“Mary?”
She turned again, cross this time. “Who’s there?” Had that stupid old Jones boy followed her like the last time? He followed her around like a puppy.
As she looked across the clearing, the sun peeked from behind a cloud as a stranger stepped out of the tall pines and walked towards her. He was someone she’d never seen. Tall, with long golden hair that brushed his shoulders. The sun angled through the pines illuminating him in a shimmering, golden glow.
“Go home. Your papa’s calling you.”
Mary frowned. “No, he isn’t, and he’s too far away for me to hear him if he was to call me.”
The big man smiled and chuckled. “You’re a bright young girl, Mary, but I heard him calling you. Honest.”
“How do you know my name?
“I’ve known you since you came to live here on the Ridge.”
“But I don’t know you or your name.” Puzzled, Mary couldn’t remember seeing him at church services or at planting and harvest time.
“Sure you do. Think . . .”
He came closer, looking straight into her eyes as he moved. The nicest feeling came across her like the one she got when she lay in the middle of the clearing in the Tall Pines when she stared up at the sky. And suddenly, she knew his name even though she was quite certain she’d never met him.
“Gabriel.”
The man smiled again. “That’s right.”
Mary nodded. She’d known she was right.
“Let’s go back to the fort now.” Gabriel held out a hand towards her and turned as if to go.
“I can’t go back now. Mother needs berries for two pies,” she held up two fingers to emphasize her point. “She’ll skin my hide if I come home without enough.”
“Your basket’s full, little one.”
“No, it’s not—”
Mary looked down and found her basket filled to the top with plump blackberries.
“How in the world?” she exclaimed.
“How ’bout if I walk back with you?”
Gabriel took the heavy basket and again held out his hand for her to take it. Slipping her hand into his big, warm one felt just like holding her papa’s hand—like nothing and no one could keep her safer.
“How come I’ve never seen you before today, but I knew your name?”
The tall, golden man at her side smiled. “Because you’re a smart girl.”
Mary giggled. “I know that, silly, but that doesn’t answer my question. If I’m smart, and I am, that means I should know you—which I don’t—if I know your name.”
Gabriel chuckled. “A very smart girl, indeed.”
“And that basket was not full when you sneaked up on me. So, how’d it get full?”
Gabriel stopped and stooped down to look in her eyes again. “Remember your Bible lessons, little one? A basket full of berries is a blessing because your mother will make your favorite pie with them, right?”
“Well, it’s papa’s favorite pie, but even if it was my favorite, what’s that got to do with my Bible lessons?”
“From where do blessings come?”
Mary squinted into the sun as she thought, or was that Gabriel making her squint? “Blessings come from God. It’s just like the song we sing in church service. Praise God from whom all blessings flow. Praise him all creatures here below. Praise him above ye heavenly hosts. Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.”
“Yes. And you sing more beautifully than the angels in heaven.”
Mary blushed at his praise.
“Go inside the fort now, Mary.”
“But we’re not—”
Mary blinked, then rubbed her eyes. They’d only walked a few steps, but the log fence surrounding the fort that her papa and their neighbors had built was right in front of her.
“How’d we get here so fast, Gabriel?” Mary turned in a wide circle. “Gabriel?”
“Who you bellerin’ at Mary Contrary?”
Icky Elliot McGee taunted her, calling her names. He made her so mad! The least he could do was come up with something no one else would think up, but no. He said the same stupid thing every time—Mary Contrary.
“Mind your own business, Elliot McGee.”
She picked up the basket of berries at her feet and, after one look at the now empty meadow, hefted the heavy burden and struggled to reach the gate. After only a couple of steps, she fell and dropped the basket. Berries scattered everywhere.
“Oh, no!”
“Mary, Mary. Clumsy, wumsy, Mary Contrary.”
Elliot grabbed his sides, pointing and laughing at her.
“You hush, Elliot!”
“Go, Mary. Leave the berries. Go to your mother. Quickly!”
Mary turned, frowning. “Gabriel?”
