A 'Touched By an Angel' story

By: Yvette Jessen

Tamara Johnson walked alongside her brother at the local flea market. It was a dreary overcast day, the last day of summer vacation, but that didn't seem to matter, because her feet were cold. She realized that of all the places she could have been, this was not exactly where she wanted to be. Her spirits had been down ever since their father had passed away earlier that month after prolonged illness. Although, this was something to be expected, her eyes were still shadowed with unsuppressed grief.

"Tammy, is everything OK?" her older brother, Ricky asked as he looked with concern at her. Ricky was tall with the build of a linebacker, but was often described as being like an oversized teddy bear with a heart of gold.

"I'm OK, I just don't know why you wanted to bring me here, it's cold and wet, there's nothing going on, just a bunch of people trying to make money selling off their old junk. I just don't want to be here right now," she said softly.

"Where would you rather be, at home, locked in your bedroom, and feeling sorry for yourself?" Ricky asked, trying to approach his sister with a stance depicting 'tough love' but this was hardly working because he could see the utter heartbreak on his sister's dejected face. If truth were known, it came very close to matching his own and after a second, his voice lowered considerably. "Look, I know that this is probably a lousy way to spend our last afternoon together before I take off for college and you go back to school, but face it, Mom has been sort of preoccupied and I have been worried about you. You know as well as I, that you needed some time away from the house."

In the back of her mind, she could not deny the truth in her brother's words. She also knew that to get angry with him was not going to make things better, and she was smart enough to know that sometimes, like right now, the truth hurt. As she looked around the flea market, she wondered if she would find something good to take her mind off how cold her feet were or how miserable she truly felt. Usually, the only thing they had at these things was hand-me-down clothing, old books and magazines, as well as used videos and CDs. She had her own interests, and usually these did not coincide with the tastes of most of the people who tried to sell off their old belongings.

She looked back at her brother. "I know you're worried, but please, you don't have to remind me all the time of how it is with Mom, I live with her, you know," Tamara said sadly, she couldn't let go of the fact that although their father had been sick for months, he had died only three weeks ago, right on her seventeenth birthday.

She shook her head in denial as she looked up into the caring eyes of her 21-year-old brother. She said nothing, simply because the words were not coming.

"Tammy, you know I care about you…" Ricky said sadly, but his voice trailed.

"I know you do, tomorrow I go back to school, and then I'll just keep 'a stiff upper lip', as grandpa used to say, and move on. You don't have to worry about me, Ricky; I'm going to be OK. Mom's just been exaggerating about me these past weeks, because she's been so miserable herself…" her voice trailed off as she remembered how she did not want to say something to him about their mother, because she knew Ricky. He was the type of guy who would axe his schooling and immediately come home to take care of them if he had to, and now he carried that all too familiar look on his face. "No, I didn't mean that, but you know how Mom is, she has always been so sensitive about things and you also know that she would hit the ceiling if you quit school and came home. I guess she's just like grandpa used to be."

"I know," Ricky said, and she could see the shadow that crossed her brother's face. "I just can't let it go."

"You and me both," she whispered softly, but she reached for his hand and squeezed it. "You know you're the greatest big brother in the world, don't you?"

"Just like you're the greatest little sister in the world," Ricky said softly. "Let's check a few more stands out and maybe go and have a cheeseburger for lunch. Sound good?"

Tamara nodded. "Perfect, but are you treating?"

"I still owe you for your birthday," he said and smiling weakly he handed her a twenty-dollar bill and smiled impishly at her. "Don't spend it all in one place, though."

Tamara smiled at her brother, her first real smile in days and stuck the money in her pocket. Once she had done that, she looked at him. "How long do you think it will take us to get over Dad?"

Ricky shook his head, "I wish I knew, some people have said it takes years."

Tamara nodded and they continued to walk through the outdoor market. She was walking with her head down, and for some reason, she just didn't have the courage or strength to look into the eyes of those coming in the opposite direction. Perhaps it was simply that she did not wish to show the rest of the world how unhappy she was. At any rate, no one seemed to care until she literally plowed right into a woman who was coming towards her, and she was forced to look up and into a pair of sympathetic brown eyes. "E-excuse me," she offered weakly.

"It's OK," the woman replied, her gentle alto voice matching the look of love that she carried on her mahogany colored face. "You alright?" The woman asked.

Tamara nodded and without saying a word she continued to walk, her head still down, and within seconds, the woman she had run into was no longer visible to the human eye. An auburn headed woman joined her seconds later, and they continued to watch as the teenager and her older brother were walking through the market place.

"Who is she, Tess?" The younger woman asked.

"Her name is Tamara Johnson, Monica," Tess answered and continued to watch the girl as well as the young man who was walking next to her. "That's her brother, Ricky. They are probably the most loving brother and sister you will ever meet. They adore each other, and since their daddy died three weeks ago, the two of them have leaned on one another in their grief."

"Well if they find strength with each other, then why do they need angels?" Monica asked.

"Because tomorrow, Ricky is going to be leaving for the university, and Tamara will be starting the eleventh grade," Tess said. "Both of these babies believe that they will be alone in their grief, but you and Andrew…" Her voice trailed off and she realized that their friend and fellow angel, was not with them and she looked around where they were standing. "Where did Andrew go?" She finally asked. "He doesn't have any pressing assignment right now. Did you see him, Miss Wings?"

"No," Monica said. "I haven't seen him, at least not since this morning."

"I wonder where on Earth he could be," Tess mused.

"I have no idea," Monica answered. "Didn't the Father tell you? I mean He knows where Andrew would be right now."

"No, He hasn't told me anything," Tess said as they looked around and could see all the people rushing here and there looking for things to buy. "Well, at any rate, you and Andrew will be staying here in town in order to help her. That is, if he ever bothers to show up."

"Tess, how often has Andrew let us down when it came to fulfilling an assignment?" Monica asked. "He'll be here, try not to worry, just fill me in and I'll fill him in later."

"OK, you're right," Tess conceded and sighed deeply. "I'm going to be heading upstate tonight, and will be working at the dormitory where Ricky lives. I'm hoping that I can help him get back into the swing of things."

Monica nodded. "And what about us?"

"Teachers for now. You're going to be teaching World History, and Andrew will be teaching English," Tess said. "Tamara will be in both your classes, so you will be able to keep an eye on her during the entire time."

Monica nodded, but all the while, she wondered where it was Andrew had gone.

*****

At the same time, in an empty alleyway about three streets over from where the flea market was taking place, a young boy named Vincent was walking around and appeared to be searching for something specific. His grubby tennis shoes had holes, his jeans ragged at the bottom, but he seemed not to pay any attention to this, because he was opening and closing garbage cans and sticking his nose inside to peer down at the discards of the neighborhood merchants. As he smelled the pungent odors of stale beer, he backed away from the can, his tennis shoes sticking to the street.

Sighing deeply, the small child continued to poke around in the garbage. When he found an old book, he pulled it out and stuffed it inside a plastic bag and continued looking. Please God, he thought silently as he looked, let me find something really cool so my dad won't get mad at me. Vincent was used to this, ever since he could remember, he and his father had lived on the streets in a dank smelling van, which was usually parked near the local bus station, and survived by selling old discarded junk, which no one really wanted.

This was no secret; Eddie Harving had often sent his son to check in the dumpsters from the nearby clothing stores in search of things that may have been mixed in with the garbage. He always figured that one man's trash was another man's treasure, so if he could find something worth selling, then they would have some money for dinner that night.

