Touched by Angels

by Peggy Webb

  Back in Birmingham she had learned to swap services for yard work. She had done some baking for one of her neighbors who sometimes mowed. She had exchanged some of her handmade dolls for the services of another. He had many grandchildren and claimed he would use them all for presents, though sometimes Sarah believed he was just being kind. People were often kind to her and Jenny. It made her believe in the basic goodness of man.

  "Nice man," Jenny said, waving as Jake passed by.

  "Yes, darling. He's a very nice man. His name is Jake."

  "•ake?"

  "That's right. Jake. Can you say Jake?" She enunciated carefully, emphasizing the J.

  "'ake," Jenny said, proud of herself.

  Some sounds were too difficult for Jenny, and she dropped them. It will all come in time Sarah told herself.

  The mower passed by again, with Jake sitting in the driver's seat like a Roman gladiator, waving to his biggest fans from his chariot.

  "He actually seems to be enjoying this," she mused aloud.

  " 'ake?" Jenny asked, as if she understood perfectly what her mother meant.

  Sarah hugged her close. "Oh, Jenny. Jenny. How much do you know in that bright little mind of yours? What wonderful insights are trapped by your inability to communicate?"

  "'ake?" Jenny shrugged her shoulders and held her hands out, palms up, in the eloquent gesture Sarah knew so well. " 'ere?"

  "Where is Jake, my darling? He's gone to the backyard to mow. Let's go inside and make him some gingerbread." Jenny studied her mother solemnly as

  if she doubted the wisdom of Sarah's suggestion. "Gingerbread boys for Jake."

  "Yes," Jenny said.

  o0o

  The yard was finished. Jake was dusty and sweaty, and bits of grass clung to his arms; but he couldn't remember when he had felt happier.

  "If doing good deeds is this exhilarating. 1’ll have to take it up as a hobby," he announced to a robin in the oak tree behind Sarah's house.

  He surveyed his handiwork, proud of himself. Newt would have to eat his words. There wasn't a thing wrong with the yard that a little edging and trimming wouldn't cure.

  "Next time I’ll bring the edger," he said, thinking aloud. His own words brought him up short. There might not be a next time. He hadn’t made up his mind about that.

  He brushed the grass off his arms and started to the house to tell Sarah the yard was finished. That's when he smelled gingerbread. He stood in the middle of the yard with his head tipped back, sniffing. Gingerbread. Memories flooded over him.

  " Daddy! Daddy! Can I have the heads?"

  "Of course you can have the heads, sweetheart. Daddy likes the feet."

  "Goody. I like to eat the smiles."

  Bonnie smiled at him and hugged him hard. "I love you best in all the world. Daddy."

  "I love you, too, Bonnie," he whispered. "I will always love you."

  "The yard looks wonderful." Jake passed his hands over his eyes. Sarah Love was standing at the backdoor. Jenny stood beside her, smiling at him from behind her mother's skirt. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along to mow it."

  Mother and child, standing at the backdoor with the setting sun sparking their hair golden. They looked as if they were wearing halos. Twin angels. The spicy smell of gingerbread drifted through the open door.

  "Jenny and I made gingerbread."

  "It smells delicious."

  "It's for you."

  Sarah's face glowed from the heat of the stove. Or perhaps it was from her innocence. She looked so innocent standing in the doorway offering him gingerbread. A saint consorting with a sinner. What would she do if she knew he had killed his wife and daughter?"

  "I really shouldn't stay," he said.

  "Oh." He could see the disappointment on Sarah's face. Women sought him out, vied for his attention, even lusted after him; but none cared enough to be disappointed when he decided to leave. Standing in the backyard watching Sarah, seeing the genuine concern in her face, Jake felt his dark heart expand.

  Leave, his mind said, even as his heart said stay.

  "Perhaps I can stay a little while."

  "That will be lovely." Sarah held the door wide. She was wearing a sweet smelling perfume that invaded his senses. Jake was careful not to brush against her as he passed through. Still, the fragrance of summer flowers settled over him like a blessing.

