Walking on Air

by Catherine Anderson

  Gabe gave a bitter laugh and gestured at the shack. “Gates? What gates?”

  Michael shrugged. “It’s also our job to make every new arrival feel comfortable, and because you don’t truly believe in the existence of ornate gates to heaven, we felt a shack might be less intimidating.”

  Gabe didn’t like the fact that these two fellows seemed to know what he believed in and what he didn’t, but he was relieved to hear that they were there to save him. Hey, if anyone needed saving, it was definitely him. He wasn’t about to say so, though, and he sure as shootin’ wasn’t going to act cowed. “So, if your job is to save everyone you can, what do you have in mind for me?”

  The two angels resumed their perusal of Gabe’s life history, shaking their heads and clucking their tongues. The angel Gabriel glanced up. “Do you realize you have intimately consorted with one hundred and fifty-six women, all without benefit of matrimony or any feelings of genuine affection?”

  That couldn’t be right. Now they were insulting his manhood. Gabe grabbed the paper from the angel’s hand and scanned it. “This isn’t correct,” he said indignantly. “You left off a bunch of names. And for your information, I was damn good at it.” He ran his gaze down the list, then slapped the record with the backs of his fingers. “There, you see! You forgot to list the gal I made love to last night, proof that you might have left out others.”

  Michael’s dark brows snapped together. “We haven’t had time to add the name of the woman last night.” His expression grew accusing. “So we’ll make it a hundred and fifty-seven, and ask you again what you have to say for yourself. This isn’t something you should be bragging about, Mr. Valance. Your flagrant disregard of nearly all of the Ten Commandments is shocking.”

  Gabe couldn’t understand what they were so het up about. “I wasn’t bragging. I was being accurate. And I never touched a married woman in my whole life. No adultery. You can’t pin that one on me.”

  The angels sadly shook their heads. The golden-haired Gabriel took over the exchange. “Did no one ever explain to you that the seventh commandment encompasses far more than just adultery? Sexual intercourse with prostitutes falls under that rule, not to mention countless other things.”

  “Holy hell,” Gabe replied. “Next thing I know, you’ll be outlawing booze. Just because a man has the good sense never to get married, that doesn’t mean he wants to live his entire adult life without getting a little now and again.”

  The angel Gabriel sighed. “You are a challenging case indeed.” He turned another page of Gabe’s life history and once again did a head waggle. “Have you done nothing with your life to commend yourself?” he asked. “Did you perform no acts of kindness?”

  “Oh, hey, I’m good on that one,” Gabe said. He felt on firmer ground now. “Take the whores, now. I always paid double their rates, even if the service was bad. You two probably don’t have any experience with working girls, but that was definitely unusual, you know? A lot of men fasten their flies, bolt out the door, and don’t even pay the tab.” On a roll, Gabe stabbed a finger in their direction. “And let me tell you, that isn’t all they do! Most whores get knocked around more times than not, and even then the bastards who’re fond of beating on women don’t pay for the privilege. I not only paid that last gal’s fee, but I gave her twenty-three bucks extra. That’s a lot of money!”

  Michael’s brown eyes bugged slightly. A hooded expression slipped over Gabriel’s blue-eyed countenance. Gabe could tell this wasn’t going well. Shifting his feet quickly, he said, “And don’t be forgetting the ten dollars I tossed to that kid in the street right before I got shot. Hell, I was going to take him out for breakfast and stay over a day to see if the local preacher could get some family in town to take him in.”

  Michael lifted his hands. “For a man of your immense wealth, the paltry sum of ten dollars hardly offsets all the bad things you have done. Nor does the fact that you planned to give any family who would take the boy a generous monthly stipend.”

  Gabe felt sweat tricking from his armpits and down his ribs. If he was truly dead, how could he possibly be perspiring? Again, he shifted his feet uncomfortably. These guys wanted to help him out; he could sense that. But so far, things weren’t looking good for him. He desperately tried to recall some good things he had done. “I like dogs. Does that count?”

  The angel Gabriel nodded. “It certainly does. Did you ever rescue one from cruel treatment?”

