An Angel for Dry Creek

by Janet Tronstad

  Carl scowled. “Don’t be telling me how to do my job.”

  Glory didn’t answer, because there was a loud knock at the door. Well, it wasn’t so much of a knock as it was a pounding. A very loud pounding. The sort of sound a crutch would make in the swinging arm of an impatient man.

  “Open up!” The command came with the crutch pounding.

  Carl Wall walked back to the door and swung it open.

  There he stood. Her avenging angel. Glory swallowed. It must be a trick of light. Maybe the reflection of the snow outside. She’d read in her Bible about angels last night and her imagination was being overactive. But Matthew sure looked like Daniel’s vision, even down to the halo of golden light surrounding his head. She mouthed the words silently. “There stood a certain man—his face like the appearance of lightning, his eyes like torches of fire.”

  Glory swallowed again. Definitely torches of fire.

  “Your game’s over,” Matthew said, and stepped inside the room.

  Glory started to breathe again. The halo of light didn’t follow Matthew. It stayed just where it was and, when her eyes followed the beam downward, she saw the flashlight in Josh’s mittened hands. The boy loved lights even in the day. She smiled. She wasn’t crazy. It was artificial light. That’s all. She was perfectly able to tell the difference between an angel of God and an ordinary man.

  “You can’t arrest her,” Matthew said as he looked squarely at Carl Well. “She hasn’t done anything illegal.”

  “Loitering,” the deputy said smoothly. “There’s always loitering.”

  “She wasn’t loitering.” Matthew took a deep breath.

  “Then what was she doing in the hardware store?” the deputy pressed.

  “Painting.” Matthew paused.

  “For pay?”

  “No, not for pay, but—”

  “Then it’s loitering,” the deputy said in satisfaction. “Next thing to panhandling. Street artists. If she’s got no job, she’s loitering.”

  “Well, if she needs a job, she’s got a job,” Matthew said in exasperation. “She’s working for me.”

  Carl looked from Matthew to Glory and then back to Matthew. The satisfied look on the deputy’s face grew. “Told me she worked for the Seattle Police Department.”

  “Well, she doesn’t. She’s working for me,” Matthew said forcefully, as though he could convince the deputy of his statement by the sheer pressure of his words. “As of today.”

  “But I—” Glory started to protest. Why was it these people were so willing to believe she was an angel and so reluctant to believe she worked for a police department? Which was more likely? Then she saw the look on Matthew’s face. Pain was drawing his skin tight. He shouldn’t be on his feet. She looked back at the deputy. “What difference does it make where I work—if you’re going to arrest me, do it. If not, let me go.”

  “Arrest you? He can’t arrest you!” Mrs. Hargrove pushed her way into the room and stood there looking solid and indignant.

  “Don’t be telling me how to do my job.”

  “I’m a voter and I can jolly well tell you how to do your job!” Mrs. Hargrove jabbed her finger in the deputy’s face. “Besides, I’ve known you since you were in diapers. That ought to count for something.”

  Glory watched the muscles slowly coil in the deputy’s face.

  “Hmph!” Mrs. Hargrove crossed her arms and said smugly, “Can’t lock her up anyway. We don’t even have a jail.”

  “Well, I won’t have to lock her up. I’ll settle for a ticket if I can find an upstanding citizen to take responsibility for watching her—maybe see she does some community service.” The deputy looked pleased with himself. “Yes, an upstanding citizen is just what I need. Maybe someone like a minister.”

  “But we don’t have a minister, Carl Wall, and you know it,” Mrs. Hargrove said indignantly.

  “We would have if you’d given the nod to my cousin Fred,” the deputy said smoothly.

  “Your Fred isn’t trained to be a pastor.” Mrs. Hargrove put her hands on her hips. “Besides, he isn’t even a believer.”

  “Well, he needs a job. He sent in his résumé. You didn’t have any other applicants. In my book, that makes the job his.”

  “Being a pastor isn’t just a job. It’s a calling. Besides, it’s a good thing for you we don’t have a minister around.” She drew in her breath sharply and looked at Matthew.

