A Season of Angels by Debbie Macomber

sorrow, or a feeling of gladness. Earthly joy wouldn’t accomplish your purpose. Leah needs a connection with heaven.”
    â€œYes,” Shirley shouted with her excitement. She couldn’t have said it better herself. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
    â€œIn other words,” Mercy said slowly, thoughtfully, “if Leah would be willing to take hold of a . . . higher level of joy, then she might be willing to release her disappointments and frustrations.”
    â€œExactly,” Shirley said and Goodness echoed, “Exactly.”
    Shirley realized they made it sound simple, but she didn’t envy Mercy her task. It was little wonder so many other prayer ambassadors had been defeated by Leah’s problem.
    Mercy stood and was pacing in front of the huge church organ, sending longing looks toward the antique instrument. “Anyone have any other suggestions how I’m supposed to accomplish this?”
    Shirley was silent and so was Goodness.
    â€œDon’t worry, I’ll think of something,” she offered brightly. “I always do.”
    â€œLet me tell you what’s going on with Monica,” Goodness said next, looping her legs over the arm of the chair and tilting her head back with a dramatic flair. She sighed and placed the back of her hand against her brow. “She’s enthralled with this . . . this private investigator. The choir director might as well not exist, and Michael’s perfect for her, just perfect.”
    â€œWhat about Chet?” Mercy asked. “He might not be as bad as you think.”
    â€œHe’s not for Monica,” Goodness said firmly, brooking no argument. “I was able to check into his past and believe me, it isn’t a pretty picture. He’s lied, he’s stolen and been in trouble with the law, although he once worked for them. He’s not exactly what I’d call an upstanding prospective husband for a minister’s daughter.”
    â€œOh, my,” Mercy mumbled.
    Shirley mulled over the situation, tapping her fingers against the top of the railing, her thoughts moving in several different directions at once.
    â€œFurthermore,” Goodness added seriously, “he’s egotistical, chauvinistic, and he hasn’t darkened the door of a church in more than ten years. The last time he prayed he was in his early teens.”
    â€œHe doesn’t sound like the man for Monica,” Mercy agreed.
    Shirley hesitated, then decided she might as well speak her mind. “I don’t think we should be so hasty here. Isn’t your mission to teach Monica to be more flexible and accepting of others? From what I understand she’s caught in a trap of following a list of rules and regulations.”
    â€œYes, but any lessons I have to teach her don’t include Chet.”
    Shirley wasn’t convinced of that. “From what you’ve told me, she views everything as black and white, with little room for compromise.”
    â€œTrue,” Goodness was willing to admit, “but don’t you see? The two are completely incompatible. Gabriel wanted me to get her feet wet, not throw her off the Freemont Bridge.”
    â€œAll I can suggest is that you be patient with Monica.”
    â€œOne thing’s in my favor,” Goodness said, sounding encouraged. “They aren’t likely to meet again.”
    â€œThen there’s nothing to worry about,” Mercy said, slipping onto the bench in front of the massive organ.
    â€œMercy,” Shirley warned, knowing her friend well enough to recognize the movement was anything but casual. The organ was too big a challenge to ignore.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Mercy reassured her, “I’m going to be good.”
    Shirley wasn’t the least bit convinced, and she was right. As she winged her way out of the church and back to her charge, a blast of organ music crescendoed into the night. Groaning aloud, Shirley