Millie

At last, the children slept. I sat down at the kitchen table. I may have closed my eyes.

The kingdom of Heaven is at hand. Who had spoken? 

 Black sky, rain lashing the house. I ran to close the window. The catalpa tree no more than ten feet away. A bolt of lightning blinded me. A tremendous wind. When I woke, I was lying against the back door, my body limp as a rag doll. What force could have thrown me that far? The storm had passed, the sky washed blue. The air was completely still.

 My first thought was for the children. I went to their room, saw them sleeping. That was when I heard the angels. Whispering, but their words were clear. My body shook. Like the shepherds in the Bible, I was afraid.

Death. Then: Child.

 Which child? My hands trembled as I placed my hand on each little forehead. 

Once more, those terrible words. Death. Child. 

Tell me, I said. Or was it my pounding heart that spoke?

These things are not for you to know. 

Their wings rustled. As silently as they had arrived, they were gone. 

Time stopped. I thought, I must never fall asleep. I will not let the children die. 

 The tree was still standing. A white storm of blossoms on the ground. Their fragrance powerful and unearthly. Sweet. Hypnotic. 

A long gash in the trunk. I thought of Christ on the cross, the wound in his side. It weeps every spring, when the catalpa blooms. The gash weeps. And I am afraid.