Milo’s eyes took on a sparkle, and he shook his head. “I haven’t been asked to do that yet, but two winters back, I received lessons in knitting.”
“How did that go?” Prissie asked in amazement.
“Not very well,” he admitted.
“Oh, I dunno,” Grandma remarked as she placed the vase of flowers on the counter. “You and Pete had some good visits while you were learning to cast stitches.”
“No argument there,” Milo replied. “Though Harken wasn’t terribly impressed with that lumpy scarf I produced. He thought it looked more like a fishing net!”
Prissie giggled and reached for a handful of beans. “That wasn’t very nice!”
“Maybe not, but sadly, he was right.”
Grandma Nell brought a pair of scissors with her to the table and carefully sliced through the packing tape. She peeled back the heavy brown paper, taking care to save the postmark, then opened the box. Setting aside the letter that had been placed on top of the other items, she murmured, “What have you been up to, my girl?”
Ida’s boxes arrived at regular intervals from cities all over the world, depending on where she and her husband might be visiting. Uncle Loren worked for a missions organization and traveled from church to church, offering encouragement to the many men and women who served the Lord in faraway places. “Did she send the usual?” Prissie asked.
“Of course,” chuckled Grandma Nell, fishing out a small sheaf of papers and a clear plastic freezer bag from under something folded into tissue paper.
While Pete and Nell Pomeroy loved hearing from their daughter, they didn’t like for her to fritter her money on useless things. Early on, Grandpa had jokingly announced that as a farmer, he was mostly interested in dirt. The first time Ida sent him a small bottle of sand from the shore of Honduras, a tradition was begun. Now Ida always included a soil sample for her father, one for every place she visited.
Grandma’s standing request was for church bulletins. Not all churches used printed announcements, but Ida always found something — a missionary’s photo postcard, conference fliers, or cuttings from local papers. Over the years, Grandma Nell’s collection had grown to include news from many foreign lands in many foreign languages.
Of course, there were always other things as well — small gifts that reminded Prissie of her aunt Ida’s enthusiasm for life, no matter where it took her.
“Oh, look at this!” Grandma exclaimed, shaking out a black shawl with a deep fringe. “Spanish lace! Gracious! Ida knows better than to send something this fancy to me!”
In spite of her grumbling, her grandmother looked pleased over the present and swung it around her shoulders with a swirl of the silky tassels.
“It’s pretty, Grandma! You should wear it to church!”
Milo was spared from making any fashion comments by taking a large bite of lemon bar and chasing it down with a swallow of his tea. However, he reached over and tapped the corner of the bulletin. “May I see?”
“Help yourself,” Grandma Nell replied as she opened her daughter’s letter and unfolded a sheet covered in Ida’s distinctively loopy penmanship. Some smaller cards fell out, and she looked even more excited than she had been about the shawl. “There are recipes this time! Now where are my glasses?”
As her grandmother bustled into the bedroom for her reading glasses, Prissie stole a look at Milo. The mailman had gone back to snapping beans, but his eyes followed the text of the announcements in the church bulletin Ida had sent. “Can you read Spanish?” she asked in surprise.
“Yep,” he replied calmly, then cautiously added, “Language is no barrier for someone like me.”
Prissie knotted her fingers together. The lull was getting awkward again, and she didn’t like it. Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Does it say anything interesting?”
Milo brightened somewhat and pulled the folded paper closer. “This is talking about some services they’ve been having, and how they’ve pulled in some new attendees — folks who’ve never been to church before.”
“That’s good,” Prissie murmured.
“It is glorious!” interjected Koji from his perch.
Milo returned the boy’s triumphant look with a bright smile. “Sure is!”
Grandma Nell returned, her glasses balanced on the end of her nose as she scanned Ida’s letter. “Ida’s excited about how well their meetings have been going. Isn’t that just wonderful?”
“Glorious,” Prissie mumbled with a sidelong glance at Koji, who swung one leg over the edge of the fridge.