As luck would have it, six- year-old Vincent had a keen eye for things that his father could sell at these local flea markets, and he was always sent looking for such items.

This particular day, the small boy was hungry, his father had failed to provide anything for him to eat, well not since yesterday when they had been given lunch at McDonalds by a sympathetic elderly lady and her granddaughter.

Vincent would have liked to have stopped and had something to eat, even if it was just a small package of popcorn or some French fries that they sold at one of the stands at the flea market, but his father insisted that they simply did not have the money for such frivolities, and Vincent was left to contend with his growling stomach.

As he released another pent up sigh, he continued to look around the uninviting alley and eventually; he did find something, something so wonderful that his father was surely going to be very proud of him.

The golden object was lying on the street amidst a bunch of thrown out newspaper. The little boy concluded if the sun were to have actually been out, it would be shining on this beautiful thing radiating fragments of rainbows and light all around him, but a glance towards the sky told him that it was about to start raining. Vincent picked up the object, and though he did not know what it was, something told him that it was special, and he wondered how proud of him his father would be when he brought this to their stand.

He slid the object into his pocket rather than discarding it inside the plastic bag with the book, and turned away from the alley. A few feet away, stood a man, but the small boy could not see him, for he was an angel, and this angel carried an unhappy, almost melancholy expression on his face. Yet, in the sad green eyes of the angel, one could clearly see the pain he carried at seeing the sad state of the little boy who had just left the alley.

"Oh Father, I know I should trust in you, but that watch was the only material thing I owned. Is this really going to help Vincent and his father?" he sighed deeply his hand rubbing against the pocket where he usually kept his golden pocket watch. When he realized that it was empty, he sighed deeply and started to follow the little boy.

As he reached the site where the flea market was taking place, he somehow lost track of the child. However, as soon as he had arrived there, his attention diverted immediately to Tess. She had instantly spotted him when he came into the open marketplace and now was approaching, her hands stubbornly on her hips and she was regarding him with nothing short of her typical attitude as well as a trace of frustration. "Where have you been, Andrew?"

"Nowhere specific," the Angel of Death mumbled all the while knowing that Tess was not about to take that answer as being an adequate response to her inquiry. Yet, he also knew that if he told her all about Vincent, that her gentle heart would break.

"Andrew…" She grumbled, her voice a couple of tones lower than usual. Looking at her, he knew that he should be more concerned with his and Monica's assignment than with the whereabouts of his watch.

"I'm sorry, Tess, I guess I just have a few things on my mind right now," Andrew offered weakly.

"What is it, Angel Boy?" Tess asked, noticing his downcast expression.

"It's about a little boy," he offered weakly. "I mean, I guess it's nothing important, at least, up until now, the Father hasn't said that it was."

"Andrew tell me," Tess said.

"It's OK, let's just get on with the assignment," Andrew said and looked around the busy flea market, all the while his eyes were scanning the crowd in search of the little boy he had seen in the alley. When he could not see Vincent, he shook his head sadly and continued to walk with Tess through the large open area. Once the three angels had regrouped, Tess left to fulfill her part of the assignment leaving Monica and Andrew searching for theirs.

All the while, Andrew's mind was still focused on the watch he had lost.

*****

Meanwhile, Tamara and Ricky were still making their way through the marketplace, and she was growing sadder and sadder as they walked. Ricky had found and bought a couple of books, but she had yet to find anything that would take her mind off how horrible she felt. Sighing deeply, she watched as a ragged looking little boy ran exuberantly over to his father at one of the stands and handed him some sort of golden object.

"What is this?" The father snarled looking at his son once he was holding the object in his hand. "I told you to go and get some discards, not steal this from someone. We may be poor Vince, but we're not in the habit of stealing from people. If the cops catch wind of this, they may haul me off to jail and then you won't have anyone to take care of you. Now, where did you get it?"

"I didn't steal it, Poppa, I swear, I found it on the ground behind 'Brookman Warehouse', I had gone there like you told me to, and it was on the street," the little boy whispered and from a distance, Tamara could see that the small child was frightened and without thinking, she approached the stand and watched as the father immediately stopped screaming at his child and looked up, his steel-gray eyes meeting her own.

Instead of saying anything further to his son, the father wordlessly plopped the small golden object down on the table, it landing between a broken lamp, and a stuffed camel with only one eye.

Tamara came even closer and began to look around the objects on the man's table, much of it junk, but after a few moments of looking, her eyes came to rest on the small golden object that was the point of their contention. After staring down at the engraved flowers on it, she gently picked it up. "This is such a beautiful watch," she said softly as she ran her hand across the engraved cover.

"Oh, yeah, that, well it belonged to my grandfather," the man lied, but his story somehow went ignored by the teenager who gently opened the cover and stared down at the face of the watch.

"Does it have a chain with it?" Tamara asked once she closed the cover.

"No, it was found…" his voice trailed off, but he quickly recovered. "I mean, my grandfather never had a chance to buy a chain for it."

Tamara nodded, and although her intuition was telling her to run from this man, she could see the little boy peering out from behind him, and in this regard, her heart won over her logic. Sighing deeply, she somehow knew that this particular man was about as honest as a bandit at a poker game, but at the same time, she could not shake the idea that if she had actually bought the object, it would somehow help that little boy. The poor little thing, she thought, he was skin and bones and seemed to need more help than anything else. After a few moments of hesitation passed, she sighed sadly and stared down at the golden object that was resting in her hand. She closed the cover at that moment and sought eye contact with the man.

"How much do you want for it?" Tamara asked.

"Twenty-five," the man said without any hesitation.

"Would you take twenty? She asked weakly. "That's all I have?"

"Sold," the man said abruptly and once Tamara had slipped the watch into her pocket, she retrieved the money. As soon as she held the crumpled bill in her hand, she extended it towards the man. Upon seeing it, he literally snatched it away and turned from her, thus ignoring her completely. As soon as his attention had been diverted from her, she walked slowly away from his table, all the while retrieving the watch from her pocket and holding it gently cradled in her hand.

After a few minutes, she slid it back into her pocket, and when she saw Ricky a few feet away, she began to approach the stand where he was standing at and looking at some vinyl LPs. Once she approached and had joined him, he looked up.

"You find anything?" Ricky asked before he continued digging through a box.

"Yeah, I did," Tamara answered, "and something really beautiful, too." She pulled the watch from her pocket and handed it to him. "I know this is going to sound really stupid, but there was something about this watch that reminded me of Daddy, that's why I spent all my birthday money to get it."

Ricky dropped the records back into the box, stood up, and accepted the watch she offered. "I don't know, Tammy, it looks like nothing but some old watch…" his voice trailed off and once he opened the cover; he could see that it was still in working order. He shrugged his shoulders and returned the watch to his sister. "It's nice," he offered weakly, not really believing these words as they escaped from between his lips. "Who sold it to you?"

"Some guy, over there," Tamara said as she pointed back in the direction of where she had come.

"I see, but you know a lot of things like this are sometimes stolen, don't you?" Ricky asked.

Tamara sighed deeply, the color fading from her already unhappy face. "I honestly didn't think about that. The guy said it had belonged to his grandfather, but I had overheard him screaming at his son about it saying that the kid had stolen it. The kid claimed he found it, and I don't think a little boy would lie."

"Maybe it's nothing Tammy, besides any guy could have lost it. I wouldn't worry about it," Ricky mused as he watched her gently return the object to her pocket. "Oh well, I've had enough of this flea market, let's go get something to eat, and then we can go home. I still have to pack for tomorrow."

