My Ward, Daniel Michael Wheaton, was a special assignment, direct from the Council of Seraphim—the highest rank of angel in Heaven—and I was determined to prove myself with him. My past failures as a Guardian were of no consequence. All that mattered now was keeping him on the right path. After all, he’d chosen that path, so guarding him shouldn’t have been that hard.
But it was.
Being a Guardian angel is so… exhausting. Humans create their Incarnation Plans before being born on Earth, and it’s a Guardian’s sacred duty to ensure nothing interferes with following that Plan—including the humans themselves. Constantly trying to help them live their lives the way they wanted drained me. But I had to do it right this time.
On an afternoon in May 1759, in a rural part of colonial Maryland, the Wheaton family was eating their midday meal together. I stood behind Daniel, hands nestled in the small of my back under relaxed wings. Daniel’s head bowed as he planned the work he needed to finish before twilight.
Daniel’s heart rate was strong, his breathing was even, and he seemed calm. The breeze sweeping through the cabin cooled him, despite the unseasonable afternoon heat. The only thing that could go wrong was yet another emotional outburst, and I would do everything I could to stop that.
Though angels can’t directly interfere in the lives of the humans we’re charged with guarding, we can assist. I wasn’t good at helping prevent Daniel from lashing out, but I tried to keep him serene by pressing soothing thoughts toward him through whatever bond we supposedly share. For now, he seemed stable.
Daniel’s wife, Lily, cut up their son’s pork, her cutlery clinking against the plate. Eleven-year-old Caleb chattered about a game he and the neighbor boy had invented that morning. It involved leftover scraps of fence, long grass strands, and large insects. “It was my idea,” he said.
“Caleb, finish your mush.” Lily slid the plate toward him.
“I don’t wanna finish my mush.” Caleb shoved aside the bowl. His Guardian, Jersihod, didn’t move. “It tastes like cow dung.”
Lily clanked down her knife and gave Daniel a sharp look.
I felt Daniel’s temper flare. Before I could react by again pressing placid emotions toward him, he said to Lily, “It’s my fault your mush is dry?” He didn’t look up from his peas.
Lily’s Guardian, Oronis, stared at me from where he sat on the windowsill. I resented his stares. I was doing what I could. I tucked my hair behind an ear and pressed calm thoughts into Daniel’s mind—another weak attempt to quell his anger.
Every human has a Guardian, and I wasn’t pleased I had to work with Oronis. He’d changed his aspect to a grey-bearded man with laugh-lines crinkling the corners of his eyes, an affectation that annoyed me. All eternal creatures can modify their aspects. Changes range from the mundane—such as Oronis’ grey beard—to the bizarre—such as shape-shifting to an object or animal. But humans can’t see us, so what’s the purpose?
For that reason, I didn’t change my aspect from how I’d been born: white robe, feminine shape, white-blond hair, eternally youthful. Simple. Oronis was probably younger than me by centuries anyway. I’d seen so much more than he in the many years I’d lived. We experience time with our humans, in the same way they do, as we watch and do our jobs, invisible to the Wards we’re assigned to protect.
Lily’s face twisted into the look she wore whenever Daniel was curt. She touched the cross that hung from a cord on her neck and stood. I kept myself from glancing toward Daniel’s neck, naked of religious symbols. Lily grasped Caleb by the shoulder and pulled him from his chair. A tear glimmered at the corner of her eye as she grabbed the wooden paddle from its place on the wall.
Lily marched Caleb into the living area and bent him over her knee. Three smacks came from the paddle onto his bottom. A few seconds later, she was back in her seat, the disciplinary implement hanging on the wall once again. Sounds of sniffling followed her.
“No crying.” Lily picked up her fork and knife. Caleb’s sniffles quieted.
They ate in silence.
As Daniel spooned the last bite of mush into his mouth, Lily said, “Caleb, take the Bible into the yard. Read First Corinthians, chapter thirteen. Memorize verse four.” Lily drilled the Bible into Caleb. Though she valued the benefits of reading, it was more important to her that Caleb knew biblical teachings.
Caleb snatched the Bible from the end table and stalked out the door. The boy and his always-silent Guardian, Jersihod, settled under the small oak tree several paces from the house.
Lily gathered up the dishes. Daniel started toward the front door, but her voice stopped him. “Daniel—”
“What?” Daniel whirled. His heart rate increased, and his breathing became shallow. I pressed placid thoughts into his mind, but he pushed them away.
Lily, why can’t you leave it be? I pleaded silently.
Daniel’s boot thumped as he took half a step toward his wife. “Things need doing, and I don’t have any help to do them.” He looked beyond her to the paddle hanging on the wall.
Daniel and Lily had been unsuccessful at building the large Catholic family they’d wanted. She was a good wife, keeping the hearth swept, the living area tidy, and food on the table, but Daniel resented that she was unable to bear more children. An accident two years after Caleb was born had left her barren. She still cried herself to sleep because of it.
