“Yes, ma’am!” he cheerfully replied.
While he threw around flour and thumped his dough, Koji came in from the family room and joined Prissie in watching. Ransom’s eyebrows lifted. “Wanna give it a go?”
“Indeed!”
“Perfect. You wrangle this until Miss Priss says its right, and I’ll start on my next assignment. Breakfast for a crowd.”
Koji washed his hands, and then Prissie tied him into the apron she’d given him for Christmas, made from the vibrant tie dyed cloth Aunt Ida had sent in the box from Africa. “Where’s Dad?”
“Him and me did the potato rolls and some other stuff in town earlier. Been at it since the crack of doom.” Ransom pulled down ingredients without pause, clearly at home in his boss’s kitchen. “He had some kinda meeting after that, but first he dropped me here and turned me loose.”
Prissie coached Koji on his kneading technique, and a smile worked its way onto his face. “Warm,” he murmured. Twisting off a small portion of the dough, he pressed it into her hand and rolled his eyes toward the refrigerator.
She checked to see if Ransom would notice, then backed over to the fridge, reaching up to tug at the cuff of Ephron’s pants. His hand met hers, and she passed along Koji’s offering. The blind Observer whispered, “Thank you, precious.”
Lavi hopped from Ephron’s knee to Prissie’s shoulder, so when she returned to Ransom’s side, she had a tiny passenger. Ransom used two spice bottles to prop open a booklet with dog-eared and batter-spattered pages. “Do you need help?” she checked.
“This one I’m pretty confident about,” he replied. “There’s a big difference between theory and practice, but at the same time, they kind of mush together until it’s hard to know what to believe and what you should do about believing it.”
Prissie blinked. It was a little early in the morning for deep thinking. “Um . . . huh?”
“Like . . . by now, I pretty much have the recipe for these muffins memorized, but every time I make them, I still pull out this book and check the amounts before I batch it,” Ransom explained. “It’s not that I need it, but at the same time, the reason I don’t is probably because I take the time to reread the recipe every time I make it.”
“A workman who does not need to be ashamed,” quoted Koji.
“Who correctly handles the addition of baking powder,” Ransom adapted.
Prissie shook her head bemusedly. “Are you talking about cookbooks or the Bible now?”
“Why not both?” After a thoughtful pause, Ransom said, “All I’m saying is that in an emergency, if your dad needed me to step up and make a whole mess of muffins, I’m prepared . . . but in the meantime, I’ll keep going by the book. The reason I could wing it is because I never do. Does that make sense?”
“I guess so,” she replied. “Muffin crisis averted.”
Laughing a little, he said, “Man, I must sound like the boringest person ever.”
“You don’t sound bored,” Prissie countered. “If you’re interested, it makes what you say more interesting. Besides, my dad can go on and on about things like flour texture and oven temperatures. I’m used to cooking science. I’ve just never heard anyone twist it around into a Bible lesson before.”
“Did I?”
Koji broke his diligent silence. “Ransom has a gift.”
“For muffins?” he asked.
The Observer glanced up from his kneading. “For teaching.”
Within the hour, Tad, Neil, and Beau were wolfing down muffins like a three-man crowd, and Ransom cheerfully averted a crisis by starting another batch. They pestered him for hints about their father’s anniversary plans. The way things were going, Jayce would be folding in his twentieth anniversary celebration with the grand re-opening of Loafing Around. If Ransom knew anything, he wasn’t telling, and speculations grew increasingly silly.
“Paint our water tower to look like a cupcake!” suggested Neil.
“The town’ll never go for it. Better to overhaul all the fire hydrants,” said Tad.
“Cookie pizza deliveries,” said Beau. “Hot and fresh, to your doorstep.”
“I like the way you think!” Neil praised.
While they carried on, Koji scooted out of his chair and ran for the front door. Curious what he’d heard, Prissie followed, Lavi darting in circles around her head. All signs pointed toward an angelic visitation, but she was taken completely by surprise to see Kester strolling up the sidewalk, wheeling a black case behind him. “Hello! What brings you here?”
