The Hidden Deep

by Christa J. Kinde

  “Where is it? Can I see?” Zeke demanded.

  “It’s something we can all share, but it won’t be here until tomorrow.” That said, Jayce folded his hands on the table and smiled smugly.

  “Is that all you’re going to tell us?” Prissie demanded.

  “Yes,” he replied, his eyes sparkling. “Yes, it is.”

  “Does anyone else know?” she inquired, for she’d noticed that her older brothers weren’t asking any questions. Grandpa and Grandma were also suspiciously calm.

  “Tomorrow,” Jayce repeated firmly.

  That night, Koji slipped into Prissie’s room after everyone else was asleep. She suspected that Tamaes had told him she was still up, which made her a little grumpy. Did everyone have secrets from her? She hated being out of the loop! The young Observer climbed to his favorite perch on her window seat and sat with one leg pulled up to his chest, the other swinging.

  “Do you know what they have planned?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I believe your father wishes his plans to remain a surprise,” Koji replied matter-of-factly.

  “You do know what he has in mind!”

  “In part,” he said. She made an impatient gesture, anxious to hear what he knew, but Koji simply shook his head. “I will not tell you what I know, so do not ask.”

  Prissie flopped down and pulled her quilt up to her chin. “Is it something good?”

  Koji smiled.

  “So it will be something good!”

  “Indeed.”

  Prissie sighed and wriggled down into her mattress. The weather had taken a bitter turn, and her room was decidedly chilly. “Aren’t you cold?” she asked.

  Koji looked down at his bare toes and replied, “No. The cold does not bother me.”

  They sat together in comfortable silence for a little while, but finally, Prissie complained, “I’m never going to get to sleep.”

  “I will not either.”

  “That hardly counts! You don’t sleep!”

  The young Observer continued to peer through the multicolored panes of glass at the stars, a smile on his face. Pushing his hair behind his ear, Koji began to hum softly. Small snatches of a tune teased at her memory until she finally placed the song. Kester’s lullaby. The gentle melody filled her mind, weaving with images of harp strings and stained glass wings that carried her off to sleep.

  Prissie slept late, and when she woke, she was momentarily disoriented by the level of noise coming from downstairs. Usually, Saturday mornings smelled like coffee and sounded like cartoons, but the unmistakable clatter of full-scale meal preparations filtered up from the kitchen. Whatever had been planned for today was already beginning.

  Tucking her feet into slippers, Prissie hurried down the back stairs to see what was going on. “Good morning, Priscilla,” her mother greeted when she peeped into the kitchen. With a glance at the clock, which showed it was coming up on eleven, she added, “Barely.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “We’re expecting company,” Momma replied with a secretive smile.

  “On a Saturday?”

  Her mother said, “Now that it’s November, we won’t see much business, but if customers do drop in, it won’t be a problem. We’ll be out in the barn anyhow.”

  “In the barn?” Prissie echoed blankly.

  Grandma Nell bustled through with Beau and Koji close on her heels, each carrying a pan of corn bread. “This should do it! More than enough to go around!” she said to her daughter-in-law. Catching sight of her granddaughter, she beamed. “There you are, sweetie!”

  Eying the baking, Prissie scuffled over to the stove and peeped under the lid of a pot simmering on the back burner, releasing the spicy-rich smell of homemade chili. Momma said, “We’ll be doing chili five ways, and I could use an extra pair of hands. Why don’t you hurry and get dressed. I suggest you wear something nice,” she added with a wink.

  From the upstairs bathroom window, Prissie caught sight of her older brothers hauling saw horses and picnic tables into the apple barn, and not long after that, she saw Beau and Koji carrying a stack of Grandma’s checkered tablecloths down there as well.

  In the kitchen once more, she demanded, “Who’s coming over?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” Naomi replied. “Now grate that cheese for me. I’ll finish the onions.”

  “What about Dad?” Prissie asked. “Doesn’t he have to work until two?”

  “Our guests know that it’ll be a late lunch. Nobody minded.”

