The Hidden Deep (4 page)

“Yes,” she said haughtily.

“Based on
what
?” he asked darkly. “Did you
see
me hurt that kid?”

“It’s the sort of thing you would do,” Prissie retorted, blue eyes snapping in righteous indignation.

“Since when?”

“Since always!”

Ransom took a deep breath, and when he released it, he said, “You have
no idea
what happened, but you’re blaming me anyhow.”

“I can’t stand bullies,” she said scathingly.

He cocked a brow at her. “Me either.”

That threw her off for a moment, but she rallied. “Your innocent act isn’t fooling anyone. Get out of here before I report you.”

“You don’t know how to listen, do you?” Ransom inquired.

“I’ll scream.”

Marcus cleared his throat, “Maybe we should leave her to it.”

Ransom stubbornly jammed his hands into his pockets.
“Miss Priss, you’re jumping to crazy conclusions. We didn’t hurt the kid. We were trying to help!”

“Well, you’re not very good at it,” she said, pointing imperiously toward the parking lot. “Go away!”

“Come on,” Marcus said, touching Ransom’s arm. “As long as the kid’s all right, it’s good. Let’s get out of here.”

“Guess so,” he muttered, allowing his friend to lead him away.

Prissie glared after them, so she saw when Ransom looked over his shoulder at her, a troubled expression on his face. Giving her braids a toss, she turned to Gavin, helping him to his feet. “Did those awful boys give you a hard time?”

Green eyes that were so much like Margery’s stared up at her, and the little boy sulkily answered, “Nooo.”

“No?” Prissie echoed, startled.

“Uh-uh,” he clarified, giving a shake of his head. “Were they bad?”

Prissie wasn’t sure anymore, but she took his hand. “It doesn’t matter. Come on, Gavin. Let’s find your mom.”

K
oji concentrated on the dream. His cheek rested against cold stone, and darkness pressed against his eyes. “Is that you?” he asked softly.

“It is me,” came a ragged whisper.

“Why is it so dark?” Koji asked, sitting up and blinking in an unconscious effort to clear his vision.

“Because I am in the dark,” the low voice replied tiredly.

“But we are children of light,” he earnestly pointed out. “Our raiment at least …?”

“You see what I see, young Observer.”

Koji turned this revelation over and over in his mind, and when understanding came, so did his tears. “I am sorry, Ephron.”

“I can still taste its sweetness, and tiny wings whisper of its presence,” he murmured. “My eyes are not needed to confirm heaven’s light.”

“Shimron calls you a poet,” Koji offered shyly. “I can see why.”

“Am I?” he asked bemusedly. “I only say what I am thinking.”

“Your thoughts fall in pleasant ways.”

“Will you stay for a while?”

“For as long as I am permitted.”

“Thank you.”

Jayce poked Ransom’s shoulder. “Come on. It’s high time you tagged along on one of my rustles. You’ve got the rest of this covered, right Lou?”

She poured two cups of coffee and moved toward the table in the corner. “I’ll mind the ovens. You two go on and bring back something nice!”

“Who’s Russell?” asked Ransom.

“My mom used to say she was going out to the garden to
rustle up
some supper,” Mr. Pomeroy explained. “Come to think of it, she
still
says that. Anyhow, ditch the apron, young man. We’re going foraging.”

“For what?”

“Inspiration and ingredients, not necessarily in that order,” he replied with a grin, sauntering out the front door. “Some days, I get restless, and that’s when I like to play with my food.”

“Right,” the teen replied, quirking a brow at his boss.

“You’ll see,” Jayce said. “It’s the best way to figure things out if you’re a hands-on learner like me.” They walked into the corner store, and he headed straight for the produce section, eyes alert. “I’m pretty spoiled because I’m a country boy,
and we grow a lot of our own produce. That’s why I usually pick something we don’t put in.”

“Like oranges and bananas and stuff?”

“Sure, sure,” Jayce agreed. “And I try to stick with the seasons. Summer is the most fun because everything is fresh. Plenty to choose from. Fall is next best, I think.” He patted a pumpkin in passing and wandered over to inspect some pineapples. “I switch to nuts and spices in winter when produce is scarce, and there’s always preserves. Jams, jellies, compotes, chutneys,” he listed, half talking to himself.

“What about spring?” Ransom asked curiously.

Jayce grinned. “Chocolate.”

“Right.”

“Here’s a good one,” he said, nabbing a couple bags of cranberries and tossing them to the teen. “Very autumn. Very interesting.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had cranberries that didn’t come from a can,” Ransom admitted, prodding the hard, red berries through the plastic.

“One of the best ways to get new ideas is to learn everything you can about the ingredients you work with,” Mr. Pomeroy said. “Chop it, mash it, boil it, grate it. See how it bakes down, how it fries up, how it tastes with other ingredients. Think about moisture, texture, sweetness, acidity.”

