The Hidden Deep Page 5

  “Well, when you put it that way …” She turned her attention to the ducks that swam in tight circles below, hoping for a handout. Although he had a point, she didn’t like being corrected. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “Oh, this and that.”

  “So do you like apples?” she asked, immediately feeling foolish. Angels ate manna, not apples.

  Adin chuckled softly. “They have their uses. You appear to have a bumper crop this year.”

  “Yes! Grandpa’s very pleased.”

  “It’s said that a good harvest is a sign of divine favor.”

  “Oh! Are you a Caretaker … maybe?” she asked curiously.

  “Would that I were!” Adin replied with an ironic smile. “It might interest you to know that Caretakers are few and far between. They are earth-movers and storm-bringers, angels of cataclysmic power.”

  “R-really?” she asked, startled.

  “Truly,” he affirmed. Then, he gave her a speculative look. “I was just thinking. It’s taking a long time, isn’t it?”

  “What is?”

  “Finding the one who was lost,” Adin replied with a sad shake of his head.

  “Oooh.” Prissie glanced nervously into the orchard. “I’m sure everyone’s doing their best. They’re all very worried about their friend.”

  “Are you worried as well?”

  “A little, I guess,” she said. “It’s creepy to think that there might be dangerous things on our farm.”

  “So you’re worried for yourself, not for him.”

  “Well, I don’t know him,” she said defensively. It was hard to feel much for someone she’d never met, but Koji’s sadness over Ephron’s suffering had made a deep impression on her. With a stubborn tilt to her chin, she declared, “I do hope they can rescue him.”

  “Hope, hmm?” Adin sighed heavily before asking, “A little omniscience would be more effective, don’t you think?”

  “But Jedrick says that only God is all-knowing.”

  “True.” Then, he casually inquired, “Have you ever wondered why God lets people flounder around in the dark? After all, He must know where Ephron is being held. Poor fellow.”

  Prissie’s brows drew together in confusion. “It does seem a little strange.”

  Adin’s gaze wandered over the surrounding area, lingering from time to time at different points. His jaw tightened, but when he turned his attention back to her, his expression smoothed. “Maybe that’s where you’ll come in.”

  “Me?” she echoed, taken aback. “I don’t see how.”

  “Still, you know what they say. The unlikely ones are chosen.” His gaze sharpened, and he softly said, “I’m curious, Prissie. Do you have a favorite brother?”

  The sudden change in topic threw her off. “A favorite?”

  “Yes. Is one more important to you than the others?”

  She slowly shook her head. “They’re all my brothers. I don’t think it would be right to play favorites with family.”

  “No? How admirable. You’re right, of course,” he agreed. “And, you’re about to gain another brother by the looks of things.”

  Prissie’s eyes widened in shock. “Momma’s not having another baby, is she?”

  “I’m referring to the young man your father’s been spending so much time with,” Adin explained. “The one who’s planning to follow in his footsteps.”

  “Ransom,” she said dully.

  “That’s the fellow,” he said amiably. “You and he don’t get along very well, do you?”

  “Not hardly.”

  “Such a shame, but understandable. I mean, wasn’t that your plan? To work alongside your father?”

  She fidgeted uncomfortably. “Maybe when I was little. I’m not so sure anymore.”

  “Oh, well. Since you don’t mind, it probably doesn’t matter.” Adin’s eyes drifted skyward again as he mused aloud, “Playing favorites only ever leads to trouble. Abel over Cain. Jacob over Esau. Mankind over angels.”

  Prissie followed his gaze, wondering what had distracted him, but the sky was as clear and blue as ever. And when she glanced back, she was alone.

  5

  THE

  FRANTIC

  HOSTESS

  With their keen eyes, the archers had spotted them first, a blackening upon the earth, a blot against the sky. Soon, the other Flights sensed their encroachment and rose to meet them. Foul smells, vile words, and the constant gnashing of teeth filled the air as the enemy swarmed over the nearby ridge like a plague of locusts. Twisted blades, cruel smiles, and malicious intent sent Protectors and Guardians alike into a terrible clash that had lasted until sundown.

