The Broken Window (4 page)

Conversation screeched to a halt as soon as they walked up. Red flags waved furiously. Elise and Jennifer were all smiles, but Margery and April were avoiding eye contact. It was
definitely
a bad sign. Prissie and Koji sat down anyway and ate in awkward silence.

Later, Prissie caught up to April between classes. “Is there something going on that I should know about?”

April smoothed her hand over her sleek bob. “It might be better if you didn’t,” she said bluntly. “It’s just talk.”

“What kind of talk?”

April sighed. “It doesn’t matter, Prissie. Leave it alone, and it’ll blow over, just like the Marcus thing.”

“I thought we were friends,” Prissie said quietly.

“Yes, but I’m friends with Margery, Jennifer, and Elise too. I don’t want to choose sides.”

The bell rang, and April bolted, leaving Prissie in the lurch. One of the main reasons the rumors about her and Marcus had blown over was because both of them had been quick to set everyone straight. How could she defend herself if her friends didn’t back her up? April
knew
the truth, but she wasn’t willing to take a stand. By remaining neutral, she was letting the injustice continue. Deep down, Prissie felt that by doing nothing, April had actually condemned her.

W
hat is their goal?” asked Jedrick in rising frustration. He paced the floor of the circular room where he often sought counsel.

“Do they need one?” Shimron challenged. “The Tower is here; that alone provokes them. The Fallen would make rubble of anything God has established.”

The Protector shook his head. “What God has established, none can break!”

“Amen and amen.”

With a frown, Jedrick pointed out, “The Deep is
not
impenetrable.”

“And the Gate?” asked the old Observer.

Jedrick sighed. “Many have sought it; few could find it.”

“Few?” Shimron echoed, then a thoughtful expression
crossed his face. “Ah, I see what you mean. There
are
those who can enter secret places, who open a way even when there is no door.”

“A Caretaker,” his captain confirmed. “Padgett has been targeted, but the enemy’s snares are useless. Against one of his order, they are thoroughly outmatched.”

The ancient archivist slowly laid aside his pen, his expression grave. Turning from his worktable, he crossed to one of the many bookshelves that lined the room and selected a gray volume with a spine decorated with the links of a chain.

Jedrick watched him with curiosity and concern. “What is it, Shimron?”

“There
is
one way,” the old Observer said, his tone heavy with warning. Fixing his faded blue eyes on Jedrick, he asked, “How many Caretakers Fell?”

“I do not know,” the Protector confessed. “It was before my beginning.”

With a small sigh, Shimron spread wide the pages of his record and gently turned the pages. “Four Fell, and those four were scattered to the four corners of the earth, confined to the deep places until the last days.” Arriving at the section he was seeking, the old Observer murmured, “I thought so.”

The Protector’s shoulders squared, as if braced for a blow. “Tell me.”

Tapping the record, Shimron announced, “We stand upon one of those four corners.”

Prissie
should
have been focusing on her homework, especially since assignments had piled up during her absence, and midterms were right around the corner. Instead, a dozen
other little worries were using up her attention. Rumors—or rumors of rumors, actually—were circling, and she couldn’t imagine what had set them off, let alone what was being said.

She and Koji sat at the kitchen table, and Prissie could tell by the rhythmic scratch of his pencil that he was drawing. Jude had lent Koji a box of crayons, and she’d offered up a jar of colored pencils. Surrounded by the tools of his trade, the young Observer actually reminded her a little of his mentor.

The absolute concentration on Koji’s face lifted with a blink, and he met her gaze. Smiling softly, he announced, “The mail is here.”

It took a few minutes before the muffled shouts of her younger brothers heralded Milo’s arrival. He left his boots by the door and padded through to the kitchen in stocking feet. Draping his jacket over the back of a chair, he slid into it with a contented sigh. Miraculously, none of the other Pomeroys joined them. Or perhaps it was
providentially.
Prissie had noticed that happened fairly regularly where angels were concerned. “Hello,” she greeted shyly.

Milo slid a box across the table. “This one’s got your name on it, Miss Priscilla.”

Her eyes widened. “Is it something important?”

He chuckled. “I’m sure it
is,
but it’s not a message from on high. To be honest, I’m here because someone
else
was eager to see you.”

“Who?” she asked, mystified. Before he could answer, little Omri burst into view and whizzed around her head in a dizzying display. She gasped in delight and spread her hands wide, offering them as a landing pad for the yahavim. With a flutter of translucent wings and a flick of his long, yellow ponytail, he alighted on her palm. Prissie’s hands curved
protectively around him as he took a seat and blinked at her with faceted eyes. “Hello, Omri,” she crooned. She had to squint to see his smiling face, so great was his happiness.

“He was
very
insistent,” Milo remarked.

“He can’t talk,” she countered. “How could he
insist
?”

“Even without words, Omri is clever enough to make himself understood,” Milo said.

“I’m sure you are,” she whispered. Prissie dragged her eyes from her cute little visitor to smile at the mailman, only to discover that another place at the table had been filled. “Hello, Taweel.”

The big Guardian grunted a quiet greeting. For a moment, his smoky purple eyes met hers, but the fierce warrior bashfully looked away.

Almost immediately, Prissie noticed the bandages encasing his wrist. “Oh, no! You’re hurt?” she exclaimed.

Meeting her gaze more squarely this time, he gruffly said, “Do not fear. It is mending well.”

“But how did it happen?” she persisted, staring fixedly at oddly familiar gauzy material that looked as if it’d been woven from threads of light.

The Messenger and Guardian exchanged a glance, and Milo rubbed a hand over the top of his head. “I suppose you could say things have been busy around here lately.”

Tapping the kitchen table with her finger, Prissie asked, “
Here,
here? Or just sort of … around here?”

Koji interjected, “Do you remember where Padgett turned us aside when April was visiting?”

Prissie nodded slowly. “Sure, out in the back forty.”

“That is close to …” He trailed off, glancing uncertainly at his teammates.

“Close to an area that’s become a battlefield,” Milo smoothly supplied.

“Were you trying to get to Ephron?”

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 apron, then cocked a brow at his daughter. “Why don’t you pour our good friend a glass 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 glass 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 shipments 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 penmanship. 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 passing 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 worship 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 earmuffs. 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 Worshiper’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 shiver 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 …”

Having a song that talked about angels being sung by an actual angel made Prissie’s heart do flip-flops. It was perfect, and she found herself blinking back tears.

“Let no tongue on earth be silent, every voice in concert sing, evermore and evermore!” Making the lines an invitation, Baird raised his hands as the words to the next verse appeared on the overhead screen.

Prissie was delighted to learn such a beautiful song, and she was even gladder when Baird ushered them right back to the beginning so everyone could sing through the whole thing again. As the last
evermore and evermore
faded, he struck a chord on his guitar, and the drums began to thump in time to the beating of her heart. Kester moved over to the keyboard, and the rest of the band joined in, leading the congregation into another song of praise.