Angel of Greenwood

Angel’s father still slept as she and her mother prepped the kitchen for the Barney sisters’ arrival. While laying bright pink bows and barrettes across the cleared kitchen table, Angel saw the boy in her mind, lifting her father’s crutches high and slamming them down for no reason at all. He was the angriest boy she’d ever seen. Angrier than anyone should dare be with life in his lungs.
It hadn’t even been twelve hours since she’d watched the group of boys smash the crutches on the tracks. She’d saved up a month of helping her mother braid hair to afford them, and then spent another three weeks tinkering and repairing to make them perfect for her father.
Such a proud man, her father was. Before illness hit him, he reveled in the vigor of being born strong. When she was a small child, he’d throw her so far up into the air that she thought she was flying. Her mother would smack him on his purposely flexed upper arm, and he’d smack her right back on the rear end. Angel remembered covering her eyes for that, but what joy it brought her to witness such a love in her own home.
Then, like a slap, sickness made his strong body weak. He’d been in denial for a long time. Pushing away help and continuing to work as if he wasn’t unwell. Then, one day after church, he fell hard on the front stoop and bled more blood than Angel could imagine being inside of a body. After that, the decline was swift. He managed to keep his spirits up, right until he wasn’t able to walk on his own. After that, his smile never quite reached his eyes.
Angel had hoped those crutches would bring her father’s smile back. But the unhappy, skinny boy had smashed that hope in less than three minutes. Angel felt a tremble come over her.
“Baby?” her mother said before grabbing Angel’s shivering hands to her bosom. “What in the world are you thinking? You look like a fair ghost.”
Angel hadn’t said anything to her mother about the crutches. They were to be a gift to her, too. To see her beloved husband walk again would mean as much to her as it would have to him. Angel forced a grin onto her face. “It’s nothing, Mama,” she said. “Dreading those Barney sisters is all.”
Her mother released her hands and shook her head in agreement. “Yes, goodness,” she replied. “Those are some hollering girls. I would send you along, but please, baby, I can’t handle them without you. How about I raise your money up? I’ll give you a ten cents instead of five. How’s that sound?” A thin smile floated on the surface of her mother’s tired expression. “Sounds good, Mama,” Angel replied, wondering if her mother could see through her, too. It really did sound good, though. Maybe it would only take Angel a couple of weeks to save up for new crutches.
Suddenly, the three Barney sisters banged hard on the back-door screen and ran in like the kitchen was a playground. Something inside of Angel came alive when children were around. An ability to relate to them on their level in ways that adults could not. That’s why her mother couldn’t handle them without assistance. Angel was not great at braiding their hair, but she was wonderful at making them sit calmly.
“Sit yourselves down, girls!” Her mother yelled at a volume that accomplished nothing. “Right now! Sit! Sit! Sit! Lord have mercy, Jesus! Sit! Sit! Sit!”
“Mercy,” Angel said simply, and then she turned to the three sisters. “All right, girls. Ready for your surprise?” They replied with a chorus of yeses so sweet that even Angel’s mother tilted her head and beamed at them. cautiously. “This week…,” Angel said, reaching for the basket atop the high kitchen pantry, “a puppet show!”
The three young Barney sisters bounced on their heels and rubbed their hands together like there was nothing on earth better than hand-sewn puppets made of remnant cloth.
“Gimmee! Gimmee! Gimmee!” they said.
“You’ll have to sit in your seats, real, real quiet, each of you,” Angel told them coolly. “And only after you’re all done getting your hair braided.” Angel replaced the puppets in the out-of-reach basket. “Then they’ve got a snazzy show to put on, especially for you three. Agreed?”
The sisters scurried to their seats and waited quietly for their hair to be greased, parted, and braided. Angel’s mother stood in awe and watched her daughter work.
“Mama?” Angel said to her adoring mother. “It’s showtime.”