Prissie’s lips formed a grim line as she moved onto the next apple and cut another sample. “If they’re still green, I guess I can try adding more sugar,” she mused aloud.
“These apples are the secret to your recipe?” Koji asked.
“Well, they’re the secret to pink applesauce,” Prissie corrected. “Grandma Nell hasn’t made it in a while, but it’s a Pomeroy tradition that goes back to Great-grandma Mae. The story is that pink was her favorite color, and so her husband ordered those trees especially for her. Grandpa Pete remembers when they were planted.”
Koji listened patiently, biting his lip as if trying to contain some comment, but when she paused for breath, he blurted, “Is the oven supposed to do that?”
Prissie glanced away from the cutting board and gasped. Smoke was trickling out from around the oven door and drifting toward the ceiling. “Oh, no! My pie crust cookies!” she wailed.
Grabbing the oven mitts, she yanked the oven open, releasing a cloud of acrid smoke into the room. Neat rows of pastry strips that had been sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar were charred beyond recognition, and once she noticed that some of them were actually smoldering, she hurried the baking sheet to the kitchen sink and dumped the whole lot in. When she flipped on the water, it hissed against the hot pan, sending up a billow of steam.
“No,” she muttered grumpily. “That isn’t supposed to happen. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
Koji blinked. “You did not want my help.”
Prissie threw down her oven mitts onto the counter and slapped off the faucet, then stomped to the kitchen table and sat, blinking back angry tears. “This isn’t fair!” she seethed. “Everyone else can do this!” Well, maybe not everyone, but that’s the way it felt. Grandma Nell’s fabulous pies consistently won ribbons, Auntie Lou’s entry was sure to impress the judges, and even her father could probably knock their socks off if he wanted to. Prissie wanted to show everyone that she could do just as well!
“I can see that you wish to do your best,” Koji cautiously offered. “But it is not good to compare yourself to others.”
“What would you know about it?” she returned waspishly.
Koji didn’t react to her tone; he merely answered her question. “I also have a mentor whose reputation precedes him. My placement with Shimron is a distinct honor, and I wish very much to excel.”
Interest lurked behind Prissie’s sulky expression. “What’s he like?”
“Old. Wise. Patient.” Koji’s eyes shone with admiration for the angel he’d been assigned to work with. “Shimron is one of the First.”
“First?”
Koji nodded. “He remembers the creation of this world and has looked upon all of time!” Sobering somewhat, he added, “He also remembers the Rebellion.”
Prissie wasn’t sure exactly what he was talking about, but it was a relief that Koji could sympathize with her plight. “Does he make everything look easy?”
The young angel considered her question, but he didn’t answer it directly. “My task was to watch, to remember, and to testify, but in the midst of my responsibilities, I was seen.”
“By me,” she supplied, her mood shifting. “Did you get into trouble?”
Koji shook his head. “Shimron was pleased that I was given this chance. He was also able to meet a human and speaks fondly about his experience. They also became friends.”
“Someone else who could see angels?” Prissie asked, intrigued.
“Yes. It is not unheard of … just rare.”
“Who did Shimron meet?”
The young angel’s eyes took on a mischievous shine. “Elijah.”
Prissie gawked at him. “The Elijah?”
“Indeed.”
13
THE PARTY GIRL
Koji edged closer to Abner, wriggling his toes in the soft grass of their garden sanctuary while he waited to be noticed. The silver-haired angel stood in a veritable cloud of yahavim; the little angels dipped and spiraled around the Caretaker, vying for his attention. Once each bright member of his flock had been counted and coddled, Abner turned his attention to the young loiterer. “What is it, Koji?”
“May I ask a favor?”
Abner clasped his hands behind his back. “You may ask.”
Koji nodded solemnly. This was the way of Caretakers, whose powers were awe-inspiring. “I have a friend …” he began nervously.
“Do you now?” Abner gently prompted.
“Prissie,” Koji replied breathlessly.
Abner chose a seat at the base of a tree and beckoned for the boy to join him. “Why don’t you start by telling me more about your friend?” he invited.
