Island Angels

Brittany's Angel

To the lighthouse they went, but Grotto and Brittany stayed behind. "No kids on this mission!" Bill ordered. "No telling who or what we'll find."

An angry Grotto overturned lobster traps and tangled rope nets on the Madonna Jo. From the pier, Brittany stared out to sea—foaming waves, screeching gulls, a ship's outline on the horizon.

A vile monster, this ocean is, she thought. How dare it swallow my mom and sister!

Brittany remembered her red-headed bus angel. She had met many "angels" in Maine—Miss Maggie, Jenny, Jasper, Brianna. All had helped, but none had saved her.

Rarely had Mom taken her girls to church, but Brittany knew about God. He appeared on channel 41 at 3 p.m. Preacher Rhonda sold magic prayer clothes for $200. If you submitted a credit card number, God would answer prayer. Rhonda helped the poor folks.

"Sweet precious Jesus," the child recited, "I sit in your holy temple, and lay upon the altar this sacred"—

A sudden wind shook the pier. She opened her eyes, then looked at the water. Floating at the pier's edge was a mangy, disfigured object, made of plastic and matted thread. A broken net, she thought.

But it wasn't fishing gear. Brittany picked it up and felt...

Tiffany!

"Thanks for saving my doll," a familiar voice said. "I must have dropped her getting off the ferry."

Brittany turned with a jerk. The woman's hair was not red, but she certainly qualified as an angel.

"Delaina!" Brittany sprinted ashore and flung herself into the beautician's arms.

"I can't believe that all this has happened! If only it hadn't taken two days to drive out here. And the ferry service!"

"Did Alfred row you across?"

"Let's just say, I washed ashore in a remote place." She stroked the child's hair. "You've let yourself go. Still got those scissors?"

They crossed the beach, into the shadow of the lighthouse.

"I always knew you were an angel," Brittany said. "But how did you know where to find us?"

"There was a phone call. Actually, three."

"Was it a French girl?"

"Never mind who." Delaina took her hand. "First matters first. I need to see my grandmother, Opal Mildred."

Flip-flopped feet pounded behind them. "Brittany, you can't leave!" Grotto yelled. "Dad and Bill said we have to wait till they've caught the bad guy."

"Why do you care about rules, when you've trashed your dad's lobster boat?" Brittany smirked. "This is my friend, Delaina. We go everywhere together."

"Stranger danger," he scoffed.

"Delaina, this is Grotto," she explained. "He plays at Opal Mildred's house. Never mind the beard. He's human."

Delaina flashed him a lipsticked smile. "A friend of Granny's!"

"How could that witch be your grandma?" Brittany asked.

"Granny is no witch," Delaina said. "She's a retired librarian and an amazing cook. Maybe she'll offer you strawberry apple pie."

Strawberry apple. Brittany tasted bile as she remembered. Delaina and the witch couldn't be related.