by Angela Hunt
Olympia’s eyes went as narrow as an ice pick. “Going to see Edmund?”
“Yes. It’s been longer than I had intended since I last paid a visit.”
“Didn’t see much of you this week. I guess you were busy.” Her gaze lifted to the Hair.
“Um,” Winslow cleared his throat. “I called, though. Didn’t Caleb tell you?” Desperate to change the subject, he smiled. “I suppose you lovely ladies are on your way to the tea.”
Olympia’s nostrils flared slightly. “Where else would we be going?”
“Well, then.” Winslow took another step toward the house. “Have a blessed time.”
He wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn Olympia snorted as she moved away.
Shaking his head, he climbed the front porch steps. He had known lots of people like Olympia in his years of ministry. They grew up with strict opinions of what the world should be, and somehow those images influenced their opinions of what God should be.
They were not always accurate, of course, but you couldn’t convince them to change, not for all the fish in the sea. Only God could work such miracles.
Lifting his chin, he rang the bell.
The wind picked up as Olympia and Annie made their way to the parsonage. Dark clouds covered the island, and a lowering sky promised more rain by dark.
“You aren’t obligated to attend the tea with me, Annie. Your visit is brief, and it’s perfectly understandable that you would want to spend your time with Edmund.”
“After this morning, we’d both be better off staying at home. But we’re going. I spent an hour with Uncle Edmund this afternoon, then I baked this perfectly wonderful pan of brownies. Someone has to eat them.”
“Waste of sugar, flour, and chocolate. Caleb put you up to this, didn’t he?”
“No. I didn’t want you embarrassing me, Olympia de Cuvier. You should take something.”
Olympia turned to her, confusion and surprise warring within her.
Annie leaned closer, poking Olympia’s ribs playfully. “I’ve got my eye on you, Auntie, and if you misbehave, I’ll pull a Dana Klackenbush on you.”
Olympia snorted, lifted her chin, and picked up the pace.
The parsonage was ablaze with light, the mellow warmth welcoming the ladies sporting afternoon tea frocks. Olympia shoved her growing dread aside and climbed the ivy covered porch steps. Annie caught up with her and rang the doorbell.
“Do you come to the tea every year?”
“If I must.”
“I can see you’re about as excited as a woman going to the chair,” Annie murmured. She handed Olympia the plate of brownies.
“That’s an unkind and tacky remark, young lady. Here, you take—’’ The door opened and Edith Wickam welcomed them. “Good afternoon, ladies! Oh, Annie, I’m so glad you could make it. And, Olympia, is that a new dress?”
“No,” Olympia said curtly, holding the brownies as if they were poison. “Here.” She shoved the plate at Edith, who accepted them with a cheerful smile.
“Brownies! You didn’t have to!”
“Good, because I didn’t. Annie made them.”
Bustling through the door, Olympia clarified her position. “We’ll only stay a minute, Edith. I have other things to do.”
“Of course, Olympia.” Edith’s smile was as warm as the scent of the cinnamon candles burning in her foyer. “I’m delighted you’ve come.”
Annie milled through the group, chatting pleasantly with women she hadn’t seen in years. Edith walked up to Olympia and offered a tray of her celebrated cinnamon raisin scones. “No, thank you,” Olympia said, her voice as sharp as ice crystals. “I’m only having one cookie.”
Edith, bless her heart, kept at it. “That’s a lovely dress.”
“I’ve worn it before.”
“Your hair—are you doing something different with it these days? A new cut?”
Edith’s smile could have melted the Titanic iceberg, but Olympia didn’t thaw. “Worn it like this since high school.”
Shaking her head, Edith moved on to the next guest. “Hi, Vernie,” she said, “that’s a lovely dress.”
Keeping an eye on her aunt, Annie returned to the punch bowl. Her aunt wasn’t mingling; instead she sat alone on Edith’s sofa, nursing the cookie.
