BROWNIE: An Angel's Visit Read online

  B R O W N I E

  By

  Linda Stanley Dalton

  BROWNIE

  Copyright © 2015 Linda Stanley Dalton

  This novel is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, dialogue, and plot are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, companies, or events is purely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, or by any information storage system and retrieval system—except for brief quotations for the purpose of review, without written permission of the author.

  Cover design: Linda Stanley Dalton

  Contact author at [email protected]

  DEDICATION

  ♥ For my son, Jack Dalton, for all of his love and support. You are the greatest gift God gave me. Your faith in me, in my ability has helped me more than you may ever know.

  All my love, Mom♥

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior, without whom I would not have endured.

  To my friend Gamin Davis, thank you for helping to point out and correct my grammatical faux pas, and constructive suggestions.

  A special thank you to all my Facebook friends who saw me through my “crazy times.” You are the best!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 1

  Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvation? Hebrews 1:14

  Charlie Petersen braced his stiffened back with his hands, grimacing against the pain that seemed to worsen with each passing day; arthritis, most likely, he supposed. A new shipment of toys sat in taped, brown boxes on the aged hardwood floor of his storage room, waiting to be opened and put away.

  Charlie owned Saint Charles Toy Shoppe located in historic downtown Brannan’s Point, Ohio, and was hopeful that this Christmas season would continue to be better than those of the past few years. Sales were higher than last year, leaving him guardedly optimistic about the season. It was tough competing with the big-box chain stores, something he realistically couldn’t do, nor did he attempt to. Charlie was one of the quaint, picturesque city’s native sons, one of many who were born in Brannan’s Point and never found a reason to move away; he had known many in the community his entire life. Despite the competition, he was still turning a modest profit. He knew that was due to loyal friends and neighbors who continued to shop in his store.

  Charlie closed his eyes for a moment. His birthday was rapidly approaching--he would turn fifty-two on Christmas Day. His toy store, along with running a voice repair service for vintage, mute Chatty Cathy dolls and restoring other classic toys was the only work he knew. It paid his bills, but almost every waking hour was spent in service to his business needs. The local folks knew and trusted him, and his recent venture into both buying and selling some items online brought in a little extra cash to help pad his budget.

  Consequently, he seldom took a vacation, and responsibility for his store rested solely upon him. A friend from church ran the place for him last summer when he went on a cruise to the Bahamas, the first vacation he had taken in five years. He loved what he did and while he was grateful that he was able to make a living at it, it didn’t give him much free time.

  Charlie opened his eyes and sighed at the “ting-a-ling” of the bells hanging on the front door of the store. “Be right there,” he called out as he stretched his aching muscles and stiffly made his way out to the storefront. “Can I help you?”

  Charlie was certain he had heard the sound of the bells, yet he didn’t see anyone in the store. He came out from behind the large glass display case and counter that was as old as he was, thinking perhaps a child had come in and was too short to be seen from where Charlie stood.

  “Strange,” he muttered as his deeply green eyes narrowed and he fingered his dark mustache. Frowning, he adjusted the visor of the Cincinnati Bengals cap he wore, and noticed a large golden teddy bear sitting on the highly polished wooden floor.

  “Hey there, little guy. Where did you come from?” Charlie asked, as he picked it up. Its fur was soft and fluffy, and smelled as if it had just been unpacked from of a new carton of stuffed toys. He definitely appeared to be new, with a crisp, bright red ribbon tied into a bow around its neck. Charlie smiled as he looked into its unusual green pinwheel eyes. Holding the toy gave Charlie a warm, peaceful sensation. “Well, I guess you belong to me now, and I’ll be happy to find you a good home.” Charlie sat the bear on the counter. “In the meantime, I think I’ll call you ‘Brownie’,” he decided. “Mind the store for me, Brownie. Will you?” Then he went back into the storage room to unload the boxes.

  ***

  Doctor Martin “Bernie” Bernstein sighed in the silence of his lonely home, procrastinating as he stood at the top of the stairs that led to the basement of the home he and Isabel had shared for nearly thirty years. Procrastination was something he did rather well, and not surprisingly, going through the belongings of his late, beloved wife was not a task he particularly relished doing. He had managed to put it off for nearly two years by convincing himself that it didn’t matter to anyone except him, and that he was not at all concerned about a few leftover possessions Isabel had left behind. It wasn’t like she needed them for anything.

  Funny, but he could almost see Isabel smiling whimsically at him; hear the sound of her gentle voice once more in his mind. He pictured her soft, green eyes mirroring the deep love and affection she had always shown him: Come on, Bernie, and just get it over with. You’ll feel better once it’s done. Quit stalling now; it’s not going to get any easier.

  “It’s time, Bernie,” he said with solemn resolve as he began to descend the stairs. He felt strangely nervous and aware that his pulse had begun to race. He admitted to himself that he had been living in a strange form of denial over his wife’s death, and as he made his way down the stairs, he acknowledged that she was gone and accepted that not dealing with her belongings would not bring her back. His beloved Isabel was dead and, he hoped, in the Heaven she believed in, with her savior, Jesus.