Ransom followed along, listening intently and nodding at intervals while Jayce pulled random items out of bins and off shelves. “Something sweet, something salty, something heavy, something light. Contrasts are good. Two things that are nothing alike can bring out the best in each other.”

“Maybe with food,” Ransom said skeptically. “People don’t seem to mix very well.”

“Oh?” Jayce turned and gave the boy his full attention. “What makes you say that?”

“Eh. Some girl at school,” he replied. “She doesn’t approve of ‘people like me’ for some reason.”

“People like you?” Jayce inquired lightly. “Someone who knows what he wants and works hard for it?”

“Guess so.”

“You know, I really respect that about you. I have a boy who’s a year older than you, and I don’t think he’s given much thought to his future. You’re a step ahead of most people your age.”

“Thanks, sir. I wish more people thought like you.”

Jayce chuckled and grabbed a box of candied ginger off a shelf. “Like that girl?” he inquired. “I take it her opinion matters to you?”

The teen’s brows drew together as he thought it over. “It’s not so much that her opinion matters. It’s more that I don’t understand her opinion. I don’t like being written off.”

“Girls are confusing, and women are a mystery,” Mr. Pomeroy said. “Since I have a mother, a mother-in-law, a wife, a sister, and a daughter, I speak with the voice of experience.”

Ransom snickered, then juggled his armful of groceries to make room for a tub of mascarpone cheese. “Guess I should be glad it’s just me and Dad.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Jayce said. “I treasure each and every one of them, but I can do that even when I can’t figure out what they’re thinking.”

“I really doubt she’s gonna get past whatever I did to get on her bad side.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, you’re on my good side,” Jayce assured.

“What about the whole religion thing?” Ransom asked nonchalantly.

Jayce’s blue eyes shone. “I told you I won’t push, but the invitation’s still open. I’d be pleased and proud to have you join me and my lot on any Sunday.”

The teen grimaced. “That’s really not my thing.”

“Okay. What about an evening service?” Jayce ventured. “There’s a place down in Harper, and they hold services on Wednesdays and Saturdays. It’s pretty casual, and the music’s good. Might be more your speed?”

“I’ll think about it, sir.”

“Fair enough,” Jayce replied. “Until then, I think it might be good to set you up with firsthand information. I keep a few spares lying around. Remind me to give you one when we get back to the bakery.”

“A spare what?” Ransom asked.

Mr. Pomeroy balanced a tin of pistachios on top of the boy’s increasingly precarious pile and answered, “A Bible.”

The farm was always busy during harvesttime, but Saturdays were the craziest. Locals showed up early to beat the crowds, and city folks brought their families and made a day of it. The cool, dark apple barn was filled with the tangy-sweet smell of cider, and long tables held lines of overflowing bushel baskets. Plates of sliced apples were set out at intervals so people could taste each variety, and a glass case by the register was filled with applesauce doughnuts and apple turnovers, courtesy of Loafing Around.

Momma and Grandma Nell took care of customers inside, and Grandpa Pete alternated between the cider press and the kettle corn machine, with Beau and Koji lending a hand. Tad and Jude helped the people who came especially to pick their own apples, and Prissie kept busy pouring cider and handing out fliers to everyone who came through the door.

As lunchtime drew near, Momma came over to give Prissie a break, and she gladly escaped out into the sunshine. She took a deep breath of crisp air that meant summer was truly at an end. Strolling past green picnic tables, she chased down a blowing napkin, dropping it into the garbage barrel before following the fence line to the footpath that led to the prettiest spot on their farm — Pomeroy’s Folly. The beautiful garden was more than a decade in the making, a father-daughter collaboration between Pete Pomeroy and Jayce’s younger sister. Grandpa still added something to it every year, even though Aunt Ida had married and moved away.

Prissie paused as a southbound flock of Canadian geese flew overhead in vee-formation. Once their honking faded, the clear blue sky looked empty, but she wondered if it just
seemed
that way. Milo had once said their farm was a busy place, with Protectors, Guardians, and Messengers always coming and going. If you added all their customers’ escorts to the mix, wouldn’t there be an angelic traffic jam? Maybe there were angels whose main job was directing traffic, like Neil, who was down in the turn-around at the end of the driveway, overseeing parking. It was a silly idea, but Prissie sort of wished Koji was around to ask.

For now, she was on her own, or as alone as one person could be in the midst of visible and invisible crowds. Prissie looked at the roof of the barn where Tamaes apparently spent
most of his time, then frowned at another passing thought. Why would Tamaes spend most of his day
sleeping
on the barn roof if angels didn’t need to sleep? Funny how the questions always occurred to her when there was no one around to answer them. Prissie patted the pocket of her work apron, wishing she had a piece of paper to write them down. Koji liked it when she asked questions, but his answers weren’t always easy to understand.