  In the aftermath, Jedrick strode through the orchard, sword drawn as he scanned the gathering shadows for any sign of further malice. His apprentice followed close on his heels, similarly armed but far less silent. “It’s weird they pulled back just when it was getting dark. Not that I’m complaining.”

  The Flight captain calmly said, “By the same token, we could say it was strange for them to attack when the sun was high in the sky.”

  “Say, do you think maybe … was this a bad sign?”

  A stern look warned him to say no more, and Jedrick firmly replied, “There is no reason not to take this at face value.”

  The younger angel scowled, and his mentor favored him with a long look. “You don’t agree?”

  “Here? Now?” he asked incredulously. “I don’t buy it.”

  With a faint smile, Jedrick said, “Nor do I.”

  It had been a few weeks since Prissie offered to invite some of her newest friends over to try her pie. Even though harvesttime was busy, Momma had wholeheartedly approved the plan. Prissie’s guests had readily accepted her invitation, and the big day had finally arrived. Harken, Milo, Baird, and Kester would be guests of the Pomeroys tonight, and though she wasn’t exactly dreading it, the very idea of having five angels at the dinner table was daunting.

  After talking through a dozen different possibilities, Grandma Nell finally persuaded Prissie to fall back on their usual company fare. As soon as they returned from church on Sunday morning, the two of them retreated to the smaller of the two houses that shared the Pomeroy’s lawn. In Grandma Nell’s kitchen, they fried enough chicken to feed a crowd, then returned to the main house to check on progress there.

  Prissie inhaled deeply and smiled. The smell of yeast always meant that Dad was home, messing around in the kitchen. Zeke stood guard over two towel-draped pans cooling on the sideboard, and when he spied his sister, he proudly announced, “Me and Dad made fancy potato rolls! I grated the cheese myself!”

  Jayce’s bakery was famous for their potato rolls, but when he made them at home, he often added a twist. The cheese-topped variety was a family favorite, and Prissie nodded briskly. “Perfect!”

  “Is it almost time?” Zeke asked, a whine of impatience creeping into his voice.

  “Not until four,” his mother replied patiently. She was perched on a tall kitchen stool, humming quietly as she peeled potatoes.

  “That’s forever,” grumbled the eight-year-old.

  Prissie glanced at the clock, which was creeping up on three. As far as she was concerned, forever was rushing past far too quickly. “There’s still so much to do,” she muttered worriedly.

  “Can I help?” Koji inquired.

  She started, for the boy had padded up behind her unawares. Still, she was grateful for the offer. Koji had a talent for turning up in times of need. With the beginnings of a smile, she asked, “How do you feel about flowers?”

  Armed with pairs of scissors and a basket, Prissie led the young Observer into the garden — or what was left of it. The bean trellises stood empty, and most of the vegetables had already been harvested. Much of the ground had been turned and composted in readiness for winter, leaving nothing but perennial herbs, a few root vegetables, and some hardy flowers that would bloom right up until the first killing frost.

  “Grandma said I ca
n take the rest of the zinnias,” she explained. “We’ll be filling jam jars, so the stems need to be this long,” she said, demonstrating the height she needed.

  “I can do that,” Koji replied and crouched down beside the long row of brightly hued flowers.

  For a while, all that could be heard were the soft rustle of leaves and sharp snips, but eventually, the young angel began to hum softly as he worked. “That’s pretty,” said Prissie.

  He looked thoughtfully at the bright red flower in his hand. “It is,” he agreed.

  “I meant your humming.”

  Koji seemed surprised. “I did not realize my joy had spilled over.”

  “You’re happy?” Prissie asked, feeling a little envious. With so many last minute details to take care of, she was trying her best not to fly to pieces.

  “Very.”

  Studying his face, she realized that Koji did look happy. “What’s put you in such a good mood?”

  “The others are coming, and I am glad,” he replied simply.

  “Aren’t there lots of angels around?”

  “Indeed.” He returned to snipping flowers. “I am acquainted with almost all of the angels whose responsibilities keep them close to your home.”

  “Almost?” she asked teasingly.

