The Hidden Deep Read online

  “No, thank you.”

  A few minutes later, Jude turned up and plopped down on Prissie’s other side. “Dad said I can sit with you, okay?”

  “Sure, Judicious,” Prissie agreed with a smile, giving her brother a quick squeeze.

  The West Edinton Warriors were warming up on the field, and it didn’t take long to pick out their brother from among the other players wearing red and white jerseys; POMEROY was printed in neat block letters across Neil’s back. “I see him!” Jude exclaimed. Lifting a megaphone he’d made from red construction paper, he yelled, “Hi, Neil!” Prissie didn’t think he actually heard the call, but as the stands continued to fill, Neil looked at their family’s usual seats, giving them a quick wave.

  Just before game time, the athletes jogged off the field, and the cheerleaders made an appearance, their short, red and white pleated skirts flaring out as they bounced up and down on the sidelines, waving pompoms. Many of the locals filling the stands wore the school colors. Prissie’s thick red sweater was her traditional game day attire, and as an added touch, she’d redone her hair so that red and white ribbons wove through the braids.

  Jude’s red hoodie had the team logo, a warrior with a shield brandishing his sword. While her little brother shouted encouragement through his megaphone, Prissie turned to Koji and asked, “Why don’t Jedrick and Taweel and Tamaes carry shields?”

  The Observer’s brows lifted, but then his eyes took on a mischievous shine. “I will ask if you can watch our team practice one day. Then you will see.”

  “They fight one another?”

  “They do,” Koji replied seriously.

  “Why?”

  “Shimron says that it is impossible to be what you must become.”

  She gave that a little thought before asking, “Does that mean you have tournaments and things?”

  “Battle is not for sport,” Koji answered. Meeting her gaze steadily, he explained, “They cross swords to improve. Iron sharpening iron.”

  “That makes sense,” she said. “I’ll bet it’s more exciting to watch than football.”

  “It can be.” Leaning closer, Koji confessed. “However, I like singing together more.”

  Under the lights, referees in black and white uniforms took their places, and in the big tower at the center of the field, their school’s announcer introduced the starting lineup. As a sophomore, Neil wasn’t a starter; he was the backup quarterback, slated to step up next year, after their current quarterback graduated. As the reserve players ran the pom-pom gauntlet and charged out onto the field, Prissie cheered as loudly as anyone.

  A whistle blew, and the game began. Koji watched with rapt attention, but Prissie was soon distracted by other things. Out of habit, she searched for Milo, who rarely missed a home game. Eventually, she spotted him on the sidelines, talking with a small knot of people that included Derrick Matthews, whose wife, Pearl, worked at Loafing Around, the two EMTs whose ambulance was parked in the end zone, and the reporter from the Herald.

  During a time out, the school band launched into West Edinton’s fight song, and as many of the people in the stands started singing, Prissie leaned close to Koji and said, “I’m just going to walk up and down a couple of times.”

  “Shall I join you?”

  Shaking her head, she answered, “You stay with Jude. I’ll be right back.”

  Many teens loitered around the concession stand, which mostly sold hot dogs, nachos, candy bars, and soft drinks. There was also a coffee cart, which always did a brisk business in cocoa and other hot drinks when the temperature took a plunge. This evening was still mild enough that kids were buying ice-cream sandwiches and lemon ice. Prissie was just considering bringing back a treat for Koji and Jude when some people under the nearest set of bleachers caught her eye.

  A couple of teenagers had cornered a little boy with tear-stained cheeks. She immediately recognized Marcus’s distinctive two-tone hair, and a moment later, she realized that the boy on the ground was Gavin Burke, Margery’s little brother. His shoulders were hunched, and his lip trembled as he stared at Ransom, who’d hunkered down in front of him. Quick as a flash, Prissie rushed over and demanded, “What did you do?”

  “Nothing,” Ransom replied, rising from his crouch. “The kid won’t tell me his name, though.”

  “He’s hurt!”

  “Nah, he just took a digger,” her classmate said. “You know him?”

