Mildred

Mildred Anderson arrived at the Jefferson County Women's Shelter fifteen minutes early, as was her habit for any appointment that mattered. At seventy-eight, she’d finally accepted the fact that she needed a little more time just to get out of the car. Today, however, her early arrival had less to do with old age and more to do with the strange sense of urgency that had been building in her chest. Change was in the air.

She sat in her car for a moment, staring at the large nineteenth century farm house that had become such an important part of her life since her move to Pomroy. It didn't look like much with an old weathered clapboard exterior and unremarkable lawn, but Mildred knew that behind those walls, miracles happened daily. Women found safety. Children learned to sleep without fear. Lives were rebuilt from nothing.

She made her way slowly up the front stairs and rang the bell. The door buzzed open.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Anderson," called Theresa from behind the reception desk. At forty-five, Theresa managed the shelter with a combination of fierce protectiveness and gentle compassion that Mildred admired. "You're early, as usual."

"Better early than flustered." Mildred settled into one of the waiting area chairs. "Is anyone else here?"

"Dr. Martinez is in the conference room setting up his presentation. The others should arrive shortly." Theresa paused in her filing. "Are you feeling alright? You look a little flushed."

Mildred considered the question. For the past month, her psychic antenna had been up. Colors seemed more vivid, conversations carried deeper meaning, and her dreams had taken on a prophetic quality that both intrigued and unsettled her. This morning, she’d bolted awake with the absolute certainty that today's board meeting would be a doozy.

"I'm fine, dear. Perhaps just a touch tired."

"Well, don't let Dr. Martinez bore you to sleep with his budget projections," Theresa said with a conspiratorial smile. "Though I suppose that's what board meetings are for."

“Yes. I’ve been anticipating a bored meeting all day.”

Theresa laughed out loud as she headed back to the office.

Other board members began trickling in: Margaret Henley, the retired banker who kept their finances in order; Father Michael from St. Catherine's, who provided spiritual counseling and community outreach; Dr. Patricia Wells, who donated medical services; and David Patterson, the attorney who handled legal advocacy. Mildred had served alongside these dedicated individuals for years, but today she found herself studying their faces, looking for a cause for her unease.

"Shall we begin?" Dr. Martinez called as the last member took his seat around the conference table. As board president, he ran efficient meetings that respected everyone's time—a quality Mildred appreciated.

The first thirty minutes proceeded predictably: financial reports, occupancy statistics, maintenance issues. Mildred found her attention drifting to the window that overlooked the shelter's small parking area. Something was nagging at her consciousness, some piece of information hovering just beyond her grasp.

"Our biggest challenge continues to be consistent funding for basic necessities," Theresa was explaining. "We're always running short on household items, children's clothing, personal care products. The state allocation covers shelter operations, but these smaller needs..."

"What about private donations?" Margaret asked, pen poised over her notebook.

"We do receive some wonderful contributions from the community," Theresa replied, “but they’re inconsistent.” Then her face brightened. "Except for our amgel who shows up every Monday with a car full of donations. She usually has exactly what we need at the moment. It's the strangest thing."

Mildred's attention snapped back to the conversation with sudden intensity. "Oh, right. I remember you mentioning her before. A lot of our thank-you letters mention her. Every Monday, you said?"

"Like clockwork. Usually around mid-morning. She brings everything organized by type—children's clothes, clean and folded, household items in perfect working order, toiletries that haven't even been opened." Theresa shook her head in amazement. "She never comes inside. Just unloads everything and goes along her way."

Father Michael leaned forward with interest. "You know her?"

"Oh yes, her name’s Marybeth. The staff all call her our angel. Brown hair, drives a jeep, very quiet. She's been coming for maybe two years now. We meet her out in the driveway and help her unload. She exchanges a little small talk then is gone."

Mildred felt something shift inside her chest—not quite a physical sensation, more like a tuning fork struck somewhere in her soul. "Years, you said?"

"At least two. Maybe longer. The consistency is remarkable. Nearly every Monday, rain or shine, holiday or not." Theresa paused, noticing the intense attention her words had captured. "Why? Do any of you know her?"

The board members exchanged glances and shook their heads. Mildred remained silent, but her mind was racing. Something about this mysterious Angel called to her with an urgency she couldn't explain. It felt important—not just interesting, but something more.

"Perhaps we should try harder to identify this person," Dr. Martinez suggested. "Proper recognition, maybe a volunteer appreciation event."

"I've tried," Theresa laughed. "But she's like a ghost. There one minute, gone the next. I think she deliberately lays low."

