The Blue Door

by Christa J. Kinde

  The pastor’s brown eyes warmed, but he didn’t laugh, for which she was grateful. “Well, let’s see, I don’t know about the ‘expert’ part, but I’ll do my best, young lady. What’s on your mind?”

  “Angels, mostly,” she admitted, cutting a glance in Milo’s direction. “I guess I’m a little confused. I thought they mostly lived in heaven.”

  “I’m sure they call heaven home,” he agreed. “But I suspect they leave from time to time, carrying out the Lord’s work.”

  “They have jobs?” Prissie asked. “Like working in a store or as a teacher or something?”

  He laughed softly. “Wouldn’t that be something? No, I meant that God has given them responsibilities. Some may spend their lives in heaven, singing the Lord’s praises, but others serve as messengers or guardians.”

  “And observers?”

  “Well, let’s see,” he mused aloud. “It does say in First Peter that they’re eagerly watching God’s plans play out in our lives — ‘things which angels desire to look into.’ I wonder what they find so fascinating, don’t you?”

  “So they’re really real?” she whispered, half to herself. It was harder than she expected to mesh the Bible stories she’d grown up hearing with real life.

  “Why, yes,” Pastor Bert said as he took a scoop of spaghetti hot dish, not noticing the way Prissie paled. “As real as you and me. They’re referred to throughout the Scriptures in a very matter-of-fact way, and those who encountered angels knew they were dealing with supernatural beings.”

  Her questions felt stupid, but she needed to check. This was too important, too close to home to leave to chance. “Do you think they’re here in West Edinton?”

  “Of course! They’re probably all around us — the unseen armies of heaven!” he replied enthusiastically.

  “Oh,” she murmured, hugging her empty plate to her chest. “But wasn’t that mostly in Bible times? Nobody sees angels anymore, right? That would be strange.”

  “Messengers from God may be rarer now because all we need to know can be found in the Scriptures,” speculated Pastor Bert. “Or maybe we’re like Elijah’s servant, and we don’t have eyes to see what’s all around us.”

  The man reached the end of the serving table and picked up a glass of iced tea. “Anything else, Prissie?”

  “One more question,” she begged. “What would you do if you saw an angel?”

  “That’s a puzzler,” he said, gazing upward. “If I was face-to-face with an angel — or face to floor come to think of it,” he interjected with a wide smile. “There must be a reason they always introduce themselves with the words, ‘Fear not!’ “

  “Yes they do that,” Prissie mumbled, trying not to fidget as she waited for his answer.

  “From what I’ve read, angels don’t turn up without a reason,” said Pastor Bert. “If I had the incredible privilege of meeting an angel face-to-face, I believe I’d want to know if they had a message for me.”

  She blinked. “Is that all?”

  “All?” her pastor echoed incredulously. “Think for a moment! The messenger may be a dazzling angel, but the message is God’s! Whether it might be encouragement, direction, correction, or a call to action, I would definitely want to hear a personal word from the Lord!”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Prissie managed.

  “One thing’s certain,” Pastor Bert concluded. “In the Bible, whenever someone met an angel, their life was never the same again!”

  She wondered why he seemed to think this was a good thing.

  “Well, little lady, if that’s all, I think you’d better give it another try.”

  “Wh-what?” He chuckled and nodded at her empty plate. “Those are mighty slim pickin’s!”

  “Yes, sir,” Prissie murmured, tacking on a belated, “Thank you.”

  She returned to the end of the line, but only lingered for a moment. Confusion robbed her of her appetite, so she ducked into the kitchen to see if she could lend a hand. If what Pastor Bert said was true, she had nothing to fear from angels. On top of that, she’d already received a rare and precious message. The only problem was it didn’t make any sense.

  5

  THE RUDE AWAKENING

  A tall warrior slapped his knees and took a seat beside an angel who wore his age gracefully, like a crown of silver. Lifting one callused hand, he said, “Shimron, I can still count the number of weeks your apprentice has been under my watch-care on these fingers. I cannot remember the last time so much trouble was stirred by a single misstep.”

