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.
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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