  “If there’s no minister, that leaves jail. I can always send her to the jail in Miles City.”

  “But that’s an awful place,” Mrs. Hargrove protested. “They’re talking about closing it down. It’s not even heated, just a big old cement block. You can’t put someone in there in winter!”

  “Well, it’s not my first choice. But since you’re too good to have the likes of Fred as a minister, I guess I don’t have any other options now, do I?”

  “The voters won’t like this.”

  The deputy shrugged. “I tried to be reasonable. I’m sure Fred mentioned he was willing to read the Bible and get an idea of what the thing was all about. On-the-job training, so to speak. But no, you need to have someone who believes the whole thing. It’s not too late. Fred’s probably at home right now. We can call him and make the deal,” he added smugly. “Remember, no minister means the angel goes to jail.”

  “But…” Mrs. Hargrove struggled to speak. “This is outrageous!”

  “No minister means the angel goes to jail,” the deputy repeated stubbornly.

  “I’m a minister,” Matthew said softly. It was freezing outside and still a thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead. “At least, according to the state. Marrying, burying—I can do all those. I expect I can keep my eye on an angel.”

  “You’re a what?” The deputy looked skeptical.

  “A minister.” Matthew had a sinking feeling. He shouldn’t have said anything. But he couldn’t stand the thought of Glory spending time in that jail.

  “You had a church?”

  “Yes, in Havre.”

  “Well, why aren’t you preaching here? We could use a minister at the church,” the deputy persisted. “Even Fred would give way to a real preacher.”

  “I don’t preach anymore,” Matthew said evenly. His breath was shallow, but he was plowing his way through. He couldn’t let his annoyance flare. Not if he wanted the deputy to cooperate.

  “What? You retired from it?”

  “In a way.”

  “Mighty young to be retired.”

  “Most people change jobs over a lifetime.”

  “But ministers?” the deputy asked, puzzled. “I’ve never known a minister to just quit his job before.”

  “Well, now you do,” Matthew snapped. “Just let me know what I need to do to supervise the ang—I mean, Glory, and I’ll do it.”

  “See, we do have a minister,” Mrs. Hargrove said triumphantly. “God provides.”

  “Well, God isn’t providing much,” the deputy said as he nodded toward Matthew. “But I suppose it’ll be all right.” The deputy admitted defeat grudgingly. “I’ll just write that ticket and you can set her up with some worthwhile community service. She works off the fine. If she messes up, she pays the fine. Simple. I’ll check in later this week.”

  “Community service?” Matthew asked in surprise. “Doing what? All our roads are snowpacked. We don’t have a jail. Or a library. Not even a post office. We don’t need anything done.”

  “Except,” Mrs. Hargrove interrupted hesitantly, “we do need an angel for the Christmas pageant.”

  “Ah, yes, the pageant.” Matthew sighed. Odd how this pageant had grown so big in the minds of everyone this year. Several of the churches in Miles City had decided to send a few visitors to Dry Creek for the annual Christmas Eve pageant. It all sounded very friendly. But Matthew knew enough about churches to know what was happening. A few do-gooders in Miles City had asked a handful of single people, likely mostly widows, to visit Dry Creek on Christmas Eve and they’d accepted, feelin
g righteous. No doubt it was a gracious way for the churches to deliver food baskets to some of the poorer families in Dry Creek. But even after they hosted their pageant, Matthew doubted the people of Dry Creek would accept charity. The people of Dry Creek were proud and they’d get by on their own or not at all. Food baskets from outsiders would not be welcome.

  “We’ve got the costume—wings, robe, everything,” Mrs. Hargrove continued, “All we need is the angel.”

  “That’s settled, then,” the deputy said as he pulled out his ticket book.

  It wasn’t settled at all in Glory’s mind, but she decided to take the hastily scrawled ticket so the deputy would leave. There’d be no fine. She knew any judge would dismiss the charges when he saw the ticket. She’d save her objections for later.

