Rev. O'Bryan's parish was in upper New York. Woods, plains, and mountains that made up most of the region surrounded it. The landscape was beautiful with the trees coming into bloom and the scattered color of wildflowers. It always amazed Angelique that a state known for its nightlife, museums, and Broadway shows had an even wilder side. Land that was so untamed and breathtakingly beautiful, you just knew it was a piece of heaven on earth.

She traveled the maze of country roads, breathing in deep the country air. She was close. The tiny church would be around the next bend. As she turned, Saint stuck his head out of the passenger window and began barking. Angelique gave him a pat. 

"I want to see him too. Hold on. We're almost there." Saint wiggled with excitement as she ruffled the dog's fur.

Angelique made her own parking spot in front of the church. The once-mighty parish had seen better days, but in Angelique's eyes, it was perfect, the only home she'd ever known. So much had changed since that fateful day John brought here her. She may not know where she came from, but who she is started here at St. Joe's.

Angelique slid out of her tiny red Beetle and absorbed her surroundings. She breathed in the smell of pine. There was a cool breeze at her back and the sun warmed her face as she stretched her tired body. Saint waited patiently to be released and gave a short bark as a reminder. Angelique jogged around to the passenger side. 

"Sorry boy, I didn't forget you." Angelique looked toward the church as she opened the door to let Saint loose. 

Built mostly of wood in a Gothic Revival style, it stood two stories high with a small steeple, adorned with a cast-iron cross. A carpenter's masterpiece, it was befittingly named St. Joseph the Worker.

Exceptional stained glass windows graced the sides and front of the building, so artistically done they had been compared to those designed by Louis Comfort Tiffany. She didn't have to step through the double oak doors to picture the carved wooden pews or the more intricately carved altar. She couldn't count the number of times she walked across the mosaic floors that were illuminated by the beautifully crafted leaded-glass chandeliers. This was home and she knew it well.

Separated by a small driveway was a rather plain stone building used by the Reverend for housing. Angelique smiled at the man who suddenly appeared on the porch of the rectory. Just seeing that smiling face was enough to send her running, to throw her arms around the plump figure.

Reverend O'Bryan returned the embrace and then took Angelique's arms from around his neck. He held her aloft to get a better look. "So how is my Angel?" 

The sudden smile that lighted Angelique's face was now going dim. He tilted her chin to look into her eyes, shaking his head saying, "Whatever am I to do with you, child?"

A small grin graced Angelique's lips as she shook her head in resignation. He looked upon her with concern as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her indoors. He ushered her into the communal dining room. 

"Have a seat while I go see what we have for lunch," he said, entering the adjoining kitchen.

He poked his head into the refrigerator to see what Agnes, his cook and housekeeper, may have made to tickle his fancy. Spotting some turnovers on the kitchen counter, he shut the door and moseyed on over. He would never lose the weight his doctor wanted with how that woman cooked. Of course, his strict diet would be more successful if he told her about it, but he knew there was time enough for that later.

"I thought I heard barking. Is Saint with you?" 

Just as he reached for the pastries, Saint came charging in the dog door, almost knocking the poor man off his feet. He precariously tried to balance the plate of turnovers in his hand as Saint ran circles around him. Finally, one toppled off of its perch and landed on the floor and Saint settled on top of his feet, enjoying his dessert.

"The Lord is right again." Her father chuckled. 

"How's that?" Angelique inquired.

Pointing down at Saint, he answered, "Ask and you shall receive." 

Shaking her head at his silliness, Angelique said wistfully, "If only it were that easy."

Brows drawn in concern, Rev. O'Bryan took the plate of pastries over to the table along with a pitcher of milk and two glasses. "Oh, but it is," he said, setting them down between them. "You have only to believe, Angel."

"I believe. Really, I do, but sometimes things go beyond God's intervention," Angelique told him, refusing to meet him eye to eye as she toyed with the cross around her neck.

"I don't see how, but why don't you tell me about it?" he asked her reassuringly, pouring some milk into her glass.

Angelique took a bite of her apple turnover. "These are great! Mrs. Duncan has outdone herself."

"Agnes is a never-dry well of miracles. Now, do you think you could stop chewing long enough to tell me what miracle it is that you need to be performed?" 

