“I’m not sure,” she confessed. “I’ve never tasted starfruit.”
That sealed the deal for him. “We can share!” he declared, looking very pleased.
Next, Prissie led him to the back corner of the store, a landmark of sorts for every kid in West Edinton. Small baskets were arranged along a series of narrow shelves under an old-fashioned looking sign that declared, Penny Candy. There were jawbreakers, taffy, bubble gum, caramels, and a vast assortment of hard candies. “Dad says that when he was a little boy, all the candy really was a penny. It’s a nickel now, but we still call it ‘penny candy.’ “ Wondering if angels were allowed to eat junk food, she ventured, “Do you like sweets?”
Koji dragged his gaze away from the brightly wrapped goodies and confessed, “Very much.”
“Pick something,” she urged, pulling out a small, white paper bag and counting out half a dozen root beer barrels, which were Jude’s favorite. “Momma likes to keep the candy jar on the kitchen mantle stocked.”
“Which do you like?” Koji asked as she counted out six cinnamon candies.
“I don’t really eat candy very much,” she replied aloofly.
“Oh,” he replied, obviously disappointed.
She gave him an exasperated look, then rummaged through a basket filled with small suckers. “Fine … this is my favorite,” she admitted, showing him the one she liked best.
Koji peered intently at the wrapper, on which small text was printed. “Cream soda?” he asked. “That is not a kind of fruit.”
“Obviously,” she retorted.
The young angel fished around in the bin, systematically inspecting the labels and extracting five more. He offered them to her like a small bouquet, then asked, “Does it taste like milk?”
“It’s not cream, it’s cream soda.”
His head tipped to one side. “What is that?”
She led him to the long row of beverages and located bottles of the stuff. “I guess it tastes like vanilla? Maybe?” she hazarded. “It tastes good, okay?”
Koji nodded and smiled. “I will trust you in this matter.”
As they walked toward the front registers, something caught Prissie’s eye. On impulse, she reached out and plucked the item off the shelf, watching to see when the observant young angel noticed the small box of star-shaped pasta riding along the belt toward the checker. When he did, his expression of surprise was quickly followed by one of delight, and Prissie felt as though she’d been rewarded. Somehow, an angel’s smile managed to capture the purest essence of joy.
Back outside, Koji walked quietly at Prissie’s side, hugging their one shopping bag to his chest. She was glad he was so happy over such a simple thing, but her mind was already racing ahead. There had to be something that would be good for Margery’s birthday present, but what?
Suddenly, Koji snatched her hand, pulling her to a stop. Prissie tried to extract herself from his grasp, but Koji’s attention was fixed on a point farther down the road. When she looked in the same direction, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. “Koji?” she whispered. “Let go of me!”
He nodded sharply, but not at her, then got in front of her. His voice was calm enough, but his eyes were wide, urgent. “You have shared your food with me. Maybe I can share some of ours?” he offered.
Without waiting for an answer, he tugged her back the way they’d come. “Where do angels shop?” Prissie asked, trying to joke but falling flat.
“We do not,” he replied seriously. “Abner’s flock keeps us supplied. I think perhaps now you will notice them.”
The way Koji was acting, you would have thought they were being chased down the street. Prissie glanced over her shoulder and stifled a groan. Not half a block away, a familiar group trooped out of the local delicatessen. The last thing she wanted was for Ransom and his gang to see her holding hands with a boy on Main Street. Once more, she tried to pull free of Koji’s grasp, but he wasn’t having it.
“Almost there,” he assured.
“Fine,” she hissed. Keeping her head down, she picked up her pace until they were jogging together. He didn’t release his hold until they clattered through the door to Harken’s shop.
“What’s all this?” the shopkeeper called.
Koji indicated the street and said, “Things are stirring, so Tamaes sent us ahead.”
“Who?” Prissie asked.
Harken’s expression grew solemn, and he moved to look out the front window. “Well, now, that was probably wise.”