"All the more reason to make the effort," Father Michael said. "Someone giving so generously deserves our gratitude."

"I could help with that," Mildred heard herself saying before she'd consciously decided to speak. The words seemed to come from somewhere deeper than thought. "I have some free time on Mondays. Perhaps I could volunteer."

Theresa's face lit up. "That would be wonderful! We could always use help with intake processing. The weekends are usually busy for new residents. And if you happened to be here when our Angel arrives..."

"Exactly." Mildred felt that strange certainty settling over her again. This was why she was here. This was what her intuition had been trying to tell her. "When can I start?"

"Next Monday, if you'd like. I could give you a tour this week, show you our procedures."

"Perfect." Mildred made a note in her day planner. She was still old school in that regard. She wasn’t going to trust her life activities to a computer, or worse, a phone.  

The meeting continued for another hour, covering routine business and upcoming events. But Mildred's attention kept drifting back to the mysterious Monday Angel. Why did the thought of this unknown woman fill her with such anticipation?

As the meeting adjourned, Theresa approached her. "I'm so pleased you're interested in volunteering more directly, Mrs. Anderson. The hands-on work is really where you see the impact we're making."

"I'm looking forward to it," Mildred replied and realized she meant it more than she'd meant anything in months. "Would Thursday afternoon work for that tour?"

"Absolutely. Say, two o'clock?"

"I'll be here."

Driving home, Mildred found herself taking the long way, past the shops and through the residential neighborhoods where many of the shelter's clients eventually found new homes. For the first time in weeks, the strange urgency in her chest felt less like anxiety and more like anticipation.

At a red light, she glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. Her reflection looked the same as always—silver hair neatly styled, blue eyes still sharp despite her age, the kind of face that suggested competence and reliability.

"What are you up to, Mildred?" she asked her reflection softly.

The light changed, and she drove on, leaving the question unanswered. But as she turned into the driveway of her restored Victorian home, she could have sworn she heard her late husband's voice whisper on the wind: "Something wonderful, Popcorn. Something wonderful."

Alfred was the only one who had ever called her Popcorn, on account of her always popping with surprises. He'd been gone twelve years now, but sometimes—especially lately—she could feel his presence, as if he were waiting for her somewhere just out of sight.

Once inside, she made herself a cup of tea and sat in her favorite chair by the window, looking out over the common. Who knew there could be so many different colors of green? Artists, she supposed. The manicured lawn was dotted with trimmed shrubbery and small colorful blooms.  Two war memorials and a fountain pulled together an image of an idyllic small town.

She opened her calendar and filled in the Thursday tour with Theresa that she had agreed to on the way out the door. She added a note – Plan strategy. Meet Angel.

***

The next morning, Mildred took her coffee up to the sunroom for the usual routine that started her day. Her tarot deck lay spread before her on the small round table, its worn edges a testament to decades of use. She took a moment to enjoy the morning sun shining through the tall stained-glass windows, casting jeweled patterns across the walls and floor.

She'd fallen in love with the house eighteen years ago, drawn by its exquisite Victorian detail. Different tiers of gingerbread shingles ribboned the exterior of the house. Lace cornices decorated the eves and porch pillars. She especially loved the small circular tower rising one floor above the rest of the house. Its history was long and storied, starting out as a summer home of a wealthy Philadelphia shipping magnate, then an inn, then a boarding house, then an orphanage. It had fallen into disrepair after a succession of owners who were unprepared for the tasks needed to renovate it. Her husband, Albert, had bought it for her for her 60th birthday. They spent the next five years renovating it with the help of her two sons, when they could, and a team of preservationists.

Today, her usual daily practice felt different.

"What is it you're trying to tell me?" she whispered to the deck in her hands as she closed her eyes to focus inward.

She fanned the cards, face down on the table, then selected three. The first card made her breath catch: Death. Not the literal death that frightened most people, but the card of transformation, endings that led to new beginnings. It suggested that something in her life was already concluding, making way for what was to come.

The next card revealed The High Priestess—intuition, inner knowing, the veil between worlds growing thin. Mildred nodded, recognizing her own heightened awareness reflected in the card's imagery. She was being called to trust her instincts, to listen to the voice that whispered guidance from just beyond conscious thought.

The last card made her sit back. It was The Two of Cups. Love, partnership, the meeting of souls. She stared at the image of a man and woman facing each other, cups raised in communion, and felt a deep certainty that this card was not meant for her. At seventy-eight, her own romantic chapter had closed with Albert’s death. This card was about someone else—someone she was meant to help bring together.