With a grateful smile, Koji did just that.
Early on the morning of Margery’s birthday party, a soft tap sounded at Prissie’s bedroom door. “Who is it?” she called quietly.
“Koji. May I come in?”
“I guess,” she replied, sitting up in bed and pulling her blankets close.
He slipped into the room and carefully closed the door before whispering, “I have something for you!” Plunking down in the center of her rug, he proudly displayed a small apple basket mounded with distinctively blushing apples.
“Are those from Great-grandma Mae’s trees?”
Koji was positively beaming. “Last night, I asked Abner for help. Since he is a Caretaker, the trees yielded their best fruit to him!”
“An angel who talks to trees?” she asked skeptically.
He blinked and replied, “No, but he understands them. Abner promises that these apples are at their peak. They will make good pies!”
So far, Prissie’s trial pies had turned out so tart, everyone had needed extra ice cream to get their slices down. Grandpa had suggested some varieties of sweeter early apples to add to the mix, but so far, she wasn’t satisfied with the combination. Since the county fair opened tomorrow, and there were just four days left before she and Grandma Nell would be turning in their entries, Prissie was nearly out of time.
“You brought me ripe apples?” she mumbled, finally realizing what Koji’s gift meant. “I can try again, and it’ll be right?”
“Yes!”
Feeling as if it were her birthday instead of her best friend’s, Prissie swung her legs out of bed. “I don’t have to be at Margery’s until noon, so there’s time for one more practice pie. I’ll let you peel apples if you’d like.”
Koji stood and said, “I will start!”
Prissie frowned as she pushed around the bottles of spices in the cupboard. “Cloves, nutmeg, ginger, allspice, where’s the cinnamon?” Spotting a jar of coriander, she uncapped it and gave an experimental sniff, curious if it really was manna-flavored.
“What is wrong?” Koji asked from his station at the cutting board. A neat pile of apple peelings had been pushed aside for the chickens, and he’d moved on to quartering and paring.
With a huff, Prissie stalked to the refrigerator, where a magnetized grocery list hung. Sure enough, right at the bottom her father had written cinnamon in neat block print. “We’re out of cinnamon!”
“Is it necessary?” he inquired.
“You can’t make apple pie without cinnamon,” she declared moodily.
“Can we get some from your grandmother?” Koji suggested.
“I guess,” Prissie sighed. But then the candy jar on the mantle caught her eye, and she had a flash of inspiration. Maybe since this was just a practice pie, it would be okay to improvise a little. “Wait! I have an idea.”
Poking through the contents of the footed carnival glass dish, she extracted the cinnamon candies she’d purchased the other day. “Five left.”
“What?” Koji asked, coming over to see what she was doing.
She showed him the red-wrapped sweets. “If I mix these in …?”
He unwrapped one and his eyes sparkled. “They are the right color.”
“And the right flavor,” she said with decisive finality. “Let’s find a way to sm
ash them into smaller pieces.”
After some scrounging around, Prissie dropped the unwrapped candies into a plastic freezer bag, which they took out onto the back porch so they wouldn’t wake the rest of the household once they applied the force of a meat-tenderizing mallet.
By the time Prissie’s older brothers dragged themselves into the kitchen, her improvised pie was in the oven and beginning to smell good. Neil took a deep breath of spice-scented air and exulted, “I love fair time!”
“That’s because you’re a glutton,” Prissie accused the sixteen-year-old, who still wore plaid pajama pants and a wrinkled T-shirt.
“I’m a growing boy!” he protested, yawning hugely as he poured himself a glass of milk.
Tad ambled through the kitchen door already dressed for the outdoors. “Mornin’, Priss, Koji,” he said as he relieved his brother of the milk jug.
Neil crouched down to look through the oven window. “How long before this one’s ready? I’ll taste-test!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted. “We’re not cutting into my pie until tonight.”
The blond teen shrugged and addressed the baking pie through the glass. “Then I guess I’ll be seeing you later!”