  The kitchen was high ceilinged and spacious but sparsely furnished. A simple stove and refrigerator, both old, stood in one corner. The table was old, too, but shining with furniture polish. A multicolor braided rug relieved the tedium of a cracked linoleum floor. In the center of the table stood a pottery jar filled with wildflowers—Queen Anne's lace and black-eyed Susans.

  "Please make yourself at home." Sarah gestured toward the table and chairs. "I’ll get you a glass of lemonade. You must be so hot."

  "Yes, I'm hot," Jake said, and meant it in more ways than one. Sarah looked cool and delicious moving about her kitchen. Gracious and charming. Inviting and approachable. In fact, she was by far the most appealing woman he had ever met. But not once did he think of making a play for her. Sarah Love was not the kind of woman a man took lightly. She was not the kind a man could wine and dine and forget. And she was certainly not the kind to grace a man's sheets and not his heart.

  Jake's palms got sweaty and his blood roared through his veins. Sarah Love was the most dangerous woman he had ever met.

  "Here you are. Nice and cool."

  She offered him the lemonade, smiling. Their hands touched, hers sweet and soft, his hot and sweaty. Her eyes widened, then got bright in the center. He held her gaze. The ice melted in the glass and cracked apart with a small pop. It might have been his heart melting, melting under the influence of Sarah's blue eyes and her sweet touch.

  She stepped out of his reach, self-conscious. She lifted her hand and fussed with her hair. The gesture was feminine and endearing. Jake couldn't stop watching her.

  "My." Her voice sounded breathless. "I do love lemonade in the kitchen on a warm summer evening." She tucked a shiny curl behind her ear. "Kitchens are so cozy, don't you think? This one will be even nicer when I get some curtains made."

  He breathed deeply, trying to concentrate on what she was saying instead of what she was—an angel in disguise.

  "You sew?"

  "Why yes." Her smile was radiant, as if she had just won the Nobel Peace Prize: "It's my profession, actually. I make dolls. Jenny helps me."

  "I've never met a doll designer. Tell me how you do it." He really wanted to know. But more than that, he wanted to keep Sarah by his side, talking in her musical voice, fussing with her shiny hair.

  Sarah sat in the chair opposite him and explained doll making. Jenny stood on a stool at the cabinet, humming to herself and occasionally pausing to say, "Good."

  "Two stores In Birmingham and one in Atlanta carry my dolls. I’ll set up a shop here in the house. It's perfect—so much light and space." She paused, flushed.

  Jake wanted to touch her rosy face. He wanted to put his finger on her lips and trace their heart- shaped outline.

  "The best part about the dolls is that Jenny helps. She paints the faces."

  "Jenny paints?"

  "Yes. Because of her compensatory and extraordinary talent, doctors call her an idiot savant. I've never liked that term." Some of the glow left Sarah's face, and her eyes became troubled. "I prefer to think of her as merely having a special gift. She puts the heart and soul into the dolls."

  "Good," Jenny chanted from the other side of the kitchen. "Good, good, good."

  "The gingerbread." Sarah jumped from her chair and hurried to Jenny's side. "Oh, Jenny." Sarah lifted a mutilated gingerbread boy off the tray. "Oh, honey."

  "Good!" Jenny turned to smile at Jake. Gingerbread crumbs decorated her mouth.

  "I was enjoying our conversation so much, I forgot about her." Sarah helped Jenny off the stool, then lifted the tray and brought it to the table. It was f
illed with gingerbread boys, all of them without heads. "She likes the heads."

  Daddy, can I have the heads?

  Jake gripped the edge of the table. Time spun backward, and he felt dizzy.

  "I hope you don't mind." Sarah pressed a headless cookie into his hand.

  Jake fought for control and won. He even managed a smile.

  "No. I've always been partial to feet." He forced himself to sit in the chair facing four-year-old Jenny with Bonnie's blue eyes, and eat two gingerbread boys. "These are very good, sweetheart. Did you help make them?"

  "Yes. Me, me, me."

  "You're a smart little girl." He took another bite. "Mmm, good."

  Memories swamped him as Jenny laughed.

  I love you best in all the world, Daddy.

  "You have a way with children," Sarah said.

  "Thank you," he said, standing. He felt smothered, trapped. "I really must be going."

