Free An Angel for Dry Creek by Janet Tronstad Page A

from outsiders would not be welcome.
    â€œWe’ve got the costume—wings, robe, everything,” Mrs. Hargrove continued, “All we need is the angel.”
    â€œThat’s settled, then,” the deputy said as he pulled out his ticket book.
    It wasn’t settled at all in Glory’s mind, but she decided to take the hastily scrawled ticket so the deputy would leave. There’d be no fine. She knew any judgewould dismiss the charges when he saw the ticket. She’d save her objections for later.
    The only reason Glory let Mrs. Hargrove talk her into looking at the costumes was so Matthew would sit down. He was being gallant and standing with his shoulder leaning on his crutch. At least if they moved to the costumes, he’d take a seat.
    The costumes were stored in a small room on the other side of the church kitchen. Mrs. Hargrove pointed it out and then left with the children. The room had one small square window, high on the wall, and a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Glory stood on a small stool to pull down the angel wings. Matthew sat on a hard-backed chair in the corner of the room.
    â€œWatch the dust,” Matthew warned as Glory pulled the wings off the high shelf. Waves of dust floated down over her.
    Glory sneezed. “Too late.”
    Yes, it is too late, Matthew thought to himself glumly. He’d vowed to keep his secret, and now it would be all over Dry Creek in minutes. And the irony was it wasn’t true anymore. He was no more a minister than Glory was an angel. Less, in fact, because when she stood with her head in front of that single bulb, she at least looked like an angel. Flying copper hair with flecks of gold. Milky skin. A voice that melted over him like warm honey. He found himself wishing he were still a minister, that his life had been uncomplicated by searing grief and confused pain. He already knew Glory well enough to know she’d never settle for less than a godly man. A man of faith. A man he, Matthew, couldn’t be anymore.
    â€œI expect the halo’s up there, too,” Matthew added as Glory dusted off the white cardboard wings. Hecould see the strand of gold Christmas garland hanging over the top shelf.
    â€œYou know, I’d be happy to do something else for community service,” Glory said as she pulled the old garland off the shelf. It had lost most of its glitter and all of its fluff. “I could give painting lessons or something.”
    Matthew didn’t voice his protest. He’d developed a longing almost as intense as his sons to see Glory dressed up in an angel costume. “I think Henry has some gold garland at the store. You could use that if you want.”
    â€œI don’t know.” Glory sat down on the stool. A faint cloud of dust still fell down around her. “I just don’t feel like an angel this year.”
    â€œOh.” Matthew didn’t want to press. He hoped the one word was enough.
    â€œWell, look at me,” Glory said. “Here I am—broke, in a strange town, almost arrested, uncertain what to do next with my life.”
    â€œYeah, I suppose angels never wonder what to do,” Matthew agreed. For a minute he thought Glory was reading his mind and heart. Then he saw the confusion on her face. He shifted on his chair so he could see her better. “They just get their marching orders and they march. Piece of cake. But none of the excitement of being human.”
    â€œI guess the grass is always greener. We look at them. They look at us,” Glory agreed quietly and then asked, “Do you believe angels are really jealous of us?”
    â€œI’m not a minister anymore.” Matthew began his standard disclaimer. He was no longer qualified to givespiritual advice. “I mean, I’m licensed still. But that’s all. Just for the state.”
    â€œI figured that out,” Glory said. When she’d heard Matthew admit to being a minister,