“Good morning, Prissie,” he replied, slipping out of his shoes before crossing the threshold. “I am here in the capacity of piano tuner.”
No one had told her, but it was hard to mind. “Did you come by yourself?”
“I did.”
“I suppose you can’t always be with Baird,” she remarked.
Kester inclined his head. “The task will go more smoothly without his . . . participation.”
Prissie giggled and gestured for him to follow her into the family room, where his patient awaited. “Are you going to miraculously heal our piano?”
“Tuning should suffice.” He removed his suit coat, rolling up his sleeves.
“By hand?” Prissie asked. She’d never seen anyone tune a piano before.
The Worshiper knelt and undid the catches on his case. “I will employ both hands and a few tools suited to the task.”
“So . . . nothing angelic?”
A smile creased the corners of his eyes. “Only my inherent nature.”
It occurred to Prissie that she was probably being as much of a distraction as Baird would have been, so she chose a seat and held her tongue. Koji plopped next to her on the loveseat, and they both watched with interest as Kester removed the upright piano’s front panel.
When he unrolled a soft case, revealing a selection of tuning forks, Koji bounced back up, eager to investigate. His teammate showed him how to strike them with a mallet. The Observer’s eyes widened in delight, then narrowed in concentration.
Chuckling over his predictable enthrallment, Prissie addressed Kester. “Do you enjoy this sort of thing?”
“I do.”
“Because you like instruments so much?”
Kester took a seat on the piano bench. “That is certainly a part.”
“What’s the rest?”
“Spending time with you.”
“R-really?”
“Most assuredly.”
Prissie hoped he didn’t think she was fishing for compliments. “Why?”
His lips pressed together as he considered her question. With a flare of long fingers, he answered, “It is unique beyond expressing to share thoughts with someone who knows both who I am and what I am. Time spent with you is a foretaste of heaven.”
Koji struck two of the tuning forks, took a deep breath, then sang a pure note to complete the chord. Almost immediately, three teens burst into the room. “What the . . . oh, hey!” exclaimed Neil, his mouth full of muffin.
“Hi, Mr. Peverell,” Ransom greeted, waving an oven mitt. “Want a muffin?”
“Koji, do that again!” urged Beau.
Tad strolled into the room, ever at his own pace, and offered his hand to Kester. “Good morning, and welcome.”
Standing and straightening his vest, the Worshiper greeted each of the boys in turn, then calmly suggested, “Koji, why don’t you take the tuning forks to the kitchen and explain their function there.”
“Don’t you need them?” Prissie checked.
Kester replied, “I have a good ear.”
“Him and Baird both have perfect pitch,” Ransom volunteered. “Wild, huh?”
“Somehow, I’m not surprised,” she replied wryly. Beau’s gaze snapped to her face, then to Kester’s. She could practically hear her brother’s gears turning, and she wanted to groan. How could he be so quick on the uptake in areas where she was a complete dunce?
A pleading look. A conspiratorial wink. And the guys filed into the kitchen aft
er Koji.
Prissie hung back. “Sorry for all the noise.”
“No apologies are necessary.” Kester selected some tools and once again took his place on the piano bench. “I am as accustomed to tuning out as to tuning.”
Just as he was about to begin, a soft chime came from the direction of the suit coat draped over the end of the sofa. He sighed, and Prissie asked, “You have a phone?”
“I do. Would you mind?”
“Of course,” she murmured, retrieving it so he could check his messages. “Why do you have one of these?”
“For communication,” Kester replied, tilting it so she could see the picture of a grinning redhead on the display. “With Baird. He is fond of texting.”
“But you don’t need it.”
“I do not.”
“Then . . . why?” Prissie repeated.
“Fitting in. Staying in touch. Most of the youth at the DeeVee are similarly equipped.”
“Must be nice,” she murmured. Kester offered it to her, and Prissie’s excitement rivaled Koji’s when he’d been presented with the tuning forks. “Are you sure?”
“By all means, keep my mentor occupied while I work.”
