Christmas Angel

by Amanda McIntyre

  “Billy,” the name slipped off Angel’s tongue in quiet reverence.

  Miss Lillian rested her hands in her lap, uttered a quiet sigh, and gently closed the lid of the piano. With a soft smile, she touched Angel’s cheek as she rose to leave. “Don’t be up too late. It’s sure to be busy tomorrow. Isn’t it your day to help

  Cook?”

  She nodded. Angel enjoyed the times she spent in the kitchen learning Cook’s recipes. She hugged Miss Lillian, wishing she could find a way to ease whatever had her heart so heavy. It was the last time they’d spoken. The next morning, Miss Lillian was gone without a trace. Her clothes and personal belongings left behind. But the melodies she played clung to Angel’s aching heart, giving comfort and hope in the dark days as they moved ahead.

  ***

  A few weeks later, Angel sat humming one of the piano tunes, daydreaming of the man who so effortlessly wrote about what it meant to love a woman. His words spoke of a different kind of relationship, a mutual passion of give and take.

  Feelings not normally allowed women and rarely shown by men. Perhaps that was what resonated in her. His music celebrated all it was to be a woman and have a man love you. A warm breeze blew softly over the desert plain, barely lifting the corkscrew curls at the back of her neck. She halted her pea shelling for a moment to stretch, rubbing the annoying crick in her shoulder, when she spied the dusty cloud of a fast approaching buggy. She stood to get a better look, placing the bowl at her feet. After a few seconds, she realized it was Josie driving the rig, and it appeared she had the hounds of Hell nipping at her heels. Caution prompted her to search the horizon, debating whether to retrieve Paddy’s gun from behind the bar. She stepped to the edge of the porch, shading her eyes, and heard a scream.

  “Angel!” It was Josie all right, and she sounded frantic.

  Angel turned on her heel and headed into the saloon to get the gun.

  “You won’t believe the news I have!” Her friend shouted over the din of the horses’ hooves.

  She darted a look back over her shoulder in time to see Josie yank on the reins and cause the buggy to sway precariously. Angel hurried down the steps, careful to avoid being in the path of the oncoming horses. The team slowed to a standstill and the other woman jumped out. Her face was covered with a film of dust.

  “Josie, what on earth has happened? Is someone after you?”

  She shook her head. Taking a few moments to catch her breath, she licked her lips, chafed by the desert wind, and held her hand to her chest while her breathing slowed. “There’s a new music teacher in town.” Her face lit with a smile. “And he teaches piano lessons.”

  Angel’s heart soared. An opportunity to learn to play the music she so dearly loved? But her lofty dreams plummeted, along with her heart, falling with a thud on the cold dry ground of reality. “You know how we’re thought of in this town. It would never be permitted. The preacher would make sure of it.”

  “Maybe he could come to the Sweet Magnolia,” Josie responded enthusiastically. “I bet he’d come.”

  Though the idea was tempting, it would never work. Accepting a student from the Sweet Magnolia, even one enthused to learn, would end his business in town quicker than a summer dust storm.

  Josie pushed on, determined to make her case. “Would it hurt to ask? Maybe you could arrange something with Sheriff Nate?”

  Angel glanced up, the corner of her mouth lifting in a wry smile.

  “It’s no secret he’s had his eye on you for quite a spell. He might be willing to work out something.”

  Angel picked up the crockery bowl and held it in the curve of her arm. Thoughts of her fingers skipping across the beautiful ivory and black keyboard danced merrily in her head. The swinging saloon doors flew open, banging against the house. Startled, she fumbled the bowl, grasping it to her. A man, an obviously satisfied man, stood for a moment, taking in the view from the porch. She doubted in his state he was even aware of their presence. Josie cleared her throat. Angel caught his startled gaze and in her mind, the image of his wife, Ermyma Brisbee—the only real pianist for church services, funerals, and weddings—slammed the lid down on her musical fantasy.

  “A pleasant afternoon, ladies.” He tipped his brown bowler. “Has Deadwater ever seen such a magnificent autumn day?”

