“Ayuh, but maybe by writing a simple letter, the healing is begun.” Salt stared at the lapping waters with a molasses cookie in his large hand. “Children will write expressing their wants. They may not get that new bicycle, basketball, or pair of gym shoes, but they’ll know someone cared enough to answer. If writing a simple letter to Heavenly Daze brings them the assurance that God is love, what could be the harm?”
“The harm will be that the island could be overrun with people seeking favors from invisible angels,” Birdie fretted.
Salt turned to look at her, his rangy features silhouetted in the moonlight. “Is the North Pole overrun with energetic children seeking toy trains and video games?”
Birdie laughed softly. “I couldn’t say, having never been to the North Pole. But Heavenly Daze is a lot more accessible, and who knows what could happen?”
“Don’t borrow trouble, Birdie. See what tomorrow brings.” Salt folded his hands. “The flood of mail might be over and forgotten in a few days.”
“Vernie and Cleta won’t forget.”
“Well, that would be Vernie’s and Cleta’s problem, wouldn’t it?”
Somehow, and Birdie couldn’t imagine how, Salt had put the problem into perspective. She’d done what she felt the Lord was leading her to do, so she’d done the right thing by sending the money to little Raleigh. And three or four sacks of mail wasn’t a gargantuan task; she and Bea and Abner could handle those letters. She could get Vernie to write an e-mail that said, “No Angels in Heavenly Daze, Pass it On,” and maybe the letters would stop. Of course, some folks might find that notion a little unfriendly, but it was better than giving people false hope. And, finally, if their letters could renew hope in a desperate heart … well, the whole enterprise would have been worth the stress.
Feeling considerably better, she took a deep breath and sat up straighter. Salt was right; she was borrowing trouble by worrying about tomorrow, and the good Lord clearly said today had its sufficient share.
“So,” she said, turning to a more upbeat—she hoped— topic, “how’s your situation progressing?”
His brows lowered, meeting in the center of his face as his eyes darkened.
He was defensive as always, but she wouldn’t give up. She turned to face him directly. “Are you making progress with your little problem?”
“With what?”
“With … your situation.”
Did she have to spell it out for him? He was so touchy she didn’t dare come right out and ask, but she was dying to know if he’d used the primer.
“Nothing’s changed,” he said shortly. He stood up, so she followed suit. They lingered for a moment, allowing the sound of the sea to embrace them. The earlier feeling of easy companionship had waned, and Birdie knew the altered mood was her fault.
But she so wanted to help!
“Salt,” she began again, “I wish you would let me help you. Abner can watch the bakery a few hours every day—”
“No!” The bark rang with so much authority and prickly defensiveness that she drew back.
But she didn’t give up. “Together we could make good progress.”
He turned and stalked off, denying her the opportunity to finish her thought. And the stubborn old noodle had left the bag of pastries on the rock.
Oh, no. He wasn’t walking away, not this time. She snatched up the bag, then hurried to catch up. If he would allow her to share the burden, she could have him reading in only a few days. What joy awaited him in the world of books, and he’d find so many things to occupy his time in that lonely lighthouse.
She trotted to keep pace with his long-legged stride. He might not want her tutoring services but he was going to accept the rye bread and cookies or watch her feed them to the sea gulls!
“Go home, Birdie Wester. Leave me with my peace.”
“I’m going, Salt Gribbon, but I’m leaving you with cookies and rye bread!”
She flung the bag at him, then spun on her heel, snapped on her flashlight, and began the walk home. That old codger was impossible!
Shaking his head, Salt watched her flounce off.
Women!
Why would Birdie Wester want to help him? She had to have her hands full at the bakery.
He couldn’t accept her offer of help even if he wanted to. His secret must remain hidden behind the walls of the lighthouse, and no matter how good Birdie was about keeping a promise, if she walked out to the point often enough, suspicions were sure to arise. Floyd and Cleta Lansdown would come to investigate, then word would spread to Vernie Bidderman or that persistent pastor. If even one of them found out about the kids, it wouldn’t be long before the authorities from Social Services would come to seize his grandchildren.