  “Was it a misstep?” the Observer inquired.

  “I have good reason for misgivings,” countered the big angel ruefully.

  “The stirrings had already begun before Koji arrived,” Shimron pointed out. “He would not be here if that were not so.”

  “I know it,” he replied grimly. “But he is so very new. What compelled you to choose an apprentice so young?”

  Shimron smiled benignly. “For the most part, Koji was no different than any of the other potentials in his class. Inquisitive. Eager. Hopeful.”

  “But?”

  “I was asked countless questions that day,” he reminisced. “But he was the only one who wanted to know why I was sad.”

  The warrior’s gaze softened. “The boy saw through your brave front.”

  “Koji sees the world with uncommon clarity,” Shimron concurred with a nod.

  Prissie was only three when it happened, so she couldn’t really remember much, but in her dreams, she was always falling.

  For a little girl brimming with determination, the barn was a wonderful place to explore — a warm, sweet-smelling paradise where sunlight streamed through dusty motes. Pigeons cooed in the rafters, and chickens scritched and scratched their way across the floor. Young Prissie had a vague sense of wanting to be Grandma’s helper and find the eggs their hens would sometimes hide in the loft, but five-year-old Neil lured her with the promise of kittens. Their mother cat had a new litter, and he wanted to be the first to find it. Her chubby legs barely managed the stretch between rungs on the ladder leading to the loft, but he pushed her up from behind.

  The kittens were nowhere to be found, and Neil took off to continue his quest in the machine shed, leaving his baby sister alone amidst the golden bales. Soft clucks from one corner of the loft betrayed the presence of a lone chicken, and Prissie squealed in delight over her discovery. Abandoning her egg, the hen bolted out of the little girl’s reach, and Prissie followed, giggling as she chased it in ever-widening circles across the plank floor. When the hen leapt off the edge, awkwardly flapping to a safe landing below, her pursuer stumbled, teetered, and fell.

  A shrill scream, a tilting world, and helpless whimpers. She clearly remembered her fear in that moment, for it remained with her.

  According to Momma, Prissie was too scared to make sense, so no one believed the next part. But in her dreams, she still felt strong arms and heard a gentle voice. “You frightened me, little one,” soothed a strange man who cradled her close to his chest. “I was almost too late.”

  Her eyes were blurred with tears, so Prissie couldn’t recall his face, but she had a lingering impression of long, brown hair … tanned skin … and warm hands.

  “Don’t let your big brother lead you astray,” he urged. “And if your mother says not to play in the loft, you must listen.”

  The little girl’s lip trembled, but she nodded before squirming to be let down. He released her, and she ran to the house to find Momma.

  Prissie woke with a start, the dream fading from memory, leaving her with an unsettled feeling that was difficult to face alone. For a moment, she thought of going to her mother for comfort, but she quickly dismissed the idea. She wasn’t a baby any longer. “Just a dream,” she mumbled into her pillow, trying to reassure herself.

  As the only daughter in a houseful of sons, Prissie had been granted an enormous privilege; she was the only member of the family with a room of her own. It was
a tiny niche at the very end of the hallway, and the ceiling slanted so sharply that one corner of her door was angled. There was just enough space inside for a narrow bed, a bedside table, and a creaky old wardrobe, but there was one feature that transformed her sanctuary into something sublime. Halfway up the wall, a window seat spanned the width of the gable, and if there was one thing Prissie loved, it was the window set above it.

  According to Grandpa, all four of the house’s peaks had boasted stained glass windows when he was a boy, but damage or renovations had claimed the other three over the years. This one remained, a relic from another era, and it was her treasure. A simple geometric pattern of diamonds in soft shades of green, blue, peach, and gold filtered sunlight or shone in moonlight. Grandma Nell had quilted Prissie’s bedspread in the same colors, and the hues were echoed in the braided rug, which had graced the smooth floorboards since Grandpa’s mother’s day. The overall effect may have been a little old-fashioned, but it suited Prissie.

