The Hidden Deep (16 page)

Koji met her gaze with a shy smile. “They are all good reasons.”

“Some better than others,” the old Observer replied lightly.

Prissie found herself smiling, too. It was obvious that these two got along very well, even though Koji hadn’t been apprenticed to Shimron for very long. “So you’re writing about Koji?”

“Just so,” Shimron agreed.

“Have you always been a part of Jedrick’s Flight?” she asked curiously.

“No, no, no,” he said with a dry chuckle. “I am much too old for that to be possible. However, I have been under Jedrick’s watch-care for nearly two centuries.”

“That’s a long time!”

“I suppose,” Shimron replied thoughtfully. “From your perspective, our lives have been intertwined for generations. The stories fill many volumes.”

“May I see them?” she inquired. “Is that allowed?”

“That which is written stands as a testament to the wisdom and faithfulness of God,” Shimron replied earnestly. “Though I doubt you can unravel our language, the illustrations tell their own tale. Koji, I will trust you to use discretion when choosing selections to read?”

“Yes, Shimron!”

“If questions arise, I will be right here,” the old Observer assured before taking up his brushes once more.

Koji led Prissie to a second, smaller desk and urged her to sit on the bench before it. There weren’t nearly as many writing implements on the ledge, and no brushes. “Don’t you paint, too?” she asked.

“Not yet,” he replied solemnly. “I need more practice. Wait a moment.”

He padded over to one of the nearby shelves and selected two books, one much fatter than the other. He joined her on the seat, crowding close as he set the larger volume between them. Prissie found the cold gray cover and the chain pattern on the spine a little ominous, but as soon as Koji lifted the cover, the colorful illustrations distracted her. On the first page, there was a detailed depiction of a sword with a vivid blue gem set into its hilt. “This looks familiar,” she murmured, wishing she could read the strange lettering.

“It is Jedrick’s sword.”

“That’s right!” she exclaimed. As her friend slowly turned the pages, she caught sight of more familiar things — the blue door, apple blossoms, a harp, a row of onions, and a nest filled with duck eggs. Other pages had pictures that meant nothing special to her, but as they went along, she noticed that there were no people, just ordinary everyday items, plants, and animals. It was fun to try to match the various illustrations with the angel whose story it belonged to.

In the last half of the book, Prissie spied another familiar scene. “A Ferris wheel?” she gasped. “Is this from the county fair?”

“Yes,” Koji replied, skimming the passage that accompanied it. “This is one of Baird’s.”

“Does it say anything about how silly I acted?” she asked worriedly.

He slowly shook his head. “The view from the top inspired this entry.”

“Oh. Well, good.”

“I would not call it good,” Koji replied softly. With a sigh, he reached for the other book. It was green, with the silhouette of a single fern frond on its cover. “I have not read this one before, but I have wanted to.”

“What’s it about?”

“This is also a record of Jedrick’s Flight, but it is from several years ago.”

The illuminated panels were in a different style than those in the book they’d just set aside. The lines were sketchier somehow, and the color wasn’t painted on. Soft shades and shadows had been applied and smudged in a way that reminded Prissie of chalk.

On a page decorated with twin fawns, several short lines of lettering were printed, and as Koji’s eyes swept over them, a smile lit his entire countenance — literally. Prissie squinted at the sudden radiance and asked, “What? What is it?”

“This is about
you
,” he shared, his voice little more than a whisper.

“The working of grace?” she echoed uncertainly.

“Salvation,” Koji explained. “Yours!”

“
Ours
,” she corrected, gently touching the two spotted fawns that graced the page. She remembered the day very well, if only because the anniversary was marked every December. She and Beau had both been five at the time, and Prissie had decided that being
almost
twins wasn’t enough. Tad had tried to tell her that it was impossible to become
real
twins because they couldn’t change their birthdays, and she’d gone running to Momma.

Once Naomi had sorted out the reason for her daughter’s tears, she’d offered a brilliant solution. While it was true they wouldn’t ever have the same birthday, they could have the same
spiritual
birthday and share it forever. That night, she and Jayce explained everything to the two of them, using simple terms, and with childlike faith, the siblings had prayed together. With much pomp and circumstance, the date on the calendar was circled twice to mark the beginning of two new lives. “We’re spiritual twins, Beau and I,” Prissie quietly explained.

