Angel Song

by Sheila Walsh

  They sat, side by side, but she didn’t speak. After a few minutes of decreased sniffling, she looked toward the clock. “It’s nine thirty. Aren’t you supposed to be in church?”

  He shrugged. “Well, it is time for church, and usually that’s where I am at this time on a Sunday. But today, I don’t know, somehow I just felt as though you needed me here more than I needed to be at church. Looking at your face right now, I’d say that I must have been right about that.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s nothing you can do for me, so you may as well get back to where you belong. Go hang out with people like you and Tammy, the ones who have it all together—not some mixed-up piece of work like I am.”

  “People who’ve got it all together? Is that what you think about us?”

  Ann nodded. “Isn’t that what church is all about? It’s a meeting of people who aren’t as messed up as the rest of us.”

  He laughed outright at that. “Not even close—you’ve been around me long enough. I’m sure you know better. But . . . I want to hear about you. What’s wrong?”

  “Like I said, this is just me.”

  He watched her quietly, just waiting. Normally he would launch into nervous conversation right about now, but this time he planned to wait her out. Apparently she planned the same, because the silence became unbearable. He noticed some papers lying on the floor by the sofa, so he leaned forward and picked them up. They were images of paintings. He flipped through them, trying to see what about them appealed to Ann—maybe she was just into art, for all he knew, but they were way too traditional. He wasn’t going to ask, because he was going to win this silent contest if it took all day. So he just kept feigning interest in the paintings while silently praying for guidance.

  Finally, Ann leaned forward and pointed. “See this woman with the child crying against her, while the other woman has her back turned? That’s Hagar.” She seemed to choke on the word. “Do you know who that is?”

  He nodded. “Sure. She was Sarah’s maid and Ishmael’s mother.”

  “And nobody gave a rip about whether or not she died. See, that’s the father of her child sending her away. It’s the woman who insisted she sleep with him in the first place who’s making him do it while she stands there with her back turned.”

  Ethan flipped to the next picture, thankful now that he’d looked through them. “Here’s the picture that proves you wrong. Maybe the people in her life didn’t care, but God did. See, look here, He’s sent an angel to help.” He pointed to the painting of a child and woman in the desert, with an angel flying over the trees toward them.

  “I saw this painting in New York with a friend of mine. I thought it was a horrid image of a child dying and his poor mother crying beside him. My friend said the same thing you’re saying, but I disagree. Angel or not, there’s no comfort for her. Look at her face.”

  “That’s because she doesn’t know he’s there yet. We can clearly see that he’s watching over her, even though she feels completely alone. Every person who should have taken care of her may have let her down—more than that, they sent her out to die—but she was not unseen. At this point she feels alone, unloved, but that was never true. God had been there all the time, even when she didn’t feel Him or see Him. The same is true for us. We are never alone.”

  He flipped to the next picture. It was labeled An Angel Appears to Hagar and Ishmael in the Desert by Salvator Rosa. Hagar stood beneath a tree, the entire landscape was wild, windswept, and Ishmael was lying on a rock. It was difficult to distinguish the angel from the clouds in the background.

  “I like this one,” he said. “See how the angel is almost one with the backdrop? He would be easy to miss, wouldn’t he? And yet he is there and Hagar notices him. That’s how God is, Ann. Even when we don’t see Him or feel Him, He is there, trying to get our attention. He knows what we need.”

  “Then why doesn’t He give it to us? Why didn’t He carry Hagar to someplace safe instead of letting her reach this point? Why didn’t He protect my sister from that drunk driver?”

  “I don’t know. But I do believe that He loved Sarah, was with her, and offered comfort right up to the end. Have you ever considered that?”

  “No.” She sounded more defensive than truthful.

  “What about you finding that letter from your mother? What are the odds? If it’s been in the wall for who knows how many years, and we ‘just happened’”—he made air quotes around the words—“to find it while you were here, after your sister died, then there’s obviously something in that letter that you need to know.”