Angelique sighed as she pulled the folded letter from the pocket of her pastel flannel shirt. She slid it across the highly polished table as she took a sip of milk.

Rev. O'Bryan unfolded the letter, absently, as he focused his attention on his charge.

The boys first brought Angelique to him when she was just sixteen or at least that's what he had guessed her age to be for she had no home, no family, no history to which he could decipher that for sure.

Even when he had brought her to the police, to see if someone had reported her missing, nothing turned up. They tried everything from matching fingerprints, to dental x-rays, but it all resulted in one dead end after another.

He flat out refused to turn her over to a foster home and adopted her despite all the opposition from his ministry. Angelique was a joy to raise. She truly tried to live up to her name, always doing God's work. 

Looking across the table at the woman he now saw before him, Rev. O'Bryan realized she really hasn't changed. She was still God's angel of mercy.

When she first came to him, Angelique wouldn't talk to anyone, but often he would hear her talking aloud in her room when she was alone. As he slowly broke down the barriers between them, he asked her to whom was she was talking. Angelique answered plainly, "I am talking with my angel."

At first, Rev. O'Bryan was concerned. Why had she made up an angel to talk to? She was a teenager and entirely too old for imaginary friends? Soon as he enrolled her in high school, Angelique stopped talking about her angel. 

Considering it a phase, a reaction to the obvious trauma she suffered, he decided not to bring the subject up again. However, as he read the letter in his hands, he could not help thinking that if ever there was a time Angelique needed her angel, it was now. 

It was worse than she'd thought. Angelique bit her lip, reading the facial expressions that played across her father's features while he read the letter. She was feeling more lost by the second. She continued to play with the cross she wore. Mrs. Duncan had given it to her on the anniversary of when she was first discovered.

It so happened that same day coincided with her Christening. Her father insisted on this, wanting her to feel welcome and a genuine part of his family. Mrs. Duncan cried when Angelique had chosen Agnes as her middle name. 

At a small celebration they held for her, she gave her a beautifully wrapped box, shiny red with a white ribbon trimmed in gold thread. It was just small enough to fit in her palm. Angelique could hardly contain her excitement as she carefully untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.

Inside was the lovely gold cross she now wore, with a diamond chip inlaid in the middle and the name Agnes engraved on the back. With trembling fingers, she gently and reverently took the cross from the box and her father placed it around her neck, where it has remained till this day. She never takes it off. Such a token of generosity and love she often holds on to it for the strength she knows she will find there.

Her father reached out and stilled her hand. He tried to give her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. According to the letter, she was being sued for back payments on the shelter. He already knew Angel's financial situation. She was relying heavily on the funding that was to come from the government. But he heard of the recent cutbacks.

"Stop fidgeting, Angel. Certainly, it's not as bad as it seems." 

Trying to return his smile to no avail, she thought to explain but ceased speaking when she heard footsteps on the staircase behind her. 

"So what's for breakfast?" Michael asked cheerily, as he slightly stumbled down the stairs at half past noon. 

Rev. O'Bryan shot him an exasperated look and said, "Maybe if you got up in time for breakfast you could have found out."

Angelique turned in her chair to look at the boyish face, soon to be Minister, she knew so well.

"Don't blame me. It was the kids' idea to have a lock-in and raise money by having people sponsor them to stay up all night."

"Yes, I know. Don't get me started, Michael. I saw firsthand what a bunch of teens can do to a once clean auditorium when they decide to stay up all night. How do you think I spent my morning?"

Looking slightly paler than usual, Michael grimaced saying, "Yeah, sorry about that. I was hoping to be up earlier and have the total mess gone before you got there."

The Reverend shook his head. "Well, don't worry, you'll still get your chance because I left it exactly how I saw it at six-thirty this morning."

Sighing deeply, it wasn't until he almost tripped over Angelique's chair that he noticed there was someone else in the room. "Oh! I'm sorry. How rude of me. I didn't realize we had a visitor."

Angelique smiled up at him. "Since when have I ever qualified as a visitor? This was my home long before it was yours, I'll have you know."

"Angelgirl, I hardly recognized you. You cut your hair," Michael said, leaning over to give Angelique a hug. "You look great. What brings you to old St. Joe's?"