  Gabe had done enough gambling to know when he’d just been dealt a winning card. “You betcha. I even got into one hell of a fight with a man once for beating his dog.” He quickly recounted the tale to the angels. “That’s kind, ain’t it?” Damn, he was so nervous that he was slipping back into using poor English. Old Mrs. Harper, an ex-schoolmarm who’d taken him in once and tried to smarten him up, the one and only person in his life aside from his mother who’d ever done him a truly good turn, was probably rolling over in her grave. “I stepped in, regardless of the risk to myself, and saved that poor dog from one hell of a working over.”

  Michael waved a hand, and the clouds that drifted in a heavy layer over the shack floor opened to reveal that particular scene from Gabe’s past. Gabe was fascinated. It was like attending a play, only he was one of the actors. He watched himself beat the stuffing out of the dog’s owner, then shove the man’s head in a horse trough. The angels sighed when they saw Gabe hold the fellow’s face underwater until he stopped kicking.

  “The bastard isn’t dead,” Gabe pointed out quickly. “See? He’s moving now that his head is out.”

  “But you nearly drowned the poor sot,” the angel Gabriel sternly pointed out.

  Gabe lifted his hands, palms up. “So I let my temper get the better of me for a few seconds. That doesn’t mean the miserable shit didn’t have it coming. He was gonna kick that dog to death. You saw him.” Gabe raked a hand through his hair and then settled the Stetson back on his head. He briefly considered removing the hat out of respect, but they were being so nasty, he resisted the urge. “I have a pretty bad temper when I get riled, but surely that’s forgivable under those circumstances.”

  “Your heart may have been in the right place,” Michael conceded, “but your failure to control your temper negates that particular good deed. Have you anything else to say for yourself?”

  Think, Valance, he told himself. You’re in serious trouble here, man. “Uh, well . . . I was always real kind to my horse. After hitting town off the trail, I always took care of him first. He got washed and rubbed down before I even thought about a bath for myself. He got water and food long before I did.” He frowned, realizing that he was getting a ripsnorting headache. How was that possible if he was dead? “I have to admit that Brownie never got sex during our layovers, but he was a gelding, so that kind of fun wasn’t an option for him. Otherwise I would’ve found him a mare to visit with on occasion.”

  Judging by the stares and glares that greeted this remark, he could tell he was delivering the wrong address to the jury. What did these angels want from him?

  “To men of your time,” the angel Gabriel said, “being good to your horse is considered a necessary kindness. Where would a man be without his horse?”

  “On foot,” Gabe replied. “Do I get any points for being honest?” No reply from his judges. “Okay, I’ll take that as a no.” Gabe could almost feel the heat of hellfire inching up around his ankles again.

  Michael looked at him, and the unexpected compassion in the angel’s eyes punched Gabe in the gut like a mule’s hind hoof. It hurt. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Looking back over my life, I haven’t done much you could consider, you know, saintly. I guess I’m what you fellows would call a lost soul.” A lump had grown in his throat, and he struggled to speak past it. “I . . . didn’t live a very good life. I wanted to. Trust me on that, but most times, when I tried for something better, I got a kick in the teeth. If that happens enough,
you quit trying, you know? That’s how it goes for some of us down there. If we don’t have bad luck, we don’t have any luck at all.”

  The angels conferred for a moment, then turned in tandem to regard Gabe with thoughtful eyes. The golden-haired Gabriel assumed the role of pronouncing sentence. “It is clear to us, after reviewing your life history, that you actually were among those rare individuals who truly weren’t given many opportunities to redeem themselves. Abandoned after your mother’s death, unacknowledged by your father, forced to live in poverty on the rough streets of Kansas City as a boy, you never had much of a chance to be anything but what you became, a worthless individual who lived his entire life without leaving a good mark on the world or improving it in any way.”

  Gabe opened his mouth to argue but couldn’t think of one damned thing to say in his own defense, so he just closed it again, braced his shoulders, and prepared to face his punishment. Worthless? As much as it rankled to admit it, maybe they were right about that.

