“Coulda been worse,” Ransom offered. “Coulda been camels!”
Prissie’s older brother chuckled. “Want to trade places now that the excitement’s over?”
“I don’t mind sticking around.” Glancing at Prissie, Ransom added, “Unless you mind.”
“I don’t care,” she replied stiffly, once more conscious of being in the spotlight.
When the boys settled into their places as shepherds, Ransom leaned closer so that only she could hear him. “Will you keep my secret?”
“Your secret’s safe.”
“Does that make us friends?” he pressed.
“No.”
“Didn’t think so,” Ransom admitted. “But it’s a start.”
Prissie was afraid he might be right.
After the spotlights had been shut down and the farm animals loaded into their trailers, the Pomeroys warmed up inside the church with hot cider and cookies. Ransom and Marcus stuck around … and stuck close. “How’d you get here, anyhow?” Prissie thought to ask.
“Hitched a ride with Mr. Mailman,” Ransom replied.
“You called?” Milo inquired, ambling over with a cup of coffee in hand. He’d shed his costume, but his hair still glinted in the lights. Noting Prissie’s gaze, he gave his hair a pat. “How long do you think it’ll take to get this stuff out?”
“You’ll have metallic dandruff ‘til Easter,” said Neil.
“I could loan you a curry comb,” offered Tad, his gray eyes sparkling.
Laughing at his own expense, the Messenger turned slightly as Mr. Pomeroy strolled over with the rest of the family. Right away, Prissie’s father offered a hand to the young Protector. “We met once before … Marcus, right?”
“Yes, sir,” the teen replied with gruff politeness. “Marcus Truman.”
“I hear you were pretty handy when it came to heading off those sheep,” Jayce said. “Thanks for helping out in our time of need!”
“No big deal,” he replied. Zeke stepped forward, staring hard at Marcus, who offered a cautious, “Yo.”
“What happened to your hair?” the boy asked bluntly.
Marcus smirked and crouched down to let Zeke get a good look. “Nothing much. It’s just hair.”
“But it’s different colors.”
“And?” the Protector challenged.
Ransom snickered softly as Zeke continued his inspection, then turned to his mother to ask, “Can I have two, too?”
“Maybe when you’re older,” Momma replied, unperturbed by the boy’s fascination. With Zeke, if it wasn’t one thing, it was another.
“What colors do you like?” Marcus asked, his expression serious.
Zeke’s expression scrunched thoughtfully. “Orange and red … like fire!”
“Hide the crayons,” Ransom advised in an undertone.
“Are you kidding?” Prissie whispered back. “He moved beyond crayons when he was three. I’d say hide the spray paint.”
“We could try food coloring,” Ransom proposed.
Her eyes widened in alarm. “Don’t give him any ideas!”
Koji raised a finger to his lips, enforcing her plea with a shush, and Ransom held up his hands in surrender.
As usual, the visiting went on long after the clean-up was done. Prissie sat on the floor next to the bench where Tad had sprawled and let her eyes slide shut. She was exhausted—both physically and emotionally—and all she really wanted right now was home and bed. Conversation melted into a pleasant buzz as she drifted perilously close to sleep, but as soon as she was quiet, the nagging sense of urgency returned. What was it she was forgetting? She could almost remember … almost… .
“Miss Priss?” came a low voice. “You okay?”
She woke with a start and stared in confusion at Ransom. “Umm … what?”
Her classmate sat beside her before gesturing at her face. “Why are you crying?”
Touching her cheek, she found it wet and quickly scrubbed at it, muttering, “I can’t remember.”
“Bad dream?” he ventured.
She sniffed and shook her head. “No … I mean … there’s something I’ve forgotten.”
Ransom slouched against the wall. “You know something’s missing, but you don’t know what it is?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s see,” he mused aloud. “Did you turn in all your homework?”
“Of course.”
“Are all your farm jobs done?”
“Farm jobs?” she echoed incredulously.
“Sure. Milk the cows, slop the hogs, sheer the sheep — farm stuff.”
