The trees in the cemetery were in full flower, Monica noticed as she came up the gravel walk that led between two iron gates that marked the cemetery's entrance. white and violet and pink, the trees fluttered in the spring sunshine, gently dropping their soft petals on the weathered tombstones beneath them. It was really a very pretty place for a cemetery, built in a time when such places were designed for contemplation and beauty as much as for burial. Monica walked up a small hill, then found herself gazing on a small lake lined with weeping willows and white-pillared mausoleums. Monica shifted the small white paper bag she had gotten from the diner into one hand and, shielding her eyes against the sun, surveyed the quiet scene before her.

"What is it about holding those bags," Asked Tess' voice behind her, "That makes you go all quiet and stand still?"

Monica turned. Tess was standing beneath a gloriously pink flowering tree, smiling quizzically.

Monica held up the bag, "Here you go, Tess. I picked up your order liked you asked me to."

"Oh, that's not for me." Tess said firmly. "It's for you."

"For me?" Monica replied in confusion.

"Yes," Tess replied. "You need to take what's in that bag to a friend of ours who's discouraged."

Tess pointed, and Monica turned to see Andrew on the opposite side of the lake, half-hidden by the willow tree he was sitting under. His hands were clasped beneath his chin, and even from across the lake Monica could see he was deep in thought.

"Angel-boy is looking to get himself in serious trouble," Tess rumbled, "He's letting himself get buried in regret and grief. He's going to have a job to do pretty soon, and no way can he do it right in the frame of mind he's in."

Monica glanced at the marble stones around them. "Is Richard going to die soon?"

Tess nodded soberly. "Yes, and Andrew knows it's God's will that he lead Richard home, but he can't do it with a heart as heavy as the one he's carrying."

"But Tess," Monica motioned helplessly with the bag, "What can I do?"

"Talk to him," Tess placed her hands on Monica's shoulders and gently turned her in Andrew's direction, "You can speak the truth like nobody's business, and right now the truth is what that boy needs to hear. You'll know what to say when the time comes, now go on."

Monica knew better than to argue, but even as she walked up the gentle slope and around the lake to where Andrew was sitting she prayed for guidance. How could she lift her friend's heart when fifteen years' worth of sorrow and guilt were dragging it down?

Andrew barely moved when she came near and sat down just behind him. His head turned slightly, just a bit, then moved back to stare at the lake in silence. Monica paused, then without a word placed the paper bag beside Andrew and sat back again. He looked at it in puzzlement, then back at her, smiling in spite of the pain she saw in his eyes. Then he reached out, took the bag and opened it, cocking his head to one side as he did so.

"Molasses cookies." He said, a mixture of surprise and appreciation in his voice.

Monica slid an arm around his shoulder and leaned close, trying to be a soothing presence. "Tess said they were your favorite."

Andrew took two cookies out of the bag and handed one to Monica. Removing her arm from around his shoulder, she scooted up to sit next to him and took a bite out of the cookie. Andrew, however, didn't taste his but merely stared at it thoughtfully, turning it slowly in his hands. Uncertain what to do, Monica sat quietly and looked at the lake.

After what seemed an eternity, Andrew gave a small sigh and said softly, "Monica, I've been distant lately, and I'm sorry. I've...had a lot on my mind."

Monica studied the water and replied in a similar tone. "I know, Andrew, it's been difficult for you. God showed me what happened to you here."

Andrew shot her a quick, surprised look, then just as quickly looked back down at the grass. After another long pause he said, "Monica, I pray you never know how it feels to fail God the way I have. To know - " Andrew paused, and swallowed hard, "- to know there's a soul that might be lost to God because I didn't trust His judgment."

Monica put her arm around Andrew's shoulders again. Softly she said, "Andrew, God knows you did your best with Cory. You showed him God's love, but he had to open his heart to God himself - you couldn't do that."

"But I should have!" Andrew burst out, suddenly turning and looking at Monica with heartbroken eyes. "Monica, who knows better than I do that God always has a purpose? I've been sent to the old, the sick, the afflicted - I'm the one who gets to lead them to God, and hear them rejoice at being called home. But - but I've also had to take young people, healthy people, those who thought they had long lives before them. How could I do that, with joy in my heart, if I didn't know that God has a purpose for everything?"

