“But you dislike me?” Ransom asked, smiling confidently.
“Not . . . exactly.” Considering she’d just given him a gift, Prissie knew she was losing ground. “You’re tolerable, I guess. Most of the time.”
With a snort, Ransom remarked to Kester, “She makes me sound like a poison. I annoy her in small doses, but she puts up with me. Given enough time, she’ll develop an immunity.”
“Don’t say that!” Prissie exclaimed, quickly biting her lip and lowering her voice. “That’s not the way friendship should be. I’d hate being around someone who didn’t want me there.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere!” Ransom replied, dramatically placing his hand over his heart. “Did you hear what you just said? Have pity, Miss Priss!”
She frowned and peeked at Kester. If anything, the Worshiper seemed amused. “Pity’s not friendship either,” she huffed. “And I won’t pretend. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Ransom stood a little taller and also looked to Kester. “In a roundabout way, I feel respected.”
Kester smiled. “I can understand a person who wants to give all or nothing.”
This time Prissie straightened. Had she just been compared to Baird? But he was friends with everyone! Or was he simply friendly toward everyone? Could you be a true friend while still holding something back?
Ransom’s expression was rueful. “Easy for you to say, Mr. All. I’m still left with nothing.”
“I’ve been put,” Prissie grumbled.
Her mother glanced up from the delicate scrolled leaves Dad had drawn with chocolate onto parchment paper the night before. “What was that, sweetheart?”
“Nothing,” she sighed, watching Ransom pipe icing onto the next cupcake. Providence was all well and good, but Prissie was feeling a little put out with God for putting this guy right in front of her. Again. She loved that Koji was part of her life, but friendship with Ransom would be like eating crow. Maybe . . . maybe God was putting her in her place? Her conscience had been bothering her ever since talking to Kester about friendships. Maybe it was time to break a bad habit?
“Here you go, Princess,” her father prompted.
Prissie snapped to attention and reached for the next cupcake. It was just the four of them working at the big kitchen table, which was lined with row upon row of red velvet cupcakes.
Just before Ransom arrived, Koji had quietly disappeared. Not that he’d gone far. Prissie’s gaze slid to the refrigerator, where two angels crowded together, observing their Valentine’s Day assembly line.
Mrs. Pomeroy pressed a chocolate leaf into place. “What are you wearing to the party?”
“I’m not going,” Prissie admitted.
Her mother made a soft noise of surprise. “I have a hard time believing Margery would exclude you.”
Prissie’s lips pressed into a firm line, and she gave her full attention to the luster dust she was adding to a cluster of her father’s rosebuds.
“Weren’t you invited?” the woman pressed.
“My invitation came with strings attached,” she replied stiffly. Prissie passed the cupcake along to her mother. “I’m doing my part to make Margery’s party a success. But I won’t go.”
Naomi’s gaze swung to Ransom. “What about you?”
“Invite was in my locker, but . . . not really my thing,” he replied nonchalantly.
Jayce chuckled. “First time we met, that’s what you said about church.”
“Did I?” Ransom asked. “Lotsa stuff’s happened since then.”
“Stuff I want to hear more about,” Momma said, with a pointed look at her daughter.
Prissie groaned, but she rambled awkwardly through an explanation of the things that had happened with Margery and the other girls right before winter break. “It hasn’t been as bad lately. Partly because they feel sorry for our family. But it’s partly his fault.”
Ransom’s eyes darted between her and her mom. “Wha’d I do?”
“You announced to the whole world that you became a Christian,” Prissie replied.
Dad grinned. “Nice.”
“Yeah, I went and broke the mold,” Ransom said. “Even an only child who can’t sew his own clothes can follow Jesus.”
Prissie’s dad frowned thoughtfully at the half-formed bud on his flower pick. “I was out of the house before Ida was your age, but if I remember right, Sis was teased for having homemade clothes.”
“Her too?” Prissie asked. No one had ever mentioned that before.
“Ask her about it when she’s back,” he suggested.