  Josie slid Angel a look, hiding her smile. “It surely is, Mr. Brisbee.

  He nodded and straightened his slightly askew collar, giving evidence he’d recently re-dressed. He was like many men in Deadwater who frequented the Magnolia to relieve the stress in their marriages. Ermyma, on the other hand, was a large woman, known for her controlling tendencies. She would not take kindly to her husband prowling around the Magnolia or engaging in behaviors unacceptable for the spouse of a church musician.

  Angel handed the peas to Josie and hooked her arm through that of the austere man. She gave him a gentle smile. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind keeping me company for a moment or two on the porch swing? I have a little dilemma I hope to have your help in settling.”

  He cleared his throat in a gruff, authoritative manner. “Well, now, I should be going….”

  “I’m sure Mrs. Brisbee understands your need to have your Saturday afternoon card games. She’s always struck me as a reasonable woman.”

  Angel saw the look of hesitancy in his eyes, replaced as quickly with sharp recognition. “Of course,” he said, ushering her to sit. “How can I be of service?”

  “It has come to my attention there’s a new piano teacher in town,” she began. Noting his resigned expression, she offered him a sweet smile.

  ***

  Burt Montgomery, known better as the “piano man” had become a regular to the Sweet Magnolia on Sunday afternoons, and as it happened, Mr. Brisbee’s card games on Saturday afternoons remained a pleasant occasion. Everyone was happy, especially Angel. From the moment they met, she had felt a kinship to Burt. Polished more than most folks in Deadwater, he appeared dapper in a gray flannel suit, his silvery hair brushed back over his ears and a black bowler on his head. But it was his eyes, soft and blue, that drew Angel to him. They sparkled with kindness, making her believe somehow he could see inside her heart.

  “You play as though you carry the music inside you,” he remarked one day as they sat side by side at the piano. He had an odd, refined accent, indicative of his training, perhaps, but comforting in tone, which resonated with Angel in a fatherly way.

  It was true. She was happiest when seated in front of the old upright. She sailed through her scales, playing them as he’d taught her—first one hand, and then with two.

  “Miss Lillian said I had an ear for it.” Angel smiled at the memory. “She taught me a few chords to her favorite songs, but one day I would love to play as well as she did.” She rolled her fingers over the worn ivory keys.

  He shrugged. “Miss Lillian was right. However, the spirit which thrives inside each of us is different, Angel. You must allow the music within you to emerge. Go ahead. Close your eyes. Let all that excites you or sparks your dreams carry you to a place where only your heart can hear.”

  She stared at her hands moving effortlessly over the keys, and though the notes she played were rudimentary, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine greater, seeing a grand opera house filled with people who’d come to hear her play. She sat in a grand ball gown with yards of fabric flowing behind her, and in her upswept hair, a white magnolia perched over one ear.

  “Listen carefully, feel the music, let it become a part of you… of your dreams.

  Set it free, dare to risk all you know—for all that can be.”

  His voice tapped into her thoughts, fueling her fantasy, touching the desire she held deep inside, the happiness she wouldn’t dare to believe in. Her body burned, the melody wrapping around her, transporting her senses, freeing her.

  Anticipation rushed through her, and her fingers tingled. An energy fueled by her greatest desires lifted her higher. It guided her seductively through the dark a
byss, pulling her beyond reality. In the distant corners of her mind, she heard Burt’s guidance. “Find your heart, Angel. Find Billy.”

  ***

  His voice blended with the notes playing in her head and suddenly she saw a beam of light poised over a dark stage. A person dressed in white sat before the most magnificent piano she’d ever seen. And while it was the song she’d been playing, it was no longer her at the piano and then like thunder rolling over the desert valley, applause erupted around her, drowning out all other sound.

  As though hungover from whiskey shots, Angel forced her eyes open and squinted into the semi-darkness.