  Gavin sniffled and dragged the back of his hand across his nose, leaving a long smudge of dirt across one cheek. He looked so miserable, and it was clearly Ransom’s fault. Furious, Prissie wheeled and shook her finger in his face. “How dare you?”

  “How dare I what?” Ransom asked incredulously.

  “You are such a bully!” Prissie exclaimed hotly. This was something she could do to prove that she was still a good friend. While Margery was busy on the sidelines, Prissie would protect Gavin. “Picking on a little boy? He’s only four!”

  Ransom glanced at his friend. “We just got here, Miss Priss. Ask Marcus!”

  She treated the other teen to a skeptical look before accusing, “You made him cry!”

  “I didn’t,” Ransom said in exasperation. “He was already crying when we stopped to check on him!”

  Gavin’s lip began to tremble again, and Prissie said, “I think you’ve done enough damage. You should go.”

  Ransom looked from her to Gavin and back again, and for the first time, he looked angry. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “Yes,” she said haughtily.

  “Based on what?” he asked darkly. “Did you see me hurt that kid?”

  “It’s the sort of thing you would do,” Prissie retorted, blue eyes snapping in righteous indignation.

  “Since when?”

  “Since always!”

  Ransom took a deep breath, and when he released it, he said, “You have no idea what happened, but you’re blaming me anyhow.”

  “I can’t stand bullies,” she said scathingly.

  He cocked a brow at her. “Me either.”

  That threw her off for a moment, but she rallied. “Your innocent act isn’t fooling anyone. Get out of here before I report you.”

  “You don’t know how to listen, do you?” Ransom inquired.

  “I’ll scream.”

  Marcus cleared his throat, “Maybe we should leave her to it.”

  Ransom stubbornly jammed his hands into his pockets. “Miss Priss, you’re jumping to crazy conclusions. We didn’t hurt the kid. We were trying to help!”

  “Well, you’re not very good at it,” she said, pointing imperiously toward the parking lot. “Go away!”

  “Come on,” Marcus said, touching Ransom’s arm. “As long as the kid’s all right, it’s good. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Guess so,” he muttered, allowing his friend to lead him away.

  Prissie glared after them, so she saw when Ransom looked over his shoulder at her, a troubled expression on his face. Giving her braids a toss, she turned to Gavin, helping him to his feet. “Did those awful boys give you a hard time?”

  Green eyes that were so much like Margery’s stared up at her, and the little boy sulkily answered, “Nooo.”

  “No?” Prissie echoed, startled.

  “Uh-uh,” he clarified, giving a shake of his head. “Were they bad?”

  Prissie wasn’t sure anymore, but she took his hand. “It doesn’t matter. Come on, Gavin. Let’s find your mom.”

  4

  THE STEADY

  HAND

  Koji concentrated on the dream. His cheek rested against cold stone, and darkness pressed against his eyes. “Is that you?” he asked softly.

  “It is me,” came a ragged whisper.

  “Why is it so dark?” Koji asked, sitting up and blinking in an unconscious effort to clear his vision.

  “Because I am in the dark,” the low voice replied tiredly.

  “But we are children of light,” he earnestly pointed out. �
��Our raiment at least …?”

  “You see what I see, young Observer.”

  Koji turned this revelation over and over in his mind, and when understanding came, so did his tears. “I am sorry, Ephron.”

  “I can still taste its sweetness, and tiny wings whisper of its presence,” he murmured. “My eyes are not needed to confirm heaven’s light.”

  “Shimron calls you a poet,” Koji offered shyly. “I can see why.”

  “Am I?” he asked bemusedly. “I only say what I am thinking.”

  “Your thoughts fall in pleasant ways.”

  “Will you stay for a while?”

  “For as long as I am permitted.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jayce poked Ransom’s shoulder. “Come on. It’s high time you tagged along on one of my rustles. You’ve got the rest of this covered, right Lou?”

  She poured two cups of coffee and moved toward the table in the corner. “I’ll mind the ovens. You two go on and bring back something nice!”