Mrs. Pomeroy sighed. “People will do almost anything to be noticed, then turn around and tease anyone who doesn’t blend in. I know it’s small comfort, but every generation goes through it one way or another.”
“The stunts we pulled were probably a little different,” Dad offered, adjusting his grip on the piping bag. “But the feelings were just as raw and real.”
Prissie giggled. “It’s hard to picture you mired in teen angst, Daddy.”
“Pshaw. I wallowed in teen angst right up into my twenties. Until I met your mother.” With a fond glance at his wife, he loudly whispered, “She’s incontrovertible proof that God is good.”
Mrs. Pomeroy’s brows arched. “I seem to remember thinking you were incontrovertible proof that God has a sense of humor.”
Jayce gazed into space for a moment, then nodded. “Sure, sure. That too.”
Getting back to business, Prissie’s mother said, “ ‘Raw and real’ emotions aside, did you at least thank those girls for their gifts?”
“Not yet.”
Adding leaves to another cupcake, Naomi reminded, “Rampant discourtesy in the world at large doesn’t exempt you from common courtesies. Besides, a show of gratitude will allow you to bow out gracefully.”
“Yes, Momma.”
A soft huff brought Ransom back to Prissie’s attention, and she realized that he was just sitting there, watching them. “What?” she demanded.
“Nothin’ really. Only . . . you guys have this whole family thing nailed. Real deal. Truth in labeling.” Ransom shook his head. “I can’t decide if I should be jealous or just grateful to be here at all.”
Prissie remembered him saying something once before, about how good she had it. For the first time, she asked Ransom a personal question. “What’s your family like?”
“So small, it’s almost nonexistent,” he said bluntly. “It’s just me and my dad, and he’s not really around.”
“Sounds . . . quiet,” she ventured.
Snorting, he replied, “You’re the first person to ever call me quiet.”
Her laugh felt forced. She hadn’t the heart to tell him it sounded lonely.
They moved the boxes of cupcakes out to the van to chill, then cleaned up the kitchen. Mr. Pomeroy asked, “Ready to make a delivery?”
Right away, his wife said, “I’ll go. It’s been ages since Mrs. Burke and I had the chance for a little chat.”
“Momma,” Prissie groaned. “Don’t meddle. Please?”
“Never crossed my mind,” her mother assured. “I just want a peek at the decorations.”
Ransom pointed at the two of them with a swishing motion. “If you wanna be alone, I’m totally okay with staying here and . . . not being alone. For a change. Or not. Whichever.”
Momma laughed. “Make yourself at home, Ransom.”
Once her parents were gone, Prissie fell back on what was normal whenever Milo visited. “Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Always!”
“Figures,” she said, heading into the pantry. “What kinds of things do you like?”
“I’m not fussy.”
She paused in her rummaging. “Would you have gone to the party?”
“Nah. Like I said. Not my thing.” With a sidelong glance, he asked, “You?”
“I’m not sure. I do feel left out.”
Ransom reached past her to snag a loaf of bread and carried it to the cutting boar
d. She shook her head and crossed to the refrigerator, covertly waving to Koji before checking its contents. While Ransom reduced the loaf to neat slices, he remarked, “You don’t fit with them. But it’s not like you don’t fit anywhere. I’ve been to your parties. Between friends and family, you can fill this room and overflow into the next. You’ll never be lonely.”
There it was. Prissie dared to ask, “Are you lonely?”
“Nope. I’ve got friends.” Ransom took the topmost box of leftovers from the stack Prissie carried and peeked under the lid. “There’s still an opening if you’re interested.”
“Do you ever give up?”
“Not so far!”
Prissie returned to the fridge and grabbed two apples from their drawer. “Why?”
“Because you don’t dislike me as much as you think you do,” Ransom replied. “And because I’d prefer to be on your good side.”
“Are you saying I have a bad side?”
He laughed. “That’s what my dad likes to call a loaded question.”
She bit her lip, then carefully asked, “Do you think I’m two-faced?”