"Josh," she whispered. Her son's name carried on the air like a prayer. “And an angel.”

Her older son, Rich, had established a nice, stable life with a wife and three kids living in upstate New York. But Josh had had a harder time finding the joy of a life partner.

As if summoned by her thoughts, her phone chimed with an incoming video call. Josh's face appeared on the screen. He was handsome in the quiet way of thoughtful men, but she could see the loneliness that had settled around him since Jan had come and gone from his life.

"Hi, Mom," he said, settling back in what she recognized as his home office chair. Behind him, she could see the neat shelves lined with magazines and journals that hosted his published articles and the framed cover of his children's book.

"How was your day?" he asked.

"Enlightening," she replied, quickly picking up the cards as if she’d been caught at something. “How are things in Connecticut?"

"Quiet. I'm working on a piece about sustainable farming practices, nothing too exciting." He paused, studying her face through the screen. "You look different somehow. More... energetic?"

Mildred smiled. What he didn’t say was that he saw her aura, energy field, and suspected something was up. He had never felt fully comfortable with his gift and mostly pretended he didn’t have it.

“I’ve taken on some additional volunteer work at the women's shelter. It's giving me new purpose."

"That's great, Mom. You've always been happiest when you're helping others." Josh's expression grew thoughtful. "I've been thinking about coming for a visit soon. It feels like it's been too long since we’ve spent time together."

"I'd love that," Mildred said. "You can work on my honey-do list while you’re here."

They chatted for another few minutes about his work, her garden, and the steamy summer weather. But beneath the comfortable conversation, she kept drifting to the cards she’d drawn minutes earlier, particularly that Two of Cups.

She closed her eyes and let her consciousness drift, the way her grandmother had taught her years ago when her spiritual gifts had first begun to manifest. Images flickered behind her eyelids: Josh arriving in Pomroy under difficult circumstances, a woman with kind eyes and wounded heart, each keeping their distance from each other.

"He's going to need help," she murmured to the empty room. "They both are."

***

Thursday afternoon arrived with a comfortable dry wind blowing gently across the common. It made the walk from her car to the door of Jefferson County Women's Shelter more manageable than before. Or was it just a spring in her step? She was early, carrying a small notebook and wearing comfortable shoes. She'd learned long ago that any meaningful work required both documentation and the ability to stand for extended periods.

Theresa met her at the front entrance, her face bright with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested she genuinely loved her work. "Mrs. Anderson! Perfect timing. Are you ready for the grand tour?"

"Please, call me Mildred. And yes, I'm very ready."

As they walked through the front door, Mildred was immediately struck by the atmosphere of the place. The original hardwood floors, although well-worn, gave the place an earthy feeling. You could almost hear the giggles of a hundred years’ worth of children that must have run over them. There was evidence of the current children as well, their artwork decorating the walls of the comfortable reception area.

"We have seven bedrooms that each hold a parent and up to three children. Families bigger than that we transport to the shelter in Greenville,” Theresa explained as they walked down the main hallway. "Some stay for a few days while making safety plans, others might be with us for several weeks while transitioning to permanent housing."

They passed a large kitchen where two women were preparing lunch, their quiet conversation punctuated by the sounds of chopping. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, releasing a savory scent into the hallway. One looked up as they passed, offering a shy smile that Mildred returned with a gentle nod.

"That's Maria and Sandra," Theresa said softly once they were out of earshot. "Maria arrived three weeks ago with her two children. Sandra's been here about ten days. They've become a wonderful support for each other."

The bedrooms were small but clean, with a twin bed for mom and bunk beds for children. Additional furnishings included a dresser and a small table and chairs. What struck Mildred most powerfully was how personal each space could become in such a short time. Children's drawings were taped to walls, family photographs sat on dressers, and she glimpsed handmade crafts that spoke of the human need to create beauty even in the midst of trauma.

"I don’t know how you do it, Theresa. So much hardship everywhere." Mildred said quietly as they moved through the halls.

Theresa paused, considering the question with the seriousness it deserved. "Because I don’t see that, not directly. I see the healing. I see women discover their own strength. I see children learn to laugh again."

They continued to a common area where a children's storytime circle sat at the foot of large bay windows. Just outside, a small playground had been created with donated equipment. Through the window, Mildred could see several youngsters playing under the supervision of an adult, their voices carrying the universal sounds of childhood.

"The children break my heart and heal it at the same time," Theresa admitted. "They're so resilient."

