When We Were Saints Page 11

  Clare crossed the room and kneeled down on the kneeler taking the bible up in her hands. "No, I don't get much sleep up here, now that the warmer weather is here. It still cools down at night some, though. It gets hard to concentrate, too, but that's good. It's like I go into a trance up here sometimes. I like it."

  Archie came up behind Clare. "We need to call the cops," he said to her.

  Clare looked up at him. "No, Francis, let it go."

  Archie came around to face Clare and sat on the floor feeling the stiffness in his knee and his back. "They tried to attack you. They might have beaten you or raped you if I hadn't come along. We need to report them. They could hurt someone else."

  "No," Clare said, her voice firm. "I won't speak to the police."

  Archie stood up, groaning at the pain in his back. "If you won't, I will." He paused.

  Clare didn't seem to be paying any attention to him. She was looking past him, at the crucifix, her expression blank.

  "I need to get going now," Archie said. "It's been the longest day of my life, and I still have a nine-mile bike ride home."

  Clare looked up at him and took his hand. "You'll get there, dear Francis."

  Archie didn't know if she meant that he would get home or if she meant he would become a saint. He didn't bother asking her. He looked into her eyes, and they held so much love for him, he felt humbled and wanted to fall on his knees before her. He had never before felt anyone look upon him with such love. The only greater feeling was when Archie had felt God's overwhelming love for him up on the mountain. He knew she saw in him something greater than he was, something wonderful, and he wanted to be that for her. He wanted to be what she expected of him, but he wasn't sure how he would ever do it.

  Clare released his hand and closed her eyes. She lowered her head and prayed.

  Archie wanted to stay with her. He didn't want to leave, but he felt for some reason that he should. "Okay then, I'd better be going," he said.

  Clare lifted her head and opened her eyes. She smiled, but it was not at Archie; it was at the crucifix.

  Archie left her pitching the sweatpants onto the mattress on his way out.

  Chapter 17

  THE BIKE RIDE HOME felt torturous to Archie, but he thought of Clare sweltering up in her attic room and decided if she could take it so could he, and he pushed on, trying to think past the pain and stiffness in his body.

  He thought about the incident at the school, and he realized he had a lot to learn still about God and faith. He agreed with Clare in principle about not using violence, but when he'd come face-to-face with the violence of the two boys, he couldn't help himself, and he knew if it happened again, he would react the same way—and he felt ashamed of that. He thought about Martin Luther King Jn and about Gandhi and the way both had stood up to the violence of thousands and had never struck back. Could he ever become like them? Could he ever have that kind of faith? He wanted it. He wanted to be noble like that, like those two men, loved by thousands, but was it noble to let two bullies attack Clare? Could he have handled the situation any differently? Clare had wanted him to, expected him to. He had let her down, but how could he have let anyone hurt her?

  Archie shook his head and brushed the hair that had slipped from under his helmet out of his eyes. He had started that morning so sure that he was well on the way to sainthood. His heart had felt full of love for the world, and then look what happened. By late afternoon he was so enraged, he thought he might kill someone. He needed to get better control of his emotions, he decided, feeling jealousy suddenly rise within him. He was jealous of Clare. He felt jealous of her relationship with God, her faith. He wanted to know God was always present, even when something terrible was happening—the way Clare did—but he wasn't sure it was really possible. The whole day had been terrible, and Archie had felt God moving farther and farther away from him.

  He felt jealous of Clare in another way, too, or maybe it wasn't Clare he was jealous of but God. Yes, he felt jealous of God because Clare wanted God more than she wanted him. When she had looked past him to the crucifix, dismissing him and shining her face on Jesus, Archie had felt envy. He wanted her attention; he wanted her smile and her shining eyes all to himself, and for that, too, he felt ashamed. He knew that instead of trying to get Clare's attention, he needed to return his focus to God. As soon as he got home, he determined, he would go straight up to the mountain and pray all night. He wouldn't sleep at all. He'd show God that he did have faith, that he was worthy of sainthood.

