A Season of Angels (Angels Everywhere #1)(6)
“Then I’ll do everything within my power to help her.”
“You’re ready?” Gabriel asked, thinking he’d best send her soon before he said too much. This request would be a learning experience for this young prayer ambassador as well as for her charge. All he could do was hope for the best.
“Let’s go,” Goodness said, impatient to leave the splendor of heaven and walk incognito into a dull, sin-cloaked world.
Gabriel watched as Goodness floated down from heaven, thinking humans were right about one thing. God often did work in mysterious ways and never more so than in this instance. Gabriel was confident of one thing. Neither Goodness nor Monica Fischer would ever be the same again.
Monica looked out over the gathering crowd and was pleased at the attention their small choir had garnered. Shoppers stopped, their arms folded around packages and some of the tiredness left their eyes. A few joined in and sang themselves. Children were lifted in their fathers’ arms for a better look. The transformation the singing group produced brought a small, satisfied smile in Monica’s heart.
Then she noticed a man who stood head and shoulders above the others. He seemed to be trapped by the people around him, and was impatiently edging his way around the gathering.
Being on the top riser gave her an excellent view and she frowned at this intruder. He needed both a shave and a haircut. Even from this distance she noted his eyes, which were a cutting shade of cobalt blue. He seemed to need to get somewhere and was impatiently making his way through the crowd, scooting around one and then another with nary a word of pardon. He wore a beige trench coat and looked as if he’d slept in the bedraggled thing.
Monica’s gaze followed him as long as she could, but he soon moved out of her peripheral vision. What an unpleasant man, she decided, annoyed at his intrusion into their performance. No doubt he was a modern-day Scrooge who resented every moment wasted on the celebration of the Savior’s birth.
The small church band struck up the first chords of the next carol, “Silent Night.” The highest notes were well within Monica’s vocal range and her voice was strong enough to ring out loud and clear. When the moment arrived for her short solo performance she allowed her soul to soak up the music and fly free. Then unexpectedly, from out of nowhere, another voice joined and blended with hers.
Quickly Monica looked in both directions to see who had been so bold as to disrupt her one moment of glory. She knew she shouldn’t be so concerned, but it bothered her, and yet as far as she could tell none of the other sopranos were singing.
She raised her voice a full octave, straining her vocal cords. The second voice followed her lead, angelic in its purity and so strong it all but drowned out her own. What perplexed Monica most was that no one else around her seemed to notice anything was amiss. Faces from the audience gazed on approvingly and even the choir director smiled, delighted by her performance.
As she drew to a close, the last of the notes fading into nothingness, the small crowd cheered and she was enthusiastically applauded. Annoyed that her one and only solo had been interrupted by an intruder, Monica twisted around to see if she could find the second voice.
She must have been more energetic in her efforts than she realized because she lost her balance. Her arms flew out in an effort to catch herself, but before she could alert anyone to her plight, she tumbled backward off the top step of the riser.
Crying out, her arms flapping in empty space, she was surprised to land in the unexpected cushion of a man’s waiting arms.
“Well, well, what do we have here?”
It was him. The very man she’d noticed earlier, the one who’d cut his way through the crowd with such impatience.
“Ah . . .” For the life of her Monica couldn’t make herself speak. All she could do was stare into his handsome features. On closer inspection his eyes were a deeper shade, a metallic blue, amused now, but dispassionate. The thick lines that fanned out from his eyes weren’t from smiling. They spoke of experience, most of it harsh, and disenchantment, most of it warranted, she guessed. Lines bracketed his mouth as well, they deepened as he studied her with the same curiosity with which she regarded him.
“No need to take such a chance,” he chided. “If you wanted an introduction all you needed to do was ask.”
Gasping and breathless, Monica struggled until he slowly, reluctantly lowered her feet to the ground. He waited until she’d found her balance before he released her completely.
“You might want to thank me,” he suggested lazily.
Flustered, Monica blinked several times, seldom at a loss for words as she was now. “Thank you,” she managed, the words as stiff as starch, stuck in her dry throat. “I’m not sure what happened, but apparently I lost my balance.”
His brazen grin broadened. “Was that you singing just now?”
She nodded, and the curiosity got the better of her. “Did you hear two voices or one?”
“One.”
“But there were two. That’s what flustered me so. Another voice blended with mine. A strong soprano. Surely you heard the other voice?”
“Listen, lady, all I heard was you and I’m not much for religious music, but from where I was standing you sounded real good.”
She blushed with pleasure. Her voice was adequate and she did love to sing, but she didn’t possess any great talent. To assume she did would have been vain on her part, and vanity was a greased track straight to the arms of the devil as far as Monica was concerned. “Thank you again.”