  “Almost,” he replied in all seriousness. “The others are certainly my comrades, but after living here, I have come to understand something new about my teammates.” Koji sat back on his heels and waved in the direction of Prissie’s home. “You have a family, and I have a family. Today, they will be together.”

  “Well, let’s hope everything’s ready before your family gets here. Otherwise, they’ll have to pitch in!”

  “I do not think they would mind.”

  “Well, I would!” He gazed at her with eyes that seemed to search her very soul, and to distract him, she exclaimed, “Oh! I thought of something to ask you!”

  “I will answer if I can.”

  “Who directs traffic in crowded places?” He stared uncomprehendingly at her, so she clarified. “I mean like yesterday, when we had so many customers visiting the orchard. Doesn’t it get busy having all those angels in one place?”

  The Observer’s expression flickered, his happiness now tempered by concern … or sorrow. “It varies,” he replied carefully. “Yesterday was uncommonly busy.”

  “That must be a colorful sight,” she said, holding up their basket. “Like bouquets of zinnias in the sky!”

  The shine returned to Koji’s eyes. “Indeed.”

  Prissie almost dropped her handful of silverware when Zeke’s whoop sounded from the front porch. “They’re here! They’re here!” he hollered before hot-footing it down the driveway. Jude, who’d been waiting patiently on the steps, trotted after him.

  Grandma Nell pulled back the edge of a curtain to peer out the window, but Prissie’s mother simply shook her head and smiled as she stirred the gravy. Jayce emerged from the little computer nook off the kitchen where he did his bookkeeping. With a wink at his daughter, he exclaimed, “Smells good enough to eat!”

  “Hope so,” she replied breathlessly. Prissie followed him to the front door and peered past his shoulder, suddenly very nervous. Would her brothers be embarrassing? How would Grandpa react to Baird? Would the food taste good? “Oh, no!”

  Koji’s head tilted. “What is wrong?”

  “Kester didn’t like fried food at the fair, and we made fried chicken for dinner!” she whispered tragically.

  The boy’s forehead creased in thought. “I do not think he would refuse the good food your family has prepared. Do not fret.”

  Almost before Harken’s car rolled to a stop beside the family van, one of the back doors popped open and Baird sprang into view. The Worshiper was dressed as always in faded jeans and a somewhat rumpled shirt thrown over a tank top. His shoulder-length red hair was pushed behind his ears, one of which was adorned by a cuff.

  Prissie hovered uncertainly, but Jayce tucked her arm through his and escorted her down the front walk. “They’re your guests, my girl. Let’s go make them welcome.”

  After turning a circle, Baird threw his arms wide and exclaimed, “Wooo! This place is the real deal!”

  “Hey, Mister!” Zeke greeted. “Are you sure you’re one of Prissie’s friends? ’Cause you’re old!”

  “Out of the mouths of babes,” dryly remarked Kester, who exited the car from the other side. He had a large nose, olive skin, and glossy black curls, and he paused to slip a suit jacket over his starched white shirt.

  “Welcome to Pomeroy Orchard!” Jude greeted, offering his hand to the tall man. “Since you’re already a friend, you can call me Judicious!”

  He stooped to accept the six-year-old’s welcome, speaking with a faintly foreign accent. “It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Kester Peverell.”

  “Where are you from?” the boy asked curiously.

  Dark brown eyes crinkled at the corners, and Kester answered, “I have been to so many places, it is difficult to say where my travels began. With your permission, I will make myself at home here for the time being.”

  “That’s really smart!” Jude exclaimed in delight.

  Meanwhile, Zeke was answering Baird’s rain of questions, most of which consisted of pointing to random items and asking, “What’s that?”

  The eight-year-old barely contained his laughter as he answered, “Apple barn … chicken coop … machine shed … tractor … my house … Grandpa’s house.” He finally snickered at the last and bluntly asked, “You don’t know what a cat is, Mister?”

  “Baird!” the redhead corrected. “Everyone calls me Baird, and I was just checking with the cat. Does he have a name?”

  “She,” said Zeke. “That’s Tansy, and she’s a mama kitty.”

