Heather Graham (13 page)

Ring, ring, ring …

She jerked up the receiver.

“Rowenna, it’s William.”

“William!” she said guiltily. She would have hurt him. So badly. What had she been thinking? It would have been such a cruel thing to have done.

“Rowenna, I know it’s Christmas Eve. I don’t know what you’ve planned, but this is important. Do you think you could help me out?”

“Of course. In any way I can. What do you need?”

“Do you think you could talk about angels to a friend of mine?”

Angels?

“I… of course,” she murmured, still confused. Her cousin the priest wanted her to talk about angels? “Where are you, William?”

“At the home. I’ll send a car for you. Oh, Merry-Almost-Christmas, Ro.”

“You, too.” He started to hang up.

“William?”

“Yes?”

“I love you, William. You’re very special in my life.”

“Thanks, Ro. You’re very special to me.”

He hung up.

She smiled, feeling for the cradle, replacing the receiver slowly and carefully. Oh, God, yes,
life
was special.

D
ON HAD BEEN WITH
Mary since he’d left Scottie, not at all sure what the kid would do, and not at all sure his methods had been the right ones. Well, right or wrong, he’d done his best. The kid had needed to be shaken up a bit. Of course, he hadn’t been assigned Scottie, though someone should have been given the kid. What a mess.

Now, as to Mary…

It hurt to be near her. To sit at her side, to feel the anguish sweeping through her. In his life, he’d never known anyone so self-sacrificing; nor had he ever felt such terrible fear. He tried to speak to her, to tell her that it was going to be all right. He kept entering her mind, but he couldn’t tell if he had really touched her or not. She was a powerful woman. She told herself she was having morphine dreams.

He thought about appearing in material form to her, but George was there, and the priest, and he wasn’t sure if that was what was he should do. He felt inane, wondering why he had been given Mary.

Angry that he had been given Mary.

What could he do for her, except hurt with her? She was dying. And he was an angel under rules that gave him only limited powers—the power of suggestion, the power to move objects, and the power to appear and disappear. He couldn’t cure cancer. And since he couldn’t, Mary was going to die.

Unless he gave her back life. At the risk of his soul. He paced the room.

George sat by Mary and held her hand. Don continued to feel at a loss. He thought of Rowenna then, with years of life ahead of her. Rowenna, who wanted to throw it all away…

Rowenna, who gave her great speeches about angels, making her students see the heavens and deities.

Rowenna! She couldn’t see herself, but what fantastic visions she could create! Rowenna, who was related to the priest…

He smiled, and stared at Father William.

This was a piece of cake.

He implanted the thought in William to call Rowenna for help.

And William did, certain he had come up with the most brilliant plan ever.

George continued to sit at Mary’s side.

Don clasped his hands behind his back. Pleased with himself, relieved. He now had every confidence that Rowenna was well and that Cathy would soon be here with her. He knew his wife had fared better than he had. Cathy was simply much better “angel” material than he. He hesitated a minute, looking back at Mary.

What an incredible woman. She had such strength. She had given so very much, done so much for others.

She deserved better than a struggling angel-candidate such as himself. Dying, aged, there was something still so beautiful about the woman. Her silver gray hair streamed over her pillow. She inhaled and exhaled in pain.

He turned back to the window, clenching his hands into fists.

He’d forgotten one of the rules.

He could call on Gabriel.

Once!

This was only his second miracle. It should have been so easy. It should have been incredibly simple. The easiest miracle in the world. Help a frightened old lady die. Well, she was going to die one way or the other. And there was nothing he could do about it.

He closed his eyes.
All right, Gabriel. This is it. Help me. I’ll calling on you now.

Nothing happened. Mary let out something like a sob, clinging to George’s hand.

It’s all right, Mary! he told her silently. There is a God, he loves you.

Her fear came pulsing back at him like winter waves on a New England shore.

Afraid, afraid, afraid, oh, God, don’t let me die, if there is a God, afraid, afraid …

A male nurse entered the room, checking the IV that sent a controlled amount of painkiller into Mary’s veins. I could twist the little knob, Don thought. Send the drug shooting into her veins…

Kill her. End this agony quicker. Wouldn’t that be helping her?