  “Sing us the song—”

  She shifted in her seat, becoming slowly aware of others around her. Where is Burt? Where am I? Her vision blurred and with thoughts not much clearer, she blinked and narrowed her focus, drawn to a steady stream of light shining down on a man seated at a piano. She was no longer in the Magnolia but in a room larger than the biggest church or the tallest barn she’d ever been in. People yelling and clapping for the performer on stage filled every seat, rows and rows of them.

  “The man’s a legend.”

  She jolted suddenly with an awareness of a young woman seated next to her, who then leapt to her feet and began singing along with the crowd. She glanced down and motioned for Angel to join her.

  “Come on. You can see much better if you stand. Cool outfit by the way. You get it over at Madonna’s Vintage?”

  Angel glanced down at her flimsy cotton dress. She wore the same floral one she’d had on when she went for her piano lesson with Burt. She assessed her clothing with curious wonder. Even her boots were still dusty with desert clay. She placed her hand to her forehead, feeling woozy. Maybe she’d taken ill and her fever was causing this strange hallucination.

  “Where am I?” She tapped the woman on the shoulder.

  “Hey, you’re pretty gutsy. How’d you get past security? Must have been some pretty heavy shit you were on.” The young woman smiled. “You’re at one of the best concerts ever. Don’t you remember? Listen! It’s solid Billy Joel—every one of his hits made into a musical!”

  Billy Joel? Reality flooded her brain. How was this happening? Where was

  Burt? The music drew her back in, and she recognized the tune from the pieces Miss Lillian had played. A tentative smile lifted her lips, the tightness in her chest eased, and she found herself humming the familiar tune. Her new found friend, much less inhibited, belted out the words at the top of her lungs, oblivious to being off key.

  Angel took in the mass of people, most on their feet, clapping and singing together in a rousing chorus. What a peculiar dream. Surely, she would wake at any moment and find herself back in Deadwater. She studied her surroundings, careful to soak in every detail so she could delight Josie with her sleep-induced tale. The last note permeated the air, sizzling with the magical energy coursing through her blood. The audience chanted wildly, “Billy! Billy!” Both frightened and curious, she lifted her hands and joined in the thunderous applause.

  “Come on! Follow me.” The young girl tossed her a smile and grabbed her hand. “If we hurry, we might be able to see him.”

  Him? Billy? A myriad of odd sights and smells blurred past her as she fought to keep up with the girl pushing through the human sea. “Where are we going? Where am I?” Her words were lost, however, in the din of enthusiastic voices around her.

  Everyone seemed to be talking at once. She strained against the girl’s hand and searched for Burt. This dream was becoming far too real.

  The strange girl looked over her shoulder and pointed to letters spelling “Exit,” which glowed fiery red like a western sun setting in the sky.

  The crowd swelled, and pressed by a wall of humanity, Angel’s connection to the woman was severed. Swept through the throng, she kept her eye on the letters and when she was close, lunged for what appeared to be the door handle and shoved with all her might. It wouldn’t budge.

  “Hey,” a voice sounded from behind her, “that goes to the alley.”

  She turned to a man with a thick beard. His face wrinkled in a questioning expression. “It’s okay. I’m meeting…um, Billy.”

  His eyebrows shot into his disheveled bangs. He shrugged and lifted his arm over her shoulder, pressing on the horizontal bar. The door magically opened.

  “Thanks.” She glanced back, but he was gone.

  Angel shoved at the door, stumbling into a dark passage. She ran headlong into a railing. The cold bar kept her from plummeting over the edge of a balcony or ledge made of an odd stone. A foul stench assaulted her nose, and she grimaced, searching the high walls around her. They looked nothing like the canyons back home. She gripped the rail and searched blindly through the darkness. A sudden bright light appeared in twin beams at one end of the passageway and drew close. A rush of cold air swirled around her bare legs, and she straightened, stepping back toward the door, rubbing her arms. What could she do? She wasn’t dressed properly for such weather, and how was she to get back to the Magnolia?