Ransom shrugged. “I think you’re different with Koji than you are with me.”
“What exactly do you expect me to do?”
“Normal stuff,” he replied. “Say hey in the hallways. Remember my name.”
“I know your name.”
“Make small talk in the cafeteria. Notice if I’m absent.”
“I notice.”
He jabbed a finger at her. “But it makes you happy when I have the sniffles. I’m talking about concern that I might be wasting away in a lonely hospital bed. Clinging to li – ”
Prissie cut him off. “You’re as annoying as you ever were. Even if you are saved enough to make angels smile.”
“Saved enough?” he echoed skeptically. “I’m pretty sure it’s one way or the other. And speaking of angels . . . .”
Her breath caught. Now what?
“Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to be nice to random citizens such as myself. Did you know the Bible says to be kind to strangers because they might actually be angels?”
Prissie opened her mouth, but words escaped her. So she gawped at Ransom, caught between indignation and irony. Just then, a muffled sound from the top of the refrigerator made her look. Koji was hiding his face against his companion’s shoulder, and Ephron’s slim hand was pressed to his side. They were shaking. No, they were laughing.
Clearing her throat, Prissie carefully replied, “That’s . . . true. But you’re definitely not an angel. I know better.”
Ephron tittered. Koji giggled. And then they just broke down, filling the kitchen with joyful noises. It was very distracting, so Prissie almost missed what Ransom said next.
“I still think we oughta give it a go. Or at least declare a truce. For Marcus’s sake.”
“Excuse me?”
“You and him are friends, right?” Ransom quizzed.
“He and I,” she corrected, immediately kicking herself because he took it for confirmation.
“Right. And he’s my best friend.”
With a definite sense of here-we-go-again, Prissie blandly asked, “You want me in your gang?”
Ransom wasn’t sidetracked. “He does. Marcus says you’re a friend, and that’s okay with me.”
“I think you’ve got the wrong idea,” Prissie sighed.
“Nope. He was clear, so I’m being clear. I want to negotiate an end to hostilities.” He stared at her in a puzzled way. “What’s the big deal? I can tell you two are getting close.”
“Maybe. It just sort of happened that way.”
“Pickles?” Ransom asked.
She glanced at the cutting board and realized that he’d done all the sandwich-making. “Please. Milk?”
“Yep.” He carried the food to the table and dropped into a chair. Pointing to the towering sandwich on his plate, he asked, “Do we pray for snacks?”
She replied with her grandfather’s pat answer. “Only if you’re grateful.”
Flashing a grin, Ransom looked toward the ceiling and broadly declared, “I’m takin’ nothin’ for granted, God. It’s somethin’ else how the Pomeroys’ leftovers are better than the firstovers at my place. I’m glad to be here. I’d be gladder if me and Miss Priss can iron things out. Any help in that quarter’d be appreciated. Amen.”
She was staring again.
He took a huge bite, then mumbled. “Whoops. Was I supposed to let you pray? I’m kinda iffy on this stuff.”
“You’re fine. I’m just . . .” Prissie just shook her head and picked up her sandwich. “Amen.”
Halfway through his plate of food, Ransom slowed down to talk. “Here’s the deal. I know Marcus, and he doesn’t really warm up to most people. Keeps to himself. But he talks to you. Watches out for you. That’s gotta mean something.”
“Marcus and I get along okay.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Ransom talked with his hands, expressive in his enthusiasm. “You’re his friend, and he’s my friend. I’m not giving him up for you, and he’s not giving you up for nothing. So we need to make peace or it’ll drive him crazy to have us bent outta shape.”
“I’m not sure I’d call us friends. It’s more of a . . . respect?” She turned over her apple slice to study its peel. “Marcus is like Koji, but he’ll never be Koji. But I trust him like I’d trust Koji . . . because they’re a lot alike. Except not.”
“Keep trying,” said Ransom.
Prissie’s cheeks flushed. “Don’t make fun!”