Tamara nodded mutely, and together they left.

*****

The following morning, Tamara woke up and began to get ready for the first day of school. All she could think about was the fact that her brother was going to be gone when she would come home that afternoon, and this was almost too much for her to bear. Sighing deeply, she pulled out a green dress with a sort of old-fashioned gingham design on it. This dress was not necessarily one that was in style, but it was something that her grandmother had made for her a few months before her father had died, and he claimed that this was his favorite dress of hers.

Sighing deeply she put the dress on and zipped up the back before looking under her bed for her favorite matching shoes. Once she had them on, she slowly went to the closet and grabbed her backpack and swung it listlessly over her shoulder. As a last minute thought, she grabbed the pocket watch from off her nightstand and put it in her purse.

As she came out of her room she could see that Ricky was moving boxes from his room towards the stairs. His sad brown eyes met her own and he flashed her a weak smile. "You go, girl!" he said, his enthusiastic baritone voice filling the hallway, but she could detect a sense of insincerity in his voice. Rather than comment on this, she smiled weakly and made her way towards the stairs.

Once she came into the kitchen, she could see that her mother Erika was seated at the table, a spoon in her hand and she was listlessly stirring her coffee. Tamara looked at her mother. "Mom, everything's going to be OK, you'll see," she said. "Ricky will go there a 21-year-old man, and come home an archeologist extraordinaire."

"I know honey, but the house feels awfully empty during the days now," Erika said softly.

"Why don't you take Mrs. Simmons' advice and take some classes while I'm at school. You said once that you wanted to learn quilting and I'm almost certain that she could teach you."

"Yes, Jackie did mention this to me," Erika said and she offered her daughter a brave smile. "I'll tell you what, I'll look into it after Ricky leaves for school."

"OK," Tamara said as she grabbed a box of pop tarts out of the cabinet and pulled one of the white packages out of the box and stuffed it in her purse. "I'll see you later, Mom, I'd better get to school, it'd look really bad if I was late on the first day."

Erika smiled at her daughter. "You have a good day, honey."

Tamara left the kitchen and came out into the living room to see Ricky still struggling with the boxes. "I guess this is it, huh?" She asked him and smiled bravely at him.

"I'll call you at least once a week and check in, I promise," Ricky said.

"OK," she nodded as she felt the tears leaping into her eyes, but instead of focusing any energy on them, she looked up at her brother. "Good luck, Ricky," Tamara said softly and her brother took her in his arms and gave her a giant bear hug.

As soon as their embrace loosened, she grabbed her backpack and walked towards the door, all the while making sure that she had her key to the house in her possession. Once she knew she had it, she stepped outside and walked in the direction of the school.

The high school was only three streets down from where she lived, so she could walk there instead of taking the bus. The gentle breeze blew through her dark brown hair and she could feel the early morning sun beating down on her. It was a very nice day, she concluded, but that was only because of the weather. Yesterday it had rained, but now, Monday morning, the sun was now high in the sky and she could feel the warmth on her arms.

"Excuse me," a voice interrupted her thoughts once she had reached the school and was about to go inside. She turned around and could see that the voice matched a handsome man who was coming across the courtyard, an auburn headed woman was with him and the two of them looked lost.

"Yes?" She asked and waited until they had caught up with her.

"Thank you for stopping," the man continued. "We're new here, and weren't sure where the principal's office was."

"Just go through the front door, and you'll see a large office, which is where the administration is, you can't miss it, it's almost entirely surrounded by glass but they should be able to help you get to where you need to be," Tamara offered.

"Thank you," the woman said, her voice emerging in a lovely Irish lilt.

"No problem," she said and followed them towards the doors. When they reached it, the man held the door open and once she and the woman had gone inside, he allowed the door to close.

As soon as the two people disappeared inside the office, she walked slowly towards the cafeteria where she would meet her friend, Claudia Franklin.

"Hey," the girl called out once Tamara had come closer. "Did you get a good look at the guy you were talking to? What a doll, huh?"

"I didn't notice, and I wasn't talking to him all that much. He and his friend needed help finding Mr. Taylor's office," Tamara said. "He's probably a teacher or something. I mean; he looks too old to be a student."

"Unless he dropped out of school and wants to re-enroll to get his GED," Claudia said snickering.

"All you think about is boys. I thought you were going to hook yourself a guy this summer, what happened?" Tamara asked.

"Well, there was this one guy, and he was really cute, but it turned out he already had a girlfriend. He wanted to be my friend, but who needs that?" Claudia said laughing out loud. "Besides, I really don't want to think about that right now."

"Why not? Did something happen?" Selena Watson asked as she came over

"Yeah, you showed up and stuck your nose where it doesn't belong," Claudia snapped and turned away from the girl who was one class behind them, but was also one of the biggest gossips in the school.

Tamara sighed deeply and turned away from Selena, not wishing to talk to her, but also wishing all the while that she could simply disappear.

"I'm sorry," Selena offered meekly, and she looked at Tamara. "I really am."

"Don't stress about it, Selena," Tamara said. "Tomorrow she'll forget all about him and then things will be back to normal." Once the bell chimed, she walked slowly away and made her way in the direction of the gym where she would get her schedule as well as her locker number and combination.

*****

Two hours later, she walked into her English classroom and laid her notebook on one of the desks. It was no secret; English was her favorite class. She enjoyed writing poetry, short stories and even essay writing was fun for her. Sighing deeply she sat down and rested her elbows on the desk. The rest of the classroom was empty, not even the teacher was there, and she guessed that the other students would arrive at the last possible minute.

"We meet again," the voice of the man she had helped that morning shifted her out of her reverie and she looked up into a pair of kind green eyes.

"Hi," she offered meekly. "Are you the teacher?"

"My name is Andrew," he said simply.

"A first name, huh? Well, that's new," Tamara said and shrugged her shoulders.

"Would you prefer to address me as 'Mr. Halo'?" he asked all the while smiling somewhat impishly.

"Halo?" Tamara shook her head. "No, actually I think I'd prefer to call you Andrew. If that's OK?"

"Of course it is, that's why I introduced myself that way in the first place," He smiled warmly. "What's your name?"

"Tamara Johnson," she said softly.

"Well, Tamara, I notice that you're here much earlier than the others," he said.

"I guess, probably because I love English class the most, I'm probably the only kid you'll ever meet who actually likes Shakespeare, and got something more than a dagger out of 'Romeo and Juliet'," she sighed deeply, all the while trying to keep her voice upbeat.

"Is something wrong?" He asked.

"No, I'm just thinking about some stuff," she said.

"OK, well if you want to talk, I'll listen," he said kindly.

"No, it's OK, but thanks for the offer. You know, you are different than most teachers I've had, Andrew," she said shaking her head sadly.

He smiled somewhat ironically but went over to the teacher's desk and sat down as the other kids filtered into the room. As soon as the bell rang, he looked at the kids who were now seated at their desks and began to speak. "Hi everyone. This is English 240, section 12, that is what should be printed on your schedules, if you have anything else, then you're in the wrong class."

A few kids got up and left as soon as he had said this, and once the door closed once again, he cleared his throat and began again. "My name is Andrew, and I'll be your teacher for the first part of this semester until your regular teacher returns from maternity leave. In this class, we will be covering American Literature, from colonialist times up to the beginning of the period of writing known as Transcendentalism."

"What is Transcendentalism?" One of the boys asked.

