by Angela Hunt
After leading his brothers in a final prayer of thanks, Gavriel watched as the other angels began to gather their belongings. That’s when the idea, whispered by an invisible angelic messenger, came to him.
He turned to Caleb. “Annie and Olympia’s problems have not yet come to an end, but the Lord has a plan.” Meeting the other angels’ curious looks, he continued. “I know you are tired and eagerly anticipating your beds, but if Caleb is to rest tonight, we cannot leave until our work is finished.”
“Finished?”
“Our work will never be finished!”
Interest piqued, the angels gathered closer, willingness shining on their eager faces.
“What is it, Gavriel?” Elezar prodded. “The hour grows late.”
“That it does. Follow me, brothers.”
The senior angel led the small group up the stairs and out of the Heavenly Daze Community Church. Walking in a single line, they approached the pink and white clapboard that housed Birdie’s bakery—Abner’s place of service.
Gavriel turned to face the others. “Abner, if you would please.”
Pausing in front of the door, Abner removed a clanking key ring from his pocket and inserted a square-shaped key into the lock.
Once safely inside, the angels watched as Gavriel jerked the shades closed and turned to meet their ever-widening stares.
Caleb frowned and spoke in an intense whisper. “What’s going on, Gavriel? Why all the secrecy?”
Eyes twinkling, Gavriel lowered his voice. “Brothers, we are about to help Olympia speak her heart.”
“What?”
“Olympia?”
“How?”
A grin appeared on Caleb’s features and slowly spread to his eyes as Gavriel explained the Lord’s plan. “But before we begin, friends, I want you to do something for me.”
Gavriel led the group to a butcher-block table in the huge industrial kitchen where various baking supplies stood at hand. Dipping a spoon into the flour canister, he had Caleb taste it.
Caleb winced, “Terrible.”
Moving down the line, Gavriel fed each angel a sample of the various baking ingredients. After each taste, each participant shook his head and made a face. “Vile.”
“Vegetable oil?” Micah said, smacking his lips in an effort to clear his tongue of the taste. “What are you trying to prove, Gavriel? That you can make us sick?”
Chuckling, Gavriel dipped a spoon into the sugar and gave it to Micah. The angel’s facial expression brightened considerably. “Delicious—sweet. But we know sugar is sweet.”
“My point exactly.” Gavriel dropped his tasting spoons into the sink. “We’re about to mix all of those vile-tasting ingredients—flour, vegetable oil, salt, vanilla, baking powder, and raw eggs. Together they will produce a delicious, sweet treat that will bring Olympia de Cuvier nothing but praise.”
Caleb smiled as the light of understanding dawned in his eyes. “The sugar is the magical ingredient. Without it, the product would be inedible.”
Nodding, Gavriel met his respectful gaze. “The same holds true with people. They’re chock full of sin disguised in tasty packages; but it’s only when we add the sugar— goodness, mercy, love, and compassion—that we come up with a palatable product. Olympia and Annie have forgotten how to add the sugar.”
Gavriel clicked his heels together and bowed toward Abner. “Brother, it is your kitchen. Use us as you will.”
Abner smiled. After a moment, he handed each man an apron, then snapped to attention in a mock commander’s stance. “Gentlemen—start your mixers.”
The angels worked late into the night, creaming flour, sugar, eggs, butter, plain yogurt, milk, baking powder, and oranges. Pouring the creamy mixture into muffin tins, they sat around the butcher-block table and drank coffee as the room filled with the heavenly aroma of what Gavriel dubbed “Abner’s Orange Friendship Muffins.”
By the time the clock struck three, six tired angels were bundling the tasty oven-warm goodies in pretty wicker baskets lined with yellow and white checked cloth. Caleb sat at a table writing notes:
When Autumn’s cool winds blow across the island, nothing is more welcome than friendship, a steaming cup of tea, and a warm muffin. Please stop by Frenchman’s Fairest anytime you have a free moment and we’ll brew a pot of Earl Grey and share a golden afternoon.