Lily held a plate in each hand. “I just—” She looked down. “I wish you wouldn’t speak to me that way in front of our son.”
Oronis cocked an eyebrow at me, but I refused to respond. If I gave him an opening, he’d have a snide comment.
Daniel’s pulse quickened. “What way?” My efforts to soothe him had no effect.
“In that,” Lily swallowed, “tone. You were unbecoming to me. I don’t want our son to hear it.”
Daniel’s voice was quiet. “You don’t want a son who can defend himself?”
“Defend himself?” Lily’s voice rose. “I didn’t attack you!”
“You were about to blame me for Caleb’s impertinence.” Daniel’s eyelids lowered. “It’s not my fault you can’t bring the boy to heel.”
“Enael,” murmured Oronis. The low, rumbling way he said my name irritated me.
I shook my head. Can’t he see I’m concentrating?
Neither human spoke for another few seconds. Don’t say anything more, Lily. Her eyes narrowed, and the corner of her mouth twitched. Steeling herself, she said, “If you didn’t speak to me that way, your son would know how to respect his mother.”
Oronis sucked in a breath, and I clenched my fist. I was failing to stop Daniel’s flaring anger again.
So much for my special assignment.
Daniel crossed the room in two strides. I grabbed at him, but my hand passed through his shoulder. He didn’t want to be stopped, so I couldn’t stop him.
Lily cringed. Daniel’s slap echoed in the small room. She lost her balance, and a plate slipped from her grasp, smashing against the packed dirt floor. Oronis caught her arm before she fell, protecting her from falling on the sharp shards. Anger flared in his eyes as he glared at Daniel, but he wasn’t allowed to interfere with other humans unless they were jeopardizing his Ward’s Incarnation Plan. Daniel’s cruelty did not qualify.
Lily stared down at the broken plate, teetering as her long braid hung over the mess. Tears sprang to her eyes, but her lips were tight against her teeth and she didn’t make a sound. A red mark in the shape of a hand was already rising on her cheek.
Daniel said, “Clean that up and be more careful next time. You know Mother had those dishes brought over from England.”
He grabbed his pistol from the nail on the wall, knocking over the flintlock rifle that leaned next to it. “Goddamn it. Everything’s always gotta be difficult.” After righting the gun, he raged out the front door.
I tore my eyes from Lily’s tear-stained face.
Before I could follow Daniel, Oronis spoke. “Enael, you have to get him under control.”
“I’m trying,” I said. “She keeps provoking him.” Why is it my fault Daniel has a bad temper?
As I passed through the cabin wall, he said, “You know she’s not the problem. This won’t end well.”
I stopped. “It’ll be fine. I’ve been doing this for centuries.” The retort slipped out with a twist of anger. I’d been serving for several centuries longer than most Guardians. I had one guess as to why, but the Council of Seraphim refused to confirm or deny my suspicion. They’d said little beyond that I was being given a special assignment, so I’d drawn my own conclusions about Daniel. I could only assume that Daniel held a role that would somehow be important to history, since the large scope of humanity’s well-being was the overall concern of the Council.
“You know this is Daniel’s fault,” Oronis called as I hurried away.
What does he know?
It wasn’t that I lacked compassion for Lily’s struggle, but she could be choosier about when she asserted herself. I couldn’t stop Daniel’s outbursts, which invariably led to violence. Lily knew the consequences, so I didn’t understand why she pushed him.
Caleb stared at Daniel as he stormed past. I hurried after him. Jersihod’s judgmental silence made my wings twitch in frustration.
Time to muck out the stalls, Daniel thought. One of us can take care of the gifts from our elders.
I almost snorted aloud. “Elders” meant Lily’s parents, who had given them their horse, ox, and cow. The wooden table they dined at, the flintlock pistol Daniel carried to protect them against wild creatures and Indians, and even logs Daniel had used to build the cabin were gifts from Lily’s parents. Daniel, being the fifteenth and most obstinate child in his family, was given little of the tobacco empire his father had created. What they had was due to Lily.
Daniel stalked into the barn, which was not much larger than their tiny cabin. As he grabbed the pitchfork and drove it into the first pile in Thunder’s stall, the sweet smell of hay mingled with the familiar scent of horse dung and calmed him. His breathing returned to normal, and his heart stopped pounding. After a few minutes, Daniel whistled a tune as he planned for the upcoming monthly Market Day. All thoughts of Lily were gone.
With Daniel finally at peace, I turned my attention to his wife, gazing through the barn wall and into the house. Lily, bent over the broken plate, wiped tears from her face.
I needed to figure out how to make Daniel hear me. I didn’t want to acknowledge the creeping suspicion that Oronis was right, that this wouldn’t end well. Out of habit, I rubbed a thumb across the scar that twisted over my left hand and wrist. Source, I prayed, how do I make Daniel listen?
The answer was subtle, but I got the message: if I didn’t get Daniel to listen, something terrible was going to happen.
That wasn’t helpful. I knew that already.