Pointing to the account on the adjacent page, Koji announced, “This says that Milo brought the good news here, and he was so excited, he could not find words.”

“Did Shimron say all that?” Prissie asked in awe.

“No,” he said softly. “This is Ephron’s record.”

D
oes Koji seem different to you?” Milo asked as he played with the members of Abner’s flock.

“Yes, he’s changed,” Harken readily agreed. “It’s understandable, considering the role he’s taken on in recent weeks. Are you concerned?”

“A little,” the mailman admitted. “Koji’s still so young, and his dreams sound so dark.”

“We should thank God that we have any point of contact with Ephron.”

“Yeah, I know.” Milo ran his hand over the top of his head before saying, “When they find each other, it’s as if Ephron’s sadness rubs off on Koji.”

Harken nodded gravely. “If that’s so, then it may
also
be true that Koji’s joy gives Ephron strength.”

Blue eyes took on a thoughtful expression. “Maybe that’s why?”

“Why
what
?” his mentor asked.

“I was just thinking that it’s a good thing Koji has the Pomeroys right now,” Milo said. “Perhaps the reason God allowed him to meet Miss Priscilla was so that her family could care for him in ways we cannot?”

“Who can say?” Harken replied, though he soon began to smile. “I’d like to think so, though. Friendships grow stronger when two people discover that they can rely on each other.”

“He’s grown very attached.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” the shopkeeper said with a deep chuckle.

“Oh?” challenged Milo. “And how would you put it?”

To answer, Harken said, “The
strongest
friendships are forged when two people realize that they
love
each other.”

Thanksgiving at the Pomeroy’s wasn’t so much a
day
as it was a three-day buildup to the main event. Grandma Nell and Momma had the preparations down to a science, but with school out for the week, the big farm kitchen was more chaotic than usual. Neil was in permanent lurk mode, snitching pie crust cookies off the cooling racks and munching on apple peels.

“Can’t you do
anything
useful?” Prissie complained.

“I
am
!” the sixteen-year-old retorted. “I’m head sampler, chief pot-checker, and this year’s poster child!” Clad in one of Grandma Nell’s gaudiest aprons, he draped an arm around Grammie Esme’s shoulders and cheesed for the camera.
Grandpa Carl backed him up by snapping several shots, then went back to photographing rows of pecan tartlets.

The Olsens had always worked hard to keep their scattered family connected. Over the years, Grandpa and Grammie had carried piles of scrapbooks wherever they went, but recently, they’d switched to virtual albums. Now, there was a family blog that allowed Naomi to stay caught up with her brothers and sister. According to Jayce, it was an improvement on the epic-length slide shows that used to kick off every one of his in-laws’ visits.

“You could lend Koji a hand,” Prissie said, pointing to the mountain of potatoes that still needed peeling. The young angel watched intently as Neil twirled around, then reached over to snatch a pecan tart out from under Grandma Nell’s nose.

“Oh, you,” Grammie Esme scolded fondly.

“Yes, me!” Neil agreed. While he nibbled, the teen cast a sidelong look at Momma, who gave him a small smile. With a put-upon sigh, he ambled over to one of the wide kitchen drawers and fished out a vegetable peeler.

Grandpa Carl asked, “Is there another in there with my name on it?”

With Grammie Esme around, kitchen chitchat became chatter because she could talk a mile a minute, often about cousins that Prissie mostly knew from Grandpa Carl’s photographs. They always said that just because their kids had spread to the four corners of the continent didn’t mean they couldn’t be close. Between the stories and snapshots, they helped their children and grandchildren stay in touch.

A rap sounded on the kitchen door. “Special delivery!”

“Come on in, Milo!” Momma called.

“Smells good all the way down to the mailbox!” he exclaimed as he strolled into the kitchen, a package under his arm. “This one’s for a Mrs. Nellie Pomeroy.”

“Oh!” Grandma Esme exclaimed. “Prissie’s mailman? How nice!”

The girl stiffened in her seat, a blush creeping into her cheeks as she determinedly kept her eyes on the celery she was dicing. Koji nudged her with his elbow, and when Prissie glanced his way, he quietly pointed out, “Milo is
my
mailman as well.”

