miraculous alternative to dread
Meg Rosoff
Brooke and Angelica
It was the end of an exhausting week and we finally gathered in the harvest. I figured it was time for our own version of Thanksgiving and we'd make it a real feast of celebration.
I broached the idea to the girls and they were all in favour. Frank and Helen were slated to drop by in the afternoon for a visit and that's when I'd invite them.
I was listening to my emergency radio but still heard no news about the cabal and I wondered if the ambassador's warnings fell on deaf ears and the conspiracy would continue on regardless.
It was a bleak prospect and frankly depressed me. The thought of a totalitarian regime continuing made me feel barren and hopeless. It truly was an abomination that made desolate but I kept my thoughts to myself not wanting to dispirit the girls with my pessimism.
"A celebration?" Frank chuckled when I announced the proposed feast. "Sure, we can celebrate the ingathering of the harvest but keep in mind, after the hailstorms pass, we have to begin a fall planting. The weather's been unseasonably temperate and we can squeeze in some short term crops such as spinach, radishes and turnips—even baby carrots."
"The weather reports haven't forecast rain or hail for the next few days," I frowned, glancing at fair weather clouds filling the skies.
"That's all subject to change," Frank grinned, "but let's have the celebration."
I didn't know whether to admire or pity the faith he placed in his vision, but I was truly thankful for the Cliffords' friendship and support, not to mention their help with the harvest.
Maybe I was mellowing in my views or more open to spiritual realities, regardless, we had all laboured steadily for over a week and we deserved a party.
Later that night, after the Cliffords left, we were sitting around the fire.
Brooke had surprised me, displaying a domestic side. While Angelica and I chatted in the front room, she had busied herself in the kitchen making two huge apple pies.
The house was soon filled with the sweet aroma of baked apple and cinnamon spice and it reminded me of Sundays growing up when my mom would perform the same culinary magic. A pang of nostalgia brought tears to my eyes as I thought of my deceased parents and how I would have loved them to have met Brooke and share in our lives.
Angelica smiled at me compassionately. "They're not gone in the way you think, Zach—they're around you and watching over you."
I stared at her in shock. I hadn't voiced what I was thinking.
"The problem is," she whispered, "you're holding on so tight to the physical side of things, you can't see the wondrous parts of your life."
I was awed. "How do you know what I'm thinking?"
She arched an eyebrow as if to say, after all this time with me and you still doubt me?
At that moment, Brooke came in with a tray bearing a warm apple pie and plates and cutlery.
"Coffee's made in the kitchen, Zach—could you bring in the thermos jug and mugs?"
"Of course," I laughed and headed out to the kitchen.
But I wasn't prepared for what I was about to experience.
I stopped in the middle of the floor to stare open -mouthed at my mother's reflection in the black window glass.
I turned around expecting to see her, but the room and hallway behind were empty. I could still, however, sense her presence and a familiar powdery scent I recognized as her perfume.
I knew then Angelica must have sensed her presence too and was trying to gently prepare me. It was odd—I wasn’t overcome with fear, but reassured and comforted.
When I went back into the front room and slid in beside Brooke on the couch, I noticed the same fragrance my mother wore lingered on her skin.
I knew exactly what it meant—my mother was giving her approval.