to reassure herself.
As the only daughter in a houseful of sons, Prissie had been granted an enormous privilege; she was the only member of the family with a room of her own. It was a tiny niche at the very end of the hallway, and the ceiling slanted so sharply that one corner of her door was angled. There was just enough space inside for a narrow bed, a bedside table, and a creaky old wardrobe, but there was one feature that transformed her sanctuary into something sublime. Halfway up the wall, a window seat spanned the width of the gable, and if there was one thing Prissie loved, it was the window set above it.
According to Grandpa, all four of the house’s peaks had boasted stained glass windows when he was a boy, but damage or renovations had claimed the other three over the years. This one remained, a relic from another era, and it was her treasure. A simple geometric pattern of diamonds in soft shades of green, blue, peach, and gold filtered sunlight or shone in moonlight. Grandma Nell had quilted Prissie’s bedspread in the same colors, and the hues were echoed in the braided rug, which had graced the smooth floorboards since Grandpa’s mother’s day. The overall effect may have been a little old-fashioned, but it suited Prissie.
No one else was allowed in her room, so when she turned onto her back, she was startled to see Koji perched on her window seat, gazing at the stars through the multicolored panes. His hair was tucked behind pointed ears, and the stained glass made patterns of color on his upturned face. She had to admit that at that moment, he looked the part of an angel. “Koji, what are you doing in my room?” she whispered.
The boy turned to meet her gaze. “This is a very pretty window; it reminds me of home.”
“You have stained glass windows where you come from?”
“Something very much like them,” he replied, reaching up to trace the edging of a blue diamond.
“Are you homesick?” Prissie asked curiously.
He frowned thoughtfully, then said, “I do not think so.”
“What are you doing in my room?” she repeated.
“I wanted someone to talk to.”
Prissie glanced at her clock, which told her it was shortly after two in the morning. “But it’s the middle of the night!”
“I do not sleep,” Koji answered with a small shrug.
“Well, I do,” she grumbled, pulling her sheet up over her face. “Find someone else to talk to.”
“You are the only one who can answer my questions, though.”
She folded down the blankets and studied him suspiciously, curious in spite of herself. “What kinds of questions?”
Meeting her gaze solemnly, he bluntly asked, “Why are you avoiding Milo?”
Prissie opened and closed her mouth, then said, “I’m not avoiding him.”
Koji tipped his head to one side. “You used to follow him around.”
Blushing hotly, she answered, “That was before I knew he wasn’t real.”
“Milo is real.”
“But he’s not who he said he was! I thought he was a normal guy.”
“So are you avoiding him because he is an angel?” Koji persisted.
“No, it’s because he lied,” Prissie corrected.
Koji’s black eyes sparkled in the moonlight. “Did you ask him if he was an angel?”
“Of course not? Who would ask something like that?”
“Then, he did not lie,” the young angel earnestly declared. “He has been doing his job faithfully for many years; your accusations are unjust.”
“His job?”
“He is very good at it,” Koji explained. “Milo has many friends, and I envy him.”
“You’re jealous?” Prissie sat up in bed and frowned at him. “Can angels be jealous?”
“Yes,” he candidly replied. “He has been able to interact with humans every single day, but I am only allowed to observe. There are so many questions I want to ask!”
Thinking back to Pastor Bert’s words, Prissie asked, “Why are you so fascinated by people?”
“It is my nature,” Koji replied. “I am an Observer, so I wish to know, to understand, to discover, to explore …”
“Right,” she interrupted. “But why? There has to be a reason you’re watching us.”
“It is my purpose.”
“You do it because you have to?”
Koji shook his head. “I want to.”
“But what if you didn’t want to?” Prissie challenged.
“I do want to,” he replied patiently.
“But only because you have to want to?” she persisted. “What if you wanted to do something else, like be a Messenger so you could talk to people.”
“An Observer is what I am.” A slow smile spread across the boy’s face, and he turned to face her fully.