Part 4 (2/2)

Taweel answered, ”No. My place is here, with the rest of the Hedge.”

”Unless you're Sent?” she pressed.

”Yes.”

”But you haven't been.”

The Guardian shook his head, then clarified, ”At Jedrick's request, I regularly accompany Milo.”

Prissie pursed her lips, then sighed gustily. ”I wish everyone was safe.”

Again, glances were exchanged, but before another word was spoken, Mr. Pomeroy wandered out of the small niche off the kitchen where he did his bookkeeping. He only worked half days on Wednesdays, so he'd been puttering around the house. ”Afternoon, Milo,” he greeted. ”Can I offer you some refreshment? I have a cake cooling, though I should warn you of the risks. A new recipe and pint-sized sous chefs were involved!”

”Thanks, sir. I'd be happy to serve as guinea pig!”

Prissie's father reached for an ap.r.o.n, then c.o.c.ked a brow at his daughter. ”Why don't you pour our good friend a gla.s.s of milk while I serve?”

From his tone, Prissie knew she was being scolded for not offering anything sooner, and with a self-conscious glance at her visible and invisible guests, she hastily excused herself from the table. Omri tagged along to the refrigerator. He stood on her shoulder, hanging onto her ear, much as he did with Taweel. It was impossible not to smile with such a bright little companion.

”So who's the package for?” inquired Mr. Pomeroy as he cut into a cake that smelled of spice and oranges.

Prissie carefully placed a gla.s.s of milk in front of Milo, and he gave her a wink before answering, ”This one's Miss Priscilla's.”

”From Ida?” her father asked as he ambled over.

”Obviously,” Prissie replied, going to the kitchen drawer for a pair of scissors.

Jayce peered at the postmark. ”Kenya this time. Sis sure gets around!”

After marrying, Uncle Loren had whisked Prissie's precious aunt away, but Ida did her best to stay close by mailing postcards and packages from their various ports of call. Sometimes the boxes were for Grandpa Pete and Grandma Nell, and sometimes there were s.h.i.+pments for all the Pomeroys. But every so often Prissie was singled out. She and Aunt Ida had been close, ”bestest” friends since they were the only girls in the family.

Snagging a slice of cake for himself, Mr. Pomeroy joined the rest at the table and nodded toward the box. ”Go on, Princess. Let's see what she's been up to.”

Ida always sent interesting things, and Prissie's mind skipped through possibilities while she cut through the paper and tape. Inside, she found a letter in her aunt's distinctive, loopy penmans.h.i.+p. Although she was enormously curious about the multicolored cloth under the folded sheet of paper, she took the time to read it first. ”Oh,” she murmured, glancing at her dad. ”Auntie says she can't make it for my birthday, either. It'll probably be spring before they're back.”

He nodded. ”They don't always have much control over their schedule.”

”I know.” She skimmed the rest of the letter. ”Maybe in time for apple blossoms, she says.”

”Pretty colors,” Koji remarked, his eyes fixed on the fabric peeping out of the box.

Turning her attention back to the package's contents, she carefully lifted out the cloth bundle. It was loosely knotted, so she undid the ties and gently folded back a corner. ”Wood,” she murmured, pulling out a carving, then pa.s.sing it along for Koji to see. The first was a donkey, the next a sheep, and then an ox. By the time a shepherd and wise man joined the growing throng, her dad piped up, ”It's a nativity set!”

Milo smiled faintly as he inspected the little wooden Gabriel. ”These are handmade.”

”By local artisans,” Koji read from the small printed card that was with the figures.

Prissie arranged the figures on the table, smothering a giggle as Omri tilted his head and reached out to pat a wooden camel on its nose. Taweel's countenance was gentled by fondness as he beckoned to the tiny angel, who seemed bent on getting into mischief.

Catching his daughter's expression, Jayce commented, ”Ida's always been good at this sort of thing.”

”Finding unique gifts?” Milo hazarded.

With a grin, Prissie's father replied, ”Making my girl smile.”

That evening the Pomeroys piled into the van for the half-hour drive down into Harper. Deo Volente, which was mostly known as the DeeVee, was holding special midweek services for Advent, and Jayce and Naomi had decided to take the whole family.

Tonight was the second in a series of four, and Prissie was pretty excited. She'd stayed home last week because she had been sick, and since she'd missed the last Messiah rehearsal too, it felt like forever since she'd seen Baird and Kester, two more angels from Jedrick's Flight. Baird led wors.h.i.+p at the popular church that met in Harper's elementary school gymnasium, and his apprentice Kester Peverell was a member of his band.

When the Pomeroys trooped through the doors of the school building, they were quickly overtaken by a throng of people with rosy noses and high spirits. Baird was in the thick of things and hard to miss with his red hair, candy-cane striped scarf, and bright green earm.u.f.fs. Spotting them, he waved furiously and waded over. ”Oh, wow! You guys should have been here an hour ago! You coulda come with us!” he greeted.

Prissie was totally confused, but Tad asked, ”For the caroling?”

”That's right!” Baird exclaimed. ”'Tis the season to tromp through the neighborhoods around here. It's our weekly pre-advent service caroling extravaganza!”

”Might be fun,” Neil remarked, glancing curiously at their parents.

”You better believe it's fun!” With a coaxing air, the redhead added, ”We're going again next week.”

Mr. Pomeroy traded a look with his wife, then nodded. ”You lot could use the second car and get a head start on the rest of us,” he offered.

”Weather permitting,” their mother cautioned.

”Man, that'd be amazing!” Baird said, sidling over to Prissie. Even in his bizarre, furry boots, he wasn't any taller than her, so he was able to look her in the eye. ”You should come,” he said in a low voice. Giving her hand a quick squeeze before releasing it, the enthusiastic redhead broadly announced, ”I need to finish warming up so I can warm up! I'll see you inside!”

As he pushed back into the crowd, spreading cheer with every exclamation, Prissie shook her head, still trying to fit the Wors.h.i.+per's vibrant personality into her idea of what heaven might be like. He kept mixing her up by messing with her ideals, but she couldn't quite hold it against him. Baird was just ... Baird.

When service time rolled around, the overhead lights in the gym were doused so thousands of tiny white lights could twinkle from the groups of artificial trees set up on either side of the stage. Prissie sat up a little straighter as the band members filed into their usual places. Baird himself stepped to center stage and stood quietly, his hands folded prayerfully over his blue guitar. Talking dropped to whispers, then ebbed to a soft rustle of movement. Once the room held nothing but an expectant hush, he closed his eyes and opened his mouth.

”Of the Father's love begotten, e'er the worlds began to be ...” he began, his clear tenor filling the gymnasium.

Prissie didn't recognize the song, but her mother's soft sigh suggested that it was familiar to some.

”He is Alpha and Omega. He the Source, the Ending He ...” Baird sang, continuing an especially lovely description of Jesus.

As the second stanza began, the low thrum of Kester's cello joined the song, sending a s.h.i.+ver through Prissie. Now Baird seemed to be singing a duet with the stringed instrument's long, mellow notes. ”O, ye heights of heaven adore Him; angel hosts, His praises sing ...”

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