“He suggested showing Abner’s flock to Prissie. May I?”
The old man’s brilliant smile flashed. “An excellent suggestion! Shall we go into the garden?” He gestured toward the back room.
Prissie preceded them through the maze of boxes toward the mysterious blue door that seemed to beckon to her. Glancing first at Harken for permission, she reached out to touch the irridescent gleaming knob, which hummed softly against her fingertips.
She paused on the threshold, gazing at the lovely glade that wasn’t really a part of her world, but Koji gently pushed her forward. “It is safe inside. Come on, Prissie. We need to close the door.”
Everything was as she remembered it — soft grass carpeted the small clearing, and the surrounding trees reaching toward the rippling lights in the sky. Maybe because she was expecting it this time, she didn’t feel quite as unsettled by the otherworldly aspects of the angels’ sanctuary.
Harken stepped past her, humming under his breath as he strolled into the center of the glade, scanning the forest. Koji eagerly shed his shoes and socks, then wriggled his toes in the grass with a blissful expression. Setting his foot gear next to their grocery bag, he trotted after Harken, beckoning eagerly for Prissie to follow.
“Come on out,” Harken called gently. He wasn’t talking to her.
And then Prissie noticed them. Some of the shifting lights that dappled the forest drifted in lazy spirals, resolving into sharper focus as they left the shelter of the trees. She squinted and stepped slowly closer. “They look like—fairies!” she gasped.
“Angels,” corrected Harken. “These small ones are the lowest order of angels, but one of the most important.”
One of the slender figures lit upon his palm, and he turned to Prissie with it. They were small, hardly the size of her hand, and almost too bright to look at. Peering through her lashes, she could just make out a tiny, perfect person with silvery hair tucked behind pointed ears. Its upturned face was dominated by a pair of slanted eyes; their faceted depths had no whites, reminding her of an insect’s. The little creature was adorable.
“Hello, there,” she cooed, wondering if she was supposed to pet it or shake its hand.
“They cannot speak,” Koji informed her quietly. “Yahavim are not quite that clever.”
The small being fluttered delicate wings and cocked its head, looking inquisitively from Harken to Prissie, and the old man smiled. “They understand enough and can make themselves understood,” he explained. “The members of Abner’s flock are not unlike domesticated animals; the yahavim are every angels’ primary source of nourishment.”
Prissie gave him a horrified look and squeaked, “You eat them?”
Koji smothered a giggle. “Nooo,” he quickly assured her. “They make manna!”
Harken smiled kindly. “Abner could explain it more clearly, but these small ones are able to perform a great service. Just as plants take in carbon dioxide and release oxygen, the yahavim take in light and produce manna.” Turning to the fairy-like creature in his hand he politely inquired, “Shall we show her?”
The tiny angel darted upward on wings like a dragonfly’s and turned a somersault in the air, capturing the surrounding light in a brilliant burst and condensing it. Prissie had to shield her eyes for a second, but when the creature righted itself, she saw a small flake drift down onto Harken’s hand. “Thank you,” he said graciously.
“So bright,” Prissie said, blinking her watering eyes. “It’s hard to
look at them directly.”
“Their glory is the least of all the angels, and it is still too much for human eyes to behold,” Harken declared. “Be glad that the rest of us are able to rein in the radiance; men have been blinded by the presence of angels in their midst.”
“I remember stories,” she replied, thinking back over old Sunday school lessons. Again, Prissie was struck by the notion that she was only seeing a part of something much larger, and she squirmed inside, caught between awe and actual fear.
Meanwhile, Koji had three more of the little manna-makers turning somersaults for him. When he was satisfied with their work, he quietly thanked each of them, then hurried to Prissie’s side. He held out cupped hands and beamed at her. “Manna is the food of angels. Will you share some with me?”
The delicate wafers were so thin, they were translucent; irregularly shaped and slightly curved, they looked like golden scales, or perhaps itty-bitty, transparent potato chips. “What’s it like?” she asked.