She’s dying, what’s the difference?

He suddenly realized that, though he was invisible, the male nurse was staring straight at him. He blinked, then realized that it was Gabriel, indicating that they should go out into the hallway to talk.

“You called on me?” Gabriel said. He sounded impatient.

“This is insane!” Don told him.

Gabriel arched a brow. “I would have considered this a fairly simple little miracle. Help Mary from this life into the next. Soothe away her fear.”

“I should be doing something.”

“There is no cure as yet for her cancer.”

“Well, why didn’t you just have me find the damned cure for her cancer?”

“We don’t expect such intricate miracles from fledglings such as yourself.”

“But—”

“It’s simply not your job to discover the cure for cancer, all right?”

“That’s what is so crazy! I don’t understand what I’m doing here. This poor old woman is dying, and you’re telling me there’s nothing I can do about it!”

“I never said that.”

Don was silent, staring at Gabriel.

“You mean I can take a chance and give life back to her, and lose—”

“You can.”

“Can. But shouldn’t, right?”

“Don, she’s an old woman who has lived a long and fruitful life. Death is not an evil. It is a part of every man’s life. In Mary’s case, the time has come. Death seems cruel when it comes to a child… when it haunts a young woman such as Rowenna Trent. It tests one’s faith when it comes for a young mother, a youth, a babe in arms. Death cannot come more gently than it does to those who leave this world by natural causes after having lived full lives.”

“Then why does she hurt so badly?”

“She needs help. A guiding hand.”

“I—”

“There are things you can do to allow death to come gently to her.”

“But I feel… selfish. As if I should give up anything I could for her.”

Gabriel threw up his hands in aggravation. “Look, I’m only supposed to spell things out for you to a certain point, but you have used your one chance to call on me for this, so I’ll try to make you understand. It’s Mary’s time to die. Think about it. Do you believe she will suffer once mortal death has come? Look back at this gentle woman’s life!”

“Yeah. Well, I hadn’t thought I was such a louse myself!”

Gabriel arched a brow to him. “You want to compare yourself with this nun?”

“All right, all right.”

Gabriel was still staring at him.

Don threw up his hands. “You can go now,” he said, aggravated that Gabriel was still staring at him. “You’re a busy angel, remember?”

He was startled to see that Gabriel actually smiled at him. “I am a busy angel. And you’re not doing so badly yourself. Stopping by to see the kid was a nice touch.”

“What?” Don looked at him, still steeped in worry about Mary, not sure of what Gabriel was talking about.

“Scottie Garrity.”

“Oh. Oh, I…” Don shrugged. “Was that, ummm, fire stuff okay? I mean, I don’t suppose an angel is really supposed to scare the sh—”

“Angels touch people in different ways,” Gabriel said. “Actually, I rather liked it myself. Scottie needed a good swift kick in the behind. You did all right.”

“Thanks.”

“But now… Well, making Mary peaceful is your miracle. I’ve got to go. But you are, by the way, on the right track.”

“Thanks!”

Gabriel, in nurse’s white, walked on down the hallway, disappearing into mist.

Don stared after him, then reentered Mary’s room.

He was startled to realize that Rowenna Trent had arrived while he’d been talking. She was seated at Mary’s side, her fingers curled around those of the dying nun, and she was talking.

He didn’t see Cathy, and for a moment his concern caused him to lose track of what was happening. He assured himself that his wife had to be all right—if “all right” could be the proper way to think of either of them; it was true that she was dead and they were both getting the gist of the angel thing. If he concentrated, he could surely find Cathy.

But he became aware of Rowenna speaking then, in her beautiful, soft, well-modulated voice.

“… they abound in the heavens by the hundreds, perhaps more. Angels, archangels, and more. They rise upon clouds of silky softness, billowing with a beauty untouched by even the greatest of our earthly artists. How could any palette re-create the splendor of the sky, the night, the stars? And remember, always, Mary, that God commanded the angels to be his voice to man. They touch us as we live, they have touched you, and through you, all those poor people helped by your hands. Mary, I’ve heard this, read this, so very many times! When you pass over, they’ll be waiting. Ready to take your hand, help you along. Pain will be gone; you’ll walk on those clouds of satin and mist.”

