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"Angel? But I thought ..." Elias looked back at the broken glass.
The street filled with people interrupted from their dinners.
"He's that new boy visitin’."
"Why'd he break the window?"
"I don't believe it."
A man in an apron approached, his face red and eyes sparking. He wrestled Elias' arms behind his back.
Elias twisted, searching desperately for Angel's face. The people blended together in his struggles. "Angel! Angel, please! I didn't do this. You said to come late." She had to hear him. "Please," he pleaded.
The sheriff approached, his hair ruffled from running.
"I didn't do this," Elias continued. "She said ... so I ... but ..."
"Relax, Son," the sheriff stated. "And slow down, so I can understand you." He took Elias wrists in his hands.
Elias took a deep breath. "Angel said ..."
"Angel Taylor?" he asked.
"I'm here, Sheriff."
Elias spun his head around, the angle shooting sharp pain through his shoulder blades. "Angel. You sent that note. You said to come later, so I waited. But then you weren't here."
"I didn't send a note."
"Y-you didn't?" A cold hand gripped his stomach.
"No, I waited for you until six thirty, but you weren't here, so I walked to Marta's." She wrinkled her brow.
"But I found a note stuck in the door as I left."
The sheriff interrupted them. "Do you still have the note?"
Elias face lit up. "Yes! Yes, it's in my pocket. There," and he nodded his head.
Digging in Elias’ pocket, the sheriff extracted a white slip of paper. His eyes flickered back and forth on the page. "This your handwriting?" he asked Angel. He turned the note around.
But Angel shook her head and swiveled her head toward the window. "No. Sheriff, and I don't believe Elias would do this."
Who would break the window of my papa's store and frame Elias? Who even knew Elias was coming to meet me? Only Marta.
"Angel?" Elias spoke in my ear. "I swear. It wasn't me. I was standin’ here wonderin’ where you were when the brick sailed through the window."
"Did you see anyone?" the sheriff asked.
He shook his head. "No, I was too shocked."
"Sheriff?" I began. "Elias and I, we ... have feelin’s for each other, and he'd never do this."
The sheriff’s expression changed then, and he looked from me to Elias and back. "Say I believe you both," he returned. "Then who did? And why?"
But those were the questions of the hour and no one knew the answers.
Gloria Pinser kissed the baby's head as she lowered him into his crib. Tucking the blanket around his torso, she crept from the room. On her way down the short hallway, she peeked into her daughter's room, and a smile appeared on her face.
Paula’s eyes were shut tight as she sucked her tiny thumb in her sleep.
She tiptoed out, pulling the door closed behind her, and wandered over to the small wood stove. This place wasn’t much–the church provided it–but it was a blessing. The prospect of a few hours of quiet arose pleasantly before her, and she paused, unsure of what she should do.
She could sit down and relax. Relaxing was rare. However, the state of the floor drew her attention. When tomorrow would she have time to clean if she didn’t do it now? Crossing the room, she searched for the broom and frowned at the knowledge she'd left it outside. Well, no bother, she'd just zip out real quick and grab it.
The door swung open on rusty hinges, and cool December air rushed inside. She shivered in her nightdress. Perhaps it'd be too chilly for her baby to be in the Nativity. But then, she could wrap him up well; it was only for an hour, and the townspeople were counting on it. Her hand closed on the broom handle, and her memories flooded in.
Christmas. Another Christmas alone. She'd spent several by herself after her first husband died in the war. Until along came Joseph Pinser. He’d adored Paula, and he’d promised her security. She’d cared for him well enough. Her heart gripped in her chest. He'd died too quick and too soon, but nothing was certain in this world. This thought needled at her. Who would care for her children if something happened to her?
I should decide. The need pressed in on her and she determined to deal with it. She'd go right in and pen her wishes first thing. She tapped a hand to her head. On thinking about it, she knew exactly whom she'd choose. Only one person loved them as much as she did.
With a nod, she reentered the house, the door swinging behind her. Her mind occupied, she didn't bother to latch it. She'd do that later. First, she must take care of her children. A search amongst her things discovered paper and pencil.
I, Gloria Pinser, in case of my passing do give my children to ...
She worked determinedly for several minutes, careful to write as clearly as she could. She hadn't had much schooling. When at the last she signed her name and wrote the date, she weighted it beneath a jar. She'd put it away later. After she finished cleaning the floor.
A blast of cold air lifted the hair from her neck as she swept, and she shivered. The door. She should have latched it, and she took a step to tend to it when the world went dark.