Angels at Christmas: Those Christmas Angels / Where Angels Go

Once his chair was vacant, Gabriel sat down, ignoring the prayer request. Instead, he removed the massive book from the shelf behind him. With a soft grunt, he set it on his desk. He opened it to the section marked F, and ran his finger down a long list of names inscribed there.

Goodness wasn’t going to risk standing on tiptoe and taking a look. Even she understood when it was best to restrain her curiosity.

“Anne Fletcher,” Gabriel said thoughtfully. “It’s been five years since the divorce.”

“Anne’s divorced?” Shirley whispered. “Oh, my, I didn’t know. How’s she doing?”

“Actually, quite well,” Gabriel told her. “She’s adjusted far better than we’d expected.” He nodded, smiling gently. “She’s gone back to her art and that’s helped her. It says here that she’s living in Washington State, on a small island in Puget Sound.”

“Burton always discounted her talent,” Shirley said, and leaned on her palms against the desk, daring to read the huge volume that documented human lives. “She could’ve been a successful artist had she continued her studies.”

“Still might,” Goodness threw in, implying that she was in the know. She hated being left in the dark when it came to earthly matters. Humans intrigued her. They were the very pinnacle of God’s creation, fearfully and wonderfully made, yet so obtuse. It was hard to believe free will could cause such problems.

“Anne Fletcher is indeed talented,” Gabriel said, “but fame and fortune were never important to her. She’s had to deal with various losses, but as you already know, for every loss there is an equal or greater gain. Often humans have to search for it, though.”

Goodness nodded in full agreement, although she couldn’t begin to guess what God had in store for the fifty-nine-year-old divorced woman. “God has another man for her, doesn’t He?” she ventured.

Gabriel frowned as if Goodness’s comments were starting to irritate him. “No, Goodness, not another man. Frankly, Anne isn’t interested.”

“I don’t blame her for that,” Mercy added. “After what Burton did to her, she’d find it very difficult to trust again, and who could blame her?” She seemed to think that was all anyone needed to say on that subject.

“The prayer is for her son,” Gabriel pointed out as he read the request.

“Roy,” Shirley said. “You remember Roy, don’t you?” she asked mournfully. “He was such a sweet child, so willing to please, so anxious to follow in his father’s footsteps.”

“Burton never forgave him for not pursuing a law degree,” Gabriel commented absently. “Roy is gifted, but he works too hard.”

“I’m sure Anne would like grandchildren,” Shirley said, studying the prayer request.

“Of course she would,” Mercy agreed.

For the first time since they’d entered the room, Shirley smiled. “God provides,” she whispered, and then said in a louder voice, “Isn’t that what you were just saying?”

Gabriel glanced up. “Roy isn’t interested in marriage.”

“Not now he isn’t,” Goodness chimed in. The possibility of romance rose before her—it was such fun to steer humans toward one another! Creating romance was by far her favorite duty on Earth. “We want in on this,” she announced.

Gabriel leveled a fierce gaze on her, and she swallowed hard and took a step back.

“But only if you feel it’s for the best,” she mumbled.

“It’s for Anne,” Shirley pleaded. “Beth’s little Annie.”

“Are you saying the three of you want to return to Earth?”

Shirley, Goodness and Mercy all nodded simultaneously.

“I was afraid of that.” Gabriel stroked his chin. “I’m not sure Earth has recovered from your last visit yet.”

“We’ll be exceptionally good this time,” Mercy promised, folding her hands prayerfully. “I swear I won’t even think about going near an escalator.”

“It isn’t moving staircases that worry me,” Gabriel said. “It’s everything else.”

Goodness stepped forward again. She could tell by the look in his eyes that Gabriel was weakening. “We can help her, Gabe.”

“Gabe?” he bellowed.

“Gabriel,” she corrected swiftly. “I know we can. Besides, I have this romance thing down pat. Humans are eager to fall in love. All we have to do is lead them in the right dir—” She stopped when she saw Gabriel’s expression.