  “In rare instances,” Michael said, “we angels have the authority to offer people one more chance. Would you be interested in going back down there for a specified period of time to give life another try?”

  Gabe could scarcely believe his ears. Given his recent encounter with hellfire, he figured only a fool would say no. “What would I have to do?”

  Gabriel replied, “You will be given an opportunity to save a lost soul. If you succeed in your mission, if you manage to drastically alter that lost soul’s life, then you will have earned salvation. It won’t be easy. You may have to sacrifice a great deal, and self-sacrifice has never been one of your strong points. Are you willing?”

  Willing? After standing there with his feet on fire? Of course he’d be willing. “Yes,” he said firmly.

  The golden-haired angel swung a hand to part the clouds again. He gestured for Gabe to peer down through the hole. “There you see Tyke Baden, a lonely, embittered old man who has lived most of his adult life in Random.”

  Gabe bent at the waist to have a peek and got the eerie feeling that he had fallen into the old man’s sitting area. He could smell the stench of an unwashed body, rotten garbage, and newly cooked food, a blend that turned his stomach. The room was a maze of trash piles—stacks of newspapers, periodicals, and all manner of other stuff that only someone out of his mind would keep.

  “Tyke was once happily married with several children,” Michael said. “He lived and worked hard for the welfare of his family for many years. Then, when his children were nearly grown, disease struck his household and only Tyke survived. After grieving, he grew angry at God and everyone else in town who hadn’t died from the contagion. Sadly, his only solace was found in a whiskey bottle. He is now alone, lost, wishing for just one person to care about him, but when kindly townspeople attempt to enter his home, he yells, uses foul language, and frightens them away.”

  “Foul language don’t make my ears burn.” Gabe winced. He’d done it again, allowing nerves to push him back through the years to a time when he hadn’t known how to speak proper English. “If all he needs is someone to care, I could clean him up and make him feel better.”

  “But could you love him?” Gabriel asked. “Truly love him? That is what Tyke needs in order to find salvation, to love and be loved again.”

  Gabe’s nostrils burned from the stench, but he figured a little elbow grease would set the house right. “How long do I get to learn to love him?”

  “A month.”

  “A month? Isn’t that a pretty tall order?” Gabe gestured downward. “It’d take me a month just to clean up that rat’s nest.” Then, hearing what he’d just said, he backtracked. “I’ll take him. No worries. I found a dirty, stinky dog once that I learned to love real quick. He up and died on me, but it wasn’t for lack of caring on my part.”

  “Don’t choose hastily,” Michael interjected. “There are many lost souls in Random. We’ve selected three for you to consider, and then you can reach a decision.”

  With a flick of his fingers, Michael changed the scene below, and Gabe saw the boy who now spent half his life huddled under the whorehouse stairwell, waiting for his mother to return. Before he thought, he said, “He’d be a tough one to save in thirty days. He’s bitter, suspicious, and been done wrong so many times he has no faith in human kindness. Boys like him don’t normally turn to melted butter just because somebody’s nice to them.”

  Michael nodded. “He is a difficult one, if not impossible. Which is why we’ve given you three lost souls to choose from.”

  The angel Gabriel flung his hand to change the scene below. “Here is our final lost soul for you to consider. Nancy Sullivan, now using the surname Hoffman.”

  Gabe almost lost his balance when he looked down and saw the young woman who had stood at the hat shop window, watching him as he lay dying. Now she was in her bedroom, wearing only a thin chemise, bloomers, and corset as she prepared to change dresses for church. Shooting a furtive glance at the angels, Gabe inched closer for a better look. Great legs, tight little ass, breasts to make a man’s mouth water. She had a very interesting freckle—or maybe a small mole—on the swell of her right breast that peeked at him over the low scoop of her chemise. Without intending to, he leaned so far over the parting in the clouds that he nearly lost his footing.

  “That’s the one!” he proclaimed loudly. Hell, if he had to save a lost soul, he might as well have a little fun while he was at it.