  The only reason Glory let Mrs. Hargrove talk her into looking at the costumes was so Matthew would sit down. He was being gallant and standing with his shoulder leaning on his crutch. At least if they moved to the costumes, he’d take a seat.

  The costumes were stored in a small room on the other side of the church kitchen. Mrs. Hargrove pointed it out and then left with the children. The room had one small square window, high on the wall, and a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Glory stood on a small stool to pull down the angel wings. Matthew sat on a hard-backed chair in the corner of the room.

  “Watch the dust,” Matthew warned as Glory pulled the wings off the high shelf. Waves of dust floated down over her.

  Glory sneezed. “Too late.”

  Yes, it is too late, Matthew thought to himself glumly. He’d vowed to keep his secret, and now it would be all over Dry Creek in minutes. And the irony was it wasn’t true anymore. He was no more a minister than Glory was an angel. Less, in fact, because when she stood with her head in front of that single bulb, she at least looked like an angel. Flying copper hair with flecks of gold. Milky skin. A voice that melted over him like warm honey. He found himself wishing he were still a minister, that his life had been uncomplicated by searing grief and confused pain. He already knew Glory well enough to know she’d never settle for less than a godly man. A man of faith. A man he, Matthew, couldn’t be anymore.

  “I expect the halo’s up there, too,” Matthew added as Glory dusted off the white cardboard wings. He could see the strand of gold Christmas garland hanging over the top shelf.

  “You know, I’d be happy to do something else for community service,” Glory said as she pulled the old garland off the shelf. It had lost most of its glitter and all of its fluff. “I could give painting lessons or something.”

  Matthew didn’t voice his protest. He’d developed a longing almost as intense as his sons to see Glory dressed up in an angel costume. “I think Henry has some gold garland at the store. You could use that if you want.”

  “I don’t know.” Glory sat down on the stool. A faint cloud of dust still fell down around her. “I just don’t feel like an angel this year.”

  “Oh.” Matthew didn’t want to press. He hoped the one word was enough.

  “Well, look at me,” Glory said. “Here I am—broke, in a strange town, almost arrested, uncertain what to do next with my life.”

  “Yeah, I suppose angels never wonder what to do,” Matthew agreed. For a minute he thought Glory was reading his mind and heart. Then he saw the confusion on her face. He shifted on his chair so he could see her better. “They just get their marching orders and they march. Piece of cake. But none of the excitement of being human.”

  “I guess the grass is always greener. We look at them. They look at us,” Glory agreed quietly and then asked, “Do you believe angels are really jealous of us?”

  “I’m not a minister anymore.” Matthew began his standard disclaimer. He was no longer qualified to give spiritual advice. “I mean, I’m licensed still. But that’s all. Just for the state.”

  “I figured that out,” Glory said. When she’d heard Matthew admit to being a minister, she’d felt the pieces click in her heart. Matthew as a minister made sense. “But that’s not why I’m asking. I just want to know what you think.”

  Matthew leaned back. He tried to separate what he believed from what he’d trained himself to believe. When he was a minister, he’d chased away any question, any doubt. He believed in confidence. Now he was just Matthew.

  “Yes,” Matthew finally said. “Yes, I think they must envy us. We can have babies.”

  Glory smiled. “I never thought of that.”

  Matthew caught his breath. He was grateful for the shadows that hid him in the small room. She was beautiful when she smiled. Like a Botticelli goddess.

  “What’s it like?” Glory asked quietly, and startled Matthew. For a second he thought she was reading his mind; then he realized she was talking about babies. “When you had the twins,” she continued. “What was it like?”

  “Like winning the World Series.”

  “I thought it might be something like that,” she said. “I envy you.”

  “Someday you’ll know what I mean,” Matthew said. The picture of Glory with a baby glowed warm inside of him. He bet the little thing would have milk-white skin and red hair. “It’s like no other feeling. I can’t even describe it. You’ll just have to wait and see for yourself.”