“Show me how? I don’t want to break it!”
Kester patiently talked her through a short message.
Guess who?
And with a tap, she sent it off. He returned to his work, Lavi perched on his shoulder, and a moment later, the phone pinged. “That will be Baird,” he murmured distractedly. “You may continue to correspond with him.”
That you, Prissie?
How did you know?
Sending the text, she curled up in the corner of the loveseat to await his answer.
A little bird told me. Dove’s cool like that.
Frowning, Prissie asked, “Who’s Dove?”
Kester glanced over his shoulder. “That is Baird’s nickname for the Spirit of God.”
She blinked. “You mean the Holy Spirit? As in the third person of the Trinity? Like . . . God?”
“Yes.”
Prissie was flummoxed. “He gave God a nickname?”
“Most have,” Kester calmly replied. “How do you address yourself to Him in prayer?”
“H-heavenly Father, I guess.”
The Worshiper nodded. “That is your nickname for God. Dove is Baird’s.”
“That’s just. . .” Prissie trailed off, not sure what else to say.
The phone pinged again.
Talk to me, Prissie! Or are you freaking out cuz we have a mutual friend? OTL
Sorry. You surprised me. Yes, your Dove is my friend.
Us too? You & me?
Obviously.
Awesome ^__^ d
That one stumped Prissie, so she turned to Kester for translation again. “What does this part mean?”
“He is giving you a thumbs up,” Kester explained, demonstrating.
“Oh, cute!” she murmured, quickly responding in kind. The soft plinking of piano keys and the boys’ voices in the kitchen slowly faded into the background as she traded messages with Baird. After a while, Beau came for her, saying, “Ransom wants you to inspect his bread again. Won’t take Neil’s word for it. Not that I blame him.”
“Just a sec,” she murmured, punching in keys.
I need to go. Thank you for chatting with me.
Ditto! Say hey to Ransom for me!
She hadn’t mentioned that her classmate was here, which probably meant the redheaded Worshiper was communicating on more than one level at once.
I will.
Returning the phone to Kester with whispered thanks, she followed Beau into the kitchen only to find her Aunt Ida there. As was often the case, she was in the middle of a story.
“. . . positive that the drums would drive me completely crazy, one of the women in the corner started singing. Right in time with the beat.” Her aunt gestured broadly. “So instead of this ominous thudding that promised death and dismemberment, we suddenly had an accompaniment for a hymn! We sang, and our fears vanished. I drifted off somewhere midway, but Loren says that there were at least a few people singing all the way until sunrise.”
“Past your bedtime?” teased Neil.
Tad shook his head. “Does Grandpa know you’re getting into sticky situations like that?”
“He gets the less exciting version of these stories,” she replied, her blue eyes sparkling. “So anyhow! The next day, some of the very same men who’d threatened us came to the door, wide-eyed and worried, wanting to know how we called down fire from the heavens.”
“Fire?” asked Beau. “Did you guys have a bonfire lit or something?”
“No!” she exclaimed. “But they swore that the roof of the church was engulfed in rainbow-colored flames. That’s what prevented them from attacking!”
“Angels,” Prissie breathed.
Her aunt smiled broadly. “That’s just what Loren said! And I think you’re both right. God protected us by sending help during our time of need.” Patting the seat next to hers, Ida said, “Come sit with me. Or better, bring the kit and let me play with your hair!”
Prissie brought a comb and surrendered to Ida’s tender mercies, glad for a little pampering . . . until someone rapped on the back door and leaned in. “Room for one more?” inquired Milo.
Beau bounced up. “You made it! Yeah, come on in!”
“Muffins?” offered Ransom with the air of a host.
“Sounds good,” the mailman accepted. “I’m famished!”
Judging by the spring in Ransom’s step when he delivered a plate with three muffins on it, Milo had said just the right thing.
“Hey, Ida,” Milo greeted. “Where’s Loren this morning?”
“Watching cartoons with Zeke and Jude across the way.”
“And the other car out front?” the mailman prompted innocently.