  The angels frowned in disapproval. Michael spoke up. “You’re free to choose whichever mission you like, of course, but looks can be deceiving. Miss Sullivan, currently known as a widow, doesn’t exactly cotton to gentlemen, and of all the souls you might choose, she will probably be the most difficult to save. She distrusts men, has sworn never to let herself love one, and abhors the institution of marriage. In short, she is a lonely, unfulfilled spinster who has denied herself the joy of marriage and bearing children because she is terrified of letting a man, any man, have authority over her. She has no true friends and ventures from her shop only for necessities and to attend church. She also has a weak sense of humor. Her only pleasures in life are her little sister and her work, the latter of which she engages in from dawn until well after midnight, seldom taking a moment for herself, not because she enjoys being exhausted, but because building her business has been a constant struggle and she is afraid to sleep.”

  Gabe shrugged. “I have great respect for people who work hard, and I’ve yet to meet a person who can’t learn to laugh. Why the hell is she afraid to sleep?”

  “Nan Hoffman may not give you an opportunity to teach her how to laugh. She lives in fear of discovery. And if you take her case, you will learn only from her why she has trouble sleeping.”

  “Discovery of what?” Gave demanded. “You say she lives in fear?”

  Michael sighed. “It’s a long story. Nan wrongly believes she has a murder charge hanging over her head, and she is consequently running from her past, which will make it extremely difficult for you to gain her trust. Are you still interested?”

  Gabe gave Nan Hoffman’s tantalizing figure another long look and flashed a grin. “I love a challenge, especially when it comes packaged like that.”

  The angels folded their hands and studied Gabe with somber intensity. Michael said, “This isn’t a game you’re engaging in, Gabe. Nan Hoffman lives in a prison of her own making, and it will be your assignment to help her escape from it. It is heaven’s standard policy that lost souls be given only a month to redeem themselves. Judging by your record, you aren’t exactly an expert in affairs of the heart, and making a woman like Nan Hoffman fall in love with you may be beyond your ability.”

  For a moment, Gabe thought he’d misunderstood the man. “Wait a minute. If I only have a month to be back on earth, why in hell would you fellows want me to make some poor woman fall in love with me? Isn’t that unfair to her?”

/>   “Because,” the blond inserted, “experiencing true love, however briefly, is the only way Nan Sullivan will ever be convinced to risk falling in love again. It will be your job to help her heal in the month you’re allotted, so that after your second death, Nan will be able to lead a normal life, remarry, and have children of her own. If she doesn’t do that, her life will count for far less than it should, and that is a waste that our heavenly Father simply can’t countenance.”

  Gabe threw up a hand. “Whoa, there. Did you just say remarry?”

  Both angels raised their eyebrows. Michael took over again. “Your marrying Nan will be absolutely necessary if you hope to completely banish her fears. As it stands, she abhors the institution of marriage, convinced that once a man gains authority over her, he will turn domineering and possibly become abusive. It will be your mission to show her how wrong she is.”

  It was Gabe’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “With only a month to gain the woman’s trust, how can you possibly expect me to convince her to marry me? And after I manage that, I’ll need some time to prove myself. A measly month?”

  Despite Gabe’s objection, which he felt was reasonable, the angels remained firm. “One month,” Gabriel repeated. “It’s standard policy. If you take this assignment, you’ll simply have to work fast. How you go about it will be entirely up to you. By fair means or foul, all that matters is that you accomplish your mission. It will be difficult, yes, but not impossible. If you decide to take this assignment, you will be armed with enough ammunition before you return to earth to coerce Nan Hoffman into marrying you.”

  “Coerce? Did you say coerce? I’ve never done that to a woman in my life!” Whether his own redemption hung in the balance or not, Gabe was no longer sure that he wanted to tackle this project. He liked the ladies willing, thank you very much. “What kind of angels are you fellows, anyway? It sounds to me as if you’re giving me free rein to turn that poor woman’s life topsy-turvy. What if I bungle the job and leave her more afraid to trust men than she already is? What if . . . Well, the possibilities are endless, and none of them make you look too good. Do you guys pull this kind of shit very often? If so, it’s little wonder so many people down there walk around asking, ‘Why me, God? Why me?’”