  “Are you okay, miss?” A tall man with skin the color of coal stepped from a strange, shiny carriage. The contraption trailed a plume of smoke from its behind and had no horses to pull it along. Angel’s heart thumped erratically as the man, dressed entirely in black with dark goggles covering his eyes, walked over and stood at the base of the hard stone steps. He stopped and looked at her, awaiting her response. Men of color were not a common sight in Deadwater. Most worked in the mines and would never speak to an unaccompanied woman. This one was different. It was obvious by his clothing and demeanor. Glittering gems shone on each earlobe. He removed his goggles and eyed her with concern. “Girl, what are you doing out here on a night like this without a coat?” He shook his head. “Come on down here. The woman I work for isn’t going to miss one. She has more than she needs, anyway.”

  Angel moved cautiously down the steps, her fists clenched at her sides. She kept her distance, uncertain in more ways than one of what might happen next.

  He opened the back of the carriage and pulled out a bundle of white fur. “Go on, take it. You sure as hell look like you need it worse than she does.” He held it out to her. His brow rose when she didn’t reach for it right away.

  “I can’t. I don’t have any money.” Angel fought the sudden chatter of her teeth from fear and cold. She stiffened as he stepped forward and gently placed the short jacket around her shoulders. Grateful for his kindness, she swallowed her pride and slipped her arms inside, welcoming the gift “I’ll just wear it for a minute, thank you.” She huddled in the warmth, trying to piece together the puzzle of where she was and what was going on.

  “Hey, no problem. What is this world coming to if a brother can’t help out, ya know?” He studied her. “You look a bit lost. Are you okay? Are you maybe on some kind of medication or something?”

  He had a kind face and by his speech, it was clear he was well educated. Maybe he knew how to get back to the Magnolia.

  “I’m new in town,” she started carefully. “I’m looking to find my way back to the Sweet Magnolia. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

  His brows pressed together. “Wait a minute, the Magnolia? Are you talking about the Imperial? I remember reading an article about when they rebuilt the Imperial with materials moved up from an old ghost town near Virginia City. But even that was a long time ago. It’s one of the oldest hotels in the city. The granddaughter of some hotel tycoon owns it now. Not sure it was ever called the Sweet Magnolia, though. Are you sure that’s where you need to go? It’s not in the best part of town. Maybe I should drive you.”

  Angel chewed her lip, bracing to find out how long—a long time ago was. What choice did she have? “How long has it been the Imperial?” she asked.

  He blew out a breath and scratched his head. “Damn, we read about it in high school. I guess at least one hundred years. I know it’s on the registry of historical places.”

  A wave of dizziness washed over her,
and she reached out to keep her knees from buckling. The man stepped forward and grabbed her arm. “Hey, you okay?

  When was the last time you had something to eat?”

  “Hey, Clive, you ready down there?” Another man appeared at the top of the short flight of steps. “You know Desiree don’t like a car with cold leather seats.” Her bulk of a savior shot a tolerant glance to the man leaning over the rail. “Yeah, I’ve got the car warmed up the way she likes it.” He turned his attention back to Angel, dug in his pocket, and pulled out a wad of paper, stuffing it in her palm. “Take this and get yourself something to eat. It’ll help, I promise.”

  “You’re very kind, sir.” She tried to stand on her own. Nausea roiled in her stomach. What happened to Josie and the girls at the Magnolia? Where is Nate?

  And what in tarnation is a ghost town?

  “This is not the time to socialize, brother. You’re on the clock.”

  Puzzled by the reference, Angel looked up at the red-haired gentleman with pale skin staring down at her. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

  Her new friend leaned down, his dark brown eyes filled with compassion.

  “Ignore him. He worries too much.”

  Angel nodded. She had no other choice but to start with this place he called the Imperial. Perhaps from there she would be able to find her way back home. “Would you be so kind as to point me in the direction of the… Imperial?” She saw his hesitancy, but he finally nodded.

  “Take the alley, turn right, and go to the traffic light, take another right, and it’s about two blocks. Last I knew there was a Christmas tree lot right across the street in a rundown gas station.”

  Alley? Traffic light? Gas station? Words she’d never heard before. Right and left was what she’d have to rely on to get her there. She began to remove the coat.

  “Keep it. Really, she’ll never miss it.” He smiled warmly.