“If you have a problem or need anything, my work number is on the bulletin board in the kitchen, as well as my cellphone number, although I won’t be able to answer unless I’m on a break.”
“We’ll be perfectly fine. Don’t forget the cookies.”
“Oh my goodness. I nearly did.” Laurel raced back to the kitchen, then hesitated on her way out the door. “How did you know I needed to take these snickerdoodles to school?”
Mrs. Miracle shrugged. “You must have mentioned it last night.”
“I did?” Laurel frowned in thought. “I don’t recollect saying anything about it.”
“You did, dear. Otherwise, how would I have known?”
Laurel hesitated, letting Mrs. Miracle’s reply sink in for a moment before she nodded. “Right.” And with that simple agreement, she was out the door.
Returning to her bedroom, Helen intended to dress for the day, but she couldn’t recall what day it was. If it was Sunday, she would choose a dress. Monday was laundry day, but this wasn’t Monday, was it? She stood in front of her closet for several minutes, unsure of what to do. It wasn’t long before Mrs. Miracle joined her.
“It’s Wednesday,” she said to Helen, taking out a pair of navy-blue pants and a warm, off-white sweater for her.
“It’s winter?” Helen could have sworn it was spring.
“December.”
“Christmastime?” Helen asked.
“Yes, Christmas will be here soon.”
While Helen finished dressing, Mrs. Miracle prepared a breakfast of toast and cooked oatmeal with raisins. It was ready for Helen when she came down the stairs. She stared at the spread as a wealth of childhood memories suddenly flooded over her. Oatmeal was standard fare for breakfast when she was a child. Her mother added raisins as a special treat. The family had lived in North Dakota, where the winters were harsh and bitter. Oatmeal had always warmed her stomach before she raced out of the house to catch the school bus.
“My brother would give me his raisins,” Helen murmured out loud, recalling the day James scooped all the raisins out of his oatmeal for her, after she’d helped him with his math homework.
“James never was good with numbers, was he?”
“No. But that didn’t hold him back. He was a real people person and went on to sell tractors. He did well for himself. He had a way with nearly everyone and could talk about anything. My dad said James could tell folks that the sky was green and the grass was blue in such a way that they’d believe him.”
“That he could,” Mrs. Miracle concurred.
Helen cocked her head to one side. “You knew my brother?”
“We’ve met.”
Helen was confused, but this wasn’t the same kind of confusion she usually felt. This was different. Her dear brother had died of a heart attack when he was in his forties. It had nearly killed her parents to lose their youngest child.
“My brother died over twenty-five years ago.”
“Yes, I know,” the caregiver said, finishing the dishes.
“When did you meet him?”
She continued to scrub the oatmeal pan. “It was recently, just before I took this assignment. I like to know as much as I can about those who Gabriel assigns to me.”
“Gabriel?” Helen was filled with questions. Who was Gabriel? And how was it possible that Mrs. Miracle had talked to her brother? This couldn’t be right. She might forget certain things, but she was confident Mrs. Miracle couldn’t have met her brother.
“He sends his love,” the caregiver added, “and he wanted you to know that he’s sorry that he lost your bicycle.”
Helen gasped. This was a story from her childhood. Because his bicycle had a flat, James had taken hers without asking. While hanging out with his buddies in the local park, the bike had been stolen, and he’d never told anyone. Years later, as an adult, James finally admitted to Helen that he was the one responsible for the loss of her precious bike.
This was all so strange. It made no sense. Only someone from the other side of life could’ve possibly communicated with her brother. She looked up from the table and stared at the caregiver with fresh eyes. As a believer, she was convinced of a spiritual realm, and now she felt like she had living proof in front of her.
“Mrs. Miracle…” She hesitated, afraid to say the words, fearing the other woman would find the question far-fetched and ridiculous.
“Yes?” Mrs. Miracle waited expectantly.
“Are you…” Helen straightened her shoulders, wanting answers. “Who sent you?”
A big smile came over the caregiver’s face. “You mean you don’t know?”
This woman was going to make Helen say the words that were in her head. “When you said Gabriel gave you this assignment, are you…are you telling me it was the angel Gabriel?”
The question hung in the air. “Are you an angel?”
Mrs. Miracle’s entire face glowed.
Helen shook her head, needing to clear her thoughts. “Where are your wings? Aren’t you supposed to have a pair of wings and dress in a white robe?”
Mrs. Miracle laughed heartily. “Oh heavens, no. Can you imagine the ruckus I’d cause if I walked down the street in that getup?”
“But…”
“I’m a different sort of angel, a Caring Angel.”
That name was familiar. Helen recalled that it was the name of the home-companion agency. She tried to make sense of all this new information. “Are all the home companions from the agency angels like you?” Surely someone would have figured it out before now, she reasoned. This would have been big news, broadcast around the world.
“No, just me. I came here especially for you.”
Helen’s hand flew to her chest. “For me? Why me?”
“My dear,” Mrs. Miracle explained, “you’ve been praying, and God heard your prayers. He sent me to be with you.”
Still skeptical, Helen felt the need to find out more. “That’s all well and good, and please don’t think I’m being ungrateful, but my prayers have been for my granddaughter, not for me.”
“Yes. Yes, I know.”
“Her faith is weak, and who can blame her? My Laurel has been through so much.”
“I know all about your granddaughter and her husband’s trials to start a family.”