She smiled at what was obviously meant as some kind of odd angelic joke. “But you never get any mail.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “That is true.”

Neil beckoned from the table. “We saved you a spot, Milo! Grab a peeler and lend a hand!”

“Does the apron come with the job?” inquired the mailman.

“That can be arranged,” Grandma Nell said, a gleam in her eyes.

When Milo finally dropped into a seat across the table from Prissie and Koji, he was wearing a ruffled apron with
Kiss the Cook
stitched across the front. She was mortified on his behalf, but the Messenger calmly reached for a potato. “It’s been a while since your grandmother put me on KP duty.”

“I’m always here,” Grandma Nell said in scolding tones. “Which means
you’re
the one who’s been scarce lately.”

He grinned sheepishly and murmured thanks as she placed a glass of cold milk and a plate of iced molasses cookies at his elbow. “I suppose I
have
been busier than usual.”

“Rehearsals?” guessed the woman.

“There’s been a lot of singing,” Milo admitted.

Prissie jumped in and asked, “Who’s the package from?”

“It’s from Ida, of course.”

Grandpa Carl perked up and inquired, “Will she be home for the holidays?”

“We hope so, but things are still up in the air,” Grandma Nell replied.

Milo asked, “How long will you be staying this time around, Mr. Olsen?”

“Oh, I think we’ll stick around for a bit. It’s been a few years since we attended the annual concert, and what with Tad and Neil joining in this year … well!” Patting his camera, Carl said, “Wouldn’t miss it!”

That evening, Prissie tiptoed down to the kitchen to make herself a cup of cocoa and found her mother standing alone, contemplating the baked goods that lined the counter. “What are you doing, Momma?” Prissie asked.

Naomi glanced away from the long double row of pumpkin pies. “Hmm? Oh,” she replied vaguely. “I was just thinking about crusts.”

“Crusts,” Prissie echoed, giving her mother a you’re-talking-crazy look.

Naomi simply smiled and asked, “Which one of these is better?”

As her mother pointed to the cooled pies, Prissie looked them over. There were half a dozen, but since three different people had worked on them, they all looked different. One pair had high, fluted edges, each scallop perfectly formed. On two others, the edges had been trimmed neatly to fit the
tin and pressed with a fork, forming tiny ridges. The last two had been lined with little stars cut from extra pastry with a cookie cutter.

“I like this one best,” Prissie said, pointing to the fluted ones that were obviously Grandma Nell’s handiwork. Grandma Esme’s stars were really cute, and Momma’s fork-crimping was nice, but scalloped pies were Prissie’s ideal.

Momma nodded and asked, “Will that pie taste better than the others?”

“No.”

“Then why do you suppose you like one better?”

Prissie sighed, not sure what answer her mother was hoping for. “Well, I like Grandma Nell’s pies because they look more like a pie
should.
It’s prettier this way!”

“I think we all like what we’re used to.” Pointing to the fork-crimped crusts, she said, “This is what I grew up with, so these look more homey to me. That doesn’t mean you’re right and I’m wrong. It just means there’s often more than one way to do things.”

“I
know
,” Prissie replied, unsure why she suddenly felt defensive.

“Would it still be your favorite crust if it was a mud pie instead of pumpkin?”

“You mean chocolate?”

“No, I mean
mud.
Dirt.”

Prissie’s nose wrinkled. “Don’t be silly.”

Momma nodded again, saying, “There might be many ways to do things, but there’s still right and wrong. There’s a truth that doesn’t bend, and if you don’t learn that, you’ll be vulnerable to those who tell pretty lies.”

“Why are you telling
me
?” she asked moodily.

“Hmm? Oh, I don’t know. That’s just what was on my mind when you came in.” Shaking off her lost-in-thought look, she smiled and asked, “Was there something you wanted?”

“Cocoa.”

Lowering her voice conspiratorially, she asked, “May I join you?”

Prissie brightened and reached for two mugs.

Morning smelled like roasting turkey, and Prissie took a deep breath before she ever opened her eyes. The only day that smelled better than Thanksgiving was Christmas, which was right around the corner. She smiled to herself as a familiar excitement began to build, because the holiday season was her absolute favorite time of year. There was a light tap on her bedroom door, and she quietly called, “Yes?”

Koji poked in his head and asked, “You are awake?”