Monica nodded. "Yes, I know, and you tried to tell that to Cory - "

"And I failed." Andrew's shoulders sagged, and he ran one hand through his hair - Monica started as she realized she'd seen that gesture before, the night of the accident. "I failed God, Monica. Cory needed me, and I abandoned him, I was frustrated when he fought me, angry, and instead of asking God for His help I just stormed off, like a child, like a petulant child. And when Cory got on that bus I wasn't watching him, and because of that... " He trailed off.

"You couldn't have known about the accident," Monica offered consolingly,"Not if it wasn't God's will that you know."

Andrew stared at the grass and shook his head. "I have such pain in my heart, Monica. I don't know what to do with it. You know, usually when I lead people home to God I feel the same joy they do, because I know what's ahead of them."

"But it's different with Richard?"

Andrew nodded. "I know what I'm being called to do. If it's God's will that Richard Paxton be taken to Heaven, I'll do it. But...I look at Richard, and I see that night. I see all those kids, the bus, and...and...how can I find the joy I'm going to need to feel for Richard? I should feel happy for him if he goes to be with God, but instead all I feel is..." He trailed off again, and searched the sparkling water of the lake, as if the words were there.

Monica laid a loving hand on her friend's arm. "Andrew, I can only imagine the pain you must feel. I guess people probably think angels don't have any problems at all, but...but you must know that if God has found it in His heart to forgive Richard's sin, his carelessness that cost this town so dearly, then surely it is right that we angels should rejoice also. After all, every soul in Heaven is a blessing to us all."

"But what about Cory's soul?" Andrew asked, his voice thick with emotion. "When I lead Richard to God's presence, how can I stop myself from - from remembering that Cory is separated from God forever because of him. Because of me." Andrew corrected himself quickly, his voice catching as he looked down at his hands.

Monica put her arm around Andrew again. "Now you mustn't think that. I'm sure Cory came to know God before he died. Why, he's probably in Heaven right now - "

But Andrew was shaking his head mournfully. "When Cory ran away from me, he was mad at God. Mad at me. And I let him go. I let him go..." Andrew ran both hands into his long blond hair, leaning forward and closing his eyes against against the memory.

Monica bent her head close to Andrew's ear and spoke softly. "Andrew, please, you need peace. Before this grief overtakes you you must let God ease your burden. Fifteen years is long enough to carry this load."

"I know," Andrew said, lifting his head to stare out at the lake. "I know, and I've asked God's forgiveness a million times, but I don't know how to stop feeling this pain. I cost one of God's children an eternity of His presence. How can I - " Andrew paused again,and shook his head. "How can there be forgiveness for that?"

Monica leaned in close, squeezed his shoulder. "God forgives you, Andrew. Before you even ask for it. Can't you forgive yourself then, and Richard?"

After a long pause Andrew said, "I want to, Monica, I really do, but...it goes so deep. I've never had to forgive so much before, and I'm not sure...I know how to do it." Andrew folded his hands thoughtfully and stared at the lake, his eyes full of confusion.

Monica laid her head close to Andrew's and thought for a moment. Absentmindedly she took another bite of the cookie she still held in her left hand, and looked at it. Looked at it again. And lifted her head up in revelation.

She waited until Andrew looked her way again and asked, still quietly, "Do you like the gift I brought you?"

Andrew blinked at her, a bit confused, then sighed again. "I'm sorry, Monica, I don't have much of an appetite right now."

"Well, that's all right." Monica said gently, then studied the cookie in her hand closely. "Tell me, Andrew, do you know how they make these things? They're very good."

Andrew eyed the cookie that Monica held, and thought for a moment. "I don't know how they're made, but they are good."

"Tess said they were your favorite."

Andrew nodded, and went back to gazing at the lake. "I guess they are."

"Well, how can these molasses cookies be your favorite if you don't even know how they're made?"

Andrew shot her a bewildered look. "I don't understand." He said flatly.

Monica smiled and laid a hand over Andrew's. "Don't you see? You're saying you can't forgive yourself, or Richard, because you don't know how. But isn't that like saying that you can't enjoy one of these - "she held up the cookie "Without knowing how the eggs and the flour and the other ingredients combined to make it? You like molasses cookies, Andrew, not because you know how they're made. You like them because they're good. They bring you pleasure and joy. And it's the same with God's forgiveness. In the end, it doesn't matter whether you understand just how forgiveness works, or why. What matters is the peace, the perfect peace of God's mercy and grace, which is there for everyone."

Andrew had sat staring at Monica, his eyes still veiled in uncertainty, and when she finished he looked back down at the ground. Gently, Monica leaned over and once more placed her hand on Andrew's shoulder.