When all the preparations were complete, the sleepy angels smiled as Caleb whispered his thanks. When Abner, Micah, Yakov, Zuriel, and Elezar departed for their homes, each of them carried a basket of muffins and a note—which looked for all the world like it had been written in Olympia de Cuvier’s stiff penmanship.
Chapter Fourteen
Monday morning the sun was out, and Annie was down on her hands and knees in the tomato patch. She tried to prop up a sagging head, but the leggy plant toppled over when she let go.
Annie refused to consider defeat. She’d devoted too many long nights and weekends to the project to quit. Now that the sun was out, the plants would perk up. They had to.
She looked up to see Birdie and Beatrice striding up the drive, their bright faces animated in the morning cool.
“Oooohh, Annie!” Birdie warbled. “How be you this morning?”
Sinking back on her haunches, Annie shaded her eyes against the early morning glare. The two elderly sisters were both dressed to the nines, wearing wraps and gloves to fend off the chill.
“Is there something I can do for you ladies?”
“Honey,” Beatrice interrupted, “it’s much too late in the season to be planting tomatoes! And you’re going to catch your death of pneumonia rooting around in the ground this time of year.”
Annie thought about explaining her project to the ladies, but by the time she had made up her mind not to, the women had already begun to state their business.
Birdie glanced at Beatrice and giggled. “We’re a bit early, but we were excited to get here.” Her eyes darted to the house. “Olympia up yet?”
“Not yet.”
“We don’t want to bother her; we just stopped by to thank her for the marvelous muffins. Light as a feather!”
“Goodness, yes, light as a thistle,” Beatrice trilled.
Birdie stood on tiptoe, trying to peer over the hedge and into the kitchen. “Dear me, Olympia must have worked all night baking those muffins. No wonder she isn’t up yet, poor thing.”
Annie blinked. She couldn’t remember the words “poor thing” ever being used in reference to Olympia de Cuvier. She turned to look at the house as if it could provide an answer to the puzzle.
“Well, uh, I don’t know—’’ Vernie Bidderman barreled by on her scooter, laying on the horn. “Birdie, Beatrice! Hellllooo!” She waved and drove through a muddy pothole, nearly losing control. Regaining power, she gunned the engine, yelling over her shoulder. “Tell Olympia I’ll stop by later today, after I close the shop! Look oooutt!” She whipped the motorbike to the left, just missing a startled Tallulah, who darted quickly back into the yard and the safety of the porch.
Puzzled, Annie watched until Vernie puttered around the corner and disappeared. She had no idea what had Birdie, Beatrice, and Vernie so fired up this early in the morning.
Birdie and Beatrice swapped another look, giggling. “Well, we’ll be running along. It is early, and Bea has to pick up the mail.”
“Ayuh, we’ll stop by later,” Beatrice echoed.
“We’ll all sit down and have that tea,” Birdie promised.
Beatrice nodded. “Have that tea.”
“So unlike Olympia,” Birdie mused, beginning to back away. “But nice.”
“Ayuh,” Beatrice said, following her sister. “Completely unlike her, but nice.”
The two women turned down the drive. In Annie’s last glimpse of the colorful sisters they were talking a mile a minute, covering their giggles and waving to Doctor Marc as he came out of his cottage with a cup of coffee. He returned their waves with a pleasant smile.
Sauntering t
o the tomato patch, he greeted Annie. “Good morning.”
“Morning, Doctor.” Annie stopped and shielded her eyes against the sun. “Seems like you have some admirers.”
“Nah. They’re just good-hearted old souls. Besides,” he winked playfully, “I’m too old for dating, and they’re too old for my son.”
Annie rolled her eyes and pretended to ignore his obvious hint.
As she heaped dirt around the base of the weak plants, she could sense the doctor’s eyes following her movements. “How’s the project coming along?”
“The rain didn’t help much.” She sat up, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. “With a few days of sunshine, though—”
A woman suddenly rounded Frenchman’s Fairest, carrying a squirming child and shouting the doctor’s name. “Doctor Marc!” Searching her memory, Annie struggled to put a name to the face, then it came to her—Babette Graham.
The doctor turned and broke into a run to meet the frantic woman. Hysteria twisted her features and tears streamed from her eyes. They met in the middle of the lawn, then, after a brief look, the doctor lifted a small boy from her arms and quickly carried the child into the cottage.
Dropping her trowel, Annie ran to help. When she let herself into the clinic, the boy was lying on a white-papered examination table. The child wasn’t nearly as upset as his house-coated mother.
“It’s only a bump, Mom,” Georgie Graham said calmly. “Don’t go bananas.”
“Georgie, how many times have I told you not to lift heavy things without my help!”
“Mom! I’m not a baby!”
“You know that ladder was too heavy for a boy your size! What were you trying to do in that tree, anyway? Break your neck before breakfast?”
Annie recognized that the exasperated mother was at her wit’s end. Smiling, she took hold of the young woman’s arm and led her to a nearby chair.
“I’m Annie, the de Cuviers’ niece. I don’t think we’ve been officially introduced.”
“Babette Graham,” the woman said absently, craning to see the examination table over Annie’s shoulder.
Georgie tried his best not to cry as the doctor removed his sock and touched the swollen toe.
“Well, let’s see here.” He lifted the boy’s foot to eye level. “Can you move the toe?”
Biting his lower lip, Georgie shook his head.
“Is it serious?” Babette whimpered.
The doctor handed the sock to Babette. “Well, if it doesn’t fall off by tonight, I think he’ll be okay.”
Babette swooned.
“I’m just kidding, Mrs. Graham.” He turned back to the boy and fished a sucker out of his pocket. “Here, maybe this will sweeten the pain a little. You’ve done a fine job of breaking your little piggy. It’s going to hurt like the blue blazes over the next few days, but you’re going to live.”
Georgie winced, gently prodding the sore appendage.
“See, Mother. I told you so.”
Annie moved to the water cooler and drew a cup of water. Returning, she knelt and put the paper cup in Babette’s hand. The young woman accepted it gratefully, then drained the cup with one gulp.
“Thank you.” She handed the cup back. “I’m all right.”
As Doctor Marc got an ice pack and helped the boy off the table, Annie distracted Babette. “Have you been on the island long?”
“No. We bought a house here three years ago. My husband, Charles, operates the Graham Gallery.”
“Does Georgie have any brothers or sisters?”
“No, he’s the only one.” Babette turned to smile at the little boy. “I’m afraid he’ll be the only one for a while.”
Annie nodded sympathetically. “I’m an only child myself.”
“Mommm. Can we go now?”
“In a minute, dear. Do I owe you anything, Doctor?”
“Well, for a procedure like that,” the doctor scratched his chin, “I’d say one of your cherry cobblers would just about do it.”
Babette blushed at the request. “I’ll have it to you by the end of the day.”
With the ordeal over, Annie and the doctor stood in the cottage doorway and waved good-bye. Babette and Georgie headed off down the drive, Georgie stepping gingerly and Babette scolding with every step.
His tolerant smile receding, Doctor Marc turned to Annie. “How does some strong coffee sound? I think we’ve both earned it.”
“Sounds good.”
Annie spent the next half-hour relaxing in the small cottage. Marcus Hayes was a witty conversationalist, brimming with interesting stories about his former pediatric practice. He kept Annie in stitches until she finally glanced at her watch. “My goodness, look at the time. I have to return to Portland later today, and I haven’t even begun to record the daily data on my plants.”
“That’s where you live? I thought I’d heard Boston mentioned.”
“I had a professorship at Harvard for a while, then transferred to Southern Maine Technical College a couple of years ago to work in the department of plant and soil technology. I have more opportunities to work on special projects there.”
“Like tomato plants that grow in the autumn?”
“Exactly like that.” She grinned.
Setting her coffee cup down on the table, she spied a small silver frame reflecting a grinning replica of a younger Doctor Marc, his arm affectionately curled around an older woman.