“Sure is!” Milo agreed with sparkling eyes, completing the loop.
Grandma Nell read further and shared, “They’re going to be in Greece next. Loren is excited about the chance to visit all of the historical sites.”
“I didn’t know Uncle Lo liked ruins,” Prissie said vaguely.
Milo casually commented, “I’m sure you remember that Paul’s missionary journeys took him through Greece. That’s probably what he has in mind.”
“Oh … well, obviously,” Prissie replied with weak bravado.
“Sure enough,” Grandma Nell agreed. “Ida says he can’t wait to visit Ephesus.”
Draining the last of his tea with a rattle of ice cubes, Milo stood. “Thank you so much for your hospitality, ma’am, but I should be on my way.” Carrying his dishes to the sink, he paused in the act of turning and remarked, “Something smells good!”
“That would be Prissie’s pie,” Nell slyly remarked.
“No kidding?” the mailman inquired, looking impressed.
“Grandma’s, too,” Prissie protested, blushing under the attention.
“Yes, but one is Prissie’s,” Grandma declared in her no-nonsense way. “Sweetie, go on and walk Milo to his car. You’ve plenty of time before your baking’s ready to come out of the oven.”
“Yes, Grandma.” Prissie pushed her chair back and sent Koji a pleading look. Much to her relief, the boy hopped down, quickly joining her and Milo as they filed out the door and down the walk.
Once they were out of earshot of her grandparent’s house, Milo spoke up. “Miss Priscilla, I want to apologize.”
She stared resolutely at her feet. “What would you be apologizing for?”
Milo ran his fingers over the top of his curling hair and replied, “For contributing to your unbelief at a time when faith is needed most.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not even sure what that means. Apologies should make sense.”
“Can you suggest a better one?” he gently prodded.
Prissie’s steps lagged at the thought, but no matter which way she turned their situation around, she couldn’t think of anything with which to accuse Milo.
Koji broke in. “Are you growing accustomed to the idea of angels, Prissie?”
“What choice do I have?” she sighed. “Every time I turn around, there you are.”
Unfazed by the edge to her tone, Koji persisted. “You do not fear us.”
“Obviously,” she huffed.
“There are more of us,” Milo quietly announced. “Others you could meet, if you’re interested.” They reached his car, and he opened the door. “I would be honored to introduce you.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Milo nodded patiently and slid into the vehicle, then leaned out the open window. “I’m glad there was a package today,” he said earnestly.
“It was providential?” she asked breezily.
“Positively,” he agreed. “I’ll be waiting for your answer.”
8
THE HELPFUL NUDGE
Are they in danger?” Milo asked worriedly.
“Undoubtedly,” Harken answered. “There are many who would thwart God’s purposes.”
“At least they’re not alone.”
The senior Messenger shook his head. “A mixed blessing, since it draws the interest of our enemies.”
Milo confessed, “It’s kind of frustrating. Miss Priscilla has been given the bares
t glimpse of heavenly things. I want to show her more, but in many ways, she’s still blind.”
“Things have a way of unfolding,” Harken reminded. “I feel this is just the beginning.”
The eastern horizon was just beginning to blush when a knock on the front door of Loafing Around caught Jayce Pomeroy’s attention. He waved at the figure darkening his doorstep, but finished sliding trays of warm muffins into the bakery case before crossing to undo the lock. “Good morning!” he greeted. “It’s a little earlier than I usually open, but I’ve been known to make exceptions for paperboys.”
“No, sir, but thank you, sir,” the teen replied, nervously adjusting the strap on his newspaper bag. He cleared his throat, then launched into what had to be a very brief but carefully prepared speech. “Excuse me, sir. My name’s Ransom Pavlos, and I was wondering if you’re looking for part-time help?”
“Sweeping up and taking out the trash don’t take much time in a shop this size, and I already have someone to run the register,” Jayce answered. Noting the flicker of disappointment on Ransom’s face, he made a quick decision and added, “There are always dishes to do, I suppose.”
