the floor, then cast him into even deeper darkness.
Prissie felt drained, and her feet dragged all the way up the front walk and across the porch. Kicking off her sandals, she lined them up neatly under the bench, then deposited her library books on the shelf just inside the door before heading toward the kitchen. She knew she should probably change first, but right now, it was more important to nab a couple of gingersnaps from the cookie jar before her younger brothers devoured them.
Two steps past the kitchen threshold, she jerked to a stop and gaped at the boy sitting at the big table, shoveling pie into his mouth like there was no tomorrow.
“Slow down, young man,” Prissie’s grandmother chided.
“S’good,” he mumbled around his bite.
Grandma Nell placed a glass of milk next to his plate and moved back to the stove where dinner preparations were underway. “Oh, my! You’re back, Prissie,” she greeted, nodding to their guest. “I have some exciting news! This is Koji.”
She could see that. The young angel was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and he wore a pair of high-top sneakers with the laces tucked in. His glossy black hair was tied back in a low ponytail, revealing ears that looked perfectly normal. Koji was bursting with excitement, and the smile he sent her was overflowing with happiness. “It is nice to meet you,” he declared before taking another bite of pie.
Prissie shook her head in confusion, but Grandma Nell was still talking. “I had a call from someone on the school board, and there was a last minute mix-up. They were arranging housing for a group of exchange students and something fell through, so they needed a spot to place young Koji here. Since there’s that extra bunk in with the little boys, I checked with your mother, and you know her — always room for one more!”
“I see… .”
Grandma nodded happily. “He’ll be in your grade at school, so you can help him find his way around, meet people, fit in.”
“Oh… .”
At the first opportunity, Prissie beckoned to Koji, and he followed her out back, where she sat down heavily on the porch swing. “I don’t understand,” she stated flatly.
The boy sat next to her and explained, “Even though I am very new, it has been decided that I should integrate. This will be so much better than watching from the outside!”
“So you’re going to be living here with me?”
“Yes.”
She hardly knew what to think of the intrusion, but amazement didn’t even begin to cover it. “Don’t you think you should have asked me first?” Prissie demanded, a touch of accusation sharpening her tone.
“I did,” he replied with a smile.
Prissie thought back and groaned softly. “This is the change in status you were talking about?”
“Yes!” Koji confirmed, practically beaming. “It is all thanks to you!”
She stood abruptly enough to give the swing a hefty shove, but Koji rode out the crooked rocking with poise. His dark eyes followed her retreat for several moments before he allowed his feet to do the same. As Prissie walked briskly down the path toward the apple barn, where harvesttime visitors could buy fruit, he trailed after.
Just beyond the a line of parking spots, a pair of crabapple trees with deep red leaves flanked a green gate. Prissie lifted the latch and started along the path beyond, which led to one of the loveliest places on their farm.
Originally, this spot was just a duck pond, but its beautification had been a father-daughter collaboration back when Ida was a girl. According to Jayce, his little sister had started it all by asking her daddy to build her a castle in the middle of their pond so that it could be the moat. Somehow, Grandpa Pete had convinced her to downscale her grand scheme to something more doable.
Together, they’d planned and planted — weeping willows, flowering shrubs, water lilies. Each year, they added something special, and its crowning glory was a footbridge that stretched over the pond at its narrowest point. The gracefully arching half-moon bridge was a popular spot for taking pictures, both for their family and for orchard visitors. A few local couples had even had their wedding photos taken there.
Aunt Ida had dubbed it their folly —Pomeroy’s Folly—after the architectural extravagances that English aristocrats added to their country estates in centuries past. The name didn’t mean it was foolish for Grandpa to have built such a thing; it simply meant that the bridge served no purpose