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Chapter One
New York City
July 30, 1994
9:00 p.m.
Angela watched Michael stare around the expensively decorated New York City office, a look of disgust on his face.
"I don't see how people can stand being cooped up inside four walls, reading books and papers all the time," he said. "Give me the open skies any day."
"Shhhh!" Angela whispered.
Michael glanced at her from across the cloud. "She can't see or hear us, unless we want her to."
Angela bristled slightly at the challenge in her pudgy, sandy gray-haired companion's voice, tensing her wings to keep them from fluttering in agitation.
"I know that. But you're supposed to be paying attention to your assignment, not complaining about where you have to perform it."
"Dash nab it!" Michael griped when he took a step forward and caught his toe on the hem of his white robe. He fluttered his wings frantically, barely righting himself before he tumbled straight into her and knocked them both off the cloud.
"I'm always tripping on this thing!" Michael growled, jerking on the skirt of his robe to raise it so he could stomp back from the edge of the cloud. "I'll never understand how women on earth walk in those danged long evening gowns."
"Please! Watch your language!"
"Now what'd I say?"
Angela sighed and shook her head. Probably she should look on it as a challenge, she supposed. After all, Michael had only decided he wanted a change in his angelic duties a week ago, while she had had eons of experience to pass onto him.
What in heaven had ever made Michael decide he wanted to be a guardian angel, she asked herself as she slipped a sideways look at him. Shewould just have to do the best she could to teach him what he needed to know, since tutoring him was her own assignment. And she was a bit grumpy herself, although she tried her best to suppress it by remembering that she'd had other slow-to-learn pupils over eternity.
Of course, part of her irritation lingered from the scene she and Michael had witnessed earlier in the day, Angela admitted. She looked down at the teary-eyed figure standing in front of the window in the office where she and Michael floated invisibly on their cloud. The darkness beyond the window mirrored the reflection in the glass pane.
Michael's first assignment wore a conservatively styled navy business suit, entirely proper attire for her position as an up-and-coming member of one of New York's oldest law firms. But she managed a touch here and there to confirm her femininity -- a small ruffle of lace on her pale blue blouse and a fashionably short skirt that emphasized her long, slender legs.
During business hours she wore that glorious mass of auburn hair tightly cinched with a plain barrette, but she had pulled the barrette out over an hour ago to run her fingers through her hair and massage her scalp. Springy curls fell around her face and past her shoulders. Even in the vague window reflection Angela could see those lovely green eyes, misty now with unshed tears.
The woman stood in front of the window now -- not the sharp-minded attorney who had clawed her way up from a poverty-stricken, male-dominated background to a career on the verge of culminating in a partnership in the firm. She would be the firm's only woman partner if she successfully litigated the case contained in the file folders spread over her desk. The founder of the firm himself had hinted strongly at what the reward would be in the staff meeting during which she had laid out her ideas for the defense of their client.
As a guardian angel, Angela had watched the long-overdue strides of women on earth with interest. She knew how much this career move meant to Tess Foster, the woman Michael was assigned to protect against harm.
But one thing hadn't seemed to change over the years: At times women still tried to pick their men with their minds instead of their hearts. Just look at how a bright woman like Tess Foster had become involved with that lout who was now her former fiancé.
Whoops; guardian angels weren't supposed to make judgments on the character of the people they observed in their assignments.
"Well, I can think of a word worse than lout to call that self-righteous fool," Michael responded when he read Angela's mind. "Michael!" Angela shook her head and pursed her lips in disapproval.
"Uh-oh," Michael said, motioning her to silence. "I think she's had about enough of feeling sorry for herself. Look."
They crouched to peer over the edge of the cloud, their eyes wide with dismay as they watched Tess stride from the window and sweep the files from her desk. Papers flew around the room, but the heavy folders landed on the thick carpet without a sound. Tess clenched her jaws and aimed a kick at the nearest folder, smiling grimly when it skidded across the carpet and landed with a thump against the bookcases that lined one wall of her office.