His smile died as he watched Birdie disappear into darkness. He couldn’t lose those kids. Their future lay in his hands, and he would protect their welfare with every ounce of his strength.
He shoved his fists in his pockets and started to walk up the hill, then remembered the bakery bag on the ground. His smile returned.
Molasses cookies and rye bread.
Walking back to pick up the bag, he snapped a salute toward his visitor’s retreating figure.
“You’re a right seaworthy vessel, Birdie Wester,” he conceded, bending to pick up her goodwill offering, “but the knots in your riggin’ are a little loose.”
Zuriel had just turned out the lamp and pillowed his head when the tiny hairs at the back of his neck lifted in awareness of a supernatural presence in the room. His eyes flew open, his body tensing to do battle if necessary, then his heart slowed when he recognized the gentle features of Gavriel, the captain of the angelic host assigned to Heavenly Daze.
“Greetings,” Zuriel said, sitting up in his bed. His surprise yielded quickly to alarm when he glanced at the clock: 11:14 PM. Good news did not often come at such a late hour. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
Gavriel’s smile dispelled his fears. “No, Zuriel, rest easy. I’ve come with a message from the Lord.”
Zuriel felt his pulse quicken. Strange, that after so many years in a mortal body, the functioning of the physical mechanisms that signaled alarm and excitement still caught him by surprise.
“The Lord wants to see me?” He tilted his head, considering this development. The Lord usually sent messages through Gavriel, who regularly traveled to the third heaven to give progress reports. Though the Spirit, omniscient and omnipresent, moved among them at all times, the routine reporting sessions were an occasion to measure the angels’ progress and plot their future course. Gavriel had always been a capable captain, and Zuriel could not recall the last time one of the lower ranking angels had been summoned from Heavenly Daze to the throne room.
He cleared his throat and tried not to look nervous. “Do you have any idea why the Lord wants to see me?”
Gavriel had a diplomat’s face—almost anything could have been going on behind his expression of powerful concern. He smiled and shook his head. “I was not given a reason, only the command. You are to report to the throne room immediately.” He paused, lifting a golden brow. “Would you like an escort?”
Zuriel bit his lip. Though he once could have covered the great distance between earth and the Highest Heaven in a heartbeat, the angels had not been able to travel unimpeded since Adam’s sin gave a foothold to the prince of the power of the air. Satan’s fallen angels regularly wreaked havoc in the second heaven, once mightily impeding an angelic messenger sent to the prophet Daniel for twenty-one days. Zuriel was not afraid of Satan’s dark forces, for their rebellion had long ago sealed their fates, but he would hate to arrive in the Holy Place disheveled and delayed …
“If you wouldn’t mind,” he met Gavriel’s gaze, “I would appreciate your company. It’s been a long time.”
Gavriel’s dark eyes softened with kindness. “I would be honored to travel with you.”
He stepped back and gestured toward the door. “Shall we go?”
Swallow
ing his rising emotion, Zuriel swung his legs out of the bed, raked his hands through his graying hair, then nodded.
Zuriel’s soul lifted like the celestial winds that carried them upward faster than the speed of light. His earthly body tingled as it transformed into a supernatural vessel capable of interdimensional travel. As he passed from the physical realm into the spiritual, the atmosphere around him hummed with the prayers of souls on earth and in the heaven above.
Passing through the sharp, thin air, he parsed the sounds much as humans would breathe in a campfire and distinguish wood smoke from sizzling steaks. The prayers of saints rose around him, robust petitions from aged believers on their deathbeds mingling with the sweet faith-filled recitations of children who still saw God as a cross between a loving parent and Santa Claus.
With spiritual eyes, he saw forms gliding past him— heavenly messengers sent to comfort the afflicted children of God and angelic escorts to bring the dying home. His nerves tensed as he neared the invisible boundary separating the earth’s atmosphere from the second heaven, but no satanic minions appeared at the perimeter.
He smiled at Gavriel, grateful for the other angel’s support. The powerful angelic captain had often traveled this path; perhaps the diabolical ones had learned to refrain from harassing him.
