A Season of Angels Page 0,23

the problem, don't you see," Mercy said, and the expression in her eyes changed, becoming more intent. "She doesn't have a child so she holds fast to her disappointment. The child will bring her the true joy, and I doubt that anything else will."

Goodness had grown especially quiet. "What if you brought a child into her life for a short time, like a weekend or something? You could manage that, couldn't you?"

"I suppose." But Mercy didn't sound overly enthusiastic.

"If she had a taste of deep inner happiness, she might be willing to release a portion of her pain," Goodness added. "It seems to me what Shirley's saying is that what Leah really needs isn't an absence of sorrow, or a feeling of gladness. Earthly joy wouldn't accomplish your purpose. Leah needs a connection with heaven."

"Yes," Shirley shouted with her excitement. She couldn't have said it better herself. "That's exactly what I mean."

"In other words," Mercy said slowly, thoughtfully, "if Leah would be willing to take hold of a . . . higher level of joy, then she might be willing to release her disappointments and frustrations."

"Exactly," Shirley said and Goodness echoed, "Exactly."

Shirley realized they made it sound simple, but she didn't envy Mercy her task. It was little wonder so many other prayer ambassadors had been defeated by Leah's problem.

Mercy stood and was pacing in front of the huge church organ, sending longing looks toward the antique instrument. "Anyone have any other suggestions how I'm supposed to accomplish this?"

Shirley was silent and so was Goodness.

"Don't worry, I'll think of something," she offered brightly. "I always do."

"Let me tell you what's going on with Monica," Goodness said next, looping her legs over the arm of the chair and tilting her head back with a dramatic flair. She sighed and placed the back of her hand against her brow. "She's enthralled with this . . . this private investigator. The choir director might as well not exist, and Michael's perfect for her, just perfect."

"What about Chet?" Mercy asked. "He might not be as bad as you think."

"He's not for Monica," Goodness said firmly, brooking no argument. "I was able to check into his past and believe me, it isn't a pretty picture. He's lied, he's stolen and been in trouble with the law, although he once worked for them. He's not exactly what I'd call an upstanding prospective husband for a minister's daughter."

"Oh, my," Mercy mumbled.

Shirley mulled over the situation, tapping her fingers against the top of the railing, her thoughts moving in several different directions at once.

"Furthermore," Goodness added seriously, "he's egotistical, chauvinistic, and he hasn't darkened the door of a church in more than ten years. The last time he prayed he was in his early teens."

"He doesn't sound like the man for Monica," Mercy agreed.

Shirley hesitated, then decided she might as well speak her mind. "I don't think we should be so hasty here. Isn't your mission to teach Monica to be more flexible and accepting of others? From what I understand she's caught in a trap of following a list of rules and regulations."

"Yes, but any lessons I have to teach her don't include Chet."

Shirley wasn't convinced of that. "From what you've told me, she views everything as black and white, with little room for compromise."

"True," Goodness was willing to admit, "but don't you see? The two are completely incompatible. Gabriel wanted me to get her feet wet, not throw her off the Freemont Bridge."

"All I can suggest is that you be patient with Monica."

"One thing's in my favor," Goodness said, sounding encouraged. "They aren't likely to meet again."

"Then there's nothing to worry about," Mercy said, slipping onto the bench in front of the massive organ.

"Mercy," Shirley warned, knowing her friend well enough to recognize the movement was anything but casual. The organ was too big a challenge to ignore.

"Don't worry," Mercy reassured her, "I'm going to be good."

Shirley wasn't the least bit convinced, and she was right. As she winged her way out of the church and back to her charge, a blast of organ music crescendoed into the night. Groaning aloud, Shirley recognized the opening bars from Phantom of the Opera and knew exactly where they'd come from.

"Dinner was lovely," Jody said, slipping out of the rich velvet booth in the luxurious downtown restaurant. Glen had been a wonderful dinner companion. Although Jody had been nervous when he'd come to pick her up at the house, he'd quickly put her at ease.

"It's still early," Glen was