"God knows your heart, Andrew. He wants to lift it. Please let Him."

Andrew looked at her, and Monica could see a little of the Andrew she knew in the small crooked smile he gave her.

"Thank you," He said softly.

Monica smiled back, her own heart lifting a little, and she reached into the bag and offered Andrew a cookie. He took it, smiled again, and taking a bite, raised his arm and gave Monica a grateful hug.


The sun was bending towards midafternoon when Monica made her way back to the church, carryout lemonades in hand. Richard was still there, but instead of working he was sitting on the concrete steps that led up to the front door. Monica smiled as she approached, and was gratified to see Richard smile back wanly.

"Taking a break?" Monica asked as she handed him the lemonade. "You deserve one. The lawn looks fabulous."

Richard nodded in satisfaction. "The place is almost done. Got kind of winded, thought I'd better sit down a while."

Monica frowned and ventured a closer look at her assignment. He did look winded, paler than yesterday, and even though the day was cool, perspiration shone on his brow. She remembered Tess' warning about Richard not having a lot of future left and knew, suddenly, sadly, that it was indeed true. Sighing inwardly, she sat down on the step next to Richard and sipped at her drink.

Richard seemed deep in thought, so Monica held her silence and gazed with him down the sun-dappled main street. She thought of the vision again, the town as it once was, and wondered if Richard was remembering the same thing - children playing, strolling mothers, the air full of promise and life. She stole a look at his worn, tired face, but couldn't read it.

Finally Richard said, "I...was thinking earlier. About what you said yesterday. About letting go and living again and all that."

Monica nodded.

"Well, it's too late for me, you know. But I was thinking," Richard paused to sip the lemonade, "I wish, I ...hope this church does open again. People need stuff like that, they need hope. I didn't used to think so, I guess, but while you were gone I must have seen a dozen people come by here and kind of pause, like seeing this place cleaned up made them think maybe it was gonna come back."

Monica smiled hopefully. "But it's not too late for you, Richard. You can start over too."

"Yeah, I was thinking about that too." Richard looked down and gave a rueful smile. "I've been worse than dead to this town for fifteen years, got used to it. I'll never be able to make up for what I did, and I still don't think God wants anything to do with me but - " He looked at the trimmed lawn, the bright flowers bending gently in the breeze, "But it's funny, working this job kind of makes me feel like maybe I can make it up, a little. Like maybe, if I clean up the church and do it up proper, someday some minister will come into town and see it, and maybe he'll want to open it back up again. I guess if I thought that might happen it would give my sorry excuse for a life some meaning at least, some kind of starting over." He blinked, took a drink, looked down. "Sounds foolish to you, I guess."

"No, it sounds lovely," Monica assured him, laying a hand on his arm.

Richard sat back, took a deep breath. "Well, I just wanted to thank you for asking me to do this. Made me feel a lot better about things than I thought it would."

Monica gave his arm a squeeze. "I'm so glad."

Richard drank some more lemonade, looked at Monica. "When I'm done with the lawn, you're done with me, right?"

Monica gave a little shrug. "I don't know. My orders might change, and I'll need your help again."

"I hope so. Helping here, it's...it's..." Richard turned his eyes to the church spire, gleaming strongly in the afternoon sun. After a moment he turned his eyes back down and shook his head. 'I don't know. Well, back to work." He took one more drink, and set the empty cup on the step. He started to stand, faltered a bit, and Monica helped him up.

He gave her a crooked smile. "Little stiff yet." He went over to where his tools were waiting.

Monica watched him, then walked over to the tools and said, "Let me help you."

Richard nodded, bent over, suddenly straightened.

"Cleansing. That's the word I was looking for. It's cleansing."

Monica smiled at him, her heart soaring within her, and picked up a rake.

The afternoon melted into early evening, the kind of violet twilight special to spring. The lifegiving strength of the day gave way to a soft, luminescent glow that settled in the sky and the trees, and basked the church and everything around it in a misty, faintly magical haze.

Monica crossed her arms and watched the last rays of the sun slip upward from the church steeple. Behind her she heard Richard placing the last of the gardening tools into his large wheelbarrow, and looked at him. The lawn was finished, trim and new and reborn, and she could feel his hesitation at leaving, now that there was nothing left for him to come back for. He was looking around as well, wiping his hands on his torn work pants and nodding in satisfaction.

"You've done a fine job, Richard," Monica offered as he came near. "My boss is very pleased with you, I'm sure."

Richard shrugged. "Well, I hope so. I did my best."