Without a single encounter with evil, they traversed the border of the Highest Heaven. Zuriel blinked, his spirit eyes stunned again by the brightness of the holy Temple. The scents of incense and sweet praise filled the air, and a majestic musical chorus drew him and Gavriel toward the Holy of Holies just as a river’s current draws all things toward the sea.
As they descended to the polished marble balcony surrounding the Temple of God, Zuriel glanced behind him and exhaled a quiet sound of surprise at what he saw there.
Gavriel laughed softly. “I understand,” he said, his feet soundlessly touching the golden floor. “Sometimes I forget about my wings, too. We can grow too accustomed to mortal flesh.”
A group of angels drew near, their faces alight with curiosity and the glorious light of heaven, a sure sign they had not spent much time on earth. Zuriel remembered how in ages past he, too, once looked upon returning messengers with fascination, hoping to catch one alone in order to hear stories of God’s work on earth. Now he was the veteran minister, the one to whom an important task had been entrusted.
Tucking his wings behind his back, he followed Gavriel, walking in the wake of looks of honor and respect directed at the angel captain and Zuriel realized with surprise— at him.
He moved in the direction of the music, allowing the swelling strains of praise to pull him toward the One who made all things possible. As he walked, his head lifted to the vast majesty of the eternal heavens in which no sun dwelt, no moon ruled. This place lay in a dimension beyond earthly time and space, for in God there was no beginning and no end, no day or night, no yesterday or tomorrow. The One who was always had been and always would be.
Heaven’s music swelled toward them, coming from the twenty-four harpists who sat around the throne of God, playing instruments unlike any ever seen or heard on earth. Behind the harpists, the four living creatures, the highest class of angels, sang, “Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come!”
A rainbow, brighter than the earth’s finest emeralds and sapphires and rubies, encircled the throne, and from the center of the circle fire flashed while thunder pealed and rumbled. Immediately before the throne, seven bright lamps on golden stands blazed brighter than a thousand suns.
Waves of holy light radiated from the throne, and Zuriel felt his spirit shrink as he encountered the majesty and glory of God. When in the Lord’s presence he never failed to feel small … and amazed that the Almighty took notice of him.
All around Zuriel, scores of cherubim waved palm branches before the throne of God, as the sons of men had once waved them before the Lord on his triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Zuriel’s eyes, so long accustomed to the timid light of the sun, watered as he beheld the glory of the Lord most high, full of grace and truth.
The Lamb’s throne rested upon two pillars, each inscribed in the original seventy human tongues. The left pillar bore the word righteousness, the right the word justice. Above the throne hovered a pair of the mighty seraphim, their beating wings softly stirring the rarefied atmosphere.
Slowly, Zuriel shifted his gaze to behold the One seated upon the throne. The Lamb of God wore a robe as white as snow, and even his hair gleamed brighter than the hottest star. As his hands extended in greeting, the sleeves fell away, revealing the indentations that marked each wrist—the only man-made marks in heaven.
The Lamb’s eyes softened with acknowledgement when Zuriel met his gaze.
“Zuriel, servant of the Most High … welcome home.”
Zuriel bowed his head, aware of his humble status before the Lord God, then answered over his choking, beating heart. “Thank you, Lord.”
As the Lord stood, the harpists softened their music. “Zuriel,” Jesus said, moving closer. He smiled, eagerness and tenderness mingled in his expression. “You have done well, faithful servant. We have been watching your work with Charles and Babette Graham.”
Zuriel lifted his gaze to study the Savior’s face. He found no condemnation there, no rancor or blame. So why had he been summoned from his post?
“You have a command for me?” he asked, finding his voice. “You have but to speak it.”
“I have a special concern.” Laugh lines crinkled around the Savior’s blazing eyes, then his expression stilled and grew serious. “I am especially concerned about young Georgie.”
Zuriel blinked in surprise. He knew the Savior held children in high esteem. During his earthly ministry the Lamb had often called boys and girls to his side, even telling his followers that unless they became as little children, they could not enter the kingdom of heaven.
Zuriel lifted his head. “Shall I give Georgie a message from you?”
“Not Georgie.” For an instant, wistfulness stole into Jesus’ expression. “You must speak to his mother. She holds a precious prize in her grasp, but she has become blind to its value. You must remind her, Zuriel, that anyone who causes one of the little ones who trust in me to lose faith, it would be better for that person to be thrown into the sea tied to a millstone.” The Lamb paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was low and urgent. “A son’s soul is worth more than any earthly treasure. You must show Babette how she has been blessed.”
Zuriel nodded as one corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “I’ll speak to her tomorrow, after the earth’s sunrise.”
“Even sooner.” Jesus’ voice cut through the heavenly sounds and scents and sensations until it touched Zuriel’s very soul. “In the time you call tomorrow Georgie will need his mother, and she must not be distracted.”
Zuriel fell to one knee, bowing again, then felt Jesus’ hand upon his shoulder, urging him up. As Zuriel turned to leave the throne room, a chorus of “Holy, Holy, Holy” rose in a crescendo behind him.
At the gleaming entrance to the holy chamber, however, a group of angels approached in a tumult of festivity, their faces shining like meteors streaking across the black night. Zuriel recognized the familiar procession— this was an arrival celebration. A saint had departed the temporal earth, and the angels had gathered to welcome him to paradise.
Anxious to be away, he tugged on his captain’s sleeve. “Gavriel, we should go.”
“We can watch,” Gavriel answered, folding his hands as they paused beside the golden avenue. “You forget, we are beyond time now.” His handsome face shone as he smiled. “Many earth years have passed since you’ve seen one of these, no?” His smile deepened. “You may find this homecoming … particularly appealing.”
Zuriel wasn’t sure what Gavriel’s comment meant, but his heart pounded in nostalgic anticipation as the air filled with the ecstatic cries of angels who had shielded another soul from the darts of the evil one. Like spears o
f flame whistling overhead, first came the warrior angels who had sheltered this human from the onslaught of demons who had shrieked and wailed and tried, ineffectively, to cower the soul already redeemed by the Lamb. The ministering angels, tall, regal beings whose faces had been molded by love, followed the warriors, and behind the ministers came the guardian angels, a mixed multitude of warriors, messengers, and comforting angels who had aided this human on the many occasions of his life— a long life, Zuriel estimated, judging by how many angels approached in that throng. All had been summoned as the man’s soul prepared to leave its earthly abode, and now all of them rejoiced to finally welcome this child of God to the fellowship for which he had been created. This human, created of dust and stationed only a little lower than the angels, would now enjoy fellowship with the eternal Lord.
As Zuriel and Gavriel watched from a far corner of the throne room, the harpists’ music fell to a reverent hush as the foremost angelic troops settled around the throne. At an unspoken signal, they turned, then the spirit of a human and his angelic escort crossed the threshold of the Holy Place. Zuriel felt a jolt as he recognized the one who had guided this child of God from human death to spiritual life: Caleb, an angelic resident of Heavenly Daze.
The human was present in spirit alone, for the resurrection of his body would not be accomplished until the Lamb appeared in the heavens to summon his Bride. Even so, Zuriel could not mistake the identity of the soul moving toward him. In an awed whisper he breathed the name: “Edmund de Cuvier, of Frenchman’s Fairest.” No wonder Caleb was beaming!
Gavriel crossed his mighty arms. “I knew Edmund’s time was near—how fortunate that we should be allowed to witness his homecoming.”
Zuriel smiled, amazed at the change in the man. Though Edmund’s faith had never wavered through his illness, his strong spirit had seemed shriveled when Zuriel last saw him on the island of Heavenly Daze. His courage had dwindled with his physical body, and pain had erased all the outward signs of joy. His memory had been muddled by prescription drugs; his enthusiasm sapped by the inescapable knowledge that he would never rise from his sickbed. His flesh, what little of it remained, had gone thin and translucent, mere tissue covering sharp bones and an embroidery of blue veins.
Grace in Autumn Page 18