  “Who’s Russell?” asked Ransom.

  “My mom used to say she was going out to the garden to rustle up some supper,” Mr. Pomeroy explained. “Come to think of it, she still says that. Anyhow, ditch the apron, young man. We’re going foraging.”

  “For what?”

  “Inspiration and ingredients, not necessarily in that order,” he replied with a grin, sauntering out the front door. “Some days, I get restless, and that’s when I like to play with my food.”

  “Right,” the teen replied, quirking a brow at his boss.

  “You’ll see,” Jayce said. “It’s the best way to figure things out if you’re a hands-on learner like me.” They walked into the corner store, and he headed straight for the produce section, eyes alert. “I’m pretty spoiled because I’m a country boy, and we grow a lot of our own produce. That’s why I usually pick something we don’t put in.”

  “Like oranges and bananas and stuff?”

  “Sure, sure,” Jayce agreed. “And I try to stick with the seasons. Summer is the most fun because everything is fresh. Plenty to choose from. Fall is next best, I think.” He patted a pumpkin in passing and wandered over to inspect some pineapples. “I switch to nuts and spices in winter when produce is scarce, and there’s always preserves. Jams, jellies, compotes, chutneys,” he listed, half talking to himself.

  “What about spring?” Ransom asked curiously.

  Jayce grinned. “Chocolate.”

  “Right.”

  “Here’s a good one,” he said, nabbing a couple bags of cranberries and tossing them to the teen. “Very autumn. Very interesting.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever had cranberries that didn’t come from a can,” Ransom admitted, prodding the hard, red berries through the plastic.

  “One of the best ways to get new ideas is to learn everything you can about the ingredients you work with,” Mr. Pomeroy said. “Chop it, mash it, boil it, grate it. See how it bakes down, how it fries up, how it tastes with other ingredients. Think about moisture, texture, sweetness, acidity.”

  Ransom followed along, listening intently and nodding at intervals while Jayce pulled random items out of bins and off shelves. “Something sweet, something salty, something heavy, something light. Contrasts are good. Two things that are nothing alike can bring out the best in each other.”

  “Maybe with food,” Ransom said skeptically. “People don’t seem to mix very well.”

  “Oh?” Jayce turned and gave the boy his full attention. “What makes you say that?”

  “Eh. Some girl at school,” he replied. “She doesn’t approve of ‘people like me’ for some reason.”

  “People like you?” Jayce inquired lightly. “Someone who knows what he wants and works hard for it?”

  “Guess so.”

  “You know, I really respect that about you. I have a boy who’s a year older than you, and I don’t think he’s given much thought to his future. You’re a step ahead of most people your age.”

  “Thanks, sir. I wish more people thought like you.”

  Jayce chuckled and grabbed a box of candied ginger off a shelf. “Like that girl?” he inquired. “I take it her opinion matters to you?”

  The teen’s brows drew together as he thought it over. “It’s not so much that her opinion matters. It’s more that I don’t understand her opinion. I don’t like being written off.”

  “Girls are confusing, and women are a mystery,” Mr. Pomeroy said. “Since I have a mother, a mother-in-law, a wife, a sister, and a daughter, I speak with the voice of experience.”

  Ransom snickered, then juggled his armful of groceries to make room for a tub of mascarpone cheese. “Guess I should be glad it’s just me and Dad.”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Jayce said. “I treasure each and every one of them, but I can do that even when I can’t figure out what they’re thinking.”

  “I really doubt she’s gonna get past whatever I did to get on her bad side.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, you’re on my good side,” Jayce assured.

  “What about the whole religion thing?” Ransom asked nonchalantly.

  Jayce’s blue eyes shone. “I told you I won’t push, but the invitation’s still open. I’d be pleased and proud to have you join me and my lot on any Sunday.”

  The teen grimaced. “That’s really not my thing.”

  “Okay. What about an evening service?” Jayce ventured. “There’s a place down in Harper, and they hold services on Wednesdays and Saturdays. It’s pretty casual, and the music’s good. Might be more your speed?”