  Ann stood, walked over to the trash can, and reached in. She pulled out the rolled paper, which she then tapped into the air with each point as she made it. “Yeah, like the fact that my mother didn’t even know who my father was, or that she left some sort of confession letter to ease her conscience when she dumped us here.” She tossed the paper aside and dropped back onto the couch beside the printouts.

  Ann flipped back to the first picture, the one of Hagar getting kicked out, Sarah’s back to her, and said, “Maybe that’s why I feel so strongly about this story. That was my mother with her back turned as she left me here.” She touched Abraham’s finger as it pointed Hagar away. “I didn’t get sent away—I got to stay with my grandmother who loved me and took care of me as best she could—but abandonment still feels like abandonment.” Ann started crying again.

  Ethan turned and put his arms around her. He wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised, but she stayed there and cried on his shoulder. He rocked her back and forth, stroked her hair, and said absolutely nothing while she dumped buckets of sorrow. Finally, she seemed to have cried herself out. She pulled back and looked up at him, wiping her hands across her eyes. “I’m so sorry about that.”

  He reached out to wipe her wet cheek. “Don’t be. I’m glad I could be here for you. You’ve had a rough time of it, and with Sarah’s accident, I’m surprised you’ve held up as well as you have.”

  “I have to. There’s no one else to do it for me.”

  “You and I have more in common than you might think. In my version of that painting, it would have been my father with his back turned. It was hard for me, nothing like your situation, but as you said, abandonment still feels like abandonment. It was during that time that I came to understand the love of God, of the One who will never leave.” He put both hands on her shoulders and put his face at eye level. “Ann Fletcher, you are not alone.” Every ounce of his being wanted to lean forward and kiss her. Comfort her. She was so close, so very close. But he couldn’t . . . no, he wouldn’t do it.

  She stared hard at him, as if she were trying to see something buried deep inside of him. After a minute, she took a deep breath, turned away, and shrugged a bit too casually. “Well, as long as you’re here, do you want to help me with the floors? I stained the smaller bedroom already. You want to help me with the bigger one?”

  “Tell you what, I’ll help you get those done, but you’ve got to promise me that you’ll take a break midday and let me take you for a special lunch. It’s time for your next tourist adventure.”

  “I’ve already done my Charleston she-crab soup thing. What else is there?”

  “Oh, the lunch this time won’t be so special, but the place I’m taking you will make up for it.”

  “As long as it’s something laid-back.”

  “This place is as laid-back as they come.”

  Ann nodded. “All right then.”

  Ethan stood to his feet and held out his hand to help her up. “Let’s get to work.” And, boy, did he need something to keep himself busy. Now that he’d allowed himself to hold her, even if it had been under duress, it would be that much harder to keep his distance.

  Chapter 22

  “You know, you should probably give me a set of keys to your place.”

  Ann put her hands on her hips in mock offense. “Excuse me? Just what kind of girl do you think I am?”

  Ethan’s face burne
d a deep red. “I didn’t mean . . . really, I . . .”

  It was just after one o’clock, and they had finished with the stain in Nana’s room and put the first coat of polyurethane on the floor in Ann’s old room. She knew what he meant, but seeing Ethan speechless was so completely amusing, she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook just yet. “Then what exactly did you mean?”

  “I was thinking I could come over here when you’re back in New York, set the furniture back up, maybe start the sanding in the living room and kitchen. You know, just help out around here. You did say you wanted to get this place done soon.”

  “Sure that’s what you meant. I get that from the men in New York all the time. ‘Give me the keys to your place, baby, and I’ll come over and sand the floors and move furniture.’ Can’t you at least come up with something original?”

  “Really, I . . .”

  She looked at him and burst out laughing. “Oh, come on, Ethan, lighten up. I know you didn’t mean it that way.”

  He grinned, his cheeks still a bit pink. “Whew. I thought you were really mad there for a minute.”

  “Trust me on this one, if I’m mad at you, you will not have to wonder about it. It will be crystal clear.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Well then, before I get myself into any more trouble, I’d better get out of here. I need to run back over to my house and change out of my work clothes before our lunch outing. Seems to me this might be a good time to make my exit. I’ll be back in about half an hour. Okay?”

  “Better make it forty-five minutes. You know how long it takes us Southern belles to get ready!”

  “Forty-five minutes, then.” As he walked out the door, Ann could hear him mumbling something. It sounded like “Didn’t mean it that way,” but she wasn’t certain. Whatever it was, it made her smile.

  She went to her suitcase, suddenly wishing she’d brought something a little cuter than the T-shirt and shorts she had with her. Oh well, there was absolutely no reason to want to look cute for Ethan. Her future was in New York, her dreams were in New York, and the means to fulfilling her promise to Sarah and Nana were in New York. Patrick Stinson might be a bit dangerous, but there were endless possibilities there.

  Ann took a quick shower, then settled for a black, fitted tee and denim shorts. She ran a brush through her hair and dabbed a little bit of color on her lips and cheeks, then added a light coating of mascara.

  “Ann Fletcher, you are not alone.” Ethan’s words ran over and over in her mind. She couldn’t shake them. What exactly did he mean? Who did he mean was with her? Him . . . or God? Or angels and their unseen watchings and ethereal music? Which of these would be more terrifying? She didn’t currently possess an answer to that question, so she made herself busy cleaning the kitchen sink.

  When Ethan arrived at the front door, he was wearing an Atlanta Braves baseball cap, blue T-shirt, and long khaki shorts. “You ready?”

  “I guess so.” Ann started to walk outside, but Ethan stopped her with an extended hand. “You got sunglasses with you?”

  “Yeah, in my purse.”

  “Good, you’re going to need them.” It was the last thing either of them said for almost twenty minutes. He started down Highway 17, which ran north-south along the coast. Ann remembered it well from her childhood. She recognized they were going in the general direction of Savannah, and her curiosity was piqued. But she was determined not to ask. Finally, he pulled off at a little shopping center, climbed out of the truck, and came around to open the door for her.

  “I’m confused.”

  He smiled and pointed toward a Subway sandwich shop. “I told you I was buying you lunch, didn’t I?”

  “Not to seem ungrateful, but I’m quite certain there’s a Subway much closer to my house than this one, and I certainly don’t see anything touristy about this little strip mall.”

  “Well, we’re not eating here. We’re just getting the food and moving on.”

  “Like a picnic?”

  He smiled but didn’t answer. “Not telling.” A few minutes later he turned off of Highway 17 onto Main Road, a two-lane thoroughfare that, if her memory was correct, would lead them to the beach.

  “Wait a second. This is the road to Johns Island. You’re trying to sneak me into Folly Beach from the back way, aren’t you? What’s that surf spot out there all you surfers like so much? The Washout, right?”

  He sat in silence for a second, then said, “I’m still not telling you where we are going, but I will tell you I have enough common sense not to take you to The Washout.”

  “Oh really? You mind telling me why not?”

  “Are you kidding? The surf ’s been up lately. The place will be packed with guys looking for big waves and beautiful women. Right now, you’re Charleston’s best-kept secret. I’m not taking you down to The Washout and letting them all get a look at you. I’d end up beaten to a pulp trying to defend your honor.”

  “Right.” Ann started to tell him that it didn’t matter, because surfers in general had always annoyed her. But when she looked at Ethan and felt the thrill of the compliment running through her veins, she began to wonder if maybe that wasn’t quite as true as it used to be.

  They finally pulled into a parking lot. As Ethan unloaded the food and drink, Ann found herself staring at the most incredible tree she’d ever seen. It was an oak, or at least that’s what she thought it was, but its branches were thicker than most oak trunks. Several of the heavy, lower limbs had to be held up by some kind of human-rigged support system. The canopy probably reached sixty feet high, and it cascaded in all directions, like an abstract work of art.