She giggled in spite of herself. “We don’t keep cows or sheep, and Tad and Koji are in charge of the pigs.”
Ransom glanced at her sleeping brother and nodded. “If the porkers are covered, then maybe it’s … a birthday?”
“No,” she sighed. “And it’s useless to guess. I told you, I can’t remember.”
“But it’s important, right?” he countered.
“I think so.” Shaking her head, she admitted, “I know so.”
“Maybe I’ll jog your memory. Besides, it’ll pass the time until Mr. Mailman has his fill of chit-chat.”
Prissie looked around the foyer and soon spotted Milo, who was caught up in conversation. “That could be a while.”
“No big deal. I get to sleep in tomorrow.”
She frowned. “But tomorrow’s Sun– Oh. Right.”
His smile was a little sheepish. “Guess you’ll be right back here in the morning.”
“Yes.”
Ransom stretched out his legs, then asked, “Is something lost?”
Something wasn’t, but someone was, and Prissie winced. “Why do you ask?”
“Dunno. I guess there’s not much difference between lost and forgotten,” he explained. “Out of sight, out of mind.”
“Oh,” she managed, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Was that it? Not quite.
She must have been lost in thought for a while because he reached over to tap her shoulder. “I think you drifted off with your eyes open.”
“Sorry,” she muttered.
His eyebrows slowly rose. “Can I borrow that frou-frou thing in your hair?”
Reaching back, she touched the satin ribbon she’d used to tie the end of her braid. “This?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
He held out his hand. “Because I know a remembering trick.”
Baffled, Prissie gave one end of the ribbon a tug, then pulled it free and handed it over.
“Hold out your hand,” he instructed.
To her amazement, Ransom proceeded to tie it around her finger in a big, floppy bow. “What’s that supposed to do?”
“I hear it helps.” Giving his handiwork a pleased look, he said, “Worth a try, right?”
“That’s just silly!”
“No sillier than the other stuff you seem so willing to rely on,” he defended.
“Like what?”
“Prayer,” Ransom calmly replied. “Don’t you think it sounds weird to believe that talking to someone you can’t see will change things?”
“There are things we can’t see,” she retorted.
“How do you know if you haven’t seen them?” he reasoned. “Do you pray?”
“Of course,” Prissie huffed.
“And does it change things?”
“Things have changed,” she replied moodily, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Well, then, Miss Priss,” Ransom said, a challenge in his tone. “Maybe you should practice what you preach.”
14
THE
EARLY GIFT
Jedrick dipped toward Harken’s store, but banked sharply when he realized that his apprentice was perched on a neighboring building. Spiraling lower, he landed lightly on the roof of West Edinton’s newspaper office and strode over to Marcus. The younger angel had been especially preoccupied over the last few days, and the tension radiating from him was worrisome. “Why so d
owncast?” Jedrick asked lightly.
Marcus’s drooping wings twitched up and out in belated defense, but quickly sagged again. Golden eyes glanced guiltily at Jedrick. “M’not.”
“What then?” Jedrick inquired, taking a seat next to the youth.
“Can’t you feel it?” Marcus asked in a low voice. A shiver rustled through his wings, and his gaze swerved back to the bakery across the street. “Something’s about to happen.”
Startled, the Flight captain scanned Main Street for signs of trouble. Despite the steady drift of snowflakes, the roads and sidewalks were busy, but the angelic contingent was unusually quiet. There was a heaviness to the hush, as if the unseen world held its breath in expectation. “I would not be surprised if there is another attack,” Jedrick mused aloud.
“That’s not what I meant,” Marcus corrected. “This time, it’s gonna be something good.”
By midday on Christmas Eve, Loafing Around’s shelves were cleared and the doors were locked. Only Jayce and Ransom remained to close down the bakery for the rest of the year. “Everyone and their uncle will be on a diet starting next week,” Mr. Pomeroy announced prosaically. “So the key to our survival is healthy breads. We’ll be running specials on all things whole grain and multi-grain … or what my wife likes to call birdseed breads.”