  Chapter 18

  WHEN ARCHIE GOT HOME he grabbed a package of Swiss-cheese slices out of the refrigerator, filled a thermos with water and after a quick trip to the bathroom, headed for the mountain. He set out for the trail full of hope that he would be able to get back to God and all of his good feelings. The night was humid, the stars barely visible, and the moon a sliver in the sky. It was difficult for him to see the trail, but Archie knew the way by heart and navigated it without much trouble. He got himself settled in his usual place beneath the trees at the edge of the mountaintop. He unwrapped the cheese and ate all the slices, washing them down with water. When he had finished he tucked the cheese wrapper in his back pocket, set the thermos beside him, and began his meditations, telling himself that he would not let the day's troubles interfere with his time with God. But they did.

  Archie closed his eyes and prayed, and instead of getting quiet and feeling God's presence within, he felt restless and nervous. He couldn't get Nattie Lynn's words about his grandmother out of his mind, and her words led to images of his grandmother lying in the hospital, so pale and bruised. He said his prayer out loud, but that didn't help, either. Scenes of the fight with the boys flashed through his mind, and he remembered that he'd wanted to call the police. He promised himself he would call when he returned to the house, but he was determined to stay up on the mountain and pray until his prayer was on his heart, the way Clare had said it would be if he prayed long enough and often enough.

  He returned to his prayer and tried to keep his mind focused on God, but instead of the usual light he felt inside when he prayed, a light he identified as God's presence within him, he felt darkness. He tried repeating the whole prayer the way he had before, then meditating on it: "Be still and know that I am God." He stayed with the prayer for a long time, but it was no use. He was nervous and restless. Something didn't feel right.

  Archie opened his eyes and looked about. He couldn't see much. He closed his eyes and tried the prayer again. He didn't know how long he stayed with the prayer—it seemed like hours—and then, though he didn't know why, he felt afraid. His mind searched for God, for some feeling, some lift within, but there was nothing. He still felt empty, and it scared him. It was as though all light and spirit and faith had been recorded on a tape in his brain and someone had come along and erased it. It made him angry. So many weeks of praying all the time, and in an instant it all seemed to have disappeared. He spoke to God.

  "God, how could you leave me now? How could you?" Archie cried, "What is it you want from me, God? What? Tell me. Tell me! What is all this for anyway? What am I doing? I'm just sitting here. And I'm scared. Is that what you want? You want me to sit here and die of fright? Okay, then I will. I'll just sit here and die. Will that make you happy? Huh? Is that what you want? You want my life? Go ahead and take it."

  Archie dug his hands into the ground beneath him, pulling up pine needles and dirt. He threw it at the trees. He picked up some more and threw it, too. He closed his eyes again and cried and prayed, trembling with rage and fear and calling out to God. He berated God, then turned around and asked God to forgive him for what he had said. Back and forth he went with his emotions. Again in his mind he saw his grandmother lying in the hospital, with the oxygen tank by her bed and all the machines around her making beeping and swooshing sounds. He felt panicked. He stood up and looked around. He felt surrounded by evil. Yes, something terrible and evil was with him in the darkness. He could feel it.
His body trembled, his heart raced, adrenaline flooded his bloodstream, and sweat broke out all over him. "God, help!" he cried out.

  Archie heard a noise, a rustling sound coming from far away. He didn't wait to see if it was a raccoon or a bear or the devil himself—he just ran. He fled down the mountain, slipping and stumbling all the way. He ran into branches and twisted his ankle on a root, but still he kept running, down and down, flinging himself forward through the darkness away from the evil, running and running toward the safety of his home.

  Chapter 19

  ARCHIE RAN OUT OF the woods and raced toward the house and the welcoming porch light. Then he heard a voice and he yelled, stumbling over his own feet and landing on the ground with a grunt.

  "Francis, it's me," Clare said. "Are you hurt?"

  Archie stood up and brushed himself off. "Clare!" he said, panting. "I'm so glad." He hugged her holding her tight, feeling her warmth.