“My hand,” Mary murmured. “An angel will take my hand.”

Invisible, seated at her side, Don gently curled his own hand around Mary’s.

To his surprise, she turned and looked at him. She smiled. She made no attempt to directly address him, to convince others that he was there. “An angel will take my hand,” she said to Rowenna, her voice raspy.

A death rattle.

Yet even as Mary saw him, recognized him for what he was at last, they heard a slight commotion. Don saw Scottie Garrity—hair combed, tailored shirt tucked into clean blue jeans—come into the room. He was with an attractive woman in her mid-thirties. George Garrity was so surprised to see these two that he leapt up awkwardly from his vigil at his aunt’s bedside.

“Scottie … Judith?”

The woman nodded, giving Scottie Garrity a squeeze around his shoulders. “Scottie came for me. George, you should have called me.” Her voice was very low. She didn’t want Mary to hear her. “I want to be with you in any way that I can—to help you.”

George stared at his son, still amazed.

“Hi, Dad,” Scottie said. He smiled a little remorsefully, a little ruefully, and walked over to Mary’s bed, leaned down, and kissed her cheek. “Aunt Mary, it’s me, Scottie. I love you.”

“Scottie!” Mary whispered. “God bless you, child, God be with you…”

“And you too, Aunt Mary. You’re already a saint, you know.”

“Now, Scottie, only the Church—”

“You’re a saint!” Scottie insisted, flirting with her somewhat. He grew more serious. “If you can come back as an angel, be with me, okay? I’ll need you the most.”

“Scottie!” George murmured.

“Now, George, leave the boy be.” Mary gathered the strength that remained to her. She looked at Scottie and smiled. “What a lovely thought. We can’t pretend that I’m going to get better here. I’m dying, and that’s just as plain as day.” She took a breath, and refused to let the pain stop her. “Scottie, I’d love to get to be an angel and come back and be with you! And I’m grateful to all of you for being here with me. So grateful. Scottie, stay there and hold my hand. Rowenna, you keep talking. George, stop crying and hold on to Judith. She loves you and it looks to me like she and Scottie have worked out a thing or two. George, you were a good boy, you’re a good man, and I’m proud of you. Scottie, you’re going to do just fine now, too.” Her whispered voice faltered for a moment. “Rowenna, I haven’t a lot of strength. You do the talking now. Then I need to rest. And have you all leave me with Father William.”

She stared straight at Don again. Smiled.

“Leave me with Father William. And the angels!” she said softly. Mary weakened, weaved in and out of consciousness. They left her with Father William as she asked, but kept up their loving vigil.

At one point, as George and Scottie Garrity stood out in the hall, Scottie awkwardly approached his father. George even more awkwardly put his arms around his son and hugged him tightly. Scottie hugged him back.

Then Scottie started to cry.

George was already crying.

They didn’t speak at first. Their awkward hugs said everything.

Scottie pulled away at last, drying his eyes with his sleeve.

“What did you get Judith for Christmas, Dad?” he asked.

George shrugged. “I’m not great with Christmas gifts. Perfume, a scarf. I’m not good with clothes—”

“How about jewelry?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you think you should buy her a diamond, Dad?”

George looked at his son, and shook his head. Scottie even looked different. He looked like a kid again. A boy.

His son.

He didn’t say anything. He just put his arms back around his son. Hugged him again, certain that this time Scottie would protest. Eventually Scottie would, but for the moment he just hugged him back.

“I know how you love Aunt Mary, Dad. And I’m sorry for the way I’ve hurt you. I’m going to try to help you through this.”

“You already have, son. You already have.”

“Judith is really pretty cool, Dad. I didn’t realize that she was so okay until I talked to her tonight. You should marry her.”

“She has to agree to marry me. Maybe she will now, though. She wanted your blessing.”

Scottie grinned. “My blessing. That’s pretty cool, too.”

George, glancing over his son’s shoulder, saw that Father William had come quietly out into the hall. George cleared his throat. “William is motioning us back. Let’s say goodbye to Aunt Mary. I pray there is a heaven—she’ll be a saint.”