The Garden Gate

by Christa J. Kinde

  “I like cats too.”

  “I know it,” the Guardian replied, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards for just a moment.

  “Was she my age?”

  Taweel’s head dipped. “Very nearly.”

  “What happened?” Prissie whispered, wondering if it was rude to ask.

  “There was a plague, and she died,” he replied matter-of-factly.

  That sounded bad; many people must have suffered together. “What kind of plague?”

  “A biblical one.”

  “Do you mean the ones from the story of Moses?”

  “Yes.” Taweel fingered his earring. “My charge was the firstborn child of an Egyptian merchant. When she breathed her last, my service ended.”

  Prissie’s heart clenched. “Were you sad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you still sad?”

  “I will never forget.”

  Since she was feeling quite sad herself, Taweel’s grief was somehow comforting. “What does a Guardian do when his job is over?”

  “In the course of time, I was given an apprentice,” Taweel answered. “Tamaes and I have been together for thousands of years.”

  “So long?” she asked, startled.

  “Yes. He waited to be Sent much longer than most,” the angel explained, his deep voice surprisingly mellow. “When your life was sparked, it brought him great joy, and that joy became full when your life was made new.”

  The way he said it, she couldn’t resist asking, “You too?”

  With the barest of smiles, Taweel declared, “I am grateful to be Tamaes’s mentor. It is my privilege to share his joy.”

  “So is being a mentor like having a second chance?”

  “I cannot speak for others, but for myself . . . yes. When Tamaes was placed under my watch-care, it was as if I tasted redemption. God is wise beyond knowing.”

  Prissie reached out from the shelter of her blankets and lightly touched Taweel’s arm. Her lip trembled as she brokenly whispered, “I tried praying. It worked before, but it’s not working now.”

  “Then it is not time,” Taweel calmly replied.

  “But . . . but I want him back,” she whined, her eyes watering once more.

  “I know, little one,” he crooned, shaking out his wings so they partially encircled her bed. “Our hope is the same, and the Faithful do not hope in vain. We must trust.”

  Trust, trust, trust — ​it was the same old message again and again. “I’m tired of trusting,” she confessed hollowly.

  “Then rest,” he gently ordered. “You need sleep.”

  Too tired to argue, Prissie rearranged herself in the middle of the bed and blinked at her stand-in guardian. “I’m glad you came.”

  “I could do no less, once Sent,” Taweel pointed out.

  Her expression clouded. “You didn’t want to come?”

  His heavy brows drew together. “My only desire is to serve God.”

  Prissie pouted. “But what about me?”

  Taweel’s blank expression reminded her of the face Koji made whenever she said something he couldn’t quite fathom. Prissie cringed, for she suspected she’d said something truly silly, and she hated feeling foolish. The faraway look in the Guardian’s eyes resolved into gentle amusement, and he reached for her hand. With a small squeeze, he clarified. “You have always been dear, little one. Never doubt that.”

  “Always,” she echoed softly.

  He straightened her rumpled covers. “Eternity is vast.”

  “I’ll know you forever,” Prissie ventured. “You and the others.”

  “You will.”

  Smiling weakly, she said, “That’s a nice thought.”

  Taweel inclined his head. “It is.”

  More relaxed now, Prissie tugged her blankets right up to her chin and sleepily asked, “Where’s Omri?”

  “Guarding Milo for me.”

  She giggled at the very idea.

  “Sleep,” urged her big, burly nightlight.

  For the first time since Christmas, Prissie drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face.

  3

  THE DIVIDED CLASS

  The Gatekeeper’s voice was deep and slow, a warm rumble. “You are back.”

  “Looks that way.” Marcus fidgeted with the hilt of his sword. “Do you mind?”

  Aril descended the set of stone stairs where he could always be found. Eyes bright as flames flickered with amusement. “Does your mentor mind?”

  “Sorta didn’t tell him. Since I know my own way in now.”

  “Knowing the way is not enough to reach this threshold, young one.”