"Boy, she's got a temper, hasn't she?" Michael whispered. "I'll bet she wishes that folder was her boyfriend's head."
"I can't say as I blame her," Angela admitted. "Oh dear, there she goes. Come on."
Grabbing Michael by the hand, Angela whisked them both through the door a second after Tess slammed it.
Adirondack Mountains
New York State
July 31, 1994
6:00 a.m.
She wasn't going to cry. Damn it, she was not going to cry again!
After an all-night drive, Tess steered her little station wagon into the Keene Valley parking lot just after daybreak and pulled into a marked space. She shut off the engine and leaned her head back against the seat, breathing deeply of the clear mountain air flowing through her open window.
After what had happened yesterday afternoon she needed this trip desperately. The tall buildings in the city had crowded in on her -- the noxious exhaust fumes tainting the air she breathed deepening her depression. Trying to force herself to concentrate on reviewing the files in preparation for the imminent trial had proved useless. Only here, in the Adirondack wilderness area that reminded her so much of the West Virginia mountains, Granny, and home, could the healing start.
"Tess Foster. Haven't seen you up here in a while, Tess. Are you all right?"
She took a firm hold on her emotions and opened her eyes, reaching for the door handle. "I'm fine, Freddy," she told the red-haired ranger as she climbed out of the car. "I was just enjoying the cool air."
"I hear it's hot as blazes in the city," he said with a grin. "I feel sorry for you folks back there. Not sorry enough to come visit you, though. You ought to get out of that rat race more often."
"I will... from now on." She opened the wagon back and lifted out her backpack, slinging it over her shoulder as she started up the hiking trail.
"How are the trails?" she asked.
"Where you headed?"
"As far as I can go in a day."
"Figured that, knowing you. Well, we've closed some of the higher trails to less-experienced hikers. Had some slides after that rain last week. You'll probably be all right, though, as long as you're careful."
"Then I guess I'll head up the Range Trail -- plan on spending the night on Mt. Marcy."
"Beautiful trail." Freddy nodded and made a notation on the clipboard in his hand. "Watch your step going down Saddleback. It can get rough there near some of the cliff faces."
"I will."
"See you tomorrow evening then. Have a good hike."
Several hours later Tess brushed away yet another tear and blinked angrily as she trudged up Saddleback Mountain's eastern slope. Pausing for a second, she leaned against a tree and gazed out over the scenic vista on her left, hoping some of the pristine beauty would work its magic and soothe her shattered spirit.
Far below, a tiny road snaked through the valley, barely visible from this height. The bright sun had long ago burned off any lingering mists, yet the breeze counteracted the heat. The wind whispered through the treetops for the most part, a faint accompaniment to the bird and squirrel chatter.
Maybe she should have stayed on the Johns Brook Trail, since she hadn't hiked in a while. She could already feel a slight strain in her calves from the climb. Johns Brook was definitely safer than the Range, but there she would have rubbed elbows with dozens of other backpackers. At least up here she had a measure of solitude.
And besides, the very safety of the Brook Trail negated any chance of a hiker having a view as beautiful as this, where huge pines and birch covered the slope below. Higher on the surrounding mountain peaks the trees thinned out, allowing a view of scenery so beautiful, it almost made the eyes ache.
Tess frowned, as though it were the view's fault that another tear trickled down her cheek.
Hell, it wasn't really a total surprise. Things had begun to fall apart almost as soon as Robert slipped the diamond on her finger.
She turned back up the trail and immediately stumbled on a jutting rock, wincing at the pain in her toe. This was stupid. She'd better watch out or she'd tumble down the mountainside. Freddy wouldn't let her back up here if he had to come rescue her.
She readjusted her backpack, which had slipped sideways when she stumbled. When she lowered her hand a sun streak shot into her eye, and she glared at the engagement ring. Now it seemed rather ostentatious, but she had been so proud of it at first. Proud of Robert too. And, yes, just a little bit proud of herself for making such a catch a man who epitomized the dream of the perfect husband she had carried in her mind for so long.
Robert, so tall and blond, with blue eyes that gazed at her as though she were the only woman worth noticing in a room full of stunning women. Trouble was, he made any woman he spoke to feel the same way.
Robert, from old money and old blood lines traced all the way back to a ship arriving just years after the Mayflower -- and, oh, so very proud of that too. No one mentioned that the first Stuyvesant might have been an indentured servant -- or a convict sent to America as his punishment -- since no trace of Robert's side of the family could be found in England. Instead, the family insisted that, at the very worst, Gerald Stuyvesant might have been the bastard son of a titled family.
Robert, whose usually unlined brow creased in puzzlement when Tess adamantly refused even to consider signing the prenuptial agreement that was handed to her in his attorney office yesterday.
After all...
She swiped at another stray tear trailing down her cheek. After all, Robert's somewhat high-pitched voice echoed in her head, she couldn't expect to have any claim to the money that had been in his family for so many generations if their marriage failed. And, though he loved her with every fiber of his being, who knew what the future might bring? Surely she didn't think that if for some silly reason he slipped and had a one-night stand, she would be able to make him pay by giving up half his trust fund. Not that it would ever happen, Robert had assured her.
"Why did I ever think it would work?" she muttered. "Hell, he's never been backpacking in his life, and I can't stand to go even a month without some time in the wilderness. I get seasick -- he loves sailing. Okay, so we both love to ride. But I can't stand those damned English saddles, and I'll be double damned if I ever learn to post when my horse trots!"
She paused for breath when she realized she was gasping her words because of the exertion of her too-fast climb as her feet pounded in time to her angry words. She'd never make the peak without a long rest if she didn't start pacing herself.
Sweeping a lock of hair from the side of her face, she glared at a chattering squirrel sitting on an overhanging limb on the trail.
"That stupid agreement just brought all the doubts I'd been having about the entire engagement together," she told the squirrel. "He didn't even tell me ahead of time why he wanted me to meet him there! Funny thing is, I was tempted to sign it, just so I wouldn't have to face the fact that it was over. To try to prove to him that I wasn't interested in his damned money."
The squirrel swished its tail at her and scurried away through the treetops, leaping from limb to limb. A bright blue jay swooped from its perch, its loud squawks of "Thief! Thief!" signaling its displeasure at being disturbed by Tess and the squirrel.
"Oh, shoot," she mumbled as she hung her head. Glancing down at her hand, she quirked her lips wryly and slowly reached for the diamond. With a deep sigh she twisted the ring from her finger and stared at it for a moment, moving it back and forth in a ray of sunlight.
She finally slipped the ring into a pocket in her tight denims and bent slightly forward to resume her walk up the mountain trail.
Oklahoma Territory
July 31, 1893
"If you're here for the reason I think you are, Tillie Peterson, you can turn that damned buggy right back around and head for town!"
"You're well aware of why I'm here, Stone Chisum! You have to listen to reason. Those children will be better off with their own people."
"Those children are my children, legally adopted and mine to raise. Some misguided busybody's not going to interfere in my family!"
Mrs. Peterson tightened her fat fingers around the reins and huffed out an indignant puff of breath. "How dare you!"
"I'll dare whatever I have to in order to protect my kids," Stone said in a steely voice.
"Oh!" Mrs. Peterson's washed-out blue eyes crinkled malevolently. "And I suppose if I try to argue with you any more, you'll strap on that gun you used to wear and shoot me with it!"
It's temptin'," Stone said with a malicious smile. "Mighty temptin'."
"You wouldn't dare!"
"I used to get paid for not backing down from dares when I wore that gun, lady. And you're pushin' it. Now, are you going to leave, or should I help you on your way?"