  “I guess so,” Glory agreed. She didn’t want to tell him that there was no point in waiting—she knew she’d never have a baby. The accident had snatched that dream away from her. It wasn’t that she didn’t think he’d understand. He’d obviously known pain in his life. Maybe he’d understand too well. She just didn’t want to see pity fill his eyes when he looked at her. And what else could he feel but pity? That’s one of the reasons she’d avoided becoming close to men. She didn’t want to see that look in the eyes of someone she loved.

  “Will you have more babies?” Glory asked, and then hurried on at the surprised look on Matthew face. “I mean, if you remarried, would you want to have more children?”

  “Children are the trump card in life. I’d have as many as I could.”

  Glory nodded. That was good. It was as it should be. He was a good father. His sons were good. It was all very good. It just didn’t include anyone like her. “I’d like to go look for that garland now.”

  Matthew watched the light leave Glory’s face. She put the cardboard wings under her arm and headed for the door. He had no choice but to follow.

  The cold air hit Glory in the face and pinched the color out of her cheeks. It was only a hundred feet between the door to the hardware store and the door to the church, but it felt as if the few steps iced her to the soul. She needed to stop thinking about babies that would never be born. Her guilt was over. Her mother had forgiven her. God had forgiven her. Some days she’d even managed to forgive herself. It was over. She needed to stop grieving.

  The smell of coffee greeted her when she stepped back into the warmth of the hardware store. Elmer and Jacob were still arguing.

  “Heard them federal boys are going to close in on the rustlers now that they figured it isn’t just happening here,” Jacob insisted.

  Elmer waved the words away. “They aren’t even close. They don’t know how. Why or when. What’ve they got? Nothing.”

  “They’ll find them at the inspection plants, now that they’re requiring papers before they grade the meat,” Jacob said almost fiercely. “They’ll find them. They’ve got to.”

  Elmer opened his mouth and then saw Glory. His mouth hung open for a full minute before it formed into an excited oval. He turned to Jacob and gummed his mouth several times before he got the words out. “Blazes, why didn’t we think of it before?”

  “Huh?”

  “Look at her.” Elmer pointed to Glory.

  Glory’s heard sank. She had a feeling she was falling deeper.

  “She’s a government agent,” Elmer said triumphantly. “I heard rumors they were hiring a civilian to look into the cattle problem. She’s a spy.”

  Glory shook her head. First angels and then spies.
“You boys need to get out more.”

  “Don’t worry, we understand,” Elmer said with a wink. “You don’t want to blow your cover.”

  “I don’t have a cover,” Glory said patiently as she heard the door open behind her. A gust of wind blew against her back and then stopped as the door closed.

  “Why would you need a cover?” Matthew said as he used his crutch to hobble over to the counter. The dreams of Glory in his bed had stayed with him all day. “Didn’t the twins get you an extra blanket last night?”

  Glory blushed. “It’s not that kind of cover.” Glory pulled herself together. Maybe she’d sleep on the floor tonight. It didn’t seem quite right to sleep in Matthew’s bed. “They mean cover like spy cover. They think I’m a spy for the government. Looking into some cattle business.”

  Matthew leaned his crutch against the counter. So that was it. Maybe it was business that brought a woman like her to a small town on the backside of Montana.

  “You never did say why you were driving through,” he said, keeping his voice light and casual. She’d be a good spy. That innocent look of hers hid a quick mind. He wondered if she worked for the FBI or the Department of Agriculture. “Or where you were headed.”

  “I wasn’t headed anywhere. I was just driving,” Glory said.

  “It’s winter. Most folks don’t go driving through Montana for pleasure this time of year,” Matthew countered. The passes were slippery over the Rockies and even the flatlands had their share of ice and snow. No, Montana wasn’t a pleasant drive in the winter.

  Glory shrugged. “I’m not most folks.”

  She had him there, Matthew thought. There was nothing ordinary or plain about her. She was the exotic orchid of the flower kingdom. The red-hot pepper of the spice family. The flaming gold of the color spectrum. He had a fleeting desire to tell her so. But then a thought came from left field and slugged him in the stomach. If she was undercover, she was someone else in another life. She could be someone’s mother. She could be someone’s daughter. Worse yet, she could be someone’s wife.