  “I’ll think about it, sir.”

  “Fair enough,” Jayce replied. “Until then, I think it might be good to set you up with firsthand information. I keep a few spares lying around. Remind me to give you one when we get back to the bakery.”

  “A spare what?” Ransom asked.

  Mr. Pomeroy balanced a tin of pistachios on top of the boy’s increasingly precarious pile and answered, “A Bible.”

  The farm was always busy during harvesttime, but Saturdays were the craziest. Locals showed up early to beat the crowds, and city folks brought their families and made a day of it. The cool, dark apple barn was filled with the tangy-sweet smell of cider, and long tables held lines of overflowing bushel baskets. Plates of sliced apples were set out at intervals so people could taste each variety, and a glass case by the register was filled with applesauce doughnuts and apple turnovers, courtesy of Loafing Around.

  Momma and Grandma Nell took care of customers inside, and Grandpa Pete alternated between the cider press and the kettle corn machine, with Beau and Koji lending a hand. Tad and Jude helped the people who came especially to pick their own apples, and Prissie kept busy pouring cider and handing out fliers to everyone who came through the door.

  As lunchtime drew near, Momma came over to give Prissie a break, and she gladly escaped out into the sunshine. She took a deep breath of crisp air that meant summer was truly at an end. Strolling past green picnic tables, she chased down a blowing napkin, dropping it into the garbage barrel before following the fence line to the footpath that led to the prettiest spot on their farm — Pomeroy’s Folly. The beautiful garden was more than a decade in the making, a father-daughter collaboration between Pete Pomeroy and Jayce’s younger sister. Grandpa still added something to it every year, even though Aunt Ida had married and moved away.

  Prissie paused as a southbound flock of Canadian geese flew overhead in vee-formation. Once their honking faded, the clear blue sky looked empty, but she wondered if it just seemed that way. Milo had once said their farm was a busy place, with Protectors, Guardians, and Messengers always coming and going. If you added all their customers’ escorts to the mix, wouldn’t there be an angelic traffic jam? Maybe there were angels whose main job was directing traffic, like Neil, who was down in the turn-around at the end of the driveway, overseeing parking. It was a silly idea, but Prissie sort of wished Koji was around to ask.

&nbs
p; For now, she was on her own, or as alone as one person could be in the midst of visible and invisible crowds. Prissie looked at the roof of the barn where Tamaes apparently spent most of his time, then frowned at another passing thought. Why would Tamaes spend most of his day sleeping on the barn roof if angels didn’t need to sleep? Funny how the questions always occurred to her when there was no one around to answer them. Prissie patted the pocket of her work apron, wishing she had a piece of paper to write them down. Koji liked it when she asked questions, but his answers weren’t always easy to understand.

  Just then, someone on the pond’s bridge caught her eye. The young man rested his forearms against the bright red railing, and there was something familiar about the glossy, auburn hair that fell across his face. He peered at the ducks paddling below, and while Prissie watched, he straightened and nodded pleasantly to a couple of older women with cameras who climbed the graceful moon bridge. Lots of people came to take pictures of the fall display Grandpa and Aunt Ida had planted — golden birches, red Japanese maples, orange firethorn, and mounds of purple asters.

  Prissie slipped through the green gate and hurried along the footpath, not taking her eyes off the slender man, because the last time she had, he’d disappeared. Turning toward her, he tucked his hands into his pockets and welcomed her with a genial smile.

  “Hello, Adin. What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you, of course.”

  Once again, this angel had chosen clothes that complemented her own. His neat, woolen pants were a perfect match for her pleated skirt, and he wore a vest in the same shade of dark green as her apron. She thought they looked as if they belonged together, which made her happy. “Really? Why?”

  “I thought we should compare notes,” Adin replied, leaning casually against the railing. “I see you decided to have an adventure after all.”

  “I don’t know if I’d call it an adventure,” she protested.

  “You’re consorting with angels, Prissie,” he said. “That’s not exactly commonplace.”