PROLOGUE
A man in his 40s knelt in the corner of his attic, gazing down at a box of Christmas decorations. He had tanned skin and hazel eyes. Frowning, shoulders slumped, he picked up a ball, then dropped it; it landed with a tinkle in the box. The man sighed, then rubbed back his dark-brown hair.
A soft coo! startled him; turning around, he saw a snow-white dove perched on the windowpane’s ledge outside, turning its head this way and that. Behind the dove, the late-afternoon golden sunlight poured through the attic window, forming a rectangle of reflected light on the floor. Pursing his lips, the man turned his attention back to the decorations.
Unknown to him, four angels stood watching him from the opposite corner. “Randy Oates,” Monica said softly. “He is a sad man. Very sad.” A pair of pearl earrings swung back and forth on her earlobes as she looked from one angel to another.
Tess nodded agreement. A ruby brooch sparkled on her chest in the attic’s overhead light. “Indeed, he is, Miss Wings. Randy’s been grief-stricken ever since his wife was taken in the Rapture.” She clasped her hands together.
At the sound of footsteps, the angels paused. A teenage girl with long reddish-blonde hair and a fair complexion appeared in the doorway. “Dad, aren’t you going to eat?” She spoke hesitantly, as if fearing that disturbing her father would anger him. “Supper’s getting cold.” She ran her fingers through her hair as she waited for his response.
Annoyance creased the man’s face, but he bit his lower lip in an evident effort to control it. “I suppose it is,” he said. “I’ll be downstairs in a minute, Kristen. You go on down.” He turned back to the box.
Misery etching her face, Kristen, after a longing glance at the boxes containing the Christmas decorations, trudged back down the stairs. Tess shook her head. “He’s so wrapped up in his own misery, he’s been neglecting his daughter ever since. And now, Christmas is coming--”
“--and he is not in the holiday spirit,” Andrew finished.
Tess nodded agreement. “That’s right. If we don’t do our job, Christmas will robbed of all its meaning for this family.” The angel of death nodded agreement, sadness welling in his eyes as he watched the man.
Gloria furrowed her eyebrows. “None of the communities we’ve visited have played Christmas music, put up ornaments, or anything. People seem to have lost the spirit of Christmas all over the world.” She winced. “That’s really sad.”
She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, then brushed her shoulder-length, reddish-brown hair out of her eyes. She glanced out the window at the thin covering of snow on the ground. She could barely see a trail of footprints leading from the driveway toward the front porch. Randy had arrived home from work less than an hour before, and had immediately come to the attic.
Monica nodded. “It certainly is. And the leader of the new world religion is doing his best to make sure it never returns. Already, he’s sent orders to every nation that any church putting on a Christmas pageant will be shut down and the participants arrested. Antonio Puccini has agreed.”
Tess pursed her lips. “We’ll see that the pope’s orders do not succeed here. The people of this community need Christmas. Especially now, and especially the Oates family.” She looked from one angel to another, a stern look in her eyes. “And the Father has given us orders to bring it to them.” She paused. “Randy wouldn’t allow his wife to bring him or their daughter to the Lord. Nor would he let her share her faith with him; she was forced to keep it all to herself. Now he’s grieving because she’s gone.”
As the other angels nodded acquiescence, she led the way out of the attic. In the doorway, Monica paused to look at Randy once more. The man rose to his feet, sighed again, and trudged toward Monica, unaware of her presence. Whispering a silent prayer, Monica hurried downstairs to join the other angels. Spreading its wings, the dove flew away.
END OF PROLOGUE