Angels Unaware

never seen one close up, and couldn’t say for sure how they walked. Or maybe, it was the railroad men who came to the inn for dinner, often staying overnight, that convinced the people of Galen of wrongdoing in the Willickers’ household.
Jewel liked the railroad men; she liked their inclination to enjoy the moment that maybe was the result of constant sojourning, and their ready acceptance of whosesoever’s company they found themselves in. I liked the railroad men because they were good for business. At ten, I’d decided that it would be best if we didn’t rely solely upon the justice’s money, and I made up my mind that the inn would be a profit-making venture. The trouble was that Galen wasn’t exactly known for its tourism. In fact, even if people had heard about us, it was unlikely they’d ever find the inn on their own. That’s where the railroad men were useful. They met weary travelers every day and had the opportunity to direct them wherever they wanted. After we started regularly having them for dinner, the railroad men began sending people to us. Though we never filled our rooms to capacity, the finances improved a little.
Matters would have improved still further if Jewel and I could have agreed on a management policy. Our typical guest consisted of some vagrant who had little or no money to pay for lodgings, and had, by some process that would forever remain a mystery to me, found his way to our door. Clearly, the poorest of persons possessed an incredible sense of direction because no rich man ever managed to include the inn on his travel agenda, not after Duncan anyway. Mostly, we accommodated men without jobs, pregnant girls without husbands, and dogs and cats whose ribs showed beneath mangy fur. That was how we came to get Old Sam. I was thirteen when Jolene brought him home, a flea-ridden bag of bones, ugly as sin, and with a big appetite. I was all for pushing him out the door and telling him to get, but they all whined and pleaded (Jewel the loudest) until I gave in. Of course, bathing the mutt fell to me. Jewel and my sisters were afraid his ticks would give them fever; and when the dog ate a rabbit the following day, and threw up his meal all over the carpet, I cleaned it up. Jewel and the girls protested that dog vomit was entirely too disgusting to deal with so soon after breakfast.
As much work and bother as Old Sam turned out to be, I preferred him over the two-legged guests who came through our doors. I’d curse and spit as Jewel led our penniless guests through the lobby with the full measure of her grace and charm, just as if they were millionaires. I’d mutter loudly that we barely had enough food to feed ourselves, in the hope they’d overhear and be shamed into leaving. But Jewel would just shush me, telling our visitors that I was bad-tempered, and they mustn’t take it to heart.
As I’ve said, but it bears repeating, I hated the hospitality profession with a passion and wished with all my heart and soul that a tornado would come and blow the inn right off the map. But it never happened. Every morning when I woke up, the decrepit building stood as it had the night before, demanding an endless number of increasingly wearisome tasks. On winter mornings, I’d get up early to bring coal up from the cellar to keep the stoves going, careful not to smother the embers. If the fire went out, I would have to start over, and the coal took forever to take the flame. I’d stand in the icy kitchen, freezing and cursing and wishing I’d catch pneumonia and die and be put out of my misery. Jolene was too little to do chores, and Caroline was of little help on account of her being prone to coughs and colds. Once the coal had caught, I’d start kneading the dough for breakfast bread. Jewel had a morbid fear of lighting ovens, ever since she’d singed her eyebrows trying to light a cigarette from one in fifth grade. She wasn’t one for chores either but preferred to descend the stairs just as coffee was being served and ask everyone if they had slept well. The hostess act—that, she did real well. After breakfast, there were dishes to be washed, rooms to be cleaned, wood to be carried, and always, always in winter, more coal to be shoveled in, so that—God forbid!—the fire didn’t die and I’d have to start all over again.
After my morning tasks, I sometimes went to school, when I felt I could not escape the duty. I liked to read—Jewel had given me the complete works of Shakespeare one Christmas—and I never had time to read in school, what with the teacher always talking and distracting me. I didn’t much care for my classmates, and they didn’t like me any better—perhaps because when I turned fourteen, my hair started to go gray. Kids whispered stories of graveyard curses, witch’s spells, and other nonsense. Many an eye was blackened for making fun of me or Jewel, and I was feared, if not liked.
When Caroline and Jolene started school, they fared better. Beauty covers a multitude of sins, and Caroline was so pretty that people were willing to forgive her for having Jewel for a mother and me for a sister. And Jolene had a winning way about her and could make people laugh, so they forgave her too. I always made sure that Caroline and Jolene attended school regular. I intended that they should both go to college someday, and as for me, when everybody was settled and everything was taken care of, then I’d leave Galen and live a fascinating life far, far away.
Jewel often talked to me as if we were the same age—perhaps due to my lack of friends, and