  “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he said. “Hurricane Hugo beat her up pretty good, but she dug in her roots and refused to give in. Did you know that this tree is thought to be about fifteen hundred years old? Just think about it. This tree was here for one thousand two hundred fifty years before the United States ever became a country.”

  “This is perfect,” Ann breathed. She walked over and touched a piece of the bark, just to make sure it was real. “I know this place. Nana used to bring us here.”

  “Yup, Angel Oak.” He set out lunch on one of the picnic tables. “Your pictures this morning got me thinking about it. That one of the angel up in the tree that looked almost like clouds. They used to say that this tree got its name because it looked like an angel.”

  “Don’t know that I see it.” Ann looked up through the maze of limbs. “I suppose it does remind me a little of some of Keith’s drawings of angels. I used to feel safe here.”

  “Truth is, it was named after the people who used to own the place. Their last name was Angel.” He took a bite of his sandwich, then looked at her. “That may be the true story, but to be perfectly honest, I like the other story better.”

  Ann looked up into the massive limbs over her head. She could see wispy clouds in the sky above. A gust of wind picked up a napkin, flipped it over, then fluttered it across the ground. In a movement born purely of instinct, Ann stamped it down with her foot, holding it in place. The leaves above them flapped in the breeze, doing a spontaneous kind of dance. The smaller, uppermost limbs swayed in time with the rushing sound of the wind. It sounded like music.

  Almost.

  “I like the other story better too,” she said in a quiet voice. Later that afternoon Ethan and Ann walked up the driveway toward her old house. A slight breeze had cooled the air just enough to temper the warm sun shining through the wispy clouds. Almost perfect.

  “You want to come in for a while?” She walked a little closer, close enough that their arms brushed. Just that morning, those arms had felt so good wrapped around her as she’d cried, so secure. How long had it been since she’d felt so utterly safe? She craved that peace again.

  “I . . .” He stopped walking and turned to face her. He put his left hand against her cheek and moved a loose lock of her hair. “I really . . .”

  He closed his eyes tight. For the space of a few seconds, he d
idn’t move. He hardly seemed to breathe. Then his eyes opened.

  “I can’t.” He backed up three steps. “I’ve got some things I’ve got to do.”

  “Okay.”

  “And tomorrow’s a really busy day at work. I probably won’t make it by. I’ll come move the furniture back later in the week, though, okay? I’ll try to get it all set back up and everything, so it will be ready next time you come back, whenever that is. I’ll have things together then.” He started walking quickly back toward his truck. “I’ll see you next time. Have a good trip.” He sort of waved as he jumped back into his truck.

  “Alrighty then.” Ann chuckled under her breath, but a stinging pain burned in her chest. Ethan had returned to run-on sentences and gone into all-out escape mode. Was it nerves? Or rejection?

  Chapter 23

  “Help. Annie. Please.”

  Ann ran toward Sarah, her arms outstretched. “Sarah, I’m right here. I’ll help you.”

  “You can’t go back there.” The bouncer-nurse blocked Ann’s way. When Ann looked over her shoulder, she saw Sarah’s gurney being pulled away from her. One of the nurses looked up at her and smiled—the face was so serene that it almost glowed.

  That’s when Ann heard the music.

  She jerked awake, gulping for breath, but the music was still there. She shook her head to wake herself up, even though she knew she was awake. “You are not real; this is not real!” She pulled her pillow over her head. “I refuse to give in to this. You are nothing—nothing but my imagination.” Slowly, one note at a time, the music faded into the background until it disappeared altogether.

  Wow. Maybe she could control this after all. Yes, of course she could. Time and determination were the only things needed here.

  It was a good thing that today was Monday and Ethan had a full day of work. Every time he came around, she seemed to lose her focus on what she needed to do, and it was becoming painfully obvious that what she needed to do was to get out of here. And stay out. After his hasty departure yesterday, she wondered if maybe he thought so too.