The Garden Gate

by Christa J. Kinde

  “Adin has set himself up as a lord and demands glory and honor from those he places under his heel. Any of the lies he might have told you are nothing compared to the lies he tells himself.” With quiet confidence, the Observer said, “But my trial is ended, and I am glad.”

  “But . . . your eyes!”

  He touched his bindings. “Yes. I am blind. But am I any different than you?” With a small smile, he said, “Now we both must have faith in unseen things.”

  11

  THE OLD RIVALRY

  Milo’s car rolled to a stop beside the Pomeroys’ mailboxes, and he leaned out the window. “Hey, Beau!”

  “Hey.” Beau sat alone on the plank fence.

  “I do believe this is a first,” the Messenger remarked. “What brings you out here all by your lonesome?”

  Beau shrugged awkwardly. “You.”

  Turning off his engine, Milo asked, “What can I do for you?”

  “Can I be your apprentice?”

  The mailman’s expression shifted through several emotions. Running his hand over the top of his close-cropped hair, Milo managed an awkward chuckle as he climbed out of the car. “Definitely a first. Why don’t you start by telling me what you mean by that.”

  As Milo joined Beau on the fence, the teen explained, “I want you to help me study. Answer my questions. Teach me stuff . . . like you used to.”

  “Discipleship isn’t usually an angel’s task.”

  “But you’re a Sunday school teacher! Isn’t that the same thing?” Beau countered. “Just because I’m not in the third or fourth grade anymore shouldn’t mean I can’t learn from you.”

  “You have a point.” With a solemn look in his eyes, Milo said, “You know you can talk to me at any time.”

  “Let’s set up a schedule.”

  Meeting Beau’s steady gaze, the Messenger murmured, “You’re serious about this.”

  “Completely. I don’t care if it’s after school or weekends. Set a time and a place, and I’ll find a way to be there.”

  Milo gazed thoughtfully into the sky, but finally he replied, “I have other obligations, and I’m sometimes called away. If you can be flexible, I’ll do what I can. But don’t discount the resources that are right here. Your father. Your mother. Your grandparents.”

  “I know, I know, but you’re my favorite.” Beau flushed with embarrassment. “You’ve always been my favorite. And it’s not everyone who can grab hold of an angel.”

  “Is that the only appeal?”

  “No. No! Not at all!” Beau’s voice cracked with urgency. “Your lessons were always the best. You made the Bible real.”

  “Only because it is.” The Messenger’s smile held traces of earnest humility. “The world is filled with gifted teachers with good hearts and godly understanding. I don’t have any more or less faith than them. I simply have a different perspective.”

  “And I’ll benefit from it,” Beau said. “I’m sure of it.”

  Milo held up his hands in surrender. “So be it. For as long as God allows, I’m here for you.”

  “And me for you.” At the mailman’s questioning glance, Beau fumbled to explain. “It’s like I told Prissie. If you need someone who knows . . . that’s me. Though I’m not sure what good it’ll do. But who knows? Y’know?”

  “I do know.” With a gusty breath that ended in a small smile, Milo said, “I can’t guess what this will mean, but I’m looking forward to finding out.”

  Spring break arrived, and Koji took the initiative to bring his group together. Prissie stood on the sidewalk outside The Curiosity Shop and asked, “Why here?”

  The Observer backed toward the door. “There are many books. Harken offered. And you will feel safe.”

  She followed, barely hiding a smile. “The research is mostly done. Did you bring us here just to grab more books to read?”

  “That too,” Koji admitted. “But this is a rehearsal. Harken will listen to our presentation.”

  A flutter of nervousness accompanied the soft chime that sounded as they opened the door. “Grandpa would call this preaching to the choir.”

  The Observer’s eyes took on a shine. “We could sing.”

  She laughed softly. “You’re as hungry for songs as Neil is for dinner.”

  “Indeed.”

  Inside, Prissie spotted the very same table Harken had pulled into service during her birthday breakfast. Instead of being set with pretty linens and plates, its surface was dominated by two backpacks, a plastic bag from the corner store, and two half-empty soda bottles. Ransom’s voice carried from beyond the first line of shelves, followed by the shopkeeper’s deep chuckle. When he and Harken rounded the corner, Ransom was cradling a small stack of paperbacks. Curious, Prissie asked, “Are those for our presentation?”