  "It's all right, Francis."

  He released her and stood back. "I thought—well, I don't know what I thought, but I'm so glad..."

  "Francis, it's time to go."

  "What? Where? What do you mean?" Archie looked at Clare's face. He couldn't see much, but even in the darkness her eyes shone.

  "Our pilgrimage. It's time to go."

  "How did you know?" Archie said, thinking she must have figured out that he was in trouble.

  "We'll have to take your grandfather's truck. I brought this." She held up a license plate.

  Archie took it and walked toward the porch to get a better look at it under the light. "What's this for?" Archie asked, examining the plate. "Where are we going?"

  "It's the license plate off of my grandmother's old Ford. I saved it after she died. We'll put it on the truck in case the police start looking for us. And we're going to New York City—to the Cloisters."

  Archie's eyes widened. "New York? I didn't think we'd be going so far away. What will I tell my grandmama and Clyde and Miss Nattie Lynn and the others?"

  "Nothing, Francis. This is our journey. We must take it alone. This is for God. You know they wouldn't understand that."

  "But I have to do something or they'll be worried. I'll leave them a note, just to say that I'm going away for a couple of days, but I'll be back. That way they won't think I've run away or that I'm hurt. They're so old. I don't want them to worry about me."

  "God will take care of everything." Clare took Archie's hand. "Come on; we have a long way to go and no time to lose." She pulled him toward the barn.

  "But I don't know how much gas is left in the truck. Not enough to get us all the way to New York. We need money."

  "Everything is taken care of. Trust me. Trust the Lord."

  Archie didn't know what to think. It was too sudden. He didn't know the pilgrimage would be all the way up in New York. He needed to prepare and to write a note, pack, get some money and food. As much as he had wanted to go on a pilgrimage, he didn't feel ready.

  "Wait," he said, trotting behind Clare. "I'm not ready. I need to think about this. I didn't expect New York. What are the Cloisters? Where in the city are they? Don't we need a map or something? Clare, we're going too fast."

  Clare spoke but didn't look back. "When God calls you, do you say you're not ready? We must always be ready for the Lord. We must leave now, tonight, and we must hurry."

  "Wait, Clare." Archie reached out for her shoulder and tried to stop her. She kept moving toward the barn. "What's the rush? What's the hurry?"

  "I'll tell you when we're on the road. Have faith, dear Francis. Just have faith."

  Archie didn't want to admit to Clare how low on faith he had gotten, and he was too confused to come up with any other plan, so he followed her. She told him to find a screwdriver so they could switch the license plates, and Archie told her there was one in the house.

  "Then go get it and get the keys to the truck while you're there," Clare said.

  Archie nodded. He ran to the house, grabbed two screwdrivers from the small toolbox in the hall closet, found the keys to the truck on the kitchen counter and wrote a quick note to his grandmother's friends saying that he had gone on the Smoky Mountains camping trip and would return in about a week. He wrote that he would try to call them if he could. Then he signed the note and tacked it to the front door. When he got back out to the barn, he handed Clare one of the screwdrivers and the two of them switched the plates.

  As soon as they were finished, Archie looked at Clare and said, "Now what?"

  "Now I get my bundle and we get in the truck and leave. Do you have the keys?"

  Archie pulled them out of his pocket and held them up. Clare nodded at them. "Good, you'll drive and I'll navigate. I could get us there with my eyes closed." She turned away. "I'll be right back. I left my bundle on the porch rocker."

  Archie grabbed Clare by the arm and held her still. "Wait! You want me to drive us all the way to New York? You want me to drive on the highway? I've never driven on the highway. Clare, I'm fourteen. I don't have a license. What if the police stop us? I can't drive!"

  Clare wrapped her hand around his. "Have faith. You're going to do just fine. It's all going to work out perfectly. I know it is. Now go on and get in the truck and back it out."