“More desirable than gold, and sweeter than honey,” quoted Harken.
“Like the words of God — right and good,” added Koji.
Prissie knew they were quoting verses from the Bible, but she didn’t understand. How could food taste like words in a book? “That’s not a flavor.”
Koji lifted his hands again. “Please, Prissie?”
“It’s okay for me?”
“The children of Israel wandering in the wilderness ate nothing but manna and were satisfied — for a while,” Harken reminded.
“But that was in Bible times,” she countered.
“Child, all times are in God’s hands, and this is yours,” the older angel pronounced with infinite patience. “Accept an invitation when it is given, for who can tell if it will ever be extended again?”
Prissie thought there might be a rebuke in his tone, but she found nothing but kindness in Harken’s deep brown eyes. Her heart clenched with a sudden sense of urgency, and she looked down at the proffered food. Was this her once-in-a-lifetime chance to taste manna for herself?
Koji tilted his head to catch her gaze, his eyes sparkling with hope and friendliness. “It tastes good,” he promised. “Trust me.”
Smiling a little uncertainly, she chose a gleaming flake and popped it into her mouth. As an indescribable sweetness spread across her tongue. Prissie’s eyes brightened, and Koji grinned.
12
THE SECRET RECIPE
Thank you for sheltering her.”
“Of course,” Harken replied as he finished binding the warrior’s wound.
Letting the shining raiment fall back into place, the warrior said, “It has been years since the last time the battle raged so close to the center of town. What did they hope to gain from a midday assault?”
“It was dramatic,” the old shopkeeper remarked. “Showy, even.”
“You think so, too?”
Harken snapped shut the lid of a medical kit and took a seat beside his teammate. “It was pointless, but that may have been the point all along.”
The warrior rubbed the side of his face as he thought, but eventually, he voiced their shared concern. “While all our attention was fixed upon Main Street, was something important happening elsewhere?”
Wordlessly, both angels looked to the east.
“I’m detecting a theme here,” Grandma remarked as she placed a plate of sliced starfruit on the table between Koji and Prissie. “Are you fond of stars, young man?”
“Indeed,” he replied seriously.
Grandma Nell picked up the box of star-shaped pasta her granddaughter had brought home. “I haven’t used these since Beau decided he wanted to be an astronaut when he grew up. Do you remember that, Prissie?”
“Of course,” she replied, pushing the plate of fruit closer to Koji.
“We’ll have a nice soup with lunch tomorrow,” Grandma announced, turning to check the contents of her vegetable crisper. “Naomi and I will raid the garden this evening.”
As Grandma Nell bustled out onto the back porch where she kept her big stock pot, Koji picked up a piece of fruit and held it up to the light. “I did not realize I was reaching for stars,” he remarked thoughtfully.
“Does it matter?” Prissie returned, nibbling experimentally at the point of her first slice.
“Shimron says that the things we are closest to are the things we usually overlook,” Koji replied. “I must ask him if I should begin observing myself as well as those around me.” He touched his tongue to the starfruit’s greenish-yellow flesh, then popped the whole slice into his mouth, closing his eyes as he savored the new flavor.
Prissie took a larger bite, but decided that she preferred the familiarity of apples to newfangled fruits from faraway lands.
Her grandmother returned hugging a speckled pot with one arm and toting a frozen chicken under the other; she clanked the former onto the counter then clunked the latter into the sink. Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, she crossed to the shelf in the corner, which bulged with cookbooks, and picked up the one waiting on top. “I found it, Prissie — your great-grandmother’s recipe book.”
“Really?” she exclaimed, setting aside her half-eaten fruit as Grandma Nell offered a worn book with a pink calico cover.
“It took me long enough to find it, but you still have a little time. Give it a look this afternoon, and you can do a practice pie here while I make Koji’s soup over in your momma’s kitchen. Sound good?”
“Yes!”
