The Island of Heavenly Daze (2 page)

A simple clapboard structure came into view as the carriage rounded a corner. Jacques smiled. He'd spared no expense on the steeple. The monument would be a lasting tribute to God's glory. Majestically tall, the spirals stretched for the gates of heaven.

If his prayers were answered, this church would be the crowning glory of Heavenly Days for generations to come. It would symbolize the way he wanted the town to go on—as a refuge for the weary. So any peace-seeker who entered the church or any of the six houses would surely find it.

On this October day of Jacques's eighty-ninth year, he would leave this town and this dream of a better world to future generations.

The carriage rolled to a stop and Emil set the brake, then slowly extricated himself from the driver's seat. He opened the carriage door, and his rheumy eyes focused on Jacques.

“Help me down, Emil.” The two old men held on to each other as Jacques exited the coach.

Straightening, the captain sighed. “Let's hope we won't have to do that again.”

“No, sir. I don't believe we could.”

Jacques's eyes softened with deep affection for his old friend. “Have I told you how much I appreciate you, Emil?”

Nodding, the old servant met his eyes. “And I you, my captain.” He saluted, his old hand trembling as it met his brow.

“That's good. There's not enough love in this world. You have served me well both as a friend and a caretaker.”

“I have tried my best, sir.”

Emil took Jacques's arm, and the two men inched their way up the cobblestone path. The journey left both men winded and trembling with exertion.

Jacques slowly lifted his eyes to read the freshly-painted sign over the church door. The sign read “Heavenly Daze.” “Emil? You've misspelled the name.”

Emil blinked. “I have, sir?”

“No matter.” Jacques hesitantly released Emil's arm. “I want to be on my knees.”

Emil looked downright aghast at the suggestion. “Your knees, sir? What if—well, Captain, I don't believe the Lord requires us to be on our knees.”

“This particular request requires that I am, Emil. Now please help me.”

Emil bit his lip. “I will do my best, Captain.” After a great effort from both men, Jacques found himself breathless and kneeling beside the steps of the clapboard church.

Trying to catch his wind, Jacques patted the servant's blue-veined hand. “Thank you. I'll only be a moment.”

Emil folded his hands behind his back. “Take your time, sir. I've nowhere else to go.”

Jacques chuckled. “I am delighted that I can't say the same.”

Emil knelt at a respectful distance as Jacques bowed his head and murmured, “Please pray with me.”

From his post outside the throne room of heaven, the angel Gavriel drew a deep breath. The wafting winds carried the rising prayers of the saints, and he closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself to sort through the prayers that mingled like the myriad scents of a summer day. A smile crossed his face as he breathed in the sweet aroma of a child's first prayer, followed immediately by the grateful words of the loving mother at the child's bedside.

Gavriel's smile froze as the slightly bitter scent of a different prayer flooded his consciousness. The man who had offered it prayed for the destruction of his enemies, and anger had tinged his heart cry with emotions that had no place in heaven.

Gavriel opened his eyes and shook the traces of bitterness from his mind. He was not to judge the prayers of men and women; the responsibility for hearing and answering lay firmly in the Lord's hands. But when God chose to answer, he often dispatched an angelic messenger to aid the mortal petitioner, and Gavriel did not particularly want to grapple with a hard-hearted human.

Rising from his place, he stood and stretched his wings, then strolled to the balcony from which a great host of witnesses, human and angelic, often watched the comings and goings of the still-mortal. Abraham and Jonah stood at the railing now, their faces shining with the distinctive golden glow that marked all humans who had moved through heaven in spirit form.

“It's an odd request,” Abraham was saying. A frown marked his dignified features. “I don't think there's any precedent for it.”

“The Lord sent an entire army of angelic charioteers to surround Elisha's house,” Jonah countered, bracing his arms on the railing as he peered earthward through a hazy blanket of clouds. “Seven is not such a large request.”

“It's not the number; it's the time involved,” Abraham protested. “Who can say how long they'll be needed? When will it end?”

“Time means nothing to the Lord.” Jonah's face took on a distracted, inward look as he stared down at the swirling blue ocean beneath the clouds. “But the location— being surrounded by nothing but sea would make me nervous.” He looked up and grinned at Gavriel. “Once again, I'm glad I'm not an angel.”

Gavriel lifted a brow. “And I'm glad I never had to spend the night in a big fish. But I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about.”

He leaned over the balcony to try and determine what the men had been watching, but he could see nothing on the revolving sphere below but an expanse of ocean dotted with tiny islands and rimmed by the North American continent.

Behind him, Abraham chuckled, the sound low and deep in Gavriel's ear. “You will see soon enough, my friend.”

He had no sooner spoken than one of the cherubim appeared at Gavriel's elbow. In less time than it would have taken to draw a mortal breath, the cherub had communicated a message:
The Lord summons you.

Without looking back, Gavriel directed his thoughts toward the throne and appeared there almost instantly. He stood with his hands clasped before him, his wings folded, his feet planted firmly on the gleaming golden floor of the holy chamber. Before him, the Lord's lofty throne sat upon two pillars, each inscribed in seventy human tongues—the left with the word for
righteousness,
the right with the word for
justice.
Above the throne, a pair of the mighty seraphim hovered, their wings softly beating the crisp, cool air.

I am sending you, Gavriel, to earth again.

The voice flowed over Gavriel in a powerful wave, thrilling the angel's soul as completely as it had when he had awakened from nothingness and found himself a servant of the most high God.

Unbidden, Gavriel dropped to one knee. “Thank you, Father.”

You will not be alone. In answer to a believer's prayer I
am sending seven of the host of heaven to a place called
Heavenly Daze. My children there have asked for protection
and blessing.

