"We'll see," I said. I brushed the brown ringlets from her forehead for one last kiss good night. Then I looked out the window too. The tall trees surrounding our house were being buffeted by the storm, their branches sagging under the weight of the snow.

"Good night, Elizabeth, mommy loves you", I said. I closed the door and went down the hall to check on our seven-month-old twins. Young Stephen was a light sleeper, so we kept him in a different room from his sister Emily at night. Both babies were sound asleep in their cribs.

The wind whistled, and as I went downstairs, I could hear the pines and oaks creek and groan. Ever since we bought the house, I'd been anxious about the trees. That afternoon, our neighbor had lost an ancient pine. I worried the storm would knock more down. Before my husband, Stephen, left to watch the college basketball Final Four at a friend's, I asked him to say a prayer with me about the trees. "God, keep us safe tonight."

In the family room, I started picking up some of Elizabeth's dolls and the twin's toys. We had converted the space above the garage for Elizabeths loftlike bedroom and I was grateful for the extra space.

Just then, I heard a loud crash above me. The whole house trembled. Even the floorboards beneath my feet shook. I dropped the toys and ran upstairs. "Dear God, don't let it be one of the trees." At the top of the steps, I dashed to little Stephen's room. I twisted the doorknob and peered in. I heard his quiet, rhythmic breathing. Safe. I crossed the hall to Emily's room. She was sleeping. "Elizabeth", I thought. "That towering pine outside her window! What if under the weight of the heavy snow...." Heart hammering, I flung her door wide open. A blast of cold air hit me. The window near her bed was gone. The upper part of the pine had knocked it out, leaving behind branched and snow.

I felt glass crunch beneath my slippered feet. "Oh my God, Elizabeth must be scared to death", I thought. I turned on the lights and rushed to her bedside to lift her from danger. But to my amazement, she was still sleeping peacefully. There wasn't any glass on her coverlet or pajamas. Then I saw them surrounding her. Layer upon layer of wings forming a feathery canopy above her sleeping form. Luminescent angels bowed their heads, spreading their wings over her, shielding Elizabeth from harm. She was nestled in the center of this celestial cocoon, warm and safe.

As I stood there, the shimmering glow suddenly vanished. I scooped Elizabeth into my arms, listening to her mumble sleepily, and carried her to our bedroom, where she spent the rest of the night. The next morning Elizabeth and I ventured back to her bedroom. Holding her hand, I gingerly stepped over the threshold. My husband was tacking a tarp over the broken window. His eyes filling with tears, Stephen said, "Honey, look."

Together, we walked over to Elizabeth's bed. Thousands of pieces of broken glass lay on the floor, sparkling in the morning sun. Needle-sharp shards were scattered on all four sides of her bed. Stephen ran his hands over the blankets, sheets and pillows. Not a single splinter of glass was on Elizabeth's bedding.

"You know what happened last night when I came into your room, I saw layer upon layer of wings wrapped around you, protecting you", I said to Elizabeth. "Oh mommy," she interrupted. "I know about the angels. One of them patted me on the head before it left!"

Pamela Heintz
South Hamilton, Massachusetts