“Sounds rough.”
“More like roughage!” quipped Jayce. “I’ll mess with some gluten-free recipes at home just to see what’s what, but we’re usually right back in the cupcake business by Valentine’s Day.”
“Chocolate season?” Ransom asked.
“Sure, sure,” his boss agreed. “We’ll have a whole line of chocolate desserts in February.”
Once he finished wiping down the ovens, the teen stretched. “Not sure what I’ll do with a whole week off. Sleep I guess.”
“It’s good to take a break once in a while,” Jayce declared. “This is my annual vacation. I like spending the week with my lot while they’re off from school. It’s a good way to end the year. Together.”
“I get that. Sounds nice.”
“Do you have plans with your family?” Mr. Pomeroy asked.
“I don’t think you can call them plans,” Ransom admitted carelessly. “My dad isn’t much for celebrations, but this year, I thought I’d take over the cooking. It’ll be better than ordering pizza.” Jayce’s expression didn’t really change, but Ransom saw concern reflected in his blue eyes. Shaking his head, he said, “Don’t worry about it, sir. We get by.”
“What about your mother?”
“Not sure,” he admitted. “She took off back when I was a kid, and she doesn’t call.”
Jayce sighed. “I see.”
Ransom appreciated that. No false apologies, just acceptance of this newest tidbit of information.
“So it’ll be the two of you?”
“That’s right … unless he works overtime.” Ransom reached for the disinfectant as he explained, “Sometimes he grabs extra hours ‘cause of the pay.”
“I can understand that.”
“We’ve never really made a big deal of the holidays, but this year’s been pretty festive,” Ransom shared. “I’ve been baking Christmas cookies all month. Went caroling. Shoot, I even played Joseph in that nativity deal.” Pausing thoughtfully, he added, “It was fun and all, but this is also the first year I actually understand what all the fuss is about.”
Jayce glanced over his shoulder. “I know you’ve read the Gospel accounts.”
“Yeah. More than once,” Ransom readily admitted. “I finished the New Testament, reread some parts, and I’m making some headway in the Old Testament. It’s sorta all fitting together.”
“What are you going to do about all this new information?”
Ransom leaned against the counter and folded his arms over his chest. “Prissie says I know enough to make a decision.”
Jayce straightened. “She said that?”
“Yeah. I sorta cornered her with some questions a few weeks ago, and that was her opinion.”
“And what’s your opinion on the matter?”
“She drives me crazy,” Ransom muttered.
“Prissie does?” Mr. Pomeroy chuckled. “Why?”
“It’s the strangest thing,” he complained. “She’s the absolute worst at explaining why she believes, but she’s got the whole faith thing by the tail. Even if people are making fun of her, she’s holding on to what she believes almost as tightly as she holds onto that Koji kid’s hand.”
“Jealous?”
Ransom snorted softly. “A little envious, maybe. I don’t think there’s anything or anyone that could come between them … or between her and her ideals. For someone who cares as much about her reputation as Miss Priss does, to ditch it for Jesus …?” With a solemn nod, he said, “That means something.”
“I’m glad to hear it, but that doesn’t really answer my question,” Jayce remarked quietly. “What are you going to do?”
Ransom chuckled nervously. “You holding yourself back, boss? I’d have thought you’d be jumping all over these openings I’m leaving you.”
“Believe me, I’m on pins and needles, here. I can listen and advise, but the choice is yours to make.”
“No pressure,” Ransom muttered with a rueful smile.
Jayce grinned and suggested, “Tell me what you understand.”
“I don’t have all the right lingo.”
“Your own words work just fine,” Mr. Pomeroy assured. “I find your perspective refreshing.”
“You think?” Ransom replied abashedly. “Well, whatever.” He gazed at the ceiling, his thumbs jammed into the upper fold of the apron at his waist. “Sin’s a killer, but you can escape. Life’s right there for those who are willing to jump for it.”
“Jump?”
“Yeah. Like a leap of faith.”
