A Season of Angels Read Online Free PDF Page A

and Monica hurled herself against the thick wood door, flinging out her arms until she stood spread-eagled across the entrance.
    â€œWhat the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, glaring at her.
    â€œI’m saving you from yourself.”
    â€œGo save someone else, would you?” His eyes were formidable, cold and cutting, but Monica refused to back away.
    â€œI’m doing this for your own good.”
    He clamped his mouth closed and appeared to be counting to ten. His head nodded with each number and by the time he reached eight, his patience had evaporated. “Either you move or I’ll be forced to move you myself and I guarantee you won’t approve of my methods.”
    Monica was saved from having to make a decision when the door opened and she was momentarily pushed to one side. By the time she’d turned around and recovered, her reluctant hero had disappeared. It didn’t take her two seconds to know where he’d gone. For half a heartbeat she toyed with the notion of going inside the Blue Goose after him.
    Defeated and mildly discouraged, Monica trudged her way across the street. The other choir members were mingling with the crowd, passing out invitations for the Christmas Eve service. The idea had been her father’s and although Monica feared they might attract riffraff from the streets, she hadn’t said as much. It wouldn’t do any good to argue with her father, not when he had such a soft spot in his heart for street people.
    â€œMonica.” Michael Simpson, the director, edged his way around two altos and moved toward her. “What happened?”
    â€œI lost my balance and fell off the riser,” she explained.
    His eyes widened. “Are you all right?”
    She nodded. “A . . . someone caught me.”
    â€œI’m glad you weren’t hurt.” His smile was shy as he gently patted her hand. “I wanted to congratulate you on your solo.”
    â€œBut . . .”
    â€œYour voice was never more pure.”
    Monica gestured weakly. To accept the credit would have been wrong. “But another voice joined mine. Didn’t you hear it? I swear it came out of nowhere.”
    â€œAnother voice?” Michael asked, frowning. “I only heard you, and you were magnificent. You really outdid yourself.”
    â€œMonica, Monica.” The Reverend Fischer hurried to his daughter’s side and clasped her hand between his. His eyes shone bright with tears. “I’ve never heard you sing more beautifully. You sounded so much like your mother. I’d almost forgotten what a stunning voice she had. This is God’s gift to you, this voice.”
    â€œBut, Dad . . .” She stopped, not knowing how to explain. There had been another voice that merged with hers. One that didn’t happen to belong to anyone in the choir. It didn’t belong to anyone she knew.
    â€œG oodness, Goodness, Goodness,” Mercy said in that small chiding tone Gabriel had used with her so often in the past. “You were the one singing, weren’t you?”
    Goodness did not attempt to deny it. “I couldn’t help it. ‘Silent Night’ is one of my personal favorites.”
    â€œBut she heard you.”
    â€œI know.” That part had been unintentional. Simply put, Goodness had gotten carried away with herself. But she had used considerable restraint. No one, however, seemed to appreciate that part. She could have used Barbra Streisand’s voice. Barbra could really belt out “Silent Night,” or Judy Garland. Now, that would have caused a whole lot of comment. To her credit, Goodness had resisted, although on second thought, she did an excellent Carol Burnett.
    â€œWhat if Gabriel hears about this?”
    â€œDon’t worry about it.” The archangel would eventually find out, Goodness knew. There would be no keeping it from him, but even that hadn’t been enough for her to