"This is a period of writing which covered the later 1800's, and this was around the time of spiritual reformation in this country," Andrew explained. "These writers included Emerson, and Thoreau, but we'll discuss them in detail later." He paused and smiled weakly at the class before him. "First, I would like for you to do a little writing sample for me. I want to get an idea about how each of you write."

"Another of those stupid 'what I did during the summer' things?" A girl asked.

"No, I want you to use your imaginations a little. Take something that you have held in your hand and write a story about it," Andrew began. "It could be about a book, or a stuffed animal; anything. I want you to give an object a sense of life and put a personality into it. We have forty-five minutes left, and five minutes before the bell, I'll collect them. Any questions?"

When no one asked anything, Tamara looked down at the blank sheet of paper in front of her. As her mind began to drift, she picked up her pen and began to write, her thoughts somehow coming, and a story unfolded before her eyes.

It was a rainy Sunday afternoon, and I was walking with my brother through a flea market here in town. It was drizzling and I was feeling miserable because I was afraid that I would get wet. I was also thinking, because my father died on my birthday, and I walked along all the while pondering how much I missed him and how much of a hole he left behind when he passed away. It was hard for me to even walk through the seemingly happy crowds and not even be able to offer a person who was coming in the other direction a smile or a cheerful 'hello'.

Eventually, I came upon a table, and behind it, stood a man, his steel gray eyes depicting a street-smart personality, and a rough around the edges appearance. Behind him stood a frightened little boy, his hair tousled and his eyes filled with the curiosity of one so young. The father had been angry with his son, and as I tried to focus my attention on something else, I noticed it, a beautiful object which had been placed between a busted lamp and stuffed camel with only one eye. It was like seeing something beautiful amidst the garbage, something that caught my attention from the first moment I laid eyes on it.

It was etched with golden flowers and I immediately felt drawn to it, desiring nothing more than to hold it close to my ear and listen to the gentle sounds of the ticking that emerged from it. I wanted to cradle this watch in my arms and carry it home with me, but why, I did not know. Perhaps I knew that it had a story to tell, perhaps that is hidden away in the gears and the numbers or the beautiful engraved flowers, which adorned the cover. I cannot explain with words the effect this object had on me, but it made me somehow feel closer to my dad. Why would a golden watch make these sensations in me leap out as though I was drawn to it? I wish I knew, because I have a feeling that somehow the story behind it would have been the greatest tale ever told.

Tamara put her pen down and shook her head as she breathed in deeply. "I can't do this," she whispered under her breath. "It's too hard." She took another deep breath and glanced up. As she did, she could see that Andrew was looking directly at her. When she made eye contact with him, he motioned for her to come to the front. She grabbed the paper, stood up, and walked to the front of the room, hoping all the while that she would not disturb the other classmates. "Yes?" She spoke once she was standing at his desk.

"Is something wrong?" He asked. "You look a little frazzled."

"No, I'm fine," she answered, but he could not help but notice how her words were somewhat forced.

"What do you have written so far?" He asked.

"It's stupid, I'll start over and try something else," she said softly as she crumpled up the paper and tossed it into the wastebasket. As she spoke, he could see that she had tears in her eyes and he removed a cloth handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. "T-thank you," she managed to whisper once she had wiped the moisture from her eyes.

"Tamara, I want to help you if I can," he offered, "I know that you're in a lot of pain right now, it's plain to see when I look at you. If you don't talk to me, talk to someone, OK?"

"Why?"

"Well, it will help you to get your feelings out," he said gently.

Tamara nodded. "Can I come by after school lets out and drop off a new essay?" She asked. "I mean, you'll probably send me to detention anyway for not having my essay completed anyway."

"No, I won't send you to detention," he reached for the page she had thrown away. "But, I think I should probably use this. I have a funny feeling that it's the best writing sample that you could give to me anyway."

"But, Andrew, it's totally stupid," She objected and he shook his head adamantly.

"You ever hear the saying that sometimes you're your own worst critic? Well, it's true, let me read this and decide, Tamara, and if I don't like it, I'll ask you to write another one tonight. Do we have a deal?" He asked.

"OK, you win," she said softly all the time realizing that she would not win against him in this argument. After a second or two passed, she returned to her seat. Once she was seated, she began to write a second essay, all the while thinking that there was no way that this teacher, no matter how nice he was, would accept that essay. It made positively no sense to her, and she figured that it would make even less to him.

Ten minutes later, Andrew collected the essays, and after that, the bell rang, thus dismissing the class.

*****

That afternoon once school let out, Andrew sat alone in his classroom. He was looking through the essays that the teenagers had written, and when he found Tamara's in the stack he looked down at it and began to read. Seconds later, Monica came into the room. "Andrew, How did it go?"

"OK, but she's not very forthcoming with information. In fact, I don't know if you noticed it, but she seems sort of introverted. She doesn't talk to too many people, she seems to be more content with her writing," he said as he regarded some of the essays. "You want to help me grade these?"

Monica looked down at the essays on his desk and tried to read some of the handwriting, but she reached over and grabbed Tamara's essay and began to read. After a few minutes, she looked at Andrew. "I think I found your watch. You were telling me that it had gotten lost during the course of the last week."

"What do you mean?" Andrew asked.

"Just read this," Monica said and handed the essay to him and he began to read the flowing script of the teenager.

As Andrew read the essay, the color drained from his face and he looked up and nodded, "You're right, it sounds like she's describing the watch I lost."

"Are you going to ask for it back?" Monica asked.

"No," Andrew said softly. "I can't, Monica, I think she needs it more than me. Look at this, she is somehow able to sense a connection that it had with her father, and you know that I took him Home." He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "He had been very sick, and was battling the Cancer with all that was inside of him. His faith was amazing, but he feared leaving his family behind," As he spoke, Monica could see the sadness on the face of the Angel of Death and she rested a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"What are you going to do?" Monica asked.

"I don't know," he said as he stood up and left the essays on the desk. "How can I help her?" He asked the stillness. "Tess isn't even here, she went upstate to help Tamara's brother, and I'm here."

"We're here, Andrew," Monica said softly as someone appeared in the doorway and tapped on it, thus causing the two angels to turn and they could see that Tamara was standing there, and she was looking at them.

"I wrote another essay, Andrew, and I thought I should bring it by before I go home," she said sadly. "I hope you don't mind if I take that one back."

"I do mind," Andrew said softly as he walked over to her. "I think you have a remarkable talent, Tamara."

"It's not that much, I used to write stories and poetry for my dad. He always said that he was my biggest fan and that I would one day win some great prize with my writing," she shrugged her shoulders. "He was always an idealist."

"Was?" Monica asked.

"He died," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Anyway, I guess I was so used to writing for him that I did that here, too. I'm sorry."

"You have no reason to apologize, Tamara," Andrew said softly. "I read your essay, I thought it was really nice. You have a wonderful gift."

Monica nodded as she looked at the piece of paper now resting on Andrew's desk. "You really get into imagery, don't you?" She asked after a few minutes.

"I guess so," Tamara handed a sheet of notebook paper to him. Next, she retrieved the first essay, turned, and started to walk towards the door leading out into the hall.

Once she had left, Andrew looked down at the piece of paper, and shook his head once he had read the essay. "This sample isn't as good."

"What's it about?" Monica asked.

"A rock that she found at the beach last summer," he shook his head. "There's a sense of melancholy in her, not just her writing, but in her, and how she deals with things."

