In the distance, I heard the clack of wheels on the rails and the poignant wail of the train whistle. The Rescue Express was nearing the station. Clearly Wiggins would soon be dispatching earthbound travelers or welcoming home those whose journeys were done.
I was shot through with a hot flash of sheer envy.
Oh dear. How small-spirited of me. Certainly I was delighted that others had found favor in Wiggins’s eyes and been dispatched for adventure…Scratch that thought. Adventure was never the goal of a well-behaved emissary. Certainly I wasn’t seeking fun and thrills.
Well, maybe a little bit.
Okay, okay, I loved excitement, and whether Wiggins wanted to admit it or not, being dispatched to earth to help someone in dire need was a grand adventure.
If Wiggins was aware of my unworthy feelings, surely he understood I was only revealing the depths of my desire to be helpful.
I filled my mind with a vision of the parchment roll and the Precepts and mounted the station steps two at a time. It was only as I was passing into the station that I realized I was still in a blouse and shorts. Fortunately, a new wardrobe occurs in an instant of thought.
By the time Wiggins looked up from his desk, I was in a drab black jacket dress with white trim on the jacket and plain black leather shoes. My hair was subdued in a chignon with only a few unruly red curls. I affected a reserved expression.
Wiggins rose at once, a look of surprise on his florid round face. He was just as I remembered, stiff black cap riding high on reddish-brown hair, bristly eyebrows, spaniel-sweet brown eyes, thick muttonchop sideburns, walrus mustache, crisp white shirt, suspenders, gray flannel trousers, and shiny bootblacked shoes.
“Bailey Ruth.” Big hands enveloped mine in a warm grip. Suddenly he frowned. “You look different.”
Was he remembering the lavender velour pantsuit I’d enjoyed on my previous earthly adven-mission? If I were fortunate enough to serve on earth again, I could find out about the latest fashions and enjoy them. I was confident that pleasure in beauty, whether of nature or couture, was God-given. At this moment, I was determined to appear studious and contemplative, a role model of an emissary, the sort who popped to earth, worked unobtrusively, and left without notice.
Unlike my previous experience in Adelaide.
I gave a cool smile. “It’s the new me. I’ve been studying Zen.”
“Oh?” He blinked in surprise.
“The better to serve as an emissary.” I remembered not to even hint at the word
“Zen.” He raised a brushy eyebrow.
“Zen.” I tried to sound authoritative.
“Zen?” His tone invited elucidation.
“Zen. Meditating on paradoxes.” I dredged that from a long-ago memory of my son Rob’s Zen phase when he was in college.
“Indeed.” His smile was kind. “Does that assist you in remaining in the moment?”
He might as well have been speaking Greek. If he had been speaking Greek, I would have understood. In Heaven we all understand each other whether we speak Cherokee, Yiddish, or Mandarin. Or Greek.
Zen in any tongue was beyond my grasp. It was manifestly unfair that Wiggins, who’d departed the earth long before I, had obviously been attending Zen classes in Heaven.
“I don’t know a thing about Zen.” In admitting defeat, I hoped to demonstrate my core honesty.
His smile was huge. “Oh, Bailey Ruth, you always manage to surprise me.”
I blinked back a tear. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t do things by the book.” I meant “by the parchment roll,” but he understood. “Is that why you haven’t summoned me for a new adven-mission?”
Wiggins tugged at his mustache, then gestured to a bench beside his desk. He settled into his chair, and after a quick glance through the bay window at the tracks he faced me, his genial face perplexed. “You have been in my thoughts.”
Was this good? I was determined to believe so. I beamed at him. “I’m glad. Perhaps my coming here today was meant to be.” I leaned forward. “Clearly there’s a problem on earth that I can solve.” That put the ball in his court. Hopefully my can-do attitude was attractive.
Instead of an answering smile, he looked thoughtful. “You do have a special qualification.”
Better and better. “Whatever the project requires, I am ready.”
“Undoubtedly you have a qualification.” His tone was reluctant, as if an admission wrung under duress. “However, you lack the calm and reserve of a Heavenly emissary. You are”—he ticked off the offenses one by one —“inquisitive, impulsive, rash—”
I completed the litany. “—forthright and daring.”
We looked at each other, I with fading hope, Wiggins sorrowfully.
I was tempted to change back into a blouse and shorts and waft to Bobby Mac and the
His florid face relaxed into warmth and delight. “Bailey Ruth, you always loved Christmas.”