"I was just running some errands and dropped by to say, hi," Angelique told him.

At the sound of Michael's voice, Saint came out of the kitchen to investigate. He sat down next to Rev. O'Bryan and after a short while gave an indignant bark at not being noticed.

"Hello Buddy," Michael leaned over to pet the affectionate dog behind the ear. "I still can't seem to call you Saint? That is what you always call him, isn't it, Angel? Saint Buddy. Odd name for a Saint, if you ask me. Boy, John was pretty heartbroken when Buddy decided he belonged to you and wouldn't come home with us anymore."

"If my memory serves, I wasn't the only one who did some heartbreaking," Angelique said, wishing she hadn't the moment the words left her lips.

"Yeah... well... I think I'll go rustle up some breakfast...lunch... in the kitchen. Hell has no fury like a woman scorned," Michael said, ducking into the fridge and pulling out a couple of sandwiches.

"Well, that was ages ago," Angelique said, unconvincingly. "Water under the bridge or is it turn the other cheek here at St. Joe's?"

"I believe turn the other cheek works best, but I don't wish to test our generous pastor's patience, so I am off to the auditorium. I bid thee adieu, my fair lady. Until we meet again." Bowing out the kitchen door, a sandwich in each hand, Michael left them to pick up where they had left off.

Laughing at his dramatic exit, Angelique turned back to her father, and the laughter died at the stern look on his face. "What? What have I done now?"

"Since when have you taken up blatant lying, Angel?"

Fidgeting with her cross again, Angelique answered, "Since Michael's brother was assigned to the case against the shelter." 

Scratching lightly at his now greying beard, Rev. O'Bryan tried to absorb the shock of Angelique's statement quickly, for not wanting to upset her further. Reaching out to take her small hand in his, he searched for the words he knew she needed to hear from him, but could only look at her sympathetically knowing this was going to be the toughest challenge she has ever faced.

Sighing heavily, he patted her hand in a comforting gesture and stood up from the table to take their plates away, unable to bear seeing the pain that was in her eyes. After a brief span of silence, he asked her the question she'd been avoiding since she'd seen John again.

"Do you still love him, Angel?" he cautiously asked while placing the dishes in the sink and filling the kettle for tea.

Angelique suddenly felt exhausted. She rubbed her eyes to relieve the tired ache, knowing full well that the ache did not begin or end with her eyes. "Dad," Angelique said, half sounding like a plea, "please don't ask me to answer such a question. I can't. I have to stay focused. To examine how I feel about John will only distract me from the task at hand. If I seriously gave it thought, that's exactly what Caldwell had in mind by assigning him to the case."

Calwell, Berkeley, and Klein, of course, her father admonished himself. He should have remembered the name. "But Angel, you'll need to confront John on his territory now," he tried to reason with her. "You'll have to think of the emotional ramifications it will inevitably have on you."

"When have you ever known me to be concerned with myself? You know the children are all I care about. If they close St. Gabriel's they will have nowhere to go. Calwell, Berkeley, and Klein have been infiltrating our neighborhood more and more each year. They've made me an offer to buy us out. But the very idea of it, ...it's just... these children's lives are non-negotiable."

"Well," her father said, "I guess then what we need to do is to come up with a plan. Is all your paperwork in order?"

"Yes, but my lawyer is on vacation. They won't have a substitute sent out until Monday morning."

"Are you sure it wouldn't be wise to get Michael involved? He is John's brother. Maybe he could make him see reason?"

"No, Dad, you know how much Michael loves those children. He devotes every Sunday after services here to teach Sunday School there. And the children love him too. Besides, I think his older brother has hurt Michael enough. He cast Michael aside the moment he chose to serve God instead of the almighty dollar that John seems so fond of," Angelique told him as she began pacing the floor. "Even if John, by some miracle, chose not to pursue this case, they would only assign it to someone else, so the shelter would still be in danger."

"You can't keep it from him forever, Angel," he forewarned.

"I know, but that will just be one more worry on my already full plate. I'll just have to cross that bridge when I come to it. I was hoping it wasn't as bad as I thought, but it's worse, isn't it?" 

Rev. O'Bryan wanted so much to shelter and protect her, but he could only offer her the truth. "I am afraid so sweetheart. I'm afraid so."