  Twenty minutes later, two vehicles rolled up the driveway and pulled to a stop in front of the barn. As car doors slammed and greetings were called, Prissie hurried over to the window for a peek. She didn’t recognize either the silver hatchback or the bright red minivan. All doors were open, and a group of people had crowded around to unload something. Her brothers were toting black cases and coils that looked like extension cords. “What’s going on out there?” Then a shock of red hair bounced into view, and she exclaimed, “Is that Baird?”

  “Yes, it is!” her mother cheerfully replied. “And he brought friends!”

  “Who are they?”

  “His band,” Momma said. “Your father arranged it as a special treat for Beau so he could learn more about running a sound board. Baird’s band is going to rehearse here, and your brother gets to fiddle with all those knobs and levers and things.”

  Prissie looked at Grandma Nell. “You knew they were coming?”

  “Of course, sweetie. I had to do the cooking, didn’t I? And your grandpa also knew, since the barn needed to be ready.”

  “Am I the only one who didn’t know?” Prissie grumbled.

  Her grandmother chuckled. “I think your parents wanted you to enjoy the surprise as much as Beau.”

  Prissie spotted Kester carrying an enormous instrument case toward the barn, and slowly she retreated back to the table, taking a muffin as a very late breakfast. She didn’t like surprises. Today’s plans had not been submitted for her approval, and while she had to admit they were good plans, she wasn’t sure if she was excited or not. Caught up in trying to sort out her mixed-up feelings, she totally missed the arrival of yet another car.

  With a short rap on the kitchen door, Milo let himself in. “Hey, ladies! I’m useless in the barn with all those cords and wires. Can I lend a hand here?”

  “Oh, good. A man!” Grandma Nell exclaimed, waving him over. “Sit there.”

  Milo slid into a chair, and she placed a few jars in front of him. “Here, you go. Could you open these for me? Prissie can fill serving dishes.” Grandma Nell bustled back to the cupboard and returned with large bowls. “I’ll just go set up the coffee pot in the barn and say hello to our guests. Naomi, will you bring the silverware?”

  After the women left, Milo said, “Hey, Miss Priscilla.”

  “Hi, Milo,” she replied with a half-hearted smile.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Nooo,” she replied vaguely, unsure how to explain her funk. On the one hand, she was glad that Baird and Kester were back, but she was a little miffed about having to share them with so many other people. In a way, she’d come to think of these angels as hers. Prissie watched Milo struggle with a wide-mouthed jar. “I would have thought angels were super strong or something,” she remarked with the beginnings of a smile.

  “I’m a supernatural being, but that’s a far cry from omnipotent.”

  “All-powerful?”

  “That I am not,” Milo said. With a comical expression, he attacked the lid, but finally sighed in defeat. “I can tell you how to say pickle in every language known to man, but that won’t get us any closer to your grandmother’s gherkins.” Prissie giggled, and his blue eyes sparkled. Then he quirked a brow at a spot across the table. “A little help here?”

  In a twinkling, Taweel was revealed, sitting with his chin propped on his hand, his fingers half-hiding his amusement. Waving the jar before the Guardian, Milo said, “It would take a miracle for m
e to open this. Be my miracle?”

  With a soft grunt, the warrior held out his hand, and the Messenger turned over the jar.

  “Hello, Taweel,” Prissie said, earning a nod. A yellow-haired yahavim popped into view by climbing over Taweel’s head, crawling through the wild mess of black hair. “Omri!” she exclaimed in delight.

  The little manna-maker grew brighter as he flew down to the table, and Milo said, “Now, there’s a smile. Maybe the two of you should stick together today.”

  Meeting the little angel’s gaze for a moment, Prissie asked, “We two?” The suggestion startled her, and she peeped out of the corner of her eye at Taweel. “Won’t he want to stay with you?”

  Violet eyes flicked to her face, then settled on his small companion. “Omri will go where he is needed most.”

  Prissie brimmed with hope as she faced the tiny angel. “Would you like to come with me for a while?”

  Omri launched into the air and darted in a circle around her head, before settling onto her shoulder. She turned her head slightly to look into his upturned face, and small hands patted her cheek as he hummed in her ear. “I think that means yes,” Milo said with a smile.