For a moment, no one spoke and then in a low whisper, Shirley said, “Please?”

Gabriel took his time answering while Goodness waited, holding her breath in anticipation. She wanted to visit Earth again. They’d been away far too long—several Earth years at least.

Oh, Gabriel, make up your mind, she muttered to herself. Say yes!

Two

Roy Fletcher hated doing job interviews. He warily regarded the older man sitting on the other side of his desk. Dean Wilcoff had to be close to sixty and retirement. His thinning gray hair was brushed away from his face and his dark eyes met Roy’s squarely. He was big, an inch or two over six feet, broad-shouldered and muscular. He’d obviously maintained himself physically, which was good. As head of building security, it was unlikely he’d be chasing intruders, but he should at least be capable of it if the need arose. Roy glanced over Wilcoff’s résumé a second time. The man had an impressive work history.

“You were with Boeing’s security force for twenty-six years.”

“I was,” Dean answered without elaborating. There’d been some downsizing at the airplane manufacturer, but Roy guessed that Dean Wilcoff had left or been let go for another reason. Still, his Human Resources department had selected this candidate for him to interview.

The dates on Wilcoff’s résumé showed that he’d last worked nine months ago, yet Roy didn’t sense any desperation in the man. Wilcoff should be worried. By now, his un-employment benefits would’ve expired and at his age, obtaining another job wouldn’t be easy.

“What do you know about computers?”

For the first time Roy noticed hesitation in the other man. “Only enough to get around on the Internet. My daughter’s been after me to take one of those courses, but frankly I don’t see the need. I work security. It’s what I know and what I do best. If you hire me, Mr. Fletcher, you can rest assured that no one’s going to break into your offices, day or night.”

Roy raised a skeptical eyebrow. Life didn’t come with guarantees. Everything was suspect. Everything and everyone. This was a lesson he’d learned the hard way, but learn it he had.

“I’ll get back to you,” he said, dismissing the man. He’d finished the round of interviews and although all the candidates were qualified, there hadn’t been a single one he especially liked. The day before, he’d talked to three applicants, and three more today. No one had really impressed him. Unfortunately he needed to make his decision soon if he didn’t want hourly phone calls from his HR director. Well, fine. He’d put the names in a hat and simply draw one. At this point, that was as logical as anything else.

“How’d it go?” Julie Wilcoff asked her father as she set the salad on the dinner table. She hated to ask, but he hadn’t exactly been free with details since his return from the long-awaited interview. Julie was afraid that meant bad news, and he’d already had enough disappointments. After nine months without a job, her father had grown restless and discouraged. She knew he was worried, especially with the holidays so close. He’d wanted to have a new job lined up by New Year’s, and he’d had such hope for this one, which seemed perfect for him. Yet he’d barely said a word since he’d come home from the interview.

“Why hire an old man like me?” he muttered as he walked to the table.

“Because you’re highly qualified, dependable and intelligent.”

“I’m not even sure I want to work for Roy Fletcher,” her father complained. He pulled out his chair and sat down.

Julie frowned. After weeks of searching, of making dozens of unsuccessful applications, after talking about this interview for days on end, his attitude came as a shock. But if her father, a man who never exaggerated or jumped to conclusions, made such a statement, there was a reason.

Roy Fletcher’s name had appeared in the media for years. He was one of the geniuses in the security software business, the man entrusted by the government to keep out hackers. Fletcher Industries had prospered as doing business online had become increasingly prone to theft—of credit-card numbers, private information, financial records and more. Her father was in security, too, only a different kind. While Roy Fletcher made sure no one could break into computer files, her father prevented intruders from breaking into the doors and windows of buildings.

Julie sat down at the table and handed her father the meat loaf. It’d been her mother’s recipe and was one of his favorite meals. Julie had hoped this would be a celebration dinner, but apparently not. Still, she wondered what had prompted her father’s comment. “What’s wrong with Mr. Fletcher?” she asked.

“I don’t much care for him.”