A Season of Angels Page 0,8

going to preach at me next? Trust me, the last thing I need now is a sermon."

"Not if you promise me you won't drink."

"Listen," he said, stopping abruptly, "I'm trying to be as polite as I can, but my patience for this malarkey is long gone. I'm a responsible adult and I don't have a problem with alcohol, so if you don't mind, I'd prefer to be left alone."

"You're drinking beer, aren't you, and it's barely afternoon," Monica insisted. "Anyone who needs alcohol this early in the day must be addicted."

"Fine, then, to satisfy you, I'll order coffee. There, are you happy?"

Monica knew a lie when she heard one. "Don't try to appease me with lies," she said, glaring at him.

They'd crossed the street by this time and he continued to ignore her as much as possible, but Monica was making that difficult. She didn't know what was driving her to behave so uncharacteristically. Normally she wasn't nearly as aggressive; she was weak on evangelism, but this man desperately needed help and she was returning a favor. He'd saved her and now it was her turn to do him a good deed and rescue him, although it was clear he didn't appreciate or welcome her efforts.

They'd reached the Blue Goose and Monica hurled herself against the thick wood door, flinging out her arms until she stood spread-eagled across the entrance.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, glaring at her.

"I'm saving you from yourself."

"Go save someone else, would you?" His eyes were formidable, cold and cutting, but Monica refused to back away.

"I'm doing this for your own good."

He clamped his mouth closed and appeared to be counting to ten. His head nodded with each number and by the time he reached eight, his patience had evaporated. "Either you move or I'll be forced to move you myself and I guarantee you won't approve of my methods."

Monica was saved from having to make a decision when the door opened and she was momentarily pushed to one side. By the time she'd turned around and recovered, her reluctant hero had disappeared. It didn't take her two seconds to know where he'd gone. For half a heartbeat she toyed with the notion of going inside the Blue Goose after him.

Defeated and mildly discouraged, Monica trudged her way across the street. The other choir members were mingling with the crowd, passing out invitations for the Christmas Eve service. The idea had been her father's and although Monica feared they might attract riffraff from the streets, she hadn't said as much. It wouldn't do any good to argue with her father, not when he had such a soft spot in his heart for street people.

"Monica." Michael Simpson, the director, edged his way around two altos and moved toward her. "What happened?"

"I lost my balance and fell off the riser," she explained.

His eyes widened. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "A . . . someone caught me."

"I'm glad you weren't hurt." His smile was shy as he gently patted her hand. "I wanted to congratulate you on your solo."

"But . . ."

"Your voice was never more pure."

Monica gestured weakly. To accept the credit would have been wrong. "But another voice joined mine. Didn't you hear it? I swear it came out of nowhere."

"Another voice?" Michael asked, frowning. "I only heard you, and you were magnificent. You really outdid yourself."

"Monica, Monica." The Reverend Fischer hurried to his daughter's side and clasped her hand between his. His eyes shone bright with tears. "I've never heard you sing more beautifully. You sounded so much like your mother. I'd almost forgotten what a stunning voice she had. This is God's gift to you, this voice."

"But, Dad . . ." She stopped, not knowing how to explain. There had been another voice that merged with hers. One that didn't happen to belong to anyone in the choir. It didn't belong to anyone she knew.

"Goodness, Goodness, Goodness," Mercy said in that small chiding tone Gabriel had used with her so often in the past. "You were the one singing, weren't you?"

Goodness did not attempt to deny it. "I couldn't help it. 'Silent Night' is one of my personal favorites."

"But she heard you."

"I know." That part had been unintentional. Simply put, Goodness had gotten carried away with herself. But she had used considerable restraint. No one, however, seemed to appreciate that part. She could have used Barbra Streisand's voice. Barbra could really belt out "Silent Night," or Judy Garland. Now, that would