God’s Angel With Me

Sometimes something really strange happens to you. My parochial kindergarten faced the parish cemetery, a green wooded affair with high shade trees, rows of old stone markers sloping down toward the little road with the flags and the V.F.W. memorial. One sunny day, a student noticed a young woman in a white dress standing among the graves—not a remarkable occurrence—and we all went over to the window to look. But Miss Khoury said she couldn’t see anyone, even as we became louder and more insistent. Was she pulling our collective infantile leg? I’m not sure. We were eventually cajoled back to the desks, and when we looked again, the woman in white was gone.