In the shared administrative area, Theresa showed Mildred the desk where she would be working on Monday. It was positioned near a window that offered a clear view of the parking area—perfect for her unofficial mission of meeting the mysterious Angel.

"Your primary tasks will be intake processing and recording donations," Theresa explained, pulling out a three-ring binder filled with forms and procedures. "We need to document everything that comes in. We’re partly government-funded, the paperwork is endless.  We also use it to send thank you notes and identify trends, plan for lean times, that sort of thing."

Mildred nodded, flipping through the pages. The system was thorough but not complicated. "And the Angel you mentioned? She typically arrives on Monday mornings?"

"Usually between ten and eleven. She brings just what we need. You’ll see."

"Perhaps she has a connection here? Someone who tells her what's needed?"

Theresa shook her head. "That's what I thought initially, but I've asked around. None of the staff know who she is, and she never comes inside to see what we might be short on. It's like she just... knows."

They spent another hour going over procedures and meeting staff members and residents. Mildred was impressed by the dedication she saw in everyone from the counselors to the maintenance worker who proudly showed her the vegetable garden he'd helped the residents create behind the building.

“They’re cutting up vegetables right now that came out of here,” he bragged.

"One more thing," Theresa said as they concluded the tour. "Monday can be our busiest day for new admissions. Weekends are often when domestic situations escalate, so Monday morning we sometimes have several families arriving within hours of each other. Don't be surprised if it feels chaotic."

"I raised two sons and managed a household during my husband's worst struggles with PTSD from the war," Mildred replied. "I'm familiar with organized chaos."

Theresa's expression softened with understanding. "Your husband served?"

"Korea. He came home... different. It took us years to find our way to each other again." Mildred surprised herself with the admission. She rarely spoke about those difficult early years of her marriage, when Albert's nightmares and suspicions had nearly destroyed their family.

"I'm sorry. That must have been incredibly difficult."

"It was. But it also taught me that healing is possible, even when it seems impossible. Love can survive almost anything."

They arrived back at the front door. "Thank you for this, Theresa. It’s quite an operation. I hope I can measure up."

"You already measure up by your service on the board. We’re glad to have a member even walk through the place. It helps bridge the gap between policy and practice."

That evening, she sat in her sunroom with a cup of tea and her journal, recording her impressions of the day. She pulled a single card from her tarot deck, asking for guidance about Monday's upcoming encounter. The card that appeared was Seven of Penticles—a figure studying his vineyard, waiting for the grapes to be just right for harvest.

“Great,” she said to the card. “Patience, perseverance, and the reaping of rewards from hard work. I was hoping to avoid the hard work part.”

As she prepared for bed, Mildred paused at the window that looked out over the town common. Somewhere among the lights scattered across Pomroy lived a woman who spent her Mondays bringing hope to strangers. In three days, their paths would cross, and something new would begin.

***

Mildred woke before her alarm, her body humming with anticipation. She'd dreamed of Albert again—not the broken young man who'd returned from Korea, but the healed version he'd become in their later years together. In the dream, he'd simply smiled at her and said, "Today’s the day, Popcorn."

She arrived at the shelter at 8:30, wanting to settle into her new role before the Angel made her appearance. Theresa greeted her with coffee and a warm smile.

"Ready for your first official day? As I said, Mondays can be unpredictable."

"I'm as ready as anyone can be for the unknown," Mildred replied, accepting the coffee gratefully. The institutional blend was stronger than what she made at home, but she suspected she'd need the extra caffeine.

"The weekend was relatively quiet," Theresa explained as they reviewed the files. "Only one new admission—a young woman named Lisa with a six-year-old daughter. They're upstairs in room three if you need to know for any reason."

At 9:15, a buzzer sounded in the office and throughout the house.

“That’s our security system,” Theresa explained. “It lets us know when there’s a car in the driveway. The families all know the safety protocol if it’s their abuser coming looking for them.”

Mildred watched through her window as a battered sedan pulled into the parking lot. A woman in her thirties emerged, holding the hand of a small girl clutching a stuffed rabbit. Even from a distance, she could see the exhaustion in the woman's posture, the way she looked around nervously before approaching the building.

"That'll be Jennifer," Theresa said, looking over Mildred's shoulder. "She called yesterday, said she was ready to leave her situation. She said she had to wait for her boyfriend to leave for work. It always takes tremendous courage to make that first step."

