The Blue Door

6



THE SECOND OPINION



It’s not the first time a girl’s had a crush on you, Goldilocks.”

“I know,” sighed Milo.

“I take it you’re kinda fond of this one?”

“Prissie’s special,” Koji interjected.

“She must be if she can see you, squirt!”

“Every individual has value,” Milo flatly stated.

“That’s a given, but this is different. You’re getting the chance to be totally genuine with a person!”

The angel gave a short, bitter laugh as he raked his fingers through long blond hair. “Only to discover that she was much happier with the lie.”

“We don’t lie,” his friend corrected. “They assume.”

“Then why do her eyes accuse me?”

“You did not do anything wrong!” protested Koji.

“Milo’s just a softie,” teased the other angel, earning a halfhearted glare. “It’s okay to care about them, you know.”

“I care about all of them.”

“You and me, both,” agreed his friend, then snapped his fingers. “Here’s what you do. Smooth things over, then bring her around.”

“You want to meet Prissie?” Koji asked, eyes aglow.

“Absolutely! She’s already met a few of us; what’s one more?”

“I could talk to Harken about it,” Milo said slowly.

“Then it’s settled!”


Jude adored the farm and wanted to be a farmer with his biggest-big brother. He trailed after Tad with complete and utter devotion, convinced he was the best the world had to offer, with Grandpa a close second. While Grandpa Pete was gruff and Tad was serious, Jude was a ray of pure sunshine — bright, cheerful, and sweet-natured. The little fellow was the nurturing type, and Momma strictly forbade any teasing over the fact that even as a big boy of six, he played with dolls and slept with an assortment of stuffies, as Jude called them.

One of Jude’s greatest loves was the chickens that had free range of their farmyard. He gave them all names and chatted to them as if they were people. No one could coax an egg out from under a crotchety old hen like he could, so Neil called Jude “the chicken whisperer.” This year would be the first time the boy showed one of his hens at the county fair. A stack of wire cages stood ready in the barn, waiting to house their entries in the fair’s upcoming poultry competition.

Maddie, which was short for Madder, as in “than a wet hen,” was a beautiful Ameraucana with black and white feathers. The name had been Tad’s idea, so of course, Jude thought it was wonderful, even if it hardly suited her. Maddie was a good-tempered chicken, tame and smart; she was one of five hens who never strayed far from the boy whenever he was out in the yard. Her eggs were always a soft shade of pale green that rivaled Grandpa’s duck eggs for beauty.

Prissie stroked Maddie’s comb with the fuzzy end of a “tickle weed” and smiled when the hen closed her eyes and endured the attention. “You’re going to win a ribbon for Judicious, aren’t you, girl?” she murmured, using Tad’s nickname for their youngest brother.

“There’s a fair chance,” Momma agreed from where she knelt further along the row, picking pole beans.

Adjusting the tilt of her straw hat, Prissie returned to the bumper bean crop they were harvesting, and after a few moments broke the comfortable silence. “Can I ask you a question, Momma?”

“Always.”

“Do you believe in angels?”

Naomi Pomeroy smiled. “Sure, I do.”

“Have you ever seen one?” Prissie asked.

“No,” she replied, “though your uncle Loren tells some pretty amazing stories from his travels. You should ask him about it.”

“Did Aunt Ida’s last letter say when they’ll be back?”

“A few things are still up in the air, but possibly for Christmas,” Momma replied.

Prissie nodded, but steered the conversation back where it belonged. “What else do you know about angels?”

“Well, let’s see,” she mused. “Off the top of my head, I can say for sure that angels were used to announce things. There were a lot of them in the Christmas story, and not just Gabriel. An angel spoke to Zacharias to tell him that Elizabeth would give birth to John the Baptist, and an angel spoke to Mary’s husband Joseph in dreams … twice, I think.”

“Everybody knows that!” Prissie sighed.

“Only if they’ve heard it before, sweetheart,” her mother gently chided. She gathered her thoughts, then said, “One verse in the gospels implies that every child has an angel — a guardian angel.”

There it was again, as if it was common knowledge. Messengers. Guardians. “Are there other kinds of angels?”

Momma picked up her pail and moved to the next bean tower. “Umm … Isaiah describes some fantastical creatures, and in Revelation the angels sound pretty fierce. Paul talks about ‘powers and principalities’ in conflict, so I’ve always thought some angels must be well-armed, battle-ready types.”

Prissie’s mind was spinning. “The Bible talks about angels that much?”

“Didn’t you sign up to read through the Bible in a year?” her mother asked lightly. “We started Isaiah two weeks ago.”

“I’m a little behind, I guess,” she hedged, quickly changing the subject. “Do angels have wings and halos?”

Mrs. Pomeroy threw a handful of beans into her pail and answered, “That’s how artists usually portray them, but I don’t know if they’re literal or just a convention that was adopted somewhere along the way. There’s usually some truth behind a legend.” She paused in her work, propping her hands against her lower back for a stretch. “Wings would be nice. Can you imagine what it would be like to fly?”