  "Oh." Sarah stood beside him, so close, he could have reached out and touched her. He leaned forward. She was alive, real. He needed her. Time stretched out, shimmering between them, poignant as a memory, breathless as a promise.

  "I was going to invite you to dinner," Sarah added. "I made pot roast."

  "Another time, perhaps." It was a narrow escape. If she hadn't spoken, he might have put his hand on the smooth, firm flesh of her upper arm. He might have pulled her close and buried his face in the creamy inviting space between her slender neck and her soft shoulder.

  He hurried toward the door. With his hand on the screen, he remembered. "I left a patch of wildflowers," he said over his shoulder. "For Jenny. Sometimes late in the evening, fireflies come."

  Sarah was saying something, but he didn't hear. He burst through the door and breathed deeply. It was already dark outside with only a few early stars and one single firefly to light his way to the lawn mower. He climbed aboard.

  Riding the lawn mower five miles back to the Townsend Building in the dark hadn't been his original plan. But neither was falling under Sarah Love's spell.

  He turned the key, and the mower roared to life. He had planned to leave the mower for Newt to pick up the next day, then call a taxi to take him back into town. All those plans were scrapped.

  He thought of rushing through the gate and never looking back, but then he remembered the first time he'd seen Jenny, standing in the middle of the road with her thumb in her mouth. Cursing, he went into the yard, latched the gate, climbed back over the fence, and back onto his lawn mower. Then he started down the dark highway, breaking the law. Driving an unauthorized vehicle on a public road.

  "It's a damned fool thing to do. Driving a lawn mower through town. Who do I think I am, anyhow? Some damned hero?" He clenched his jaw hard enough to break teeth. "Newt would have done it. Hell, all I had to do was ask him."

  Sarah's face, rosy with heat, floated into his vision. Jake gripped the steering wheel, cursing the slowness of his machine. Five ridiculous-damn-fool miles per hour.

  o0o

  He was in a black fury by the time he reached the Townsend Building. He left the mower in the garage and rode the elevator upstairs to his office. He was jerking his clothes off by the time he got through his door. They made a messy trail behind him.

  A shower. That's what he needed. Something to cool him off.

  He stepped in, still wearing his socks, then tipped his face up. The water hit him full force, so cold, it brought chill bumps all over his body. Sarah's face came to him, sweet and inviting.

  What he needed was a good strong antidote. He finished his shower quickly, then hurried to his phone, wearing a large towel around his waist and wet socks on his feet.

  He hit the jackpot on the first try.

  "Denise?"

  "Jake? Sweetie, is that you?"

  "Yes." She was glad to hear from him. How long had it been since he had last called her? Three weeks? Four? "Are you free?"

  "For you, Jake, always."

  "I’ll be there in thirty minutes."

  "The door will be open."

  Jake cradled the phone. Denise was going to rescue him. He jerked a clean shirt and pants out of his closet. Funny, he didn't feel rescued; he felt tarnished. He was going to use one woman to forget another, blackhearted bastard that he was. What did one more sin matter?

  He hurried toward the door, then turned back to pick up his clothes. No use in setting himself up for Gwendolyn. She would have plenty to say to him as it

  was—driving a lawn mower through the streets, mowing a yard for people he barely knew.

  Except he knew the light in Sarah's eyes. He knew the music of her voice.

  Jake threw the clothes onto the bathroom floor and slammed the door shut. He needed Denise.

  o0o

  She was waiting for him inside her modern apartment. All the surfaces were black and white, hard and shiny. Even Denise looked hard and shiny, backlit by a gooseneck white lamp, her straight black hair and black gown stark in the dim glow.

  He walked straight to her and pulled her into his arms. She fitted her body to his. For a moment he studied her face, searching for a rosy glow, a pair of heart-shaped lips, a pair of bright and shining eyes. Denise's black eyes absorbed the light, swallowed it up.

  He bent over her-quickly, before he could change his mind. Her kiss was expert, eager. He told himself she was exactly what he needed.

  Denise broke off the kiss and leaned back to look at him. "You're tense, Jake. Tired?"

  "Yes. I'm tired."

