Those Christmas Angels (Angels Everywhere #5)(7)

Shirley’s face brightened. “Could we visit Anne for just a little while? I haven’t seen her in years.”

“At one time she routinely prayed for her son,” Gabriel explained as he guided them out of his quarters and to a convenient location to view Anne’s little spot on Earth. “For quite a while after the divorce, she brought Roy’s hardened heart to God’s attention, but when she didn’t see results, her faith weakened. Now only an infrequent prayer comes our way.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Shirley whispered. “When I was assigned to her mother…” She paused and looked up guiltily, as if afraid she’d said more than permissible. “I’m sure all Anne really wants is for her son to be happy.”

“But happiness is a condition of the mind, not of circumstances,” Gabriel reminded them. “That appears to be a most difficult lesson for humans. They expect to find happiness in things, which we all know is impossible.” Sadly he shook his head. “They repeatedly fail to see what should be perfectly logical.”

“Humans require a lot of patience,” Goodness said, trying hard to sound knowledgeable.

Gabriel studied the trio, as though gauging how much he could trust them if he did grant them passage back to Earth. Goodness did her utmost to look serene and confident. She fully intended to be good, but she couldn’t count on Mercy. Shirley was iffy, too. Her friend seemed to have a special fondness for Anne, and there was no telling what she’d do once they arrived on Earth.

Goodness didn’t begrudge Gabriel his doubts. The trio always left Heaven with the best intentions, but when they began to mingle with humans, their powers to resist grew increasingly weak. They found it impossible not to interfere in situations that hadn’t been assigned to them—which inevitably got them into trouble.

Gabriel’s gaze was drawn back to the big blue sphere, the view of Earth from Heaven.

Goodness peered closer but couldn’t make out anything yet. Gabriel would need to bring everything into focus.

“Yes, I’m afraid that where her son is concerned, Anne’s lost hope,” the Archangel murmured sadly. “She doesn’t understand that some things need to be believed in order to be seen.”

Goodness was impressed. “That’s so wise.”

“Poor Anne,” Shirley whispered, her brow wrinkled in worry.

“We can help her, I’m sure,” Mercy insisted, sidling next to Shirley. “Anne needs us.” She glanced from Gabriel to Shirley, looking for confirmation.

Goodness bit her tongue to keep from chastising her friend. They couldn’t act too eager, otherwise Gabriel might become suspicious. He might wonder if they had ulterior motives for wanting to visit Earth. As unobtrusively as possible, she made a small waving motion with her hand, hoping Mercy would get the message.

“Of course,” Mercy added with an exaggerated sigh, “there are any number of angels more qualified than the three of us.”

“Yes, there are,” Gabriel said bluntly.

“I thought you said we could see her from here,” Shirley said, squinting through the thick cloud cover.

For a moment Gabriel seemed to be having second thoughts. His expression became more severe as he stared at them. Little wonder humans were terrified of Gabriel, Goodness reflected. His imposing stature was enough to intimidate the bravest men. That was one reason, she supposed, that he was only sent from Heaven on the most serious of missions.

Slowly he raised his massive arms and with one sweeping motion the clouds cleared and the mist gradually thinned, revealing the cottage surrounded by tall fir trees. Then Anne came into view. She stood in her art room, a paintbrush in her hand. A few Christmas decorations hung here and there, as if a halfhearted effort had been made to display them.

Once more Shirley leaned forward, peering downward. “Anne’s painting,” she said, and pointed to the scene below.

Once the mist faded completely, Goodness stepped closer to her friends to get a better look. Just as Shirley had declared, Anne Fletcher stood in front of an easel, apparently deep in thought.

Goodness examined the painting and was pleasantly surprised. Shirley had been right; the woman was a talented artist. She used bold, distinctive colors and strong, confident lines. But despite the beauty of her landscape, Anne was obviously dissatisfied. She seemed about to paint over the canvas and destroy her work. Instead, she set her brush and palette aside and slumped into a chair. Tilting her chin, Anne stared at the ceiling, blinking back tears.

“What’s wrong?” Shirley asked, turning to Gabriel for an explanation. “She looks like she’s going to cry.”

“She’s worrying about her son,” Gabriel said. “She—”

“But she’s prayed for him,” Shirley broke in. “Anne knows to leave matters with God. Her mother taught her the importance of trusting in God,” she said, adding, “But that was so long ago….”

“She spoke to her son a little while ago, and things are even worse than she realized. She’s given up hope.”

“But she prayed—how can you say that?” Shirley demanded. “After everything she’s been through, after all she’s suffered. Look,” she cried, gesturing at the weeping woman, “there’s no bitterness or hatred in her, no ill will toward Burton and his new wife.”