All decked out in the red and white sundress that reminded her pleasantly of Adin and his matching summer suit, Prissie turned in at the Burke residence. Margery lived in one of the big, stone homes in West Edinton’s historical district, just four blocks from the bakery. It was an impressive house that felt important, and Prissie was pleased to have been invited there so often over the years — pajama parties, tea parties, birthday parties.
She and Margery had been cohorts since their first day of preschool, when people had said they made such a cute pair. They were both blonde, and they’d both been wearing pink hair ribbons. In the realm of four-year-olds, it had been enough to forge the bonds of friendship.
Prissie hugged a small, wrapped package to her chest as she climbed the steps to the front door, whose beveled glass windows offered fleeting glimpses of rainbows. Pressing the doorbell, she heard a faint chime sound inside.
“Prissie, darling!” exclaimed Mrs. Burke as she opened the door wide. “It’s been too long! How are you?”
“Very well, thank you,” she replied politely.
Margery’s mother beckoned for her to enter, then smoothly plucked the wrapped gift from her hands and placed it next to the others on the hall table. “Luncheon will be served in ten minutes. The other girls are upstairs in Margery’s room. You remember the way?”
“Yes, Mrs. Burke,” Prissie said with a smile, then began to climb the elegantly curved staircase that dominated their front hall.
She trailed her hand on the banister as she daydreamed about living in the lap of luxury. Margery only had one sibling, a four-year-old brother named Gavin, so even though the Burkes’ house was bigger than the Pomeroy’s, there was barely enough family to occupy it. Wide open rooms were filled with tasteful decorations and so much quiet; Prissie thought this was what heaven must be like.
From Margery’s bedroom came the sound of squeals and giggles, and she peeked through the open doorway. “Prissie!” called her best friend, who was sitting on the floor, leaning against her bed. “You made it!”
“Happy birthday,” she replied brightly.
She and Margery may have been a matched set back in preschool, but as they’d grown up, differences made themselves apparent. All the Pomeroys were tall, but Margery took after her petite mother. While Prissie preferred to keep the same style, her friend was always trying new looks. At the moment, Margery’s blonde hair was teased into a tumble of chin-length curls, and her light green eyes sparkled with excitement. “We were just talking about the class lists! This is the first year Elise will be with us!”
Prissie blinked in surprise. Somehow, in all the excitement, she’d forgotten to check the roll. “We’re together again?” she asked, pleased even if she was the last to know.
“Like always!” piped Jennifer, whose deeply tanned skin suggested that much of her annual summer trip to visit relatives on the coast had been spent on the beach. “They wouldn’t dare split us up!”
“I hate how you have to spend the whole summer not knowing for sure, though,” April interjected. She was the resident expert on all things now — television, movies, and especially Facebook and YouTube. Her sleek, mouse-brown hair was bobbed, and her baby bangs formed a straight line over the rectangular frames of her glasses. Very little escaped the notice of her sharp gray eyes. “The risk of separation looms for weeks on end!”
“I think it’s indecent, the way they keep vital information a secret until the end of summer,” haughtily interjected the one girl in the room Prissie didn’t know. Her coloring was dramatic — porcelain pale skin and stark black hair. Hazel eyes were rimmed with a deep purple liner that matched her lace-trimmed leggings, and Prissie’s first impression was one of envy.
Margery made the introductions. “This is Elise Hanson. Her family moved in next door during the middle of summer! Elise, this is Prissie Pomeroy.”
Elise was flopped on the four-poster bed, reading over Margery’s shoulder as she flipped through a magazine. She quirked a light brown eyebrow, and Prissie realized with a jolt that she must color her hair. Elise returned Prissie’s assessing look—top to toe and back again — before giving her a mocking little smile. “Hey.”
Bristling defensively, Prissie coolly replied, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Her family runs the bakery on Main Street,” Margery supplied.
Narrowing her eyes, Elise said, “Now I remember! I’ve seen you around. Your family adopted that Asian kid, am I right?”
“Koji is an international exchange student,” Prissie primly corrected, not liking Elise’s tone.
“Whatever,” the girl replied dismissively, turning her attention back to the magazine.