Monica gently laid a hand on his shoulder and looked into those haunted eyes. "I know so. He told me to tell you what you've done here is very important. You have no idea."

Richard looked down, hunched his shoulders depreciatively. "All I did was clean up the lawn..."
"Is that what you think?" Monica smiled and walked to a nearby tree, newly planted and bursting with fragrant blossoms. "And if I told you that this little tree you planted today will someday hear the laughter of children as they climb its branches, and be the bearer of spring bouquets for young lovers, and shower its petals on newlyweds coming out of those doors, would you think it was such a small thing then?"

Richard's face grew puzzled, and he smiled uncertainly. "You think that could happen?"

Monica nodded. "I know God never wants anyone to be without hope. You said it yourself, Richard, the people here need hope, and seeing this church reborn is giving it to them. If you ever wondered how to make amends for the mistakes you've made...well, I think you just took the first step."

Richard gave another look to the beautiful lawn, now turning dusky lavender in the gathering night, and sighed. "Well, it's getting chilly. Time to go home."


At that moment, across the town, Beth stood before the angel portrait she'd been painting and contemplated the figure. She picked up a tube of paint, squeezed a little out, put the tube down. The fading sun had long since made the room dim, so she had set up several candles around the room to give the natural light she needed to paint. The soft light glowed dully off the canvas, just like -

Beth shook her head, trying to clear the memory of her encounter with - with what? An angel? Or some kind of post-traumatic hallucination? She'd spent all day trying to talk herself out of accepting what Monica had said, trying to convince herself that it couldn't have happened, you didn't see angel while you were alive, only after you were dead...

Beth shook her head again and picked up the brush, mixing white and yellow to touch up the hair around the figure's head. Forgive, Monica had said. Forgive yourself, forgive Richard. Start living again.

But what did that mean? She never stopped living, Beth decided as she tapped the brush to the canvas. She'd kept on, staying in town even after the other girls had moved away, walking by the crumbling storefronts and shuttered buildings every day and remembering. Somebody had to. Wasn't it her responsibility, to remember, to keep the flame so nobody ever forgot the others, the ones who weren't as lucky as she was? It was her duty. The young girl who wanted to grow up and laugh and play had died on that night, leaving only the battered, dazed shell to carry on.

Beth blinked; wait, she hadn't meant that. She wasn't some hollow-eyed wreck, staring at the walls. She had a life, sure she did, she had a few friends and a place of her own, and her paintings...

She looked around, at the room she was in, a bare room piled with paintings, laying all over, stacks of carefully rendered oils and acrylics no one had ever seen, hoarded against - against what? Why did she always feel so - so tight, so coiled-up, like she was always pushing against something she couldn't see? She could have left the town long ago, should have really, but didn't. Why?

Slowly Beth set her brush down and went over to her bookshelf, nestled in a corner by an overstuffed chair and a reading lamp. There were lots of books, mostly from her high school days, Nancy Drew and Little House, some paperbacks. She reached down to the bottom shelf and pulled out a large, narrow, hardbound volume. Carefully Beth wiped the layers of dust from the embossed leatheresque cover, which read in black, blocky graphic type "The Sentinel 1982". For no reason she could think of, Beth lifted her head and looked around, at the candles and the paintings and the pinpoints of candlelight reflecting from the windows, and took a deep breath. Then she tremulously took hold of the hard, flat cover and slowly opened the book.

There was a deep cracking noise as the ancient glue and binding gave way for the first time in fifteen years. The scent of printing ink and fresh paper, trapped in the pages, came forth as if she'd just bought the book yesterday. Through tear-filled eyes Beth gazed at the inside front cover, all the notes and well-wishes scrawled by her friends, friends fifteen years gone. "2 good 2 be 4gotten". "Friends 4ever". "See Ya". She began to flip through the book, freshman class, sophomore, feathered Farrah Fawcett cuts, shaggy Johnny Cougar hair on the boys, polo shirts, tight blue jeans. Varsity, drama club, prom. Senior class, twenty-six kids, just her and two other girls left now.

Sitting down hard on the chair, Beth blinked at the smiling faces before her, and a tear slipped down her cheek and fell onto the page. They didn't deserve to die, not that way, not any way, but they did. They did and she was left and - she glanced across the page and saw her own photograph, herself at seventeen, and Beth stared at it in wonder. Huge, happy eyes stared back at her, still the short wavy hair tied up in a thin ribbon, wearing her favorite Gunne Sax shirt, all lace and satin ribbon. Through her tears, Beth smiled. She'd bought that shirt to try and impress Eddie Branson. He never noticed, and then he died with the others. And she was left alone.

