Thursday, January 17, 2013


© Tamsin L. Silver 2013

As I woke up, I realized I must have been dreaming, which is something angels aren’t capable of since our holy bodies do not require sleep. It was an unusual sensation. To have believed I was in one place, have that fall away, and then be in another place. In fact, at first I wondered if I was still dreaming. However, when I recognized two of the three around me, I realized I was awake.

With the pain subsided, I could see clearly, and as I opened my eyes I noted Davey was holding my hand while Killian washed my feet. An older gentleman, in his late forties I guessed, with dark hair and brown eyes, wiped each cut with a wet cloth as his lips moved in prayer. I knew this because the man wore the collar of a priest with his button down shirt and jeans and I could feel God’s presence. As the wet cloth touched each cut or bruise I felt them heal, telling me the cloth was soaked with holy water.

“She’s waking up,” Davey whispered.

Everyone stopped at that moment and looked up at my face and I understood the human expression, a bug under glass. I wiggled, uncomfortable with both the stare as well as the feel of my human body, for that is what it was. My angel spirit contained inside a human body. This didn’t happen often. I’m sure these men had never seen one, let alone believed it was possible.

“Amelie, this is Pastor Steven. He’s been treating your wounds as you requested,” Killian said, his eyes on mine a she dried my feet. Seeing my stare he continued, “Your feet weren’t just dirty, they were cut and bruised as well, as if you’d fallen onto those rocks feet first. They’re healed now, like your side.”

I went to sit up and Pastor Steven gently touched my shoulder. “One moment, lady. I am almost finished with your hand.”

I watched as he carefully wiped holy water under each fingernail and then finished with my palm.

“We’ve washed you anywhere we could get to while you were dressed, the side wound our main concern. You are welcome to go into the other room, disrobe, wash any place we cannot see and put on the clothes Killian has lain in there for you. I have no idea if they will fit as they were donated by the people of the town for the poor. But there are a few things in there he thought might fit you.

I raised an eyebrow at Killian.

Tossing the towel over his shoulder, he gave me a nervous yet charming smile. “Sold clothes at The Gap for the past two summers.”

“I don’t think that she understands what that is Killi,” Davey said, playfully smacking his brother.

Killian lifted one shoulder in a shrug and lazily walked over to plop into the front pew of the sanctuary. I found his movements interesting. He sat, legs spread, arms wide, resting on the back of the pew. It seemed as if it was done to make him look aloof or uncaring. Yet, his eyes were too attentive for that. It piqued my curiosity but I let it go, opting instead to attempt to sit up.

With the Pastor’s help, I sat up to notice they had laid me on the stage area of the church, next to the pulpit. The church, or chapel as seemed to fit it better, was old and beautiful. Exposed, wooden beams that arched up from the sides to center, with stained glass windows both on the sides as well as a large, intricate piece behind the pulpit which depicted Jesus crucified on the cross.

Tears teamed my eyes but I blinked them away. I glanced at Pastor Steven, “Thank you. Show me where?”

“Right this way.”

Like many old churches, the entrance was at the back of the sanctuary, with a raised area up front, and a door in the front, far right corner. Pastor Steven took me through that door and we maneuvered down a narrow hall that held two doors on the left. Instead of going through a third door at the end of the hall, we made a sharp right turn. This hallway was hundreds of years older than the main building. This hall, with glass walls, led us to newer building. Once there, the Pastor stopped at an open door, the bowl of holy water and handkerchief in one hand.

“This is one of their Sunday School rooms. Killian laid the clothes there, on the desk. The women’s room is here next door. My wife is on her way. She’ll be in a moment to help you with any cuts on your back.”

For no reason I could pinpoint, I turned to take the holy water bowl, dipped my finger in, and before he could stop me, put a cross of it on his forehead. “Thank you.”

“My wife will have scissors to make room for…for your wings.”

I touched his shoulder as he’d done to me, understanding it was a sign of affection. I was about to thank him again, but an overwhelming feeling of emotional anguish hit me. “You are a good man. Don’t let the pain in your heart eat at you, Son of the Most High.”

With that, I took the bowl and stepped into the room, and with a nod, closed it, but not before I saw tears touch his eyes.

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