  As Baird ran back and forth, his shirt flapped, giving peeks of the vivid red tattoos that twined around his shoulders. “It’s all … farm!”

  Kester shook his head and blandly replied, “Perhaps that is because this is a farm?”

  The redhead wasn’t paying him any mind. “Oh, man! Ducks!”

  “You’ve never seen a duck?” asked Zeke skeptically.

  “I’ve never seen these ducks,” Baird said with enthusiasm. “Hey, have you ever tried to walk like a duck?”

  In the next moment, he and Zeke were duck-waddling across the lawn, following a line of quackers toward the pond. By this time Harken and Milo had emerged from the car, and the mailman leaned against its roof. “There he goes,” Milo said with a smile.

  Harken stepped up to Prissie’s father and offered his hand. “Afternoon, Jayce. I appreciate your generosity in opening your home to us.”

  “You’re always welcome,” Mr. Pomeroy replied with a grin. “But this time around, we have Prissie to thank for the fellowship.”

  All eyes turned to their young hostess, who smiled uncomfortably. “I’m glad you could all make it.”

  Jude’s attention was still fixed on Kester. “Have you been to a farm before?”

  “I have, but never one dedicated to the production of apples,” he replied solemnly.

  “Do you wanna look around before dinner?” the boy invited. He was always eager to show off the place he loved best.

  Kester inclined his head. “I would appreciate a tour, Judicious.”

  With a bright smile, the boy led the way. The orchard was closed on Sundays, and after the previous day’s hustle and bustle, the farm seemed especially peaceful. Leaving Harken and Jayce chatting on the front porch, Prissie, Milo, and Koji trailed after man and boy, listening in as Jude made Kester welcome.

  “I like apples and chickens. What do you like?”

  “Music is close to my heart.”

  The boy gazed up at the tall man and asked, “Do you know lots of songs?”

  “I do.”

  “How many?”

  Kester admitted, “I have never tried to number them.”

  “That’s okay,” Jude assured in a confiding t
one. “I’ve never counted all the apples before. Or all the chickens. They don’t hold still long enough.”

  Milo chuckled at this, and Kester cast a bemused glance at the mailman before saying, “It would be like trying to number the stars.”

  “Or snowflakes,” the mailman interjected.

  “Or sparrows,” said Koji.

  “Or my hairs,” Jude said happily. “I learned that in Sunday school this morning.”

  “Very true,” Kester agreed.

  Jude drew to a halt and frowned in consideration. “I do have a favorite chicken, though. Would you like to meet Maddie?”

  “That would be acceptable.”

  Milo stepped up and offered, “Would you like some help catching her, Jude? Since Maddie and I are old friends, I’d love to say hello.”

  The boy’s smile grew sunny, for Milo had rescued the hen once before. His gratitude to the mailman knew no bounds. “That’d be real good!”

  “I will help as well,” said Koji.

  “Really? Okay! I know just where she’ll be right about now!” Without further ado, he trotted off, the Observer at his side. With a wave and a wink, Milo followed, leaving Kester in Prissie’s hands.

  “Come on, I’ll show you Pomeroy’s Folly,” Prissie said, leading the serious-faced Worshiper to the gate. “It’s very popular. People come from all over to see it.”

  “Most people are eager to hide their folly,” he remarked.

  Prissie was about to explain about architecture when she caught the faint smile lurking on the Worshiper’s lips, and she realized that, in his way, Kester was joking.

  They strolled past the barn, and the familiar bow of the bridge came into view, along with the red-haired angel and his young escort. Zeke hung precariously over the railing, and from the looks of things, Baird’s firm hold on the boy’s belt loops was the only thing keeping him from taking a plunge into the chilly water below. Prissie groaned. “Sorry, he’s always like this.”

  “Yes, he is,” agreed Kester, whose gaze was fixed on his partner. Sometimes it was hard to believe that Baird was the mentor and Kester was the apprentice.

  They leaned against the fence and watched Zeke’s latest adventure unfold, and in the calm silence that settled between them, Prissie remembered. “May I ask a question?”