Angels Watching Over Me

by Lurlene McDaniel

  “Lucifer once led a great rebellion against God, and for his disloyalty he and all his angels were thrown out of heaven. Now Lucifer roams the earth seeking men’s souls, leading people away from God, deceiving us and causing us great trouble.”

  Leah was astounded. “All this is in the Bible? I had no idea.” She thumbed through the angel book again, trying to imagine this strange spirit world.

  “You know, angels can assume human form if they wish. Perhaps that is why they have been drawn this way.” Charity touched one of the pictures. “Angels are strong and powerful. They are immortal, but they do not have souls as we do. They do God’s bidding, but they serve people too.”

  “Serve? Like how?”

  “In the Psalms it says that God commands his angels to guard us in everything we do. And in the Book of Hebrews it says that we are to be charitable to strangers because we do not know when we might be entertaining angels.”

  Charity’s knowledge about angels astounded Leah. And it intrigued her to think such possibilities existed. “So now I have to be nice to everybody?”

  Charity giggled. “You sound as if kindness is a chore.”

  Leah blushed. “Well, there are people I know who aren’t angels for sure. But you really believe angels exist, don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Even though we can’t see them?”

  “We can see them if they allow us to, but even if we do meet one, we do not always know it. They can seem most ordinary.”

  “But why would one appear to a person?”

  “Sometimes to help us if we are in trouble. Sometimes to fight off evil.”

  “Why don’t they always come to people’s rescue?” Leah wondered where the angels had been when her grandmother had been in such terrible pain and had lain dying.

  “Sending an angel is God’s choice.”

  Leah could tell by the expressions on the faces of the Amish girls that they believed everything they were saying. Personally, she thought the whole discussion was bizarre. To her, God seemed arbitrary and angels better imagined as the sweet-faced, winged creatures she saw in the books, rather than the frightening creatures Charity had first described.

  The library door opened, and Molly poked her head inside. “Come on, you three. We’re about to put the angel on top of the tree.”

  Out in the rec room, Leah stood against the wall with Charity, Rebekah and Ethan, but her mind was elsewhere. Charity’s voice, her words and deep convictions, were impossible to forget.

  An intern had climbed the ladder with the angel and was placing it on the topmost branch of the tree. The decorative angel was robed in a red-and-white velvet gown. Its hair was golden, and its wings of wire were overlaid with white gauze. The intern scrambled down the ladder and folded it hastily. Across the room someone flicked off the overhead lights.

  “Are we ready?” Molly called.

  A chorus of children’s voices called, “Yes!”

  Molly threw a switch, and hundreds of lights blazed to life on the tree. The onlookers clapped and cheered—all except for Leah and the three Amish beside her. In the beautiful glow of the Christmas lights, their faces looked troubled. Leah allowed her gaze to linger on the angel, which was bathed in pale yellow light from the bulbs on nearby branches.

  She was positive that the others in the room thought the angel ornament was beautiful, perfect. But to Leah, the angel now looked waxy and fake. It was just a doll, bearing little resemblance to the heavenly creature it was supposed to represent.

  Leah didn’t sleep well that night. She tossed and turned, remembering the party and her Amish friends’ reactions to it. Rebekah had been frightened of the man dressed as Santa Claus and had taken the gift he offered only after Leah had taken it first and pressed it into her hand.

  “May I have it?” Rebekah had asked Ethan, who had looked uncertain about the whole thing.

  “I’m not sure you should take something from a stranger,” he said.

  “It’s all right,” Leah told them. “It won’t be much. Probably a plastic toy or some candy.”

  Ethan nodded, and Rebekah carefully pulled off the paper, her movements slow and deliberate—so different from the other kids, who were ripping paper and ribbon to shreds to get to their gifts. Inside hers was a plastic doll. “I like Rose better,” Rebekah said solemnly, handing the doll to Leah.

  “You can keep it,” Leah said. “It’s a present.”

  Rebekah shook her head. “No, thank you. She is not right for a plain person.”

  Later, Leah had asked Charity, “What could be so awful about taking a plastic doll?”