"That adoption is only legal under Indian law, for whatever good that will do you. You haven't petitioned the U.S. courts." Mrs. Peterson gave him back his malicious smile, which somehow fell short when it warred with her wobbling triple chins.
"When Oklahoma becomes a state I'll be one of the first ones in court. Right now, Indian law's good enough for me." Stone narrowed his eyes. "I'll bet that horse can run pretty good, even pulling a load like you. If it got spooked, that is."
"You... I refuse to let you intimidate me, Stone Chisum!"
Rain Shadow chuckled with amusement as he slipped away from the side of the cabin and headed toward the hill in back. He wasn't really afraid of that nosy old woman. His pa, Stone, would take care of her. After all, didn't his and Flower's Cherokee grandfather call Stone by the name Man Who Walks With Right?
Rain Shadow winked at Mountain Flower as he passed, and his sister shook her head as she dunked a sheet into rinse water.
"Are you done with your chores?" Flower asked.
"You better believe it," he replied. "You don't think I'd be going hunting if I wasn't, do you? Pa would skin me alive."
"No he wouldn't." Flower laughed. "But he might take away that gun you're so proud of, so you couldn't hunt for a while. He's not going to be in a very good mood after Mrs. Peterson leaves."
His face puckered into a sudden scowl. "Flower, you don't think there's any chance the stupid white man's court will try to take us away from Pa, do you?"
"I don't know, Rain." Flower shrugged. "I try not to worry about it. Pa always tells us that nothing is going to break up our family. But we're half white, as well as half Cherokee. I don't know if that makes us bound by white law too."
"Pa will handle it," he said in a positive voice. He shifted his rifle to his shoulder and headed toward the corral. "I'll be back in time for evening chores," he called to Flower over his shoulder.
Adirondack Mountains
July 31, 1994
"I wonder what's going to happen now?" Michael asked.
"You know as well as I do that neither one of us is allowed to know what will happen." Angela sighed. "All you need to know is that your job is to stay near Tess and watch over her -- make sure she doesn't slip up and let something foolish happen to her body before it's time for her spirit to leave it."
Michael flapped his wings to follow Angela when she drifted toward another cloud. He shot straight through the fluffy mass and spread his wings wide to halt his plummeting descent. When he glanced up at the cloud he saw Angela peering down at him, shaking her head.
"I can't believe that all through eternity you haven't learned to have better control over your wings, Michael," she said in a scolding tone. "Surely you know that flying is more thinking than flapping."
"Flying's more thinking than flapping," Michael repeated in a mimicking voice. He restrained the urge to shoot back up to the cloud and whisk right by that blond head, scaring Angela into tumbling backwards. Instead, he gently waved his wings, making a perfect landing beside her. "Look, this end of the business is all new to me. I'm trying to keep an eye on my assignment down there, listen to you, and fly all at the same time! That makes me clumsy, because I've never had to concentrate on several things at once before!"
He caught the smirk of satisfaction Angela tried to hide at his indirect admission of her superior experience, deciding to ignore that unangel-like lapse on her part. Besides, he was feeling a bit peevish toward his companion right now, and peevishness could be called an undesirable trait too. They had to work together while he was in training for his new position, and he'd been assured Angela was a very capable teacher when he had finally decided which new assignment he was going to ask for.
"What were your duties before you decided you wanted a change?" Angela asked. "You never said."
"And you never asked," Michael growled, still grumpy. The slight hint of hauteur in her voice overrode his resolve to get along with his teacher. "All you've got on your mind is how much more experience you have than me at being a guardian angel -- and how much fun it is to laugh at my clumsiness while you boss me around."
"Oh!" Angela said with an indignant sniff. "I'm not bossing you around." Michael glanced at her with a disbelieving look, and she continued, "Well, I'm not! I'm just trying to be helpful."
"You can be helpful without sounding so dad-blasted superior."
"Michael, please watch your language."
