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prophet Moses. He grew up to lead the children of Israel out of Egypt.”
    “I know all that,” Bright said. “My mother read that to me all the time when I was little.”
    “The Pharaoh’s daughter was named Bithiah,” the angel said again.
    Bright pulled the animal up short. The goat continued on until it reached the end of its lead and came to a stop in the middle of the road. “I said I know all that,” he said, exasperated.
    “Her name is there in the Bible. Bithiah. You could look it up.”
    Bright scuffed the macadam with the sole of his boot and turned to look back down the street. Margaret was ushering the children into the big black auto. “Now you’re just trying to make me mad,” he said. “You know that it
ain’t
her name we’re arguing about. And,” he added, “I
couldn’t
look up her name if I wanted to, because you made me go and tear up the Bible to start the fire, remember?” He leaned toward the horse, waving his arm toward the wall of smoke. “Maybe you don’t remember this, but my wife
just
died! Rachel? The one you liked so much? The one who gave you apples and corn?” His eyes were watering, and he spit to clear the catch from his voice. “You told me she was gonna be safe!” He gave the lead a jerk and got the animal moving again. It plodded stubbornly along behind him.
    “The girl’s many children need a father, Henry Bright.When she approaches, you will tell her of the Future King of Heaven. The words will be put into your mouth.”
    Bright turned and saw the big black auto rolling slowly toward them on its way down the street. The car stopped a few yards away and waited for Bright and his animals to move out of its path.
    “Do it now,” the angel commanded. “The child must be fed. He must be taken in by a woman and cared for. He will surely die otherwise …”
    For a moment the horse looked down its nose at the driver and the driver looked across the leather steering wheel and back at the horse. Bright wavered and then left his animals blocking the road and went to bend down level with Margaret’s face in the back passenger window.
    “I mean to say thank you for your treating Henry so good back there in the store.”
    The children were up on their knees in the wide backseat, giggling at the funny-looking horse and goat in the middle of the street.
    She smiled. “Are you going to name him Henry?”
    “I guess I am.” She squinted at him against the sunlight, his mouth hanging part ways open as he waited for the words the angel had promised would be given to him. Then he closed it and turned to glare at the horse, but the animal seemed oblivious to his discomfort and continued staring down its nose at the car and its driver.
    “Henry needs a mother,” Bright said. “He … He’s … an important child,” he said. “He’s to be important. I think.”
    He paused painfully again, and waited for any kind of help at all from the angel. “I’m a good man,” he said. “Your children need a father.”
    He pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger and closed his eyes briefly in tribute to his own frustration.“I mean,” he said, opening them again and speaking more slowly, “I believe … that you and I … that maybe you and I could …” When the words didn’t come he thrust a hand into his pocket, pulling out his mother’s ancient ivory comb. He offered it to the girl through the car’s window. “I’m sorry if this don’t make much sense. My wife died two days ago.”
    Margaret turned in her seat to look at the children. They were watching the strange man and his animals in rapt fascination, as if a single sound might break the magic spell of their presence there in the middle of the road. The wind peppered stray bits of grit against Bright’s face, and the goat began to snuff her nose at some message in the air. The lights in the girl’s eyes did not dim but became sadder somehow. She looked at the comb in his