Dandelions in Paradise Page 15

"Now, the thing about angels, Sweetie," Sallie told me at the dinner table later that day, "is that it's hard to tell 'em from anyone else. By their nature, they just kinda blend in. Pass me the biscuits, will you, Sy?"

  She reached for the butter and kept talking. "Now up here, most folks, after they've been in eternity a spell or two, can spot 'em right off."

  "Spirit eyes," I said, and Silas smiled at me.

  "Right," Sallie said. "But it's a cultivated vision. Takes a while to develop perception. Well, that's true with anything, isn't it? Sy, quit hogging those peas."

  Silas handed Sallie the bowl of peas.

  "But the living can never see an angel?" I asked.

  "Oh, they can see an angel, just like they can see anyone else," Sallie said. "Only most times they don't know they're seeing an angel."

  "I wonder why that is," I asked.

  "Don't know, exactly," Sallie said. "What do you think, Sy?"

  "I think the liver's a little overdone," Silas complained.

  "I heard that sometimes people are angels and don't even know it," I said. "Any truth in that?"

  "Probably," grunted Silas.

  "But not for sure?" I asked.

  "I said 'probably,'" Silas said with an edge on his voice. "That means, yes, there may be some truth to it and no, I'm not certain if it's true or not. Probably."

  "Well," Sallie scooted her chair away from the table. "I've always thought it was like OJT."

  "How's that?" I asked.

  "On the job training," she said. "Or maybe it's a way of recruiting angels, I don't know. I'm afraid the angels as a group are pretty secretive about these things. There's a lot of speculation. But people, living and in eternity, do angel-like behaviors from time to time, lots of times don't even realize they're doing it. Maybe the angels are keeping a watch on those folks to see if they want to hire them. Ever thought of being an angel, Honey?"

  "Me?" I asked, then laughed, and Silas laughed. I thought his laughter was a little louder and longer than was polite, but I said nothing.

  "Sure, why not?" Sallie asked as she began clearing the table. "Why, I bet you'd make a lovely angel."

  "I don't think so," I said. But I smiled at the image.

  "Me, neither," chuckled Silas as he left the table. I heard the back door slam.

  I helped Sallie with the dishes, and after they were dried and put away we joined Silas in the back yard.

  "Hey!" Sallie exclaimed. "Look at that! The clocks are out!"

  "What clocks?" I asked. "And why is Silas sitting in the yard?"

  The little yellow dandelion blooms had been replaced by thin crystal globes.

  Sallie ran over to Silas and sat down next to him. She picked up a long stalk of a dandelion, held it a little above her face, tilted her head back, and blew against the fluffy globe head, and the seeds softly floated into the air. She blew several more times, then announced, "Well, according to this, it's only nine o'clock. What's yours say, Sy?"

  Silas huffed and puffed on a dandelion globe, and when he caught his breath, he said, "Ten. Hey, Newbie, you try it, see what time yours says."

  I hadn't blown dandelion globes since I was a child. I walked toward Sallie and Silas, sat down opposite them, and snatched up a dandelion a little hard. A couple seeds slipped into the air.

  "That counts as one," Silas said.

  "Does not," said Sallie. "Blow on it, Honey. Let's see what time it says."

  I blew on the globe twelve times. "Looks like noon," said Sallie.

  "Or one," said Silas.

  We stood up and walked around the yard, all of us picking stalks and blowing globes and counting. In the end, by our calculations, the time was somewhere between eight in the morning and five in the afternoon.

  "Not very accurate," I said, when most the globes in the yard were gone.

  "Time seldom is," said Silas. "Time is always arbitrary."

  "Besides," added Sallie, "It's not so important to know what time it is as it to know what to do with the time you have. What you do with your time," she smiled, "is how you define your existence."

  It was several days later when I received my jump box.

  Sallie and I were sitting on the porch breaking green beans. Silas came around the side of the house pulling a red wagon behind him. I asked him where he was headed, and he ignored me, just said he'd be home after while and for me stay out of trouble.

  "What kind of trouble can a person get into here in Paradise?" I called after him.

  "You'd be surprised!" he yelled back over his shoulder.

  "I haven't seen a Radio Flyer in years," I told Sallie. "And that one's hardly got any rust on it at all."

  "It's in good shape, that's a fact," she smiled. "Sy keeps it well oiled."

  "What's he doing with it?" I asked.

  "He didn't tell me. Just said he had to go to town, said something had come to the post office and he needed the wagon. Oh, my!" she looked up with a glint of excitement. "I wonder if it's that new wash bowl I ordered from the catalogue a couple months ago!"

  It was late in the day when Silas returned. I could see him in the distance, walking through the bluebonnets, tugging at the wagon behind him. Sallie was in the kitchen. I opened the screen door and called to her.

  "Silas is coming!"

  She was wiping her hands on her apron when she opened the door and looked across the field. "I wonder what it is?" She said. "Come on, let's go meet him," and she sprinted down the steps. I followed close behind her.

  Silas stopped as we approached and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. "Here, Newbie," he dropped the handle of the wagon. "You haul it the rest of the way." He winked at Sallie as he walked past her.

  Sallie and I stood by the wagon and looked down.

  "Oh, my goodness!" she squealed. "It's your jump box!"

  "My junk box?" I asked.

  "No," she laughed. "Your jump box. Come on, I'll help you pull!"

  Silas was waiting for us on the porch, sitting in the rocking chair. He had a large grin on his face, and as we came near the house, he got up and walked toward us. "Here," he reached for the handle. "I'll pack it up to the porch."

  He picked the wood box up by its two brass handles, heaved and groaned in exaggeration. Sallie grabbed the little table by the wicker chair and scooted it toward him, and he set the box gently on the table. "My goodness, Newbie, what did you pack in this thing!"

  "Oh, quit," Sallie said. "It's not that heavy. No heavier than yours, that's for sure."

  Silas laughed and stepped back, leaning with his elbow against the post by the steps. Sallie pulled the rocking chair closer to the box, and folded her hands excitedly. I just stood looking at the box with a quizzical stare.

  "So," I said. "What's a jump box?"

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN