Grace in Autumn by Lori Copeland

you’re not able to resell it,” she said, freeing a chain of paper clips from the twine. “Georgie will be thrilled to hear that we sold his first painting.”
    Pierce Bedell’s smile nearly jumped out from under his mustache. “This was his first? What luck! This will add tremendous value!”
    Babette’s face twisted in concern. “You do understand, don’t you? The Puffin was painted by a boy.”
    Bedell laughed as Zuriel finished wrapping the painting. “My dear lady, we are all boys at heart. We are all children in a sea of life’s experiences.”
    â€œNo, I mean . . .”
    Babette’s voice trailed off as Bedell took the wrapped painting, tucked it under his arm, then glanced at his watch. “My heavens, the ferry will be leaving. Guess I won’t make it out to that blasted lighthouse after all. But that’s fine. I’ve found something far more valuable.”
    Slinging his camera bag over his shoulder, he settled his cap back on his head, then waved a cheery farewell. “Call me if you acquire another Zhorzh-ay. My number’s on the check.”
    Babette waved him out the door with a perplexed expression on her face. “Thank you very much.”
    As the bells over the door jangled in farewell, Zuriel handed Babette the ball of twine, then put away the roll of brown paper. She chuckled as she dropped the twine back into the desk drawer. “Georgie will be thrilled to hear he made his first sale,” she said. She picked up the check and waved it in the air. “Maybe we should frame this for him.”
    â€œThat’d be nice.” Zuriel pulled the protective plastic back over the rows of paintings. “And every time he sees it, he’ll remember how God answered his prayers.”
    â€œHis prayers?” Babette said, glancing at the check in her hand. “For an entire ten—oh! Z, this check is for ten thousand dollars!”
    Zuriel felt his mortal heart pound in an odd double beat. Ten thousand? Was this the Lord’s provision . . . or a mistake?
    â€œIt can’t be,” Babette whispered, sinking onto a stool. Her face had gone pale, and the hand holding the check trembled. “He misunderstood. But I was honest, wasn’t I? I told him Georgie was the artist. I said Georgie was only a boy.”
    â€œAyuh, you did.” Zuriel moved to the French doors, not sure whether he should comfort Babette or chase Pierce Bedell. His orders had been simple: meet the man on the ferry, and escort him to the Graham Gallery. Nothing more specific than that.
    So . . . what did the Lord want him to do now?

    Babette sat motionless, the check in her hand, as wave after wave of shock slapped at her. Ten thousand dollars! Pierce Bedell was a fool—no, an angel! She couldn’t keep this—yes, she could—but she shouldn’t. Either the fellow had misunderstood, he didn’t know what he was doing, or he was a pretentious dilettante who wouldn’t know a Klimt from a Klump.
    â€œZuriel,” she whispered, her heart doing a strange little dance in her chest. “Run after him. No—I’ll go. I should go.”
    Her leaden feet reluctantly obeyed her command and carried her through the foyer, over the porch, and past the front gate. In the distance she could see the ferry, the man on the dock, even Captain Stroble’s blue coat. With any luck, she’d be able to catch Bedell and explain that he’d bought a child’s painting. With even greater luck, he’d laugh and say he’d done exactly what he intended to do.
    Fat chance.
    Bedell’s dark figure moved from the dock to the boat deck, and Babette hurried, the check fluttering in her fingers as the wind blew through the nap of her sweater. Now the captain was aboard, too, and soon the boat would be pulling away . . .
    She broke into a run at the intersection of Ferry and Main, then cried out as a shaggy shape