Half an hour later found Prissie and Koji on the porch swing. Grandpa Pete’s mother’s recipes were written in pencil, which had faded in spots and smudged in others, so she turned the pages with great care. “Her name was Mae,” Prissie said. “That’s my middle name.”
Koji nodded wisely, but didn’t speak. He was too busy enjoying his cream soda-flavored sucker.
Prissie found the page detailing the secrets to her great-grandmother’s pink applesauce, and her brows drew together. “This takes six different kinds of apples, and the measurements are by the half-bushel!” she exclaimed, twisting the end of her braid around her finger before giving it a toss over her shoulder. “How am I supposed to pare this down into one pie?”
“Math?”
“Obviously,” she sighed.
It took twenty minutes of figuring and scratching, but finally, Prissie dusted away the eraser crumbs and stared with grim satisfaction at her recipe. “This is as close as I can get,” she declared with authority. “But it’ll only work if we can find ripe apples on Great-grandma’s trees.”
Koji bounced to his feet. “I will help!”
Armed with a basket and accompanied by Tansy, Prissie, and Koji set off down the dusty trail that would lead them right to the spot where they first met. As they walked, she thought about all the other angels who’d revealed themselves to her in the last two weeks — Milo, Harken, Adin, Baird, and Kester. According to Momma and Pastor Ruggles, she didn’t have anything to fear from them, but some of the things Koji had told her were unsettling. She didn’t want to think about an unseen war, or about what had happened to Koji’s predecessor, or what kinds of things might happen to her friends if they were captured by their invisible enemies.
She had a nagging suspicion that there must be a reason all of this was happening to her, but since she had no idea what that might be, she decided to concentrate on pleasant things, like baking an award-winning pie in time for the county fair.
“Which trees?” Koji asked, interrupting her train of thought.
“These big ones,” she replied, pointing to the venerable trees her middle-namesake had loved so well. They were two stories tall, and the uppermost branches were filled with creamy yellow apples, some beginning to show a pink blush. “They ripen early, but even so, they might be too green,” Prissie said worriedly.
Koji studied the trees closely, then chose the one that looked most climbable. He nimbly managed the lower limbs but became momentarily stuck midway up. Then, to Prissie’s amaz
ement, he seemed to find a toehold in midair and continued his ascent. “How did you do that?” she called.
He turned to look down at her. “With help!”
“Whose?”
For several seconds, he gazed closely at her — observing. Finally, he replied, “I am not allowed to introduce you to anyone you cannot see.”
“Someone’s here?” Prissie whispered nervously.
“Of course,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“Why?”
Cocking his head to one side, he answered, “Because you are here.”
A few furiously thumping heartbeats later, it dawned on her. “My guardian angel?”
“Indeed,” Koji smiled, resuming his climb.
Prissie searched the apple tree for some sign of another angel — a flicker of movement, a shimmer of light, anything! “Are they nice?” she finally ventured.
“I am not sure,” Koji replied, scrutinizing a cluster of apples that hung right in front of his nose. “I wish Abner was here; he would know which ones are ready.”
She hadn’t meant the apples, but since they were her pressing need, she decided to let it go. For now.
Koji watched Prissie’s progress with frank curiosity. He was in full Observer mode, and having his intent gaze fixed on her every movement wasn’t doing her temper any favors. Botching a pie was bad enough; doing it in front of a witness made her cranky.
“Can I help?” he offered … for the third time.
“I’ll do it myself,” she grouched, pushing a stray tendril of hair out of her face with the back of a floury hand. Grandma had ceded control of her kitchen to them, so Prissie was officially in charge. Koji’s role was somewhere between “moral support” and “guinea pig.” She carefully sliced a sliver out of one of the apples they’d picked earlier and extended it to the angel. “Do you think it’s too tart?”
Koji inspected the wedge, which had pearly white flesh that blushed to a beautiful shade of rose at its center. He crunched into it and puckered, exclaiming, “Sour!”
The Blue Door Page 11