She’d expected to see her new friend behind her, but instead, her eyes widened at the sight of Indians racing towards the fort. Inside her head, she knew she should run, but her feet wouldn’t move. She’d never been so scared.
Elliot ran to the fort without bothering to help her. Her arms and legs began to shake so bad that she couldn’t get up. Tears streamed silently down her face. She wanted to cry out to her papa, her mother, or even to Gabriel, but she just couldn’t make the words form on her tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut. The prayer inside her head was, “Help me, God. Please protect me.”
I’ll protect you, Mary. I’ll always be close by to protect you.
“Indians!” someone shouted. “Attack! Attack! Close the gate!”
“No, wait! Mary’s outside!”
It was her mother’s voice, but it sounded far, far away.
Just then, an arrow flew past her, then another and another. Mary wanted to duck, but she still couldn’t move. Tears still fell silently down her face. She closed her eyes and prayed harder.
Then, an eerie silence surrounded her. A sweet feeling of peace and safety helped her open her eyes.
A dark shadow shielded her from the bright noonday sun. No. It wasn’t a shadow. It wasn’t a shadow at all. It was Gabriel, but he’d made himself huge, and great golden wings extended from his back as wide as the fence in front of the fort. The arrows that had been whizzing past her only a moment before were now blocked by Gabriel’s golden wings so that they fell harmlessly to the ground, keeping her and the fort safe.
Two arms lifted her from the ground and pressed her close. It was her papa, and he ran fast to the gate while Gabriel’s wings kept them both safe.
Inside the fort, the men stood silent, their guns at their sides as they stared at the awesome sight before them. Mary’s papa and two others pulled the gate closed as soon as her mother got her arms around her. Mama fell to her knees, rocking back and forth while nearly squeezing the breath from her.
“My baby . . . my sweet baby . . .” She smoothed her hands over Mary’s hair. “Are you all right? Are you hurt? Talk to me, please.”
Mary sniffed and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. “I spilled the berries.”
Mama squeezed me harder and laughed.
“Do you see that?” I heard my papa say. “An angel. An angel is protecting us.”
“It’s so beautiful,” Mr. Craig breathed.
“His name is Gabriel,” Mary said proudly. “He helped me pick berries.”
“What?” Papa asked, stooping to sweep her up into his strong arms. When he stood, she could see Gabriel, his wings still sheltering the fort, protecting them just like he’d said.
“Gabriel helped me pick the berries for Mama’s pies,” she said. Now that the words were coming, they tumbled out one after the other. “He helped me pick ’em quick as can be so I could come home. He got me here really fast, too. Faster than it’s ever took me to walk back to the fort from the Tall Pines.” She stopped then to draw in a quick breath before continuing. “Just look at him! Ain’t he a sight, Papa?”
One of the men said, “They’re turning back. The Indians are turning back!”
Mary smiled. “Because Gabriel was wa
tching over us.”
“He will give his angels charge concerning you . . . ” Mama whispered the scripture.
I’ll always watch over you.
Mary heard the words inside her head and kept them to herself like a special secret for her alone.
That very day, Mr. Craig named the new settlement high on the ridge above the little winding river, Angel Ridge.
About the Author
DEBORAH GRACE STALEY is an award-winning author and is multi-published in short romantic fiction. Her writing awards include Duel on the Delta, the Smoky Mountain Valentine, and the DandyLine. She was honored to be a finalist in a number of contests including the Maggie, the Laurie, and the Ohio Valley Romance Writers’ First Chapter Contest. She is a member Romance Writers of America and serves as President of The Society of the Purple Prose, an intrepid group of the Romantic Times Booklovers Pre-Conference Seminars. She makes her home in a circa 1867 Victorian farmhouse on five acres in East Tennessee with her husband, son, and two dogs. Deborah loves to hear from readers.
Contact her via
www.deborahgracestaley.com
or
P.O. Box 672
Vonore, TN 37885
Table of Contents
Title page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Copyright
Welcome
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
The Story of Angel Ridge
About the Author
Only You Page 19
