The Blue Door

12



THE SECRET RECIPE



Thank you for sheltering her.”

“Of course,” Harken replied as he finished binding the warrior’s wound.

Letting the shining raiment fall back into place, the warrior said, “It has been years since the last time the battle raged so close to the center of town. What did they hope to gain from a midday assault?”

“It was dramatic,” the old shopkeeper remarked. “Showy, even.”

“You think so, too?”

Harken snapped shut the lid of a medical kit and took a seat beside his teammate. “It was pointless, but that may have been the point all along.”

The warrior rubbed the side of his face as he thought, but eventually, he voiced their shared concern. “While all our attention was fixed upon Main Street, was something important happening elsewhere?”

Wordlessly, both angels looked to the east.


“I’m detecting a theme here,” Grandma remarked as she placed a plate of sliced starfruit on the table between Koji and Prissie. “Are you fond of stars, young man?”

“Indeed,” he replied seriously.

Grandma Nell picked up the box of star-shaped pasta her granddaughter had brought home. “I haven’t used these since Beau decided he wanted to be an astronaut when he grew up. Do you remember that, Prissie?”

“Of course,” she replied, pushing the plate of fruit closer to Koji.

“We’ll have a nice soup with lunch tomorrow,” Grandma announced, turning to check the contents of her vegetable crisper. “Naomi and I will raid the garden this evening.”

As Grandma Nell bustled out onto the back porch where she kept her big stock pot, Koji picked up a piece of fruit and held it up to the light. “I did not realize I was reaching for stars,” he remarked thoughtfully.

“Does it matter?” Prissie returned, nibbling experimentally at the point of her first slice.

“Shimron says that the things we are closest to are the things we usually overlook,” Koji replied. “I must ask him if I should begin observing myself as well as those around me.” He touched his tongue to the starfruit’s greenish-yellow flesh, then popped the whole slice into his mouth, closing his eyes as he savored the new flavor.

Prissie took a larger bite, but decided that she preferred the familiarity of apples to newfangled fruits from faraway lands.

Her grandmother returned hugging a speckled pot with one arm and toting a frozen chicken under the other; she clanked the former onto the counter then clunked the latter into the sink. Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, she crossed to the shelf in the corner, which bulged with cookbooks, and picked up the one waiting on top. “I found it, Prissie — your great-grandmother’s recipe book.”

“Really?” she exclaimed, setting aside her half-eaten fruit as Grandma Nell offered a worn book with a pink calico cover.

“It took me long enough to find it, but you still have a little time. Give it a look this afternoon, and you can do a practice pie here while I make Koji’s soup over in your momma’s kitchen. Sound good?”

“Yes!”

Half an hour later found Prissie and Koji on the porch swing. Grandpa Pete’s mother’s recipes were written in pencil, which had faded in spots and smudged in others, so she turned the pages with great care. “Her name was Mae,” Prissie said. “That’s my middle name.”

Koji nodded wisely, but didn’t speak. He was too busy enjoying his cream soda-flavored sucker.

Prissie found the page detailing the secrets to her great-grandmother’s pink applesauce, and her brows drew together. “This takes six different kinds of apples, and the measurements are by the half-bushel!” she exclaimed, twisting the end of her braid around her finger before giving it a toss over her shoulder. “How am I supposed to pare this down into one pie?”

“Math?”

“Obviously,” she sighed.

It took twenty minutes of figuring and scratching, but finally, Prissie dusted away the eraser crumbs and stared with grim satisfaction at her recipe. “This is as close as I can get,” she declared with authority. “But it’ll only work if we can find ripe apples on Great-grandma’s trees.”

Koji bounced to his feet. “I will help!”

Armed with a basket and accompanied by Tansy, Prissie, and Koji set off down the dusty trail that would lead them right to the spot where they first met. As they walked, she thought about all the other angels who’d revealed themselves to her in the last two weeks — Milo, Harken, Adin, Baird, and Kester. According to Momma and Pastor Ruggles, she didn’t have anything to fear from them, but some of the things Koji had told her were unsettling. She didn’t want to think about an unseen war, or about what had happened to Koji’s predecessor, or what kinds of things might happen to her friends if they were captured by their invisible enemies.

She had a nagging suspicion that there must be a reason all of this was happening to her, but since she had no idea what that might be, she decided to concentrate on pleasant things, like baking an award-winning pie in time for the county fair.

“Which trees?” Koji asked, interrupting her train of thought.

“These big ones,” she replied, pointing to the venerable trees her middle-namesake had loved so well. They were two stories tall, and the uppermost branches were filled with creamy yellow apples, some beginning to show a pink blush. “They ripen early, but even so, they might be too green,” Prissie said worriedly.

Koji studied the trees closely, then chose the one that looked most climbable. He nimbly managed the lower limbs but became momentarily stuck midway up. Then, to Prissie’s amazement, he seemed to find a toehold in midair and continued his ascent. “How did you do that?” she called.