Prissie cast a sidelong look in her mother’s direction and noted the familiar, far-away look in the woman’s gray eyes. Naomi was a little on the flighty side, and it was obvious that her mind was off in another world. “So angels are real,” Prissie stated, bringing Momma back to earth. “Do you think there are people who can see them?”

“There are stories, but it’s hard to know if they’re true. It’s certainly possible, but the instances seem to be rare,” she replied, giving her daughter a teasing glance. “Why have you been visited by winged messengers?”

Squirming uncomfortably, Prissie gave her full attention to picking beans. “Not exactly,” she said, comforting herself that it wasn’t a lie since Koji, Milo, and Harken lacked feathers. “I was just curious.”


Momma was summoned back to the house by Jude, who brought news of Zeke’s discovery that he could make taller towers out of building blocks if he used peanut butter between the layers. Prissie stayed behind to finish up in the garden. The beans were done, which only left a long line of green onions, their spiky tops poking out from the midst of thick weeds. With a sigh, she knelt at one end of the row and began the slow task of removing the weeds without uprooting the bulbs.

Maddie clucked softly from the shallow depression she’d created under the broad leaves of a nearby zucchini plant, and when Prissie looked up, Koji was crouched down beside the hen, watching the bird intently.

Sitting back on her heels, Prissie asked, “Can she see you?”

“She knows I am here,” he replied. Maddie cocked her head to one side, as if listening to something, and Koji smiled as he mirrored the action. “And that I bear her no ill will.”

“Obviously.”

The young angel stood and wriggled his bare toes in the dirt for a moment before dropping to his knees across from Prissie. “May I help?” he inquired, tentatively touching the tips of an onion.

“You’ll get your pretty clothing dirty!” Prissie protested.

“Our raiment cannot become stained,” Koji explained, and he stood back up to show her how the dirt simply fell away from the shimmering fabric. “Without spot or wrinkle.”

“That’s from the Bible,” Prissie remarked.

“Indeed.”

She turned her attention back to weeding, keeping a close eye on Koji to make sure he was doing it right. “So, why are you back today?” she asked.

“I wanted to see you.”

“Why?”

“Because you can see me,” he replied simply.

Prissie squinted at him from under the brim of her straw hat. “Is being invisible lonely?”

“No … and yes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she challenged, scooting a little farther down the row. The job was going much faster with two of them working together.

“It is part of what I did not explain very well last night,” he replied. “May I try again?”

“If you must.”

“Sin taints everything, like this garden.” He held up a weed as proof. “And you as well.”

Prissie lowered her head to hide her blush. “I do the best I can,” she grumbled. “It’s not fair to criticize.”

“I speak the truth, nothing more.” She shrugged defensively, and Koji continued, “When a human has been forgiven, they undergo the most beautiful change I have ever seen.” Prissie looked up in surprise, and met the young angel’s steady gaze. His dark eyes glowed with warmth, gladness, even joy. “It is truly lovely.”

“What is?” she whispered, her heartbeat quickening.

“The presence of God,” Koji replied in a low, reverent voice. “Those who have been forgiven are touched by His Spirit. I can tell because I have met Him.”

“You’ve met the Holy Spirit?”

“Yes.”

“You mean, you talked to him just like you’re talking to me?” Prissie pressed, disbelief coloring her tone.

“Yes,” Koji confidently repeated. “When I am close to those who belong to God, I am not lonely, for He is with them. I also like being with the others in my Flight,” he confided. “When Abner sings, it feels like home.”

“Is Abner an angel, too?” she asked.

Koji nodded. “We gather in the garden behind the blue door each day.”

Intrigued in spite of herself, Prissie asked, “What do you do?”

“Talk … listen … sing.”

“I’ve heard Milo before, and Harken, too. Do you sing as well?”

In answer, Koji straightened, threw back his head and, without a trace of embarrassment, sang a simple song of praise to the Creator. As he thanked God for His presence with His people and for the onions they were tending, his sweet treble voice made Prissie’s skin prickle into goose bumps.

After the last note faded, Maddie’s approving cluck broke the silence that stretched between them. “Did you make that up?” Prissie asked in awe.

“Yes.”

“I wish I could do that,” she sighed.

“Do you want to sing together?” Koji invited.

Prissie shook her head self-consciously and returned to weeding. “I want to sound like you.”

When she moved farther down the row, her companion didn’t move with her, and she glanced up to find him studying her closely. The expression on his face was one Prissie was beginning to equate with being observed. “What? Did I say something strange?”

“No.” He scooted along the line of onions so he was across from her again and set back to work. “Do you covet my voice?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” she muttered unhappily. “You should just take it as a compliment.” Again, Prissie could feel his gaze, but she refused to meet it.

“I have thanked Abner for his songs,” the boy shared. “At that time, he asked me which was more important: the singer or the song?”

Prissie thought about it. A poor performance could ruin an otherwise decent song, but the best singer in the world would never be heard if they didn’t perform. “I guess you need both?” she ventured.

Koji tipped his head to one side and explained, “The singer gives voice to the song in his heart, but its beginning and end belong to God. He is most important.”

“So it was a trick question?”

“Among angels, it would be considered a joke.”