Angels at Christmas by Debbie Macomber Page B

cluster of seedless grapes, which she munched on hungrily. She made another pot of tea. Then it was back to work.
    When she’d finished the painting, she saw daylight again; for the second night in a row, she’d worked without sleep. Stepping back, Anne examined her creation with a critical eye.
    â€œYes,” she whispered, awed by the painting before her.
    This was her best work to date. She’d call it… Visitation . Smiling, she studied the painting from several angles.
    The phone rang, startling her, and she hurried to answer it.
    â€œAnne, it’s Marta.”
    â€œOh, Marta, hello.” Her mind raced frantically as she tried to remember what day it was. Anne had a terrible feeling she’d missed their dinner appointment—not to mention her lunch with Roy—and sincerely hoped she hadn’t. She thought for a minute; as far as she could calculate, it was Thursday morning. Never had she worked on a project in such a frenzied fashion—to the point that she no longer knew what day of the week it was.
    â€œI just called to ask if you’d let me see one of your paintings.”
    â€œOh, Marta, are you sure?” Anne would never presume to ask her friend for this kind of favor.
    â€œI’ve been hearing good things about your landscapes. A colleague of mine was on the island last summer—Kathy Gruber—and met you. She saw your work at a local exhibit. You remember her, don’t you?”
    â€œYes, of course.”
    â€œSince I’m in town this week, I’d like to take a look at some of your pieces.”
    Anne glanced at her angel. “I’ll let you see one, but it isn’t a landscape. As it happens, I just finished it.” Eyeing the canvas, she frowned. The painting was too big; she couldn’t bring it into town with her. “It won’t fit in my car,” she said.
    â€œI can make a trip out to your place tomorrow, if that’s convenient.”
    â€œOf course it is, but we’re still meeting for dinner tonight, aren’t we?”
    â€œI wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Marta assured her.
    â€œMe, neither,” Anne said.
    They spoke for a few minutes longer. When Anne replaced the receiver, she saw by the clock that she had just enough time for a short nap and a shower before heading into Seattle to meet her son.

Six
    â€œN ot bad,” Goodness said as she studied the painting. She cocked her head to one side and decided that, as a portrait, it was uncannily accurate. “It certainly looks like Shirley.”
    â€œI had no idea I was so lovely,” Shirley said, clasping her hands. “Is that truly the way Anne sees me?” She gazed expectantly at her two friends.
    â€œSo it seems,” Goodness replied.
    â€œWhat I want to know,” Mercy began, making herself at home in Anne’s studio, “is why we haven’t been dragged back to Heaven in disgrace.” She glanced pointedly at Shirley. “By all rights, we should be standing guard at the Pearly Gates after what she did.”
    Mercy was the one more accustomed to causing trouble on Earth. It used to be Shirley who made them tread the straight and narrow, but apparently the job had—unfairly—fallen to Goodness. For this assignment, anyway.
    She couldn’t give Mercy an answer. The Archangel clearly had his own reasons for keeping them on Earth.
    â€œWe have an important task,” Shirley explained as if that should be obvious. “Anne and Roy need us.”
    â€œSeems to me Julie could use a hand, too,” Goodnessmuttered. She didn’t want to be judgmental, but the woman Mercy considered the answer to Anne’s prayer was being less than cooperative.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Mercy asked. “I thought the accident was a brilliant idea! It got Roy and Julie together, didn’t it?”
    â€œAll they did was snipe at each other.” Goodness wasn’t disparaging her