“I don’t mind doing that kind of work,” the young man quickly assured. “But I want to learn the trade. I want to bake.”
“You’re interested in breads?” Jayce asked curiously.
“And pastries, yeah,” Ransom replied, holding the older man’s gaze.
“Why don’t you come in,” Mr. Pomeroy invited, holding the door wide. He waved the teen to one of the tables and took a seat across from him. “Patisserie — it’s not the aspiration of every young man.”
“Was it yours?”
“It was,” Jayce replied evenly.
“I want to decorate cakes, too,” Ransom confessed, color rising in his cheeks.
“No kidding!” the bakery owner replied, nodding approvingly.
“Yeah, that’d be cool.”
Jayce grinned broadly. “I think we can work something out. When can you start?”
Ransom straightened. “Seriously?”
“Sure,” Mr. Pomeroy replied, chuckling at the young man’s obvious relief.
“Early mornings or after school,” the teen replied. “If you can match what I get for my morning paper route, my dad won’t put up as much of a stink when I give it up. He’s not exactly pleased about my plans.”
Jayce nodded and confided, “Mine wasn’t either. He was very disappointed that I didn’t want to drive a tractor.”
“Mine’s set on some kinda office job. I dunno exactly,” Ransom shrugged.
“Do you want to come back now and explore the kitchen?” Mr. Pomeroy offered.
For a moment, the teen looked tempted, but he shook his head. “I gotta finish my route.”
“Fair enough,” Jayce replied. “Come back whenever you can, and we’ll work out the details.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Not unless you’re willing to meet me at First Baptist,” Mr. Pomeroy casually invited. “You’re welcome to.”
“Uhh … not my thing,” Ransom mumbled. “Is Monday good?”
“Sure. The bakery’s closed, but I’m here all afternoon doing prep. You can lend a hand, and we’ll take it from there.”
“Yeah,” the teen agreed, smiling crookedly. “Thanks, sir.”
Prissie twirled, admiring the way her skirt flared out, before taking a seat on one of the benches inside the gazebo in front of town hall. She’d bought the snowy white sundress with its pattern of red poppies to wear to her best friend Margery’s birthday party next week, but couldn’t resist giving it a test run on the off-chance that she would run into Milo. Of course, she didn’t really want to see him, but it might be nice to be seen.
Being angry with someone she cared about made Prissie unhappy, so she’d been relieved when the mailman had acted more like himself when delivering Aunt Ida’s package to Grandma’s. Maybe it was possible to pretend nothing had happened, and then everything could go back to normal.
She’d seen neither hide nor hair of Koji all day, which seemed strange after all his tagging along. It was easy to convince herself that she didn’t miss having him around, but harder to explain why her world suddenly felt off-kilter.
Even Margery and April hadn’t responded to her offer to meet up while she was in town. The only messages in her inbox for the last few days had been an update notification from Uncle Loren’s missionary blog and a forwarded email full of silly cat pictures from Grammie Esme.
Giving one of her braids a firm pat, she opened the book she’d just checked out from their library and flipped through the pages. The travel guide detailed the natural splendor and cultural highlights of Greece with big, glossy photographs and easy-to-digest blurbs. “This is where Aunt Ida will be going next,” she murmured to nobody in particular. Momma was still in the little one-room library, helping Zeke and Jude make their picks.
At first, when she heard steps, she assumed Beau had decided to join her, but the footfalls came too fast to belong to her brother, who walked very slowly while poring over a new book. When the newcomer stepped lightly into the gazebo, she looked up … and blinked.
A young man with glossy auburn hair that fell smoothly to his shoulders strolled to the opposite side of the wooden structure to peer up and down Main Street, giving her the chance to look him over. He was handsomely dressed in a neat summer suit with a white linen jacket. Prissie darted a glance toward the library doors, hoping the rest of her family wouldn’t take long. They didn’t get many strangers in West Edinton, and something about this one made her uneasy.