  Taweel handed off the opened jar to Milo just as Grandma Nell returned. “Oh, you’re a wonder-worker!” she praised, then helped Prissie finish filling the bowls with sweet peppers, hot peppers, and homemade salsa. “Why don’t you two take those down to the barn and add them to the table. We’ll wait to bring the hot food until Jayce is back.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Milo and Prissie replied together.

  In the apple barn, plank tables had been lined up to create a sort of buffet, and several picnic tables were pulled together. Just beyond those, a makeshift sound booth had been established, and Baird’s band fanned out to set up their gear. Grandpa Pete’s space heaters were helping take the chill off, and the smell of coffee further warmed the air. Milo and Prissie left their dishes of pickles and peppers on the table under Momma’s watchful eye, and then the Messenger steered her toward Baird’s band.

  Kester was just opening the largest of his instrument cases, and both Zeke and Jude hovered excitedly to see what it contained. A cello made its appearance, and Zeke asked, “Can ya play it?”

  “I can,” Kester replied.

  “Can I play it?” the eight-year-old negotiated.

  “You may make an attempt.”

  “Cool!”

  “Is it hard?” Jude wanted to know.

  “Learning to play an instrument requires patience,” Kester said.

  “Do you have to practice?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you like to practice, or do you hafta practice?” Zeke asked.

  “Both.”

  “Lucky for you,” Jude said.

  “I agree.”

  While her little brothers plagued Kester with even more questions, Baird nudged Prissie with his elbow. “Surprised?”

  “No one told me you were coming.”

  “This was a very hush-hush operation,” he said conspiratorially. His gaze flitted briefly to her ear, and his mouth quirked. “That’s a regular bluebird of happiness riding on your shoulder.”

  Immediately, Prissie brightened. “Taweel said it was okay.”

  The redhead’s smile broadened. “Let me introduce you around.”

  Prissie mumbled, “Sure,” but she was feeling pretty nervous. She didn’t know any musicians, and these people seemed so confident about their instruments. It made her wish she had their talent because it must be fun to play in a group with Baird.

  “Kester you know,” the Worshiper said with a nod to his apprentice. “So ladies first. This is Mickie.”

  The young woman seated on a box drum offered a warm, “Hey.”

  “Hello,” Prissie said. She vaguely remembered the percussionist, whose hair was woven into at least a hundred tiny braids that coiled against her neck and shoulders. Trying hard not to stare at the tiny gem that pierced Mickie’s nose, Prissie fumbled for something else to say. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “I’m glad to meet you, too,” the drummer replied. “After Baird bragged on this place, we jumped at the chance to see it for ourselves.” With a smirk in the redhead’s direction, she added, “Baird bragged on you, too!”

  Prissie blushed. “Is that so?”

  Baird took the teasing in stride and touched Prissie’s elbow, leading her over to the two guys armed with guitars. “The tall one’s Sheldon,” he announced, gesturing to a balding man wearing a yellow sweater.

  “You must be Prissie,” Sheldon said, offering his hand. “Nice place you have here!”

  “Thank you.”

  Moving right along, Baird said, “And Rick’s on bass.”

  The wiry young man looked younger than the rest, perhaps college age. “Yo,” he said with a tight little smile before shaking her hand.

  With the niceties covered, Baird led her to one side, and as soon as they were out of earshot, Prissie leaned close to whisper, “Does your band know you’re an angel?”

  “Nope,” he replied softly.

  “Oh.” She thought he looked a little sad.

  “It’ll make a nice surprise someday. I hope.”

  “You don’t think they’ll be mad?”

  “They’ll probably think it’s funny. Or they’ll refuse to believe me.”

  Searching for a safer topic, Prissie asked, “Why did Kester bring a cello?”

  Baird grinned and waved at the barn rafters. “Because there’s plenty of room here for large scale music!”

  “It’s a barn, not a concert hall,” she said.

  “A rustic cathedral! We’ll run through our Sunday morning set, but we were planning to give Messiah a go, too. Kester’s going to fill in the symphonic gaps with that oversized fiddle. After all that, if you’re not ready to kick us out, we’ll take requests!”

  “It sounds fun.” Glancing at her almost twin, she added, “Beau’s going to be in his glory.”

  “Him and me both!” the Worshiper assured.