"Maybe writing is her way to grieving what she has lost," Monica said.

Andrew shook his head. "There's something else in her, something hidden."

"I guess our job is to find out what that something is," Monica said softly as Andrew collected the essays and they left the classroom.

******

Outside, Tamara walked slowly in the direction of her mother's home, her eyes downcast and her feet shuffling along the street. Glancing up, she could feel the sunshine on her skin, but her sadness overwhelmed her and she was unable to really enjoy the feeling that this kind of environment gave to her.

When she reached the house, she could see that Ricky had already left to head upstate to the University. With a sense of emptiness, she walked aimlessly into the house, dropped her backpack in her room, picked up a blank notebook, and went back outside. Her mother was gone, and she guessed that she had finally taken her advice and went to Mrs. Simmons' for quilting classes.

Sighing deeply, she walked across the street until she reached a small neighborhood park. Glancing around, she could see that the neighborhood children were either on the jungle gym, playing tag, or swinging without a care in the world. When she heard a little girl calling out to her father, she watched as a handsome man in his mid thirties was running towards her, picked her up in his arms, and was swinging her around.

Looking down, she could feel the tears in her eyes, and she sighed sadly. As she opened the notebook, the moistness streamed down her cheeks, and she began to write, all the while trying to keep herself from breaking down and crying.

"Hello, Tamara," A familiar voice emerged and she looked up to see that Monica and Andrew were walking through the park in her direction.

"Hi," she said softly as she laid her pen inside the book and closing it as she waited for them to come closer.

"What are you doing?" Monica asked. "Homework?"

"No, just some stuff that I like to do sometimes," Tamara said softly. "Writing always helps me when I feel sad, and let's just say that lately I've been doing a lot of writing."

"Why are you sad, Tamara?" Andrew asked.

The teenager shrugged her shoulders and offered him a sad smile. "My brother left today to go upstate to school, and I'm alone now."

"Are you close to your brother?" Monica asked.

"Yeah," Tamara nodded, her eyes filled with sadness, but she focused on her notebook instead of them. After a few moments of silence ticked by, she glanced up and saw a little boy in the distance, his tousled hair familiar to her. "Wait a minute, I know that kid."

Andrew looked up and could see that it was Vincent, the little boy from the flea market. "Yes, I think I've seen him around here as well. He was in town yesterday when we visited the flea market."

Tamara nodded. "Yeah, everyone in town tends to show up for these things." Instead of continuing, she could see that the little boy looked to not be all that stable on his feet.

"It looks as though he is so frail that he is about to collapse," Monica said softly.

"Yeah, that's where I saw him, he was the boy from the flea market," Tamara said softly as she got up off the ground and began to dust herself off. "I saw him too, I had gone there with my brother." Seconds later and she started to walk in the direction of the little boy; Andrew and Monica followed.

As soon as Tamara got close enough to the boy, she offered him a warm smile. "I know you, your father sold me the watch yesterday at the flea market. You said you had found it in the alley behind the Brookman Warehouse. Did you find anything else there?"

Vincent shook his head, his eyes shadowed with pain, and he turned away from her with the intention of running away.

"Wait, don't go," Tamara called out to him.

The small boy stopped, and turned around once again, this time she noticed that his face was bruised and his sad brown eyes looked up at her through a pair of broken glasses.

"My name's Tammy," she offered weakly, her voice soft, but as she spoke to him, Monica and Andrew approached, and she watched as the little boy shrank back in fright. "What's wrong?"

The child shook his head, but no words emerged. Instead, he pointed and she turned and could see that the two angels were approaching. "Oh don't be afraid of them, they're harmless, Andrew and Monica are teachers at my school," Tamara said softly. "What's your name?"

"Vincent," the little boy answered.

Before Tamara could say anything else to the boy, the same man who had sold her the watch had stormed over, grabbed the boy's arm, and jerked him away from where Tamara and the two angels were standing. "Where have you been?" He snarled at the boy, causing Vincent to cower once again.

Tamara watched with shocked eyes as the father started to pull his son away. She turned around and could see that the two angels were now standing nearby, but she looked at Eddie with unsuppressed rage emanating in her words. "For a father you are certainly not being very understanding towards your son," Tamara snapped, as she looked up and into the glowering eyes of the man. "You shouldn't scare him like that, he's just a little boy."

The man, instead of regarding her words, pushed her roughly away, and she ended up falling back onto the ground. As frustrated tears brimmed beneath her eyes, she shouted at the man's retreating back. "Someone should have the Children's Protective Group investigate that bully. If he treats me like garbage, I can only imagine how he treats his little boy."

She watched as Monica slowly started to follow the man, leaving Andrew with Tamara, the compassionate Angel of Death watching with concern as the man dragged his son away. "People like that make me really sick," Tamara said softly as she wiped her hand across her face and stared after Monica. "Where's she going?"

"I suppose she's going to try and help the little boy," Andrew said honestly as a shrill scream was heard in the distance, and without thinking, Tamara took off running towards the man, and Andrew, having no choice in the matter, quickly followed.

*****

"You're gonna get me into trouble, kid, especially if you keep letting people like that girl talk to you," Eddie sneered at the little boy, before he hauled back and began to hit the defenseless child. "You want to be put in foster care?"

"No, Poppa," Vincent whimpered as he felt the fist against the side of his face.

"Then get into the van and go to sleep," Eddie said and the boy started to crawl into the back of the van, his grubby face covered with his frightened tears.

As he lay down in the corner, he looked up to see that Monica was sitting in the back of the van, and as soon as Eddie was gone, she looked serenely at the boy. "Hello Vincent," she whispered gently, her voice filled with love.

"Are you going to beat me like my poppa does?" Vincent asked weakly.

"No honey, I'm not going to do anything to hurt you, I'm actually here to help you," she said softly.

"You were with that girl outside, right?" The child eventually asked.

"Yes, my name is Monica, and I'm an angel," she said.

"Angel?" The boy looked at her somewhat confused.

"Do you know what an angel is, Vincent?" Monica asked.

"No," the little boy shook his head.

"An angel is a messenger from God. You know who God is, don't you?" Monica whispered her voice filled with compassion.

The little boy shook his head, his eyes filled with sadness. "My Poppa said that there is no such thing as God."

"God is real, Vincent," Monica said gently and reached out to touch the boy's shoulder. "Just as I am real."

As the little boy felt Monica's hand against her shoulder, he released a blood curdling scream, thus bringing his father into the back of the van.

"What's going on?" Eddie shouted all the while not seeing Monica, but causing his son to cower against the side of the van. Eddie crawled into the back of the van without closing the door, and as he did, he pulled a belt and towered over the little boy. As the child screamed in pain, neither of them noticed that Tamara had come closer to see the father lashing out at his son.

"Oh my God," she shouted, thus causing Eddie to turn around. "How dare you!" She cried out, her voice shrill, and before she could stop herself she continued. "Don't you know that a child is a gift from God? If my father was alive he wouldn't be beating me black and blue like that."

Within seconds, Eddie had turned on her and he came out of the van towards her, his hand reaching out and grabbing her shoulder, all the while his eyes baring down on hers in utmost anger. "What do you want?"

"I want you to stop this, Vincent doesn't deserve this," she cried as she felt the uneven fingernails of the man against her shoulder blade. "Let me go," she shouted, and before she could say anything further, she could feel his open palm against the side of her face. As he continued to beat her, a passerby stopped, pulled a cell phone from her pocket, and quickly called 911.

