A Season of Angels Page 0,4

sad," Mercy said softly.

"The Lundbergs are deeply in love."

"That helps."

Gabriel's chuckle caught Mercy off guard. She swiveled her attention to the archangel, who was clearly amused.

"What's so funny?" Mercy demanded, irritated and not taking time to censure the thought. Gabriel, after all, was an archangel and she was in no position to be questioning him.

"Nothing," he said, smiling broadly.

Gabriel wasn't one to smile. He did so only rarely. Mercy wasn't convinced it was even in his personality profile.

"I'll give this prayer request my best effort," Mercy said, thinking it was important that Gabriel know that.

"I trust you will. Just promise me one thing."

Here it came, the long list of offenses she'd managed to rack up in the short while she'd been serving as a prayer ambassador. "Yes?" she said, straightening for the coming lecture.

"Stay away from scooters and escalators this time."

Mercy grinned. "I will."

Chapter 2

It was a disgrace, a downright disgrace the way Providence Hospital continued to use the same weatherworn figures in their nativity scene, Monica Fischer mused. The colors had faded and the animals, why, it was a travesty how dilapidated they'd become. If the hospital insisted upon decorating the grounds for Christmas, then they should do so properly.

"Did you see the nativity scene at Providence Hospital?" she asked her father as she joined him and the other choir members outside Nordstrom department store, downtown Seattle.

"I adore the creche," Lloyd Fischer said with a beaming smile. "Mary's seen better years, I know, but I can't help thinking that battered stable must be much closer to the way it actually was that night in Bethlehem than we realize."

Her father was right, Monica knew. He generally was. She tried to be as charitable in thought and deed as he was, but it seemed beyond her. That was the crux of her problem, Monica realized. Every man she met was measured against her father's goodness and none had withstood the evaluation. Not even Patrick, whom she'd dated off and on for the last two years. Apparently their relationship was more off than she realized. He'd phoned two weeks earlier to tell her he was engaged to someone else.

That hurt and it hurt deeply. Monica had been dating Patrick all this time and assumed they'd enjoyed one another's company. She hadn't a clue he was seeing anyone else. True, they hadn't spoken of love or commitment, but they'd shared something special, at least Monica had thought it was special.

To make matters worse Patrick had finished by saying he would always think of Monica as a special friend. Monica had wanted much more than his friendship. It was time for her to marry and start her own family, and she'd foolishly set her sights on the wrong man. Now she'd need to make up for lost time, but by heaven, she vowed she'd marry and soon. There was a man for her, she was convinced of that, and she fully intended to find him.

"Are you ready?" her father asked, cupping her elbow.

Monica nodded. She enjoyed these Christmas performances the church choir gave each December in the busy downtown streets. The harried shoppers would pause and listen to the joyous music, enjoying the short respite from the hectic holiday rush. For a few short moments peace would descend like a warm blanket upon the milling crowd.

Monica climbed to the soprano section on the back row of the risers. She was tall, nearly five-nine, and stood a full head above the majority of the sopranos. Unlike the others, she opted for sensible flats with her dark blue suit. Her hair, although shoulder length, was tucked into a tight bun at the base of her neck. She wore no cosmetics and frowned upon women who did.

This was the first year their music was provided by their own church band. To Monica's way of thinking they should have made a point of practicing more often. The band's mistakes stuck out in an otherwise flawless program.

She played the piano, and as a favor to the choir director, Michael Simpson, sat in for a couple of weeks in their practice sessions. She hoped her dedication and example would inspire the small group. Her plan hadn't worked and no one seemed to appreciate the rigorous practice schedule she set for herself and the others. Eventually she'd gone back to the choir, and was pleased she had. Michael, as a means of making amends, asked that she sing a short solo in one of her all-time favorite Christmas carols, "Silent