He turned to look down at her. “With help!”

“Whose?”

For several seconds, he gazed closely at her — observing. Finally, he replied, “I am not allowed to introduce you to anyone you cannot see.”

“Someone’s here?” Prissie whispered nervously.

“Of course,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Why?”

Cocking his head to one side, he answered, “Because you are here.”

A few furiously thumping heartbeats later, it dawned on her. “My guardian angel?”

“Indeed,” Koji smiled, resuming his climb.

Prissie searched the apple tree for some sign of another angel — a flicker of movement, a shimmer of light, anything! “Are they nice?” she finally ventured.

“I am not sure,” Koji replied, scrutinizing a cluster of apples that hung right in front of his nose. “I wish Abner was here; he would know which ones are ready.”

She hadn’t meant the apples, but since they were her pressing need, she decided to let it go. For now.


Koji watched Prissie’s progress with frank curiosity. He was in full Observer mode, and having his intent gaze fixed on her every movement wasn’t doing her temper any favors. Botching a pie was bad enough; doing it in front of a witness made her cranky.

“Can I help?” he offered … for the third time.

“I’ll do it myself,” she grouched, pushing a stray tendril of hair out of her face with the back of a floury hand. Grandma had ceded control of her kitchen to them, so Prissie was officially in charge. Koji’s role was somewhere between “moral support” and “guinea pig.” She carefully sliced a sliver out of one of the apples they’d picked earlier and extended it to the angel. “Do you think it’s too tart?”

Koji inspected the wedge, which had pearly white flesh that blushed to a beautiful shade of rose at its center. He crunched into it and puckered, exclaiming, “Sour!”

Prissie’s lips formed a grim line as she moved onto the next apple and cut another sample. “If they’re still green, I guess I can try adding more sugar,” she mused aloud.

“These apples are the secret to your recipe?” Koji asked.

“Well, they’re the secret to pink applesauce,” Prissie corrected. “Grandma Nell hasn’t made it in a while, but it’s a Pomeroy tradition that goes back to Great-grandma Mae. The story is that pink was her favorite color, and so her husband ordered those trees especially for her. Grandpa Pete remembers when they were planted.”

Koji listened patiently, biting his lip as if trying to contain some comment, but when she paused for breath, he blurted, “Is the oven supposed to do that?”

Prissie glanced away from the cutting board and gasped. Smoke was trickling out from around the oven door and drifting toward the ceiling. “Oh, no! My pie crust cookies!” she wailed.

Grabbing the oven mitts, she yanked the oven open, releasing a cloud of acrid smoke into the room. Neat rows of pastry strips that had been sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar were charred beyond recognition, and once she noticed that some of them were actually smoldering, she hurried the baking sheet to the kitchen sink and dumped the whole lot in. When she flipped on the water, it hissed against the hot pan, sending up a billow of steam.

“No,” she muttered grumpily. “That isn’t supposed to happen. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Koji blinked. “You did not want my help.”

Prissie threw down her oven mitts onto the counter and slapped off the faucet, then stomped to the kitchen table and sat, blinking back angry tears. “This isn’t fair!” she seethed. “Everyone else can do this!” Well, maybe not everyone, but that’s the way it felt. Grandma Nell’s fabulous pies consistently won ribbons, Auntie Lou’s entry was sure to impress the judges, and even her father could probably knock their socks off if he wanted to. Prissie wanted to show everyone that she could do just as well!

“I can see that you wish to do your best,” Koji cautiously offered. “But it is not good to compare yourself to others.”

“What would you know about it?” she returned waspishly.

Koji didn’t react to her tone; he merely answered her question. “I also have a mentor whose reputation precedes him. My placement with Shimron is a distinct honor, and I wish very much to excel.”

Interest lurked behind Prissie’s sulky expression. “What’s he like?”

“Old. Wise. Patient.” Koji’s eyes shone with admiration for the angel he’d been assigned to work with. “Shimron is one of the First.”

“First?”

Koji nodded. “He remembers the creation of this world and has looked upon all of time!” Sobering somewhat, he added, “He also remembers the Rebellion.”

Prissie wasn’t sure exactly what he was talking about, but it was a relief that Koji could sympathize with her plight. “Does he make everything look easy?”

The young angel considered her question, but he didn’t answer it directly. “My task was to watch, to remember, and to testify, but in the midst of my responsibilities, I was seen.”

“By me,” she supplied, her mood shifting. “Did you get into trouble?”

Koji shook his head. “Shimron was pleased that I was given this chance. He was also able to meet a human and speaks fondly about his experience. They also became friends.”

“Someone else who could see angels?” Prissie asked, intrigued.

“Yes. It is not unheard of … just rare.”

“Who did Shimron meet?”

The young angel’s eyes took on a mischievous shine. “Elijah.”

Prissie gawked at him. “The Elijah?”

“Indeed.”