tide

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steel in that angel’s face. No armored soul, in that soft body wearing a robe.
Uncertainly, their eyes moved away from Gretchen and settled on the strange creature lying next to her. Also in a robe. And what was this?
* * *
It was the youngest of them who first understood. Little Johann, not five years old, his instincts still unencumbered by the memory of ogres. That large, round, friendly face—nestled cheek to cheek against the woman who had raised and sheltered them all—could be one thing only.
“Papa!” he squealed. “Papa! Papa!”
A moment later, he was scrambling onto the bed. A small tide of children followed.
Papa was back, sure enough. Right where he was supposed to be. Within seconds, Jeff and Gretchen were half-buried under happy children.
Little Johann, being the first, rightfully claimed pride of place. Like an eel, he wriggled himself between them. It took him not more than a minute to find the newest family treasure. Jeff’s big, soft, warm feet.
“Papa,” he murmured. Johann’s eyes closed contentedly. Winter was no longer something to fear. Not with Papa’s feet to keep him warm.


Chapter 32

Hans watched the angels of death for several minutes before he spoke. He was puzzled by the difference between them. It was not the fact that one was male and one female. It was simply that Hans had always thought of angels as being . . . ageless. So why should one of them resemble a young woman, and the other a gray-haired man?
Their hair seemed strange, too.
But he was not frightened. He knew they were angels i

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