  "I’ll fix that." She caught his hand and led him toward the bedroom. Her silk gown brushed against his leg.

  The sun glinted on golden hair. A filmy peach- color skirt whispered against his leg. Memories. Jake passed his hand over his face. Would he never be rid of memories?

  Denise was shedding her gown. Both straps hung over her shoulders. Her skin was lightly tanned, baked that way in a machine that looked like a coffin.

  He reached out to touch her. Denise was smooth, hard, firm. He splayed his fingers across her shoulders, feeling the warm soft skin of Sarah Love.

  "Damn." He drew his hand back.

  "Jake?"

  "I'm sorry, Denise." You're the wrong woman. "I guess I'm too tired after all."

  Denise cupped his face, pulling it down close to hers. "That's all right, Jake." She gave him a friendly kiss on his chin. "Don't be a stranger, sweetie."

  He patted her cheek. "You deserve a good man, Denise."

  "You are a good man, Jake."

  He left quickly. Denise had rescued him, all right, but not from Sarah Love: she had rescued him from a potentially embarrassing situation. He would always be grateful. But he wouldn't call her again. She deserved better treatment.

  She was more than a beautiful, efficient love machine. She had a heart and feelings and dreams. He was wrong to try to use her to hold back his ghosts with one careless hour of forgetfulness.

  He climbed on his motorcycle and drove home, pursued by his demons—past and present.

  Chapter Three

  Jake had all day Saturday to brood over his sins— which were legion. The first thing he did was order three dozen orchids for Denise and send them to her house along with a card that said, "Sorry about last night. Find happiness with a good man. Jake." Then he rode his motorcycle into the bluffs along the Tennessee River that snaked through the Quad Cities of Florence, Sheffield, Muscle Shoals, and Tuscumbia.

  He drove too fast and too close to the edge of the bluffs, defying fate, challenging death, hoping the motorcycle would plunge into the dark river far below, willing the roaring waters to carry him into oblivion—and breathing a prayer of relief when he was spared. Hour after hour he tempted fate and won.

  Finally, feeling hollow and isolated, he parked his powerful machine under a centuries-old oak, then walked to the edge of the bluff and stood watching the river. Water, so much water. It had been raining the night he lost Bonnie. Lost her. Killed her.

  "Nooo." He gave voice to his agony.
Kneeling beside the river, he relived the horrible night she had died. He held her in his arms, a fragile and broken blue- eyed doll. I love you best in all the world. Daddy, she'd whispered. And then she was gone.

  Nothing could alter the facts. His daughter was dead and he was alive. No matter how fast he ran, he could never outrun the guilt.

  Wearily he climbed back onto his motorcycle and drove back into town, this time without speeding. He had already turned onto the road that led back to his house when he found himself making a U-turn. As if It knew the way, the motorcycle meandered to the far side of town until he was on Sarah's road.

  He didn't try to understand what drew him there, but he did make a plan of sorts. He would merely drive by to see how the yard looked. If he caught a glimpse of Sarah and Jenny, he would wave, just to let them know they had a friend In town.

  When he saw Sarah, all his plans fell by the wayside. She was walking up the dusty road, leading Jenny with one hand and carrying a big sack in the other. The weight of the sack pulled her sideways, so that she walked tilted to the left.

  Jake stopped his motorcycle atop the hill and watched from a distance. No use getting involved, he thought. But even at a distance Sarah pulled at his heart. There was something brave about the way she walked, something noble and good. It might have been the lift of her chin or the spring in her step or the determined look on her face.

  Jake squinted into the evening sun in order to get a better look at her. Bits of sunset were caught in her hair, streaks of red and gold, so that she seemed to be wearing a crown from Tiffany's.

  As he watched, Sarah bent over to pick up Jenny, and the sack she was carrying burst open. Two cans went rolling down the road.

  Jake put the motorcycle in gear and roared off, coming to a careful stop beside Sarah Love. He had meant to say something casual about rescuing two damsels in distress, but one look at Sarah s face and he forgot everything. A fine powdering of road dust turned her skin dark, and her eyes shone forth like twin beacons, reflecting the sun. He got lost in the brilliance of her blue eyes.