  At the bottom of the stairs, everything in the well-lit basement looked exactly the same as it always had, and unlike Bernie, relatively untouched by Isabel’s passing. His seldom-used tools were neatly arranged on his workbench. The almond-colored matching washer and dryer sat, waiting for him to do his laundry. A half-full, pale blue plastic laundry basket sat on the floor by the door to the dryer. He told himself he would do some wash later; he needed to accomplish the task at hand before he changed his mind and went back upstairs.

  “Now, where did I put that box?” Bernie asked aloud, talking to himself as he scratched absently at his head. A fringe of gray had replaced the full head of thick, jet-black hair Isabel had loved to playfully run her hands through during their courtship. His fingers now touched bare scalp instead of hair, a painful reminder of how bald he had become.

  Deter
mined to get on with it, he moved toward the wooden shelves where Isabel had stored her craft projects when he spotted the purple plastic storage bin in which he had haphazardly deposited some of his wife’s things after her death. While he had donated her clothes and other personal items to Goodwill, this particular box still troubled him. He supposed, in a way, that it was his last link to the love of his life, the woman he knew he would never see again.

  “Let’s go, Bernie,” he encouraged himself and pulled the rectangular opaque storage bin from its resting place on the bottom shelf. He was determined to give the teddy bear to a lonely young patient named Angela Cole. “Angela spends too much time alone in that hospital room. I know she will love the teddy bear. There’s simply no reason for a perfectly good stuffed animal to rot in this box for eternity when it could keep a lonely child company. Isabel would agree; I know she would.”

  Bernie was surprised that the container felt much lighter now than when he had first put it on the shelf. It held the items Isabel had left behind at the hospital: her Bible, her address book, her robe, nightgown and slippers. There was also the large, golden teddy bear that an intern had found on a chair in Isabel’s hospital room, as if it had been guarding her. Bernie had never seen it before, and no one knew where it came from.

  “What on earth!” Bernie gasped as he opened the container and found that the stuffed bear was gone. Everything he had put into the box was there except the mysterious stuffed bear. Bernie shook his head. “I know I put it in here!” Frantically, he moved things around inside the box as if the stuffed toy was somehow hiding from him within the open space. “Nuts!”

  ***

  Doctor Jeb Hastings heard his stomach rumble as the elevator doors opened into the hospital’s cafeteria, and the aroma of lasagna, the daily special, greeted him. Jeb, a pediatric oncologist at Brannan’s Point Pediatric Hospital, was meeting his wife for lunch. His hazel eyes scanned the busy cafeteria as he searched for his petite, auburn-haired wife who was a supervising oncology nurse at the same hospital. Her name was Kendall, but everyone called her Kenni. Finally, he spotted her familiar, bright purple scrubs featuring a background of multicolored smiling cats and kittens. She waved at him from a table near the windows, attracting his attention. He smiled at the sight of her and quickened his pace in her direction. Kenni never failed to make his heart beat a little quicker whenever he saw her.

  “I got you a salad,” Kenni said, pointing to the bowl across from her at their table. “You said you want to start eating healthier so I figured I’d help you out.” She smiled. “We don’t want the best pediatric oncologist in the state of Ohio to develop a paunch.”

  “That would never do! Thanks, Love.” Jeb leaned over and planted a kiss on his wife’s waiting lips before he sat down at the table. He looked admiringly across the table at her, marveling at her flawless complexion, the slightly turned up nose, and into the endless depths of her bright blue eyes. They had been married a decade and were expecting their first child.

  “How was your morning?” Jeb asked as he sprinkled some garlic powder on his salad and then drowned it in his favorite Ranch dressing while his wife looked at him with a disapproving frown he pretended not to notice. Salads were okay; he could take them or leave them and felt if he was going to eat one, he may as well have it his way.

  Kenni shrugged her slight shoulders. She was barely five-foot-three with a petite build. “As busy as always, but something sort of weird happened a little while ago.”

  Jeb raised one eyebrow at his wife’s comment. “You mean something beyond the ‘ordinary’ weird we know and love?” he asked and realized she seemed troubled about something. “What’s up, Kenni?”

  Kenni took a sip of raspberry flavored iced tea as she stared into the inviting depths of her husband’s hazel eyes. He had strong, handsome features—definitely not a man anyone would refer to as “pretty” with a ruggedly sculpted jaw, his chin strong and cleft. Jeb’s hands were always warm, with long, slender fingers a concert pianist would envy.

  “Not really wrong,” she replied, “it’s just sort of strange. I’ve had three ‘thank you’ notes this week from parents.”

  “Your staff does a great job with the kids. It’s about time someone acknowledged what you guys do. That should be normal, not weird.”

  The usual sparkle in her eyes dimmed. “These were ‘thank you’ notes for little white, stuffed teddy bears found among the items they brought home with them.”

  “When did we start doing that?” Jeb asked, after munching on a forkful of spinach. “I think it’s a very sweet idea, but I must’ve missed the memo on that one.”