When she peeped back at him, he was leaning against the far railing, his hands in his pockets as he watched her. “How do you do?” he politely inquired.
“Very well, thank you,” she automatically replied, giving him a cautious smile. “Are you visiting in town?”
“Oh, I’m from around here,” he replied, gesturing vaguely to the east.
“Really?” she replied doubtfully.
He smirked. “Do you know all the locals?”
The challenge in his tone irked her. “No, but you don’t really fit in.”
“You don’t think so?” he inquired. With a smile, he touched the red handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket, then waved at her. “I think I fit in perfectly … with you.”
It was true. Dressed as he was in red and white, he couldn’t have coordinated better if he’d tried. “I guess we do match,” she said with a weak laugh.
“They say imitation is a form of flattery,” he suavely replied. “So, tell me, have you spoken to Mr. Leggett recently, or are you still giving him the cold shoulder?”
“You know Milo?” she asked, sitting up a little straighter.
“Doesn’t everyone?” the stranger laughed.
“I suppose so,” Prissie cautiously admitted. “Since he’s the mailman.”
“Oh, Mr. Leggett is more than an acquaintance,” the young man announced. “I’ve known him for years … centuries even.” Prissie’s eyes widened, and he held up a finger in a shushing motion. “That’s right, Miss Pomeroy; I’m an angel, too. My name is Adin.”
Prissie slowly closed her library book and hugged it against her chest. “Do you have a message for me?” she asked wonderingly.
“I’m not a Messenger, though I know the routine,” he replied with a benign smile. Cutting a small bow, he announced, “You’ve been chosen, highly favored one.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said uncomfortably.
“Oh, I think you do,” Adin countered. “What are you afraid of, Miss Pomeroy? Do you think the servants of God would harm you in any way?”
She straightened. “Don’t be ridiculous! They would never …”
“I understand you have some qualms about dealing with us,” he calmly interjected. “I don’t blame you, not one bit, but I happen to think that you’re overlooking a golden opportunity! Don’t you want to have an adventure?”
“N
o, I don’t,” she replied crisply. “I like my life just fine.”
Adin’s brows arched in surprise. “Most people wish for more, but you show wisdom beyond your years. Such contentment is admirable!”
A pleased smile flickered across Prissie’s face, and she relaxed slightly. “Really?”
“Still, I think you should give us a chance,” he mused aloud. “You must be needed for something important if the unseen realms have been revealed to a young lady such as yourself.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “It makes sense that there would be a reason.”
“Few are called upon to take a prominent place in the grand scheme of things,” Adin declared. “God must have something amazing in store for you! He probably needs you.”
“Why me?”
“And isn’t that the same thing they all asked? Ruth, Esther, Mary—I could go on.” Adin smiled winsomely and stepped closer.
“I really don’t think I’m anything like them,” Prissie murmured, a blush spreading across her cheeks.
“So modest,” Adin sighed. “It’s no wonder you were chosen.”
“What should I do?” she asked.
His expression grew solemn, and he took another step. “Trust your heart. You’re a good girl with a good head on your shoulders; do what seems right.”
Just then, a high, clear voice called out, “Prissie! Prissie! Look at my stories!” She spotted Jude trundling along the path, a precarious pile of books in his arms. When she turned back to apologize to Adin, the angel was gone. Her youngest brother thumped up the steps and exclaimed, “I found all kinds of ones about chickens!”
Prissie inspected his stack and assured him that she was properly impressed by his haul, but the back of her mind was busy mulling over Adin’s advice … and his appearance. Milo was good-looking, but in a dusty, down-home way. No one would ever mistake the mailman for an angel, but Adin was more what she expected an angel to be — confident, well-spoken, and a little bit mysterious. Both Koji and Milo had mentioned other members of their group that she could meet. Maybe if there were more like Adin, it wouldn’t be so bad.
The Blue Door Page 7