Gavriel nodded, knowing that if two or more believers agreed upon anything, it would be done for them. He waited for more information, but apparently God had finished. When he lifted his head, Gavriel saw that he knelt with six other angels, each as eager as he to do the Lord's will.

Slowly, Gavriel turned his gaze toward the One who sat on the throne, but Michael, the archangel, stepped into Gavriel's field of vision. “You will all go to the island men call Heavenly Daze,” he said, his strong sword arm pointing toward the balcony outside the throne room. “Once there, you will each inhabit a building and guard the humans who dwell within its walls. Further instructions will come from the Lord as you need them.”

As one, the line of angels stood and moved toward the balcony. Gavriel was pleased to see that Abner, a wise worker angel, walked ahead of him. They had served together before, at a remote missionary outpost in Africa. The missionaries on whose behalf they labored never knew how fiercely Gavriel and Abner had battled the powers of darkness.

“Brother, do you know anything about this island?” Gavriel asked, careful to pitch his voice so that only Abner could hear.

Abner halted for a moment, giving Gavriel time to reach his side. “I have heard it is off the coast of a district called Maine. It is a rugged place, particularly in the winter season.”

The prophet and the father of Israel were still standing at the balcony, and Gavriel caught Jonah's attention as he drew near. The once-reluctant prophet's eyes shone with mischief as he looked at the advancing angels. “I'd keep my feet on dry land, if I were you,” he called, leaning on the balcony. “A veritable host of fierce fish dwell in that sea.”

“Thank you for your help, but I don't expect we'll have an opportunity to test the waters,” Gavriel said, swinging one leg over the polished marble balustrade. He straddled the railing for a moment, then swung the other leg over. Perched on the wide rail, he looked down the row of his companions. “Calendar year?” he asked.

“Seventeen hundred ninety-eight years after the birth of our Lord.” The answer came from Caleb, a quiet, unassuming angel who usually served in the halls of heaven. Gavriel suspected this might be that angel's first earthly mission.

“Let's prepare ourselves, then.” Gavriel straightened as his wings slowly folded, then vanished into the fluid texture of his skin. He drew a deep breath, filling his preternatural lungs with a last bit of delicious celestial air, then felt bands of tightness in his chest as his body shifted and shrank to mortal proportions. Within an instant, he had taken on the appearance of human flesh and blood.

He glanced down. The spotless white robe he had worn had altered into garb more appropriate for the time and place. He now wore narrow trousers and leather boots. A heavy frock coat with a flared skirt hung from his shoulders to his knees. A high collar, accented with ruffles, lay against the strange protuberance humans called the Adam's apple, while tight sleeves ran the length of his arm and ended above a pair of close-fitting leather gloves.

He looked again at his companions. Each of them had undergone a similar transformation, their shining robes replaced by fragile fabrics that felt shoddy against Gavriel's responsive skin. He grinned when he saw that each of the others wore high-crowned felt hats, as out of place in heaven as a bucket under a bull, then he reached up and felt a curled brim beneath his own fingertips.

“Fashion,” he muttered, holding tight to the annoying hat with one hand as he leaned over the vastness of the heavens. “Why are humans such slaves to it?”

“Are we ready?” Caleb asked, a tremor of anticipation in his voice.

Gavriel glanced down the row. Of the group, he was the most experienced in earthly matters, so they naturally looked to him for leadership.

“We are.” Gavriel closed his eyes for a moment, seeking the Lord's blessing, then gave Caleb a smile. “The journey will be swift. Do not be distracted by anything that comes against you. Keep your mind upon the task and your heart inclined toward the Lord's will.”

As one, the angelic company leaned out into empty space, and in the next instant they were soaring through the third heaven. Gavriel's ears filled with the rushing sounds of mingled prayers and praise as they traversed the celestial winds, his field of vision darkening as they left the glorious city of God behind.

Without warning, a current rippled through the angel's flesh as they passed from the supernatural realm into the physical, where the God-ordained laws of nature and gravity and science kept the universe spinning in perfect order. Fixing their eyes upon their destination, the angels zipped through the second heaven, leaving only a vapor trail, but still the dastardly prince of the power of the air and his screaming minions gave chase. Gavriel glanced over his shoulder just long enough to see the archangel Michael mount a sure defense, then he returned his gaze to the shores of a tiny island called Heavenly Daze.

Chapter One

R
ev. Winslow Waldo Wickam crossed one leg over the other and folded his hands, allowing one foot to swing in a stately side-to-side pattern as Micah Smith led the congregation in a rousing chorus of “Bringing In the Sheaves.” The beauty of Micah's liquid tenor overcame the whistling wind outside, and for a moment Winslow was nearly able to forget that his worship leader was really the handyman/ gardener at the local bed-and-breakfast.

He closed his eyes, losing himself in the familiar lyrics. “Sowing in the sunshine, sowing in the shadows, fearing neither clouds nor winter's chilling breeze . . .”

Chilling breeze was a bit of an understatement for Maine. Blizzard breath would be more suitable. Or frosty freeze, especially in October, when the weather could turn frigid overnight. But those sounded more like Dairy Queen treats than hymn lyrics.

Winslow opened his eyes and moved his lips to the song, not daring to actually sing. Micah had clipped a new lapel microphone to his tie before the service started, and Winslow felt a little nervous about wearing it. Some of the folks in the pews might think he was putting on airs, using a microphone—a mike, Micah called it—with only twenty people in the congregation today. After all, the acoustics in the tiny frame church were pretty good, considering the building had been built over two hundred years before. But Beatrice Coughlin and Cleta Lansdown had been over to visit the First Presbyterian Church in Portland, and they'd come back with tales of sound systems, orchestras, and multimedia screens dangling from the ceiling.