AMELIE - PART III
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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