Seconds later, Eddie released her, and Tamara's limp body slumped to the ground; blood streaming from beneath her nose, and already the ugly blue colored bruises covering her face. Andrew kneeled down on the ground next to her, but his gaze eventually fell on the movements of her assailant as he ran, jumped into the van, started the motor, and sped off.

Andrew watched as the van disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, but he looked down on the ground and could see that Tamara was lying in the dirt, cradled in her now opened palm was his golden pocket watch. He reached down and picked it up, but his eyes never left the body of the young woman who was his assignment.

Sadly he brushed his hand gently across her cheek where only moments ago she had been beaten. "Please Father, let her be OK," he prayed softly. "She's just a child."

As he spoke, he could see that she moaned and started to open her eyes briefly. After some moments passed, she could feel that someone was holding her, and she looked up and recognized her English teacher. "Andrew, it hurts, and I'm so scared."

"Shhh, I'm here, Tamara," he said and continued to stroke her hair. "You just try and stay awake, OK?"

She nodded numbly. "Vincent? Is he safe?"

"I don't know, but Monica's with him," he said softly. "Try not to worry, sweetheart." As he spoke, his voice was filled with compassion and he gently brushed her hair out from in front of her eyes.

"Monica, s-she in danger," Tamara tried to sit up but Andrew would not let her, he held her gently but firmly in his arms.

"Tamara, listen to me, Monica is going to be OK, she's in no danger, at all," Andrew smiled gently at her.

"B-but, Andrew, look at w-what he did to me," Tamara gasped, her voice bordering on hysterical, and as she lost control of her emotions, she could feel the blood dribbling down from beneath her nose.

Andrew continued to stroke her hair gently. "Look at me, Tamara, Monica is OK, she won't get hurt, because Eddie cannot hurt her. He cannot bring physical harm to an angel."

"A-an angel?" She gasped, but started coughing and could feel the blood as it continued to stream down over her mouth. "Angel…" With that, she lost consciousness.

Andrew pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe the blood from her face. As he did this, he sat and waited for the paramedics to arrive.

After a few moments had passed, they arrived and he remained next to the teenager as they put her body onto a gurney and started to wheel her towards the ambulance. Andrew glanced towards the ground and when he saw the watch and a crumpled up piece of paper on the ground right next to where she had fallen. Once he had wiped his hands down his jeans, he stood up, and waited until the policeman had approached him.

"What happened?" The policeman asked.

"My friend was assaulted when she tried to help a little boy," Andrew said sadly.

"Why didn't you help her?" The officer inquired.

"She had taken off and was running towards the van before I could stop her. By the time I got to where she was, the assailant was gone and she was on the ground here," Andrew said softly as he cast a fleeting glance towards the ambulance.

Once he had spoken, the Angel of Death reluctantly handed them the watch as well as the slip of paper he had found with the license number scrawled on it.

"You wrote down the license number of the van," one of the policemen asked Andrew. "Smart move."

"No, I must say, I didn't think about doing that," Andrew admitted. "I think Tamara wrote it down, somehow she had sensed impending danger and, sadly, she was right. I really wanted to help her, but I didn't know what to do," Andrew said. "She ran towards the van before I could even stop her, she wanted to protect a little boy. I think she had her heart set on the idea of being there for him."

"Yeah, and look at what it got her," the policeman remarked all the while shaking his head remorsefully. "Beat to pulp by some bum who didn't want to admit that he abuses his own kid." He released a pent up sigh. "What is this world coming to?"

Andrew shook his head as the paramedics closed the back of the ambulance and proceeded to transfer her to the hospital, Andrew slowly walked away from the scene and once he was far enough away from the police, he disappeared and reappeared at the entrance to the hospital. Glancing down, he realized that he was now dressed in a dove gray suit, and he swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in his throat as he pondered the possibility of having to take this brave young woman Home.

*****

In the neighboring town, Ricky had finished buying his books and was walking back in the direction of the dormitory where he lived. His thoughts constantly on his family and as he climbed the stairs and entered his small room, he could see the boxes still stacked on the floor, but he simply did not feel like unpacking. He sighed deeply as the telephone rang, and he reached over and picked it up.

"Yeah?"

"Ricky, it's me," His mother's voice emerged through the line.

"What's up?" He asked almost afraid of what the answer was going to be.

"Your sister, she was assaulted this afternoon at the park, she's in the hospital," Erika told him. "You may not be able to come home, but I thought I should let you know."

"No, I'll come," he said as a knock was heard at the door to his room. "Just a second, there's someone at the door."

Once he laid the phone down he went to open the door. Standing on the opposite side was a heavyset woman with mahogany colored skin; he smiled weakly at her. "Yes?"

"Richard Johnson?"

"Ricky, and yeah, that's me," he said.

"My name is Tess and I'm the activities coordinator for the University," she began.

"Uh, I hate to be rude, but my mom is on the phone, and I think I'm going to have to go home," he said, but as an afterthought, he waved her inside the small room. "Come on in."

Once Tess had come into the room Ricky finished conversing with his mother and hung up the phone. Sighing deeply his eyes met those of the elder angel and he offered her a weak smile. "I would offer you a place to sit down, but I think it would take me weeks to find a chair in this room, it's a disaster area, and I haven't had much time to unpack."

"That's OK, Richard," Tess offered.

"Call me Ricky, that's what everyone calls me anyway," he took a deep staggering breath; his hands were trembling.

"Are you OK?"

"No, I'm not, some bum assaulted my little sister, and I have to go home, but…" he shook his head.

"You're not in the frame of mind to be driving, are you, baby?" Tess asked gently, her voice filled with kindness. "You probably need someone who would have their wits about them that would be able to drive you there."

"I guess I should call the bus station," he mused. "Funny, I don't have any money for a ticket right now. I feel so helpless."

"You're not, Ricky," Tess said smiling gently as she came over and rested a gentle hand on the young man's shoulder.

"I just wish I knew what happened," Ricky said softly, "or why it happened."

Tess nodded, "you wonder a lot about things, don't you. You wonder how you're going to get through this semester with only thoughts of your father cursing through your mind, and you wonder if God has abandoned you. But, Ricky, He hasn't?"

"How do you know?" The question emerged.

Tess looked at him. "Don't you ever ask yourself what keeps you going, baby?"

"I don't know…"

"It's faith, honey, it's a belief that even though you cannot see God, He's there, right there with you, and He knows you're heartbroken, Ricky. He knows that you and your sister have been through so much together, but now, he has provided you both different ways, different paths that will lead you through your lives."

"Who are you? I mean; I know that you couldn't have found out this stuff about me through my transcripts." Ricky was dumbfounded.

"Ricky, I'm an angel, sent by God to give you a message," Tess said as she began to glow.

"An angel, is that why you're here, because of me?" He looked at her, the surprise evident, but he seemed not to show any fear, instead, his eyes were filled with profound disbelief.

"Yes, and I'm here to take you home so that you can see your sister," Tess said gently.

"Is she going to die?" He asked.

"No, but there's a little boy who needs both of you to help him. That's why you three have angels with you, Monica's with the little boy, and Andrew is with Tamara," Tess looked at him.

"I thought God was going to take everyone away from me, like He did with my dad," Ricky said softly. "My dad died on Tamara's seventeenth birthday. I guess most would say that is ironic in a sort of creepy way. Anyway, it just didn't seem fair, my sister was always so quiet and thoughtful, she'd write stories about all kinds of different things; she's a sensitive person, Tess. I mean, just yesterday I gave her twenty dollars for her birthday, I figured enough time had passed since Dad died that she could go and maybe find something that would cheer her up. Instead of buying something for herself, she bought something that would help an impoverished little boy."