“Obviously.”

“I am glad.”

Prissie sat up in bed. “An appropriate attitude to greet the day?”

“Indeed!”

Pulling her blankets up to her chin, she yawned, stretched, and asked, “Did you need something?”

Slipping into the room, Koji replied, “Not in particular. I am merely eager for this holy day to begin.”

Brows furrowed, Prissie asked, “Who told you Thanksgiving was a
holy
day?”

“Is that not the meaning of holiday?”

“We don’t go to church or anything. Honestly, today is mostly for family, food, and football.”

Koji tipped his head to one side as he took in her words. “Those are pleasant pastimes.”

“Well, yes,” she agreed. “After all the preparations, it’s nice to finally get to taste all the good food we’ve been fixing.”

He sat on the floor near the foot of her bed and wrapped his arms around his knees. “You do not plan to show thanks on a day of thanks?”

“Momma says that gratitude is an everyday thing, not a one-day thing. It would be silly to only give thanks once a year.”

“That is true,” Koji said. “Will you give thanks on this day?”

“Yes.” He looked at her with an expectant expression, and she asked, “You mean
now
?”

“It would be an appropriate way to greet the day.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Prissie wracked her mind, trying to think of something to say. She glanced around the room for inspiration, but came up empty. Finally, she hunched her shoulders and slowly said, “I guess …
you.
I’m glad I met you.”

Koji smiled. “You were foremost in my mind as well. Thank you, Prissie.”

When everyone gathered in the kitchen to admire the feast that had been laid out, Grandpa Pete said he was pretty sure he heard the table groaning. Following their family tradition, once all the dishes had been passed and people started to eat, Momma called for attention. “I want everyone to tell me one thing they’re thankful for.”

“Aww!” protested Zeke. “Do we gotta?”

Neil rolled his eyes. “You should know by now that Momma’s gonna ask. We’ve had a whole year to prepare for this moment!”

Jayce raised his hands for attention. “Let’s not be stingy, now! Our family has plenty of things to be grateful for!”

Momma spoke up. “And the big stuff that applies to everyone is off limits — house, family, friends, health, harvest, and so on. Choose something small, because it’s often the
little
things in life that give us the most pleasure.” Turning to her husband, she smiled. “What are you grateful for this year?”

Their father rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then declared, “Potatoes!”

Prissie shook her head. “I don’t think favorite foods should count as something we’re thankful for.”

Jayce nabbed a warm potato roll out of the breadbasket and gently tossed it at her. She squeaked in alarm, but Tad caught it and calmly reached for the butter. Her father said, “I’ll have you know that much of my livelihood is founded on the humble spud!”

“He’s got a point,” Neil said, slipping his hand into the breadbasket and winding up for a pitch.

Momma firmly declared, “
No
more food flinging.”

As they worked their way around the table, everyone tried to outdo one another in choosing the most obscure item for which to be thankful. The list, which their mother decided to write down for posterity, included highlighters, prescription sunglasses, halogen lights, and bobby pins. Jude earned a laugh for saying he was thankful for the color yellow, and the family summarily rejected marshmallows, funnel cakes, and pizza before reluctantly accepting Neil’s gratitude for oven mitts.

Prissie added mailboxes to the growing list. When Koji’s turn came, he offered thanks for window seats, but there was something in his expression that made Prissie think something was bothering him. “What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

“Later?” he begged.

“Sure.”

When the feast had ended and the kitchen was put to rights, the family scattered, and Prissie joined Koji under a blanket out on the porch swing. Tansy’s rumbling purr filled the silence that hung between them, but finally, she prodded, “What are you thinking so hard about?”

“I am confused,” he admitted.

“About what?”

His dark eyes gazed mournfully into hers as he confessed, “The thing that I am
most
thankful for is Ephron’s capture.”

Prissie frowned. “Usually, people are thankful for
good
things.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “I have many reasons to give thanks — for my apprenticeship, my teammates, my place in your family, and for
you.
Ephron’s capture opened a door for me. Without it, I would not be here.”

She couldn’t deny that, and it
was
perplexing. “The enemy can’t be treating him well.”

“No,” Koji replied gravely. “Ephron is suffering greatly.”

“And he’s alone,” Prissie whispered, remembering how frightening it had been in the darkness near The Deep.