As the morning progressed, Mildred found herself absorbed in the administrative work. There was something satisfying about bringing order to the chaos. After preparing the barest of admission forms - one of the social workers would fill in the rest - she turned her attention to organizing the donations.  But she tried not to wander far from the window as part of her attention remained fixed on the parking area, watching for a jeep that might herald the Angel's arrival.

Mildred was in the back of the storage closet when she heard the sound of the security buzzer.

“Shit,” she mumbled. She tried as quickly as she could to get her 78-year-old body turned around and moving. She heard Theresa call out to the women.

“The angel is here. Let’s help her get unloaded.”

She heard those who were available head down the hallway and out the front door.

“Shit, again,” she mumbled as she stepped over piles of clothes she had left on the floor awaiting sorting.  

By the time she got back to the office window, the jeep was unloaded and women were bringing in the boxes and bags that were today’s offering. The Angel lingered for a moment chatting with Theresa, then hopped into her jeep and drove away.

“Damn,” Mildred said under her breath as she took out her notebook and noted the time - 10:20 AM - Angel arrives in dark green jeep. She was fast. Couldn’t have been more than three minutes turnaround time and that included the chit chat.

"Did you see her?" Theresa asked, appearing at Mildred's desk with evident excitement.

"I did indeed." Mildred set her pen down and looked at the notes she'd taken. "Tell me, what did she bring today?"

“As expected, clothes just the right size for Jennifer's daughter, a coffee maker to replace the one that broke in the kitchen yesterday. Personal care items for our new residents. And children's books, which we're always short on." Theresa shook her head in amazement.

Mildred felt that familiar tingle of spiritual recognition. "What does the Angel talk about out there?"

"She’s very polite but doesn't engage in much conversation. Just casual chitchat. She never wants a receipt or anything. Never asks about the residents. But she sure does light up when some of the children go out to help."

“I wonder where all these things come from?” Mildred pondered out loud.

“She told me once that she has a secondhand shop and she goes to the yard sales all the time. While she’s there she just picks up stuff for us. Weird, right?”

“Indeed.”

The rest of the morning passed quietly. Mildred processed the Angel's donations, noting that the clothes were all in good condition, clean and neatly folded. The coffee maker was still in its box.

***

 Back home, Mildred headed to her tower sunroom as usual. She had just sat down and pulled cards when her computer jingled downstairs.

“Oh! Josh.” She hurried down to her office where a video call waited her attention. She quickly clicked the green phone button.

“Hello dear,” she said as Josh’s face took over her screen. “I almost forgot you were calling.”

“Is it still a good time? I can call back later.”

“No, no,” she assured him.  “You’ll be surprised to know I just got home from work.”

“Ah-ha. Your first official day at the shelter?”

“Yes. It was quite interesting. They have a lovely woman they call the Angel. I might have mentioned it to you before.”

“Yes, I think you have. She brings lots of stuff to the house.”

“Right. I’ve never met her but today I saw her drop off her offerings and as predicted, she had just the right things.”

“Well, you look great so I’m glad you’re getting out of the house.”

“Yes,” Mildred mused before changing the subject. “How are things going? Did you finish that article you were working on?”

“Yup. Finished, edited and published in the November issue of Life As We Know It,” Josh replied.

“Great. Congratulations. I haven’t heard of that magazine before. Is that a new one for you?” she asked.

“Yes. I came across it at one of the local bookstores recently. It leans toward the spiritual side of life.”

“Wonderful. I’ll have to pick it up.” She enjoyed reading his articles, no matter what the content. “Now you can work on your next book.”

“Yes, Mom,” he said. Josh let out a sigh at this familiar conversation. “Books take a lot of work you know,” he pointed out.

“I know. But that’s not why you don’t write one.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Have you met any interesting women?” was the next question. Again, a familiar conversation between them.

“No, Mom. Have you?” he replied jokingly.

“It wouldn’t matter if I did. You’d find some reason to eliminate her before you even called her. Nonetheless,” she went on, “the cards yesterday said you are going to meet a new interest, the Two of Cups, a lovely card about soul mates.”

“Anything’s possible,” he said. “But right now, nothing’s cooking and I don’t know that I’m up for a relationship right now anyway. I’ll keep my eyes open, though.”  

“As will I,” she said with a grin. 

She didn’t tell him about the Death card. No need to worry him.

Her phone rang from her purse that she had left in the foyer. “Sorry,” she said. “I have to get that. It might be the shelter.” As she got up, Josh saw her stumble. He heard her hit the floor with a sickening thud. 

“Mom?! Mom?!” he yelled frantically into the computer.