  “Nah,” he replied. “Figured I’d branch out a little.”

  “Into what?”

  Without a trace of embarrassment, he showed off the books. “They’re by a missionary guy, a Christian thinker guy, and a retelling-Bible-stories-so-even-I-get-it guy.”

  Prissie picked up the topmost book in order to read the back cover. “Oh yeah. My dad has this one.”

  “Have you read it?” Ransom plied.

  “N-no.”

  His eyebrows waggled. “Wanna?”

  She could hear the challenge in his tone. Not wanting to back down, she replied, “Maybe Koji and I could read it together.”

  The Observer quickly replied, “I will gladly take part.”

  “Cool. I’ll make Marcus read this one after me. Then we’ll all discuss.”

  “Make me?” countered the Protector, who’d been standing with Harken, simply watching.

  Ransom grinned. “I’m using peer pressure as a power for good!”

  With a snort, Marcus took the book away from Prissie, glanced at the cover, then tossed it back to Ransom. “I’ve already read it, so the pressure’s all on you.”

  His best friend laughed “Nice reversal!”

  Marcus shrugged, and Prissie gave Harken a small wave and an apologetic smile. “We should get started.”

  “We brought supplies,” Ransom said as he strode over and dropped his books on the counter by the cash register. “Went all out. Two kinds of chips.”

  While Harken rang up the boy’s purchases, Marcus calmly distributed the drinks, setting a bottle of cream soda in front of Prissie. Her favorite. Glancing between the two angels, she asked Koji, “Did you tell him . . . ?”

  The Observer shook his head.

  Marcus smirked. “It’s not like Koji has the corner on you, kiddo.”

  “That okay, Miss Priss?” called Ransom, who was shoving his wallet into his back pocket. “When I asked your dad this morning, he said you liked it.”

  “He would know,” she replied lightly. “Thanks . . . but don’t make a mess for Harken.”

  Ransom dropped into the chair across from hers and ripped into a chip bag. “It’s a waste of food to leave crumbs!”

  Koji called them to order. As a group, they’d decided that the presentation portion of their assignment would be handled by Prissie, with Marcus running the PowerPoint. She’d already rehearsed her spiel a few times out in the barn, so she was comfortable with the flow. Talking about Christianity was walking through familiar territory, and Ransom and Koji had done a good job outlining the material. Prissie took out her neat stack of note cards, stepped back from the table, and started talking.

  Canon and creed. Commandments and catechisms. She took deep breaths, didn’t talk too fast, enunciated clearly, and occasionally gestured to where the screen would be. Eye contact with her audience wasn’t a problem either. Prissie refused to be intimidated by Ransom. Harken and Marcus were actually harder to address, but they didn’t act like people who knew more or knew better. Both angels looked glad to hear the familiar message spoken, and when she finished, Koji beamed. Ms. Knowles wouldn’t be able to find fault. They’d get top marks.

  But Ransom seemed dissa
tisfied. “Can you say it without the script?”

  She returned to her seat. “I’ll have it memorized in time for the presentation.”

  “I’m not bashing you. You did good,” he quickly said. “You’re solid up front. Not the knee-knocking sort, and never glued to your notes.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  He leaned forward. “Everyone else is gonna be droning on about some religion they only know from books. This isn’t gonna fly if we stick to a list of doctrines. We actually believe this stuff! Don’t you think we can do better?”

  Prissie thought it was a little late to be changing their plans. But all she asked was, “How?”

  “I dunno. I just don’t want to be as boring as they expect us to be. Less blah-blah-blah. More oomph.” Waving at her, he said, “You’re good at being bossy. Boss the class around a little. Tell ’em what they need to hear!”

  Rolling her eyes, Prissie pointed out. “They won’t listen. You never did.”

  “If you want them to hear you, make it easy to listen,” Marcus said with a smirk. “I say you two should just stand up front and argue.”