Annie hurt for her aunt. Her brusqueness towards others encouraged cold shoulders; no one knew that better than Annie. Did Olympia really want to be left alone and cut off from other women her age? Annie doubted it. Beneath Olympia’s stony exterior beat the heart of a lonely woman, and Annie was powerless to help.
As the island women stepped gingerly around the sofa, so as not to ruffle Olympia, Annie’s mother’s voice came back to her through a fog of memory: “I’d rather die than talk to that woman, Ferrell,” she’d said as they were packing to leave for their fateful last trip. “I will not subject my daughter to her, too.”
Sometimes Annie wondered if God listened closely to what people said, and then granted their wishes. But why would he punish Ruth Ann by sending Annie to live with the woman her mother resented more than anyone in the world?
If God had a purpose in her mother’s death, Annie couldn’t see it.
“Birdie, your luncheon Thursday was wonderful,” Babette Graham called across the room. “You’ll have to share that marvelous seafood salad recipe.”
Birdie moved closer to the group of women standing with Cleta Lansdown. “It was divine, wasn’t it? Well, you take a head of iceberg lettuce, a pound of shrimp . . .”
Annie knew Olympia could hear the conversation as well, but her aunt did not move from her position on the couch. The women’s friendly chatter and witty banter filled the crowded parlor. Judging by snatches of conversation, Annie surmised that every woman in the room had been invited to Birdie’s party except her aunt.
Yet Olympia sat on Edith’s sofa, sipping a cold cup of tea, pretending that she didn’t hear or see. But she had to hurt. Annie had put on enough brave fronts to recognize one when she saw it. She had more in common with her aunt than she would have guessed, for she had been in similar situations, pretending to be unaware of friendships and happy babble all around her while inside she heard, saw, and felt . . . deeply.
These women, like Annie’s acquaintances in Portland, meant no harm; they were friends enjoying each other’s company. But Annie wondered how much nicer the world would be if people stopped to think before they inflicted pain. Olympia gave the women no reason to include her; knowing her aunt, Annie figured she had most likely given them ample reason to ignore her. But behind that façade a soul cried out for acceptance. The pain in Olympia’s eyes belied her indifference and revealed another woman, a tortured soul that not one person in the room had taken the time to discover.
Though every woman in the room knew Edmund was dying, did they know about the frayed curtains and worn carpet? Though every woman in Edith’s cinnamon-scented parlor had doubtless felt the chill of Olympia’s disapproving glance, did they know she kept a memory box filled with paper dolls in her living room? Olympia would certainly never volunteer the truth . . . no more than Annie would have told the girls in Portland that beneath her confidence and intelligence lay a frightened, insecure orphan.
Annie’s cheeks burned as her conscience struck her. She was as guilty of indifference toward Olympia as any woman in this room.
Sighing, she disposed of her paper cup, then crossed the floor to kneel beside her aunt.
“Are you ready to go home?”
Nodding, Olympia set her cup aside and rose. After giving Edith a cursory apology for leaving early, she led Annie into the gathering twilight where the pleasant scent of wood smoke hung in the fall air.
Reaching for her hand, Annie walked Olympia home in a falling rain, pretending that the tears on her aunt’s cheeks were nature’s and not her own.
Chapter Thirteen
Rain pattered softly off the eaves of Heavenly Daze Community Church. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the seven
angels who formed a circle were oblivious to the weather. Hands entwined, they communed with God and each other in the dimly lit basement Fellowship Hall.
Sunday night, after the evening service and their nightly chores, the angels met to share earthly cares, which proved to be many. Gavriel, who usually oversaw the church in spirit form, materialized in flesh. Tonight, before anything else, he led the men in prayer and praise:
“Praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord from the heavens!
Praise him from the skies!
Praise him, all his angels!
Praise him, all the armies of heaven!
Praise him, sun and moon!
Praise him, all you twinkling stars!
Praise him, skies above!
Praise him, vapors high above the clouds!
Let every created thing give praise to the Lord, for he issued his command, and they came into being.
He established them forever and forever.
His orders will never be revoked.