  “We do not believe in collecting material things. Rebekah has a doll. Why does she need two?”

  Eating cookies and cake and drinking punch were much more to their liking. They all loved sweets, and Ethan ventured a grin of approval when he bit into a powdery white butter cookie decorated like a snowman.

  Charity whispered, “Oma makes wonderful gingerbread, but I like this very much. Maybe even better.”

  A nurse stepped forward with a guitar and invited the audience to join her in singing Christmas songs, including “Frosty, the Snowman,” “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and “Jingle Bells.”

  The Amish listened, and Leah tried to imagine what it must be like to hear these songs for the first time. When the nurse began to lead the group in singing carols, Leah glanced at Charity to see if she knew the words. Charity knew them well, and even Ethan and Rebekah sang along. Leah sang too, even though for her, the carols were simply a tradition of the season. For the Amish, singing the words had religious meaning.

  When “Silent Night” was played, Charity sang softly in German. As the beautiful music played, Leah felt a lump rise in her throat, in spite of herself. The shimmering tree, the music and children’s voices gave her goose bumps. When her gaze fell on the Christmas angel atop the tree, she deliberately glanced away.

  After the party, Leah and Rebekah returned to their room and said goodbye to Charity and Ethan. This time Rebekah didn’t cry at being left, but Leah felt pangs of regret. She caught Ethan’s gaze, and their eyes held. For an instant she thought he might give her a farewell hug. But he didn’t. She felt disappointment, although she hadn’t really expected him to do something like that.

  “Good night, Leah,” he said softly.

  “But you will come back?”

  “On Monday.”

  “My biopsy—”

  “I will be here when you wake up from your surgery.”

  “Do you promise?”

  He touched her cheek. “Yes, I promise.”

  Long after they were gone and Rebekah slept, Leah lay awake, listening to the night sounds of the hospital. She wished she could sleep away the night and the whole next day. She wanted the biopsy to be over. She wanted Ethan to return.

  She sighed and threw back the bedcovers. Perhaps a walk to the rec room would make her feel sleepy, or at least help pass the time.

  The rec room was deserted. The aroma of the Christmas tree filled the room, and although its lights had been turned off, it still looked magnificent.

  She stood in front of it, fingering the fragrant pine needles and remembering other trees and other Christmases. The tree comforted her. She imagined the woods it had come from. The tree too had been snatched from all that was familiar and thrust into a world that was completely foreign.

  Behind her she heard the door open, and she turned to see a nurse silhouetted in the doorway. Leah squinted, then recognized her. “You’re Gabriella,” she said. “Rebekah talks about you. I’ve seen you in our room at night.”

  Gabriella’s auburn hair was short with long fringy bangs, and her eyes were dark brown. “She is a precious child, but I’ve been looking for you.”

  “I’ll bet you’re doing bed checks and found mine empty. Sorry about that, but I couldn’t sleep.” Leah expected a lecture about being out of bed in the middle of the night.

  “I knew where t
o find you.”

  “There’s noplace else to go,” Leah said with a heavy sigh.

  “Where would you go if you could go anywhere?”

  Leah paused, struck by the question. Where would I go? “I’m not sure.”

  “You’re not unhappy here, are you?”

  Leah thought about Rebekah, Charity and Ethan. “I’m not unhappy,” she said.

  “Come,” Gabriella said, taking her hand. “You should go back to bed.”

  Obediently Leah followed her out of the rec room and down the hall. “What’s bothering you? Why can’t you sleep?” Gabriella asked.

  “I—I think I’m worried about Monday,” Leah confessed. Until that moment, she hadn’t consciously been thinking about the biopsy at all.

  Gabriella stopped, rested her hands on Leah’s shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. “Don’t be afraid, Leah. Everything will work out for the best.”

  “But how do you know?”

  “Things happen for a purpose. Even if we don’t understand them.”

  Leah sighed. “You sound like Molly.”

  “Molly likes you very much.”

  “I like her too,” Leah said. “She’s nice. And she really cares about people.”