"She did," Tess said nodding.

"Yeah, she found this old pocket watch, it was made of gold and had flowers engraved on one side. I was pretty surprised that she actually bought it, because I always thought that things like that were stolen. Yet, later she said something to me about it, she said that it reminded her of our dad. I never understood all that sentimental stuff, but Tamara, she sees hidden meaning in everything. Sometimes I think she's just too good for this world."

Tess smiled gently at him. "You love your sister, but Ricky, God doesn't just love Tamara, He loves you too, and He knows that you and her are very close, but He also knows that you were both close to your father, for different reasons, but honey, your daddy is happy now, he is living in a place where no more pain exists, and where love and light are one and the same. Your daddy loves you, Ricky, and he's so proud of both you and your sister. But, baby, he doesn't want you to be so sad about his passing that you would be willing to put your life on hold. He wants you to keep at it, and God wants to see you keeping at it too."

"But, Tess, it's so hard, I want to be strong for Tamara or my mom, but…" his voice cracked and he looked at the angel despondently.

"You just concentrate on your feelings, Ricky, they are as real as anything else that you could go through. They are a part of what makes you, you," Tess said smiling gently at him, the light of God's love still enveloping her.

"People say, 'Grown men don't cry'," Ricky mused.

"And what was it that your daddy used to always say?" Tess asked gently.

"'Feelings are like the window to the soul'," Ricky replied. "I guess, I always thought that was fluff."

"No, baby, it was a rock solid truth, and your daddy wants you to remember this, not only today, but every day. He wants you to go home and tell your sister that you both have some crying to do, then you can come back to school and really become that which you spent your childhood dreaming about, become the archeologist you always wanted to be."

Ricky nodded. "Who am I to say 'no' to an angel?"

Tess smiled as the glow faded.

*****

Tamara woke about an hour later, but when she could only see that her eyes were concealed by something, making her unable to see, she began to panic. She reached up towards her face all the while intending to rip the white gauze from her face, thus allowing her to see what was happening around her. Before she could grasp at the material which concealed her eyes, someone had reached over and taken her frantic hand and was holding it gently, but firmly. This, instead of making her feel comforted only caused her fear to mount and she began to struggle against the hand of whomever it was that was preventing her movement.

"Oh God, what's happened to me?" She began to cry trying to pull her hand free from whomever it was that was now holding it all the while remembering an old television show that she had seen when she was younger about a similar scenario. Her panic only mounted and she began to cry out again, this time to her mother and brother, this time, her voice was filled with anxiety, and she could feel the tears moistening the cloth that concealed her eyes.

"It's OK, Tamara, it's me, Andrew, your mother went to call your brother, but she'll be back soon," he said gently. "I told her I'd sit with you until she or Ricky would come back."

"I'm scared," she began to speak, her voice shaking.

"I know, you've had quite a shock today, but you're going to be just fine," he said gently his hand still holding tightly to hers.

"Andrew, what happened to me?"

"You don't remember what happened at the park?" He asked, his voice soft.

"No, but my face hurts," she whispered.

"You were assaulted when you tried to help a little boy get away from his abusive father," Andrew said gently. "You were very brave, Tamara."

"Or stupid," she whispered all the while shaking her head.

"No, you're not stupid for wanting to help," he said gently. "You tried to help someone who needed you. There is absolutely nothing wrong or stupid about wanting to extend a hand to those who need you, nothing whatsoever."

"My eyes? I can't see."

"Your eyes are OK, Tamara," Andrew said gently. "Try not to worry."

"What happened to me?"

"As I said earlier, you were looking out for someone else; you were following the guidance that your father left you with. This was a lesson he wanted to leave with you and your brother," Andrew said softly. "A guidance that will continue to illuminate your life, even though your father is no longer physically with you."

"H-how do you know all of this?" Tamara asked, her voice shaking slightly. "What makes you so wise?"

"Tamara, I was with your father when he died, and he told me many things about you. He told me what a loving person you are, and how important your brother, Ricky is to you. But, there was something else he made me promise to come back and tell you."

Tamara had, by this time reached towards the gauze that covered her face, but within seconds, she could see a light and looked up to see that Andrew was standing in the middle of it. "Y-you're an angel?"

"Yes, I am," Andrew nodded as he continued to speak, his voice soft and gentle, thus taking away any traces of fear that she may have had in his presence. "I took your father Home to God and if Eddie had done more to you today, I would have had to take you as well." He reached over and touched her face, his fingers stroking the gauze that covered her face, but she could feel the gentle pressure from beneath it and somehow that made her feel better as well as comforted.

"Andrew, if I was close to death, what about that little boy?" Tamara asked; her voice filled with panic.

"The police are after him, and hopefully, they won't be too late," the angel said gently. "Your brother is also on his way and everything is going to be OK, just trust that God will see your family through."

Nodding, she whispered a barely audible 'thank you,' before drifting off to sleep.

*****

On the other side of town, Eddie was beside himself, he had assaulted that girl, his anger had gotten the better of him, and now his son was petrified. He glanced over to see that his son was sitting in the back of the van, his shoulders hunched over, and he was staring listlessly down at his lap.

Eddie pulled the van into a concealed part of the forest, stopped the vehicle, and cut the motor. "I can't believe what you made me do," he shouted as he undid the seatbelt and crawled into the back of the van, his eyes practically bulging as he regarded his son. "Now, I have the law after me. If you hadn't have screamed then nothing would have happened, that nosy girl wouldn't have come over to us. Do you realize what you did?"

Vincent looked at Monica, who was still sitting next to him, the angel carried a troubled look on her pretty face, but she shook her head solemnly. "Vincent, he's wrong, it wasn't your fault, he was just angry because he doesn't know what to do."

"It's all my fault," the little boy whimpered.

"You're darn right it is," Eddie shouted, and he raised his fist with the intention to hit his son.

Vincent screamed at that moment, and seconds later the two humans and the angel inside the van could hear that there was a loud banging outside, and Eddie turned around to see through the front window that a number of police cars were parked nearby, and one of the officers had approached the van, his fist continuing to bang against the door. "Open up, Edward Harving, we know you're in there."

Eddie looked down at his son and then without thinking, he went and got into the driver's seat, started the motor, and put the van in reverse. Vincent screamed once again, as his frail body was forced against the back door of the van. He could hear his father swearing in the front seat, and the little boy looked at Monica, with unmistakable fright in his eyes.

Seconds later, Eddie put the van into drive and they were no longer backing up. Monica looked into the eyes of the little boy, and she began to speak to him, her voice filled with her loving assurances. "Vincent, just look at me and please listen to what I have to tell you."

"I'm scared, I'm scared…" the little boy whimpered.

"I know you are, sweetie, but just open the door," Monica instructed.

The little boy shook his head despondently and Monica could see through the window that Eddie was driving recklessly in the direction of a ravine and she could even see that Adam, another Angel of Death, was standing on the side of the road.

"No, Adam," she whispered under her breath and without thinking, she opened the back door, scooped the frightened boy up in her arms, and jumped from the van, her body covering that of the child, thus acting as a shield as the two of them landed on the hard ground. The angel took the most of the impact with the ground, but she could feel the relief washing over her as Vincent landed safely on her rather than the rocky ground, but his cries of fright erupted through the area.

