A Season of Angels Page 0,68

had phoned from Germany with the news. He explained that he'd be bringing Jeff's body home for burial. She had written down the flight details on a slip of paper and calmly thanked him for dealing with these agonizing details. It wasn't until after she'd hung up the phone that the full impact of what her father had said settled over her.

Jeff was dead. The years of not knowing had come to an end.

The intolerable waiting was over. The haunting questions had been answered, but the sharp edges of her grief were only beginning. The agony of the unknown felt almost comfortable compared to the brutal loss of hope she'd suffered in exchange.

Until Jeff's remains could be positively identified - until she could place her husband's body in the ground and stand at his tombstone, there had always been hope, however slim, that he was alive. Now that had been stripped away from her and she was left to bleed.

Jody remembered how she ripped the flight information from the pad and folded it over and over again until it was a tight square, clenching it in her fist. She needed something to hold on to. All there was for her was a folded slip of paper that listed the information on the flight that was bringing her husband's body home.

For a long time she'd done nothing but sit and stare into the silence. Her heart had felt as if it had stopped beating.

It was then, Jody realized, that a part of herself had died. No one could endure this kind of emotional torture and possibly survive.

She was dead to all the happy dreams they'd shared. Dead to whatever the future would hold, because she couldn't share her tomorrows with the man she'd loved so fiercely.

Helen Chandler had arrived shortly after the call came from Jody's father. She walked into the house and softly called Jody's name. Jody had stared up at her mother, her eyes dry, her heart shattered. At first she didn't acknowledge her presence. No one could comfort her. Not even her own mother.

"He's gone," Helen had whispered.

Jody nodded. She couldn't deny it any longer. The hope had been forever destroyed.

Her mother had attempted to console her, wrapping her arms around Jody's shoulders. But Jody held herself stiff and unyielding.

"Let him go," her mother pleaded. "Let him rest in peace."

"Peace?" Jody whispered. How could she possibly have peace now? She shook her head, refusing to release any part of her life with Jeff.

"He's been found, Jody. Jeff's coming home."

Perhaps Jeff's body had been located, Jody reasoned, but she was more lost now than ever. And she doubted that she would ever find her way again.

How much time had passed since that disastrous day, Jody wondered. Four years? Or was it five? Like so much else in her life, she'd lost track. She moved, one day into the next, dragging her pain with her, the weight almost more than she could bear.

It wasn't until Timmy had written the letter to God that she realized what she was doing to herself and to her boy. It had shocked her into taking action.

For the first time since Jeff's death, she was making a new life for herself and for her son, and she couldn't, wouldn't, let that be ruined. It had taken her this long to find her footing and she wasn't going to allow anyone to topple her again.

Chapter 13

Angels rarely wept. It happened so seldom, and only while they were on earth duty. Mercy had heard tales of angel tears, but never experienced the phenomenon herself. It was an unpleasant experience. Now they came as a surprise, misting her gaze. She brushed them aside, feeling Leah's pain as deeply as if it were her own as the young nurse clenched the empty baby book against her bosom.

Mercy had done everything possible, but she hadn't been able to help. It was the most frustrating case she had ever encountered.

If only Mercy could sit down and talk to Leah, face to face. If only Mercy could explain to this woman of the earth that she must find serenity within herself before her prayer could be answered. But that was impossible.

And so they both wept.

Leah cried silent tears standing guard over her friend's child while Mercy wept openly, unable to contain her sorrow at this feeling of helplessness.

"Married." The word went through Chet like a bullet, with much the same effect. He bolted off the bed and stood, the sour taste