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Her angel collection had been packed and shipped to North Carolina in advance of their move. So where did this little cherub come from?
Better double check the rooms, I thought, walking through the house one last time. It was hard to say good-bye to the place we’d called home for so many happy years.
After living most of our married life in Connecticut, my husband, Richard, and I were retiring to a crop farm in North Carolina. We’d already made the trip south with most of our belongings, including my precious angel collection–glass, wooden and ceramic figurines made by Richard’s sister, Helen.
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They made me feel protected. I wished I had them now. Even just one would be a comfort.
“Don’t forget the cellar,” Richard said. I walked down ahead of him. Empty, like the other rooms–except for a small object sitting right smack in the middle of the floor. I moved in closer. An angel?
The piece wasn’t one from my collection. He was ceramic with mocha-colored skin and cropped brown hair, kneeling with his hands clasped in reverent prayer. How had I never seen this creation of Helen’s? I wondered.
“You put him here, didn’t you?” I asked Richard.
“Nope,” he said, looking as surprised as me. “Never saw it.”
I checked the angel for Helen’s trademark–her initials. Nothing. Just “Made in Mexico.”
And now the angel lives with us in North Carolina. Every day I look at him and remember that we’re always protected, no matter where it is we call home.
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