Helen Humphreys Three-Book Bundle Read Free Page A

Phelan, sir,” says Annie, bowing her head. She has said her name so often this day that it is finally starting to feel as though it does belong to her.
    “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Annie Phelan.” Eldon bows his head as well, and smiles. “But don’t let me hold you up. The genius doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” He nods his head again. “Good day.” And then he continues walking the path to the house.
    Annie stands outside the henhouse. Through the glass she can see the murky shape of Isabelle, floating around like a dark, underwater bird.
    Angel
    Over the grey, stone wall the apple trees make a puzzle of the sky.
    Where does God go to if he can’t stay here?
    When Annie enters the glasshouse she sees a large wooden box on stick legs at the far end. Isabelle is in front of the box, bending over a small child lying on a bench. The bench is covered in black cloth and black cloth is also hung from the ceiling to create a curtain against the end wall. Another child stands listlessly off to one side of the box. He is naked. The child lying on the bench has a white sheet draped over him.
    “Ma’am,” says Annie, but no one hears her. She advances into the room. Sunlight makes bright flowers on the stone floor. She can hear muffled birdsong from outside. “Ma’am,” she says again, and this time Isabelle turns around.
    “Thank God,” she says, with such relief in her voice that Annie looks behind her to make sure that there isn’t someone else in the room whom Isabelle is addressing.
    Isabelle takes the goose wings from Annie and gives them to the standing, naked boy. “Now, Tobias, put these on. Quickly, please.” The boy looks at the wings scornfully and slowly starts to thread an arm through the leather straps.
    “They’re on loan,” says Isabelle to Annie. “My cousin’s children. Silly little beggars,” she says, under her breath, just loud enough for Annie to hear. “There.” She looks at Annie in triumph. “I’ve made you smile. I didn’t think you knew how. Oh, Tobias, pick it up.” The standing, naked child has dropped one of the wings and is fumbling around trying to grab ahold of it with his feathery arm. Isabelle goes to help him. Annie watches them. The Lady doesn’t seem so fearsome here. Her movements are tamer. The light flooding through the glass roof softens the whole scene. Annie feels almost as if she could cup her hands around it and contain it safely there, the gentle push of its heart against her fingers. Beat, it doesn’t beat, it drops. It falls to earth, slowly, like a word after it’s been said.
    Dearly beloved
    “Now, Tobias, come and lean over Alfred and look mournful.” Isabelle moves behind the box on sticks and looks through a hole in it. The standing, naked boy obediently moves closer to his brother and slumps over Alfred.
    “You don’t need to smother him,” cautions Isabelle.
    Tobias looks at her with contempt in his eyes. “I am the Angel of Death,” he says.
    “But Alfred is already dead,” says Isabelle. “You don’t need to kill him again. You are only supposed to guide him out of his mortal self.”
    “His what?” says Tobias. Alfred’s arm suddenly drops over the side of the bench and hits the floor.
    “Oh, wake him up.” Isabelle steps back from the box and rubs her forehead. “Infidels,” she says to Annie. “Disaster.”
    Annie notices, again, the blackness of Isabelle’s hands. “Silver nitrate,” says Isabelle. “It dyes them black. Permanently.” She waves them under Annie’s nose. “Blacker than yours after cleaning the grates, aren’t they?” Annie feels she is being challenged somehow, that there is something cruel in Isabelle’s voice. She looks away, looks at the scene coming undone on the bench.
    “Ma’am, why do you have an angel and yet you don’t have prayers?”
    “Ah.” Isabelle glances briefly over at Tobias and Alfred, who are wrestling. “Stop that,” she says to them. “Symbolism,” she