“Sure, sure. Go on.”
“Right … so … this salvation thing is free, but like all stuff in life, there’s consequences to my choice. Most of them sound too good to be true.”
“Really?”
“My dad always says you get what you pay for,” Ransom explained. “Freebies are usually junk.”
“True,” Jayce conceded, gesturing for him to continue.
“The debts that would have dragged me down to hell are paid, and God takes me in as His own kid. My admission to heaven is covered, and He sticks closer than my closest friend. I’ll change … or be changed. But from what I can tell, people are always changing, so that doesn’t worry me much.” With a shrug, Ransom said, “And that’s about it.”
“That does sum it up,” Mr. Pomeroy agreed. “So …?”
“If what the kids at school have been saying is true, I’d be a fool to even consider Christianity. But if what the Bible says is true, I’d be a fool to believe a little trash-talking.” Ransom drew a deep breath, then announced, “God sounds pretty strict but fair, and I like the idea of being part of the same family as you.”
“You believe?” Jayce pressed.
“Sure do,” Ransom replied seriously.
“Want to make that a formal declaration?”
“Like how?”
“Would it be all right if we prayed together?” Mr. Pomeroy checked.
Ransom cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
Looping an arm around the teen’s shoulder, Jayce offered a sort of introduction. “Lord God, I know you know all things, but I wanted to bring this boy to you myself. He’s been a real help around the shop, and his questions have given me the chance to think through what I believe and why. Thank you for bringing him through my door, but even more, thank you for placing an open door before him.” He took a shaky breath and continued in a voice roughened by emotion. “Your Son gave His life as a ransom for many, and this Ransom’s own name pays tribute to that sacrifice. He’s Yours now, Lord. Always and forever.”
Ransom jumped right in to the brief lull that followed, saying, “Hey, God … it’s Ransom. All this stuff
we’ve been talking about? I get it. I want it. I’m willing to be yours, and I’m pretty amazed that you’ll be mine. So … yeah. I’m in. All the way. Amen.”
Jayce laughed and pulled the boy into a back-slapping hug. “I haven’t been this happy since Jude took his leap.”
“The kid’s already signed on?”
“Jude’s a tender-hearted one. He was almost five when he insisted he and Jesus were friends for life.”
“Guess I’m getting a late start.”
“It’s not a race to see who’s fastest,” Mr. Pomeroy said with a reassuring smile. “We run together, and with each other’s help, we can finish well.”
“I like the sound of that.” Scratching his head, Ransom admitted, “I like how you made my name into something from the Bible. I always figured Mom had a thing for pirates, but I like your explanation better.”
“All of my lot have Bible names, too, you know,” Mr. Pomeroy revealed.
“No kidding?” Ransom frowned thoughtfully. “Jude I get, but I haven’t run across the others yet. Are they in the Old Testament?”
Jayce grimaced. “Come to think of it, the boys are a little sensitive about th–”
Just then, a faint note began to ring from the stainless steel bowls on the shelves as a rumble built in the distance. “Is that thunder?” Ransom asked in a low voice.
The vibrations increased to a chatter, and utensils rattled in their drawers while pots and pans began to shimmy off their shelves, clattering noisily to the floor. “I think it’s an earthquake!” Jayce replied, raising his voice to be heard over the din.
“Here?”
“There’s always a first time.”
The tremor tapered off, and Mr. Pomeroy hurried through to the front of the bakery and swung the door wide. Although the sounds were muffled by thickly-falling snow, they could hear dogs barking, car alarms blaring, and the distant wail of sirens. “That was weird,” said Ransom.
“It was.” With a deep frown, Jayce announced, “I should call home, check on everyone.”
“Okay,” the teen replied. “Guess I’ll put back all the stuff that shook loose.”
They were halfway through the swinging door to the kitchen when a heavy knock sounded behind them. Mr. Pomeroy turned back in surprise, then wheeled to unlock for Harken, who stood on the front step. “Afternoon, Jayce,” he greeted.
The Broken Window Page 14