  “You remind her of someone.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s for Molly to tell you.”

  Curious, Leah started to question Gabriella, but the nurse took her hand and led her back to her room. Together they checked on Rebekah, who was sound asleep. The child’s skin was cool, and Leah realized that Rebekah really was getting well.

  Gabriella smoothed Leah’s bedcovers and, reluctantly, Leah crawled between the sheets. “I’m still not sleepy,” Leah insisted.

  “Do you want me to stay with you until you fall asleep?”

  Leah started to say “I’m no baby,” but stopped. “My grandma Hall is the only other person who’s ever done that for me. But that was a long time ago.”

  Gabriella took her hand. “Then it’s my turn now.”

  Leah found the woman’s touch comforting, and soon a feeling of serenity and contentment stole over her. Her eyelids grew heavy. “Gabriella, why are the Amish so different?”

  “It is their belief and their custom to be different.”

  The answer didn’t satisfy Leah. “I like them, but I don’t understand why they live the way they do.”

  “Sometimes simplicity is a good thing. It keeps people focused on what’s important.”

  Leah yawned, and her thoughts turned again to her upcoming surgery. “Things will be all right with the biopsy, won’t they?”

  “God never puts more on a person than the person can bear.”

  Leah fell asleep and dreamed of Amish buggies, of men who looked like Ethan, and of huge pieces of medical equipment towering over her like birds of prey, intent on devouring her.

  “Will you read to me from my book?”

  Rebekah’s question pulled Leah from her deep sleep. Sunlight spilled through the window, and her breakfast tray sat on her bedside table, the plate still covered by a stainless steel dome. She’d slept so soundly, she hadn’t even heard it being delivered. She shook her head to clear it and struggled to a sitting position. “What time is it?”

  Rebekah stood beside Leah’s bed, her eyes level with the mattress. The IV line had been removed from the girl’s hand, and a Band-Aid covered the place where the needle had been. Rebekah shrugged.

  Still groggy, Leah smiled. “That late, huh? I’d better get moving.”

  “You were sleeping so long.”

  “Yeah. I guess I stayed up too late. Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “Because Gabriella said not to.”

  “You talked to Gabriella?”

  Rebekah nodded and offered a bright smile. “She told me goodbye. She said I’d be going home tomorrow.”

  Leah felt jolted. Gabriella wouldn’t have told Rebekah that unless it was true. Going home. And away from the world Leah was a part of.

  Leah mumbled, “Well, I guess after you leave, Gabriella and Molly will be my only friends.”

  Rebekah looked stricken. “You will be lonely.”

  Leah tousled the child’s hair. “Don’t worry about it. My mom will be here Thursday.” She got out of bed. “Let me freshen up and then I’ll read to you.”

  Leah quickly showered and was putting on her makeup when Rebekah appeared in the bathroom doorway, shyly looking in. “May I watch?”

  “Sure.”

  Rebekah had already dressed. She fluffed the skirt of her dress and settled on the edge of the tub, where she studied Leah intently with saucer-wide eyes. “Why do you put paint on your face?”

  Leah glanced down at her. “To look pretty.”

  “But you already look pretty.”

  “Well, thanks, but without mascara, my eyes disappear.”

  “They do?” The child sat up straighter, squinting to examine Leah’s eyes more closely.

  Bemused, Leah said, “I guess that doesn’t make sense to you. Let’s just say I put on makeup because it’s my custom, like wearing that cap on your head is yours.”

  Rebekah seemed to accept this explanation, but when Leah turned the blow-dryer on her shoulder-length, precision-cut hair, Rebekah asked, “Why do you cut your hair off? The Bible says hair is a woman’s glory.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Leah laughed. “I like my hair this way, and I think it looks best on me. I guess it’s hard for us to understand each other’s ways sometimes.”

  Rebekah nodded and changed the subject. “My sister Sarah got married in November. She married Israel Kramandam.”

  “That’s nice. Did they go on a honeymoon?”

  “What’s a honeymoon?”