"Michael, watch your language," Michael mocked. "Michael, I can't believe you haven't learned to control your wings better. Michael, you're tripping on your gown. Gosh darn it, Angela, you've been at this business lots longer than me. Give me a break."
"I never said a word about you tripping on your gown," Angela defended herself. "And you're the one who decided you wanted to be a guardian angel. Would you rather go back and try something else?" she added somewhat hopefully.
"What? Lay around all day and think up creative ideas for the writers on earth to write about or pretty pictures for artists to paint? I don't have any feelings one way or the other about a Van Gogh over a Picasso. Maybe I ought to help cook up meals to tickle everyone's tongue? Grow pretty flowers? I looked at all those options and at some others when I got tired of what I was doing. But I didn't count on feeling like a newly arrived spirit who had to be led around by the nose and shown the ropes."
"Oh, Michael." Angela's laughter tinkled in the blue sky. "I'm sorry; really I am. I'll try to be more patient. Was introducing newly arrived spirits what you did before?"
Somewhat mollified, Michael nodded. "I guess that's what made me want to be a guardian angel. Those poor human spirits arrived pretty rattled and confused. I liked guiding them through their confusion, and I was always interested in the lives they'd lived. I figured it'd be even more interesting working more closely with people who were still living."
"Surely you had to help the human spirits learn to control their ability to fly..."
Michael glared at her, and Angela quickly bit off her words. "Uh... well, I'm sure you'll come along with practice."
In the middle of carefully negotiating the rock-strewn trail halfway down the backside of Saddleback Mountain, Tess glanced skyward. Funny how the breeze sometimes soughed through the tall pines, almost sounding like human laughter.
Suddenly her left foot slid on a moss-covered rock and her ankle twisted cruelly in a rut beside the rock. She screamed in pain while she windmilled her arms and desperately tried to maintain her equilibrium. Overbalanced by the backpack, she stumbled nearer the edge of the trail.
Fear joined the pain in her mind. The injured ankle gave way and she fell, her legs hanging over the precipice. Grabbing a bush, she hung on for dear life and tried to swing her body back to the trail.
She didn't dare look down. That steep cliff face ran several hundred yards down the mountainside. The heavy pack dragged on her slender back, the pull of gravity making her sob in terror and cling to the bush until the rough bark cut into her palms.
The roots of the bush slowly began giving way and she screamed again in panic.
"Hurry, Michael. Use your powers. She's your assignment."
"Okay. Okay. Don't rush me. I'm trying to..."
"There's no time!"
He glared directly at the bush, concentrating on making the roots hold. For a second it looked as if he'd accomplished his task. Tess swung her right leg back up to the trail, the heel of her hiking boot making firm contact with the packed earth.
Angela breathed a sigh of relief and glanced at him. "Michael! What's wrong?"
"I... ah... gadda... sn... ah... ah... AAH-CHOO!"
They both heard the bush roots give way and Tess's renewed scream as she tumbled over the edge of the trail.
No matter what the rules, Angela had to interfere! She peered over the cloud, her total concentration on saving Tess.
But Tess wasn't there!
Angela blinked in surprise. The ledge on the side of the mountain that she had conjured up was there, close enough to the top of the trail for Tess not to have been too badly injured when she hit. And close enough to allow her to climb back onto the trail.
But no Tess!
"Oh, Michael, what have you done?"
"Me? You jumped in and used your powers! This was supposed to be my assignment."
"You were supposed to keep her from getting killed! You lost your concentration when you sneezed. No human body could have lived through that fall."
"MICHAEL! ANGELA!" The voice boomed through the still air.
"Uh-oh." Michael's wings cringed against his shoulders.
She gave his sandy-gray head a comforting pat. "Come on. Let's stand up and face the music."
"Yeah," Michael grumbled. "What can Mr. G do? Kill us?"
She giggled softly and stood, her toes clenched in the fluffiness beneath her the only sign of her timorousness. Michael sighed deeply and joined her.
Copyright © 1995 by Trana Mae Simmons