Just then, someone on the pond’s bridge caught her eye. The young man rested his forearms against the bright red railing, and there was something familiar about the glossy, auburn hair that fell across his face. He peered at the ducks paddling below, and while Prissie watched, he straightened and nodded pleasantly to a couple of older women with cameras who climbed the graceful moon bridge. Lots of people came to take pictures of the fall display Grandpa and Aunt Ida had planted — golden birches, red Japanese maples, orange firethorn, and mounds of purple asters.

Prissie slipped through the green gate and hurried along the footpath, not taking her eyes off the slender man, because the last time she had, he’d disappeared. Turning toward her, he tucked his hands into his pockets and welcomed her with a genial smile.

“Hello, Adin. What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, of course.”

Once again, this angel had chosen clothes that complemented her own. His neat, woolen pants were a perfect match for her pleated skirt, and he wore a vest in the same shade of dark green as her apron. She thought they looked as if they belonged together, which made her happy. “Really? Why?”

“I thought we should compare notes,” Adin replied, leaning
casually against the railing. “I see you decided to have an adventure after all.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it an
adventure
,” she protested.

“You’re consorting with angels, Prissie,” he said. “That’s not exactly commonplace.”

“Well, when you put it
that
way …” She turned her attention to the ducks that swam in tight circles below, hoping for a handout. Although he had a point, she didn’t like being corrected. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Oh, this and that.”

“So do you like apples?” she asked, immediately feeling foolish. Angels ate manna, not apples.

Adin chuckled softly. “They have their uses. You appear to have a bumper crop this year.”

“Yes! Grandpa’s very pleased.”

“It’s said that a good harvest is a sign of divine favor.”

“Oh! Are you a Caretaker … maybe?” she asked curiously.

“Would that I were!” Adin replied with an ironic smile. “It might interest you to know that Caretakers are few and far between. They are earth-movers and storm-bringers, angels of cataclysmic power.”

“R-really?” she asked, startled.

“Truly,” he affirmed. Then, he gave her a speculative look. “I was just thinking. It’s taking a long time, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“Finding the one who was lost,” Adin replied with a sad shake of his head.

“Oooh.” Prissie glanced nervously into the orchard. “I’m sure everyone’s doing their best. They’re all very worried about their friend.”

“Are you worried as well?”

“A little, I guess,” she said. “It’s creepy to think that there might be dangerous things on our farm.”

“So you’re worried for yourself, not for him.”

“Well, I don’t
know
him,” she said defensively. It was hard to feel much for someone she’d never met, but Koji’s sadness over Ephron’s suffering had made a deep impression on her. With a stubborn tilt to her chin, she declared, “I
do
hope they can rescue him.”

“Hope, hmm?” Adin sighed heavily before asking, “A little omniscience would be more effective, don’t you think?”

“But Jedrick says that only God is all-knowing.”

“True.” Then, he casually inquired, “Have you ever wondered why God lets people flounder around in the dark? After all, He must
know
where Ephron is being held. Poor fellow.”

Prissie’s brows drew together in confusion. “It does seem a little strange.”

Adin’s gaze wandered over the surrounding area, lingering from time to time at different points. His jaw tightened, but when he turned his attention back to her, his expression smoothed. “Maybe that’s where you’ll come in.”

“Me?” she echoed, taken aback. “I don’t see how.”

“Still, you know what they say. The unlikely ones are chosen.” His gaze sharpened, and he softly said, “I’m curious, Prissie. Do you have a favorite brother?”

The sudden change in topic threw her off. “A favorite?”

“Yes. Is one more important to you than the others?”

She slowly shook her head. “They’re
all
my brothers. I don’t think it would be right to play favorites with family.”

“No? How admirable. You’re right, of course,” he agreed. “And, you’re about to gain another brother by the looks of things.”

Prissie’s eyes widened in shock. “Momma’s not having another baby, is she?”

“I’m referring to the young man your father’s been spending so much time with,” Adin explained. “The one who’s planning to follow in his footsteps.”

“Ransom,” she said dully.

“That’s the fellow,” he said amiably. “You and he don’t get along very well, do you?”

“Not hardly.”

“Such a shame, but understandable. I mean, wasn’t that
your
plan? To work alongside your father?”

She fidgeted uncomfortably. “Maybe when I was little. I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Oh, well. Since you don’t mind, it probably doesn’t matter.” Adin’s eyes drifted skyward again as he mused aloud, “Playing favorites only ever leads to trouble. Abel over Cain. Jacob over Esau. Mankind over angels.”