Earth Angels by Bobby Hutchinson

wandering the back roads at night if he’s ill?” Belinda tried to sound chastened, but the effort failed.
    “I have no idea, but then, neither do you, Belinda.” Emma’s tone was scathing. “Do you?”
    Belinda’s face turned as red as her hair, and she hastily paid for her purchases and scurried out the door.
    Probably never to return, Emma fumed. She was losing customers at a rapid rate, and all because of Joseph. “This is ridiculous,” she said out loud.
    Olaf and Quincy were rooting through the nail barrels. She knew they’d been listening with avid interest to what she and Belinda had been saying.
    “I’m closing the store,” she announced.
    They both turned and stared at her.
    “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to come back another time,” she told them.
    “You can’t close the store in the middle of the day,” Olaf grumbled.
    She ignored him. “I have an errand to run.’
    It was time someone did something other than gossip about Joseph. Someone had to try and shake him out of his isolation and despair—and she was the one to do it, she decided with grim determination. She knew all about despair, thanks to him. She’d had more than her share since their breakup. And the days hadn’t grown any easier. If anything, she missed him more instead of less as time went by.
    “It’s fixin ta storm right smart out there, missy,” Quincy remarked, thumping his collection of nails down on the counter and reaching in his pants pocket for the dime to pay her. “Wind’s gettin’ up. It might hail. Seen ‘em come down the size of goose eggs when there’s clouds like those.”
    She ushered the muttering old men out the door and locked it. She turned her sign around. Rain was beginning to pelt against the windows by the time she threw her apron off and grabbed first the shawl that Joseph had given her, and then her sturdy woolen cape.
    The wind whirled her clothing around her when she dashed out the door, and the driving rain half-blinded her as she ran down the street, past the barbershop where Olaf and Quincy were watching from the window.
    Go ahead and stare, she raged silently. Go ahead and gossip, too. It’s going to take more than words or insults or hail or even a damned locked door to keep me out of Doctor Joseph Gillespie’s house this time.
    She was out of breath by the time she reached Joseph’s house. She ran up the front stairs. The wind had blown her hair loose from its knot and it hung around her shoulders, soaked from the rain. She thrust it back and hammered on the door. All the shades were drawn and the house looked as if no one lived there.
    “Joseph,” she shouted. “I know you’re in there. Now open this door or so help me, I’ll break it down.”
    No answer.
    “Fine, then, I’ll break it down,” she muttered, going back down the steps.
    Around the corner of the house she found a long, stout stick. She picked it up in both hands and went back up the steps. Taking a deep breath, she lifted it high and smashed the window that formed the top half of the office door.
    The glass shattered, and with trembling hands she reached inside and undid the hook that secured the door.
    “Joseph?” The house had a stale, musty smell. She went through the office and down the hall to the kitchen, calling his name. The stove was unlit and a neat stack of dirty dishes stood on a counter. There was no sign of him, and the silence was so complete she became frightened.
    “Joseph.” Her voice echoed as she ran down the corridor and up the stairs. The bedroom doors were open except for one—his. She burst through, terrified now at what she would find.
    The room was dark and stuffy, the curtains drawn, the windows closed. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and at first all she could see was his form on the bed.
    “Joseph, what on earth is the matter with you?” She moved to the window and drew the curtains aside, shoving the window up to let in fresh air. Rain came pelting in and the