High Plains Hearts (13 page)

They drove to the residential section next to the city center. The houses were small and close together, but they rose tall.

“The houses along here remind me of the people who must have built these houses, needing each other for warmth and companionship, so they huddled together, like these houses. And they’re tall because on the prairie you can see forever, but first they needed to see over the trees that lined the riverbanks.” She couldn’t keep the pride out of her voice as she spoke of her neighborhood.

“Their height may also have made the upper floors, the sleeping areas, easier to heat,” Jake commented pragmatically, “because hot air rises. That way they could take advantage of the stored heat from the day’s activities. If they’d been spread out, the outer corners would have been icy on a night like this without additional heating and thus cost.”

She made a face at him. “I like my version better. It’s more poetic.”

“It is,” he acceded, “but mine is more practical, more realistic about why the houses are built the way they are. Don’t you agree?”

She tried not to let her face reveal the truth, that she had never thought of it that way. Her vision of how the community had grown and shaped itself had always been a romantic one. Never once had something as everyday as heating the homes entered her thoughts.

“I’m somewhat embarrassed,” she confessed. “Heating was too prosaic, I’m afraid, for my fanciful mind. Of course you’re right.”

The houses seemed immediately smaller, dingier, grayer, just tall scrawny buildings lining a river.

He glanced at her. “And I’d never seen them with such an artistic eye. These houses suddenly have character, personality, and a quiet steadfastness about them I’d never noticed before. Thank you for sharing this with me.”

The holiday decorations were simple on most houses. Some had decorated their homes traditionally, while others had used modern themes and colors, like the one house that was lit with purple and turquoise bulbs.

The fresh snow in the moonlight made the houses that lined the street look homey and Christmassy. Her heart warmed as she surveyed the area where she had lived her entire life.

As Jake pulled up in front of her house, she realized she hadn’t put up her own lights this year. She mentioned it to Jake, and he immediately seized upon the opportunity.

“I’ll do it.”

She took his arm in her mittened hand and pulled him toward her door. “Not tonight. This is our time to relax and take it easy.”

Cora met them with a chorus of meows and complaints that let them know she’d been alone the entire evening, it had been horrible, and she had almost starved to death.

While Tess refilled her dish with Meow Meals and replaced her bowl of water, Jake picked Cora up and talked to her. Tess had to turn her face to hide the grin on her face as he cooed to the cat. “You poor baby cat. Were you all alone in this big old house and not a thing to eat? Poor, poor baby cat. Don’t worry—Tessie is home now.”

She couldn’t stop herself. “Tessie? It makes me sound like that Loch Ness monster.”

“What’s that, sweetums?” Jake bent his ear to Cora’s mouth, then reported, “Cora says you are the Loch Ness monster.”

“Cora is a flat-out opportunist who will say anything for a treat. Remember that you’re the one who gave her Giblet Niblets. You rank right up there with the guy who invented salmon takeout. In fact, as far as she knows, you might be the guy who invented salmon takeout. I’m getting her some Meow Meals, tuna flavor, by the way, and some water. May I get you anything?”

“Sorry, no. If you have any of those Giblet Niblets left, though …” He pretended to look hopeful.

“No, thankfully. The piglet ate them all—bless her little heart. I do have some brownies.”

“Okay, you’ve convinced me.”

They went into the living room with the plate of brownies, Cora trailing after them. When she realized she wasn’t getting any tasty tidbits from them, she curled up on her blanket in front of the furnace vent.

Jake walked around the room, checking out the decorations there. “These are your grandparents, I assume?” he asked, picking up a black-and-white photograph of an older couple.

“Yup. Those are the sweethearts. I miss them a lot, but I know they’re in good hands in heaven.”

He sat down on the overstuffed couch draped with a few of her grandmother’s crocheted afghans. “Do you believe in angels?”

Her answer was simple and direct. “Yes.”

“Have you ever seen one?”

She weighed his question. Some people asked her the question, searching for the answer as some reliable indicator that a spiritual force was truly at work in human lives. Others asked it with disbelief, their minds already made up that angels were no more real than, say, leprechauns.