  No one else was allowed in her room, so when she turned onto her back, she was startled to see Koji perched on her window seat, gazing at the stars through the multicolored panes. His hair was tucked behind pointed ears, and the stained glass made patterns of color on his upturned face. She had to admit that at that moment, he looked the part of an angel. “Koji, what are you doing in my room?” she whispered.

  The boy turned to meet her gaze. “This is a very pretty window; it reminds me of home.”

  “You have stained glass windows where you come from?”

  “Something very much like them,” he replied, reaching up to trace the edging of a blue diamond.

  “Are you homesick?” Prissie asked curiously.

  He frowned thoughtfully, then said, “I do not think so.”

  “What are you doing in my room?” she repeated.

  “I wanted someone to talk to.”

  Prissie glanced at her clock, which told her it was shortly after two in the morning. “But it’s the middle of the night!”

  “I do not sleep,” Koji answered with a small shrug.

  “Well, I do,” she grumbled, pulling her sheet up over her face. “Find someone else to talk to.”

  “You are the only one who can answer my questions, though.”

  She folded down the blankets and studied him suspiciously, curious in spite of herself. “What kinds of questions?”

  Meeting her gaze solemnly, he bluntly asked, “Why are you avoiding Milo?”

  Prissie opened and closed her mouth, then said, “I’m not avoiding him.”

  Koji tipped his head to one side. “You used to follow him around.”

  Blushing hotly, she answered, “That was before I knew he wasn’t real.”

  “Milo is real.”

  “But he’s not who he said he was! I thought he was a normal guy.”

  “So are you avoiding him because he is an angel?” Koji persisted.

  “No, it’s because he lied,” Prissie corrected.

  Koji’s black eyes sparkled in the moonlight. “Did you ask him if he was an angel?”

  “Of course not? Who would ask something like that?”

  “Then, he did not lie,” the young angel earnestly declared. “He has been doing his job faithfully for many years; your accusations are unjust.”

  “His job?”

  “He is very good at it,” Koji explained. “Milo has many friends, and I envy him.”

  “You’re jealous?” Prissie sat up in bed and frowned at him. “Can angels be jealous?”

  “Yes,” he candidly replied. “He has been able to interact with humans every single day, but I am only allowed to observe. There are so many questions I want to ask!”

  Thinking back to Pastor Bert’s words, Prissie asked, “Why are you so fascinated by people?”

  “It is my nature,” Koji replied. “I am an Observer, so I wish to know, to understand, to discover, to explore …”

  “Right,” she interrupted. “But why? There has to be a reason you’re watching us.”

  “It is my purpose.”

  “You do it because you have to?”

  Koji shook his head. “I want to.”

  “But what if you didn’t want to?” Prissie challenged.

  “I do want to,” he replied patiently.

  “But only because you have to want to?” she persisted. “What if you wanted to do something else, like be a Messenger so you could talk to people.”

  “An Observer is what I am.” A slow smile spread across the boy’s face, and he turned to face her fully. “You truly do not understand.”

  His delight only added to Prissie’s frustration. “Of course I don’t!”

  “I will try to answer your question if you will explain some things to me?” he bargained.

  “Only if I don’t have to answer your questions in the middle of the night.”

  “Agreed!”

  “Thank goodness,” Prissie muttered.

  “I will answer your question about why you are interesting,” Koji offered.

  “Well?” she prompted.

  Koji pointed to himself, then at her as he said, “I act according to my nature, but you often act contrary to yours.”

  Prissie frowned in confusion. “What do you mean, my nature?”

  “It is human nature to sin,” he said bluntly. “Yet you frequently manage not to.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you have any other questions?” Koji asked hopefully.

  With a flop, Prissie lay back down and turned her face into her pillow. “No,” came her muffled reply. “Why don’t you go talk to Harken or Milo, since they probably don’t need sleep either?”

  “Harken is away, and Milo does not wish to talk.”

  “Why not?”

  “He is too sad.”

  Prissie turned her head just enough to peek at Koji out of the corner of her eye. “Can angels be sad?”