“Kester’s here to tune the piano for Ida,” Tad replied, pointing in the direction of the family room.
“Is he now? I think I’ll go say hello!” Popping half a muffin into his mouth, he excused himself with a cheerful wave, Beau trailing after him.
Ida finished loosening Prissie’s hair and gently ran her comb through its rippling length. “It’s gotten so long! What to do, what to do,” she murmured. “Oh, I know! I’ve been wanting to try something along the lines of that nice Mr. Baird’s hair!”
Koji eyed Prissie speculatively as her brothers snickered, but Ransom thrust both hands in the air. “Me too! Me next!”
“Excellent, another victim!” Ida agreed. Gazing around the room she drolly added, “And then Koji. Too bad the rest of you have such short hair. How dreadfully conservative! While we were in Greece I met the nicest gentleman, and his hair was. . . .” And so Ida began a new story, sectioning off her niece’s long hair as she talked. Twisting. Tucking. Pulling through. Pinning.
When Milo drifted back in half an hour later, he froze in the doorway, a crooked smile on his face. Leaning back through, he called, “Kester, come see what’s been done to these poor innocents!”
Beau peered around the mailman’s shoulder and burst out laughing. “Someone get a camera!”
“How do I look?” Ransom asked Prissie.
Prissie thought he looked funny without hair hanging around his face. She bluntly replied, “It makes your nose look bigger.”
“Doubt that works in my favor, but I think Koji owns the look!”
The young Observer sat very straight in his seat, staring into the hand mirror Neil had brought from upstairs. With all the twists and clips, he had a frizzy, black halo standing straight up around his head. Trying desperately not to laugh, Prissie asked, “Do you like it?”
“I am . . . uncertain.”
Kester strolled in and contemplated the trio with an unreadable expression. Finally, he said, “Did you volunteer for this experiment?”
Ransom gestured to Ida. “I’ve never been tortured by a big sister before. Fascinating experience!”
R
etrieving phone from pocket, Kester asked, “May I document this? Baird will be gratified. Or amused. Probably both.”
“I’m in!” Ransom agreed.
“I guess,” said Prissie as Koji slipped his hand into hers. He took delight in the oddest things. But she doubted he cared so much about how he looked as how Baird would react.
Ida did her best to encompass the three teens from behind, smiling proudly for the snapshot. After a few clicks, Ransom said, “Do me a favor and send a copy of that to Marcus? He’s totally missing out on the impromptu amazingness.”
Prissie caught the pleading note in his voice. With a soft snort, she said, “Use our phone. Maybe he can catch a ride with my Dad.”
“Hope so. I want him to try some of my bread,” Ransom replied before angling out of his chair.
Ida claimed it and sat back, her hands folded across her swollen stomach. “This little thumper wants to be part of the fun as well.”
“The baby’s kicking?” Prissie asked excitedly. “Can I feel?”
“Right here,” Ida said, showing her the spot.
Sure enough, there was a quick flutter-thump under her fingers. Prissie giggled and looked to Koji, whose expression was as blank as Ransom’s had been with reference to babies. “You either?” Shaking her head, Prissie clarified, “You’ve only seen and heard . . . never touched?”
“No? Well, go ahead,” Ida invited.
Prissie moved her hand, but Koji hesitated. “I have no wish to trespass.”
“Don’t be shy.” Ida took his hand and pressed it under her own, right where Prissie’s hand had been. In heartening tones, she said, “Babies are a part of being a family, and you’re part of ours.”
Koji looked more flustered than Prissie had ever seen him. But then his eyes widened, and his fingers flexed under Ida’s. He held his breath, waiting for it to happen again. When it did, his surprise shifted into a smile so gentle, it was as if he wanted to whisper his joy.
Prissie glanced around the crowded, busy, noisy kitchen. It certainly wasn’t heaven, but maybe it was a foretaste of days to come. There would have to be goodbyes, but she wouldn’t be left in an empty room. No one could ever feel alone in the middle of this crowd.
14
THE FIRST GATE
The Garden Gate Page 14