  By the time the band was running through their first real sound check, Zeke sent up a cry. He’d spotted Jayce’s van coming up the driveway. The Pomeroy boys trooped out to help because Dad always brought home whatever was left over at closing time on Saturdays. Jayce hopped out and circled around the back to unload bread, pies, rolls, cupcakes … and one shifty-eyed apprentice.

  “What’s he doing here?” Prissie muttered.

  “Carrying stuff,” replied Neil with a teasing grin.

  That much was obvious, for their father weighed Ransom down with half a dozen loaves, then pointed him toward the front door. Prissie couldn’t get over how wrong it was for these two parts of her life to collide. Ransom belonged at school, but somehow, he’d invaded the family bakery, and now her home. “I can’t believe he’s at my house!” she moaned.

  “Hustle up and help!” called Jayce, lifting a large, white bakery box.

  Milo patted Prissie’s shoulder on his way past and claimed the box, saying, “Good afternoon, Jayce! Thanks for inviting me!” As he ferried it up the front walk, he met Ransom coming and going.

  “Hey, Mr. Mailman.”

  “Hey, Ransom,” the Messenger replied with an easy smile. “You really can call me Milo.”

  “Right,” he agreed, then cast a wary look in Prissie’s direction.

  She knew better than to be rude to a guest, especially with her father standing right there, so when Jayce handed off a box of muffins, she managed a polite nod to her classmate before escaping into the house. Prissie had a sneaking suspicion that her dad would consider this the perfect chance for her to apologize. “Why me?” she muttered dismally.

  A tug on her hair yanked her attention away from her worries, and she glanced down in surprise at the little angel who swung from the end of her braid. In all the confusion, she’d forgotten about her passenger. Prissie’s expression immediately softened, and she murmured, “Today was supposed to be fun, right, Omri?” Wi
th a flicker of wings, he darted up and swooped around her head a couple times before settling on top of her head. Straightening her back, she marched into the house with her head held high. “I won’t let him ruin my day.”

  Lunch was served, and the apple barn hardly seemed big enough to contain Baird’s enthusiasm, which was contagious. As it happened, Prissie found it much easier to enjoy herself than anticipated. It was incredibly hard to frown when tiny hands kept reaching down to pat the furrow that formed between her brows.

  After the meal ended, Neil stepped up to play host, asking Ransom if he’d like a tour of the farm. As they walked out of the barn together, Prissie could hear her older brother quizzing him on Joey Mueller’s progress. His teammate had been benched for the rest of the season because of a broken collar bone. Naturally, Jude tagged along, but he kept popping back into the apple barn to keep her posted. “He’s never been here before, even for apples!” he exclaimed.

  “Maybe he doesn’t like apples,” she suggested.

  The six-year-old’s eyes widened at the very thought. “That’d be crazy! Ransom said he wasn’t here for field trips either.”

  “He’s from somewhere else, I think. And only just joined my class a couple years ago. The orchard is more of an elementary field trip.” Both Zeke and Jude had spent a half day touring their own backyard with their classmates earlier that fall.

  “Where’d he come from?” Jude inquired.

  “How would I know?”

  The boy ran off, intent on finding the answer for himself. Grandma Nell and Momma returned from the kitchen with folding chairs and blankets and settled in to enjoy the rehearsal. Prissie drifted off to one side, a little further back from everyone else, because she wanted to play with Omri while she had the chance. His antics and Baird’s songs lifted her spirits.

  She had just decided that nothing, not even Ransom, could spoil the amazingness of befriending a yahavim when her classmate returned with her brothers. While Neil went to get a closer look at Mickie’s box drum, Ransom hung back and drifted over to Prissie. To her dismay, he sat on the next bale over and said, “This place is pretty cool.”

  “Yes, it is.” Fidgeting uncomfortably, she looked around for someone to rescue her, but Milo and Koji had joined Tad and Zeke in the balcony section of the hayloft. The only person whose eye she was able to catch was her father’s, and Jayce only nodded approvingly. Folding her arms over her chest with a grumpy huff, she was caught off guard by Omri, who dropped down to nestle in the crook of her arm. Prissie smiled softly at the tiny angel’s sweet expression.