  She ran out of the barn and returned a few seconds later with her bundle. Archie had backed out the truck and turned it around. Clare eased the barn door closed, then climbed into the passenger seat. "No lights—just to be safe," Clare said. They rolled down the driveway in the dark, waiting to turn on the headlights until they had gotten off the dirt road that Archie's house shared with Clyde Olsen's.

  Archie felt like a criminal escaping from prison. When they reached the end of the dirt road, he switched on the headlights and turned onto Mountain Road. Archie looked behind him in the rearview mirror half expecting to see the police behind them. But there was nothing, and he drove down the road, through the town, and past Clare's darkened house in silence. It wasn't until they reached the highway—and Archie, with Clare's help, got them safely on the road—that he finally spoke.

  "I don't know what to think," Archie said. "What are we doing? I mean, I know we're going on a pilgrimage, and—I want to go, I do—I need it. I know that. But it's so sudden, all of a sudden. I mean, the middle of the night and all." He looked at the clock in the truck. "It's only just after two!"

  "How else could we leave? It's the best way. And anyway, he told me it was time."

  Archie glanced at Clare sitting up straight in her seat, as calm as usual.

  "Who? Who told you it was time?"

  "Jesus."

  Archie sat back in his seat and thought about that for a second, then he said, "Did you really hear a voice or was it like this urging inside?"

  "Jesus spoke to me, Francis."

  "With a voice?"

  "With a voice." Clare nodded. "Jesus speaks to me all the time. Jesus told me to give you that card at your grandfather's funeral. He's speaking to me now."

  "Like right now? Jesus is speaking to you?"

  "Yes."

  Archie sighed. He didn't know what to think. Part of him felt jealous that she had that kind of connection with Jesus, and that she was so far along on the path while he was so far behind. He wasn't even sure he was still on the path. But another part of him loved her so much, loved her because she was so perfect, so good and holy, so full of the love of Christ, that he wanted to touch her. He wanted to be touched by God.

  They again rode in silence for a while, with Archie on the constant lookout for police cars, checking the rearview mirror as often as he looked straight ahead, and then he asked her "How much money do we have, anyway? Isn't New York expensive?"

  "I think we have enough money for gas," she said.

  Archie gripped the steering wheel. "What do you mean, you 'think'? What about food? Where will we stay? What if we run out of gas? How long are we staying, anyway? It's going to take us a couple of days to get there unless we drive all night and all day. And why th
e Cloisters? What are the Cloisters?"

  "It's a museum."

  "'A museum'?" Archie shifted in his seat and held the steering wheel even tighter. "We're making a pilgrimage to a museum? I don't get it. I mean, I love the idea of going to a museum, but how is that a pilgrimage? Tell me what's going on. What are we doing?"

  Clare nodded. "We are beginning our pilgrimage. And pilgrims usually don't take any money at all with them. They rely on the kindness of strangers, and they eat when they are offered food and sleep when they are offered a place to sleep. But if we went on foot, we would get picked up as runaways, so we have to take the truck and we need money for gas. If we need any more money, we'll have to ask for it."

  "But how? You mean beg? Beg from strangers?"

  Clare laughed and patted Archie's leg, and Archie felt his face flush. "You worry too much, Francis. It will be all right."

  A car came up behind them and Archie strained his eyes to see if he could make out lights on the roof of the car. He couldn't tell. They rode in silence for a few minutes, with Archie glancing back at the car every few seconds, certain that lights would start flashing any minute. Then the car sped up and passed them, and Archie let out a long, deep breath.

  "You'll like the Cloisters," Clare said, her voice calm and soothing. "It's a museum filled with art from the Middle Ages—paintings and sculptures of the Virgin and child, angels, the Annunciation—all kinds of things. And the building is like a monastery. It's a most holy place. All the art is sacred and beautiful. You'll see for yourself, and your life will change. The Cloisters, Francis, is where I was born."

  PART TWO

  "Therefore do not be anxious, saying,

  'What shall we eat?'

  or 'What shall we drink?'

  or 'What shall we wear?'...