“So what have you been doing all summer?” interjected April, and the conversation swerved into familiar territory. Prissie joined Jennifer on the padded bench. Since kindergarten, the four of them always caught up during Margery’s birthday festivities, trading secrets and making plans for the upcoming school year. However, the addition of Elise felt a bit awkward.
At first, Prissie thought Margery was just going out of her way to make sure that Elise was included, but before long she realized that the flow of conversation centered around the new girl.
April and Jennifer were obviously comfortable with Elise. In fact, Prissie was beginning to feel completely out of the loop. April made a saucy remark about pizza delivery boys that sent everyone else into gales of laughter. When Jennifer noticed Prissie’s look of confusion, she giggled and said, “Sorry, guess you had to be there.”
As Margery laughed herself silly, a coldness settled in the pit of Prissie’s stomach. While she’d been stuck at home, working in the garden and helping Grandma with the canning, an outsider had swooped in and stolen her best friend.
When Mrs. Burke called them downstairs for the luncheon, everyone oohed and aahed over the decorations. Margery’s mother was what Momma called a crafty person, and she always put a lot of effort into her daughter’s parties. Cold chicken salad and fussy fruit tartlets were served with fizzy lemonade, and Prissie thought everything was perfect, until they were interrupted by the slap of bare feet on wood floors. Margery’s little brother Gavin tore around the table, roaring like a lion and making faces at his sister’s guests.
Mrs. Burke hurriedly chased him out, lightly saying, “Boys will be boys!”
“Ugh! I hate brothers!” exclaimed Margery indignantly.
“Tell me about it! They are such freaks,” growled Elise.
April smiled mischievously. “Poor Prissie, she has five!”
“Five!” Elise snickered. “That’s almost indecent!”
Prissie wasn’t sure if the girl was talking about the number of boys or the number of kids in their family. “Hang on a sec,” Elise demanded, looking a
t Prissie with new interest.
“Pomeroy? Is Neil your brother?”
Prissie’s unease doubled. She’d had to deal with plenty of girls who wanted to get close to her in order to find out more about her brothers. She offered a sharp, “Yes,” and snapped her mouth shut, her eyes sparking warnings.
Thankfully, Mrs. Burke chose that moment to sweep back into the room. “Ready for cake, girls?”
Once they’d been served, Prissie spoke into the lull. “The fair starts tomorrow. What day do you want to meet up?”
“No thanks! County fairs are so lame,” scoffed Elise.
Jennifer and April exchanged an uncertain glance, and Jennifer said, “Ours is pretty good.”
“Yeah, if you like cows and kiddie rides and pickles and stuff,” Elise said, sounding supremely bored.
Margery had the grace to look embarrassed; she knew just how involved the Pomeroy family was in the fair every year. Prissie stared fixedly at her plate, too stunned by the girl’s rudeness to find words for her indignation. How dare she?
“The music is worth it,” April cautiously interjected. “Free concerts from local bands all day long.”
“And there’s a midway with rides … and fireworks,” Jennifer added. “Everybody goes at least once.”
Prissie was grateful her friends were defending their fair, but she wished it didn’t sound as if they were apologizing for liking it. She glanced toward Margery, but her best friend was suddenly fascinated with the floral pattern edging her plate.
Elise seemed to decide it was wisest to adjust her stance. With the air of a person making allowances for people who didn’t know better, she offhandedly said, “What the heck. Might as well give it a try since I’m stuck out here.”
When the time came to open presents, Prissie nervously clasped her hands in her lap. For Margery’s gift, she’d settled on something she’d found hanging in the window at Harken’s. The angelic shopkeeper had called it a suncatcher, and it certainly caught Prissie’s eye, for the blue glass diamond looked as if it had been plucked from her bedroom window at home. It was set in a kind of frame studded with clear glass marbles in shades ranging from blue to green—her best friend’s favorites. Since Margery knew about Prissie’s fascination with stained glass from the many sleepovers that had been hosted at the Pomeroys, Prissie thought her friend would understand.
The Blue Door Page 12