Shaking, Beth ran her hand over the photographs, as if by doing that she could touch them all again, or go through the page somehow and be back there again, the last happy time she ever knew. That was why, she decided suddenly, catching her breath. That was why she never left, never tried to get over what happened. Why bother when nothing could ever make her feel good again, the way she did before the accident? She looked ahead and saw nothing but emptiness. At least in the memories she felt something.

Sniffing, Beth wiped the tears that were streaming down her face. She was weak, she knew it, and maybe there was something to what Monica said about forgiving the past and everything, but then what? No matter what she did, the past would still be there, and as much as she wanted to she couldn't bring her friends back, even if she did try to make herself feel better about living. Shuddering with misery, Beth stood and began to close the book.

As she did so a piece of paper slipped out of the pages and onto the floor. Puzzled, Beth wiped her eyes again and picked the piece of paper up. It was still white, and a knife-sharp fold marked where the paper had been folded, pressed flat, for fifteen years. A receipt, Beth thought. But no, it was a handwritten note. Curious, Beth unfolded it and read.

Hi Beth

Hope you find this before anybody else. I'm going to spend the summer with my cousin in Brecksville, but wanted to tell you before I go that you're the prettiest girl in the class. I'm telling you so you don't forget me over the summer. Don't forget where we met. We'll meet there again when summer is over before I go to State. Be happy!

Till then

Eddie

PS Don't show this to anybody!

Beth stood breathless, stunned. Eddie must have stuck the note in the yearbook when he signed it. It had sat there, unread. She had no idea.

Don't forget where we met...had she? No, of course not, the church, but...Eddie thought she was the prettiest girl in class? Beth felt numb, suddenly jittery. She never knew. Don't forget me, the note pleaded, and she hadn't, not in fifteen years.

Beth pored over the note, forgetting the book and the painting and everything else. Eddie thought she was cute, and he was dead. She'd accepted that fact long ago, his death, and never really loved anybody else. But she'd always thought it was a one-sided crush, and now...she suddenly felt creepy, as if the note had come from beyond the grave. She put it down quickly,and the yearbook beside it, and walked nervously back to the painting.

The figure in the painting was almost finished; the halo of light around the head needed a few touches, and the beams of light could use some highlighting...Beth turned to pick up her palette, and noticed her hands were shaking. We'll meet there again... no we won't, Beth thought morosely, the church is abandoned, it's empty and forgotten. Like the town. Like me.

God has a plan, Monica's voice suddenly chimed in Beth's head. Startled, Beth looked around, but she was alone. She looked at the canvas again. God can fill that emptiness...

Without realizing exactly what she was doing, Beth reached out and touched the canvas, the warm light around the figure. I am empty, she thought. I'm empty and alone and I don't want to be anymore. I still don't know why I didn't die, but if there's something I'm supposed to be doing with my life...God? If you're there, can You tell me what it is? Because I think I've been living back there long enough, and if You need my help, I want to give it. because I am grateful, even if I don't act like it. Beth paused, bit her lip. And I guess I'm supposed to forgive Richard Paxton too. I know if an angel tells me I should, I should, but it still hurts. Beth felt the sting of tears, bit her lip harder. It hurts so bad, but I know I've got to let it go. Please help me forgive him.

Beth blinked and looked around. Night had almost fallen, and the reflected candlelight shone like stars in the darkened room. Among the stars Beth saw Monica, standing by the bookcase bathed in that luminous golden light.

Beth smiled, wiped the tears from her eyes.

Monica came forward. "So how do you feel?" She asked softly.

"Oh," Beth breathed, still dabbing at her eyes, "I don't know. Kind of like I can breathe again Did I do it right?"

"You did just fine," Monica assured her, "But you know it's only a beginning. God's given you a new life, one you never had even before the accident, but it's up to you to live it."

"I know. You told me God had a plan for me.I think maybe - " Beth stole a glance at the closed yearbook, the folded note sitting on the chair. "Maybe it has something to do with the church?"

Monica smiled. "Search your heart, Beth, and pray to God. He'll show you the way."

"And I think too," Beth looked around, somewhat embarrassed. "About God's plan, well...I have too many of these paintings, and nobody's ever seen them. You think..." Her eyes met Monica's, glistening and scared and exalted all at once. "You think maybe Mr. Paxton might want one?"