  Marcus shrugged. “Padgett’s a good guy.”

  “Ah, yes. Abner’s newest apprentice harbors a gentle heart. He would bring Ephron along to keep me company while he tended the garden.”

  “He’s doing okay. Ephron, I mean.”

  “And you?”

  Marcus shuffled his feet. “I’m okay.”

  “Come aside and sit with me,” Aril said. “Tell me what has your golden wings aquiver.”

  With a short nod, Marcus laid aside his weapon, shed his armor, and loosed the ties that kept his boots in place. Feet bared and head bowed, he clambered onto the lowest of the giant-sized steps and sat. Taking a gusty breath, he began, “Stuff happened, and stuff changed. And while it’s all good, I have a choice to make.”

  Aril sat on the same wide stair. “About the friend you treasure — ​Ransom?”

  “If only.” With a rueful smile, Marcus said, “This time, it’s about Prissie.”

  Prissie tugged her pink hat off-kilter so at least one of her ears was covered. She’d hoped wearing her prettiest one would give her confidence a boost, but all it really did was leave her ears exposed to the elements. It was early enough, she could have lingered longer in the kitchen, but going back to school had her nerves on edge. Plus, Beau had her worried. It didn’t help when he was the one to quietly follow her out the door and down the driveway instead of Koji. Wasn’t the young Observer supposed to stay close?

  She was more than a little confused about why Beau was now in on the secret that had consumed her since last summer. Her brother didn’t know everything, but he knew enough to spoil everything. Instead, he’d kept his mouth shut, except for when he was good and sure they were alone, like now. “It all makes sense,” he began. “About Koji, I mean.”

  “Oh?” she asked in a tight voice.

  Her brother studied her closely. “He’s not from around here. Like, really not.”

  “Obviously.”

  “And all his weird questions,” he continued. “It just makes sense.”

  With a stern look, she said, “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “I know,” he said. “The guy with long black hair was clear as crystal on the matter.”

  “Padgett,” Prissie supplied, cringing inwardly. Now that Beau’s eyes had been opened, she felt as if she’d lost something precious. The secret had been hers alone, and knowing about the angels in town had made her feel special. Koji was her miracle. She loved Beau, but she was used to keeping the things that were dearest to her out of her brothers’ reach. They never treated things as carefully as she did. “It’s really important not to tell.”

  “Sis, it’s okay,” he promised. “And don’t worry. Koji still belongs to you.”

  Prissie paled, then blushed. It had been worrying her a little, thinking that Koji might gravitate toward her brother now. They were roommates, after all. “He’s not mine,” she muttered irritably.

  “Liar,” he playfully accused. “Look, I get it. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, but think of it this way. If you do need to talk about this stuff, now you’ve got me. Might be good, y’know?”

  “Maybe.”

  Beau shrugged awkwardly. “Do you ever wonder what God’s up to?”

  “I guess,” Prissie sighed. Then she changed her mind. “No, I guess not. I don’t know what to think about all this,
so I try not to.”

  “Not to think?” Beau asked incredulously.

  “So?”

  He shrugged again. “All I’ve been doing is thinking. I wish I knew more about what’s going on, but I don’t feel right about asking.”

  “They don’t seem to mind questions,” she reluctantly revealed.

  “No, that’s not what I mean,” Beau replied. Tapping his chest, he said, “When that Padgett guy talked to me, it’s like all my questions disappeared. He said they’d be waiting for me where their answers will be found.”

  “Where’s that?” she wondered aloud.

  Beau glanced towards Koji and their older brothers, who were coming from the house. “Heaven, I guess.”

  Everyone was more subdued than usual as they waited for the bus. Tad did what he always did to keep his mind off his troubles — ​work. He shoveled along the edges of the driveway, right out to the mailbox, angling the edges of the snowbanks to discourage drifting.

