “We can, I suppose,” Rosalie reluctantly agreed. “But I’d rather wait until summer.”

  He didn’t want to alarm her and decided to put the discussion off until later. Perhaps after he’d rested…

  Gabriel studied Mercy. Her deep-blue eyes brimmed with compassion as she turned to him. “He’s very weak.”

  Gabriel nodded.

  “How much longer does he have?” she asked, watching the tender look Rosalie sent her husband as she left her own recliner and walked over to where Harry slept. Rosalie gently tucked the hand-knit blanket around Harry’s shoulders and pressed her lips against his brow.

  “Not long,” Gabriel responded.

  “Surely God won’t take him until after Christmas?”

  “Unfortunately, Harry will leave Earth before then.”

  “Oh, dear. So his prayer request is urgent. Someone has to convince Rosalie to move, and quickly.”

  “Yes.”

  “But Christmas is only about a week away!”

  No one needed to tell Gabriel that. “I know.”

  “Oh, my.”

  “Are you still interested in taking on this request?” he asked, certain she’d change her mind.