Praise the Lord from the earth, you creatures of the ocean depths, fire and hail, snow and storm, wind and weather that obey him, mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars, wild animals and all livestock, reptiles and birds, kings of the earth and all people, rulers and judges of the earth, young men and maidens, old men and children.
Let them all praise the name of the Lord.
Praise the Lord!”
Baritones and basses lifted their praises with reverent hearts and loving spirits.
Then, as they did each Sunday, Gavriel led them in ministering to one another.
Elezar’s face shone with sheer bliss as he sank both feet into a pan of warm water. “Ah, thank you, Abner, for such comfort.”
Abner smiled, gently splashing water on Elezar’s feet. “It has been a long week, eh, Elezar?”
“Very long, Abner. Very tiring.”
“Life on earth is hard,” Zuriel observed quietly. “Humans have many trials to face.”
Yakov nodded. “It is sad, for at times they bring about their own pain—” He squinted one eye toward the others. “Does anyone else feel this way?”
Murmurs whispered through the darkened room.
“I believe each of us would agree with you,” Caleb said. “I know my heart is heavy tonight.”
“Olympia?” Abner guessed.
“And Annie.” Caleb took warm towels out of the microwave and unfolded them. The men agreed that warm towels were a heavenly luxury; they’d used them for years.
Pressing his hand to Caleb’s stooped shoulder, Gavriel said, “Share your heart, brother.”
The angel drew a deep breath. “My heart aches. Olympia believes love is demonstrated in doing, taking care of her loved ones, being available day in and day out. She believes actions speak louder than words, but her actions sometimes miss the mark, especially with Annie. When this happens, she is hurt and puzzled by her inability to gain the young woman’s love. Olympia believes she is doing all she can for Annie and the other island women—but she’s hurt that her past overtures have gone virtually unnoticed.”
“Have you mentioned your concerns to these children of God?” Abner questioned.
“Many times,” Caleb answered with a sigh. “Olympia is stubborn, and Annie believes the situation is hopeless. I fear that when Annie leaves this time, she will never come back.”
Murmurs of sympathy surrounded the angel.
Gavriel cleared his throat. “In God’s own time, Caleb. All things work together for good.”
“Yes, in God’s time they do. But humans only have a single lifetime in which to learn how to love.”
Gavriel nodded solemnly. “Some never learn. But Olympia and Annie are the Lord’s children.”
Caleb lifted his head. “But Annie has drifted from the Lord.”
“She’s been hurt,” Gavriel answered. “Her parents’ death, Olympia’s inability to meet her emotional needs, and adolescent struggles have left scars on her heart. But she belongs to the Savior, and she will be brought back into the fold.”
Caleb agreed. “Olympia and Annie must learn how to let Jesus’ love flow through them.”
“Amen,” the angels murmured.
Elezar got up, and Abner took his place, sighing when the plastic chair bent to contain his sizable bulk.
Suppressing a smile, Gavriel looked around the circle. “Are there other concerns tonight?”
“Vernie Bidderman is well,” Elezar shared.
Zuriel nodded as he rose to wash Abner’s feet. “So are the Grahams. Georgie’s nightmares have disappeared.” He swiped his chin, then shoved his spectacles toward his forehead as he sank his hands into the basin.
The conversation continued around the circle until all the humans in Heavenly Daze had been accounted for.
Gavriel nodded, his eyes closing as Abner washed his feet. “Before we go, I’d like to hear your own concerns.” He opened one eye. “Any particular problems with mortal flesh?”
“Old age isn’t pleasant,” Caleb conceded, flexing his arthritic hand.
“Most unpleasant,” Elezar said. “A tip, brothers. Hot wings with horsey sauce tend to rest uneasily on the stomach if eaten just before bedtime.”
The men mentally noted the handy tidbit and Gavriel moved on. “Anything else?”
Clearing his throat, Micah fiddled with the hem of his shirt. All eyes turned to him.
Gavriel relinquished the floor. “Is there something you’d like to share, Micah? An earthly concern?”