  “Yes,” Koji agreed, turning his eyes back toward the stars twinkling beyond multicolored panes. “Very sad.”

  6

  THE SECOND OPINION

  It’s not the first time a girl’s had a crush on you, Goldilocks.”

  “I know,” sighed Milo.

  “I take it you’re kinda fond of this one?”

  “Prissie’s special,” Koji interjected.

  “She must be if she can see you, squirt!”

  “Every individual has value,” Milo flatly stated.

  “That’s a given, but this is different. You’re getting the chance to be totally genuine with a person!”

  The angel gave a short, bitter laugh as he raked his fingers through long blond hair. “Only to discover that she was much happier with the lie.”

  “We don’t lie,” his friend corrected. “They assume.”

  “Then why do her eyes accuse me?”

  “You did not do anything wrong!” protested Koji.

  “Milo’s just a softie,” teased the other angel, earning a halfhearted glare. “It’s okay to care about them, you know.”

  “I care about all of them.”

  “You and me, both,” agreed his friend, then snapped his fingers. “Here’s what you do. Smooth things over, then bring her around.”

  “You want to meet Prissie?” Koji asked, eyes aglow.

  “Absolutely! She’s already met a few of us; what’s one more?”

  “I could talk to Harken about it,” Milo said slowly.

  “Then it’s settled!”

  Jude adored the farm and wanted to be a farmer with his biggest-big brother. He trailed after Tad with complete and utter devotion, convinced he was the best the world had to offer, with Grandpa a close second. While Grandpa Pete was gruff and Tad was serious, Jude was a ray of pure sunshine — bright, cheerful, and sweet-natured. The little fellow was the nurturing type, and Momma strictly forbade any teasing over the fact that even as a big boy of six, he played with dolls and slept with an assortment of stuffies, as Jude called them.

  One of Jude’s great
est loves was the chickens that had free range of their farmyard. He gave them all names and chatted to them as if they were people. No one could coax an egg out from under a crotchety old hen like he could, so Neil called Jude “the chicken whisperer.” This year would be the first time the boy showed one of his hens at the county fair. A stack of wire cages stood ready in the barn, waiting to house their entries in the fair’s upcoming poultry competition.

  Maddie, which was short for Madder, as in “than a wet hen,” was a beautiful Ameraucana with black and white feathers. The name had been Tad’s idea, so of course, Jude thought it was wonderful, even if it hardly suited her. Maddie was a good-tempered chicken, tame and smart; she was one of five hens who never strayed far from the boy whenever he was out in the yard. Her eggs were always a soft shade of pale green that rivaled Grandpa’s duck eggs for beauty.

  Prissie stroked Maddie’s comb with the fuzzy end of a “tickle weed” and smiled when the hen closed her eyes and endured the attention. “You’re going to win a ribbon for Judicious, aren’t you, girl?” she murmured, using Tad’s nickname for their youngest brother.

  “There’s a fair chance,” Momma agreed from where she knelt further along the row, picking pole beans.

  Adjusting the tilt of her straw hat, Prissie returned to the bumper bean crop they were harvesting, and after a few moments broke the comfortable silence. “Can I ask you a question, Momma?”

  “Always.”

  “Do you believe in angels?”

  Naomi Pomeroy smiled. “Sure, I do.”

  “Have you ever seen one?” Prissie asked.

  “No,” she replied, “though your uncle Loren tells some pretty amazing stories from his travels. You should ask him about it.”

  “Did Aunt Ida’s last letter say when they’ll be back?”

  “A few things are still up in the air, but possibly for Christmas,” Momma replied.

  Prissie nodded, but steered the conversation back where it belonged. “What else do you know about angels?”

  “Well, let’s see,” she mused. “Off the top of my head, I can say for sure that angels were used to announce things. There were a lot of them in the Christmas story, and not just Gabriel. An angel spoke to Zacharias to tell him that Elizabeth would give birth to John the Baptist, and an angel spoke to Mary’s husband Joseph in dreams … twice, I think.”