  Neil was crunching his way through an apple, which was also usual. Apples were one thing the whole family could eat as many of as they liked, so he snagged one on the way out the door every morning. “Cold enough,” he remarked, which was also perfectly normal. Of all Prissie’s brothers, Neil was the one who didn’t like silence. Compelled to fill it, he usually talked about frivolous things, so it surprised Prissie when he bluntly asked, “What do you think Dad is going to do about the bakery?”

  “Fix it up again?” Beau suggested.

  “Guess so,” Neil replied, pitching his core off into the bushes for the pheasants before pulling on his gloves again. “But how long will that take?”

  “Dad has a meeting this afternoon with the insurance people,” Tad said. “If all goes well, they’ll start rebuilding next month.”

  “How do you know?” Prissie asked sharply. She hated being out of the loop.

  Tad leaned against the shovel. “I was up early. He and Momma were talking about it over coffee before he left.”

  “He’s not here?” Beau asked. “Where’d he go?”

  “One of the restaurants in town is giving him space so he can bake bread in the mornings,” Tad explained. “That way he won’t lose all his contracts.”

  “By himself?” Prissie asked.

  “Nope. He was swinging by to pick up Ransom,” said Tad.

  Prissie grimaced, but Neil answered. “Huh. I guess that’s good. I mean . . . what else can he do?”

  “He could just stay home,” Beau reasoned.

  “Give up on the bakery?” Tad asked in tones of disbelief. “It’s going to be twenty years this spring!”

  Neil scratched his head. “Does it count when the bakery’s gone?”

  “Dad’s not gone,” Tad said staunchly. “And he’s still going to bake. Is the anniversary about the store or about him?”

  “Him, I guess,” Beau conceded.

  “Yep,” agreed Neil. “I think the anniversary counts no matter what.”

  Later that morning, Prissie found herself with April. She leaned against Prissie’s desk and asked, “What’s up with Ransom?”

  “How should I know?”

  April sneaked a peek in their classmate’s direction, gray eyes narrowing behind the rectangular frames of her glasses. “Because you’re close to him!”

  “I am not!”

  “He works for your dad, so you must hear stuff.”

  Prissie shifted uncomfortably. “Why would you even think something’s up?”

  April hummed, eyeing the gangly teen. “Not sure. Something’s off.”

  “He seems the same as always to me.”

  “And you’re the expert?” the other girl asked with a smirk.

  “Hardly.”

  “You know, keeping an eye on Ransom because you don’t like him is just as stalkerish as doing it because you do. Either way, you learn things.” April nodded at their brown-eyed, bubbly friend who was chatting with Margery. “Like Jennifer is the expert on all things Marcus.”

  Prissie snorted. “All she knows about Marcus is what she sees, or wants to see.”

  April’s brows arched. “And you know better?”

  She shut her mouth, unwilling to say more. Thankfully, Ransom and Marcus chose that moment to walk past their desks.

  “Do anything interesting over break?” April asked them.

  “Yep,” Ransom replied, sliding into his seat.

  Prissie stiffened, and she could feel the color rising in her cheeks. It was impossible not to think about all the things he could say about the time they’d been forced to spend together — ​cookie decorating, Christmas caroling, the living nativity. She shot him a look that mostly begged him not to divulge anything unnecessary. Her glare collided with his steady gaze, and for once, she couldn’t read his expression.

  With a shrug and a smile, Ransom said, “I became a Christian.” Just like that. Right out loud.

  ”Really?” April asked.

  Prissie gaped at him, and his eyebrows did a little jiggle. “That okay with you, Miss Priss?”

  “As if I . . .” she began tartly, but her nerve faltered, and her gaze dropped. She was too conscious of all the eyes on them — ​Marcus, Koji, April. Lying was impossible. Mumbling a soft, “Yes,” she turned to face the front.

  Once class was underway, Ransom had the audacity to tug the end of one of her braids. “Not much for enthusiasm, are you?” he whispered. “I’d have thought you’d be at least a little happy to hear that you have another brother.”

  “I have enough brothers,” she muttered back. “Don’t you have your own family?”

  “Yep, but yours is way more fun.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Most people seem to think we’re strange.”

  “Peculiar, even,” Ransom quipped. “Wanna bet they’re jealous?”

  “Of us?”

  “You have no idea how good you have it, do you?”

  She risked a glance over her shoulder. He sat with his chin propped on his palm, pencil idly tapping his notebook as he held her gaze. There was no challenge there. No teasing twinkle. In fact, the way he was looking at her reminded her eerily of Koji’s long looks. Maybe that was the indefinable change April had picked up on. Ransom’s outlook had changed, and it showed in his eyes.

  “I don’t need another brother,” she repeated. “But I am glad for you.”

  “Sure about that?” he pressed. “You’re not exactly bubbling over.”

  “I don’t do bubbly.” Her lips pressed into an impatient line. “Besides, does it really matter what I think?”

  “To me?” he asked. “Yep.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to know if this changes things.”

  Prissie slowly shook her head, her voice thick. “I don’t think I can handle any more changes right now.”

  It would have been nice if that was the end of it. Prissie’s heart cried, “No more,” but Ms. Knowles snapped her fingers for attention and announced, “New year, new group project! We’ll be on a tight schedule in order to get all your presentations done on time, so pay close attention to the due dates listed in this handout.” Their social studies teacher passed back project summaries amidst groans and mutterings. Prissie distractedly handed back Ransom’s copy as she skimmed her own. World religions. She’d heard of most of the ones Ms. Knowles had listed, but knew nothing about a handful of others. It was a little odd to think that all over the world, faith meant something different.

  Ransom leaned forward and murmured, “I think I figured out why she loves these projects. We break into groups, and she only has to teach this class once a week.”

  Prissie looked more closely at the schedule. Ransom’s remark was kind of mean, but he was right. She was smiling when he tugged her braid again and continued his running commentary. “Fact of the matter is we’ll only learn as much as we decide to find out on our own, but the problem is . . . the only world religion worth the effort ain’t on the list.”

  “Isn’t,” she correct
ed. Scanning the paper twice more, she realized Ransom was right. Christianity had been overlooked. That hardly seemed fair.

  “Any questions?” Ms. Knowles asked. Ransom’s hand wasn’t just in the air. He was on his feet, and everyone turned to stare at him. Their teacher put her hand on her hip. “Yes, Mr. Pavlos?”

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, back straight, shoulders squared. “I recently converted to a religion that’s not included here. Can I do mine?”

  She eyed him skeptically. “If you’re about to tell me that you converted to Jedi, I’m afraid I can’t — ”

  “No, ma’am,” he interrupted in a clear voice. “I’m a Christian. I want to do my group project on Christianity.”

  “Oh.” She glanced between him and the list, then diplomatically said, “If you can find enough people to form a group, I suppose that would be okay.”

  “I’ll take Prissie,” Ransom immediately announced. “You in, Marcus?”

  “Sure.”

  “I will join you as well,” Koji volunteered.

  Both angels stood. Ransom asked, “Four people enough, or do we need more?”

  The silence in the classroom was deafening, and Ms. Knowles stared at Prissie with a baffled expression. “Is that what you want, Prissie?”

  Given the circumstances, there was nothing else she could do, so Prissie slipped from her chair and stood beside her desk. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

  With a shrug, Ms. Knowles declared, “Four is the limit. The rest of you will need to choose something else from the list. If you know what you want to study, speak up now. If your group can’t decide, I’ll assign something.” While she talked, their teacher moved to the marker board, started a column under the header TAKEN, and printed CHRISTIANITY underneath. “You’ll need to research the basic tenets of the religion you pick, write a paper, and then present your . . . .”

  Ransom tapped Prissie’s shoulder. “Way to take a stand,” he whispered. “Literally.”

  “Can I sit now?” she grumbled.

  “May I sit,” he corrected.

  Rolling her eyes, Prissie appealed to Marcus. “Make him stop.”

  The Protector simply smiled.

  Prissie whirled, putting them at her back. To Koji, she quietly complained, “Angels shouldn’t smile.”