  “Our classmates do like drama,” Koji remarked seriously.

  “This isn’t a debate!” Prissie argued. “We agree on all of this stuff.”

  Ransom’s grin was widening. “Maybe, but you have a funny way of showing it.”

  Marcus slouched back in his chair, arms folded over his chest. “Trust me. Both of you get up front. Say the same thing two different ways.” Pointing to Prissie, he said, “You correct him whenever he strays from the notes.” Pointing to Ransom, he said, “You put her jargon into terms anyone can understand.”

  Prissie frowned at Marcus. “Turn this into a dialogue?”

  “There ya go,” the Protector agreed. “By the time people figure out you’re both on the same page, the presentation will be over, and they’ll have paid attention to the entire thing. Message delivered.”

  Ransom was already on his feet. “That’s . . . insane. And perfect! Miss Priss, we gotta do it!”

  “But we’d have to redo everything,” she sighed.

  “Easy! I swear, it’s simple,” he pleaded. “Let’s try it now. Argue with me!”

  Prissie stood up again, but she couldn’t see how that would help. “You don’t have any notes.”

  “I’ll wing it. Come on! All you gotta do is try to set me straight.” Spreading his arms wide, he coaxed, “Second nature!”

  “This is good,” Koji said, reaching out to touch the back of her hand. “I wish to hear your dialogue.”

  That sealed the deal, and Ransom knew it. He clapped his hands, saying, “Koji, take notes. Figure out what order makes sense. We’ll refine it later. Marcus, check to see if we can still use any of our slides. If we’ve gotta redo them, I’ll help you.”

  And then Ransom turned to Prissie, grinned lopsidedly, and did his darndest to reinvent the wheel.

  It was awkward at first, but it didn’t take long to fall into old habits. He was so casual about Christianity, she worried that people would think he was making fun of their faith. Prissie felt a little like a Guardian, but instead of defending herself — ​or even her beliefs — ​she was defending the truth.

  They’d studied hard for this, and they knew the basics backwards and forwards. And that’s exactly what it felt like. Ransom would say it backwards, and she’d turn it around. But he wasn’t wrong. Just . . . unrefined. And often funny. Their grade might suffer, but the class would eat it up. Prissie knew that this was definitely the right approach.

  Marcus interrupted a few times, reminding them of points they’d skipped, and Koji scribbled furiously in his notebook. Harken even spoke up a time or two when they got stuck, suggesting a slightly different lead-in to the topics on their agenda.

  When Prissie’s dad arrived later that afternoon, he found his daughter and his part-timer locked in a heated discussion that had nothing to do with disagreement. This was their third time through the reformatted presentation, and Prissie was actually enjoying herself. The longer they dickered over details, the closer they came to saying the same thing, and in the end, everything boiled down to a single statement of faith.

  Jayce clapped, and Harken offered a low, “Amen.”

  “It is like a song,” Koji declared. “Two perspectives on the same belief, spoken in ever-tightening harmonies, ending in perfect unison.”

  Prissie flushed with pleasure, then stole a look at her study buddy. Ransom was watching her with a goofy grin on his face. “This is gonna be awesome!”

  And he was probably right. Again. She slipped over to her chair in order to gather up her things, but her hands moved slowly. They’d had fun, and she didn’t want it to end.

  Perhaps she’d prayed without realizing. Or maybe her father just understood what she wanted without needing to be asked. Including everyone in the invitation, he said, “I’m famished. Who wants pizza?”

  With the weather warming steadily and the addition of Lo and Ida to their combined households, repairs on the farmhouse began in earnest. The tarps came off. So did half the roof. Derrick Matthews and a couple of men from the church brought in an inspector. Plans were drawn up. Estimates made. Grandpa Pete ordered lumber and shingles. Tad and Neil lent a hand, and even Uncle Lo rolled up his sleeves. “Since my wife and I kicked you out of the spare room, I feel obliged to help you get back into yours.”

  “Thanks,” Prissie murmured. She was having a hard time matching everyone’s enthusiasm.

