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touched a computer. They had never been to a movie or an amusement park. They had never been allowed to browse at the library—Miranda left them at home with Timothy in charge and selected their books herself—and that high-handed censorship was the clincher.
    “All right.” Jack resisted the urge to indulge in some salty language about his sister-in-law. “That’s very … interesting. I’d like to know how—”
    “Michael, Gabriel, you need a bath,” Timothy said. “Go. Get the water started.”
    The archangels bolted. Timothy stalked after them, muttering that theyneeded supervision, although it wasn’t likely. The only bathroom was downstairs, practically in the living room.
    “The clean towels are in the laundry basket,” Rebekah called.
    She returned her attention to Jack. Her gaze was clear and direct, like he remembered her mother’s. That was years ago, though, and he might have modified the memory to suit himself.
    “Why did Mother pick you to be our guardian?” Rebekah asked.
    That question, again. “Who did you expect her to choose?”
    “I never thought about it.” Rebekah frowned. “Do you even know her?”
    Jack weighed how much to tell. Rebekah was an extraordinarily capable young lady for ten, but it wasn’t likely that she knew much about real life.
    “Okay, here’s the story,” he said. “Your grandpa’s first wife was Celia, your dad’s mom. When your dad was a little boy, your grandpa left them. He divorced Celia and married a woman named Eleanor. My mother.” Jack took a breath and skipped his mother’s fate. “My father died when I was in my twenties. After some years passed, I wanted more family than I had, so I stopped by to meet your dad.”
    “You’d never even met him?”
    “Never, and I thought it was high time. He wasn’t home, but I introduced myself to your mom. We sat on the porch and talked. Timothy was about three, and you were about a year old. You thought you were queen of the world because you’d learned to walk, but you wore yourself out and fell asleep in your mom’s lap.”
    Rebekah smiled toward the window that overlooked the porch. “Then what happened?”
    “We swapped phone numbers and planned to get together again. It was like finding a ready-made brother and sister-in-law for me, a brother-in-law for her. When your dad came home, though, he wasn’t too pleased to meet me.”
    She met his eyes again. “How could you tell?”
    “Well … he said I shouldn’t come back. So that was the end of it.” Except for the letters Jack had written, for years. Wasted effort, all of them.
    “That still doesn’t explain why she picked you.”
    “You’re right. It doesn’t.”
    “When she’s feeling better, we can ask her.”
    “Yes, we can. Meanwhile, I located her attorney this afternoon, and he gave me the name of a reliable woman who can stay with y’all tomorrow while I run to Chattanooga. Mrs. Walker. Yvonne Walker. Do you know her?”
    “No.”
    Of course not.
    One of the boys shrieked angry words. Rebekah excused herself. Jack stayed put, having no desire to involve himself in the bath melee, but he heard everything.
    “Get clean all over,” Timothy ordered. “All over, Gabriel! Wash your ears.”
    Timothy was wound way too tight, but he’d had a terrible day. Apparently it had started with finding his mom at the bottom of the cliffs.
    How had he known to search for her, though, so early in the morning? The unanswered questions kept piling up.
    Rebekah’s voice ran through her brothers’ wrangling like a calm undercurrent in a tumultuous stream. After a few minutes, water gurgled down the drain. Timothy and Rebekah returned to the living room. Her dress was sprinkled with bath water, but he’d stayed dry.
    The archangels followed, wearing damp skivvies and smelling like citrusy shampoo. They hadn’t wasted much time in drying themselves, and their young limbs were shiny with water. Michael ran up the stairs while Gabriel