“I’m not,” he replied seriously. “You seem like the kind of person who figures stuff out by putting it into words. And you’re close to something.” He beckoned for her to continue. “Keep trying to say what you mean, and then we’ll both know what you think.”
“I’m not trying to say anything. I’m just talking.”
“To me!” Popping a whole apple slice into his mouth, he said, “And don’t worry. All this falls under the friends-in-law confidentiality clause.”
She sighed. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
He shoved the last of his sandwich into his mouth, then zipped his lips.
Prissie twirled the end of her braid around her finger and gazed into Koji’s expectant face as she admitted, “I never really thought that being close to one person could make another person feel left out. But that’s exactly how I felt when Margery started spending time with Elise instead of me.” Saying it out loud was helping her sort out her thoughts. But she didn’t particularly like the direction they were taking. “I couldn’t understand why they were being so mean because . . . I didn’t do anything to deserve it.”
“Sounds familiar,” Ransom said, eyes on his empty plate.
And he was right. Again. “I wasn’t any different.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Worlds apart. But it’s like your dad said. Different stunts. Same feelings.”
Prissie wanted to argue, but she wasn’t sure what about. She wasn’t stupid. Or maybe it was better to say that she was no longer blind. Ransom didn’t like being unliked any more than she did. What was the use in keeping up a pretense? Especially since their common ground had a striking similarity. It couldn’t be a coincidence that all their mutual friends were angels.
She pushed back her plate, and he scooped it up, carrying hers along with his to the sink. Even though her parents probably would have scolded her for letting a guest do the work, she let him. The only noise in the kitchen was the clink of dishes and the hum of the refrigerator. He even put the leftovers and sandwich fixings away.
Her conscience pricked, and she shot a pleading look at Koji, whose smile and nod were as good as a nudge. This was the right direction. And it was up to her to take a step. “I’ll make a terrible friend,” Prissie stiffly announced.
Ranson grinned. “I won’t disagree.” But he also didn’t rub it in. He just went back to wiping the counter.
10
THE FAMILY TREE
Tell me quickly, and I’ll set you free,” Adin offered.
Tamaes knew better than to trust his enemy, but his whole being longed for freedom. This was not his place. He belonged with Prissie.
“Tattered and torn, yet they tremble at the very thought of her.” Adin grasped the trailing end of one of Tamaes’s wings, rubbing the ragged edge between his fingers. “Missing her?”
“You were once a Guardian,” Tamaes replied in a low voice. “I know you remember.”
“Fawning fool.” The false smile shifted into an honest sneer. “Prissie is caught up in too many frivolous cares to spare a thought for you. You’re nothing but a fading memory.”
“I know what I am.”
Adin snarled, “Tell me the place! I know you know!”
“You know nothing,” Tamaes replied flatly. “And you seek the impossible. There is no way back for the Fallen.”
Swathed in superiority, the demon leaned close and whispered in his captive’s ear. “That is what you’re meant to believe. But it’s a lie!”
March came in like a lamb, soft with the promise of springtime. After the harshest winter in recent memory, everyone was eager for the turn of seasons. The abundance of snow slumped in on itself, leaving slushy piles in shady places. Water trickled through the ditches, and the low places in the yard filled with puddles. Prissie pulled on a sweater and joined her grandfather on the porch to watch the ducks making the most of the temporary ponds.
“It’ll be blossom time before we know it,” he said.
“Yes. I’ll be glad when winter’s gone.”
After a lengthy pause, Grandpa Pete said, “Kinda been putting off taking a look-see in the orchard. There was too much snow to tell earlier.”
Prissie hugged herself. “Maybe it won’t be so bad?”
“Don’t really want to get my hopes up. Might have to ’doze the whole section — Idareds, Braeburns, maybe even the Winesaps.” He kept his eyes on the ducks. “But not today. I’m thinkin’ it’s time to clean out the cold frames. Weather like this always puts your grandma in a gardening mood.”
The Garden Gate Page 10