  “Look at this one!” exclaimed Ida, pushing a book of wallpaper samples across the big kitchen table. “Don’t you just love cabbage roses? Or is peach too peachy? If you’d rather go with blues and purples, this collection has hydrangeas!”

  Koji sat with them, paging slowly through the oversized books, running his fingertips over the textured papers in silent study. At least he seemed to be enjoying himself.

  “Oh, apple blossoms,” said Grandma Nell, smiling in a pleased way. “Certainly appropriate, and just the right amount of pink.”

  Prissie shuffled through a stack of pastel paint chips and shook her head. How could she pick just one color when her window used to sparkle with half a dozen? “I don’t know how to choose.”

  “You have plenty of time before you’ll need to make up your mind,” Uncle Loren said in comforting tones.

  “Every wall in Baird’s home is a different color,” Koji remarked. “And every door.”

  Picturing that brought a small smile to Prissie’s face. “I can believe it.”

  Just then, Neil leaned through the back door. “Is Beau close by?”

  Loren quickly rose. “I’ll get him.”

  A moment later, Beau followed his uncle back into the kitchen, one finger marking his place in a book. “What’s up?” he asked.

  Neil cryptically replied, “We need to do more of that thing we had to do yesterday.”

  “Gotcha,” replied Beau. “I’ll get my coat.”

  Prissie wasn’t about to let that go. She followed Beau out onto the back porch. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  The brothers exchanged a look. Neil was sitting on the back step, his hands wrapped around the handle of a shovel. With a small shake of his head, he replied, “You probably don’t wanna know, Priss. Let us worry about this.”

  She tried to catch Beau’s eye, but he avoided her gaze. Not good. “Tell me,” she insisted.

  Neil gave in. “Something’s been getting at the cats.”

  A pang of uneasiness touched Prissie’s heart. “What kind of something?”

  Her older brother shrugged. “Grandpa figures it might be a coyote. He and Tad spent this morning reinforcing the fences around the chicken yard just in case. We’re trying to keep it quiet so Jude doesn’t worry.”

  That was considerate, but it didn’t really tell her what she needed to know. “You found a dead cat? Which one?”

  Neil grimaced. “This time it’s Mimsy. We buried Ruffles ye
sterday. And some of the toms haven’t been showing up at feeding time.”

  “But it’s spring,” she pointed out. “They always wander at this time of year.”

  “Yep. So it’s hard to say if any of the lazy beggars are actually missing.”

  Beau cleared his throat. “Uh, Sis . . . when’s the last time you saw Tansy?”

  “I don’t remember.” Prissie’s discomfort turned to dread. If the Fallen couldn’t get to her, would they have turned on their animals? Maybe she should appeal to Abner. Surely a Caretaker would care about their cats. It didn’t hurt to ask. And it wouldn’t hurt to pray. Hadn’t Jude’s prayer for Maddie resulted in angelic rescue?

  “We’ll take care of it,” Neil repeated, standing up and shouldering his shovel. “And me and Tad’ll try to do some tracking on the weekend. See if we can figure out what’s goin’ on.”

  Prissie bit her lip, then blurted, “Be careful.”

  Neil just rolled his eyes, but Beau quietly replied, “Be praying.”

  12

  THE NEW WINDOW

  Abner, Jedrick, and Harken stood before the gate and its stair. Abner addressed the Gatekeeper. “Do you have a preference? Depending on your choice, we’ll need time to arrange things.”

  Aril’s answer came ponderously. “I wonder . . . ?”

  Jedrick stepped forward. “There are three generations dwelling upon this land. All are believers. Any of them would cherish your words.”

  “And yet . . .” the Gatekeeper murmured, his gaze slanting to the apprentice lurking near the entrance.

  Noticing the glance, Harken followed it. Chuckling softly, the Messenger asked, “Has Jedrick’s apprentice been telling tales?”

  “His and yours,” rejoined Aril, his mouth tilting into a teasing smile. “Milo speaks with equal fondness of those he loves.”

  Jedrick strolled over to Marcus, who straightened, then slouched again. “We talked some. That’s all.”

  His mentor gripped his shoulder, then looked to Aril. “Well?”

  “Two have come to my attention. Two have my interest.”