A teasing light entered Doctor Marc’s eyes when he saw her interest. “My mother and my son, Alexander. Have I mentioned him? The one that makes the big bucks and drives the BMW? Single, one of New York’s leading neurosurgeons, and quite a catch.” He winked, ignoring Annie’s frown. “I’ve been hoping you might reconsider and agree to meet him when he comes to Heavenly Daze for the holidays.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be here for the holidays.” For some odd reason, the knowledge left her feeling a little sad. She studied the photograph, surprised to see that the doctor was not exaggerating. The young man was handsome. Successful. The stuff the average women’s dreams were made of. A teasing note entered her voice. “If he’s such a ‘catch’ why hasn’t some lucky woman set the hook and reeled him in?”
“Why,” the doctor looked genuinely surprised at the question, “he’s been waiting for me to introduce him to you.”
Annie laughed, wagging a finger at him. “You’re good.”
Chuckling, Doctor Marc carried the two empty mugs to the small kitchenette and deposited them in the sink. “Seriously,” he said, turning to face her, “Alex will be coming for Thanksgiving. Is there any reason you couldn’t pay a little visit? I hear Caleb makes a turkey Martha Stewart would envy.”
“I . . .” Annie’s mind couldn’t quite form the words. Why wasn’t she coming home for the holidays?
“Don’t make me beg.”
“Thanks, but I really don’t think my job will allow me the time off.” She knew the excuse was flimsy. Truthfully, the thought of another well-meaning matchmaker made her head hurt. Her last blind date, arranged by a well-intentioned friend, had been a disaster. Afterward, she could think of nothing to say about the guy other than he didn’t have hair growing out of his ears and he washed his clothes. She’d decided to hold off on dating until she could screen candidates or make more observant friends. Truth was, she wasn’t in the market for a relationship—she couldn’t handle the ones she had. “Well, I can hope you’ll change your mind, can’t I?”
“Thanks anyway, but I won’t. Alex shouldn’t have any trouble finding a wife.” She leaned closer. “You might suggest he add Bruno Magli shoes to his wardrobe. Women love that sort of thing.”
Chuckling, the doctor walked her to the door.
“Hey, that reminds me,” he said, holding the screen door. “What were Birdie and Bea doing over here so early?”
“I don’t know. They both were babbling something about Aunt Olympia and muffins and coming for tea.” Considering Olympia’s knack for souring relationships, it se
emed unlikely Birdie and Beatrice had been invited.
“That’s odd. Well, need any help with your plants today?”
“Thanks, I can handle it.”
Annie said good-bye, thanking the doctor for the coffee and offer of his son.
As she walked toward the tomato patch, she thought that if it weren’t for the sticky possibility that she might run into Alex, the catch-and-a-half from New York, she could consider a trip home for Thanksgiving. Well . . . maybe meeting him would be okay. As long as nobody tried to marry them off.
She pushed the thought aside and returned to the plants, pulling a small notebook from her pocket. She had mapped out the location of all thirty plants, and each had a number. Once they had become established, she would have Caleb plot their growth, measuring them every few days.
She spotted the old butler in the garden shed and motioned him over. “I think I’m about ready for you to take over here,” she said, nuzzling one of the tiny plants with her fingertips. “Are you sure it won’t be any trouble?”
“Not a bit. I’m looking forward to those ripe tomatoes for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“I wouldn’t plan the menu around them yet,” Annie paused, studying the plants. “Make sure they have the proper amount of water, stake them when they begin to grow, pull out any stray weeds, and make a note of any problems you spot, like fungus or bugs. And measure their height every two days. I’ll need to do a graph of their growth progress and compare it to the control group in the greenhouse.”
Caleb nodded. “I believe I can do that. And you’ll be back every few weeks to check on the plants’ progress, right?”
Annie looked away. For a minute she thought about telling him she’d be home for Thanksgiving, but decided against it. Why should she keep tormenting her aunt with her presence?
She sighed. “I’m not coming back, Caleb. I’ve planted them. My part is done. All you have to do is tell me if they produce.”
“You’re not coming back? Annie,” he cleared his throat, “your uncle will be passing on soon. Are you saying that you’re not coming back for the funeral?”
For the first time in her life Annie saw disapproval in Caleb’s eyes.
