An Angel for Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

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СКАЧАТЬ All he could think of as he tumbled down the stairs was that the twins would have no one to fix their breakfast.

      Matthew clenched his teeth and fought back the wave of black that threatened to engulf him. Thank God he was alive. “Josh, Joey,” Matthew called in a loud whisper. The pain the words cost him suggested he’d broken a rib. That and maybe his leg. “Boys—”

      He didn’t need to call. They must have heard his fall, because almost immediately two blond heads were staring at him. “Go next door.” Matthew said the words deliberately, although his tongue felt swollen. Pain continued to swim around his head. “Get help.”

      Glory left her Jeep lights on so she could see to make her way to the door of the house next to the church. She had stopped at the café long enough to see that the Closed sign had fly specks on it. It didn’t look as if a meal had been served there in months. By then she needed some aspirin for her headache almost more than she needed her morning coffee. When she saw the lights on inside the house that must be the parsonage, she was relieved.

      Matthew relaxed when he heard the knock at the door. The twins must have already gone for help. Maybe he’d blacked out. That must be it. Someone had turned the lights on.

      Glory heard a rustling behind the door and then she saw it open slowly. She had to look down to see the small blond head, covered by the hood of a snowsuit, peek around the edge of the door. The boy must be going out to play before breakfast. “Is your father here?” she asked as she pulled off her cap. “Or your mother?”

      “Who are you?” Another blond head joined the first one. This one had a scarf tied around his neck, even though his Mickey Mouse pajamas didn’t look warm enough for outdoor playing.

      “My name’s Glory. But you don’t know me.” And then remembering all the warnings children received about strangers, she added, “Don’t worry, though. And don’t be afraid.”

      “Don’t be afraid.” The boy in the snowsuit echoed her words slowly. Glory watched his eyes grow big. “Where are you from?”

      Glory decided they didn’t get much company around here. They’d probably never heard of Seattle. She pointed west. “A long way away—over those mountains.”

      “Do you like guns?” the boy in the pajamas demanded.

      “Guns? No, I don’t approve of guns. Not at all.”

      “And she’s got a big light behind her,” the other boy said. “Just like Miz Hargrove said. A glory light.”

      “Those are my Jeep headlights. Special high beam,” Glory explained. “They’ll turn off in a minute. If I could just see your father. All I want is an aspirin and maybe a little peace and quiet…and then—”

      “Peace and quiet.” The twins breathed the words out together as their faces started to beam. “She came.”

      “Boys,” Matthew called weakly. Who were they talking to? He couldn’t make out the words, but surely it didn’t take that long for someone to figure out he needed help.

      “We need you,” the twins said as they opened the door wide and each reached out a hand. Glory noticed they were both in slippers. “Our daddy’s hurt.”

      Matthew decided he’d blacked out again, because a woman’s face was staring at him. She had hair the color of copper, and it fanned out around her face like a halo. He’d never seen her before. Maybe he was hallucinating, especially because of that sprinkling of freckles that danced across her nose. No one could have freckles like that. So pretty. He tried to concentrate, but felt the darkness closing in on him. He wondered what the perfume was that she wore. It smelled like cinnamon. Cinnamon and something else. That reminded him he hadn’t fixed breakfast for the twins. And his job at the hardware store—old Henry would be fretting mad if he called in from his vacation in Florida and no one answered the phone at the hardware store.

      Glory looked down at the man in dismay. She could see he’d fallen down the stairs and his leg was at an awkward angle.

      “Where’s your phone? We’ve got to call 911,” she said as she turned around to the twins. “We’ll need an ambulance right away.”

      The boys just looked at her expectantly. The one had already taken off his scarf and the other was halfway out of his snowsuit. “Can’t you just make daddy all better?” one of them finally asked.

      “I’m not a doctor,” she said quickly as her eyes scanned the living room. Old sofa, wooden rocker, plaid recliner, Christmas tree with lights but no ornaments—ah, there, on the coffee table, next to a magazine, was a phone. She dialed the numbers: 911. Nothing. Glory shook the phone. She must have dialed wrong. She tried again: 911. Still nothing. What was the matter? There was a dial tone. Surely—then it dawned on her. There was no 911 here. Probably no ambulance, either.

      “Who’s your nearest neighbor?” Glory put down the phone and turned to the boys. She could already feel her hair flying loose as a result of the static from taking off her cap earlier.

      “Mr. Gossett,” the boy in the Power Rangers pajamas finally said, but then he leaned closer and confided, “But you won’t like him. He drinks bottles and bottles of whiskey. I seen them. Miz Hargrove says he’s gonna go to hell someday.”

      “Well, just as long as he isn’t planning to go today,” Glory said as she pulled her knit cap over her head and walked toward the door.

      The next time Matthew woke up he was in the clinic in Miles City. He’d recognize the antiseptic smell of a clinic anywhere. And the gruff voice of Dr. Norris in the background.

      “My boys.” Matthew croaked out the words. His mouth felt as if it was filled with dry sand.

      “Don’t worry, your boys are fine,” Dr. Norris said as he turned around. “At least for the moment.”

      “What?”

      “Your angel is unloading the vending machine downstairs on their behalf,” the doctor said with a smile as he leaned over Matthew. He picked up a small light. “Open wide. We need to check for concussions.” The doctor peered into Matthew’s eyes.

      “What angel?” Matthew asked, and then brightened. “Oh, you mean Mrs. Hargrove. I was hoping someone would think to call her.”

      “That’s not Mrs. Hargrove,” the doctor said as he frowned slightly. “At least, not the Mrs. Hargrove I know. I assumed Angel was a family nickname.”

      “For who?” Matthew asked, bewildered.

      “I meant I assumed you called the woman Angel and that’s why your sons…” The doctor’s voice trailed off and then he added suspiciously, “It’s not like a five-year-old to call a woman Angel.”

      “What are you suggesting?” Matthew started to rise. The room tilted, but he bit his lip and kept going. “And why you would let my boys just go off with a stranger—”

      “Don’t worry.” The doctor put his arm around him and forced him to lie down again. “I’ll have the nurse go bring them here. I’m sure it’s just some simple misunderstanding. The woman certainly looked harmless enough.”

      Harmless isn’t how Matthew would have described her a few minutes later. СКАЧАТЬ