What was his motive?

He seemed to be asking it honestly, wanting to hear the answer.

“Yes,” she said at last. “Perhaps.”

Many would have stopped her there. How could her answer be both yes and perhaps? But he considered her reply and seemed to understand.

“Do you mind telling me more?” he continued.

“I have seen children escape injury by what could only be an angel’s hand. I’m talking about suddenly stopping midfall and missing the corner of a table by no possible physical means.”

She took a deep breath. “I’ve heard stories of people who have, during times of stress and spiritual trial, had someone with them who, upon later investigation, could not be verified as existing. The extra nurse in the hospital who talked someone through a difficult recovery. The roommate at the recovery center who kept a fellow from crashing mentally. The woman who pulled a child from a burning car and then vanished.”

She paused, studying his face for his reaction. She couldn’t read it, but he didn’t appear to think she was insane.

“Now none of these instances I’ve mentioned proves the existence of what we call angels,” she went on. “A strong spiritual force is at work in each of these stories, and whether you call them angels or spirits or simply God’s intervention, they’re visible signs of the strength that comes from God.”

“Have you ever seen an angel?” he repeated.

“I’ve seen a child’s fall stopped. Jake, it was the strangest thing. A little boy was standing on a chair in the kitchen at church. It tipped over backward, and suddenly he was falling, the back part of his head aimed right at the sharp corner of the counter. No one could get there fast enough; but apparently someone did because he stopped falling, only a fraction of an inch from the corner. We all watched as his head moved over just far enough to miss the corner, and he fell the rest of the way without hurting himself. He sort of sat down, too—he didn’t even get a bump.”

She shivered at the memory. It was still so real. She had thought they’d be going to the hospital with him, and instead he wasn’t harmed at all.

“And there’s one other time. This happened when I lived in St. Paul, going to college. I hadn’t been to church for a while—I was in my rebellious period—and I finally decided to go back, to see if it was what I was searching for.”

She paused. This, too, was vivid.

“I walked into the sanctuary, and as I stood at the door, wavering about whether or not I’d stay, an elderly woman said, ‘Here—sit by me.’ She shared her hymnal, and when she sang, Jake, it was the sweetest sound. I’ve never heard a voice as clear and sweet and pure as hers was. Her caring made me give church a second chance. And when I tried to find her the next Sunday, to tell her what she had done for me, I couldn’t find her. I asked the minister, and he said there wasn’t anyone like her in the church. To me, she was an angel.”

He didn’t speak right away. Then he said, “Those stories are pretty convincing to me. I’ve never seen an angel.”

“That you know of,” she said. “My favorite Bible verse is from Hebrews, and it goes: ‘Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.’ You may have encountered an entire host of angels and not known it.”

“I doubt it.”

“Think about the dinner on Thanksgiving. Any one of those people could have been an angel. How would you have known it? An angel could be symbolic, too, I suppose.”

“Explain, please.” His head was cupped in his hands, as he waited for her answer.

“I’m not sure about this, but maybe it could be that a human being could act as an angel, too. Like that woman in the church in Minnesota for me. Maybe she truly was a human being; maybe she was just visiting, and that’s why no one knew her; but she performed God’s deeds.”

“That’s an interesting theory. Actually, that is probably the most logical explanation. Well, except for that falling child thing—but I suppose there could be some theory about reactive neutrons or something.”

“Reactive neutrons?” she repeated. “What are reactive neutrons?”

“Made up,” he replied cheerfully. “I just made it up. I’m simply saying there might be some physical response we haven’t identified. But that’s not to deny the possibility of angels.”

“You can’t quite believe in them.”

“But I can’t quite not believe in them,” he countered. “I think I’m too pragmatic, though, to accept this angels thing totally. I guess I want proof. You know, pictures on the ten o’clock news. Full coverage by
Newsweek
with photographs and scientific capitulation. The
New York Times
carrying the story on their front page with an in-depth explanation that will answer once and for all whether there is such a thing as an angel.”