  Leah realized that if the Amish didn’t believe in mingling with the world, it was doubtful they would indulge in this particular custom. “A kind of vacation two people take when they get married,” she explained.

  Rebekah giggled. “Who would do their work? Who would feed the cows?”

  “Sorry—I forgot about those cows. So, what do an Amish couple do when they get married?”

  “They go around visiting people on other farms. They get to sleep over and get presents.” Rebekah’s face looked animated. “Then in the spring, they move into their own house. I liked Sarah’s wedding. Everybody came.”

  “Who’s everybody?”

  “All the plain people. Mama said three hundred were coming and for Papa to fetch enough chairs because no one was going to say that Tillie Longacre didn’t know how to put on a wedding feast,” Rebekah said in an imitation of her mother’s voice. “Mama and Oma cooked and cooked for weeks. I helped.”

  “Wow, that’s a lot of people.” Leah thought about her own mother’s weddings. The last three ceremonies had been attended only by Leah and one or two of her mother’s friends. “Was your sister’s dress pretty?”

  Rebekah’s brow knitted as she considered the question. “All our dresses are plain.”

  “Didn’t she wear a fancy wedding gown?”

  Rebekah shrugged. “It was white. But not fancy.”

  “Were there flowers?”

  Rebekah shook her head. Neil and Leah’s mother’s wedding had been small, but Leah’s mother had worn an expensive dress of pale blue silk and carried an exquisite cascade of orchids and roses, and the ring Neil had slipped onto her finger had been huge and glittering. “I personally think your plain way is better,” she said.

  Leah’s approval obviously pleased Rebekah. “When I grow up and get married, will you come to my wedding?”

  “Could I come? I mean, since I’m not Amish?”

  Rebekah pondered the question. “I’ll ask Ethan. He knows everything.”

  The mention of Ethan made Leah’s pulse quicken. “Well, you have to grow up first,” she told Rebekah. “And by then, who knows where I’ll be?” Rebekah looked as if she didn’t understand, and Leah realized that for a g
irl whose family had lived in the same place for generations, the concept of moving from state to state, city to city, rented apartment to rented house wouldn’t make any sense at all.

  “Come on,” Leah said, taking Rebekah’s hand. “Let’s go read your book, and I’ll let you show me some more stories about angels. That way I’ll be able to recognize one if I see it.”

  Rebekah giggled. “You can’t see them, Leah.”

  Leah feigned exasperation. “Just my luck. So how am I supposed to believe in something I can’t see?”

  Still clinging to Leah’s hand, Rebekah tilted her head upward. “Because you see them with your heart, not your eyes.”

  Leah nodded, saying nothing but wishing she had the same simple faith.

  Leah found Sunday afternoon unbearably boring. She didn’t want to watch TV, especially since Rebekah wasn’t used to it. The rec room was too noisy and the video game room was full of kids waiting to play. Even the library offered no refuge. She was standing in the kitchen, ready to throw herself on the floor in frustration, when Molly walked in. “Rescue me!” Leah cried, grabbing the nurse by the shoulders.

  “Bored, are we?” Molly asked with a laugh.

  “Watching paint dry would be more exciting.”

  Molly glanced at her watch. “I’m filling in for a friend who’s sick, but I don’t have to sign on for another thirty minutes. Why don’t you throw on some street clothes and I’ll take you downstairs to the main cafeteria. Maybe the change of scenery will do you good.”

  Leah practically set a speed record dressing in jeans and a sweatshirt. She must have lost some weight—a quick check in the mirror revealed that her jeans looked baggy. But except for the plastic ID bracelet on her wrist, she didn’t look like a patient at all.

  “You know,” she told Molly during the ride down in the elevator, “I’m going to be pretty miffed if they can’t find anything wrong with me after I’ve wasted almost a whole week in the hospital.”

  “Is your knee still sore?”

  “Yes.” Leah rotated the kneecap and winced. “And my back too. Maybe it’s arthritis from waiting around this place for so long.”

  Molly chuckled. “I don’t think so. By tomorrow night you’ll have a diagnosis. Hang in there.”