Smoothing a stray hair, he took a deep breath. “I hesitate to mention it, but . . . something is aggravating me.”
The men voiced immediate support.
“What is it, Micah?”
“This is why we meet, Micah, to communicate. We have agreed to speak our hearts.”
Silence fell over the group as the men waited for Micah to speak up. Finally Abner tried to guess: “Did they change the butter jingle?”
The men were of aware of Micah’s fascination with the power of television jingles. He was constantly amazed at successful marketing gimmicks. If they’d heard his comical version of one popular commercial once, they’d heard it a dozen times. With a theatrical flourish of arms, he’d bellow, “I can’t belieeeeeve it’s not budder,” then wink and pretend to drive off in a horse and carriage.
Color dotted the angel’s fair complexion as he continued to hedge. “I must warn you; it’s trivial.”
“No concern is trivial in the sight of the Lord,” Gavriel reminded him. He sighed as Abner gently toweled his feet dry, then dusted a light coating of powder between his toes.
“No, it is nothing I would trouble our Father with. It’s not a serious problem.”
“Then by all means, tell us.”
Micah still hesitated.
“The hour grows late, Micah.” Gavriel strengthened his tone. “Speak!”
Micah’s gaze skipped from one angel to the other. “If you insist.” Drawing a deep breath, he spilled his concern. “It’s my trousers.”
Gavriel blinked. “Your trousers?”
Micah nodded, his blush deepening.
“And what, pray tell, is wrong with your pants?”
Micah sighed. “They don’t fit like they used to. They’re too tight around the middle, and I’m trying to eat less.”
“Such a problem,” Abner said, his voice dry as he patted his own ample belly.
Gavriel was kinder. “I’m sorry, Micah. But weight gain is common among those who age in mortal flesh.”
Micah nodded glumly. “I know. But I was hoping for . . . a heavenly dispensation or something.”
The angels sat in compassionate silence until Gavriel offered a ray of hope.
“You won’t dwell in that mortal frame forever. When it wears out, the Lord will supply a new one.”
“And you don’t want to be like some humans who are constantly trying to manipulate their flesh,” Yakov said. “You’d never be content.”
“Speaking of contentment,” Abner said, absently reaching for a slice of cake, “what’s up with all these people trying to win money on game shows? People are going— what’s that word?”
“Bonkers,” Elezar contributed.
“That’s the word. Going bonkers.”
“Sad,” Micah said, “to think how overly important money is to some people. If only men sought riches of the Spirit instead of the flesh.”
Gavriel noticed that Caleb had fallen silent. “Is your heart still troubled, brother?” he asked softly.
Nodding, Caleb stood to empty the water basin in the kitchen sink. “Greed is only one troubling aspect of human life. Such a useless expenditure of energy.”
“Ayuh, especially when the Lord tells them not to worry about everyday life—whether they have enough food, drink, and clothes. Life consists of so much more.”
“To be sure. Only God can grant the true desires of their hearts, and usually those desires have nothing to do with money.”
“You understand this—so why are you still upset?”
“I don’t know, Gavriel. I wish I did.”
“Do you doubt the Lord’s wisdom?”
“No,” Caleb answered quickly, “but I fear most people do.”
Gavriel leaned closer, closing his hand over Caleb’s.
“We know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purpose for them. Your Annie and Olympia . . . they will come to see the truth. I believe it.”
Micah added his thoughts. “Do not let your heart be troubled. Why don’t you stop by the bed-and-breakfast tomorrow? The fall mums are lovely now. You can help me in the garden.”
“Thank you, I would enjoy that.”
Gavriel smiled at the look of relief on Caleb’s face. Though serving as a butler, Caleb loved to work with his hands in the fragrant earth. Heaven must have designed Annie’s tomato project for Caleb’s special touch.
The sight of Abner reaching for a second piece of cake distracted Gavriel’s thoughts. He gave the angel a pointed look. Patting his rotund stomach, Abner left the cake on the plate and sheepishly declared, “I suppose I couldn’t fit one more in anyway.”
