“What can I do for you, honey?”
“Do you know Martha Eggleston?”
“Sure. There’s another sad tragedy.”
“I saw her yesterday, and she was pretty upset. I wanted to drop by her house today and see how she’s doin’, and I thought I’d take her a little holiday remembrance of some sort.”
“Angels,” Clara said knowingly. “Martha loves angels. Got a nice display of ‘em right over here.”
Clara led the way to a shelf where a wide selection of decorative angels sat. As Goldie was looking them over, Father Fitzsimmons came into the store.
“Mornin’, ladies,” he greeted, and the floor squeaked when he entered.
“Morning, Father,” Clara smiled.
“Ay, Padre,” Goldie greeted.
“I need some wreaths for the church to hang on the outside door and inside over the stained glass windows. I’ll need eight.”
“Coming right up, Father!” Clara smiled. “I have to get them from the back. Just give me a minute.”
As Clara disappeared into the rear room of the store, Father Fitz came over to where Goldie was and looked at the angels.
“Getting yourself a souvenir?”
“No. A gift for Martha Eggleston. I saw her talking to the mayor yesterday, and she seemed distraught.”
“Yes,” he nodded. “I’ve heard about her troubles. You getting her something to lift her spirits is very nice, Goldie.”
She picked up a white ceramic angel holding a small hand harp and singing.
“What do ya think of this one?” she asked.
“Quite lovely,” the priest agreed.
She looked at the figure for a moment. “Do you think they’re real, Father? Angels?”
“Of course. They’re written about in the Bible from beginning to end,” he noted. “From the Book of Genesis right through to the Book of Revelation. We’re told angels were present at the birth of Christ.”
“So—if angels exist—then demons must, too, huh?”
“Sure, I’d agree with that,” he said.
“What about ghosts, Father?” she wondered, thinking about the man on the covered bridge. “Souls that are neither angel nor demon? Do you think God lets ghosts wander around the planet?”
“I think there are a lot of things in the universe we don’t know about or understand,” he replied. “First Corinthians tells us that God’s wisdom is not man’s. Now, you can either conclude that’s a very convenient piece of scripture priests pull out of their pockets to explain away things, or, if you’re a person of faith, you can accept it.”
“I don’t know what I am,” she admitted.
“Well, either way, I still think the angel is pretty and that Martha will like it.”
Just then, another customer came into the store. He was about Clara’s age and wore slightly dirty work clothing as if he worked in construction.
“Morning, Father,” he greeted, coming in.
“Hello, Herb,” Father Fitz reciprocated. “How was work?”
“Oh, fine. I want to get a certain type of Christmas music box for Sharon before they sell out again. She saw them here last year and went crazy for them. But by the time I got to my shopping, they were gone.”