  As department head, Kenni had always been notified of even the smallest details concerning her group. “That’s just it; we’re not!”

  “Could it be that it’s the Ladies Auxiliary sending things home when the kids are released?” Jeb asked. There had to be a logical explanation, even if he didn’t know what it was. His mother was a long time member of the Auxiliary and her nimble, experienced hands that time had decorated with knotty purple veins from aging and years of knitting and quilting, were always busily crafting something or other to be given away to the children. “I’ll call Mom later and ask her if it was one of their projects, I’m sure she would know. It sounds like something Mom would do, don’t you think?”

  “I’m sure she would, but Honey, these aren’t children who were released,” Kenni said, frowning. “These were children who didn’t make it. Their things made it home without them.”

  Jeb’s eyes widened as he pondered his wife’s statement. “I would think that if Mom’s group was doing it, she would have said something. Who else can we think of who could be so thoughtful as to do something like this?”

  She had already asked herself the very same question. “I have no idea!” Kenni sighed. “I asked Penny Aims if the Auxiliary had any special projects going on and she said that they are struggling just to do their regular Christmas project this year due to a shortage in cash and donations, so I doubt it was them. Unfortunately, your mother and her friends are footing the bills for their projects.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s a lovely gesture on someone’s part. From the notes I’ve read, it touched these poor hearts to think someone cared enough to do something so kind and sweet for them. Whoever it is must want to remain anonymous.”

  “Kenni, maybe someone just wanted to do something nice for some grieving parents. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like teddy bears; even Doctor Bernstein has a fondness for them! Remember the one he kept in his office for weeks after Isabel died?” He reached across the table and held her hand. “Have you mentioned this to anyone else?”

  “The notes were addressed to me personally and they stunned me. You’re the only one I’ve mentioned it to. I didn’t tell Penny why I was asking about the Auxiliary.”

  Jeb smiled. “I can think of far worse things than teddy bears being given anonymously to hurting parents. Having a Good Samaritan on our hands isn’t such a horrible thing, is it?”

  “Not at all.” Kenni smiled. “I just wonder who it is!”

  ***

  Doctor Bernstein was still puzzled over the missing bear as he loaded the washing machine with dirty clothes. He had searched through the bin containing Isabel’s things, discarding everything but her address book and Bible; not that the book meant much to him. Bernie was a non-practicing Jew who was no longer sure he believed in anyone’s God.

  Over the years they had debated about Jesus and the Christian teachings of the church his wife attended. She even tried to get him interested in a fellowship of Messianic Jews—Jews who accepted Jesus as the Messiah—after they had spoken at her church, but he would have no part of it, and considered it a contradiction to his heritage. His people did not believe Messiah had come in the person of a Galilean carpenter, and that the awaited One the Old Testament prophesied of had yet to arrive. No, Messiah would be a king, not a simple carpenter from humble beginnings.

  As
for Bernie, he didn’t put much stock in faith or religion, and viewed it through a more cynical eye with each passing year. As the Chief of Pediatric Oncology, he knew children who never recovered on an almost daily basis. While it was true that there were children who made miraculous recoveries, the scientist in him refused to believe it was anything more than sound medical intervention. It was what he knew and he saw no reason to change his perspective.

  Losing Isabel hurt more than Bernie had ever conceived possible. Even though two years had passed, he woke up most mornings briefly forgetting that he was alone; the heart-wrenching task of facing Isabel’s death met him every day when he opened his eyes and looked longingly at the cold, empty space beside him.

  They had one child, a son named Seth, but Bernie had no clue as to his whereabouts. They’d lost touch with him several years earlier over a foolish but intense argument, the subject of which he could no longer specifically recall. Bernie had made a few inquiries of some of his son’s old friends who still lived in town, but they either wouldn’t or couldn’t—he wasn’t sure which—tell him anything.

  If God is so just, he wondered, why has He taken away the only person who ever meant anything to me?

  ***

  Angela Cole sat alone in her hospital room in the oncology wing. At the tender age of eight, she was forced to realize that she might have to move to Heaven one day. Her mother had told her she was very ill and sometimes the doctors and nurses smiled too much. Her grandmother had taught her the words to the song Jesus Loves Me, and if she had to leave for Heaven, she decided that living with God’s Son would not be so bad. Heaven sounded like a nice place but she would miss her family and her cat, and hoped she wouldn’t have to move there before she grew up, at least a little bit.

  The sun illuminated Angela’s short blonde curls as she watched people walking to and from cars in the parking lot outside her window. At one time her hair fell down her back in a long cascade of natural spiral curls. It had grown back after her last bout with chemotherapy, but she missed having long “princess hair.” To make her feel better, her mother had cut her own hair short. Angela wondered now if her Mommy’s hair cut had affected her ability to smile and laugh. Grandma had taught her the Bible story of Samson and Delilah, and how Samson had lost all his strength when Delilah cut off his hair. She couldn’t help but wonder if Mommy’s shorter hair had somehow stolen her smile.