“They exist whether you believe in them or not,” she said. “In some form or some fashion they do. Call them what you will, but they exist. They don’t flap down with gigantic wings, although that would make identification much easier, and they’re not wearing halos nowadays. But I believe in them.”

“Are you upset with me?” he asked, his warm brown eyes studying her.

“No.” It was true. At the basis of the ability to believe in angels was the ability to believe in God. And she wasn’t yet sure of where Jake stood in his faith journey.

“I guess that surprises me,” he said. “You know, as heavily invested as you are with angels and all.”

“Invested? Financially or emotionally?”

He shrugged. “Both, I guess, but I did mean emotionally. Isn’t it all tied in with your religion, whether you believe in angels or not?”

“Considering they’re the messengers of God, yes, it would help if you believed in Him first.” The words sounded testy, and she immediately regretted them as she saw his face. “Of course, I’d rather you agreed with me 100 percent, but your arguments are valid, I think. They’re definitely much more considered than those I usually hear.”

The clock bonged softly, and she leaped up.

“It’s after eleven! Remember—you were going home early to get some sleep.”

He hedged a bit, but she took his face in her hands and turned it so he was looking directly at her. She could feel the stubble of his beard beneath her hands. It felt wonderful.

“How late is Panda’s open tonight?” she asked.

“Midnight.”

“And Todd can close, right? You could check the till tomorrow, couldn’t you, to make sure it balanced? Or ask him to let you know if it’s off wildly?”

“Yes.”

“Call. See if there’s any reason you need to go in.” She pushed him toward her phone.

Tess eavesdropped shamelessly.

When he hung up the phone, she confronted him. “I know everything is all right, so you don’t need to go there. Go home. Sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” he protested.

“Yes, you are. You need to remind your body you are. Have a big glass of milk before you go to bed.” The image of his cold, unlived-in house came into her mind. “You do have milk, don’t you?”

“I can go to Panda’s and get some.”

“You will do no such thing. Wait here.”

She went into the kitchen and retrieved the thermos he had brought on Saturday. As she opened the refrigerator door and took out the carton of milk, Cora padded in to join them.

Tess filled the thermos for Jake and a bowl for Cora.

“Now, both of you, drink up. And go to sleep.”

Now that she was aware of it, she could see the little lines that worry and exhaustion had carved into his face. Automatically her fingers strayed up to soothe them.

“Please, for me, get some sleep.”

“I am tired,” he admitted. “So tired I may kiss Cora and scratch you behind your ears.”

But he got it right.

S
he took her own advice and went to bed, but sleep was maddeningly elusive. Even when Cora thumped onto the bed and curled up beside her, like a living hot-water bottle, she couldn’t stop thinking about the evening.

Had it been only a few days she’d known him? In that short time he’d become very dear to her. And when he acknowledged how tired he was, she’d nearly cried.

He was such a good man, such a good man.

Her thoughts floated around the word
love
but refused to settle on it.

Cora began to snore softly, her mouth open just enough to allow leftover snatches of the aroma of Giblet Niblets to escape. Tess pushed her carefully so as not to awaken her, but so she’d sleep with her mouth facing the other direction.

Cora stirred from her sleep, sighed, and stood up enough to circle three times and resume her earlier spot, breathing happily into Tess’s face.

Tess gave up. Maybe she’d get used to it soon. She had other, more pressing problems to deal with.

Something she was seeing in Jake was an emerging pattern of his inability to move into faith. He wanted proof of angels; he wanted numbers to guarantee his move downtown would be successful; he wanted assurances that his new venture into wholesale was going to be prosperous. Proof. He wanted proof.

But he wanted a proof that didn’t exist, not the way he envisioned it. Very little in life came with a guarantee—it was a concept so basic it almost seemed cliché. Could he ever make that important step past the necessity of proof and into faith?

Her mind turned it over and over, but fruitlessly. Finally she buried her face in the warm fur of Cora’s side, away from the cat’s mouth, and slept.