Seconds later, Monica looked up to see that the van was now going down the ravine, and at the bottom, it exploded, and she wrapped Vincent in her arms and held him. Once the sounds of the explosion were behind them and the police had arrived on the scene, Monica disappeared.

"Poppa!" Vincent screamed once the police had arrived on the scene, and one of the officers ran towards the little boy who was now alone on the ground, and he was sitting up and his frightened eyes were staring in the direction of the last place he had seen his father. "Poppa," he cried, his voice filled with innocence and fright. "Monica?"

"We'd better get him out of here," one of the officers said. "This little guy is lucky to be alive, but now he may risk going into shock."

At that moment, Vincent lost consciousness and the police transported him to a nearby hospital.

Back at the ravine, Monica stood and watched as Adam took Eddie Home, and when he returned, she had tears streaming from beneath her eyes.

"You know you probably shouldn't have gotten him out of there," the Angel of Death said, but after a few moments had passed, he smiled at her. "But, I'm glad you did."

Monica nodded. "Adam, he's scared of me."

"Give him time," Adam said. "You know, his father didn't believe in God for a long time, and now Vincent is going to need to learn about a Father who loves him and would never bring harm to him. I can't think of a better angel than you to teach him this."

"Thank you, Adam."

"No problem, I've got to get going, I have a tentative 3:47, but I'll see you later, OK," he smiled and disappeared. Seconds later, Monica did the same. She was relieved that Vincent was alive, but she was still somewhat afraid for him, although she knew that her job was done, but somehow she realized that he was not out of the woods just yet. Once she offered a quick prayer for the small boy, she disappeared.

*****

That evening Ricky and Tess arrived at Tamara's hospital room. As he came in, the young man looked around and could see that Andrew was still seated next to his sister's bed, and her face was wrapped with gauze. He looked into Andrew's gentle eyes and nodded as though everything that had transpired that day made sense. "You were with her?" Ricky asked.

"Yes, I was, Ricky, and I was with your father, too," Andrew said softly.

"Tess told me about you," the young man said. "She said that you had been looking out for both of us."

"We were to sent to help you and your sister," Andrew began. "But, I was more or less supposed to stay with Tamara."

Tess nodded. "You see, Ricky, God sends angels to people for many reasons, and he sent us to you to help you find the healing you need. You remember how your daddy used to help people, how he would look out for those less fortunate than himself. This kindness in him was passed onto you and your sister. It's a part of him that lives on through you both. That part of your sister made her give this man twenty dollars yesterday to buy a watch. This watch initially belonged to Andrew."

"It was yours?" Ricky looked at the Angel of Death with disbelief in his eyes.

"Yes, it was mine, but what happened was I had lost it when I had been sent here. Vincent, the little boy your sister told you about, had found it and took it to his father. After that, Tamara came and bought it. I had no idea that she had found it until this afternoon when she wrote this essay." He pulled the paper from his pocket and handed it to Ricky who sat down next to her bed and began to read.

Once he had finished reading the essay, he looked at Andrew. "I think I understand now, she really did sense a sort of connection to our dad through that watch."

"Yes, but she didn't know why, she just allowed herself to trust those instincts," Tess said as Tamara shifted on the bed.

"Ricky?" She moaned softly, her voice filled with pain that the movement caused.

"Yeah, Tammy, I'm here," he said softly.

"You should be at the University," she whispered.

"I came back because I realized that before I can face the future, I have to face the past. We were always supporting each other because of Dad, but we never really talked about him, or what we were going to do after he had died."

"I always thought we should just keep going, like he would have done."

"I have to tell you about this Tammy, it was about four years ago, and Dad never really talked about it so much," Ricky said and once Tamara nodded, he continued. "I remember one night a few months after Grandpa died sneaking down the stairs and into Dad's den. He had been crying and he looked up at me and he nodded as though he understood why it was that I was actually there. Anyway, he said something to me that I didn't think about until Tess reminded me of it earlier today."

"What did he say?" Tamara asked weakly.

"He said something to the effect that you've heard all your life that 'grown men don't cry', well it's not true. It takes a real man to face their emotions, and right now, I miss my dad more than anything." Ricky paused and looked at his sister, he could see her hand reaching out to him and he took it gently. "You remember that Dad cared about people and you know how much he did for others, but there was something that you did during these past few days that honored Dad's memory."

"What?"

"You helped to save the life of a little boy," Monica's voice emerged and she came into the room. "Vincent is alive, Tamara, his father has died, and this wee boy is all alone in the world."

"He's OK," Tamara took a deep breath and turned her head towards Andrew. "You were right, Andrew."

"Shhh, just rest now," the Angel of Death cajoled her gently.

"You see, honey, you honored your father, because you strived to understand the plight of someone who needed the understanding you offered."

"Monica, you're OK then?" Tamara asked.

"Yes," she smiled as she looked down at the girl in the hospital bed.

Tamara smiled, and thought the others could not see her facial expression, they all knew that she was going to be OK. Monica came over and took the young woman's hand in hers and rested Andrew's pocket watch in it and the teenager could feel the cool metal of the watch.

"It's the watch?" Tamara rubbed her hand across the surface of it.

"Yes, it is," Monica said softly, and looked up, her eyes locking with those of Andrew. "Tamara, you sensed something special in this watch when you found it, but do you know why?"

Ricky leaned over and whispered something to his sister, and after he straightened up, he smiled weakly at Tess, who was standing in the room next to the door.

After a few seconds of silence, Tamara spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Andrew?"

"Yes?" The angel whispered as he looked down at her.

"You should have this back," she said softly as she extended the golden pocket watch towards him. "I really don't need it anymore. Please, take it, and keep the essay."

The Angel of Death nodded and accepted the small object. "I will Tamara," he promised as their mother entered the room. Next to her, stood Vincent, the little boy somewhat hesitant.

"Mom?" Ricky looked at his mother and then at the grubby faced boy next to her, a question looming.

"You remember that your father and I had applied to be foster parents after you had graduated from high school, Ricky?" Erika asked smiling weakly.

"Yeah, but after he got sick, I thought you had withdrawn the application," Ricky said.

Erika shook her head. "No, I didn't withdraw it, but I did tell them that your father had been diagnosed with the tumor, and they told me that when I was ready to take the responsibility, that they would resubmit the application. Then about ten minutes ago, I got a call saying that there was a little boy who needed our help." She could feel the tears in her eyes. "He never knew what it meant to have a loving father who would never raise a fist or bring him harm."

"Yes he did," Tamara said softly. "God. He's been watching out for us all, and just waiting for the day that we would do the same."

"Your father used to talk like that," Erika smiled and she looked down at Vincent. "You ready to go home, Vincent?" She smiled.

The little boy nodded and reached for Erika's hand. "The doctor said that you'll be released tomorrow, honey."

Tamara nodded. "OK, I'll see you later little brother."

"Bye," Vincent whispered as Erika led him from the room.

At that moment, Ricky looked at Tess. "That was the little boy from the flea market?"

"Yeah, and he's going to be OK now," the teenager nodded. "Andrew, everything's going to be OK now, isn't it?" When no answer came, Tamara spoke once again. "Ricky, is Andrew still here?"

"No, they're all gone," Ricky whispered and looked towards the window. Standing in the windowsill, a white dove was cooing as it looked inside through the hospital window.

"Then everything is really going to be OK," Tamara said softly. "Thank you, Father!"

"A-men," Ricky affirmed as the dove flew away.

The end….

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